Read Online Must Love Vampires by Heidi Betts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heidi Betts
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been seen in daylight.”
She waited a beat, apparently expecting him to comment, but he remained silent, waiting just as long for her to continue.
“Well, you have to admit, that’s weird, considering that most ribbon cuttings and press conferences and everything else take place between nine a.m. and five p.m., not the other way around. And the number-one known trait of vampires is aversion to sunlight,” she pointed out, as though he might not be aware. Right.
With a tip of his head that might have been taken as a nod, he prompted, “What else?”
“You’re handsome and wealthy and could have a dozen beautiful women hanging on you, if you wanted, but you’re never seen out on a date. You’re not involved, not married, no children . . .”
He raised a brow, wondering if she realized she wasn’t describing the life of a solitary vampire only. “So you think I’m gay, too?”
Her eyes flashed wide and she sat back, startled. “No,” she responded quickly. “The thought never crossed my mind, actually.”
Since he didn’t particularly care what anyone thought about his sexuality, he shouldn’t be relieved by her admission, but oddly, he was. Supremely relieved.
And that relief grew even stronger when her brows knit and she downed her entire glass of wine in a single swallow before asking, “You aren’t, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” He raised his own brow, inquiring lightly,
“But why do you care?”
“I don’t,” she responded much too fast and with a shake of her head that was just a bit too . . . energetic to be believed. “I don’t care. It’s none of my business.”
“But whether I am or am not a vampire—an evil, vile, murderous creature of legend—is?”
It was more statement than question, but she answered just the same.
“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to sniff out leads and investigate stories.”
“Like alien abductions and Bigfoot sightings,” he murmured, recalling her earlier admission.
She looked at him askance, and he realized that she’d told him about writing for the Sin City Tattler while under his spell.
Well, shit, he thought with a cringe.
“More talking in my sleep, I suppose,” she said deadpan, and he knew she suspected something hinky was going on.
“Something like that.”
With a shrug, she leaned forward and poured herself a couple more inches of wine. “It’s true, writing for the Tattler gives me a chance to stretch my imagination and make up all sorts of weird stuff. In case you were wondering, though, some of it is at least loosely based on fact,” she added, as though she was used to defending her occupation.
“I’m sure,” he replied in the same flat, serious tone. “Why, just last week, I had the ghosts of Elvis, Marilyn, and James Dean over for dinner, and all three of them mentioned hoping no one would find out or they’d end up on the cover of the Tattler .”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” she said with a twist of her mouth that told him she was definitely not amused. “Look, all I’m saying is that I’ve seen grilled cheese sandwiches with burn marks that do bear a remarkable resemblance to Jesus. And I definitely believe Bat Boy exists.”
“Bat Boy?” he repeated, although he was almost afraid to ask.
She nodded enthusiastically. “I totally think I saw him in a mall once. Seriously, this kid had pointed ears and giant bug eyes.”
“Maybe he was part elf.”
He expected her to scoff at his obvious joke—it had been obvious, hadn’t it?—but instead she leaned toward him, an intent expression spreading across her features.
“Do elves really exist?” she asked in a low, inquisitive tone.
“How the hell should I know?” he snapped, lurching back in surprise.
She shrugged her shoulder. The one left bare by the sagging neckline of his undershirt.
The sight shouldn’t have aroused him quite so much, but it did. His gums and his dick throbbed, and he found himself toying with the sharp edge of one fang with
She waited a beat, apparently expecting him to comment, but he remained silent, waiting just as long for her to continue.
“Well, you have to admit, that’s weird, considering that most ribbon cuttings and press conferences and everything else take place between nine a.m. and five p.m., not the other way around. And the number-one known trait of vampires is aversion to sunlight,” she pointed out, as though he might not be aware. Right.
With a tip of his head that might have been taken as a nod, he prompted, “What else?”
“You’re handsome and wealthy and could have a dozen beautiful women hanging on you, if you wanted, but you’re never seen out on a date. You’re not involved, not married, no children . . .”
He raised a brow, wondering if she realized she wasn’t describing the life of a solitary vampire only. “So you think I’m gay, too?”
Her eyes flashed wide and she sat back, startled. “No,” she responded quickly. “The thought never crossed my mind, actually.”
Since he didn’t particularly care what anyone thought about his sexuality, he shouldn’t be relieved by her admission, but oddly, he was. Supremely relieved.
And that relief grew even stronger when her brows knit and she downed her entire glass of wine in a single swallow before asking, “You aren’t, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” He raised his own brow, inquiring lightly,
“But why do you care?”
“I don’t,” she responded much too fast and with a shake of her head that was just a bit too . . . energetic to be believed. “I don’t care. It’s none of my business.”
“But whether I am or am not a vampire—an evil, vile, murderous creature of legend—is?”
It was more statement than question, but she answered just the same.
“I’m a reporter. It’s my job to sniff out leads and investigate stories.”
“Like alien abductions and Bigfoot sightings,” he murmured, recalling her earlier admission.
She looked at him askance, and he realized that she’d told him about writing for the Sin City Tattler while under his spell.
Well, shit, he thought with a cringe.
“More talking in my sleep, I suppose,” she said deadpan, and he knew she suspected something hinky was going on.
“Something like that.”
With a shrug, she leaned forward and poured herself a couple more inches of wine. “It’s true, writing for the Tattler gives me a chance to stretch my imagination and make up all sorts of weird stuff. In case you were wondering, though, some of it is at least loosely based on fact,” she added, as though she was used to defending her occupation.
“I’m sure,” he replied in the same flat, serious tone. “Why, just last week, I had the ghosts of Elvis, Marilyn, and James Dean over for dinner, and all three of them mentioned hoping no one would find out or they’d end up on the cover of the Tattler .”
“Ha-ha, very funny,” she said with a twist of her mouth that told him she was definitely not amused. “Look, all I’m saying is that I’ve seen grilled cheese sandwiches with burn marks that do bear a remarkable resemblance to Jesus. And I definitely believe Bat Boy exists.”
“Bat Boy?” he repeated, although he was almost afraid to ask.
She nodded enthusiastically. “I totally think I saw him in a mall once. Seriously, this kid had pointed ears and giant bug eyes.”
“Maybe he was part elf.”
He expected her to scoff at his obvious joke—it had been obvious, hadn’t it?—but instead she leaned toward him, an intent expression spreading across her features.
“Do elves really exist?” she asked in a low, inquisitive tone.
“How the hell should I know?” he snapped, lurching back in surprise.
She shrugged her shoulder. The one left bare by the sagging neckline of his undershirt.
The sight shouldn’t have aroused him quite so much, but it did. His gums and his dick throbbed, and he found himself toying with the sharp edge of one fang with
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