My Vampire Cover Model (8 page)

As he gave equal attention to each breast, Dean’s ragged breathing and moans of pleasure indicated to him she was about to climax. Smiling in satisfaction and becoming a little more aggressive, he clasped her left tit between his hands and kneaded while he sucked. She cried out, her back arching. He was ready to blast apart himself.

Burney stood, stepped out of his jeans, and then climbed onto the bed next to her. Pulling her close, he stroked her trembling arms. He made himself remember Dean was human. If he kept up this pace, she would not be able to walk for a week.

Giving her time to catch her breath, Burney began his exploration over every inch of her skin. He fondled, kissed, and caressed everywhere.

She lay back and spread her legs in invitation. Burney slid down and his lips fastened on her swollen little nub. She shot off the bed and cried out. So responsive. Plunging his tongue deep, he took his thumb and stroked her clit in time with his thrusts. Minutes later, Dean climaxed again. He couldn’t wait, as the need to be inside her again caused a sexual haze to cloud his brain. Burney crawled up her body with stealthy purpose. Taking his sheathed cock in hand, he pushed into her swollen pussy.

If he thought he’d lost control before, now he felt as if he were about to fall off a high cliff. The ferocity, the power of his desire astounded him. Being inside her sultry wetness brought such hot, flaming pleasure he thought the top of his head would blow off. Sparks arced between them, his skin ablaze with such a potent mixture of lust and love he thought his heart would burst. He pounded faster as the overwhelming need to claim her as the mate of his soul urged him onward. His fangs extended in anticipation. His head fell back and eyes closed. He snarled.
Claim. Love. My mate. Mine
. With two quick thrusts, he climaxed. He felt his fangs extend even farther and couldn’t control his actions. He leaned down to bite her on the neck.

Dean began to scream.

Burney’s eyes popped open, and he looked down. She scrambled away from him in terror. The look of sheer horror on her face smashed his heart into jagged shards. His release suddenly seemed empty, devoid of any satisfaction. Pushing away, he stumbled to his feet. His stomach roiled. Dean had rejected him. Reaching out for the wall for support, he gagged.
Feckin’ hell, how could I have been so damned foolish
?

Glancing back at the bed, he saw Dean tremble as she hugged herself for comfort. He couldn’t bring himself to offer any consolation.

“Get dressed. I’m taking you home.”

The decision was in his hands now. He knew what had to be done.

***

They drove in silence toward Dean’s house. He had no idea rejection would hurt this much.

“Burn, we have to talk. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did. Your face seemed to change. I could see the veins under your skin. Your fangs, well—I wasn’t prepared you see—”

He should’ve discussed the ramifications of the mate-of-the-soul bond, what he had to do to claim her, and what was required of her in return. He hadn’t. Instead, he’d simply lost control. Regardless, he would not subject himself to this situation. No, that wasn’t it. Dean was not ready and probably never would be. The best thing would be to cut this clean. He loved her enough to let her go. She deserved a life with a man she could grow old with. It would never be him.

“Dean, no worries. We’ll discuss this at another time.”

He pulled the Town Car into her driveway and turned off the motor.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he offered gallantly.

The night was clear and starry and the moon cast a magical illumination to the horizon. Crickets sang in the bushes and a gentle breeze blew through the leaves. The slight fragrance of late-spring lilac lingered in the air. The night was ideal. Burney derived no enjoyment from any of it. Everything tasted of ash and smelled of sulfur.

Stopping in front of the door of her little house, he turned toward Dean and cupped her cheeks for one last kiss before he said good-bye. He leaned down and kissed her with every last vestige of his love and desire. She threw her arms around his neck and returned it. She tasted of forgiveness and regret, but it was far too late.

He lingered. The kiss was heartbreaking. Burney ended it and leaned his forehead against hers. Closing his eyes, he concentrated. He had not done this in decades. The silver threads of memory began to form, and he pulled them from her mind. All remembrances of their meeting—the intense emotions, their afternoons together, and the lovemaking—would be gone. Burney could sense her overwhelming feelings while he extracted the memories. She’d never experienced such heights with any man, except for him. While part of him was proud he was the man to make her passion soar to a never-before-reached otherworldly plane, another part regretted he would never be able to take her there again. By the time Dean walked into her tiny home and closed the door, Burn the Cover God would start to fade from memory.

