Heat of the Night (4 page)

Snorting with disgust, Connor lurched to unsteady feet and tried not to breathe through his nose. He withdrew the man's wallet out of his back pocket and took all the cash from inside.

"Karma, asshole."

He left as quickly as his shaky legs would allow. There was a soft buzzing in the air, the sound of words forming in their most infantile states. How he made it through the crowds was a mystery to him. The scents of the human world assaulted him. Fake smells, such as perfumes. Food smells. Body odor.

In the Twilight and in the Dreamers' subconscious such sensory perceptions were dulled or stripped to their most basic. Not so in reality. Connor was forced to pause at a trash receptacle by the exit to throw up.

He didn't like it here. His heart ached. He wanted to go home, a home he loved and missed terribly already.

Instead he pushed open the glass doors of the Anaheim Convention Center and stepped out to his new world.

Stacey Daniels knew it was ridiculous to be sitting on the couch bawling her eyes out. She should be thrilled to have some personal time for herself.

"I should be making an appointment for a pedicure, a manicure, and a haircut," she muttered.

She should be calling the hot UPS driver who delivered the pharmaceutical supplies to Bates' All Creatures Animal
Hospital where she worked. He'd given her his card with his cell phone number on it after weeks of flirting. The accompanying wink had made the offer more than just a business one.

"I could be looking forward to a night of much-needed, no-strings-attached raunchy sex." She sniffled. "Hell, I could be
having
raunchy sex, right now."

Instead, she was a miserable lump, crying because her deadbeat ex-boyfriend had finally picked up their son for an overdue weekend visit. It was pitiful and slightly deranged, but she couldn't get over it.

Sinking deeper into her best friend's sofa, Stacey looked around the condo and was grateful to be house-sitting for her boss, Lyssa Bates. She didn't know how she would have managed being at her own home without Justin there. It would be too lonely. At least Lyssa had fish and a cat, though Jelly Bean was the meanest cat ever. A grumpy, hissing, tail-flicking beast who was presently sitting on the arm of the couch giving her the evil eye. Still, even his unpleasant company was better than being alone.

Of course, Stacey was realizing exactly how lonely she really was. At some point she'd stopped seeing herself as an individual woman and started herself only as "Justin's mom," which wasn't healthy, as her reaction this morning so aptly proved. She had no idea what to do with herself. How sad was that?

You have a right to be mad
, the devil on her shoulder said.

She worked her ass off to make ends meet without a dime of child support and Tommy was the one who got take Justin skiing for his first time. Tommy got to be "cool." Tommy got the privilege of seeing Justin's face light up with joy and wonder. All because he'd had a twenty-dollar bill burning a hole in his pocket in Reno a year ago. A twenty he'd promptly put down as a bet that the Colts would go to the Super Bowl.

"A twenty he should have paid
me
," she bitched, "so I could put gas in the car to get to work and support
our
child."

It was so unfair. She had been saving up for a getaway to Big Bear for almost two years and Tommy ripped it out from under her in two minutes. Just like her life had been ripped out from under her when she'd gotten pregnant in college.
You can always abort
, he'd said blithely.
We've got our whole lives ahead of us and years of school. You can't have a baby
.

"Asshole," she griped. She'd had to drop out of school and get government assistance. Tommy had said it was her choice and good luck. See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya. He'd gone on to graduate and became a struggling screenwriter who had enough money to party, but not for child support. She'd gone on to a series of temp jobs until she finally found steady, good-paying, nondemeaning work at the vet hospital with Lyssa.

Stacey yanked a tissue from the box next to her and blew her nose. It was petty and small of her to begrudge Justin a much-wanted trip just because she wasn't the one to take him. She knew it and acknowledged it, but doing so didn't make her feel any better.

The doorbell rang and Stacey turned her head to scowl in the direction of the foyer. If she'd been at home, she would have ignored it, but she was watching Lyssa's house and pets while the boss was on a mini-vacation with her fiance in Mexico, so that meant watching out for Lyssa's packages, too.

Grumbling under her breath, Stacey stood and crossed the soothing beige carpeted living room to the marble-lined entrance hall. JB hissed and followed her, rumbling his demon cat's warning. He hated visitors. Well, he hated everybody pretty much, but especially total strangers.

The bell rang again, impatiently, and she called out, "Hang on! I'm getting there."

Stacey turned the knob and pulled the door open. "You gotta give a girl a minute to get—"

A Viking stood on Lyssa's porch.

And he was devastatingly gorgeous.

JB's bitching halted mid-rumble, just as Stacey's speech had.

Gaping, she took a long, hard look at the blond giant who filled every inch of the doorway. He was at least six foot four, with a sword hilt peeking over his left shoulder and a brawny chest that would make Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson jealous. His arms were massive, ripped with taut muscles that stretched the golden skin covering them. He wore a straight black, sleeveless v-neck tunic that looked painted on and pants that clung to lean hips before flowing into loose pants legs. On his feet he sported wicked-looking combat boots.

