Kitabı oku: «Holiday with a Vampire: Christmas Cravings»
Acclaim for the authors of Holiday with a Vampire
MAUREEN CHILD
“Maureen Child is one of the stars in the ascendant… poised for the next big step.”
—Publishers Weekly “Child excellently unravels the mystery… without slowing the momentum of the love story… It’s very easy to fall in love with this heroic and sexy couple.” —Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Nevermore
CARIDAD PIÑEIRO
“Anne Rice, move over. This Cuban-American writer sucks up to the ‘vampire romance’ genre with a Latin vengeance…”
—Latina Magazine on Darkness Calls
“Once again the audience will believe that vampires exist… In an incredibly short time, Caridad Piñeiro is proving to be one of the sub-genre’s best writers.”
—The Best Reviews on Danger Calls
Holiday With A Vampire
By
Maureen Child & Caridad Piñeiro
Maureen Child is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than ninety novels, including historicals, paranormal historicals, contemporary romances and series romances. her books have won numerous awards, including a Prism and an Award of excellence. She’s a three-time RITA® Award nominee.
Maureen lives in Southern California’s OC, with her pretty cool husband, two kids and the still-entertaining ghost of her golden retriever, Abbey. visit Maureen Child online at www.maureenchild.com
Caridad Piñeiro was born in havana, Cuba, and settled in the new York metropolitan area. Caridad’s novels have been nominated for various readers’ and reviewers’ choice awards, including the Affaire de Coeur. Danger Calls was a 2005 Top 5 Read from Catalina magazine and the first book selected for Catalina’s cyber book club.
When not writing, Caridad is a mum, wife and lawyer. For more information on Caridad’s books, contests and appearances, or to contact Caridad, please visit www.caridad.com.
Christmas Cravings
By
Maureen Child
With love to my mum, Sallye Carberry, for always reading, catching my typos and being the best mum ever!
Chapter 1
Grayson Stone felt the dawn coming and knew he couldn’t escape it.
He stirred in the snow, his body splayed in the center of a neatly tended yard, and wondered for a second where the hell he was. Then he remembered. A vague echo of a memory danced through his dazed mind. He’d come back to Whisper, Wyoming, as he had every year since his death.
It was the week before Christmas and he’d come here to hide away. To forget. To remember. To lose himself in the serene quiet of what was still a wilderness.
He blinked and focused his eyes on a nearby bush—carefully pruned into the shape of a lopsided elephant—and told himself that the wilderness had done some changing.
But what did it matter? The pounding ache in his head, the lethargy of his body, the creeping sluggishness moving through his system incrementally told him that he didn’t have enough time to think these questions through, anyway. He shifted his gaze to the lightening sky. Already, that broad, sweeping expanse was a faint shade of lavender, heralding the coming sun. And while he watched the day begin, he thought about just how long it had been since the last time he’d seen a sunrise.
One hundred and fifty years.
Times had been so different then. Hell, he had been different, then. Alive, for one. And not in danger of combusting in the first rays of dawn.
“Ironic or poetic that I should die here again?” he whispered, just to hear a sound other than the soft sigh of the wind through the bushes. He’d spent most of his undead life far from Wyoming and the memories that haunted this place. And yet, it seemed that Fate had a sense of humor. He’d come home to die a second time.
His skin prickled with the coming of the sun. It felt as though every nerve ending in his body was suddenly electrically charged. He’d seen so much over the years. Done so much. He frowned at that stray thought, then let it go. He was what he was. Too late now to regret the past. And far too late to beg forgiveness of a God who’d written him off a century before. But there would probably be a welcome party in Hell just for him. Grayson closed his eyes, smiled a little and waited for the flash of fire that would consume him.
“Are you all right?” A soft voice, definitely female, filled with concern and just a little fear.
He didn’t have to hear her fright. He could smell it. Taste it. Opening his eyes again, though it took a Herculean effort, Grayson stared up at a woman, backlit by the growing light.
She smiled, shook her head until her short brown cap of curls danced and answered her own question. “Of course you’re not all right. You’re lying in the snow, probably half-frozen and your head’s bleeding. Not a good sign at all.”
