Katie MacAlister: Much Ado About Vampires

“What the hell is going on here?” a voice roared from behind Harry.

She spun around to behold an absolutely furious man coming toward her. She blinked at the sight of him, amazed for a moment that such a glorious specimen of male beauty existed outside the pages of glossy fashion magazines. He was taller even than the man she’d just knocked out, a good six inches taller than her, with a broad expanse of chest that wasn’t at all disguised by a black silk shirt open at the neck, revealing a bronzed stretch of skin that she suddenly wanted to lick. The little indentation where his neck met his collarbone beckoned to her with an unholy fascination, and she stared bemused for a moment, wondering what on earth her mind was doing demanding that she taste this strange—if terribly beautiful—man.

“Who are you? ” he demanded, his black eyes blazing with a fury that looked familiar somehow. “What the hell did you do to my brother?”

“Your brother?” Suddenly, all the rage and anger and fury filled her again with righteousness. “I was seriously considering beating him to a bloody pulp. You’re a big guy—I’ll let you help if you like.”

His ebony gaze raked her over in a manner that left her both hot and cold at the same time, instantly dismissing her as not being worth his consideration. He shoved her aside and marched over to where the other man moved groggily against the wall. “I believe the phrase is ‘over my dead body.’ Get up, Theo.”

“You want on my list, too? Fine,” Harry snarled, and would have rolled up her sleeves except the fawncolored linen tunic she wore was sleeveless. “You can be second. Go ahead, Theo. Get up so I can knock your block off.”

The big, incredibly handsome man hoisted his brother to his feet, one of his lips curling. “You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk,” Theo protested, his eyes glazed. “Barely had anything. That little bitch—”

Harry moved faster than she had ever moved, intent on slapping the word right off his lips, but the other man caught her as she lunged toward his brother.

“Who the hell are you?” he snarled, his arm like steel around her waist.

“I already used the ‘your worst nightmare’ line,” she yelled at him, her fingers curling into a fist. “But you’d better believe I am!”

He stopped her fist just as she was about to punch him in the nose, shoving her backward into the small clutch of people next to the bed. His black-eyed gaze crawled over all of them. “You’re not on the guest list. What are you doing here?”

“They’re the band,” Harry said, jerking her thumb toward where the four of them, Cyndi now standing in the sheet, pressed together in silent amazement. “The one your sister hired for her eighteenth birthday, assuming you are the owner of this house of debauchery.”

The man’s eyes returned to her, scorn just about dripping from his voice as he said, “You look a little old to be in a teenage band.”

“I’m not old,” she said, straightening up. Behind the man, Theo collapsed into a chair, slumping over to rest his head in his hands with a pathetic groan. She narrowed her eyes on him, wondering if she could distract his brother long enough get in a really good punch. “I’m only thirty-three, and I’m their manager. Kind of. By proxy. I’m a writer, really, but I’m acting as their manager because Timothy’s appendix burst, and Jill had to stay with him because she’s about due to pop any minute with their first child, and there was no one else to watch over the kids, so she asked if I would do it for just this one gig. And idiot that I was, I thought, How hard could it be to watch over things while they played for some obscenely rich oil billionaire’s party? No one told me your brother was a drunkard who doesn’t have the common sense God gave a potato bug!”

Harry glared at the man as he glanced from his brother to the huddled girl, now thankfully silent, taking in her disheveled appearance, before his eyes narrowed on Harry. “I made my money in real estate development, not oil.”

She stared at him for a second. “Does that matter?”

“It does if you’re going to consider the source of my wealth as material for an insult. As for this situation—” He gestured with distaste at Cyndi. “Theo has never had to force a woman into his bed. Usually, it’s the other way around.”

“Of course he asked me,” Cyndi said with a sniff and jerk of her chin. “He smiled at me twice, and winked once, and then he brushed my arm when I walked by him. I’m not dense, you know! I can tell when a man wants me! So I came up here to wait for him, because it’s clear he thinks I’m steaming hot.”

Harry closed her eyes for a moment, then took Cyndi by the arms, fighting to keep from shaking her. “I don’t even know where to start, Cyndi.”

“Start with what? I’m not the one who’s wrong here. Theo is!” Cyndi answered with yet another righteous sniff.

“I thought so. This wouldn’t be the first time some enterprising young lady has tried to, shall we say, benefit financially from Theo’s lack of common sense,” the irritating man said.

“Bullshit!” Harry snapped, releasing Cyndi to march over to the man. His eyebrows rose at the obscenity. She couldn’t remember what his name was—it was one of those long names with a seeming abundance of vowels—but she vaguely remembered hearing Jill mention something about him being on some world’s-most-eligiblebachelor list. If his appearance was anything to go by, she could certainly believe that. “I’m willing to admit that Cyndi has shown a huge lack of intelligence this evening—”

Cyndi gasped, outraged.

“But neither of us is trying to blackmail your precious brother. It was just a case of a young girl—a very young girl who is just barely legal, I might point out—obviously being dazzled by the situation and making some bad judgment calls.”

“I’m not dazzled,” Cyndi protested. “I’m hurt! I’m bleeding all over!”

The man made a disgusted noise and looked like he wanted to roll his eyes.

“There’s no actual blood, Cyndi,” Harry pointed out. “Although I will admit that your playmate was far too rough with you. And although that’s not a crime, it’s certainly not a pleasant little roll in the sack!”

“No crime has been committed, other than that of poor judgment,” the man snapped at her implication, his scowl shifting for a moment to one of surprise as Harry poked him in the chest when she spoke.

“She’s got marks all over her upper chest! Just look at her! What sort of a man does that?”

Iakovos Papaioannou couldn’t believe the Amazon in front of him had had the nerve to poke him in the chest, just as if she had the right to chastise him. For a moment, he was speechless at her utter and complete disregard for his consequence as she continued to lambaste him, throwing the most absurd accusations at his head.

He allowed her to continue just for the pleasure of watching her, admitting to himself that although his preference for women seldom extended to anything but slim, elegant, cool blondes, this woman, this earth goddess, with her abundant curves and wild brown hair spilling down her back, stirred something deep inside him. Something primal, some urge woke and demanded that he claim her in the most fundamental way a man could claim a woman.

His gaze dropped to her mouth, watching with fascination as her lips moved while she continued to lecture him. A faint scent caught his attention, and he breathed deeper, hoping to catch it again, and when he did, the analytical side of his mind noted that it was just the scent of a sun-warmed woman, as if she had been out lying on the beach. It was nothing extraordinary, nothing unusual, and yet it seemed to go straight to his groin, firing his desire as the most costly perfume had never done.