“Like business?” I was disappointed. I shouldn’t have been—did Iseriouslywant to become romantically entangled with another vampire?
Forget the vampire part, I thought. What about the fact that he was a VGO leader?
Could I even say no, though? Was I allowed to turn him down?
Funny thing was, I really didn’t want to.
My face must have revealed a lot about my indecision, because an amused smirk was playing at the corners of his mouth. Again, I was wondering if he might be reading my mind. Maybe I’m just that transparent.
He further explained, “I imagine there won’t be too many vampires I know at the wedding. And if they do know who I am,they’ll avoid me like a leper. Nothing puts a vampire on edge quite like a member of the VGO lurking in the room.”
I had to chuckle at that. “I can imagine.”
“Of course, you’re free to tell me no. There’s no part of your agreement that states you must accompany our members to weddings.”
“Hasanyone ever turned you down for a date?” I blurted, sounding as if I couldn’t imagine something so implausible.
His smirk widened. “Not in a really long time.”
“Centuries, I imagine,” I said dryly.
He laughed. “I won’t lie and say I don’t find you attractive. I think we both know that I do. Iama man, Olivia,” he said, sheepish. “However, let me assure you that I won’t ‘put the moves on you,’ as humans say.”
He ran his fingers through his thick hair. I wondered what it would feel like to clutch it in my hands as his naked body pressed down into mine.
Focus!
“It would also bolster my ego tenfold, having such a beautiful woman on my arm,” he said.
I knew it would be a shrewd move to say yes, as being in the good graces of the VGO was never a bad idea. Deep down, though, I knew that I genuinelywantedto be Joseph’s date. Whether it was because I was still stinging from Robert’s rejection or I just plum wanted to be by his side, I didn’t dare consider.
Whatever my reason, I found myself beaming as I said, “Pick me up at eight?”
12
In tradition of a true Scotsman, Joseph dressed for the wedding in a kilt and dark formal jacket.
It was quite the visual treat, opening the door to discover him decked out to the nines. He looked fantastic. I had no doubt that I was grinning like a loon as I stood there admiring his splendor. I’d never been on a date with a man wearing a kilt before . . . Not that it was a realdate, I quickly reminded myself.
Still, hot damn. Joseph was doing all kinds of wicked things to my lady parts. Though I’d already scolded my vagina to behave—sometimes it really did feel as if it had a mind of its own—I figured there was no harm in appreciating a little vampire sexiness, right?
Joseph’s locks had been tamed with a light application of product. It was still slightly unruly, finger-combed into a style I thought of as urban rugged. Yet again, I was wondering what it would feel like to grab a handful of his hair in my hands.
He smelled good, too. Masculine and sharp: mint and cognac mixed with leather. It was how I imagined handmadecake soap from the days of yore smelling straight out of the wrapping paper.
My mind up to no good, I pictured Joseph surrounded by lush greenery in the Scottish Highlands during his human days, as if written in a historic romance novel . . .
Cloaked in ethereal mist, Joseph bathed in an iridescent loch, using a brick of cake soap to lather away splatters of mud from his chiseled torso. Submerged to his hips, the water offered a view of dark hair that trailed downward from the lowest point of his navel, pale skin turning rosy as he splashed himself clean. Along the shoreline, a trusty stallion whinnied for his master. The Scotsman called to his beast in a lovely singsong voice, receiving another exasperated cry. Grinning, Joseph dipped his hair under water and then tossed his head back, rainbow-colored droplets spraying from his crown. He swaggered toward the shoreline, his lower half becoming more visible with each step, water trickling down, down, down?—
“May I come in?”
Joseph was studying me like he suspected I’d been huffing glue prior to his arrival.
I could hardly blame him. Maybe Ishouldhave dulled my senses—with a little bubbly, though, not glue—since being sober was prompting me to behave like an alley cat in heat.
Sure, blame your sobriety. The fact that the vampire is sex on a stick has absolutely nothing to do with it.
“Yes, I’m sorry. Please, do come in.” I stepped aside, biting the inside of my cheek.