His head was bleeding? Explained the pounding in his skull, but damned if Grayson could remember what had happened to him.
Her scent flavored the air around her. Soap and shampoo and something that was inherently her.
“Well, I can’t just leave you lying out here in the snow.” She stood, and looked around, as if hoping help would appear. When nothing happened, she glanced back at him and said, “I can get you out of the cold, but no way can I lift you. I probably shouldn’t move you at all, but you’ll freeze to death here, right?”
She nodded, convinced by her own argument. She glanced around the empty yard, then back to him. “The barn’s closer. We’ll go there, then figure out how to get you into the house. I can’t leave you out here. And don’t worry. I’m stronger than I look. I’m pretty sure I can drag you there.”
Drag him? He glanced at her and with a single look took in her short, curvy figure. Dressed in a heavy sweater, blue jeans and boots that came almost to her knees, she was a slight woman, nowhere near muscular enough to drag him anywhere.
But she stalwartly grabbed his hands in hers. “Wow, you’ve been out here a long time. Your hands are like ice.”
“Don’t,” he said, pushing that single word past lips that felt wooden, stiff with both the cold and the coming dawn. He didn’t want her help. Didn’t want to owe her anything. Safer for her if she just stayed away from him. He was a lost cause, anyway.
“You’re right.” She dropped his hands, and bent down in the snow beside him. “Look, I’ll never be able to drag you. But I could probably help you walk, if you’ve got it in you. Just lean on me and we’ll get you out of the cold.”
She pulled him into a sitting position and Grayson, understanding that she was clearly not going to give up on helping him, called on every last ounce of his remaining strength. His body was tired. Fatigue seeped into every cell and bled into his veins.
The dawn crept nearer and every minute that passed brought him closer to oblivion. He’d thought, only moments ago, that he was ready to face it. That he welcomed the end. Now though, he felt the same will to survive that had trapped him in this particular hell a hundred and fifty years ago.
He leaned heavily on the woman and her scent teased him—surrounded him. He heard the rush of blood through her body and the fast gallop of her heart and everything within him hungered. Raw, desperate need formed a knot in his throat and Grayson choked on it.
His hand tightened on her shoulder and he steeled himself against the hunger that clamored to be eased. It had been a long time since he’d fed from a living human being. But damned if she wasn’t a tempting morsel.
“Just a little farther,” she said.
The sun was coming.
He stumbled and her arm around his waist constricted as she took more of his leaden weight. “Keep going,” she said, her voice a whisper now, strained with effort. “Almost there.”
Why did she care? What made her go out of her way for a strange man? Shouldn’t she have been more concerned for her own safety rather than his? If she’d been smart, she would have called the police when she first spotted him. Although, if she had, he would have been no more than a pile of smoking ash by the time they arrived.
One more step. And another. He forced his legs to move. Forced himself to survive. Again. Why? Instinct, he guessed. Had to be. Even his kind fought for another day at life—such as it was.
He felt the skin on the back of his right hand sizzle. He glanced down and saw the slight twist of smoke lifting from his flesh as the first, barest hint of sunlight touched him. Grayson clenched his teeth against the searing pain and told himself it was no more than he deserved.
“Something’s burning,” she said, never slowing, never stopping. “Close by.”
Yes. Closer than she thought.
He slumped against her as the sizzle and heat began on his cheek now. Exposed flesh, too long denied the sun, went up as kindling and Grayson knew he was only moments from being engulfed. And if the flames took him while she was wrapped around him, this Good Samaritan would die along with him.
He couldn’t have that.
He’d done damage enough in his too long life already.
Pushing free of her, he staggered forward.
“What’re you doing?” She tried to grab him again, but he lurched ahead, aimed at the open barn door.
“Stay back.” Two words, delivered as an order not to be ignored. Then he lunged for the cool shadows within the barn and toppled into them once past the threshold.
Instantly, relief poured over him like the cool kiss of ice. The darkness swallowed him, and Grayson felt his body begin to heal, begin to awaken now that the morning light had been beaten back. He stirred, scraping his right hand on the rough wooden planks beneath him, and hissed in a breath as the rawness of his flesh erupted with pain. He cradled that hand in his other one and half turned to look at the woman standing in a slice of growing daylight. He squinted at her, made sure he was completely in the shadows, then said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She didn’t come any closer and Grayson wondered if she were already regretting her good deed for the day.
