A Body to Die for
Kimberly Raye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Epilogue

Copyright

Bestselling author KIMBERLY RAYE started her first novel in high school and has been writing ever since. To date, she’s published more than forty-five novels, two of them prestigious RITA® Award nominees. She’s also been nominated by Romantic Times BOOKreviews for several Reviewers’ Choice awards, as well as a career achievement award. Currently she is writing a romantic vampire mystery series for Ballantine Books that was recently optioned by ABC for a television series. She also writes steamy contemporary reads for Blaze®. Kim lives deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country with her very own cowboy, Curt, and their young children. She’s an avid reader who loves diet dr Pepper, chocolate, Toby Keith, chocolate, alpha males (especially vampires) and chocolate. Kim also loves to hear from readers. you can visit her online at www.kimberlyraye.com.

For all of you hopeless romantics out there…We rock!

Chapter 1

HE SMELLED LIKE SEX.

Rich. Potent. Mesmerizing. Like a creamy dark truffle mousse with a drizzle of imported white chocolate, a dollop of whipped raspberry cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon-crusted pecans.

The crazy thought struck as she stood in the middle of The Iron Horseshoe—a rough and rowdy bar just off the interstate—and stared at the man who sat at a nearby table.

Crazy because Viviana Darland didn’t normally think in terms of food.

She didn’t do chocolate or whipped cream or pecans. She didn’t do anything edible, period. She was a vampire who thrived on sex and blood, and so her thoughts rarely read like a transcript of the latest Rachael Ray episode.

But sheer desperation—coupled with the past two days spent holed up at the Skull Creek Inn, watching the Food Network and trying to work up her courage to approach Mr. Luscious and Edible—was new to her and so it only made sense that she would act out of character.

After all, her days were numbered.

A wild, rebellious southern rock song poured from the speakers and vibrated the air around her. Her heart beat faster, keeping tempo with the steady ba-bom ba-bom babom of the drums. A neon Harley Davidson sign glowed above the bar and various motorcycle memorabilia—from studded leather chaps to an Easy Rider poster—decorated the walls.

Several truck drivers, their big rigs parked out back, sucked down a round of beers at a nearby table. A group of leather-clad bikers clustered around a dartboard in the far corner. A handful of men sporting long hair, beards and Golden Chopper Motorcycle Club jackets chugged Coronas at the massive bar that spanned the length of one wall.

The loud clack of pool balls echoed above the music. Cigarette smoke thickened the air. The sharp smell of Jack Daniels hovered around her.

It was a far cry from the latest “it” bar down in West Hollywood. She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat.

So?

You’re a vampire. You adapt to any place, any time, any situation. Stop making excuses, walk over and just tell him what you want.

The command echoed in her head and urged her forward. Unfortunately, her body didn’t obey any more now than when she’d first spotted him a few days ago.

The memory rolled through her as she turned left and headed for the bar. She angled herself between two big bruisers and ordered a house beer.

She’d been on her way into the desperately small Texas town when she’d seen the hunky guy parked outside the city limits on the side of the highway. Wishful thinking, or so she’d thought.

But Garret Sawyer had been more than a figment of her imagination.

He’d been flesh and blood and oh, so real.

As real as the day she’d first met him. Touched him. Kissed him. Loved him.

Talk about opportunity. Forget tracking him down and arranging a chance meeting. She could dispense with formality and cut right to the chase.

At least that’s what she’d told herself when she’d climbed out of her car and approached him.

But then she’d glimpsed the surprise in his gaze, the anger, the hurt and her resolve had crumbled. She’d barely managed a “Long time no see” before she’d hightailed it back to her car.

She hadn’t seen him since.

But she’d asked around.

With Skull Creek being the quintessential small town, she’d gotten an earful from everyone—from the clerk at the Piggly Wiggly, to the fry guy at the Dairy Freeze.

She’d learned that Garret was the skill and expertise behind Skull Creek Choppers, the town’s one and only custom motorcycle shop. He’d opened his doors a few months ago and bought a small ranch just outside the city limits. He had two business partners—Jake McCann handled the design and Dillon Cash monitored the software and computer system.

Garret bought coffee at the local diner every evening and subscribed to the Skull Creek Gazette. He also sponsored a local little league team, donated to the senior’s center and served on the board of the Skull Creek Chamber of Commerce.

Exactly what she would have expected from a thirtysomething businessman trying to establish himself in a new location.

Exactly what she wouldn’t have expected from a two hundred-year-old vampire who’d always avoided hanging around too long in any one place.

“It’s on me,” the bruiser to the right said when she slid a five across the bar to pay for her drink.

Her head snapped up, and she found herself staring into a pair of interested brown eyes.

The man had long, black, greasy hair and a thick beard. He reeked of beer and cigarettes and sexual frustration. He missed his wife. But not because she’d been a fine upstanding woman who’d taken her vows seriously. No, she’d been the opposite. A slut who’d slept around on him every time he’d pulled out of town.

What he missed was having a warm body to turn to in the dead of night. He’d never been much of a player, and so he hadn’t actually dated much before he’d met his missus. He wasn’t even the type of man who offered to buy a woman a drink.

Until tonight.

Viv read the truth in his eyes and felt his desperation. And suddenly it didn’t matter that he wasn’t the most attractive man she’d ever met. All that mattered was the sexual energy bubbling inside of him.

The desire.

The need.

Her own hunger stirred, reminding her just how long it had been since she’d fed. Her chest tightened, and her stomach hollowed out. Her hands trembled, and it took all of her strength not to reach out and take the man up on his blatant offer.

But this wasn’t about getting a quick fix and fulfilling some stranger’s fantasies.

This was about fulfilling her own.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” But you might try with the blonde over there in the corner, she added silently. I think she likes you.

He fixated on Viv for a few long moments before the message seemed to penetrate. Finally, his eyes sparked, and hope fired to life inside of him. He turned toward the woman who sat nearby, nursing a margarita and eyeballing him.

Viv took her beer and shifted her attention back to the real reason she’d come to the Iron Horseshoe in the first place.

He sat facing her, his back to the wall, his feet propped on the table in front of him. He wore faded jeans that outlined his trim waist and muscular thighs. A frayed black T-shirt, the words Easy Rider emblazoned in neon blue and silver script, hugged his broad chest and sinewy biceps. Black gloves, the fingers cut out, accented his large hands. A tiny silver skull dangled from one ear. The only thing about him that didn’t scream bad-ass biker was the black Stetson sitting on the table near his beer and the black cowboy boots that covered his feet.

