Just One Bite (31 page)

“Bigger.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “The three pairs of Chanel boots I ordered off the Internet?”

“Smellier.”

I followed her into the outer office and came to a dead stop a few steps from her desk.

At least I thought it was her desk, but I couldn’t really tell because it was covered by a monstrous vase stuffed full of bright pink roses.

“Go on,” Evie said, a smile spreading from ear to ear. “Read the card.”

My heart stalled and my hands shook as I reached for the small white card. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Are you kidding? You don’t pay me nearly enough for roses. Maybe carnations.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Besides, these are clearly
after-sex
flowers and, while I think you’re really hot with fabulous taste, you’re not my type. I mean, you would be if I were into girls, but I’m totally not.”

Well, maybe.

The window into her thoughts opened and I slammed it shut just as fast. While I liked being a vamp and knowing what was up when it came to humans, there was such a thing as too much info.

Especially if the info came from my assistant, whom I loved like a sister.

A sister. Got that?
I sent the silent thought and watched her eyes widen a split second before she seemed to relax.

“It’s from someone male,” she added.

I unfolded the white vellum and read the black scrawl:

Sorry I haven’t called. Things have been crazy. Call me…Ty.

“I knew he liked you,” Evie said, peering over my shoulder. “I
knew
it. Are you going to call him?”

“Maybe.” I picked up the flowers and walked back into my office.
Maybe not.

Indecision rolled through me as I set the vase on my desk, sank down into my chair, and reached for the card again.

Call me.

Where was the undying emotion? The feeling? The
love
? At the very least, he could have written
Love, Ty.

But no…

Because he doesn’t love you.

I drew a deep breath and the sweet, sultry scent of roses spiraled through my nostrils and made my heart pump faster.

Then again, he did have good taste in flowers, and he had gone to the trouble of sending them and filling out the card himself rather than using a computer-generated message.

That had to mean something. Right? There was only one way to find out.

I gathered my courage and reached for the phone.

If you enjoyed JUST ONE BITE,
get ready to sink your fangs into this excerpt from
Kimberly Raye’s next book

Sucker for Love

Available from Ballantine Books in May 2009

Chapter One

Are you tired of nursing down that bottle of O+ all by your lonesome? Did you spend the last full moon drinking Cosmos and lusting over the American Kennel Club finals? Do you spend every evening scarfing a Hungry-Man (or woman) and watching TiVo?

If you’re first reaction was “uh-oh” or “How’d she know that?” to any of the above, then you are cordially invited to a meet-and-greet dinner party, hosted by Dead End Dating, Manhattan’s number one matchmaking service for vampires, humans, and Others. Join fantabulous host (and incredibly well-dressed vampire) Lil Marchette for a night of dinner and dancing and romance in the penthouse of the Waldorf-Astoria.

Disclaimer—DED is an equal opportunity dating service that does not discriminate based on race, sex, looks (or lack thereof) or appetite. Net worth, however, is an entirely different matter—i.e. don’t forget the checkbook, debit card, and/or Visa Gold.

I
propped up the framed copy of the engraved vellum invitation I’d mailed out to every appropriate single in Manhattan and tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach.

I’m the Countess Lilliana Arrabella Guinevere du Marchette (Lil for short), a five-hundred-year-old (and holding) born-vampire. I’ve got super fab taste in clothes, a to-die-for collection of MAC cosmetics, and a hot, hunky, bounty-hunting boyfriend. I
so
have it going on.

Ix-nay the nerves, right?

Wrong
.

I’m also the owner of Dead End Dating, Manhattan’s primo matchmaking service for vampires, weres, Others, and even the occasional human. As of five minutes ago, I had exactly one week to match up more than a dozen paid-in-full clients, otherwise I would fail to make good on my
Find your one and only in six months or your money back!
guarantee.

Since I don’t do refunds (not unless I want to return half my wardrobe and say
bye-bye
to my new Black-Berry), I had to pick up the pace. Pronto.

Hence, my latest super fantabulous brainstorm—the meet-and-greet dinner party about to happen right here. Right now.

I drew a deep breath (not because I had to, but hey, when in Rome…), straightened my green Roberto Cavalli dress (a floor-length, strappy chiffon number a la Rihanna), and finished setting up the hostess table. I added DED business cards, name tags, promotional pens, koozies and calendars, and even a few pics and testimonials from previous clients. I sprinkled some rose petals and debated whether or not to hand out the Viagra samples in my bag or just spike the drinks when no one was looking.

The hornier the clients, the lower the standards, the sooner everyone paired up.

At the same time, I was desperate, not depraved.

Not yet.

I stored my bag, complete with samples, under the table. What? So I’m a romantic. I freely admit it (to anyone except my Ma, that is).

“Help!”

The frantic voice drew my attention and I turned just as a frustrated blonde rushed at me.

Evie Dalton could man the phones, key in profiles, and suck down a steaming latte, all without smudging her lip gloss. She was the best assistant a vampire could ask for. She was also human, and completely unaware of my fanged-and-fabulous status.

The 4-1-1 on tonight?

She thought it was just another movie theme party. Like the toga fever spawned by
Animal House
and the ’50s sock hops a la
Grease
. Tonight’s brain candy? Contemporary monster mania courtesy of the barrage of recent horror movies such as
30 Days of Night
and
The Mist
.

In honor of the occasion, she’d donned a silver jacket with eight sparkly “legs,” a sequined mini smock dress, and three-inch glitter sandals. She looked like Spidie’s wet dream. So good in fact that, with the exception of a fading bruise on her neck and some seriously rank breath, it was impossible to tell that just two short weeks ago she’d been possessed by a demon.
And
that she’d come this close to heading downtown (way,
way
downtown) to become Satan’s own personal bee-yotch.

