My Vampire Cover Model (2 page)

As they moved closer, the model’s masculinity became more potent. She could hear the slight lilt to his deep voice as he answered the ladies questions. His eyes crinkled sexily when he smiled. His teeth were perfectly shaped and a brilliant white.

Deanna glanced at her aunt’s table a few times, hoping to catch her eye, but Carol was busy working her crowd. While Deanna enjoyed an historical romance, she’d never quite taken to the paranormal genre. Aunt Carol always mailed her advance copies, but she usually wound up giving them to Janice. She should’ve given the books a chance. Judging from the crowd, paranormal romance seemed popular. There was a steady stream of women coming and going.

Janice clutched her arm. “We’re next!”

Oh, yippie-friggin’-yay
. Janice stood next to Burn.
Damn, he is tall. A few inches under six-six, anyway
, Deanna observed. Janice babbled nonsensical chatter while the model smiled, nodded, and signed a couple of her paperbacks.

Janice put her arm around the man’s trim waist. “Take our picture, Dean!”

Deanna raised the camera and looked up just as Burn’s searing gaze swept over her like a roll of white heat. God, his eyes had turned from black to silver again. Those special magic contacts were amazing. Holding out the camera, she clicked and hoped Janice was in the frame because she couldn’t tear her eyes away from “Sizzle” or “Burn” or whatever his name was. Deanna clicked another for good measure.

Janice took the camera and shoved her toward the leather-clad hunk. Her mouth went dry, and her insides fluttered. For God’s sake, he was only a model. Why was she so flustered?

She stepped next to him and glanced up.
Oh hell yeah, very tall
. He towered over her by at least a foot. His arm stretched out to clasp her shoulder, and he brought her in tight against his side. Solid, rock-hard muscle. Her insides began to churn in arousal.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

She couldn’t speak. Deanna was like Ralphie in
A Christmas Story
, sitting on Santa’s lap.
Duh…uh
. No words came out.

“Her name is Deanna, but I call her Dean!” Janice sang out.

Burn gently squeezed her shoulder, and it almost brought her to her knees, his touch was so intoxicating.

“Dean. I like that,” he purred.

Dear God. His voice. Is he Irish
? The tone sounded low, sexy, and rumbled deep in his impressive chest, sending shock waves through her entire body.

Then the unthinkable happened. A wash of scent covered her. Deanna could taste it in her mouth, and feel it on her skin. Was the overpowering aroma his cologne? Some guys liked to drown themselves with those tacky body sprays. Burn must have marinated himself in the swill.

Deanna wheezed and her throat closed up. Her hand clasped her throat. Trying to breathe through her nose was unsuccessful. The only thing she smelled was his spicy, musky, overpowering scent. Her eyes watered and her body trembled furiously.

“Are you all right, love?”

Deanna fell to her knees, fighting for every breath. Strong arms encircled her and carried her from the sales floor through to a door marked Staff Only.

Burney laid her on a couch in the staff room. After a few moments, she breathed a little easier and seemed more lucid. The young woman insisted she did not need medical attention.

The moment he’d touched her and inhaled her essence, he knew this woman, Dean, was his mate of the soul. He scanned over her. She was human; he easily sensed that much. Her hair was a glorious crown of luscious strawberry blond. The honey-colored highlights glittered with a life of their own under the fluorescence. Her hair was neither too long nor too short, as it rested on her shoulders. Beige freckles dotted her cheeks and formed an arc across a pert, slightly turned-up-at-the-tip nose. Her sensual, full lips called out to be kissed or to be wrapped around his painfully hard prick. Dean’s eyes were the color of a summer blue sky, and her irises were rimmed with gold.
Bloody feckin’ beautiful
. Her pretty face and figure were pleasing, but why did she have to be human? Humans were notoriously ill-matched mates for vampires. It took ages to convince humans vampires existed, and if said human hadn’t run screaming in the other direction at the revelation, then the whole mortality question came into play. Also the blood thing. Yes, he drank blood and needed it for his survival. Burney could eat food, but only once a week. He could drink alcohol, though vampires never got drunk.

