Read Online One Lucky Vampire by Lynsay Sands - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lynsay Sands
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torturous contraption that squeezed her breasts in and up. At least it seemed torturous this morning, but then she was exhausted and so not a morning person, something that kept ringing through her head. To her mind, vampires had the right idea. The world was quiet at night. No one called at 2 A.M ., or dropped in for coffee and a chat then. She could and did work undisturbed during the wee hours. It was bliss.
Once she had the bra on, and had replaced the T-shirt, Nicole made her way out of her room. She was crossing the combined living room/dining room, headed for the kitchen, when the upstairs guest bedroom door opened. Her head swung toward it, a smile of greeting claiming her lips for Marguerite. But it faded, replaced by surprise when she saw Jake coming out of the room.
“Morning,” he said before ducking into the washroom.
“Morning,” Nicole murmured, but doubted he’d heard it. He was already closing the bathroom door. Frowning slightly now, she continued on into the kitchen, eyes widening in surprise when she saw Marguerite seated at the island, perusing the paper. The woman beamed a smile when she spotted Nicole.
“Oh, good morning, dear,” Marguerite greeted. “You’re just in time, Jake made coffee and a lovely brunch for us. It’s in the oven staying warm, but he’ll be back in a minute and probably serve it right up. He just ducked into his room to change his shirt. I bumped into him as he was whipping the eggs and some of it slopped on him.”
“His room?” Nicole said uncertainly. “He was coming out of your room when I—”
“Oh,” Marguerite waved that away with a laugh. “I moved my things downstairs and told him to take the upper guest room. It seemed sensible for him to be on this floor since this is where he’ll be doing most of his work, and it would have been silly to make him sleep downstairs last night and then have to move all of his things upstairs today.”
“Oh, of course,” Nicole said slowly and turned to find a cup and pour herself a coffee. She was in desperate need of one now as she considered that the man had slept a wall away last night . . . close enough to hear her snore. Well, if she did snore. Or what if she talked or mumbled in her sleep? Or tossed and turned a lot? How much could he hear through the wall?
“I hope you like omelets.”
Nicole gave a start at that question in a deep male voice. Jake had returned. She offered him a weak smile as he pulled on oven mitts and moved to the stove.
“I had to work with what was available, so I made toast, and an omelet with sausage, onion, potatoes and cheese in it. But if you don’t like eggs or something I can make you French toast, or pancakes or—”
“No, the omelet is fine,” Nicole interrupted, her mouth watering when he opened the oven door and a lovely scent rolled out on a wave of heat to tempt her nose. “It smells lovely.”
“Doesn’t it?” Marguerite agreed cheerfully. “I did tell you he was wonderful.”
“Yes, you did,” Nicole said faintly, following Jake to the kitchen table in the corner. Really she was following the two plates of omelet, not Jake; he just happened to be carrying them.
Her gaze slid over the table, noting the tablecloth, which she rarely bothered with, and the place mats with perfect place settings. Jake had even set out salt and pepper, ketchup, and A.1. sauce, and milk and sugar . . . which reminded her of the coffee she held in hand that still needed doctoring.
“Sit,” Jake ordered and then added, “You too, Marguerite. Dig in before it gets cold and I’ll grab mine and the toast.”
Nicole sat at the table and quickly added cream and sugar to her coffee, but her gaze was on the omelet. She was not good at making omelets. Hers always came out as messy scrambled eggs, but these looked perfect. Light, fluffy, and oozing with yummy stuff. She actually found herself swallowing repeatedly as saliva built up in her mouth and was glad to be done with
Once she had the bra on, and had replaced the T-shirt, Nicole made her way out of her room. She was crossing the combined living room/dining room, headed for the kitchen, when the upstairs guest bedroom door opened. Her head swung toward it, a smile of greeting claiming her lips for Marguerite. But it faded, replaced by surprise when she saw Jake coming out of the room.
“Morning,” he said before ducking into the washroom.
“Morning,” Nicole murmured, but doubted he’d heard it. He was already closing the bathroom door. Frowning slightly now, she continued on into the kitchen, eyes widening in surprise when she saw Marguerite seated at the island, perusing the paper. The woman beamed a smile when she spotted Nicole.
“Oh, good morning, dear,” Marguerite greeted. “You’re just in time, Jake made coffee and a lovely brunch for us. It’s in the oven staying warm, but he’ll be back in a minute and probably serve it right up. He just ducked into his room to change his shirt. I bumped into him as he was whipping the eggs and some of it slopped on him.”
“His room?” Nicole said uncertainly. “He was coming out of your room when I—”
“Oh,” Marguerite waved that away with a laugh. “I moved my things downstairs and told him to take the upper guest room. It seemed sensible for him to be on this floor since this is where he’ll be doing most of his work, and it would have been silly to make him sleep downstairs last night and then have to move all of his things upstairs today.”
“Oh, of course,” Nicole said slowly and turned to find a cup and pour herself a coffee. She was in desperate need of one now as she considered that the man had slept a wall away last night . . . close enough to hear her snore. Well, if she did snore. Or what if she talked or mumbled in her sleep? Or tossed and turned a lot? How much could he hear through the wall?
“I hope you like omelets.”
Nicole gave a start at that question in a deep male voice. Jake had returned. She offered him a weak smile as he pulled on oven mitts and moved to the stove.
“I had to work with what was available, so I made toast, and an omelet with sausage, onion, potatoes and cheese in it. But if you don’t like eggs or something I can make you French toast, or pancakes or—”
“No, the omelet is fine,” Nicole interrupted, her mouth watering when he opened the oven door and a lovely scent rolled out on a wave of heat to tempt her nose. “It smells lovely.”
“Doesn’t it?” Marguerite agreed cheerfully. “I did tell you he was wonderful.”
“Yes, you did,” Nicole said faintly, following Jake to the kitchen table in the corner. Really she was following the two plates of omelet, not Jake; he just happened to be carrying them.
Her gaze slid over the table, noting the tablecloth, which she rarely bothered with, and the place mats with perfect place settings. Jake had even set out salt and pepper, ketchup, and A.1. sauce, and milk and sugar . . . which reminded her of the coffee she held in hand that still needed doctoring.
“Sit,” Jake ordered and then added, “You too, Marguerite. Dig in before it gets cold and I’ll grab mine and the toast.”
Nicole sat at the table and quickly added cream and sugar to her coffee, but her gaze was on the omelet. She was not good at making omelets. Hers always came out as messy scrambled eggs, but these looked perfect. Light, fluffy, and oozing with yummy stuff. She actually found herself swallowing repeatedly as saliva built up in her mouth and was glad to be done with
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