“I’ve never made anything vegan before. I make no promises.” He held up his hands in surrender. “Maybe you should taste it first.”
“I think I’ll take my chances,” she shot back and walked to the fancy looking coffee maker and poured herself a steaming cup, enjoying their banter more than she should.
She turned back to face him, and her gaze roamed over the threadbare sweatpants he wore. They molded perfectly to his muscled thighs, and she wondered if his would be hairy or smooth. Everything about him was so big…so manly. Her gaze traveled lower still, and she could make out a sizeable bulge.
Apparently, there was absolutely nothing small about him. It was clear he was very well endowed. Now she understood why he was so damn cocky. He’d been seriously blessed in the looks department. The vamp was a cornucopia of good genes. She tried to look anywhere but at his crotch and forced her mind out of the gutter.
“Can I do anything to help?” she asked, taking a sip of coffee, holding the mug up to hide her expression. “Mmm, this is good. I’m impressed. Making good coffee takes skill.” Nothing short of a caffeine IV drip would get her going this morning.
“And you doubted my skills, Miss Howe?” His eyes pierced hers in silent challenge, inviting her to test those other skills. When she just stood there gaping at him, he wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, and his lips twitched. “Why don’t you grab the syrup in the fridge?”
“Will do.” Good thing too. Maybe the cold air would help her from self-combusting on the spot. She opened the door, impressed at the lengths he went to for her, even if it was his job.
He kept the subzero stacked with fresh veggies, fruit, and bottles of Moet. He’d even picked up some tofu. And then a thought occurred to her, how long did he think she’d planned to stay? She reached for the syrup off the shelf, shut the door, and set it on the island.
He motioned for her to take a seat at the island where he’d set two place settings. He pulled the casserole dish out of the oven and rested it on the counter, next to a bowl of fresh fruit. “Bon Appetit.”
“I appreciate all the trouble you went to, but it wasn’t necessary. Thank you.” She plopped down in a barstool and scooped a generous amount onto her plate. She could be one of those girls who pretended not to eat much and be dainty about it. But what was the point?
Trying to make a joke, she held up a forkful of pancake. “Tell me, Detective, are you trying to bribe your witness with food?” Despite their history, from all accounts, he was a great cop.
He arched his dark brows. “If that were the case, I’d use better ammunition like a fine port or Swiss chocolate perhaps.”
Most of the men she dated waxed poetically about drinking beer from a glass versus a bottle and liked to eat Cheese Wiz straight from the can. They weren’t cultured like Mulroney and knew nothing about port wine or Swiss chocolate for that matter. She glanced at the perfectly shaped silver dollars on her plate. It was probably safe to say he knew his way around in the kitchen, something she found incredibly sexy.
His phone buzzed on the counter. He held it up and glanced at the screen. “Sorry, it’s Alex. I need to take this.” He walked into the living room, and she tried to listen in, but he kept his voice to a whisper. After a few minutes, he came back to the breakfast bar. From his solemn expression, she sensed it wasn’t good news.
“Anything about Brooke?” she asked, gripping her fork.
“Nothing yet, but there’s a new development in the case we should discuss. Why don’t you eat first? You can consider this a peace offering, he said, placing the griddle in the sink and rinsing it off. “You’re under my protection now.” There was a note of possessiveness in his tone that made fire spark low in her belly.
What would it be like to be possessed by Garrett Mulroney—and be at the center of his world? She imagined it would be everything, consuming and erotic. The memory of him outing her snapped her from her reverie. It lingered at the back of her mind like a dark cloud. Despite their electricity, she could never trust him.
“For how long?”
Before he could respond, the doorbell rang. They both glanced at each other, then he lifted his pant leg and reached for the gun in his ankle holster. She couldn’t deny seeing him in action was hot.
“I thought bullets don’t work on vampires.”
“Normal ones don’t.” He moved to the door like smoke. “These are silver-tipped. I came prepared for the occasion. No one, and I mean no one, gets past me.”
Chapter 11
Garrett moved behind the door until he stood flush against the wall. Drawing his Glock, he tried to pick up on the scent coming from the other side, not sure if it was vampire or human.
“If a vampire was after me, would he knock on the door? I mean, c’mon.” Gillian followed him, curiosity seeming to overrule her fear.
“Our plan might be working. This would be one way to throw me off my guard,” he whispered back and held a finger to his lips.
He moved closer still, and the scent of old books and flowery perfume flared in his nostrils. With a curse, he put the safety back on his gun and holstered it in his ankle strap. “It’s my neighbor,” he announced and opened the door.
“Good morning, Garrett.” Annette Thornwood wore her dyed black hair in a sleek bob, which gave her an eccentric look. Now pushing eighty, with her bright, green eyes and porcelain complexion, she must’ve been stunning in her youth. “You left before I could give you the change for the groceries.” She reached out her small, withered hand and tried to give him some cash.
“Please, keep it, Annette. I’m a little busy right now.” He tried to block Gillian from her view, but it was too late. Her owl eyes darted to her and gave Gillian a once over.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were entertaining a lady friend. Am I interrupting?” Annette asked with a wink.
Gillian stepped forward, and from the shocked expression on her face, she wasn’t expecting to see a petite, older woman standing on the other side of the door in a silk kimono and house slippers. “No, not at all. I’m Gillian. It’s nice to meet you.”
