My Vampire Cover Model (9 page)

She staggered in shock. It was
him
, the sexy man-beast of her dream fantasies. With trembling hands, Deanna examined the paperback closely. His hair on this cover was white, but the obsidian eyes glaring back at her were as familiar as if they were her own. In her dreams, though, his eyes seemed to be many different shades of black, silver, or gray.

Deanna shook her head in disbelief. A model. She must have seen him on a cover. The book fell on the floor as she ran to her bookcase. She dropped to her knees and dug through the bottom shelves. Tossing aside the historical romances as she examined them, Deanna soon had the contents strewn everywhere. The model was not on any of these. Maybe she’d seen his picture in a magazine. Rubbing her forehead in frustration, she fished
Blood Craving
out of the pile and opened the cover. There was a note inside.

Hi Deanna! I can’t wait to see you and the family for Thanksgiving dinner. In the meantime, why not come to my appearance in Newburgh? November 19th 7:00 at Barnes & Noble. Be sure to take some allergy pills as Burney will be there! Love, Carol :-)

Who in hell was Burney? Allergy pills? She’d never had an allergic reaction in her life. These memory lapses were starting to worry her. Like when in hell had she gotten a Blu-ray player? Her parents swore they didn’t buy it. And
Casablanca
? Old black-and-white movies were not her favorites, yet in her dreams, she watched them with the handsome hunk. She shook her head to clear the ever-present confusion.

November nineteenth was tomorrow night. She could go when her shift ended at three o’clock. She glanced down at her hands. They were trembling. What in hell was going on? The man on the cover had lived and breathed in her dreams every night for weeks, months even. She was sure she’d never met him. Yet Aunt Carol implied she had. The answer to all her questions was at the bookstore. She was sure of it. Kicking the books aside, she headed toward the shower. Deanna would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

Burney stood in front of the mirror in the men’s restroom, adjusting his costume.
Jaysus, could these leather pants be any tighter
? He slipped on the fingerless leather gloves, then unbuttoned the black silk shirt and left it hanging open, as Nicon the Ancient Roman vampire did on the cover. One thing he’d insisted on: no waxing his chest this time around for the bookstore appearance. Bad enough it had to be done for the cover. He couldn’t wait to leave that aspect of modeling behind. Burney bent over the sink and finger-combed his hair, then flipped it back and gave it a liberal spritz with hairspray.

Looking in the mirror, he frowned. Did not want to be here—at all. However, he was a man of his word. Two hours at this appearance, then out to the airport to catch a midnight flight to Ireland. A much-needed vacation was the main reason for the trip but also while there, he would investigate what had happened to his family. Shame covered him, as he should’ve done it sooner. A little tour, then pay his respects to long-passed family and their descendants. He was also curious if Mexborough Manor still existed. He supposed he could investigate online, but he and computers did not mix. Besides, the trip would put some closure on an unhealed wound.

Burney grabbed his gym bag and walked into the staff room. He stopped dead in his tracks. Never in his wildest imaginings…before him stood Carol Brooks, and Dean.
Bollocks, mate, you secretly hoped you would see her again before you left
.

She was as beautiful as he remembered, more so even. His gaze scanned over her lush figure. Dean’s expression looked almost comical, as if this situation were the least bit funny. Like he had spiders crawling out of his ears. Burney struggled to keep an indifferent expression on his face. His hands gripped the handles of his gym bag tighter.

“Burney! Can you believe Deanna has no memory of meeting you last spring?” Carol called out.

Aye, I can believe it. How to play this
?

Burney walked to her and smiled politely.

“It was of such a brief duration, I’m sure the introduction hardly registered. Burney Sheridan. My honor to make your acquaintance—again.”

Someone in the staff room had Nickelback playing low on an iPod dock. “Trying Not to Love You” warbled from the speakers.

Stick the knife in deeper and bloody well twist it, for feck’s sake
.

“How is it I don’t remember?” Dean asked, almost accusingly.

Standing in front of Dean and seeing the lack of recognition in her eyes tortured him. What could he do or say?

“Beats me, love. If you’ll excuse me?” He hightailed it back to the restroom, feeling like a base coward.

He pushed open the stall, slammed it, dropped his gym bag, and slid the lock. Bracing his hand against the door, Burney hung his head. Could he stay here until Dean departed? He’d really messed up, never should have extracted her memories. Too late now. To her, he was a total stranger. The pain roaring through his soul was beyond reckoning.

That man—Burney—took off before she could question him any further. She thought she’d seen his eyes change color.
Maybe I’m going bananas
.

“Aunt, I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t remember meeting him!”

“My dear, you practically fainted at his feet. Said it was his cologne or something. Though I don’t remember him wearing any. Gotta go…the table is set up. Are you sticking around?”