She eyed the scuffed toes of the boots before dragging her gaze back up, over his long legs, the hard, lean lines of his torso, the tanned column of his throat.

Her attention stalled on the faint throb of his pulse, and her mouth went dry. Despite the crying guitar and pounding drums, she could hear the steady pump of his heart. The sound called to her, inviting her closer, while fear held her stiff.

Her fingers flexed on the ice-cold bottle of beer. Her gaze stalled on his face, and she licked her suddenly dry lips.

He had short, cropped brown hair and the rugged features of a man who’d spent more than one day in the saddle. A day’s growth of stubble darkened his jaw and outlined his sensuous lips. Pale blue eyes collided with hers.

There was no flicker of surprise, no glimmer of pain. Just pure, unadulterated lust.

As if he’d been waiting for her, wanting her, as much as she’d been wanting him.

A fierce longing knifed through her, and for the first time in a very long time—one hundred and eighty years to be exact—she felt her legs tremble.

The reaction fortified her courage. It also erased any lingering doubts about her decision to leave L.A. and her freelance career as a tabloid photographer, for a small Texas town and an assignment with a regional travel magazine.

She’d ditched it all for sex.

For him.

Because Garret Sawyer had been the first man to give her a mind-blowing orgasm.

The only man.

And Viviana Darland wanted one more before her past finally caught up with her, and she bit the dust for good.

HE HAD TO BE DREAMING.

Another full-blown, heart-stopping, aching hard-on fantasy.

Because no way—no friggin’ way—was she really here.

Right here.

Right now.

She eased off the bar stool and stepped toward him, and reality sank in.

Shit.

That’s what his head said. But his damned traitorous body wasn’t nearly as pissed.

His muscles tightened. His spine stiffened. Heat swept through him, firebombing his dick until it throbbed to full awareness. His eyes drank in the sight of her, roving from her head to her red-tipped toes and back up again just as she reached his table.

She looked different now. So damned different.

Instead of being pulled back, her long black hair hung in soft waves around her face, accenting her bright blue eyes and full pink lips. A fitted navy blue jacket molded to her lush breasts and tiny waist. A matching skirt outlined her curvaceous hips. High-heeled sandals made her legs seem that much longer than the full skirts and petticoats she’d worn way back when.

Different, yet she still had the same glimmer in her eyes. The same confidence in her stance.

His nostrils flared, and he drank in the same warm scent of apples and cinnamon that he remembered so well.

“Is this seat taken?” Her soft, familiar voice slid into his ears and jump-started his heart. Before he could reply, she pulled out the chair opposite him and folded herself into it.

The music blared a fast ZZ Top song that kept time with his racing pulse. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked after a long, loud moment.

She held up a bottle of Lonestar and gave him the faintest smile. “Thought I’d sample some of the local brew.”

“Not here at the Horseshoe.” His gaze narrowed, colliding with hers. “Here. This town.”

She shrugged. “I’m on assignment.”

That’s what she said. But her eyes. Those bluer-than-blue eyes said something much different. He didn’t miss the flash of desperation. Or the glimmer of need.

“We haven’t had any alien abductions or Elvis sightings in a while,” he said, sarcastically.

“I’m not working for The Gossip Guru anymore,” she said, referring to the national tabloid that sat next to the cash register at every grocery store and gas station in town. “I’m freelancing now. I’m doing a travel article on small towns.” Her gaze collided with his. “Sexy small towns.”

Her words stirred a rush of memories he’d buried a long, long time ago. Memories of the two of them having wild and crazy—

Garret hit the brakes and made a U-turn before he wasted another second going down the wrong road.

He’d traveled that path once before, and he’d crashed and burned in a major way. Sure, he couldn’t help a wet dream every now and then. But that was pure fantasy. An escape from the monotony of living year after year after year.

He sure as hell wasn’t stupid enough to go for the real thing.

Not ever again.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “It’s dusty here. And hot. And it smells like cow shit when the wind blows due south. We’re smack dab in the middle of ranch country. There’s nothing sexy about it.”

“Not to you because you live here. But if you were stuck in New York or Chicago or Detroit, it would be a different story. There are quite a few people who would love to escape the daily grind of civilization and get back to nature. In a small town, you can do that. There’s no traffic congestion. No pollution fogging the air. No concrete jungle. Just lots of birds and trees and rolling countryside.” She smiled. “Come on, you have to admit the view around here is pretty incredible.”

Damn straight.

She paused to lick her lips, and he couldn’t help but follow the motion with his gaze.

His stomach did a one-eighty, and the words were out before he could stop himself. “I suppose it’s nice enough. But sexy?”

“It can be. If you’re with that special someone. There are couples all over the world eager to find an old, quaint small town with friendly people and lots of local color for a romantic getaway.”

“You’ve just described every town from here to the Rio Grande. That still doesn’t answer my question—why this particular town?” My town? His gaze collided with hers and he found himself wishing he could read her thoughts the way he could read those of humans.

But she was a vampire.

She always had been.

A knife twisted in his gut, and he stiffened. “Why Skull Creek?” he pressed.

She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Instead, she licked her lips again. Once. Twice. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn she was trying to work up her courage.

But he knew better.

Viv had never come up short on courage. She was a bloodsucker who took what she wanted. And discarded what she didn’t want.

He knew that firsthand.

“Why not Skull Creek?” she countered. “Besides, it’s not the only town I’m featuring. Just one of five I’m visiting for this particular article.” The music closed in on them for several long seconds as Bob Seger launched into “Night Moves.”

“A travel piece, huh?” he finally said. “Sounds tame compared to the stuff you’re used to.”

She shrugged and took a swig of her beer. “I was due for a change of pace.”

“And here I thought you’d come all this way to see me.”

“Actually…” Her voice faded as she seemed to search for her next words. “I did.” Her gaze locked with his, and he saw it again—the flash of desperation, along with a glimmer of fear. “I…” She swallowed. “That, is, I know you recently opened a motorcycle shop in town, and I thought maybe I could take a few pictures for my article. You know, to showcase all that Skull Creek has to offer. I’ve taken shots of Mr. McClury’s jasmine fields and the gazebo in the town square. I know a motorcycle shop doesn’t seem all that sexy, but it’s the implication. Two lovebirds riding off into the sunset.” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “It’s just a few pictures. You won’t have to do anything. Just be there to let me in and out and answer a few questions.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Free promotion. In exchange for the photos, the magazine will mention your contact information and even give you a free half page ad.” She smiled and he had the sudden urge to get the hell out of there while the getting was good.

