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It was two hours since she’d left the Iron Horseshoe, and she was desperate for a distraction. Something to pass the time and get her mind off Garret and the anticipation bubbling inside of her.
Enter Eldin Atkins.
He was the owner of the Skull Creek Inn and, more importantly, the oldest bachelor in town. He’d inherited both the motel and his grandmother, Winona, when his parents had retired to a small fishing port on the Gulf Coast. Eldin made all the reservations and looked after Winona while she puttered around, straightening rooms and poking her nose in everyone’s business.
Or so Viv had heard from the waitress over at the diner.
Since Winona did most of her nosing around during the day when Viv had her door barricaded and her shades drawn, she’d yet to run into the old woman.
Eldin was a different story altogether.
The minute Viv had mentioned that she was a photo journalist, he’d gone above and beyond the call of duty to make her stay as memorable as possible.
He’d brought fresh towels every morning and had even upgraded her room for free. She now occupied the one and only deluxe suite with a full-size bathroom and a kitchenette.
Not that she needed the latter, but Eldin didn’t know that. He was just out to attract as much attention as possible because he’d already tried every on-line dating service in the free world, and he still hadn’t had any luck with the opposite sex.
He was hoping like hell that some poor, lonely female read the travel article, saw his picture and realized that, despite his thinning hair, introverted personality and live-in grandmother, he was a halfway decent catch.
He didn’t wear women’s underwear (not since Double Dog Dare Ya night back in the tenth grade) and he didn’t suck his teeth and—and this was the biggee—he had his own business.
Sort of.
Technically, his parents still owned the place, but once they kicked the bucket, the Inn would be Eldin’s free and clear.
Well, his and Winona’s, but his grammy was already older than dirt, so how much longer could she actually last?
Bottom line, he wasn’t such a bad guy. The article would be a prime opportunity to show the single women of the southwest (and a few east coast states where the travel mag had been picked up) all that he had to offer.
Tonight he wore an orange Hawaiian-print shirt, beige walking shorts and a pair of tan boat shoes with tube socks. He had a king-sized Snickers bar in his left shirt pocket and a Slim Jim in the right.
“You’re going to put my e-mail address in the article, right?” he asked. “Just in case somebody is of a mind to reach me? For a room, that is.”
Or, more importantly, a date.
“E-mail and snail mail,” Viv promised. “Say cheese.”
“Wait a second.” Eldin slicked his eyebrows down, threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. One hand paused on the wall of room keys and the other gave a little salute. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“So, Eldin,” Viv said as she checked the shutter on her camera, “do you always stand that way when you’re checking someone in?”
He seemed to think before letting out a deep breath. “’Course not.” He switched angles and struck the same pose. “I usually stand like this on account of it’s my good side,” he said, his words tight as he tried to suck in his sizeable beer belly. “Go on,” he gasped. “Shoot.”
Viv snapped a few pictures before pausing to check the shots on her digital screen.
“Where do you want me next?” Eldin asked after gasping for several deep breaths. “Over by the fireplace? I could build a fire. I know how.”
“That’s good to know. And I would take you up on it in a heartbeat…” Viv checked her flash. “…if it wasn’t ninety plus degrees outside.”
“Forget the fire. I’ll just hold a few chunks of wood. Maybe I should take my shirt off to look like I’ve been out chopping all day—”
“No,” she cut in, desperate to ignore the sudden image of Eldin shirtless. “These are supposed to be action shots. A day in the life of stuff.” She stared deep into his eyes to press her point home. “That means natural.”
He looked confused for a split-second before he seemed to relax. “Let me just straighten the magazines here like I do every night on account of my granny and her dad-burned group are always messing things up. Why, it takes days to get this lobby back to normal after one of her danged meetings.”
“Shame on you for talking about an old lady,” said a crackling voice as an ancient-looking woman walked from the back room.
She wore a purple flower-print dress, white orthopedic shoes and knee-high panty hose. She had a shock of white hair curled into tight sausages that covered her head like a football helmet. Bifocals hung from a chain around her neck and sat low on her nose.
“If I was a few years younger,” she continued as she deposited a cardboard box on the counter and wagged a finger at Eldin, “I’d take a skillet to your hind end. Just pay him no nevermind,” she turned to Viv. “He hates my meetings because he has to give up the TV and bide his time until we’re finished.”