I’d been so busy hiding her from the long arms of the Prince brothers (a hot, hunky trio of demon hunters who just so happened to be demons themselves) that I’d sort of let the rest of my work pile up.

The demon was now back in hell, Evie was back in the office (and munching Tic Tacs), and I was making up for lost time.

“The fangs are melting on the ice sculpture,” she informed me. “I need you to take these,” she handed me a clipboard and a copy of the invitation, “and brief Nina while I find the catering manager and get them to relocate the flambé table asap.”

“Why not just hike the air-conditioning up?”

“But won’t the guests be cold?”

“They’ll be more inclined to pair up and snuggle.”

She grinned. “I knew there was a reason you were the boss.” She handed me a small box with a corsage. “Make sure Nina puts this on, too—if you can find her.” She glanced around. “One minute she was at the bar sucking down a Bloody Mary and the next—
poof
—gone. Vanished into thin air.”

Or the nearest storage closet.

“I knew it,” I declared when I threw open the door a few seconds later to find the MIA Nina.

Nina Lancaster aka Nina One—the blond half of The Ninas who’d been my best friends for the past four hundred and ninety-eight years—was the daughter of filthy rich hotelier Victor Lancaster, who owned the Waldorf along with several five-star establishments throughout New York and Connecticut. Nina was rich, beautiful (big surprise, right?), and living with my middle brother, Rob. They’d been seeing each other since I’d hooked them up a few months ago. Judging by the spaghetti straps that sagged near her elbows and my brother’s untucked button-down shirt, they’d been about to see a lot more of each other in the next five minutes.

I glanced at Rob. His eyes were glazed and hooded. His fangs gleamed. A hungry growl vibrated the air.

Okay, make that the next five
seconds
.

Anxiety rushed through me. “Can you please boff my brother on your own time?”

“I’m not boffing him.” She grinned and tugged her straps back into place. “Not yet.” She touched a hand to her mussed hair. “Besides, this isn’t your time. I donated the ballroom, so that makes it
my
time.”

She had a point.

I traded in pissed-off client for desperately needy friend. “But I need you to screen guests at the entrance.”

“Get Evie to do it.”

“I’m sending her back to the office on a ‘dating emergency’ as soon as the party’s in full swing.” I’d scheduled a new client this evening and I was going to pretend I’d forgotten all about it and needed her to conduct the meeting while I dealt with the party. “She’s the best assistant I’ve got. I can’t have her wind up some vampire’s sex slave, or the midnight snack for a hungry werewolf.”

Or worse, realize that the fangs I was sporting were the real deal. I wasn’t ready to break the born-vamp’s number one commandment—Thou Shalt Keep a Low Profile—and come out of the closet to Evie. My mother would kill me. Even worse, I wasn’t sure if Evie was ready to work for a vamp. So far, she’d been wonderful. But it was a lot to swallow and I just wasn’t sure if she’d take me out for chocolate martinis to celebrate, or call in the rowdy villagers. I hadn’t gone into mucho credit card debt decorating my office to have the whole thing wind up torched.

“Evie won’t be here. You have to do it.”

“Who says?”

“Your best friend in the entire universe.” I gave her a knowing smile. “We’re practically sisters. You know you’d do anything to help me.”

“Which is why I loaned you the ballroom for free.”

“But I still need this one teensy, tiny favor.”

“Tonight’s my night off.” In addition to being Daddy’s Little Vamp, Nina was also the hotel’s chief hostess. “I just showed up to tell you to make sure that nobody gets blood on the white settees. Daddy will kill me.”

“I’m willing to beg.”

“I’m a born-vampire. We’re not genetically wired for sympathy.”

“Are we genetically wired for greed? Because I’m willing to pay.”

She grinned. “What’d you have in mind?”

I did a mental check of my most recent purchases, singling out the key items that I knew would melt her hard-ass resolve. “Ferragamo sunglasses?”

“I’ve got three pairs.”

“Michael Kors bangle bracelets?”

“Got ’em.”

“Hermès lipstick compact.”

She shook her head. “There’s no such thing.”

“If you think so.” I shrugged a shoulder. “But I just happen to have one from the insanely small, limited edition collection purchased by a select few clients who have the right connections.” In this case, a bisexual sales assistant at Barneys that I’d glammed ages ago. I’d been scamming primo purchases ever since. “But if you’re not interested—”

“Okay, okay. I’m going.” She shrugged at Rob. “Sorry, babe. What can I say? I’m shallow.”

He grinned and dropped a kiss on her lips. “Just one of the many things I love about you.”

Awwww…

My heart swelled for about an eighth of a second before I remembered who was actually in the closet with Nina.

My very own flesh and blood
brother.

Middle born son of Countess Jacqueline and Count Pierre Gustavo Marchette.

Descendant of one of the first (and snottiest) born-vamp families in existence.

Propagator of the species and all-around playa playa.

And he’d just used the
L
word.

Shut.
Up
.

Before I could find my voice, Nina grabbed my hand and hauled me off toward the entrance to the ballroom. “What color?”

Rob. Nina. Love?
“What color what?”

“The lipstick case.” She nudged me, shattering my thoughts. “What color is it?”

I shook away my sudden excitement and focused on the here and now. “Hot pink with rhinestones and Swarovski crystals.”

“No way!”

“And there’s even a tiny diamond inlay on the inside mirror near the Hermès logo.”

She squealed and snatched the corsage from my hands. A few seconds later, she had a single red rose pinned near the collar of her Carolina Herrera original and the clipboard in hand. “I’m ready. What do you want me to do?”