The last thing he needed was to let Viviana back into his life, even for a measly travel article. He’d had a hard enough time putting the past behind him.

Better to keep his distance and his sanity.

At the same time, he couldn’t stifle the voice that told him there was something up besides his traitorous cock.

She wanted more from him than a few pictures, and he couldn’t shake the sudden urge to find out exactly how much.

No way did he want to spend any time with her because he still had feelings for her. Anything he’d once felt had died a long time ago, right along with his humanity. The only thing left now was the lust that lived and breathed inside of him. And that, he felt for every woman.

A lust he’d been denying since he’d moved to Skull Creek. He was tired of the endless one-night stands. Even more, he was tired of being a vampire.

He wanted out.

He wanted his humanity back.

“I’m busy with a project right now—a custom chopper we’ve designed for some bigwig up in Dallas. You’ll have to stay out of the way.”

She nodded. “No problem. You won’t even know I’m there.”

He sucked down the last of his drink. “Tomorrow night then. Seven o’clock.”

Excitement lit her expression as she got to her feet. “It’s a date.”

If only.

He squelched the thought, sipped his beer and watched the push/pull of her denim skirt as she turned to walk away.

Watch being the key word. A word that implied distance and perspective and hands off.

But looking…

Well, there wasn’t a damned thing wrong with that.

Chapter 2

EVERY INCH of Viv’s body screamed with awareness as she left Garret staring after her and headed for the nearest exit.

Her hands trembled. Her stomach tingled. Her nipples quivered. Heat flamed her cheeks, and she felt a buzzing awareness from her hair follicles to the balls of her feet. The chemistry between them was even stronger than she’d remembered.

Which explained why she’d chickened out with her real proposition.

She wanted a lot of things from Garret Sawyer—his hands on her skin, his lips eating at hers and his body full and thick inside of her—but a picture wasn’t one of them.

Unless said picture included all of the above.

But still shots of his motorcycle shop?

Forget desperate. One hundred and eighty years without an orgasm had finally taken its toll. She’d crossed the line from desperate to completely deranged.

“Hey there, sweet thing.”

Her gaze snapped up just as a man stepped in front of her and blocked her escape route. It was one of the bikers who’d been playing darts when she’d first entered the bar.

He slid his arm around her shoulder and leaned into her. “Why don’t you and I have a seat and get to know each other better?”

That’s what he said, but she knew the truth. He didn’t want to get to know her. Not her mind, that is. As for having a seat…The only seat he had in mind involved her straddling his lap and doing her best rodeo queen imitation.

“No, thanks.”

“Aw, don’t be like that.” His thick fingers stroked her arm. “I just want to be friends.”

“I doubt that.” Garret’s deep voice drifted over her shoulder and prickled the hair on the back of her neck.

The man turned and his eyes went wide. “Where’d you come from?”

“Do you really want to know?”

The man blinked and shook his head. “Weren’t you just sitting clear across the room?”

“I’ve got fast reflexes.” When the man didn’t look convinced, Garret added, “Shouldn’t you be at home with Liza?”

Shock fueled the man’s expression and his gaze narrowed. “What do you know about my wife?”

“I know she left your sorry ass because you’ve got a hair trigger when it comes to sex. I also know that the two of you are still married even though she’s staying at her mother’s.” Garret’s expression was as hard as granite. “You shouldn’t be here hitting on women. You should be begging Liza’s forgiveness.”

The man looked confused for a long moment before an idea seemed to strike. “You’re one of them superheroes, ain’t ya?”

“Not even close,” Garret replied.

“What about a psychic? My Aunt Bertie was a psychic. She had forty cats and swore she could talk to every one of them. Always knew when one was getting sick.”

“I’m not psychic either. I’m pissed. So get your hands off the lady. Now.”

“Like hell—” he started, but his voice faded when Garret’s gaze collided with his.

“Go home,” Garret told the man.

And beg your wife to take you back. Viv added the silent thought when the man’s gaze finally shifted to hers. He nodded and released her arm.

“Thanks,” she told Garret when the man finally walked away. “But you didn’t have to do that. I can take care of myself.”

“I know.” His gaze drilled into hers, and for a split second time pulled her back, and the wall between them seemed to crumble.

Concern sparkled in his eyes, along with a fierce protective light that stalled her heart.

“About those pictures,” she heard herself say. “I…” I was lying. I don’t want to take your picture. I want you. Wild and naked and inside of me. She opened her mouth, but despite the moment of déjà vu, she couldn’t seem to force the words past her lips. “I—I can’t wait to get started,” she heard herself say. “See you tomorrow.”And then she turned and pushed through the Exit door.

The sweltering Texas night sucked her up, and the door rocked shut behind her. Gravel crunched as she headed for the silver Jag parked at the far end of a row of motorcycles. Her ears tuned for any sound that would indicate that Garret followed.

Nothing.

A wave of disappointment crashed through her, followed by a surge of relief.

Relief? What the hell was wrong with her?

She should have hauled him outside with her, shoved him up against the nearest wall, kissed him full on the mouth and made her intentions crystal clear.

That’s what she would have done with anybody else. What she’d always done to keep up her strength and feed the hunger that churned deep inside her.

But while she’d soaked up plenty of sexual energy from her partner’s orgasms, she’d never closed her eyes and lost herself in the feel of her own body convulsing and splintering into a thousand little pieces.

Not since her last night with Garret.

She’d been a vampire back then and he’d been just another mortal, but the encounter had rocked her unlike any other. They’d had phenomenal sex and she’d been hooked.

And so had he.

The crazy fool had actually proposed to her.

She touched her bare ring finger. She could still feel the metal sliding over her knuckle. In her mind’s eye, she saw the ornate gold band and the bloodred princesscut ruby. It had been small. Very small but pretty. His grandmother’s, he’d told her.

She’d smiled indulgently and played along for a while. The way she always did when it came to men.

She was a vampire. Charismatic. Mesmerizing. She could be dressed in baggy sweats, having the worst hair day on the planet, and men would still find her irresistible. It hadn’t been a bit surprising that Garret had fallen so hard for her so fast.

No, what had really startled her was what she’d felt for him.

She’d actually liked him.