Bracing her feet, she crossed her arms beneath her breasts, tipped her head to one side and said softly, “Now, why don’t you tell me who you are and why you’re here.”
“I’d like to know the same thing,” he said, rather than answering her question. “I thought no one lived here.”
“No one did until a few months ago,” she said. “Now I do, and I still want to know why you’re here.”
Wincing a bit, he sat up and moved to one side, where he could brace his back against one of the stalls lining the old barn. In a split second, he took in the whole structure, noting that the barn was empty but for a minivan, a riding lawnmower—and, wouldn’t you know it, there were a few slivers of growing daylight slanting through the gaps in the roof shingles. He nearly hissed at the sight, but managed to contain himself. When he looked back at her, he could see more than concern on her features. Her deep blue eyes were worried. Almost haunted.
He knew what that felt like and in spite of the situation, he almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“I used to live here,” he said.
“Really?” She didn’t sound convinced. “Because when I bought the place several months ago, it was in good shape, but still looked as though no one had lived here in forever.”
True enough. But he’d come here every year at Christmas. To be alone. Clearly, his business manager had decided to sell the old place and hadn’t even thought to tell Grayson about it. The man deserved to be staked for this.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Uh-huh.” Still not convinced. “So why’re you here now?”
He fingered the back of his head, pleased to see that the bleeding had stopped, though there was a knot there to remind him of how he’d come to be lying in the open. And now that the sun was no longer a threat, his memories of the night before got clearer.
“I got here last night. Saw the lights and was going to leave.” He’d been pretty pissed off about it, too. He’d decided to spend the night in a nearby cave, but before he could leave, he’d sensed something in the woods. Not a vampire. But someone, watching the house.
When whoever it was had left, Grayson let them go. Vampires weren’t big on playing the hero, after all. But then…“Someone hit me over the head. Next thing I knew, you were standing over me.”
Her eyes went wide and frightened. “Did you see who it was?”
“No.” Irritating as hell to admit that. His extraordinary senses should have warned him that he wasn’t alone. But he’d been so damned surprised to find his home occupied that he hadn’t paid close enough attention to the rest of his surroundings.
Tessa Franklin shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. Frightening enough to find a nearly unconscious man in her front yard at the crack of dawn. But knowing that someone else had been sneaking around her house in the middle of the night was downright terrifying. What if he’d found her? What if he was watching her right now?
She hunched her shoulders against unseen eyes and fought for the calm she’d worked so hard to find. Pushing her fears back, she raked her gaze over her unexpected guest. A tall man, he was thin, but she’d felt the strength in him as he’d leaned on her moments ago. He wore black jeans, worn boots, a gray sweater and a short, black leather coat. His features were sharp, as if carved from stone with an ax. His eyes were dark, like his hair, his nose was long and narrow and his mouth was thinned into a grim slash.
Even injured, he carried an air of power that was nearly intoxicating—even to a woman who knew better than to trust a handsome man.
Still, if she were to guide her life by past mistakes, then she would have nothing. She had to move forward. Had to trust herself, or she would never be free.
Tessa looked into his deep brown eyes and said, “Look, you’re hurt. So you can stay here for a while, if you want.”
One dark eyebrow lifted. “You make a habit of inviting strangers into your home, do you?”
“Actually, yes,” she said, forcing a brave smile she didn’t quite feel. “I do. I run a B and B here. I’ve got one guest now and another arriving tomorrow, but I do have one more empty bedroom, if you need it.”
He scowled at her. “I’m fine here.”
“In the barn.”
“Yes.”
Odd. But then what about this morning hadn’t been odd? “But you’re injured.”
“I’ll heal.”
She didn’t know whether to be pleased or not with the fact that he clearly didn’t want to come into her house. There was something about him that felt…dangerous. And Lord knew, she’d had more than her share of danger already in her life.
But she also saw something else in his eyes. An old pain that she responded to. How could she not recognize suffering in someone else? How could she not do everything she could to help?
