Sex and the Single Vampire

Lacking self-confidence? Well, aren't you just full of the insults?'

'They are not insults, just statements.'

'Fine, well, let's try on a few more for size, shall we?' I set down the EMF counter and limped over to him, poking a finger into his chest. He captured my hand with his, refusing to let it go. I ignored the wonderful things his touch did to me, and let him have it with both barrels. 'For your information, Dracula, women have been emancipated. We can think on our own, make our own choices, and even—heaven forbid!—live our lives in comfort and happiness without any know-it-all males telling us what to do. Furthermore, I am a Summoner. It goes with the territory that my mind is strong. Strong is not obstinate. And as for self-confidence, I'm very confident in myself and my abilities. Just because I haven't had a lot of success Summoning doesn't mean that I can't do it. I can, I know I can, but it's not an exact science and there's a lot of elements that come into play when you're dealing with ghosts.'

'I wasn't speaking of your self-confidence relating to your skills; I was referring to the fact that you find your appearance lacking.'

There's nothing I can do about my appearance,' I snapped. 'I'm well aware of my shortcomings, if that's what you mean. I don't consider dealing with what I've got as best I can as expressing a lack of self- confidence.'

'You hide your very feminine body behind the cover of shapeless male clothing just as you hide your eyes behind dark glasses.'

'I wear pants because they're a heck of a lot more comfortable when crawling around haunted houses than a skirt and heels. I wear dark glasses because being called a freak gets a bit wearisome after the fiftieth time. Any more questions, Sherlock? Or can I get on with taking a few readings?'

'You hide your attraction to me behind denial.'

I grinned and checked him for any ultrasonic emissions. 'Oh, so now we get to the truth of your complaints. You're just pissed because I didn't respond to your kiss. Your smug masculine pride has been hurt. Poor little Christian, used to swooning maidens whenever you lay a lip on them, is that it? I guess the real test of a man's attraction comes down to what he can do without the enhancement of a little mental push to aid a seduction, eh?'

In hindsight, I saw that baiting him was not the wisest course of action. Lesson to the smart: Never challenge a vampire's masculinity unless you're made of marble, or are dead. You just can't win.

He was on me before I could take a breath, my body slammed up hard against his, his arms immovable and impossibly hard behind me. But it wasn't his arms that worried me; it was the look of determination in his beautiful (now a rich walnut) eyes.

'You are impossible,' he said against my mouth, his body quickly becoming aroused. Mine answered the call despite my sending out the fire department to extinguish all the delightfully tingly fires he started. 'You mock me, you abuse me, you do not respect the power that I hold, and yet you make me feel things I've not felt for centuries.'

For a moment he slipped into my mind, and I felt myself go soft against him at the recognition of his need. I hadn't forgotten the torment I'd felt both in the dream about him and in the inn, but I had assumed it was greatly exaggerated in my mind. Now I knew it wasn't; Christian was a deep well of desperate need, the need for the purity of love to salvage his soul, to pull him from the abyss of anguish and despair that filled him. I closed him out of my mind more as a self-preservation tactic than anything else, and rallied my strength to resist the lure of his lips just as his mouth closed on mine.

This time there was no softness in him. He was all dominance, quickly overpowering any resistance I had until I had no choice but to allow him into my mouth. He was consuming me, overwhelming me, and I knew in a desperate part of my mind that if I didn't do something, he would take everything I had and leave me empty, drained, a shell of what I had been. Struggling was not an option, nor was I sure I could. Even as I feared his control, pleasure burned bright in every touch of his lips and tongue. Instinct saved me, instinct and the desire I felt that he would not allow me to deny. I melted against him, tempering his hard body with my softness, feeding his power with my own. Miraculously the kiss changed from dominance to something erotic, a joining of our desires that quickly went beyond a mere touching of mouths. Without even thinking, I took his pain into my body and returned it with warmth.

He tore his mouth from mine, suddenly releasing me.

I swayed against him for a minute, then regained control of my body. 'All right,' I said, turning away so I wouldn't have to see the triumph in his eyes. 'You've made your point. You're the world's champion kisser. Fine. I'll have a plaque made up in the morning. Now will you just leave me be? I have work to do.'

I gathered the necessities and eased myself down on the floor. The cat was curled up underneath the armchair, sleeping. Christian remained silent as I traced a circle with chalk. I finally gave in and glanced at him. He stood watching me, the expected look of triumph strangely absent from his eyes. Instead he looked almost… vulnerable. I quickly returned my gaze to the circle. An arrogant, dominant Christian I could deal with. One that looked as shaken as I felt by our kiss was a beast of a different color. I ached, I positively ached to comfort him, to take him into my arms and kiss that look of sorrow and pain from his face, but I knew well how a man of his domineering mien would react to such a gesture—he would take my heartfelt offer and twist it into a way to control me. Never again, I vowed, and traced the wards of protection on my left hand and over my right eye.

'What are you doing?'

His voice skimmed my skin like a sultry breeze. I reinforced the circle, worried that his presence had distracted me enough to leave the circle open (and thus useless). 'I'm a Summoner; hence, I'm Summoning.'

'Why?'

Evidently he had recovered from our kiss. I hadn't. I was still quivering inside, but not so much that I couldn't slide him an annoyed look. 'It's what Summoners do. If I'm boring you, feel free to leave.'

He leaned back against the wall again. 'My questions was not why do you Summon, but why are you doing it now? I thought you tried earlier and only raised the cat?'

I thought about saying something about persistence and not giving up, then figured he'd turn that against me by crowing over the effect he had on me. Instead I opened up the dead man's ash and tried to clear my mind. 'I'll continue to try to Summon the human ghost until I have to go home.'

Before he could speak I said the words of Summoning, opening the door in my mind to all possibilities, sprinkling the ash liberally over the circle. As before it floated all over, some in the circle, other bits drawn by my warmth to float around my face.

'That looks rather messy. Isn't there a more efficient way to Summon a spirit?'

'Comments from the undead are entirely optional,' I told him as I waved away the ash, peering into the circle. Just as it had all four times at the inn, the circle wasn't doing anything. 'Dratted'—I pinched the bridge of my nose—'ash. Gets everywhere. Oh, no, I think I'm going to… to…'

I sneezed. When I opened my eyes Christian was standing next to me, staring intently at the circle. Within its confines the air gathered itself, slowly turning opaque, until the form of a short, hefty woman in a bathrobe, with a headful of fat sausage curls, emerged from the mist.

I stared up at the ghost, the hairs on my arms standing on end as I realized that I'd done it; I'd Summoned my first human ghost! All by myself! Woobah!

A tanned hand (how did a vampire get a tan? Were there undead tanning salons?) appeared in front of my face. I took it and allowed him to pull me to my feet.

I looked at Christian. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and looked back at the ghost. I looked at her, too. She was dressed in what looked suspiciously like my comfy green bathrobe, and a neck-to-ankles flannel nightgown. She must have been sleeping when the hotel was bombed.

I grounded the spirit and opened the circle. 'Urn… hello. I take it you're the lady who died in the fire.'

She stretched and patted her hair. 'Well, I don't remember a fire, but I was staying in this room. Esme is my name, Esme Cartwright. And you are?'

'My name is Allie. Allegra,' I corrected, sliding a glance toward Christian. 'This is Christian Dante.'

'It is the utmost pleasure to meet you, madam,' he said, bowing in the deliciously foreign way he had.

'Oh, my, a Dark One!' She tittered at Christian and made what I'd have called (if she hadn't been dead more than fifty years) eyes at him. Then she turned back to me with a perky smile. 'You have excellent taste my dear.