Here Comes the Vampire (8 page)

He eyeballed me. “Are you one of them psychotics?” he asked after a long moment.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You know, one of them people who can see into a person’s head and tell them where it is they lost their wedding ring or where they put their eyeglasses or who’s going to win the Super Bowl.”

“I think you mean
psychic
and no, I’m afraid I’m not. I’m just intuitive.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A reality show on the Sci Fi channel.” I smiled, slid his check into my desk drawer and turned toward my computer. “Let’s see who I can find for you.”

I spent the next ten minutes cruising my database for hot, hip, seniors before I hit the jackpot.

“This is all you got?” Osc Ku gutes ar stared at the name and address I’d printed out. “But I’m supposed to get three dates with my package.”

“Not all at the same time. This will be the first one. You’re meeting her for dinner tomorrow night. If that doesn’t work out, we’ll move on to date number two.”

“Cain’t I just see ‘em all at once and get it over with?”

“I don’t do group dates. It’s one match at a time until you find the right one.” Which, I had a feeling, would never happen because as determined as Oscar was to find a new wife, he was still madly in love with the old one.

He eyed the paper. “What sort of name is Levine?”

“Jewish.”

He seemed to think. “Does she cook?”

“Rachel Ray’s got nothing on her.” I let the statement linger between us while I made a mental note to add a check box for cooking at the bottom of my human profile. “And she loves to crochet. And play
Are You Smarter Than A Fifth Grader?
. And she loves watching TV.”

“Football?”

“Does Britney Spears know her way around a courtroom?” Not that I had a football check box either, but Carol Levine had mentioned that she liked watching Sunday morning worship service on TV on account of she was usually out too late on Saturday night playing bingo to get up early enough to attend church. Hey, TV was TV.

I finished giving Oscar all the details and then I sent him on his way with a smile and a silent
Bring flowers and tuck in your shirt.

The door shut and I turned toward the stack of DVDs I’d brought from home. I popped the top one into my computer and clicked on Play. I fast-forwarded, watching a very drunk girl strip off her bikini, plunge into the pool and have wild monkey sex with one of the casino dealers.

Talk about an ad for Encyte.

I was just about to pop out the DVD and mark it off my list when the phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was my mother again.

Thankfully.

As guilty as I felt not picking up for my mom, I felt even more guilty not picking up for Ty.

As if I was hiding something.

Hello? You are hiding something.

Anxiety made my hands tremble and my stomach growled again. I guzzled more blood and sat there for a few seconds, waiting for some much-needed satisfaction. But without a decent night’s sleep, half a bottle wasn’t enough. I’d sort of gotten used to the fresh stuff now that Ty and I were together and so the bottle just didn’t cut it anymore. I had a fleeting image of Remy and his smooth, tanned throat. My stomach clenched. I grabbed the bottle and took another huge swig.

“Trouble in paradise?” The deep voice slithered into my ears and my head snapped up. My gaze collided with a pair of familiar brown eyes.

I swallowed with an audible gulp and stared at the handsome six foot plus of breath-stealing testosterone standing in my office doorway. “How did you get in here? I didn’t hear the bell on the door.”

His dark eyes brightened, blazing a bright vivid gold. “I didn’t need the door.”

Because Ash Prince wasn’t your average hunk of male. He packed even more of a punch because he was a demon. A full-fledged, ultra-yummy, rip-off-your-panties-right-
now
incubus.

He worked as a detective for the NYPD and headed up an elite investigative group that dealt strictly with Others. Translation? He tracked down condemned spirits for the big D himself. The messy, smelly, deadly kind who’d busted out of Hell and were now occupying the bodies of humans. He hunted with his two brothers, Moe and Zee. Also demons. Also rip-off-your-panties HOT.

“Seriously.” His eyes cooled to their usual brown and his attention shifted to the bottle in my r Kotteriouight hand. “Are things okay between you and the bounty hunter?”

“Great,” I blurted. “Super great.” I could tell by the slight grin that he wasn’t buying it. “I miss him, that’s all. We were supposed to do Vegas together, but he had to leave on a case so I got stuck flying solo.”

