Must Love Vampires (21 page)

Stoker
really
hadn’t done them any favors with that one, the jerk-off.

“We possess an enzyme. In our saliva,” he explained. “After we drink, we lick the wound to close it and begin rapid healing.”

Her fingertips once again traced her own fang-dots. “These don’t seem to be healing all that fast. And that still doesn’t explain why people aren’t walking around with bite marks everyone and their mothers can see.”

Eyes going wide, she sat back and gave a small gasp. “Unless that’s the motivation behind the whole scarf fad. I never understood the point when only about three of every ten women can pull it off. And turtlenecks . . .”

She gave a small shudder to show how she felt about that particular fashion statement. Of course, Chloe was far from a turtleneck kind of woman. She was every man’s fantasy, with a body Hugh Hefner only
wished
he could get in his magazine. She rarely did long sleeves, let alone anything that hid her amazing cleavage.

“I’m sure scarves have come in handy a time or two,” he told her. “But most times the enzymes begin to heal the wound within only a few hours.”

She gave him a look he had no trouble interpreting. Licking his lips, he returned a sheepish one of his own.

“I was too eager, too rough with you. I did give the wound a cursory swipe, but because of my . . . over-enthusiasm, I may not have done it carefully enough, and it may take longer than usual for you to heal completely.”

“So I’m what? Scarred for life?”

He winced at that, considering the expression’s double meaning. “No. At least, I don’t think so. The marks should heal the same as any cut, leaving behind maybe just the tiniest hint that they were ever there. And I promise, next time I’ll be sure to patch you up properly.”

The minute the words were out of his mouth, she was up and off the sofa. Her turn to pace, apparently.

“I told you, there isn’t going to
be
a next time. I’m not entirely sure I believe there was a last time. This is all just a little too bizarre for me, you know?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I never should have let things between us go as far as they have without telling you. I didn’t mean to lie to you, but that’s exactly what I’ve done. It was a lie of omission, and for that, I apologize.”

With a huff, she threw up her hands. “Stop it!” she nearly yelled at him. “Just stop apologizing.”

“But I truly am sorry,” he continued. He didn’t know how else to convince her. “I should have come clean with you from the very beginning, or at the very least before we ran off to that Little Blue Chapel and tied the knot. It wasn’t fair to you, and I need you to believe that I really am—”

“
Don’t
say sorry,” she ground out. Putting her hands to her temples, she rubbed as though fighting the beginning of a headache. “Don’t apologize to me one more time.”

“But I need you to understand—”

“I do,” she interrupted him again. “I do understand. But every time you apologize for keeping your secret from me, you make me feel like a piece of crap.”

That brought him up short. Narrowing his gaze, he thought about it for a minute, then asked warily, “Why?”

Chloe let her arms fall to her sides, gave a long-suffering sigh, and turned her head to meet his gaze. “Because I lied to you, too.”

Seven

This was so not how she’d wanted to break the news to him. Then again, she hadn’t exactly wanted to be married to a man who claimed to be a vampire, either.

He was so adamant about it, too. And she’d seen the fangs, the inhumanly glowing eyes, and had a tender, scabby bite mark on her throat.

If it looked like a duck, quacked like a duck, waddled like a duck . . . Let’s just say there was a part of her that was beginning to believe he was a duck.

She also believed he was sorry for not breaking the news to her sooner. He couldn’t have been more convincing on that score. But the fact that he’d admitted something personal and questionable to her meant she couldn’t stay here any longer and pretend she hadn’t been lying to him, too.

Releasing a pent-up breath, she returned to her spot on the sofa, sitting down with her head bowed and her hands clasped together between her knees. She continued to breathe, sucking air into her lungs like an asthmatic, then letting it out. Sucking in, blowing out.

“So here’s the deal,” she said, trying to work her way up to the whole shebang. “I’m not exactly who you think I am, either.”

Slanting a glance in his direction, she saw that there was no censure on his handsome face. Where she’d flipped out, gone straight for the “you lied to me!” crazy white woman banshee response, he merely looked curious. His expression was eager and interested, but otherwise blank. Which only made her feel worse.

