My Vampire Cover Model (5 page)

Deanna sat on her bed and hugged her knees. It was past one in the morning and sleep did not come. Her life, when you came right down to it, had been uneventful and more or less drama-free. She’d been raised in a loving home in a small town and hadn’t traveled much and hadn’t gone to college. The job she held in retail was not very glamorous. Her looks were okay, attractive enough she supposed. Why in hell was a sexy vampire-model interested in her? How could he ever fit into her life, or more importantly, how could she ever fit in his?

Her troubled thoughts were soon interrupted by a scratching sound.
Must be the Wilsons’ cat again. Or the raccoons
. The scraping noise continued, sounding like someone or something clawed at the glass. Deanna jumped to her feet and opened the vertical blinds. The outside light showed there was no one on the small stone patio or in the yard. About to close the blinds, Deanna spotted a letter stuck in the handle. She flicked the lock and slid the glass door open. The unmistakable sound of a V8 engine roared away. Burn’s scent hung enticingly in the air and covered her in sensual warmth. She snatched up the letter, closed the door, and locked it.

Burn had been at her place. How did he even know she lived in the granny house? Had he sniffed her out? Knowing he’d been just on the other side of the glass simultaneously aroused and worried her. She sat cross-legged on the bed and opened the envelope. The Cobblestone Inn logo was at the top of the pages. After bringing her home he must’ve returned to his room and written this.
Like Mr. Darcy did in
Pride and Prejudice.
Who in hell wrote letters anymore
? Burn Sheridan, apparently.

There were three pages of a very neat handwriting. The cursive manuscript resembled calligraphy, it was so ornate and fancy. She leaned closer to her night table lamp and began to read.

If ever there was any proof of my longevity, this letter should peg me as a man of another age. I was turned in 1781 in Paris; I was twenty-seven years of age at the time. My title was Viscount Lamberley. As the oldest son and heir of the Earl of Mexborough, I certainly lived life to the fullest. Imagine my horror to find everything changed that fateful night in a French brothel. I have lived many lives, taken different names, and lived in many places in the world. I have resided in Canada, Italy, Switzerland, and a few different regions of the US. I have been a tea importer, a teacher, owner of an art gallery, and a policeman. Long-term investments have made me independently wealthy.

However, I do not like to sit idle. Through the many decades, wars have come and gone, and as tempted as I was to fight for one cause or another during the past century, my life-state made it impossible to serve in the military. How does one explain aversion to the sun or bright light? Or getting shot, surviving the ordeal, and recovering, besides? I served in other ways. I was a spy for the SIS during World War II, dangerous and necessary work. I was not the only vampire working covertly in such a manner. Since then, my occupations have not been quite so noble but have been rewarding nonetheless. I was at the cusp of the Internet boom, and admit I accumulated vast wealth during the dot-com era of the ’90s. I have been a model for the past twelve years. I enjoy working at my own pace and like the travel, and if I were to admit it, the adulation from women is indeed a bonus
.

Yes, she could imagine. Reading a little more, Deanna discovered he was an entertaining writer, poking fun at himself and certain situations through the decades. Funny, though—Burn never mentioned his family in any way.

My admission to you of my loneliness was not planned, but truthful, and a shocking revelation even to myself. Immortality is not all it is cracked up to be. Along with my many lives, there have been many women, long-term affairs which brought short-term satisfaction but little else. I can say, with all honesty, never was my heart engaged. I began to doubt my capacity to care as the decades passed. Until I met you. It is difficult to explain just how deeply and quickly a vampire can feel this connection. The emotion is immediate and earth-shaking when the mate of the soul is recognized. And I recognize you, my darling, sweet Deanna.

To quote Robert Browning: “I could with all the past were to do over again, that in it I might somewhat more, never so little more, conform in the outward homage, to the inward feeling, What I have professed, (for I have performed nothing) seems to fall short. Words can never tell you, however, form them, transform them anyway, how perfectly dear you are to me, perfectly dear to my heart and soul.”

