kinda way.
Sierra was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her gaze above his neck. Okay, she’d sneaked a peek down to his navel once or twice. And maybe she’d mistakenly looked even lower.
Right, who was she kidding? She’d seen him in all his glory. His nudity rattled her.
Keeping her own self-preservation in mind, she had her phone in one hand while her other hand was in her purse, her fingers curled around a can of Mace. Because the bottom line here was that she was facing an angry naked guy and that was not a positive in the security department.
A knock at the door at her back startled her. She yanked it open to find a man standing there, flashing a badge of some kind at her.
“That was fast,” she said. She must have pushed the 911 button without realizing it and they’d used the GPS on her phone to locate her. “Come in.”
“I’m Damon Thornheart. Is there a problem?” he said.
“
Ronan McCoy couldn’t believe this was happening to him. He’d spent the past century waiting to come home and now that he had, this woman with the bad attitude and great breasts was getting in his way.
Which was why Ronan welcomed the arrival of fellow vampire Damon Thornheart. Ronan wasn’t sure why he hadn’t been able to compel the woman to leave. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he’d been an indentured vampire for the past one hundred years.
Ronan had been turned on the battlefield in World War I in 1914. The trench warfare had been brutally bloody. Hundreds of thousands had been injured, Ronan among them. But his torture hadn’t ended with his death. It had only begun.
He ruthlessly shut those thoughts down. He refused to let his past dictate his future. His immortal future.
Yes, Baron Voz had sired him but unlike most vampires, Voz had kept Ronan indentured to him for a century, forcing Ronan to do his bidding and his killing.
But Ronan was done with that now. When he’d left Chicago to head off to war in Europe, he’d promised his sister Adele that he’d come back. He was keeping that promise. Her letters had kept him going for the months before his death.
So here he was, home again. The returning warrior. Yeah, right.
“She won’t leave,” Ronan told Damon.
“Damn right, I won’t,” she said. “The house is mine. I have the paperwork to prove it.” She dug in her purse. “No, wait, it’s here. I could have sworn … Yes, here it is.” She handed over the forms. “These prove I am the owner of this property.”
“Of the house, yes, but not the property,” Damon said after looking over the paperwork.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“That you have apparent ownership of the house, but not the land it sits on or is surrounded by.”
“You mean the small front yard and back yard?” she said.
Damon nodded. “That’s right.”
“How is that possible?” she demanded.
Damon shrugged. “You’ll have to take it up with your attorney.”
“He’s just left on a two-week cruise to Antarctica. I can’t contact him while he’s away.”
“Then you’ll have to wait until he comes back.”
“No way,” she said.
“Why not?” Damon said.
“Because the clock starts ticking today.”
“What clock?” Ronan demanded.
“Never mind. You still haven’t said why you’re here. Where is your proof that you have any right to be here?” she asked Ronan.
Her glare at his still-bare chest let him know that she wanted to add, Where is your shirt? Hmm, maybe he could read her mind and could get rid of her that way.
Ronan concentrated on Sierra, taking in everything about her from her shoulder-length auburn hair to her green eyes to her great breasts. She had a cute nose and a stubborn chin. She grabbed her documents from Damon’s hands with slim fingers.
Ronan wondered if she’d be so confrontational if she knew she was facing a pair of vampires.
Reminding himself that he was supposed to be trying to read her mind, he refocused his attention. She was angry. She was tired. She was concentrating on the papers and then looking over his shoulder. What was she looking at?
He turned but saw nothing there. He returned to Sierra. She was wearing black pants, a lime green top that hugged her breasts, and a pair of Cladaugh earrings. With her coloring, the auburn hair, pale skin, and green eyes, he figured her heritage was Irish. So was his. But she was a mere human while he was not.
Ronan breathed her in. All his senses were powerfully heightened to vampire strength. Her scent was tantalizing. He could hear her pulse swishing through her body. He focused in on the slight quiver of her carotid artery in her neck.
As an indentured vampire, Ronan had had to kill more humans than he wanted. But that was over. He’d worked hard to develop his vampire self-control. That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted, not only by her artery but also by her curvy body. His afterlife would be much simpler if she just obeyed his compulsion.
He didn’t sense anything different about her from other women he’d come in contact with over the decades. Mind-reading was a talent he’d developed over time, but even that skill was difficult where she was concerned.
He sensed all kinds of strange thoughts in her head. Writing deadlines, cover ideas, iceberg images, a woman in a corset. Whoa. Where had that last one come from? Maybe he’d mistaken Sierra’s earlier appreciative looks at his body. Maybe that wasn’t her thing. Maybe women in corsets were her thing.
Not that it mattered. Sierra’s sexual orientation was irrelevant. She had to go and she had to go now. Ronan needed the house to himself. This was his family’s home, and therefore it was his if he wanted it according to Vampire law. And he wanted it. Badly. The secret to saving his sister’s soul was somewhere in this house.
Besides, the house was located smack-dab in the middle of Vamptown, a Chicago neighborhood inhabited mostly by vampires. This was no place for a human woman, even if she was one with courage and a surprisingly strong stubborn streak.
“She has to go,” Ronan told Damon.
Nodding, Damon stepped closer to Sierra and looked into her eyes. “You need to leave.”
“No way!” She narrowed her eyes, her increasing anger and frustration very evident. “I don’t think you are being an impartial person in this situation. In fact, I want your badge number so I can report you to your superior.”
Frowning, Damon looked at Ronan. His message was clear. Damon hadn’t had any better luck compelling her than Ronan had. Which on the one hand, made Ronan feel like he wasn’t incapable after all. But on the other hand, it meant they were stuck with her for now.
“You two work it out,” Damon abruptly told them before turning on his heel to walk out.
As Head of Security in Vamptown, Damon was no doubt going to check out every detail about Sierra Brennan. Meanwhile, Ronan had a situation to handle.
“What kind of cop are you?” Sierra shouted after Damon.
“He’s the kind with fangs,” Ronan drawled sarcastically. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