Tamping down on her guilt, she took another deep, stabilizing breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and blurted out, “I have a son.”

Eyes still squinted tight, she waited. For what, she wasn’t sure. Questions, accusations, a violent outburst? When none came, she slowly pried open one eye, then the other.

He wasn’t angry. If anything, he looked positively gleeful.

“You have a son?” he asked.

She nodded. “His name is Jake. He’s four years old.”

When those details were met with more silence, she shifted on the sofa and began wringing her hands. Fidgeting. That’s what she was doing. Her stomach was in knots and her heart was pounding harder than it had when she’d thought Aidan was going to bite her again.

“I had an affair with this guy a few years ago,” she began, knowing she was about to ramble, but somehow unable to stop herself. “He was rich and attractive, and I really thought we had something. I thought he might be The One. Then I got pregnant.”

With a sigh, she leaned back, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, her chin on her knees. “I didn’t do it to trap him, in case that’s what you’re thinking.”

And then to herself,
Sound defensive much, Chloe?

Yes, she did. For good reason, she supposed. She
hadn’t
gotten pregnant on purpose, even though she really had believed Peter was her Prince Charming.

Just like she’d said, he’d been everything she wanted in a man—rich, attractive, charming, successful. Marrying him would have saved her from a life on the stage and dying covered in sequins and feathers, the same as she was now hoping marriage to Aidan would do.

Of course, the minute she’d told him the stick had turned blue, he’d dropped her like a flaming bag of dog poo. Dumped her, and broken her heart a second time on his way out by telling her she’d been a nice piece of ass, but he’d never seen her as anything other than a temporary amusement, considering he was already married with other
legitimate
children at home.

She’d cried herself sick for two weeks after that. Cried and puked, cried and puked, and she didn’t think it’d had the least bit to do with morning sickness. That hadn’t really kicked in until Peter was far enough away to be little more than a dot on the horizon.

Now here she was, making the same mistakes all over again. Only this time, she wasn’t knocked up, and the most eligible bachelor she’d managed to find was a self-proclaimed bloodsucker.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Aidan assured her.

She gave herself a mental head shake, glad to be dragged out of her maudlin thoughts. Not that their current conversation was much cheerier.

“I was actually wondering why you didn’t say anything before now. All the times we were out, talking about our pasts and our families. Admittedly, we both skipped over
a lot
, but I’m surprised you never mentioned you had a child. Or that you needed to get home to take care of him.”

“Are you implying that I’m a bad mother?” she asked in a deceptively low, steady voice. If he thought she’d gone off the deep end when he’d confessed to the whole unholy, unnatural, unbelievable undead thing, he wouldn’t even want to be in the same county when she reacted to the implication that she was an unfit parent. Because that’s one topic she
was
defensive about.

“Of course not,” Aidan replied, as though that had been the furthest thing from his mind.

Blowing out a breath, she let the tension leak from her muscles and bones. She really needed to stop jumping to conclusions and getting her panties in a bunch before she had all the facts, but where Jake was concerned, she was a complete mama bear.

Bad enough she worked nights and slept much of the day while Jake was awake.

Bad enough she worked on The Strip, in a casino where drunks and gamblers and all manner of lowlifes hung out to watch her shake her bon-bon, proposition her, or pat her on the ass.

Bad enough that one day, when Jake was a bit older, his friends and schoolmates would likely start to think as their fathers did—that “showgirl” was just a fancy term for “whore”—and torment him with cruel jabs aimed at his mother’s job and reputation.

She had enough to feel guilty about, but where her son’s health, happiness, and well-being were concerned, she took her job as his mother
very
seriously.

“Most people who have children love to talk about them, though,” Aidan continued. “Brag about them. Show off their pictures. I’m just surprised you were able to keep him a secret for so long.”

He was right, it hadn’t been easy not to talk about Jake. A thousand times, his name had leapt to her lips, and she’d nearly let the cat out of the bag. Nearly pointed to a game or toy in a store window Jake would have loved . . . nearly let his picture in her wallet be seen . . . nearly said she needed to call it an early night so she could get home to her little boy.