“You can’t stay in the barn,” she said, deciding on the spot to insist on taking care of the man. She’d once needed help desperately and she was going to pass on that favor now. “You’ll freeze out here.”
“I won’t be staying.” He crossed his feet at the ankles and absently rubbed at the back of his right hand.
Tessa moved closer. “What happened to your hand? And your cheek?”
He blew out a breath. “I appreciate your help but I don’t need further assistance.”
“At least you could tell me your name,” she said.
He was quiet for a long moment, then said, “Grayson Stone.”
“I’m Tessa. Tessa Franklin.” She held her hand out toward him and waited patiently for him to take it.
When he finally did, and his skin met hers, Tessa felt a jolt of something she couldn’t identify pass between them. He felt it, too. She saw the flash of surprise in his eyes before he had the chance to disguise it. And somehow, it made her feel better to know that he was no happier about that flash than she was.
Moving farther back from her, he said, “I’ll rest here, then move on tonight.”
“Maybe that would be best after all,” she whispered, still feeling the hum of her skin where he’d touched her. Her body was awakening to sensations she’d blocked for five years. And the raw ache within threatened to bring her to her knees.
She stood up and backed away, as if distance from this mysterious man could make everything she’d felt drain away. It didn’t help. Shaken, she paused at the doorway, stood in the spear of sunlight and looked at him over her shoulder. Even in the shadows, the fire in his eyes burned hot. She felt the heat of him reaching for her and Tessa knew that Grayson Stone was more dangerous than she’d first believed.
Five years ago, she’d vowed to never give a man power over her again.
Up until this moment, she’d never doubted her ability to honor that vow.
Chapter 2
Tessa poured coffee into a thermos, gathered up a blanket and her first-aid kit, then carried it all back to the barn. Her one guest, Joe Baston, had spent the night in town, visiting his daughter. Joe hadn’t wanted to put his daughter out—so he’d taken a room at the inn and so she had no one to make breakfast for and nothing to do except care for the man in her barn.
“What are you thinking, Tessa?”
Muttering to herself didn’t really help, but it had become a habit during the last few years. Before coming to Whisper, Wyoming, she hadn’t dared to make friends. Hadn’t even stayed in one spot for longer than two weeks at a stretch. She’d kept moving. Always wary. Always scared, damn it. Until she’d finally awakened one morning to decide that she was through looking at life through her rearview mirror.
So she’d found this place, worked like a dog to fix it up and now she was running her own business. True, it wasn’t much of a business yet, but that would change. All she needed was time.
Her stomach jittered uneasily and Tessa paused long enough to slap one hand to it in a futile attempt to calm herself. “Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is,” she said quietly, glancing at the barn just steps away. “He’s hurt. You’re going to help. Then he’ll leave. End of story. Everything back to normal.”
Except, just what was normal? She ran a B and B with only one guest. She lived on the outskirts of a town where she was still pretty much a stranger. Christmas was a week away and she was more alone than ever. And she hadn’t had sex in five years.
Normal?
By whose standards?
“Sex? Who’s talking about sex?” Taking a breath, she picked up the first-aid kit again and said, “You are, Tessa. And you should just cut it out now, got it?”
But who could blame her? The man in her barn, even injured, oozed sex from every pore. One look into those dark eyes and any woman with a pulse would want to throw herself at him. Tessa was no different—despite having plenty of reasons to know better. Completely disgusted with herself now, she headed for the barn before she could find an excuse not to.
The sun was up and slanting across the yard, glinting on the snow brightly enough to make her squint just to keep her eyes clear. Another storm was due, and judging by the thick clouds surrounding that clear spot where the sun clung stubbornly to the sky, it was going to be a big one.
The air was icy and every breath felt as though she were sucking knives into her lungs. The naked branches of the trees surrounding the house were draped in ice that looked like diamonds, dazzling in the sunlight. From a distance, the sound of a fastmoving creek came to her and Tessa paused again, just to enjoy the place she’d finally decided to call home.
Five long years of belonging nowhere, of owning nothing. Five years of using false names and never trusting a soul. Then one day, Tessa had driven down this lonely stretch of road, spotted this house and recognized home. She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t really been looking for it. But this spot, this place, had called to her. As if it had been standing vacant, just waiting for her to come home and bring it to life again.