Which actually made my entire committed-to-Remy predicament his fault, right? If Ty had boarded the plane with me as planned and headed to Sin City, it would have been him in that elevator at the Mayan.

Damn straight.

I held tight to the thought and tried to trade in my guilt for a little self-righteous anger. Unfortunately, my conscience had a No Exchange policy. I was guilty with a big fat G. I’d waltzed down the aisle. I’d bled into the commitment vial. I’d stripped off my panties in the elevator.

Granted, I’d done all of the above while drunk off my ass, but still. I’d sucked down all of those drinks myself. Yours truly.
Me
.

I blinked against the sudden burning in my eyes and forced a smile. “If you’re looking for Ty, he’s in Chicago.”

“I know. I just talked to him about a fugitive he delivered to us last week.” His gaze collided with mine. “I’m actually looking for you.” His eyes burned and the air in the room went suddenly thick. “I need a woman.”

My hormones gave an excited yelp and I started to tingle in all the right places. And then I did what any born vampire who oozed lust
and thrived on sex would do.

I leapt across the desk and humped him like a poodle in heat.

CHAPTER NINE

Psych!

Okay, so I didn’t leap across the desk and hump Ash like a poodle in heat. But I so wanted to.
Bad.

Not because I was a major slut puppy or next in line for a spotlight on
Housewives of Orange County
. Ash was a sexual demon. He inspired pure, carnal, do-me-now-or-I’ll-die lust with his buff body and dark good looks and deep, seductive demon mojo. In other words, I couldn’t help but think about it.

Think
being the key word. I could never bring myself to cheat on Ty. Not unless I was under the influence of some heavy duty vodka. And bourbon. And Jack Daniels. And this tasty chocolate liqueur that I couldn’t quite remember the name of—

Hello? This isn’t AA
.

I nixed the confession and focused on the point of my whole mental tirade—namely, despite the recent catastrophe, I loved Ty.

That meant no humping anyone whose name didn’t begin with a
T
and end with a
Y
.

I licked my lips and kept my stilettos glued to the floor. “Listen, um, Ash, I can totally understand your infatuation. Seriously. I’m beautiful, fashionable, successful,” if one measured success by the ability to cough up the monthly minimum on several astronomical credit card bills, which I had managed to do for the past few months. Yay me. “I’m also smart and intuitive and a really,
really
good kisser.” I shrugged. “I can’t help it. It comes with the fangs. And while getting it on with any and everything with a penis also comes with the fangs, I’m afraid I’ll have to pass. I have a boyfriend.”

His grin widened. “I don’t need you to
be
the female. I need you to find one for me. That’s why I’m here.” His gaze locked with mine and my tummy trembled. “I want Dead End Dating to hook me up.”

“Oh.” Disappointment rushed through me for a nanosecond, before a great big mental dollar sign slapped me upside the head. “
Oh
.” Bingo! “Well, um, yeah, I can do that.” I reached for a questionnaire. “If youonna΀Qll just fill out this—“

“None of that matters.” He held up a hand before pulling a slip of paper from his pocket. “These are the only requirements.”

I stared down at the four must-haves scribbled in black ink.

Human.

Female.

Virgin.

Red hair.

My mind stalled on the last one before I managed to summon a smile. “So blondes are out, then?”

“Actually, I’m negotiable on that last point. Red is just a personal preference. That, and it represents passion.”

“Since when did you become an aura guy?”

“It’s not about auras. It’s about symbolism. This isn’t a typical date. I have to attend a ceremony and I need to bring someone appropriate. You’ve got seven days to find her.”

“That’s really fast. Seriously, we’re talking virgins. In this day and age. In New York City.” I shook my head. “What’s the hurry?”

“The full moon is in seven days. The ceremony happens then.” He pulled a two-inch stack of hundred dollar bills from his pocket and sat them on the desk in front of me. “This should cover any rush fee.”

“But... That is...” My tongue twisted while my mind tried to wrap itself around the great big pile of money sitting center stage. This was it. The big time. Enough money to replenish my stash of couture AND pay the bills for at least another few months. And maybe even get a much-needed massage because my shoulders were killing me from all this stress.