He’d been a patriot of Texas. Strong. Noble. Courageous. And from the moment he’d walked into the small saloon where she’d been working, aka feeding, she’d been attracted.

So she’d done the unthinkable—she’d slept with him not once but several times. Even more than the sex, they’d actually spent time together.

They’d gone on moonlit walks, held hands beneath the stars and confided their dreams to each other.

Wild, far-out dreams of love and marriage and kids and a real home.

She’d been a newly turned vampire back then, desperate to ignore the truth of what she’d become. Likewise, he’d been a man eager to escape the death and destruction that lived and breathed all around him.

And so she’d pretended, and he’d pretended.

She’d seen the love swimming in his eyes, and she’d let herself believe it was real.

But it hadn’t been.

Not then and certainly not now.

He was no longer a weak human mesmerized by her vampiric charm, and she was no longer denying her true nature.

They were both vampires, fully rooted in the present. When they had sex again, there would be no soft words between them, no foolhardy talk of happily ever after. No false promises.

Just lust.

Raw.

Primitive.

Savage.

If they came together.

The doubt pushed its way into her head as she climbed behind the wheel of her car and keyed the ignition.

There could be no if.

Sex had to be a sure thing, and the lame excuse she’d given him tonight would work in her favor. Pictures meant more than one. Which meant they wouldn’t be spending five minutes together sharing small talk. It would take hours, maybe even days, for her to set up her equipment—the cameras, the lighting, the back-ground—and get just the right shots. She had no doubt that the more time they spent with one another, the more explosive the chemistry would be.

Because he wanted her as fiercely as she wanted him.

Even though she could no longer stare into his eyes and see his every thought—vamps couldn’t read other vamps the way they did humans—she’d seen the telltale spark in his gaze when she’d sat down at his table. She’d felt the rush of jealousy when he’d come to her rescue.

Something was bound to happen between them.

Eventually.

Before Cruz and Molly caught up with her again?

The question struck, and her survival instincts kicked into gear. She swept a glance around her, drinking in the half-full parking lot. Her gaze sliced through the darkness, pushing back the shadows, searching. Her ears perked, and her nostrils flared, but she smelled nothing except stale beer and cigarettes and her grip eased on the steering wheel.

She was safe. She knew it. She felt it.

For now.

Over the past year, it had taken at least a week or two for the other vampires to track her down once she’d given them the slip.

With the exception of their last encounter, that is.

When they’d left her for dead.

She’d been sensationalizing the latest in a string of serial murders in state courtesy of the Butcher.

The Butcher had eluded police over twenty-nine murders, and he was still on the loose. While true crime wasn’t usually something picked up by a tabloid, the Butcher was the exception because he was rumored to be a Hollywood celebrity gone bad. At least that’s what he’d told the world when he’d left a bloody message on the wall of his first victim’s apartment. Every tabloid was now hot on the trail to discovery his identity first. Viv had been covering his handiwork from the beginning, from his first kill down in West Hollywood, to an elderly couple in Portland, to the recent handful of bodies found in an abandoned cabin outside of Tacoma.

She’d been scoping out the actual crime scene when she’d been discovered by local law enforcement, specifically a hard-ass sheriff by the name of Matt Keller. Keller had been about to grill her with questions—who did she work for, how did she hear about the murders, why was she there—when he’d been called back to the police station. He’d threatened to throw her ass in jail for trespassing and then he’d escorted her off the property. His parting words? “Stay the hell away from here.”

She should have listened to him.

Instead, she’d gone back. She’d been snapping pictures when she’d been attacked by the two vampires who’d been hot on her trail for over three years. They’d staked her out on the front porch of the cabin and left her to fry.

But Molly’s aim had been off. The knife had punctured her at an angle, a scant half-inch to the right. Rather than hitting her heart, they’d stabbed the inner right lobe of her lung. While not life-threatening, she’d still been hurt badly. She’d bled all over the porch, her blood mingling with that of the Butcher’s other victims. She would have burned to a crisp at the first sign of dawn if she hadn’t managed to drag herself through the front door. Inside, she’d hidden in one of the closets.

It was there, as she’d cowered beneath a mound of stale clothes, her St. Benedict medal clutched tightly in her hand, that she’d felt vulnerable for the first time in her life. Hurt. Nervous. Scared.

Cruz and Molly wanted their humanity back and they would stop at nothing in their quest to destroy the vampire who’d taken it from them.

She could still see their faces, the first time she’d met them all those years ago. Eighty-seven to be exact. She’d been in some hole-in-the-wall border town looking for her next meal when she’d happened upon a white slavery ring holed up in a house on the outskirts of town.

Molly had been chained in the cellar and Cruz had been one of her abductors. He’d fallen in love with her and tried to help her escape, and so he’d ended up chained next to her.

After a violent encounter with the one guard on duty (the rest of the slave traders had been upstairs passed out from a case of tequila), Viv had freed a cellar full of prisoners made up of primarily women and children.

Most of the prisoners had taken off up the rickety steps, desperate to get away before their abductors sobered up.

Except for Cruz and Molly.

They’d seen the truth about Viv, and they’d wanted a different means of escape.

The voices echoed in her head, so strong and clear, as if it had been just yesterday that she’d descended into that hell-hole prison.

“YOU CAN’TJUST leave us.” Cruz held Molly’s hand in one of his and a buck knife he’d taken off the guard in his other.

The man’s body slumped in a nearby corner. He was out cold. For now.

“They’ll track us down,” Cruz went on. “They will.” He nodded frantically. His eyes glittered with the horrific memories of being beaten and locked up and humiliated. He’d watched the woman he loved being raped. Over and over. And he’d been powerless to stop it.

He still was.

The truth burned inside of him, feeding the desperation and fear coiling his body tight.

“You have to help us,” he added, his gaze as pleading as his words.

“Leave now,” Viv told him. She couldn’t do what he asked. She wouldn’t doom anyone else to the darkness. Never again.

“You’ll have a good head start,” Viv continued. “Take Molly and go. I’ll stall them for you.”

“Kill them?”

But she couldn’t do that either. While she’d made her fair share of vampires, she’d never actually caused anyone’s death. No, she’d saved them from it.

Or so she’d always thought.

“I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “But I’ll slow them down. That’s all I can do.”

“It won’t be enough,” came Molly’s small, hollow voice. She shook her head, her eyes wide and vacant, as if the men had stolen her spirit right along with her innocence. “They’ll find us.”

