Her Vampire Husband. Michele Hauf

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      “Loud enough?” he shouted.

      She hadn’t noticed him yet. Why should she? Her eyes were closed and she beat the air with delicate fists in time with Charlie Watts’s drum kit. Weren’t wolves supposed to have excellent smell?

      Creed leaned over and glided his fingers up her smooth calf.

      She startled, her legs sliding down and her shoes hitting the floor. “Whoa! Dude, way to go for the creep.”

      He reached for the remote tucked in a cup holder, and muted the noise. “You discovered the sound system.”

      “Oh, man, this so rocks. Surround sound in this little theater? I could live in here.”

      “I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

      She sat up on the chair arm, the gossamer robe sliding away and exposing maximum flesh. She looked like a high-priced hooker in her bubblegum pink hair and pushup black lace bra. Add the spiky heels and she was dressed to earn a pretty penny.

      Not that he would know anything about hookers. Not from this century, anyway.

      Creed sat on the chair arm across the aisle. Her exotic perfume, which could be suntan lotion with its tropical coconut aroma, carried across the aisle, prodding at his blood swoon. Just relax, and sink into the sensation…

      “Is it okay I’m using this room?” she asked. She made no move to tug the robe over her flat, tight abs. Not that the sheer fabric would conceal anything. Those legs were so long. They could wrap around his back and hang on for the ride. “I didn’t know when you’d be home. Were you…out?”

      “Out?” He could play the innocent as well as she could.

      “Well, you know.”

      “I’m not sure. What do I know?”

      She sighed and pointed to her neck. “You know. Pulling a Dracula.”

      “Pulling a—?” Was she really going to insult him with a reference to a fictional character?

      “The sucking thing.”

      “Ah. You mean the part where I answer the call of instinct to survive?”

      “Yeah, whatever. So what do you do? Stalk hookers in the night or something?”

      “Look who’s talking. You appear as though you tickled one and she sneezed her attire all over you.”

      Affronted, she sat straighter. The move pushed up her breasts so they strained against the black lace.

      Creed sucked in his lower lip. Mercy, but the wolf had a nice pair.

      “I’ll have you know there’s probably not a hooker on the streets who can afford this bit of black lace. It’s from Paris.”

      “Ah? As am I, or thereabouts.”

      “That’s right, my hubby the Frenchman.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees. The position did amazing things with her breasts. Creed could see the rosy circles surrounding her nipples. “Always had a thing for Frenchmen.”

      “Is that so? You could have fooled me.”

      “Frenchmen who don’t bite,” she said with a scratch at her neck. “So what’s the deal with you going out? I should think a rich guy like you can afford to have your bites shipped in.”

      She was so gauche and, yet, entertainingly so. Tonight’s wig matched the pink marabou and it bobbed sexily against her porcelain-fine jaw as she nodded to the muted beat.

      “Normally I entertain donors here at the house. I didn’t want to disturb you though, so my hunting habits had to change.”

      She shrugged. “I don’t care. So long as I don’t have to watch.”

      Creed stretched an arm along the plush velvet cushion and propped an ankle across his knee. No harm in marveling over her. Drawing in her delicious scent. “You know, some do like to watch. Taking blood is a sensual act.”

      “Yeah? Maybe for the vampire.”

      “For the donor, as well.”

      “Donor? You mean victim.”

      “They’re not victims if I don’t harm them.”

      “You don’t consider a bite harm?”

      “I use persuasion to erase their memory of our transaction. The bite heals overnight and they wake with only minor soreness.”

      “Donors? Transaction? Okay, that’s enough.” She pressed the off button on the remote and stood. “You’ve thoroughly creeped me out.”

      “And you continue to intrigue me, Blu. Did you intend to seduce anyone in particular tonight with that clothing choice?”

      “This little thing? Dude, this is what I wear to bed.”

      He rubbed his throbbing brow. “I am not a dude. Your language skills impress me little.”

      “Oh, that’s right. You’re an old man who’s lived it all, seen it all, and must be so cultured and refined. Ha! I can actually mean it now when I talk to my girlfriend about my old man.”

      “Do you speak of me?”

      “Hell, yeah. I told Bree all about our skyrockets-and-lightning wedding night.”

      “Blu, do you ever tire of this front you put on constantly?”

      “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      Sex incarnate had no idea how hot she made him merely by standing there, one leg out jauntily and twisting on the heel of her shoe. Or maybe she did.

      Yes, she must be aware of every single move she made, and how best to move for the optimum impact on the opposite sex. And yet—

      “You keep people back with your blasé attitude and your snotty comments. Why is that? Are you afraid to allow people close to you?”

      She stepped across the aisle. Legs spread and hips high, she bent over him. Her breasts were level with his line of vision, but he instead looked into her eyes. There in the depths glittered a sadness Creed was beginning to realize may have been there a very long time.

      Why he realized that, he did not know. Because she came off as hyperfun, sexy and all about the flirt. Truly, was it a facade?

      “I let a lot of people close, Creed,” she said precisely. “The ones I trust.”

      “How does one go about cracking your exterior? If you won’t accept the trust I offer, then I’ve no means of winning this game.”

      “That’s your problem. You think this is a game.”

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