Burney ran the backs of his fingers down her pale cheek. The skin felt warm and soft to his touch. A slight moan escaped her luscious pink lips.
Jaysus
. The moan sent waves of desire roaring through his body. He wanted her. The instinct to take and claim his mate overrode every other thought and emotion he possessed at the moment.

Whisking her away to a private place so he could get to know her most intimately, body and soul, was beyond tempting. He glanced around the room. A few staff members stood off to the side, whispering, watching the proceedings with interest. No doubt they would have juicy gossip at break time.

Carol burst through the door with Dean’s friend Janice right behind her.

“Deanna! My dear, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Are you all right? Your friend said you fainted!”

Burney’s eyebrows shot up. “You know the lass?”

“Yes, she’s my niece.”

Carol sat next to Dean, who seemed recovered.

“I’m better, Aunt Carol. I didn’t faint. I think I had an allergic reaction.” She pointed at Burney. “To him or his cologne.”

Burney squatted down on his haunches so they were face to face.

“Love, I’m not wearing any cologne.”

Carol leaned toward him and gave him a good bloodhound sniff.

“He’s right. No cologne, Deanna. By the way, this lovely looking man is Burney Sheridan. Burn, this is my niece, Deanna Brooks.”

Purely on gentlemanly instinct, he reached for her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a brief kiss on her knuckles. A collective sigh could be heard in the staff room.

“I am honored to meet you, Deanna.”

Burney held her hand in his as long as he dared and with a soft, deliberate slowness, stroked it with his thumb. The heat and flame passing between them caused his heart to beat in double time.
My mate, after all this time
. A raw yearning gripped his soul. Hiding his churning emotions became a struggle.

Dean pulled her hand from his as if she’d been scalded. He mourned the loss of her potent and searing touch.

“He’s an Irish charmer.” Carol smiled. “Your friend Janice told me you were driving back to Bedford tonight. I can’t allow that, Deanna. Your father would never forgive me. You and Janice are staying with me as my guests at the Greenwood Inn. I have a good-sized suite with two bedrooms.”

“Aunt, it’s only an hour and a half drive—”

Carol held up her hand. “I won’t hear any argument, and I won’t have you driving on the interstate in your condition. Burney and I have about forty minutes left. Do you want to wait here or come out into the store? Maybe you should lie down.”

Dean laughed. The mirthful sound had a light, feminine tinkle that sent sparks of lustful electricity down Burney’s spine. He held out his hand to Carol and assisted her to her feet.

“Really, I’m much better. Janice and I will be out soon. Go and greet your public, both of you.”

Carol reached down and touched Dean’s cheek affectionately. “All right, dear.”

Deanna watched as her aunt and the model hunk walked back into the store. What in hell had happened? He wasn’t wearing any cologne? Were they pulling her leg? Even now, his spicy, woodsy man-scent covered her like a heavy cloak. She couldn’t quite pinpoint the odor. A forest after a spring rain perhaps? The scent didn’t seem gross. In fact, the aroma was enticing. There was just too much of it. At least she could breathe again. Janice handed her a glass of water procured from the staff room kitchen. It tasted like cold, crisp ambrosia. Deanna gulped deeply and then passed the empty glass to her good friend. Actually, driving from New York City back to her small town seemed daunting. She pulled out her cell phone and made a quick call to her store supervisor, explained the situation, played up her medical condition a tad, and offered to stay later on her next shift to make up the time. She clicked off, then slumped back on the leather bench.
Never had an allergic reaction in my life. What else could it be
? She hoped to hell Burn the Model wasn’t staying at the Greenwood Inn, too.

***

Burney paced in his motel suite like a caged and hungry tiger. His mate of the soul was down the hall. It took all of his fraying self-control not to kick the door in and ravish her where she stood. The endeavor would be tasteless, as her aunt and friend shared the same suite. At this moment, though, he hardly cared.

Centuries had passed. Never once had he felt the intensity of this pull. The experience astounded him. He’d assumed it would never happen. The intensity of the soul-mate connection varied with every vampire, and scent played an enormous part in the process. It wasn’t only the odor. His little-used emotions were sparking and alive as never before. His heart beat against his rib cage with decided force.