The small miracle was, that as she’d brought the old Victorian back from its slumbers…the house had awakened her, too. It was as if she was finally becoming the woman she’d once been. The woman who danced in the kitchen. The woman who could enjoy a quiet moment in the stillness, just appreciating a beautiful day.
And because she’d found that miracle, she was strong enough to help a man who looked as though he could use one, too.
With that thought firmly in mind, she headed for the barn again. Her boots crunched in the snow and the wind whipped around her, sneaking icy fingers down the collar of the jacket she’d thrown on over her sweater.
She didn’t care though. It felt good to be alive. And if she was a little nervous about the stranger in her barn…it was a natural kind of nervousness. So that was good, too.
She rounded the corner, stepped through the open barn door and stopped. He was gone.
“Mr. Stone?” She took another step and now her boots clacked and echoed against the old wooden planks. “Mr. Stone.”
“Over here.”
Her head whipped to one side and she spotted him, all the way into the corner of the barn; he had his back to the wall and his gaze on her. All around him slivers of sunlight peeked through the roof like golden bars of a cell, holding him in place.
A niggling, ridiculous notion tugged at the back of her mind for a second before she could dismiss it. “Are you all right?”
“Great.” His voice was tight. “Your roof needs fixing.”
“Yeah, but it’s low on the list right now.” She walked toward him with slow steps. Funny, but she felt almost as if she were trying to ease up on a hungry tiger. He had a taut stillness about him that made her think of a predator. And that was almost enough to make her back out of the barn and leave him alone. But if she did that, then she would be surrendering to her own fears and she’d worked too hard to get past that time in her life. To rediscover her own courage and the spirit that had once been so completely crushed.
“Look,” she said, forgetting about the fact that just a few minutes ago she’d wanted him gone, “you don’t have to stay in the barn. I told you, you can come inside. It’s warmer there and the roof doesn’t sprout sunlight every few inches.”
He scraped one hand across his face, then focused his gaze on her. Even in the shadows, she saw the flash of something molten in those dark depths.
“You don’t have to do this.” His voice rumbled out around her, soft, deep, almost hypnotic. “You should go back inside. Don’t come back here.”
“This is my barn,” Tessa reminded him. “Of course I’m coming back here.”
He groaned and let his head fall back against the wall behind him. “You have no sense of self-pres-ervation at all, do you?”
“Excuse me?” She knelt on the floor beside him and opened the first-aid kit. “I’m not the one who was lying unconscious in the snow.”
“I appreciate what you did, but you should just go back to your house. I’ll be gone by nightfall.”
“To where? I didn’t see a car out front.” And as she said it, Tessa wondered just how in the heck he’d come to be in her yard, anyway. Had he walked from town? In the snow?
“That’s not your concern.” He moved farther from her, tucking himself deeper into the shadowy corner.
Just then, the sun slipped behind a bank of clouds and the barn darkened, the slanting bars of sunlight winking out as if they’d never been. And the man huddled against the barn wall sighed, as if in relief.
“More snow’s coming,” Tessa pointed out with a glance behind her at the open barn door. She could smell it on the wind and in a heartbeat, she made a decision. “You can’t leave. This storm is supposed to be a big one. You probably wouldn’t make it into town before it hit—even if you had a car.”
Scowling, he gritted his teeth and gave her a short nod. “You’re right. I’ll wait out the storm.”
“Not out here, you won’t.” She picked up the first-aid kit again and stood up, to look down at him. “You’ll freeze to death.”
“You’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”
“So I can find your frozen dead body in the morning?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Fine.” Grayson pushed himself to his feet and swayed a little, reaching out one hand to the wall to steady himself.
He was hungry. Every cell in his body cried out for blood and the temptation of having her so near to him was one he was hard put to ignore. Her eyes stared up at him with concern, though, and that was enough to at least momentarily bank the bloodlust clamoring inside.
She had helped him. He wouldn’t repay her by sinking his teeth into her lovely throat.
No matter how much he longed to.