However, he would be doomed for eternity to relive the last three days—and nights. Served him right. Burney had avoided deep attachments his whole existence for this very reason. As the last threads were lost to mist, he stepped back.

“Good-bye, my love.”

Dean looked perplexed. “You’ll call me tomorrow, Burn?”

“Yes,” he lied, his voice heavy with sadness.

Burney backed away as he watched her enter her house and close the door. What few shards were left of his heart blew apart into fine powder. He turned, his head down, his shoulders stooped, and walked toward the Lincoln. It was better not to feel. Time now for Burn the Cover Model to snuff out the flame and retire once again into shadow.

Seven months later

Deanna had a hold of his cock, her hand stroking the velvety strength. She leaned down and closed her mouth over the broad head. Her hand, at the base, twisted in time with her oral sensual assault. He tasted of dangerous and mysterious nights, and something unearthly she couldn’t quite place. He moaned. Long and lusty animal groans of utter satisfaction rumbled deep in his sculpted, muscular chest. She took his cock deeper, hollowing her cheeks for greater suction. His long, elegant fingers splayed at the back of her head, and he pumped his hips, encouraging her to take him all.

His low, sexy growls urged her on until his body drew taut and his hot release shot down her throat. She looked up at him, licked her lips, and smiled. “Ready for more?”

Deanna snapped awake. The sheets and blankets were half on the floor and her body was covered in sweat. Her hand pumped between her legs, plunging into the wetness. She cried out and bit on her fist to muffle the orgasmic scream.

Not again
. These erotic dreams were overtaking her life. Last night, the scene had been a Jacuzzi, and she was riding the man like he was Seabiscuit. Swinging her legs, she sat upright and reached for the bottle of water on her night table. She took a long pull, replaced the cap, and set the bottle on the table. Deanna stood. Her legs shook like jelly. She made her way to the bathroom. Leaning over the sink, she took in deep gulps of breath. There it was again. The scent was spicy, woodsy, and masculine. Where was it coming from? It happened every time she awoke from one of these hot, wet, nocturnal episodes. The aroma slowly dissipated and disappeared.

Glancing up in the mirror, Deanna began to doubt her sanity. What started as a few sporadic imaginings had grown into an almost nightly erotic feast, all starring the same guy. Who was he? She’d never seen him before, but apparently she’d conjured the man up from somewhere. A porn movie she’d seen late one night channel surfing? He hardly looked like a porn star. First off, he didn’t have any tattoos, and the man was beyond handsome and built like a Greek god. The few times she’d stopped and watched porn, the guys were skinny, ugly, and pierced in gross places. Not this man of her dreams, tall, dark-haired, handsome, and elegant in his looks and movement.

Not every vision was full of hot, off-the-charts sex. It was if she were having a relationship with this mystery man. Scenes of long walks on the beach, shared experiences of music, books, dinners out, and cuddling in bed, watching old movies.
How corny can you get
? Apparently feelings of loneliness and desperation ruled her nightly subconscious, if she were conjuring up a stud muffin to fulfill every longing and fantasy. When she woke from these dreams, a wave of loss would skitter through her as if she were in mourning. Sadness at the loss of his touch, his kiss, and his gentle and focused affection would stay with her for hours. Over some guy she’d invented in her imagination?

Deanna splashed cold water on her face, reached for a towel, and rubbed with a good deal of vigor. Most nights she simultaneously dreaded and looked forward to sleep just so she could spend time with this mystifying, masculine hunk.
Yep, losing it
.

Flopping back down on her bed, she reached for the top sheet and turned to look out through the open vertical blinds. The wind howled outside as dried, dead leaves swirled around the sliding door entrance. Perhaps these fantasies were caused by stress. Since it was the middle of November, the Christmas rush was right around the corner. Her boss hinted this Christmas might be their last. Great, come the new year unemployment could be a possibility.