“They won’t,” Viv reassured them. “But you have to go.” She motioned toward the rickety steps leading to the dark, cold night. “Now.”

“You don’t know them.” Cruz shook his head, a strange look in his eyes. He let go of Molly’s hand and lifted the knife. “They’ll catch us and make us pay. And I won’t be able to stop them. I can’t. Not like this.”

The blade flashed and before Viv could blink, he sliced through his left wrist clear to the bone. Blood gushed, spurting out onto the floor at an alarming rate.

“Please,” he mouthed, and then he sank to his knees as his life slipped away.

VIV BLINKED AGAINST the sudden burning in her eyes at the vivid memory. She hadn’t been able to stand by and watch him die. Not after the suffering he’d already endured. And so she’d turned him.

And he’d turned Molly.

And then the two newly made vampires had doled out revenge.

But what they’d first seen as their salvation, they’d come to realize was more a curse.

One they now meant to break.

They’d finally figured out that if they killed her, they could free themselves from the chains of darkness that bound them, silence the hunger that ruled their existence and become human again.

It had been eight days since Viviana had crawled into that closet and faced her mortality. She had no doubt that Cruz and Molly knew that they’d failed by now.

They would come for her again. To do the job right this time. And she would let them.

Because along with fear, she’d felt something else, as well, while she’d been holed up in that closet. As her body had healed, her mind had relived the past. She’d spent three days hiding, healing and thinking about her life, about all those people she’d tried to save from death.

She’d finally admitted the truth to herself—despite her intentions, she hadn’t really saved anyone. No, she’d doomed them to a fate worse than death.

The darkness.

The hunger.

No more.

She figured she only had a few days before Molly and Cruz caught up with her again. When they did, she had no intention of fighting them. Rather, she would face her mistakes this time, and set things right. She would give them back their humanity.

But before she submitted to her own death, she wanted to feel truly alive one more time.

One last time.

She retrieved the medallion she’d left hanging from the rearview mirror, slid the gold chain over her head and tucked the warm metal deep in her cleavage. Gunning the engine, she put the car in gear and headed back to the motel.

Chapter 3

SHE WAS PERFECT.

Garret watched the redhead make her way across the sawdust floor. His nostrils flared. The faint scent of strawberry shampoo drifted through the fog of beer and cigarette smoke. Her breaths came quick, her lips parting ever so slightly. Her small breasts bounced with each draw of oxygen.

It had been an hour since Viv had left the bar.

An hour spent thinking and wondering and fantasizing.

He drop-kicked the last thought as soon as it waltzed into his head and focused on the hunger gnawing at his gut. His stomach clenched, and his muscles bunched. Heat clawed low and deep. His throat tightened.

His gaze narrowed, and he fixated on the woman again. He noticed everything about her—from the way her eyes glittered with excitement and fear to the slight sway of her walk, as if she hadn’t pulled out the high heels in a really long time.

And then he noticed that no one else seemed to notice her.

The other men didn’t stare or drool or eat her up with their eyes the way they’d done Viv.

Because there was nothing supernatural about this woman.

She was real.

Ordinary.

And so the men kept drinking and shooting the shit while the woman slid onto a bar stool and crossed her legs.

As if she felt his attention, she turned. Her green gaze collided with his, and the truth echoed in his head.

This was the last place she wanted to be, but she was sick and tired of sitting home alone, mourning over a recent break-up with her long-term boyfriend. She needed to ease her sexual frustration, get over him once and for all and get on with her life.

She needed rebound sex.

And Garret needed the energy bubbling inside of her, especially now that Viv was back in his life. If he meant to keep his head on straight and his dick in his pants, he needed every ounce of strength when he faced her tomorrow night.

He needed to suppress the hunger.

Satisfy it.

He pushed to his feet despite the promise he’d made to himself to give up the endless string of one-night stands that came with being a vampire. The constant need for blood and sex. The blood he couldn’t deny himself. He’d been bagging it, courtesy of a contact he’d made at the Austin Blood Bank. But the sex…He wasn’t going to sleep his way through Skull Creek the way he’d done every other town. He was tired of moving from place to place. Running. Existing. He wanted to live again.

He wanted his humanity back.

He could have it, too. It was just a matter of finding and destroying the vampire who’d turned him.

A nearly impossible task or so he’d thought. Until Dillon Cash—the computer genius behind Skull Creek Choppers—had come through with a solid lead.

It had started with a cheesy blog Dillon had started a few months ago to locate Garret’s sire. Surprisingly enough, the blog had gained popularity. People had started to comment.

While the majority of visitors were vampire wannabes, there were a few legitimate posts. Enough for Dillon to come up with a lead on the vampire who fit the description in Garret’s memory.

He didn’t remember much. Just a dark, looming shadow, a sweet, succulent scent, and a gold medallion.

He’d sketched the medallion, and Dillon had blogged about it and now they had a name.

One that might lead him absolutely nowhere.

At the same time, there was a chance—however slim—that Garret might find himself that much closer to the Ancient One.

He’d hired a private investigator to track down the name. Dalton MacGregor, the decorated Green Beret and ex-cop who’d taken the case, had promised to have an address by the end of this week. Reason enough for Garret to ignore the hunger churning inside of him and head for the door instead of the woman.

Five steps, and he reached her. Desire sparked in her gaze, and she licked her lips. A wave of self-consciousness swept through her, and she stiffened. She damned herself for not wearing the pink tank top instead of the white. White always made her look so flat-chested.

He dropped his gaze and let it linger on her cottonclad breasts for a brief moment.

Nice. He sent the silent message and shifted his attention to her face in time to see her smile.

“What are you drinking?” he asked.

“Corona.” She licked her lips again, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

The fast rhythm of it echoed in his head, and his gut tightened. He could see the faint pulse of blue at the base of her neck, and a knife twisted inside of him. He signaled the bartender to bring her a beer and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels for himself.

A few seconds later, the bartender deposited a frosty beer mug in front of the redhead and a shot glass in front of Garret. The man poured two fingers of fiery liquid before setting the whiskey bottle aside and rushing toward the opposite end of the bar to fill another request.

“Thanks,” she said as she took a tentative sip from her mug. “So, um, do you come here often?”

“Every now and then.”

