Jennifer Rardin - [Jaz Parks 1] - Once Bitten, Twice Shy

bugs.

Vayl's fingers slipped into my hair. The pins began to fall out and he combed each bit as it loosened. I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek against his thigh, totally lost to the sensation. It felt great, soothing. It shouldn't have. Why wasn't I backing Vayl off?

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, catching my breath at his expression. Passion lit his eyes with an intense green flame. I could not look away, not even as he lowered his face to mine very slowly and deliberately. At the last second I turned away, the feeling of his lips against my cheek making me gasp.

'So tired,' I murmured, though I'd never been more aware. Can't do this, Jaz. It's wrong. It's bad. It's…

'Sleep then,' he whispered, his lips so close to my ear I felt his words tickle my eardrum. I felt him slip the cards from my hand and heard him put them back on the table.

'Okay.' I snuggled under the blanket he draped over me and promised myself that tomorrow, as soon as darkness fell, I would definitely put Vayl in his place.

Chapter Six

You know how sometimes real sounds can invade your dreams? Like one time, I was napping on the couch and dreamed I was interviewing Steven Tyler. Then I woke up and there he was on MTV talking to some bimbette who asked such stupid questions I was glad to wake up and find it wasn't me.

Now I dreamed that Vayl and I were discussing the mission. I said, 'So what do you think this virus does?' And Vayl answered by making a strange trilling noise, like he had a cricket stuck in his throat.

'How do you think it gets transferred?' I asked.

'Trrrill.'

'And what's the deal with this vampire/terrorist connection anyway? The Sons of Paradise hate supernatural stuff, and vampires are just seething with it. So why ally with them, especially if you have your own cadre of mad scientists?'

'Trrill.'

'Vayl, it's so weird, you sound just like my—'

'Cell phone,' I mumbled. I opened my eyes, stared at the glittering handbag on the bedside table, a little worse for wear as a result of its trip to the floorboards during last night's wreck. Beneath the bag, where I'd laid it before we left, sat my personal phone. Ringing. Which meant it was either Evie or Albert, neither of which did I feel like talking to at—I glanced at the clock—eight in the morning.

I said a very unladylike word as I reached over to pick up the phone and my ribs reminded me to fight dirtier next time some hulking bruiser wanted to trade blows. 'Do you have any idea what time I went to sleep last night? I mean this morning?' I waited. Nothing. Oops, forgot to press the button. I might actually be glad about that later.

Beep. 'Hello?'

'Jaz, I'm so glad you answered.'

'Evie… have you been crying?'

'It's either that or pound Dad over the head with a mallet.'

Crap. I am so not up to this. 'What's he done now?'

'More like what hasn't he done.' Evie really didn't belong in our family. Too sweet. Too anxious to please. It tended to bring out the worst in the rest of us, including Albert.

'Okay, what hasn't he done?'

'He hasn't taken his insulin every day, or followed his diet, or minded the infection in his f-f-foot.'

'I thought we hired a nurse to do that for him.'

Evie took a deep, trembling breath, but she still started crying again, hard enough that I didn't understand what she said next.

'Evie, all that bawling can't be good for the baby, so cut it out.' I knew I sounded stern, but bossiness is the main perk of big sisterhood. And she did calm way down, way quick.

'Now, first of all, where's your husband? He'd be having a cow if he knew you were this agitated over Albert.'

'Tim's in Philadelphia on business.'

'Okay, after you get off the phone with me, call him. It'll make you feel better. Now, what about the nurse?'

'Dad fired her.'

'What?!' I felt the prickling along my scalp that signaled Big Anger. I wished I was the Queen of Hearts so I could just order my little card soldiers to cut off Albert's head. 'When?'

'About a month ago.'

'A month! But I've sent him two checks to cover her salary since then.'

'Me too.' Tears had crept back into Evie's voice. I could just imagine her sitting with her elbows on her little breakfast table, her straight, honey-brown hair sweeping forward to cover her face as she dropped her forehead into her hand. 'Apparently Dad's been using the money to buy donuts, beer and cigarettes. Now he's sick, the infection's spread to his heel and up his ankle. The doctor at the veteran's hospital says he may have to amputate, but he won't know for sure until he examines Dad, and Dad won't go!'

'What. A. Dumbass.'