Deanna glanced at the bedside clock. Six thirty. She watched the sun rise and tried not to think of the sexy beast from her fevered imaginings.

***

Burney Sheridan glanced at the few boxes piled up in his apartment. Starting over from scratch and adopting a new persona was not something that happened overnight. He had contractual obligations to Night Moon Publishers to take care of. If he disappeared without a word, it could cause unwanted interference and invasion in his life. Better to withdraw with slow purpose and cover his tracks in a careful, methodical manner.

He canceled his credit cards, closed accounts, and with the assistance of his contact within the vampire agency, obtained all-new identification. He glanced at his new driver’s license. A smile curved about his lips at the name. He had been born Liam Savile Calvagh Ryan McGarvey. His new ID stated the name as Liam Cregan McGarvey. Burney hadn’t used his own name in close to one hundred fifty years. The question Dean asked about his name had opened up a lot of buried memories. He’d thought of his family for the first time in decades. After he was turned, he’d faked his own death and never contacted them or their descendants. Burney surmised his younger brother had inherited the title. No attachments meant he did not have to endure their inevitable loss. Denying his family had gone on long enough. The time had come to embrace his past.

He walked to the large window and looked out over the Manhattan skyline. Leaning his hand on the frame, Burney exhaled. The last seven months had been utter torture. His removal of Dean’s memories had been an impulsive move, and he’d doubted his actions every waking moment since. Speaking to another vampire recently also had him wondering if he’d botched the job. An extraction was intended to erase memories within minutes of their happening, not three or four days later. The possibility of lingering shadow thoughts could complicate matters. Also, he’d chosen not to cover his tracks with her aunt and friend. They still had the memories of him and Dean meeting. Well, seven months had passed already and he had heard nothing, so perhaps all was as it should be.

He hadn’t been with any women these last months. Dean was the only woman he wanted. The memory of her was more potent and real than any toss in the sheets with a stranger. His reminiscences would have to sustain him for the rest of his existence.

Burney had one last round of appearances with Carol Brooks to finish off his contract. His face and bare-chested torso graced her latest book,
Blood Craving
, so a few last signings should close the door on his life as Burn the Cover Model.

He ran his hand through his hair. The length reached his shoulders now and had been bleached a white blond to match the vampire hero, Nicon. Perhaps he would keep this color for a time. Burney had tried dying his hair in the past, but found it too much work to keep it a specific shade, so he wound up going back to his natural black locks. No doubt he would here, too. What did it matter? A disguise was not needed, as he intended on leaving this life far behind. The sooner he left the States, the better. Further away from
her
.

Burney inhaled. Her scent stayed with him always, concurrently tormenting and soothing him. Try as he might, banishing her from his thoughts and his shattered heart proved impossible. Doubt filled his mind. Was this forced exile a mistake? Could he be feeling any more miserable if they were a couple, if Dean loathed his vampire state and refused to become one so they could be together for eternity? He’d never even given her the option, just made the decision himself.
Bloody, feckin’ coward
.

Burney pushed away from the window and walked to the counter to pour himself two fingers of green label Old Bushmills. The words he spoken to Dean that night at the restaurant—
I will never let you go
—haunted him as much as her scent did. So much for his heartfelt declarations. It dawned on him he was Rick Blaine from
Casablanca
. He was no good at being noble either, but he’d let the woman he loved go because he knew she would regret being with him. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of her life. He raised his glass in a silent salute.
Here’s looking at you, kid
.

He threw back the whiskey and poured another.
Aye. The sooner I am gone from here, the better
.

***

After a quick breakfast with her parents, Deanna returned to the granny house with the mail tucked under her arm. Tossing aside the junk, she glanced at the oversized white envelope. The packet was from Aunt Carol. She ripped it open and pulled the book out.
Blood Craving
. She should at least try to read her aunt’s labors of love. Deanna cocked her head in puzzlement, as the thought somehow seemed familiar. About to toss it on the bed, she caught a glimpse of the hunk on the cover.