“That’s nice.” She nodded and took another sip. “I’ve never been here myself, but I’ve always wanted to give it a try.” She glanced around. “It’s a little noisier than I expected. Not really ideal for getting to know someone.” She shifted her gaze back to his, suddenly eager to cut right to the chase now that she’d worked up her courage. “Maybe we could, um, go someplace quiet. That is, if you want.” She took another sip.

Her red lipstick left an imprint on the frosted mug. The sight stirred a rush of memories, and just like that he was back in the Texas Star saloon with his regiment.

A drink.

That’s all he’d wanted at first, but then he’d seen Viv Darland standing near the bar, and suddenly alcohol hadn’t been enough.

He’d wanted her warm skin beneath his hands, her legs wrapped around his waist, her mouth soft and open beneath his own. He’d followed her upstairs, and he hadn’t come down for days. He’d ended up staying so long he’d almost been declared AWOL by his commanding officer.

Not that he’d cared.

Everything else—his family, his passion, his duty—had ceased to exist when he’d stared into Viv’s blue eyes. He’d been hooked. Infatuated. Mesmerized.

Because she was a vampire.

He hadn’t known then.

Sure, he’d seen the signs.

Her usually blue eyes had seemed purple at times, green at other times. She’d been stronger than most women, uncorking her own whiskey bottles and dealing with drunken brawlers all by herself. And, of course, her aversion to sunlight. But she’d been a saloon whore, plying her trade all night and sleeping all day, and so he hadn’t thought much about it.

He’d fallen hard and fast, and he hadn’t been able to pick himself back up. Hell, he hadn’t wanted to.

She’d been the first thing he’d thought of when he’d opened his eyes every morning and the last thing when he’d closed them at night.

He’d even imagined her there at the end, leaning over him as he’d sprawled facedown on the ground, his blood seeping out into the dirt. Her scent had filled his head. Her soft, silky hair had brushed his temple. And just like that, he’d been distracted from the pain and suffering of the knife wounds.

A hallucination, of course.

He’d been miles away from the saloon when he’d been attacked by a group of Mexican bandits, robbed and left for dead.

An easy target for the vampire who’d come along to finish the job.

He could still remember the presence looming over his wounded body, the strong hand gripping his hair and yanking his head back, the razor-sharp fangs piercing his throat.

One minute he’d been hanging onto his life by a thread and the next, the line had snapped. Death had taken him, only to spit him back out when the vampire had rolled him over and drip-dropped his own blood into Garret’s mouth.

Garret hadn’t even caught a glimpse of his sire. He’d been too weak to see more than a shadow looming over him.

Seconds later, he’d been alone, sprawled on the ground without a clue as to what had just happened. Until daybreak arrived and the first rays of sunlight topped the horizon.

The past pushed and pulled, snatching him from the here and now and luring him back to the morning of his turning.

He fought against the pain gripping him and forced his eyes open. He felt cold. So cold. His teeth chattered, and his body shook. He stared through blurry eyes. Orange topped the trees, promising warmth and a rush of relief went through him. Now he would warm up.

In…just…a…few…seconds…

A shaft of light fell across his face, and pain sliced clear to his bones. A hiss worked its way up his throat as he jerked his head to the side. The heat slashed across his shoulders, and he scrambled away. He staggered to his feet. Pain beat at his temples as the light cracked at his body like a red hot whip.

He stumbled for the trees, but they weren’t enough to shield him completely. His skin burned and sizzled and he moved deeper into the forest. Light filtered down through the branches, stabbing him at every step. The pungent scent of charred flesh clogged his nostrils and choked him. Smoke burned his eyes, blurring his vision as he glanced around, frantic for a place to hide.

Another shaft of light broke through the trees, and he dodged to the left. His foot came up against a rock and he pitched forward, landing facedown on the ground. Clawing at the ground, he pushed until he managed to lift his head. A black hole loomed in front of him.

He dug his fingers into the dirt and pulled himself forward, over sharp rocks and prickly cactus until he managed to crawl inside. He went deeper, deeper, until the light disappeared and he found himself sheltered in the dark, cool interior.

Heaven.

That’s what Garret had thought. The deep, narrow cave had been his shelter. His salvation.

But over the next several hours as the hunger had taken full control, the small space had turned into his own personal hell, a place where he’d fought a losing battle for his soul.

It was a battle that had lasted several days, as Garret remained hidden away in the cave, resisting the bloodlust and trying to come to terms with what he’d become.

Meanwhile, Viv had been back at the saloon, seducing any and every cowboy who’d walked in. Talking them into drinks. Luring them back to her room. Spreading her legs and opening her arms.

Deceiving them the way she’d deceived him.

The realization had come when he’d finally given in to the hunger and left the cave. He’d gone back to town in search of food. But before he’d sank his fangs into anyone, he’d gone to the saloon first. He’d meant to explain things to her, to beg for her help and her understanding.

But she’d already understood because she was every bit the vampire he’d become.

Even so, he’d thought that she still felt something for him. Something that went beyond the bloodlust and the need for sex.

Love.

He’d been wrong.

“I can’t be with you like this. Not now. Not ever again.”

He could still hear her voice as she’d turned her back and walked away from him.

She’d left him because he’d become a vampire who could see through her lies. A vampire who could no longer give her the sustenance she needed—the sexual energy—because he needed it for himself.

And so she’d abandoned him to find someone else to feed the beast that lived and breathed inside of her.

As for love…She hadn’t loved him, and he hadn’t really loved her. He’d been mesmerized by her, seduced by her vamp magic like any other weak human.

But he wasn’t susceptible to her now.

Even if he did have an aching hard-on.

“What do you say?” The soft voice pushed into his thoughts and pulled him back to the present. To the smoke-filled bar and the horny woman sitting next to him. “Would you, um, like to come back to my place?”

Yes.

The answer was there on the tip of his tongue despite his self-made vow. He needed her. To ease the pain inside his body, feed the hunger and fill him with a burst of energy.

He felt so tired at that moment.

So damned hungry.

His gaze hooked on the lipstick imprint on her glass again, and his chest tightened. “I’m afraid I’m a little busy right now.” He slid several bills onto the counter and reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels. “But you have a nice night, sugar.” He turned and left her staring longingly after him.

Because even more than Garret Sawyer needed to feed, suddenly he needed to forget.

The dark hair.

The true blue eyes.

The luscious body and fragrant skin.

The damned voice that echoed over and over in his head “I can’t be with you like this.”

And so he sank down at the nearest table, touched the open bottle to his lips and did what he hadn’t done since Viv Darland had walked out on him all those years ago.