Deanna lowered the letter to the bed. She reached up to wipe a wayward tear from her cheek. Burn did not declare any profound, abiding love. His letter was not full of those sentiments. Instead, his missive was full of deep feeling, regret, and affection. Actually, she was glad he did not profess any love. Her cynical self would no doubt think he lied. But he was not lying here about the rest, and she knew it. With every pen stroke he laid his soul bare.

Burn wrote he was far from perfect but with her, he wanted to try to be an honorable man and worthy of her attention. How romantic could you get? Well, he had quoted Browning.

Deanna reached for the letter and grasped it tightly in her hand. Really, what did she know of him? A dinner date with no dinner and one devastating kiss.
He’s a vampire, for God’s sake
! How could he feel so deeply in so brief a time? Never dreamed she would affect a man so. Not one as beautiful as Burn Sheridan. Risking her heart and feelings to such a self-professed imperfect man was indeed scary. But that was what made him—perfect.

By the time three o’clock rolled around, Deanna was ready to swipe out for the day. She’d made a few devious plans to avoid Burn. She checked the front entrance, and sure enough at one thirty, parked near the door, the menacing-looking black Town Car idled. She could sneak out the back receiving door and get the bus, but what would be the point? Burn would show up at her house and that was the last thing she wanted.
Hey, Mom and Dad, meet my vampire-cover model boyfriend! Right
.

Seriously, why avoid him? Last night played over and over in her mind, from the soul-searing kiss to his heartfelt letter. Burn charmed her down to her crew socks. Besides, she still had more questions. Immortality? How would it work? Would she become another in a long line of women with whom he had long-term affairs, bringing short-term satisfaction but little else? Talk about heartbreaking—perhaps more for her than him.

Deanna put on her lightweight jacket and with chin high, walked out the front door toward his car.

Burney should’ve been deep in his vamp nap instead of watching the store like he was on a stakeout. Memories flooded his mind of his days as a Bow Street Runner in London in 1836 and his stint as a detective in 1956 Portland, Maine. He smiled at the reminiscences; he always worked the night shift. Police work agreed with his temperament and sense of justice. Perhaps it was time for another go at a crime occupation. Going into business as a gun for hire could be an option. The modeling gig was growing tedious.

He’d had to procure extra blood to make up for his lack of sleep and strength. Sitting here in the car for the last hour and a half had him thinking thoughts he believed buried long ago. Something compelled him to seek out Dean Brooks. He had to be near her, touch her, and hold her. These feelings were against everything he had put in place to protect his heart. He shouldn’t have written the letter. It revealed more emotion than he had shown since he was turned.

Dean’s scent wafted in through the vents. He unlocked the door for her. The sun was too bright for him to get out of the car.

She climbed in and closed the door. His breath hitched in his chest.
God, she affects me
. Dean leaned toward him and laid a soft, tender kiss on his lips. He was shocked and had to control himself to keep from reciprocating.

“Your letter was wonderful. Emotional, heartfelt, and I will treasure it.”

“I’m glad, love. I thought we might head into Newburgh. Get a bite to eat for you then go see a movie.”

She nodded and fastened her safety belt. Burney put the transmission in gear and the Town Car’s powerful engine rumbled to life. He pulled out of the parking place and took his time heading for the exit to the interstate.

“Did you have a good day at work?”

Dean shrugged. “My job is boring.”

“Nothing you do or talk about is boring to me.”

“God, you say the most wonderful things. Why do you have to be a vampire?” she asked.

“So you believe me, then?”

“I do. I don’t know why. Are the movies and books right? Can you turn into a bat or some other creature? Control the weather, or teleport?”

“No, the movies are not right about everything. And no, I can’t do anything you mentioned. I don’t have superpowers. My senses are enhanced, and I can move quickly and stealthily. I’m stronger than a human. In all other ways, I am a man.”

“You’re not taking me to a vampire movie, are you?”

Burney cast a quick glance her way. Her luscious, full lips quirked in jest. The smile shot jets of blissful desire through his entire body.