“You took three hours last time,” Eldin whined. “I missed Grey’s Anatomy and So You Think You Can Dance.”
“You watch too much TV. You ought to be doing other things with your time.”
“Like what?”
“The front walkway needs power washing.”
“But that’ll take hours.”
“That’s the idea.”
“But I been standing all day. My feet hurt.”
“That’s ’cause you’re putting on too much weight.” She snatched the Snickers bar out of his pocket. “Steer clear of the snack machine, and you won’t have such a big gut puttin’ so much pressure on your tootsies. Why, I been standing over eighty years, and my feet don’t hurt a bit.”
“But that’s my dessert.” Eldin eyed the candy bar in her hand. “Dessert is one of the four basic food groups.”
“Is not.”
“Is too. There’s fruit, potatoes, steak and dessert. A man needs all of ’em if he wants to keep up his stamina.”
The old woman seemed to soften as she eyed him. “I s’pose you’ll need your energy to handle that power washer.” She handed the candy bar back to him. “Take it and skedaddle.” She waved a hand and motioned him out. “My students will be here in less than fifteen minutes. I’m Winona Atkins,” she added, turning to Viv. “Are you the one who called yesterday about joining my group?”
“I’m afraid not. I’m a guest. Room 12.”
“You’re the one from California? The one with the flashy sports car?”
“Guilty.”
She seemed to think. “Had me a little Pinto once. It wasn’t much too look at, but my husband—rest his soul—souped up the engine for me. It was the fastest ride in town. Faster than that old Mustang Merle Shanks used to hot rod around in, I’ll tell you that much.” She opened the edges of the cardboard box. One shriveled hand dove into the box, and she pulled out an enormous purple vibrator—
Oh, no, she didn’t.
Viv blinked, but sure enough it was purple, it was a vibrator and it was enormous. A neon blue version followed. Then an orange. A yellow. Pink. Aqua.
“What exactly does your group do?” Viv asked as she watched the old woman unpack the box as nonchalantly as if she were setting out crochet needles instead of sex toys.
“A little of this. A little of that.” Winona shrugged. “Tonight we’re learning how to give a blowjob without biting. We’re also going to talk about how to respond when your partner approaches you about a blow job, or vice versa. You’d be surprised how many gals just ain’t that good when it comes to tellin’ their men what they want.”
Tell me about it.
“So it’s like a self help class to overcome shyness?”
“It’s a class to pull the stick out of your ass.”
Viv couldn’t help but smile. While the old woman had plenty of snow on the roof, she was all fire and spunk inside.
“I teach women how to loosen up and relax,” Winona continued, “so’s that they can enrich their relationships with their fellas. It’s all about using what you got to spice things up and keep your man screaming for more. I’m a carnal coach. Coach Winona.” She pulled a penisshaped name tag out of her pocket and pinned it to the front of her dress.
“We also have refreshments,” she added. “Mary Lou’s bringing her famous pigs-in-a-blanket and Jennie Sue’s making a coffee cake. I’m even baking a few batches of pleasure bites to get everyone feeling frisky. They’re small, round little tastes of heaven made primarily of the one thing no sexually repressed woman can resist.”
Viv arched an eyebrow. “Chocolate?”
“Alcohol.” Winona adjusted her glasses. “See, I’ve got a lot of introverts in my class, like poor, timid Ellen Jenkins—she’s the local librarian. That woman won’t even send her hamburger back when they load it with ketchup instead of mustard. She sure as shootin’ can’t work up the nerve to tell Oren—that’s her husband—that he’s just not satisfying her in the sack. So instead of calling him out, she joined my class. She figured if she got better at doin’ it, then she could make up for what he lacked. I had my doubts about that. Oren wasn’t the best-looking catfish in the pond, and so the girls never paid him no nevermind growing up. He’s definitely a plate short of a place setting when it comes to physical relations. But Ellen paid her registration in full, and I wasn’t one to argue with cold hard cash. Anyhow, sober she could barely sit through a lecture without blushing. A few pleasure bites, and she all but fought me for the pole when I did my strip-your-way-into-his-heart seminar.”
“They sound very effective.”