He started to drink.

And he didn’t stop.

Chapter 4

“HOW’S THIS?”

“Move a little to the right,” Viv told the short, balding, forty-six-year-old man who stood behind the counter of Skull Creek’s one and only motel.

It was two hours since she’d left the Iron Horseshoe, and she was desperate for a distraction. Something to pass the time and get her mind off Garret and the anticipation bubbling inside of her.

Enter Eldin Atkins.

He was the owner of the Skull Creek Inn and, more importantly, the oldest bachelor in town. He’d inherited both the motel and his grandmother, Winona, when his parents had retired to a small fishing port on the Gulf Coast. Eldin made all the reservations and looked after Winona while she puttered around, straightening rooms and poking her nose in everyone’s business.

Or so Viv had heard from the waitress over at the diner.

Since Winona did most of her nosing around during the day when Viv had her door barricaded and her shades drawn, she’d yet to run into the old woman.

Eldin was a different story altogether.

The minute Viv had mentioned that she was a photo journalist, he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty to make her stay as memorable as possible.

He’d brought fresh towels every morning and had even upgraded her room for free. She now occupied the one and only deluxe suite with a full-size bathroom and a kitchenette.

Not that she needed the latter, but Eldin didn’t know that. He was just out to attract as much attention as possible because he’d already tried every on-line dating service in the free world, and he still hadn’t had any luck with the opposite sex.

He was hoping like hell that some poor, lonely female read the travel article, saw his picture and realized that, despite his thinning hair, introverted personality and live-in grandmother, he was a halfway decent catch.

He didn’t wear women’s underwear (not since Double Dog Dare Ya night back in the tenth grade) and he didn’t suck his teeth and—and this was the biggee—he had his own business.

Sort of.

Technically, his parents still owned the place, but once they kicked the bucket, the Inn would be Eldin’s free and clear.

Well, his and Winona’s, but his grammy was already older than dirt, so how much longer could she actually last?

Bottom line, he wasn’t such a bad guy. The article would be a prime opportunity to show the single women of the southwest (and a few east coast states where the travel mag had been picked up) all that he had to offer.

Tonight he wore an orange Hawaiian-print shirt, beige walking shorts and a pair of tan boat shoes with tube socks. He had a king-sized Snickers bar in his left shirt pocket and a Slim Jim in the right.

“You’re going to put my e-mail address in the article, right?” he asked. “Just in case somebody is of a mind to reach me? For a room, that is.”

Or, more importantly, a date.

“E-mail and snail mail,” Viv promised. “Say cheese.”

“Wait a second.” Eldin slicked his eyebrows down, threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. One hand paused on the wall of room keys and the other gave a little salute. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“So, Eldin,” Viv said as she checked the shutter on her camera, “do you always stand that way when you’re checking someone in?”

He seemed to think before letting out a deep breath. “’Course not.” He switched angles and struck the same pose. “I usually stand like this on account of it’s my good side,” he said, his words tight as he tried to suck in his sizeable beer belly. “Go on,” he gasped. “Shoot.”

Viv snapped a few pictures before pausing to check the shots on her digital screen.

“Where do you want me next?” Eldin asked after gasping for several deep breaths. “Over by the fireplace? I could build a fire. I know how.”

“That’s good to know. And I would take you up on it in a heartbeat…” Viv checked her flash. “…if it wasn’t ninety plus degrees outside.”

“Forget the fire. I’ll just hold a few chunks of wood. Maybe I should take my shirt off to look like I’ve been out chopping all day—”

“No,” she cut in, desperate to ignore the sudden image of Eldin shirtless. “These are supposed to be action shots. A day in the life of stuff.” She stared deep into his eyes to press her point home. “That means natural.”

He looked confused for a split-second before he seemed to relax. “Let me just straighten the magazines here like I do every night on account of my granny and her dad-burned group are always messing things up. Why, it takes days to get this lobby back to normal after one of her danged meetings.”

“Shame on you for talking about an old lady,” said a crackling voice as an ancient-looking woman walked from the back room.

She wore a purple flower-print dress, white orthopedic shoes and knee-high panty hose. She had a shock of white hair curled into tight sausages that covered her head like a football helmet. Bifocals hung from a chain around her neck and sat low on her nose.

“If I was a few years younger,” she continued as she deposited a cardboard box on the counter and wagged a finger at Eldin, “I’d take a skillet to your hind end. Just pay him no nevermind,” she turned to Viv. “He hates my meetings because he has to give up the TV and bide his time until we’re finished.”

“You took three hours last time,” Eldin whined. “I missed Grey’s Anatomy and So You Think You Can Dance.”

“You watch too much TV. You ought to be doing other things with your time.”

“Like what?”

“The front walkway needs power washing.”

“But that’ll take hours.”

“That’s the idea.”

“But I been standing all day. My feet hurt.”

“That’s ’cause you’re putting on too much weight.” She snatched the Snickers bar out of his pocket. “Steer clear of the snack machine, and you won’t have such a big gut puttin’ so much pressure on your tootsies. Why, I been standing over eighty years, and my feet don’t hurt a bit.”

“But that’s my dessert.” Eldin eyed the candy bar in her hand. “Dessert is one of the four basic food groups.”

“Is not.”

“Is too. There’s fruit, potatoes, steak and dessert. A man needs all of ’em if he wants to keep up his stamina.”

The old woman seemed to soften as she eyed him. “I s’pose you’ll need your energy to handle that power washer.” She handed the candy bar back to him. “Take it and skedaddle.” She waved a hand and motioned him out. “My students will be here in less than fifteen minutes. I’m Winona Atkins,” she added, turning to Viv. “Are you the one who called yesterday about joining my group?”

“I’m afraid not. I’m a guest. Room 12.”

“You’re the one from California? The one with the flashy sports car?”

“Guilty.”

She seemed to think. “Had me a little Pinto once. It wasn’t much too look at, but my husband—rest his soul—souped up the engine for me. It was the fastest ride in town. Faster than that old Mustang Merle Shanks used to hot rod around in, I’ll tell you that much.” She opened the edges of the cardboard box. One shriveled hand dove into the box, and she pulled out an enormous purple vibrator—

Oh, no, she didn’t.

Viv blinked, but sure enough it was purple, it was a vibrator and it was enormous. A neon blue version followed. Then an orange. A yellow. Pink. Aqua.