He shot a quick look at the world beyond the barn and noted that the light was gray, clouds having obliterated the sun. He could make it to the house. And once inside, away from the light, he could gather his strength. Then he’d leave her before his hunger outstripped his sense of chivalry.
“Lean on me.” She wrapped one arm around his waist, tucking her shoulder under his arm.
“This is getting to be a habit,” he muttered and was rewarded by the smile she flashed him.
“Let’s get you into the house.”
They made it across the yard and up the steps, with Tessa supporting his every stride. It had been a long time since Grayson had needed anyone’s help. And accepting that help didn’t come easily to him. Still, he didn’t have much choice. If he didn’t get into the house and away from the danger of sunlight, he would die. And just at this moment, with Tessa’s scent filling him, he realized that he wasn’t ready to march into hell.
“Come on,” she said, opening the door. “Come inside and sit down near the fire.”
Her invitation was enough to let him pass the threshold and he stumbled through the kitchen with her help, into the wide living room where a fire blazed and crackled in the hearth. She eased him onto an overstuffed sofa crowded with colorful pillows and Grayson laid his head on the back of the couch. The fatigue seeping into every square inch of his body dragged at him.
He hadn’t been awake during daylight hours in decades. Now he remembered why. He battled unconsciousness, his thoughts becoming fuzzy, his breathing slowing. The scent of cinnamon hung in the air and mingled with the pine garland strung across the mantel. Christmas.
Not a particularly festive time in a vampire’s year.
Especially for him.
Being in this house again brought back memories so vivid, so alive, the empty room seemed to throb with them. He’d built this house himself. Moved his wife and children into it. Planned to live, grow old and die within its walls.
Well, he’d gotten one out of three right.
“Are you hungry?”
He turned his head to look at her. His gaze locked on the graceful column of her throat and he would have sworn he could actually see her pulse pounding there. Her blood would be warm and rich and sweet. He could almost taste it, flowing down his throat, slaking his thirst, easing his pain.
Deliberately, he closed his eyes. “No.”
“At least let me get you some coffee.”
“Fine. And—” he spoke quickly as she turned to go to the kitchen “—I’m expecting a delivery this afternoon. If I’m…asleep, will you sign for it?”
“Sure, but—”
“Thanks.” That one word was a dismissal and she obviously felt it. He wasn’t about to explain about the delivery of blood for which he’d arranged before he knew his house would be occupied. And, he told himself, his business manager was going to pay for it as soon as Grayson returned to New York.
“Okay, be right back.”
He listened to the fire, letting its soothing sounds settle over him. Memories crowded his mind as sleep dragged him down—images of a different place, a different time, danced through his mind, one after the other. He allowed them to fill him and welcomed the pain as he remembered the faces of his children. His wife’s voice.
Then the images shifted, changing, becoming the living nightmare that was never entirely gone.
His family’s screams echoed over and over again in his mind and Grayson jerked awake suddenly with a shriek erupting from his own chest.
The sun.
“Damn it!” He jolted from the couch and the wide beam of sunlight lying across it.
The windows were uncovered to welcome whatever winter sunlight made it through the clouds. And the once shadow-filled living room was now bathed in a golden light that had already burned patches of skin from his hands and face.
Skin smoking, eyes streaming, Grayson took one long leap and stood against the far wall, air wheezing from his lungs. His fangs exploded in his mouth and the adrenaline coursing through him turned him into a dangerous creature. Age-old instincts rippled through him and whatever there was left of the man he’d been drained away. He was now a wild thing—looking for survival above all else.
“Fool.” The day had made him slow and stupid. He should have secured the damn drapes. Made certain that no sun could reach him. But he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been so wrapped up in the past he’d forgotten about the present.
He squinted into the sunlight streaming through the window and screaming pain lanced through his mind and body. His chest felt tight, his lungs strained for air. His skin was ablaze with burning agony. He turned his gaze from the window, lifted one scorched hand to protect his eyes and spotted Tessa, who had stopped dead in the doorway.
As if in slow motion, she dropped the coffee cup she held. It shattered on the floor, brown liquid splashing up on her jeans. Her eyes wide, her mouth open, she looked at him and he knew exactly what she was seeing.
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