“I’m going to a couple of stores for a while. When you’re finished, we can go for a coffee before I head back home.”

Carol squeezed her arm in affection.

“I would like that. I want us to spend more time together in the future.”

Deanna briefly laid her hand over hers.

“Me, too.”

While her aunt walked to the table, Deanna’s gaze returned to the men’s restroom across the hall. The cover model was still in there. He seemed to be hiding, but that made no sense at all. Yet nothing had made sense for months.

His scent had made her pass out? How stupid. There had been no particular aroma wafting off him a moment ago. Standing in the open doorway of the staff room, she waited. Finally, Burney Sheridan emerged.

“Can I talk to you, Mr. Sheridan?”

He waved his hand dismissively and tossed his gym bag past her through the doorway. It landed with exact precision on the bench.

“Can’t. I have to get out front….”

Deanna reached for his arm, but he pulled it away so violently she lost her footing, hit her head on the doorframe, and fell to her knees. Everything spun momentarily.
Ouch
.

The model crouched down beside her. “Are you all right, love?”

Her head snapped up, and she gazed into his pewter-colored eyes. This stranger was really concerned for her. He took her arm and gently helped her to her feet.

“Yes, thank you. I’m so clumsy.”

He flashed a brief, brilliant smile, then walked out into the store. Screeches from the crowd of smitten ladies filled her hearing.

“
Are you all right, love
?”

Where had she heard that phrase before? A brief scene of Burney Sheridan standing over her at a different place, another bookstore, flashed in her mind. A vague and cloudy memory of him lifting her into his arms flickered briefly in her memory. Not possible. Deanna rubbed her aching head and stepped out into the store. She stole a brief glance at Carol, who nodded and smiled. Her gaze slid over to the model. He grinned and posed for pictures. Another pain shot through her head. She
had
seen this before! Slowly, the familiar, spicy scent surrounded her.

Burney looked up. As Dean made her way toward the exit, he allowed himself one last, lingering gaze at the woman he loved.

Remember me
.

He realized with a sharp stab of clarity that even a few decades with Dean would be better than the agony and heartache he was mired in now.
Lesson learned far too feckin’ late
. He could have spent decades with his family, too; he’d thrown away that chance as well. Every wretched emotion he felt at this moment was well deserved. In all these years, he’d avoided any situation that would give him an emotional response. To what end?

Dean pushed open the glass doors. She stopped. Slowly turning, she looked right at him.

“Burn!” Dean ran toward him and threw herself in his arms. “I remember,” she whispered.

Deanna covered his face with kisses while he pulled her tighter. It all came back, like rushing waters in a spring flood. His scent filled her senses, as it had every night for weeks and months. The memories of their few days together—and the nights—filled her mind and played over and over like a video loop.

“Why did you push me away, and how did you do it?” she whispered in his ear. “I dreamed of you every night, and I didn’t know who you were! I thought I was losing my mind!”

Burn cupped her cheeks and looked down at her with such love and tenderness, she wanted to cry.

“You dreamed of me?”

“Yes! When I saw your face on my aunt’s book cover, I had to come—how…?”

Burn kissed her deeply. The women in the store applauded. Breaking away from the luscious taste of her lips, he pulled back and brushed her flushed cheeks in affection.

“I thought I was protecting us both from heartache. Forgive me, my sweet. I’ll tell you all later. Come with me tonight to Ireland. Don’t think; just say yes. I love you so much. Share my life. I’ll take whatever you give me.”

Oh, damn it all, the tears are falling now
. Deanna should be livid with what he’d done, but the anger wouldn’t come, not when Burn looked at her with such love and desire. She remembered he’d spoken of erasing memories; he must have done it to her.

What made the remembrances return? Did the knock to her noggin jar something loose? No, it was his husky, sexy lilt whispering “
remember me
” in her mind. His plea had opened the floodgates.

What would she give him? If an immortal life would keep Burn with her always, then to hell with it, she’d do anything to achieve that goal. Deanna loved him with every fiber of her heart and soul.

“Yes. To everything. Oh, Burn, I love you, too!”

Laughing joyously, Burn slipped his arm around her waist and spun her around while everyone in the store cheered.

His warm, sultry breath fanned her cheeks as he whispered in her ear.

“This time, I will never let you go.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Living in a small town in a corner of Ontario, Canada, I wile away my spare time writing, reviewing and reading romance. I’m multi-published in a variety of genres. As long as I can avoid being hit by a runaway moose here in this wilderness paradise, I assume everything is golden.

Happily married for a long time to my own hero, his encouragement keeps me moving forward.

You can visit Karyn at:

www.karyngerrard.com

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