“No, love. I am taking you to see
Casablanca
. It’s the seventieth anniversary of the release and select theaters are showing the movie on the big screen. I remember the first time I saw it. I was in London at the time, early spring of 1943.”

He glanced at Dean. The glorious smile that warmed his heart had disappeared.

“That’s an old movie, right? I don’t like black-and-white creakers.”

Disappointment rolled through him as the difference in their ages came to the surface. “Have you ever watched an old movie?”

“Not really. I watched
Ben-Hur
one Easter. I liked it. But it was in color.”

Jaysus, spare me from the younger generation
.

“Well, do this for me. Give it a chance. You should try something different at least once.”

Dean shrugged. “You mean like date a vampire? If it will make you happy, okay. I’ll go to the movie with you.”

Dean turned and gazed out the passenger window, lost in thought. They did not speak for several minutes. Finally, she turned to look at him.

“I’m wondering why I’m not more—scared or frightened of this situation. Is this mate-of-the-soul thing putting a spell on me?”

An interesting question and one he really had no answer for.

“I don’t know, Dean. This is all new to me as well.”

“You’re a vampire, and I’m sitting in a car with you, as calm as you please. You don’t think that’s strange? I should be clawing the door to get out. You must be doing something.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have an explanation for you.”

“Is it your scent, maybe? I seem calmer about all this when you’re near. The feeling is hard to describe, like a peaceful serenity. Believe me, I’m usually not this composed,” she said.

“The possibility of my scent making you more accepting of my presence is a good theory. I am not quite sure it is correct, though. But it’s as good a theory as any.”

A decided frown twisted her lips. She hadn’t liked his answer. Burney spoke the truth. He knew next to nothing about this mate-of-the-soul situation. Perhaps his scent held more power than the recognition of one’s soul mate. All he knew was he wanted her with a desperate longing, a primitive hunger.

As he took the exit for the interstate, Burney hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

***

The restaurant had a quiet ambiance and the muted, retro black-and-white tones of the decor had Deanna wondering if Burn was trying to make a point, considering they were going to see an old movie.

Picking at her chicken Caesar salad, she glanced up at Burn, who watched her with a heated intensity. His long, graceful fingers absently twirled the stem of his wine glass.

His letter opened up so many questions, she didn’t know where to begin. He’d been around since before the French Revolution. How cool was that?

“Is Burney Sheridan your real name?”

“No.”

Okay
. “Can you tell me what it is?”

His fingers stilled on the glass. “It has been so long since I used the name it no longer holds any meaning for me. I will tell you I have been Burney Sheridan for the past fifteen years. I usually shed occupations and identities every twenty or thirty years.”

Deanna stabbed a piece of roast chicken breast and placed it in her mouth.

“Must be hard to pull up roots like that, leave people behind.”

Burn shrugged. “I generally travel light, and there is no one for me to leave behind. I have learned over the years not to get sentimentally attached to possessions or people.”

“And now you’re being forced to because your vampire blood tells you I’m the one?”

Burn’s eyes flashed brilliant silver. “Forced? There is a pull, to be certain, but if I didn’t
want
to pursue you, I would not be here. The feelings are unknown to me and worth exploring.”

“And what is the end result?” she asked.

A devastatingly sexy smile curved about his full lips.

“You will be mine.”

He sounded so damned sure of himself, Deanna couldn’t help but laugh. Burney reached for the wine bottle and poured some into her near-empty glass.

“Scoff if you will, but we are fated. Since I was turned, I have merely existed and taken life one day at a time. When you live forever, what is the rush of making long-term plans?”

The words sounded uncaring and blasé, but Deanna knew loneliness resided deep within him. He’d admitted it both aloud last night and in his heartbreaking letter. Fascination did not even begin to describe what she felt toward this mysterious and sexy man. Vampire. Whatever.

Fated mates. How would that work? That was, if she decided there could be something between them. He was right about one thing: there was a pull between them. What would happen when she began to age? Deanna shoved a forkful of salad into her mouth and dismissed the thoughts from her mind.