Licking her lips, she ignored the gooseflesh breaking out over her arms and told him the truth. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be interested in me anymore if you knew I had a kid.”

For a second, he said nothing. Then he blinked like an owl—a really sexy owl—and said, “Well, that’s just stupid.”

Chloe didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved by that response. She chose to be relieved.

Before she could say anything, though, Aidan asked, “So where is he now?”

That wasn’t quite what she’d expected, so it took her a second to answer. “At home. With my mother.”

Startling her once again, he hopped to his feet and clapped his hands in front of him. “Let’s go see him.”

“What?”

“I want to meet him. He’s my stepson now, right? So I should get to know him.”

He looked positively giddy at the very prospect, but all Chloe could think was that Aidan was a vampire . . . or at least claimed to be one . . . and taking a vampire to meet her little boy didn’t exactly scream Mother of the Year.

“It’s late,” she told him. “You said it’s nighttime already. He might be asleep by now.”

“What time does he go to bed?”

Her mouth popped open, then she closed it again. Should she tell him the truth or lie? She didn’t even know what time it was now, so she wasn’t sure what bedtime to make up.

Unsure of what else to do, she reluctantly went with the truth. “About nine o’clock.”

“Great!” Glancing at his watch, he said, “It’s only seven now. That should give us plenty of time to get there and have a little visit before Jake needs to go to bed. Besides, we have quite a bit of time to kill before the sun comes up and I can prove to you once and for all what I am.”

Aidan didn’t think a short trip to Henderson should be such a production, but from the minute she’d agreed to take him to meet her son, Chloe had done nothing but chatter away about how she expected him to behave.

Don’t tell my mother we ran off and got married.

Don’t tell Jake you’re his new daddy.

Don’t say
anything
about being a vampire.

And for God’s sake, don’t say or do anything vampire-ish!

What she meant by “vampire-ish,” he wasn’t entirely sure. They’d been dating for a month now and
she’d
never suspected that about him, had she? He certainly didn’t go around flashing fang or hissing like a rabid dog. And he’d never once bitten anyone in public.

Thanks to his sleek little Ferrari Scuderia Spider, they made the trip in no time. It only seemed like forever because of Chloe’s nervous rambling.

Aidan found it kind of adorable, though. She was the hottest thing going—sexy and sensual and completely uninhibited in bed, as well as her everyday life. But when it came to her family, and her kid in particular, she turned defensive, possessive, and protective all in one.

Truth be known, he wouldn’t mind having some of that passionate emotion directed his way.

And maybe one day it would be. They had a lot to work through; she, especially, had some rather major, life-altering facts to come to terms with. But he was confident that once she did, they would be okay, they would have a future together.

One could hope, anyway.

With Chloe giving him turn-by-turn directions, they pulled up in front of a modest ranch home nestled into a middleclass community. Since it was already dusk heading toward dark, it was hard to make out the exact color of the wide aluminum siding, but he thought it was probably a light yellow or beige with black shutters on the windows.

There were potted plants on the small front porch with the twisted iron railing, and chain-link fence all around, enclosing the entire yard. In that yard were clear signs of childhood play—a brightly colored ball, a Big Wheel, one of those miniature plastic basketball hoops, a sandbox shaped like a pirate ship . . .

The items made Aidan smile. He pictured a tiny little male version of Chloe out here, laughing and playing, yelling, “Mommy!”—or perhaps “Gramma! ”—“Watch this!” while he tried to stand on his head or sink a ball into the plastic netting.

And he wanted nothing more than to get down on the ground and play along. Toss a baseball around, play hide and seek, maybe teach the little boy to ride a bike.

He wouldn’t be able to do any of those things during the day, of course, but there was always early evening or indoor activities they could busy themselves with. Heck, aside from what Aidan could provide on his own, there were hotel/ casinos all along The Strip that catered to children; ones that housed arcades, bowling alleys, and Chucky Cheese-like playgrounds that offered children not only their weight in pizza, but entertainments rivaled only by Disneyland and the main Mouse himself.