“What exactly does your group do?” Viv asked as she watched the old woman unpack the box as nonchalantly as if she were setting out crochet needles instead of sex toys.

“A little of this. A little of that.” Winona shrugged. “Tonight we’re learning how to give a blowjob without biting. We’re also going to talk about how to respond when your partner approaches you about a blow job, or vice versa. You’d be surprised how many gals just ain’t that good when it comes to tellin’ their men what they want.”

Tell me about it.

“So it’s like a self help class to overcome shyness?”

“It’s a class to pull the stick out of your ass.”

Viv couldn’t help but smile. While the old woman had plenty of snow on the roof, she was all fire and spunk inside.

“I teach women how to loosen up and relax,” Winona continued, “so’s that they can enrich their relationships with their fellas. It’s all about using what you got to spice things up and keep your man screaming for more. I’m a carnal coach. Coach Winona.” She pulled a penisshaped name tag out of her pocket and pinned it to the front of her dress.

“We also have refreshments,” she added. “Mary Lou’s bringing her famous pigs-in-a-blanket and Jennie Sue’s making a coffee cake. I’m even baking a few batches of pleasure bites to get everyone feeling frisky. They’re small, round little tastes of heaven made primarily of the one thing no sexually repressed woman can resist.”

Viv arched an eyebrow. “Chocolate?”

“Alcohol.” Winona adjusted her glasses. “See, I’ve got a lot of introverts in my class, like poor, timid Ellen Jenkins—she’s the local librarian. That woman won’t even send her hamburger back when they load it with ketchup instead of mustard. She sure as shootin’ can’t work up the nerve to tell Oren—that’s her husband—that he’s just not satisfying her in the sack. So instead of calling him out, she joined my class. She figured if she got better at doin’ it, then she could make up for what he lacked. I had my doubts about that. Oren wasn’t the best-looking catfish in the pond, and so the girls never paid him no nevermind growing up. He’s definitely a plate short of a place setting when it comes to physical relations. But Ellen paid her registration in full, and I wasn’t one to argue with cold hard cash. Anyhow, sober she could barely sit through a lecture without blushing. A few pleasure bites, and she all but fought me for the pole when I did my strip-your-way-into-his-heart seminar.”

“They sound very effective.”

“And pretty darned tasty. You really ought to sit in tonight and try a few for yourself. You might even pick up some pointers on how to be more sexy.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m going to reveal my ten Do-Me-Baby Commandments after we finish blow jobs. It’s a special list I put together over the past few months based on my own experience as a vibrant, sexually active woman.” When Viv looked doubtful, she added, “Back in the day, that is. I’m not nearly as sexually active as I should be right now on account of I’m still pining for my late husband.”

That and she was still waiting on Morty Donovan to haul his carcass out of his rocking chair and ask her for a date. Morty was in charge of Bingo over at the senior center. He also had the whitest dentures in town because his grandson was a cosmetic dentist, and Morty got free bleaching with every visit.

“If you can manage to learn all ten of them,” Winona said, “there ain’t a man alive who’ll be able to resist you.”

While Viv had no trouble consuming liquids, anything solid (even if it was one hundred and eighty proof) was completely off-limits. Even more, the last thing she needed was a how-to list to beef up her sex appeal. She’d been oozing vampire mojo for over two centuries. She already knew that no man could resist her.

But Garret Sawyer wasn’t a man.

He was a vampire.

Larger than life. Tall, dark and totally immune to her supernatural charms because he had plenty of his own.

Forget being a persuasive, seductive female vampire. From here on out, it was all about being a persuasive, seductive female, period.

A scary thought for a woman who’d been turned before she’d even lost her virginity. A woman who’d been so desperate for survival that she’d never learned how to rely on good, old-fashioned feminine wiles.

No flirting or teasing. No licking her lips and batting her eyelashes. No being overly affectionate one minute and hard-to-get the next.

She’d never played games with men.

She’d never had to.

“The first class is free. What do you say?” Winona asked, arching one silver eyebrow. “You want to join us?”

Viv grabbed a rubber penis and glanced around. “Just tell me where to sit.”

Chapter 5

THE HALLWAY BENEATH the house was pitch-black, but it didn’t matter. Garret’s gaze sliced through the darkness and fixated on the door knob. Yes, he could see it, all right. He just couldn’t get his fingers around it because it kept moving.

A little to the left…

A little to the right…

There.

Wood creaked, and the door slammed inward.

A single lamp burned on the nightstand and pushed back the shadows. The walls of the massive room seemed to vibrate. The plasma TV mounted on the opposite wall swam in front of him.

He meant to pick his leg up and take a step inside, but damned if his body would cooperate. He slid forward. The rug caught the tip of his boot, and he tripped. His shoulder hit the edge of a thick maple dresser. His head slammed into the mirror. Glass shattered and pain cracked open his skull. He doubled over. His stomach churned and his throat burned and—

Shit.

He shouldn’t have drank so friggin’ much.

No matter how desperate he was to forget.

Images of Viv pushed into his head, and he could see her looming above him. Her long, silky black hair falling down around her shoulders. Her deep blue eyes glittering with pleasure. Moonlight bathed her pale breasts, her nipples red and ripe and so damned tempting. She braced her hands against his chest as she straddled him. Her head fell back, and her eyes closed. She started to move, her body lifting and sliding as her heat slithered down over his cock, and she rode him hard and deep and—

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Garret forced his eyes open and stared through a watery haze. A few blinks, and his vivid memories faded into the polished wood paneling. He gripped the edge of the dresser and hauled himself to his feet. Three steps, and his knee caught the nightstand. Wood crashed. Shafts of light bounced off the walls as the lamp toppled over and rolled across the hardwood floor.

The noise knifed at his throbbing temples. He fell to his knees, floundering for the king-sized bed. Finally his hands made contact with the down comforter, and relief rushed through him. He needed to lie down for a little while.

Sleep.

When he woke up he would realize that it was all just a dream. Viv wasn’t really here in town, and he didn’t still want her so badly he could hardly stand it.

He sprawled on the bed and closed his eyes, determined to shut out the thundering in his head, the pain in his body and her.

Especially her.

But he hadn’t drank nearly enough for that, and so the damnable vision followed him into the blackness. Teasing and taunting and reminding him of just how good they’d been together.

How good they could be again if Garret let his guard down.

But he wouldn’t.

He’d been burned once before, and he wasn’t jumping into the fire again.

No matter how much he suddenly wanted to.

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