He wondered if he was capable of any serious relationship. Burney had grown fond of some of the many women who’d passed through his long life like wisps of smoke. The rather astonishing thing was that Dean Brooks felt the connection, too. She’d been overwhelmed by his mate scent. Most humans, when first exposed, reacted much the way Dean did. The potency lessened the more they were in the vampire’s presence, or so he’d been told. Inevitably, Dean would begin to feel the soul connection, and thus the complications would begin.
Why now, after all this bloody time
?

Burney slumped into the plush chair in the corner, and ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. In 1781, he had been the eldest son of the Earl of Mexborough. Being a member of the Irish peerage did not exactly translate into acceptance into London society. However, it did not stop Burney from enjoying the fruits of his position. He’d been carousing in Paris with some of the lads he met at Eton, dissolute sons and heirs apparent who had nothing else better to do with their time than fornicate, gamble, and drink to excess.

Being bitten and turned into a vampire one raucous night at a drunken orgy had not been expected. The reasons were not important. He’d learned to adapt to his new life-state. So here in this mid-range motel chain two hundred thirty-one years later, Burney sat, weary, worn, and, he thought, emotionally dead inside.

Burney glanced at his Patek Philippe watch. The time was nearly one in the morning. Dean Brooks’ wildflower and lavender scent filled his nostrils. She must be out of her room. He jumped to his feet and sprinted for the door. Opening it quietly, he observed her headed for the vending machines. He slipped his card key in his sweat pants pocket and closed the door behind him. Dean must have sensed him coming as she whirled around to face him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

She wrinkled her sexy little nose. Burney leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.

“I took a shower. I swear there’s no cologne. Even if there was some trace, it’s bloody gone now.”

She shook her head. “I still smell it. Not as strong though.”

Leaning toward him, she inhaled. Her brief nearness hardened his prick again. Dean shrugged and turned back to the vending machine. She fed it a bunch a quarters, pressed the buttons, and then leaned down to fetch her candy bar. Burney bit back a groan as he was treated to a fine display of jean-clad, luscious ass.

She stood upright. “Maybe a blast of chocolate will help me sleep. Either that, or the sugar will keep me awake.”

“Why not come to my room? I have Bailey’s chilling and lots of ice.”

Burney tried to sound casual but the invitation dripped with lust. He also knew they could do plenty of things besides drinking to help her sleep. He was wide awake, as this was
his
time. All his senses were fired and on full alert.
Say yes
.

“Well, sounds tempting, but I have to get up at the crack of dawn and head home. I have to work tomorrow.” Dean took a few steps away from him and gave him a dazzling but dismissive smile. “It was nice meeting you, Burn.”

She headed back toward her room.

Ah love, you won’t be escaping me that easy. Not at all
.

Bedford-on-the-Hudson was a sleepy little mid-state New York town, nestled next to its river namesake. A place at one time Deanna wanted to escape. Now that she was twenty-six, it seemed a fast-paced life in New York City wasn’t going to happen. Until recently, she’d lived with her parents in the small bungalow she’d been brought up in. She now resided in the granny house at the edge of the property, the one her Nana used to live in. Deanna redecorated the one-bedroom to suit her tastes and purposes, and with its small bath and kitchenette, the place afforded her some semblance of privacy. She paid a nominal rent, as living in an apartment on her own was financially impossible. Her job as price coordinator at Byron’s Department Store didn’t pay much. Byron’s was a local business hanging on by the skin of its teeth, thanks both to the economy and the Walmart Super Center in nearby Newburgh.

Deanna should’ve made plans to find employment elsewhere, but she’d worked at Byron’s since high school graduation. Loyalty played into her decision to stay put, but so did the calm, comforting routine she really didn’t want to shake up.

Standing in Ladies’ Wear, Deanna used the scan gun to check the prices of racks of clothes against markdowns that had been uploaded into the computer system. Yellow clearance tickets spewed out of the label attachment with a low and repetitive clicking. She laid the gun down, tore off the tickets, and began to tag the sweaters. Glancing up at the front entrance, she couldn’t believe her eyes. So much for a calm and comforting routine.