Kimberly Raye - Dead Sexy

He killed the engine and parked the bike. Grabbing the leather saddlebags draped over the gas tank, he retrieved his sleeping bag and stretched it out on the dirt floor. He tossed his hat to the ground and pulled off his T-shirt before turning his attention to the rest of his body. He’d suffered only minor burns—his hands, his neck, the bottom of his face—thanks to his unplanned delay back at the inn, but the pain was still excruciating.

Enough to make him wince as he lowered himself onto the soft down.

Enough to distract him from the delicious scent of her that had rubbed off on his skin and the sugary taste that lingered on his lips and the vision—her lusty body flushed and ripe, her eyes closed, her full lips parted on a moan—that filled his head.

He was injured. Even more, he was fully charged and satisfied, and so the need for her—for any woman—had been completely and totally satisfied.

But as he stretched out on his back, tucked the edge of his saddlebag beneath his head and closed his eyes, he couldn’t seem to relax. The minutes ticked by and instead of focusing on tomorrow—he planned to scope out Town Square and see if he could get a sense for the exact spot where the turning would take place—he found himself thinking about the past few hours.

He heard her soft voice in his head, saw her stretched out beneath him and felt the velvety softness of her skin against his lips. He tasted the ripe essence of her sex as she came against his mouth, and for the first time in his entire existence Jake McCann had the incredible urge to go back for seconds.

Not that he would, of course.

One night was all that he could and would give to any woman.

Even one as sweet and lush as Nikki Braxton.

Particularly one as sweet and lush as Nikki.

The way she’d stared up at him, as if he were a man rather than a monster—as if he were the man—made him forget his past and the torment that ate at his soul.

But he wasn’t a man.

It was a truth he’d managed to escape for a few blissful moments, but it was back. In the pitch-black blanket of darkness that engulfed him. And the burned flesh that made his head throb. And the bloodlust that gnawed away inside of him. While he’d satisfied his carnal appetite, he’d denied the need to drink.

Barely.

Jake forced aside the unsettling thought and focused on the exhaustion tugging at his body. He needed to sleep. Now more than ever. It was Saturday morning. He had exactly eight days—the following Sunday—until his sire returned to Skull Creek.

As he’d done every morning since he’d started his journey to hunt down the vampire who’d cursed him, he replayed the various outcomes of their final meeting. Death. Destruction. Freedom.

While Jake had never seen the curse broken with his own two eyes, he knew it could be done. He’d met a man just ten years ago who’d claimed he’d once been a vampire. He’d killed his own sire and, in doing so, had freed himself and all the others who’d been turned by that one vampire. It was like a computer virus. Destroy the mainframe and kill the virus at its source.

Jake had never put much faith in people, until he’d become a vampire. He could look into someone’s eyes and tell if they were lying.

The man had been telling the truth.

His outrageous story had been the fuel to jump-start Jake. He’d stopped feeling so doomed and started to think that maybe, just maybe, he could set things right.

Garret, Jake’s business partner in his motorcycle design business, hadn’t been half as hopeful. Garret had been a vampire even longer than Jake and he was much more jaded. He hadn’t believed a word of the story—but then, he hadn’t been the one to stare into the old man’s eyes and see the truth.

Despite Garret’s discouragement, Jake had started searching right away. He’d known little about his sire except a name. The name carved into the ornate Spanish dagger that had been used to slice open a vein and force the curse upon Jake.

Sam Black.

Jake had traced every Sam Black recorded in history, marking off names along the way until he’d reached his last prospect.

This was it. The Sam Black.

The skilled soldier who’d fought hand-to-hand in several battles for Texas independence. Sam had been notorious for taking souvenirs from his enemies—namely the ornate Spanish daggers supplied by Santa Anna himself.

A bronze plaque sat in Town Square honoring the man who’d been killed by a band of renegade Mexican soldiers just as he’d arrived home from the battle of San Jacinto. The words To defend is the greatest honor had been carved into the plaque beneath the outline of a knife.

A Spanish dagger.

Jake fought the anger that whirled inside of him. His hands trembled and he willed his body to relax. He had to calm down. Even more, he had to sleep. To heal.

He breathed, in and out, a steady motion that soon hypnotized. The blackness overwhelmed him.

No tossing. No turning. No dreaming.

He’d regretted the last many times since he’d turned into a vampire. But now, for the first time, he found himself thankful the sleep was so all-consuming.

Jake had a hard enough time pushing Nikki Braxton out of his thoughts when he was conscious and fully aware of every reason why he couldn’t—wouldn’t—touch her again.

Unconscious? He knew he didn’t stand a chance in hell.

THE CLICK OF A LOCK pushed past the fog of sleep that gripped Nikki. The knob creaked and hinges groaned and she smiled. She rolled onto her back, her hand going to the empty sheets next to her. She patted the mattress.

“It’s about time you came back to bed.”

“If Jimmy John Charles couldn’t talk me into the sack—and he had flowers and candy and my favorite denture cream—you can damn well bet I ain’t slippin’ off the support hose for the likes of you.”

The female voice crackled in Nikki’s ears and wiped the smile off her face.

It couldn’t be.

“Well don’t just lay there. I already said no, and that fella you had in here’s long gone for now. Get your butt up so’s I can change the sheets.”

Nikki forced one eye open.

Winona Adkins peered down at her over a thick pair of bifocals.

Winona was the great-grandmother of Eldin Adkins, owner of the Skull Creek Inn and the Elk Lodge’s current bingo champion. Eldin’s parents had retired to Port Aransas and left him in charge of the inn and Winona.

Winona, who was as headstrong as she was nosy, saw things a little differently. She kept her chubby hands in everything, from the front desk to the housekeeping. She also kept the entire senior ladies’ bingo squad informed of the latest gossip. Winona was the squad’s president and best friend to Nikki’s great-aunt Izzie.

Nikki blinked, hoping the old woman would disappear. Instead the sleepy fog lifted. Her vision cleared, and Winona’s features went from blurry and dreamlike to sharp and focused in a matter of seconds.

With a short, chubby body, a head full of snow-white hair and an aren’t-you-just-the-sweetest-lookin’-child smile, Winona looked like the classic grandmother. Her hair had been rolled into tight little sausages that covered her head like a football helmet. She wore the familiar flower-print smock, knee-high panty hose and white orthopedic shoes. Aqua Net mingled with Lysol hovered around her. She held a thick ring of keys in one hand and Nikki’s panties in the other.

“I—I can explain.” So much for a discreet one-night stand. She’d been caught. Not in the act but close enough. And by Winona, of all people.

Her gaze zeroed in on the white cotton undies. Her panties, for cripe’s sake.

Her heart pounded as a dozen possible excuses rushed through her head.