"Wowza," she murmured, duly impressed. The man was hot, hot, hot. Even in a costume. Chiseled jaw, a sinner's mouth, arrogantly slashed brows, and a perfect nose. In fact all of him was perfect. At least the parts that she could see. Gorgeous in a way that was hard to define. There was something different about him, a physical charisma or perhaps a foreign appeal? She couldn't put her finger on what it was that was so unique; she knew only that she'd never seen a more beautiful man, ever.

He wasn't beautiful in the "pretty" sense. He was beautiful in the rocky moors sense, or the Serengeti sense. Harsh and untamed. Awe-inspiring in a wholly intimidating way. And because she was intimidated, Stacey did what she excelled at.

She got spunky.

Cocking her hip to lean into the door edge, she flashed a bright smile. "Hi."

Bright, azure eyes widened, then narrowed.

"Who the hell are you?" the man demanded, his voice rumbling with a burr that was charming and delicious, even though his attitude wasn't.

"Nice to meet you, too."

"You're not Lyssa Bates," he rumbled.

"Damn. What gave me away? The short hair? The big butt?" She snapped her fingers. "I got it! I'm not drop-dead gorgeous and built like a brickhouse."

The corner of his luscious mouth twitched. He tried to hide it, but she saw it. "Honey, you're gorgeous and built, but you're not Lyssa Bates."

Stacey touched her nose, knowing that she had to be looking like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and sporting bloodshot eyes to boot. Some women looked great when they cried. She wasn't one of them. And built? Ha! She'd had a kid. Nothing was where it used to be and she'd never dropped the last ten pounds from her pregnancy. Unable to think of a witty comeback because her brain was fried by his maybe-a-compliment, maybe-a-joke, she said, "Lyssa's out of town. I'm watching things for her while she's gone."

"Is Cross here?" He looked easily over her head and into the condo.

"Who?"

He looked back down at her, frowning. "Aidan Cross. He lives here."

"Uh, yeah. But if you think he'd let Lyssa go anywhere without him, you're nuts."

"True." Something passed through his eyes as he looked at her.

Jeez, she had to go on vacation to wherever the hell Aidan was from. Obviously Hunkalicious on the porch was from there, too. Same brogue. Same sword fetish. Same hotness level.

"I'm going to stay here until they get back," he pronounced, taking a step forward.

Stacey didn't budge. "No way."

He crossed his arms. "Listen, sweetheart, I'm not in the mood to play games. I feel like shit. I need to crash for a while."

"Listen, babe," she retorted, mimicking his pose. "I'm not playing. Sorry you feel like crap, but my day sucks, too. Go crash somewhere else."

She watched his jaw tighten. "Aidan wouldn't want me staying anywhere else."

"Oh yeah? He didn't say anything to me about anyone coming by. I don't know you from Adam."

"Connor Bruce." He thrust a massive hand at her. She hesitated a moment, then took it. The heat of his palm burned her skin and spread tingles up her arm. She blinked.

"Stacey Daniels."

"Hi, Stacey." He tugged her into his chest, lifted her feet from the tile, and stepped into the condo, kicking the door shut behind them.

"Hey!" she protested, trying to ignore how delicious he smelled. Musky and exotic. Male. Sexual male. Dominant male. It made her want to bury her face in his powerful neck and breathe him in. Wrap her legs around his hips and rub up against him. Absolutely bizarre considering how pissed off at him she was.

"It stinks outside," he complained. "I'm not standing out there anymore."

"You can't just barge in here!"

"Sure, I can."

"Okay, you
can
. That doesn't mean you should."

Connor paused in the living room and looked around. Then he set her down, lifted his sword-holder-thingy over his head, and leaned it against the wall near the door.

"I'm going to bed." He stretched his arms and back in a pose that made her mouth water.

"It's still morning!"

"So? Don't touch that." He pointed to his sword, then turned toward the stairs.

"Fuck you." Stacey set her hands on her hips and glared.

He paused with one booted foot on the lower step. His gaze dropped to her bare feet, then rose slowly and hotly all the way back up, stopping at the juncture between her legs, then her breasts, before lingering over her lips and meeting her eyes. She'd never been stripped bare like that before in her life. She swore he'd looked right through her low-slung jeans and tank top to the skin below. Her breasts swelled, her nipples hardened. Without a bra—hey, she wasn't expecting company—it was obvious his perusal had turned her on.

"I'm tempted, darling." His brogue was thick and warm. "But I'm in no condition to do you justice right now. Ask me again when I wake up."

Her foot tapped on the carpet. "I'm not your honey, sweetheart, or darling. And if you go upstairs, I'm calling the police."

Connor grinned, which transformed his features from too-hot-to-handle to absolutely divine. "Sure thing. Make sure they bring handcuffs…and leave them behind."

"They won't be leaving
you
behind!" How in hell could the man make her hot and bothered
and
hot under the collar at the same time?

"Call Aidan," he suggested, climbing the stairs. "Or Lyssa. Tell them Connor's here. See ya later."