“But I only charge a retainer up front.” What could I say? As money hungry as I was, my conscience tended to get in the way. Especially since I specialized in happily-ever-afters, or at least a mutually beneficial hook-up. This had evil black magic sacrifice written all over it.

And?

You’re a bad ass vampire who rips out throats and sucks people dry. You can’t get more evil than that.

Okay, so that wasn’t me so much as the cast from
True Blood
. Which explained why I shook my head. “I really can’t take this much.” Or any at all. “It’s several times my usual down payment.”

“This isn’t the usual job.” He pushed the money toward me, the action brooking no argument. His eyes fired a bright gold. “I’m down to the wire. I have to have someone appropriate by the end of the week. I’ll make it worth your while, too.”

Hot monkey sex on top of my desk?

The thought struck before I could remind myself that I was happily committed to Ty.

And Remy.

Ugh. I was such a ho ho.

“Another hundred thousand dollars when you deliver the woman,” he added, killing the self-deprecating thought and giving me an even bigger incentive.

“I’m counting on you, Lil,” he added. “Don’t let me down.” And then he turned on his heel and walked out before I could push the money back toward him.

Which I
would
have done.

Even if it was the biggest stack of money I’d ever seen. Crisp. Loaded with that new money smell that made my nostrils flare.

“No.” I eyed the green and shook my head. “I’m not going there.” We’re talking human sacrifice. Maybe he hadn’t said so, but I was no dummy.

Human?

Female?

Virgin?

Either he was going to relive my first sexual experience with a hunky ginger named Jean Pierre, or he was going to off someone in the name of the big D down yonder.

Since I was willing to bet Ash had already had his cherry popped a long, long time ago, I had to assume the worst.

On top of that, he’d mentioned a ceremony.

Forget catch S>Fo long, loning a movie. Or going bowling. Or sharing a bottle of wine and some sushi.

Nope. No way. Nuh, uh.

I wasn’t having any part of that. Even if I could practically hear my mouse clicking away on Gilt.com.

I grabbed the stack and deposited it into my bottom drawer for safekeeping while I hooked Ash up with every inappropriate woman I could find. Then I would, regretfully, admit that I’d failed. I’d give him his money back and all would be right with my conscience.

Minus expenses, of course.

If I was going to send him on a wild goose chase with some of my clients, then I needed to be compensated for my time and effort.

That, and I
really
needed a new wardrobe.

With the money locked up, I retrieved the half-empty bottle of blood, popped a DVD into my computer and settled back to watch more footage until my next appointment showed.

I made it through a threesome in the lobby, a fat guy smoking a cigar in the elevator despite a Non Smoking sign hanging just to his left, and a not-so-nice game of black jack going down in the casino between a very conservative looking businessman and a Paul Bunyon lookalike.

The businessman made a winning call and Paul pulled out an ax.

No, really.

But then the dealer hit the security button and the place teemed with cops in a matter of seconds. The film pitched and rolled for a split second and then bam, everything seemed fine. I watched for a few more seconds as the uppity looking vamp stared at his cards before laying them down on the table for the rest of the room to see. Everyone except Paul Bunyon who’d obviously been hauled away by the police. My momentary excitement took a nosedive back to serious boredom as I moved through another hour of ho-hum footage that did not include yours truly.

A good thing—no humpety-hump.

And a bad thing—no purely platonic elevator ride where Remy kept to his side and I kept to mine.

I was part-relieved, part-disappointed and one hundred percent frustrated.

It was no wonder that when the phone rang, I didn’t so much as glance at the Caller I.D. Instead, I snatched it up in a desperate attempt to save myself from the ever-growing fear that the DVDs were a wasted effort and I was stuck with Remy.

“This is Dead End Dating,” I murmured in my most confident
give-me-all-your-money-‘cause-I’m-totally-worth-it
voice, “where we make all of your romantic dreams come true.”

“Why me?” my mother’s voice came over the line. “I swear this is all your father’s fault. The crazies run rampant on
his
side of the family.”