Kerrelyn Sparks: How to Marry a Millionaire Vampire

A knock at the front door brought her skidding to a stop. Probably the pizza delivery guy, but even so, for a second her heart had lurched in her chest. She took a deep breath and ventured toward the front windows. She peeked through the white mini-blinds she always kept closed at night so no one could see inside.

"It's me, Dr. Wilson," Tommy called. "I've got your pizza."

"All right." She unlocked the door. The clinic might be open for business all night, but she still took precautions. She only unlocked the door for legitimate customers. And pizza.

"Hey, Doc." Tommy sauntered in with a grin. For the last two weeks, the teenager had made a delivery every night, and Shanna enjoyed his adolescent attempts at flirtation as much as the pizza.

In fact, this was the highlight of her day. Jeez, she was on the fast track to becoming pathetic.

"Hi, Tommy. How's it going?" She went to the office counter to locate her purse.

"I've got your giant pepperoni right here." Tommy tugged on the waistband of his loose jeans, then let go. The jeans slid slightly down his narrow hips, revealing three inches of silk Scooby Doo boxer shorts.

"But I ordered a small one."

"I wasn't talking about the pizza, Doc." Tommy gave her a big wink and set the pizza box on the counter.

"Right. Well, that was a bit too cheesy for me. And I don't mean the pizza, either."

"Sorry." With pink-tinted cheeks, he gave her a sheepish smile. "A guy's gotta try, you know."

"I suppose so." She paid for the pizza.

"Thanks." Tommy pocketed the money. "You know, we make a jillion kinds of pizza. You ought to try something new."

"Maybe I will. Tomorrow."

He rolled his eyes. "That's what you said last week."

The phone rang, splitting the air with its shrill sound. Shanna jumped.

"Whoa, Doc. Maybe you should switch to decaf."

"I don't think I've heard that phone ring since I started working here." The phone jangled once again. Wow, a pizza guy and a ringing phone at the same time. This was more excitement than she'd seen in weeks.

"I'll let you get to work. See you tomorrow, Dr. Wilson." Tommy waved good-bye and swaggered toward the front door.

"Bye." Shanna admired his low-slung jeans from the back. She was definitely going on a diet. After the pizza. The phone rang again, and she lifted the receiver. "SoHo SoBright Dental Clinic. May I help you?"

"Yes, you may," the man's gruff voice was followed by a heavy breath. Then another.

Oh, great. A pervert to brighten her evening. "I believe you have the wrong number." She started to lower the receiver when she heard his voice again.

"I believe you have the wrong name, Shanna ."

She gasped. It had to be a mistake. Yeah, and Shanna is such a common name . People were always calling places, asking for Shanna. Who was she kidding? Should she hang up? No, they already knew who she was.

And where she was. Terror jolted through her. Oh my God, they were coming for her.

Calm down ! She had to remain calm. "I'm afraid you have the wrong number. This is Dr. Jane Wilson at the SoHo SoBright Dental—"

"Cut the crap! We know where you are, Shanna. It's payback time." Click . The call was over, and the nightmare was back.

"Oh no, oh no, oh no." She dropped the receiver in place and realized she was mumbling louder and louder, working her way up to a full-fledged scream. Get a grip ! She mentally slapped herself and punched in the numbers 911.

"This is Dr. Jane Wilson at the SoHo SoBright Dental Clinic. I… we're under attack!" She gave the address, and the dispatcher assured her a squad car was on the way. Right. With an ETA of ten minutes past the time of her murder, no doubt.

With a gasp, she remembered the front door was unlocked. She sprinted to the door and locked it. As she dashed through the clinic to the back door, she grabbed her cell phone from her lab coat pocket and punched the number of her assigned U.S. marshal.

First ring. "Come on, Bob. Pick up." She reached the back door. All the deadbolts were secure. Second ring.

Oh no! What a stupid waste of time. The entire front of the clinic was glass. Locking the door wouldn't keep anyone out. They'd simply shoot through the glass. Then they'd shoot her. She needed to think better than this. She needed to get the hell out of here.

The third ring was followed by a click. "Bob, I need help!"

She was interrupted by a bored voice. "I'm away from my desk at the moment, but leave your name and number and I'll get back to you as soon as possible."

Beep . "This is bullshit, Bob!" She ran back to the office for her purse. "You said you'd always be there. They know where I am, and they're coming for me." She jabbed the END button and dropped the phone back into her pocket. That damned Bob! So much for his saccharine assurances that the government could protect her. She'd show him. Why, she'd… she'd stop paying her taxes. Of course, if she was murdered, that would no longer be a problem.

Focus ! she reprimanded herself. This sort of jumbled-up thinking would get her killed. She skidded to a stop at the desk and grabbed her purse. She'd escape out the back and run till she found a taxi. Then, she'd go… where? If they knew where she worked, they probably also knew where she lived.

Oh God, she was so screwed.

"Good evening," a deep voice rumbled across the room.

With a squeal, Shanna jumped. A gorgeous man was standing by the front door. Gorgeous ? She was really losing it, if she was checking out a hit man. He held something white against his mouth, but she hardly noticed it, for his eyes caught her attention and didn't let go. His gaze swept over her, his eyes a golden brown and tinged with hunger.

A spurt of frigid air jabbed at her head, so sudden and intense, she pressed a hand against her temple. "How… how did you get in?"

He continued to stare at her, but with a slight movement of one hand, he motioned toward the door.

"That's not possible," she whispered. The locked door and windows were intact. Had he managed to sneak in earlier? No, she would have noticed this man. Every cell in her body was aware of this man. Was it her imagination, or were his eyes growing more golden, more intense?

His shoulder-length black hair curled slightly on the ends. A black sweater accentuated broad shoulders, and black jeans hugged his hips and long legs. He was a tall, dark, and handsome… hit man. My God. He could probably kill a woman just by giving her wildly erratic heart palpitations.

In fact, that was probably what he did. He wasn't carrying a weapon of any kind. Of course, those large hands of his—

Cold pain pierced her head once more, reminding her of the times she'd slurped down a frozen Slushee too fast.

"I have not come to harm you." His voice was low, almost hypnotic.

That was it. He lured his victims into a trance with his golden eyes and honeyed voice, then before you knew it— she shook her head. No, she could fight this. She would not give in.

He frowned, dark brows drawing closer together. "You are being difficult."

"You better believe it." She fumbled in her purse and whipped out her.32-caliber Beretta Tomcat.

"Surprise, sucker."

No shock or fear registered on his rugged face, only a slight hint of irritation. "Madam, the weapon is unnecessary."

Oh, the safety catch. With trembling fingers, she switched it off, then pointed the gun back at his broad chest. Hopefully, he hadn't noticed her lack of expertise. She widened her stance and used both hands like she'd seen on cop shows. "I've got a full clip with your name on it, scumbag. You're going down."

Something sparked in his eyes. It should have been fear, but she could have sworn it was amusement. He stepped toward her. "Drop the gun, please. And the dramatics."