Dead Sexy. Amanda Ashley

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      “So, you don’t sleep in a coffin?”

      “I did not say that.”

      The image of Santiago stretched out inside a satin-lined casket cooled her ardor and she backed away from him. Vampire. He was a vampire. She had to remember that. “Did you find the one who killed those kids?”

      He nodded.

      “How did he get out of the park?”

      “The barrier has no power over the ancient ones.”

      Regan filed that knowledge away. As soon as she got a chance, she would call the Department of Vampire Control and let them know that not all the vamps in the park were repelled by the barrier.

      “Did you destroy him?” she asked.

      He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes said it all.

      Feeling suddenly cold, Regan wrapped her arms around her body.

      “I think I should go now and let you get some sleep,” Santiago said. He bowed from the waist in a courtly old-world gesture. “Good night, Regan Delaney.”

      “Good night,” she murmured, but he was already gone.

      Chapter 6

      In spite of her resolve to put Joaquin Santiago out of her mind once and for all, Regan couldn’t stop thinking about him in the days that followed.

      When she shopped for food, she found herself remembering that his last meal had been ash cakes and venison stew.

      When she changed the blue cotton sheets on her bed, she recalled that his were black satin.

      When she drank a cup of hot chocolate, she pictured him sipping a glass of Synthetic A Negative.

      When she watched Dracula 2000, she imagined Santiago in the Gerard Butler role. It wasn’t hard. He already had thick black hair and a long black coat.

      When he called and asked her to meet him at Sardino’s for a drink, she agreed before her better judgment got the upper hand.

      Santiago was waiting at the restaurant when she arrived. Tonight, dressed in a white T-shirt and black jeans, he looked like a teenage rebel from the fifties. All he needed was a pack of cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket and a pompadour.

      A smile curved his lips when he saw her. Taking her hand, he kissed her palm, sending frissons of sensual delight coursing through her. “I did not think you would say yes.”

      “Neither did I.”

      Still holding her hand, he led her to a booth in a far corner and slid in beside her, his thigh brushing intimately against her own. “Yet here you are.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “What made you say yes? Were you missing me as much as I was missing you?”

      “Were you?” she asked. “Missing me?”

      “Every night.”

      “Then why did you wait so long to call?”

      “I was trying to be noble.”

      “Noble?” she asked, laughing.

      He nodded, his expression somber. “Vampires and mortals do not mix well, as you know. And while I think you would be good for me, I know I would be bad for you.”

      “Would you?” she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper. “Be bad for me?”

      His gaze caressed her. “Very bad.”

      Regan licked her lips, her whole body tingling with need, burning with desire and the kind of curiosity that the Pandora of legend had been unable to resist. According to myth, Pandora had unleashed all the ills of the world on mankind by opening the forbidden box that had piqued her curiosity.

      Santiago slid his arm around Regan’s shoulders, drawing her close to his side. Excitement and a thrill of danger unfurled deep in Regan’s belly. What perils awaited her if she gave in to her curiosity? Would she live to regret it? Would she live at all if she surrendered to the unholy craving she saw in the smoldering depths of his eyes? Play with fire and you’ll get burned. It was a cliché, but ever so true. How much more dangerous would it be to play with a vampire?

      He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his lips cool and firm. “Come home with me tonight.”

      Regan swallowed hard. Like Pandora, she could feel herself reaching for that blasted box…

      “Reggie, what the hell are you doing here?” Michael Flynn’s voice hit her like a blast of cold air.

      Regan looked up, startled to see Mike staring down at her, his expression grim.

      “Mike,” she said, her voice little more than a squeak. “What are you doing here?”

      “There’s been another murder. I was about to call you when I noticed your car parked out front.” He glared at Santiago through eyes narrowed with distrust. “I hate to repeat myself,” he said, looking at Regan once more, “but what the hell are you doing here? With him?”

      Santiago gained his feet. He was taller than Flynn by a good four inches. “She is having a drink with me,” Santiago said, his voice as smooth and cold as winter ice. “Is that a problem?”

      “Damn right.”

      “Michael, knock it off. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

      “Yeah? I’ll bet that’s what the woman lying out in the park thought, too, before someone ripped her to pieces.”

      “Oh, no, not another one,” Regan murmured. “How long ago did it happen?”

      “The M.E. puts the time of death within the last fifteen minutes,” Flynn replied.

      Regan nodded, amazed, as always, at the wonders of modern technology that allowed the medical examiner to determine the time of death to within just a few minutes.

      Flynn’s gaze moved from Regan to Santiago and back again. “How long have you two been here?”

      “I don’t know,” Regan said. “Half an hour or so, I guess. Why?”

      Michael looked pointedly at Santiago. “You’re lucky you’ve got a good alibi, bloodsucker.”

      Keeping his gaze on Flynn, Santiago gave Regan’s shoulders a squeeze, then smiled smugly. “Yes,” he said. “Lucky.”

      “All right, boys, break it up,” Regan said irritably. Grabbing her handbag, she slid out of the booth. “I’m sorry, Joaquin, but I need to go and have a look at the body and the crime scene while it’s still fresh.”

      “I will go with you.”

      Flynn rested his hand on the butt of his revolver. “That won’t be necessary,” he said brusquely.

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