“And pretty darned tasty. You really ought to sit in tonight and try a few for yourself. You might even pick up some pointers on how to be more sexy.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’m going to reveal my ten Do-Me-Baby Commandments after we finish blow jobs. It’s a special list I put together over the past few months based on my own experience as a vibrant, sexually active woman.” When Viv looked doubtful, she added, “Back in the day, that is. I’m not nearly as sexually active as I should be right now on account of I’m still pining for my late husband.”
That and she was still waiting on Morty Donovan to haul his carcass out of his rocking chair and ask her for a date. Morty was in charge of Bingo over at the senior center. He also had the whitest dentures in town because his grandson was a cosmetic dentist, and Morty got free bleaching with every visit.
“If you can manage to learn all ten of them,” Winona said, “there ain’t a man alive who’ll be able to resist you.”
While Viv had no trouble consuming liquids, anything solid (even if it was one hundred and eighty proof) was completely off-limits. Even more, the last thing she needed was a how-to list to beef up her sex appeal. She’d been oozing vampire mojo for over two centuries. She already knew that no man could resist her.
But Garret Sawyer wasn’t a man.
He was a vampire.
Larger than life. Tall, dark and totally immune to her supernatural charms because he had plenty of his own.
Forget being a persuasive, seductive female vampire. From here on out, it was all about being a persuasive, seductive female, period.
A scary thought for a woman who’d been turned before she’d even lost her virginity. A woman who’d been so desperate for survival that she’d never learned how to rely on good, old-fashioned feminine wiles.
No flirting or teasing. No licking her lips and batting her eyelashes. No being overly affectionate one minute and hard-to-get the next.
She’d never played games with men.
She’d never had to.
“The first class is free. What do you say?” Winona asked, arching one silver eyebrow. “You want to join us?”
Viv grabbed a rubber penis and glanced around. “Just tell me where to sit.”
Chapter 5
THE HALLWAY BENEATH the house was pitch-black, but it didn’t matter. Garret’s gaze sliced through the darkness and fixated on the door knob. Yes, he could see it, all right. He just couldn’t get his fingers around it because it kept moving.
A little to the left…
A little to the right…
There.
Wood creaked, and the door slammed inward.
A single lamp burned on the nightstand and pushed back the shadows. The walls of the massive room seemed to vibrate. The plasma TV mounted on the opposite wall swam in front of him.
He meant to pick his leg up and take a step inside, but damned if his body would cooperate. He slid forward. The rug caught the tip of his boot, and he tripped. His shoulder hit the edge of a thick maple dresser. His head slammed into the mirror. Glass shattered and pain cracked open his skull. He doubled over. His stomach churned and his throat burned and—
Shit.
He shouldn’t have drank so friggin’ much.
No matter how desperate he was to forget.
Images of Viv pushed into his head, and he could see her looming above him. Her long, silky black hair falling down around her shoulders. Her deep blue eyes glittering with pleasure. Moonlight bathed her pale breasts, her nipples red and ripe and so damned tempting. She braced her hands against his chest as she straddled him. Her head fell back, and her eyes closed. She started to move, her body lifting and sliding as her heat slithered down over his cock, and she rode him hard and deep and—
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Garret forced his eyes open and stared through a watery haze. A few blinks, and his vivid memories faded into the polished wood paneling. He gripped the edge of the dresser and hauled himself to his feet. Three steps, and his knee caught the nightstand. Wood crashed. Shafts of light bounced off the walls as the lamp toppled over and rolled across the hardwood floor.
The noise knifed at his throbbing temples. He fell to his knees, floundering for the king-sized bed. Finally his hands made contact with the down comforter, and relief rushed through him. He needed to lie down for a little while.
Sleep.
When he woke up he would realize that it was all just a dream. Viv wasn’t really here in town, and he didn’t still want her so badly he could hardly stand it.
He sprawled on the bed and closed his eyes, determined to shut out the thundering in his head, the pain in his body and her.
Especially her.
But he hadn’t drank nearly enough for that, and so the damnable vision followed him into the blackness. Teasing and taunting and reminding him of just how good they’d been together.
How good they could be again if Garret let his guard down.
But he wouldn’t.
He’d been burned once before, and he wasn’t jumping into the fire again.
No matter how much he suddenly wanted to.
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