Kerrelyn Sparks: The Vampire and the Virgin

He poured half a glass and warmed it up in the microwave.

Carlos entered the kitchen. “Your hair’s damp. You took a shower before jogging?”

He wasn’t going to jog tonight. He didn’t want to arrive at her house all sweaty, especially since a Vamp’s sweat tended to be a wee bit pinkish in color, just like their tears. It came from a steady diet of blood, he supposed. “I’m taking a walk.”

“Ah. A midnight stroll. Sounds wonderful.” Carlos regarded him with a smirk. “I think I’ll join you.”

“Nay.”

“I like to walk on the beach.”

“Piss off.”

Carlos laughed. “I know you’re hoping to see her.”

“I know ye know.” Robby removed his half glass of blood from the microwave and downed it.

“I also know that a red rose is missing from the garden.”

Robby arched a brow. “Ye’re keeping inventory on all the flowers?”

Carlos chuckled. “I had my eye on that rose. I was planning to give it to someone, and you beat me to it.”

Robby wondered briefly what Carlos was up to, but refrained from asking. Toni claimed he was gay, but Ian disagreed. When they were here on the island, Robby had heard them argue over the matter for ten minutes, then rush off to their bedroom to make up. He’d gone jogging for two hours, and when he returned, they were still making up.

He groaned inwardly. His Vamp friends, Ian, Jean-Luc, and Jack, were deliriously happy with their mortal women, but he doubted he could ever experience such happiness. First, there was the problem of finding a woman who could actually love a creature of the night.

Then there was the matter of trust. How would he know what she was doing during the day? He couldn’t bear another betrayal from a woman he loved. What if she tired of him and decided to stake him while he was in his death-sleep?

And then there was the last problem, the one that bothered him the most. Loving a Vamp was a death sentence. He didn’t know how his friends could even stomach the thought that one day they would have to literally kill their wives in order to transform them. What kind of love was that?

So what the hell was he doing? He set his empty glass in the sink. “This was a bad idea.”

“Dude, don’t chicken out now.”

He shot Carlos an annoyed look. “’Tis no’ fear that’s giving me pause. She’s an innocent mortal. She deserves better than me.”

“Right, because you’re a disgusting, slobbering beast who’ll rip her throat out and toss her dead body out to sea.”

Robby stiffened. “Are ye asking for a bloody nose? I wouldna harm her.”

“Exactly. Go see her, muchacho .”

Robby glanced down at his clothes. It had taken him fifteen minutes to decide what to wear. He’d finally chosen some worn jeans, a dark green T-shirt, and a navy hoodie lined with the green and blue MacKay tartan. His hair was tied back with a leather strip. “I doona look too casual?”

“You look fine. Go get her, tiger.”

Robby snorted. Strange words from a were-panther. He strode from the house before he could change his mind. Rather than descend the stone steps, he simply jumped off the edge of the rocky bluff and landed neatly on the pebbly beach below. Even in the dim light of the three-quarter moon, he could spot the rock called Petra about half a mile to the north. He teleported there, then walked around it to the beach at Grikos.

What was he going to say? He doubted she’d want to hear about his favorite topic—which swords were best suited for different situations. Bugger. He was woefully out of practice when it came to talking to women.

Olivia debated what to wear for fifteen minutes even though her choices were severely limited to the few items she’d packed. She finally opted for a pair of jeans and a soft pullover sweater. Then she trapped her unruly hair in a claw clip on the back of her head.

Her grandmother was sound asleep when she made herself comfortable in the courtyard. She lit a trio of candles on the table beneath the grape arbor. On a chair, she set an old cricket bat Yia Yia used to beat rugs.

She hoped she wouldn’t need it to defend herself, but her work at the Bureau had taught her that looks could be deceiving. She’d been surprised the first time she met Otis Crump by how harmless and ordinary he appeared. Underneath the pleasant exterior lurked a monster who had raped, tortured, and murdered thirteen women.

She shoved him out of her thoughts. This was her time to recover and heal. He had been an assignment, nothing more, and she was done with it. Done with him.

She could only pray that he was done with her.

She strode back into the house to make a cup of hot tea. As she exited the kitchen, she grabbed the rose and took it with her. Back in the courtyard, she waited. And waited. She finished her tea and left the cup on the table.

Back at the wall, she smoothed her fingers over the velvet rose petals. The thorns had been pinched off the stem, so her secret admirer appeared to be considerate. She hoped he was the mysterious jogger. But where was he?

Maybe she was too early. Or maybe he had left the island and this rose was his way of saying good-bye. After all, the last week of November was way past the tourist season. Or maybe she’d imagined him. After dealing with the ultimate dregs of humanity in the person of Otis Crump, her subconscious could be trying to compensate by manufacturing a handsome, honorable hero.

She sighed. Too many years of psychology classes had left her with a tendency to overanalyze everything. She just needed to relax and smell the roses. Or one rose in particular. She lifted it to her nose and smiled.

Her attention snapped to a figure coming from the south. She looked through the telescope, and her heart lurched in her chest. It was him! He was real.

He wasn’t jogging tonight. Instead, he walked toward her with a quick determined stride. He lifted a hand in greeting, and her heart did another flip. Through the telescope, she could tell he was focused entirely on her. He certainly had good eyesight.

She stepped toward the wall and waved a hand to acknowledge his greeting. He immediately broke into a jog, and her heart pounded with each step that brought him closer. His eyes never seemed to leave her. He was checking her out, and that brought heat to her cheeks. Was he excited and attracted? Or was he already regretting his actions? She opened her senses to detect his feelings.

Nothing. In all her twenty-four years, she’d never met a person she couldn’t read. She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow with concentration.

Nothing.

She opened her eyes to make sure he was real. Yep, he was almost in front of her. Why couldn’t she sense him? She always knew how people felt. She always knew when they were lying.

Good God, this was awful. How would she know where she stood with this man? How could she trust anything he said? A spurt of panic flashed through her, and she considered escaping into the house.

But then she saw his face. He had stopped on the beach below her, and he was gazing up at her with an intense, searching look as if he didn’t know what to think. Well, that made two of them.

She met his gaze, and an instant wave of desire flooded through her. It caught her by surprise, nearly buckling her knees. Whoa. She gripped the edge of the wall to steady herself. She didn’t usually react like that.

Actually, she wasn’t sure how she usually reacted. She’d always concentrated on other people’s feelings so she would know how to deal with them.

This was a first for her. She was in the company of another person, but alone with her own feelings. And she’d never realized her feelings could be so…strong. Maybe they just seemed that way because they were isolated. Or because this situation was new to her.