LITMIR.BIZ

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still shots of his motorcycle shop?

      Forget desperate. One hundred and eighty years without an orgasm had finally taken its toll. She’d crossed the line from desperate to completely deranged.

      “Hey there, sweet thing.”

      Her gaze snapped up just as a man stepped in front of her and blocked her escape route. It was one of the bikers who’d been playing darts when she’d first entered the bar.

      He slid his arm around her shoulder and leaned into her. “Why don’t you and I have a seat and get to know each other better?”

      That’s what he said, but she knew the truth. He didn’t want to get to know her. Not her mind, that is. As for having a seat…The only seat he had in mind involved her straddling his lap and doing her best rodeo queen imitation.

      “No, thanks.”

      “Aw, don’t be like that.” His thick fingers stroked her arm. “I just want to be friends.”

      “I doubt that.” Garret’s deep voice drifted over her shoulder and prickled the hair on the back of her neck.

      The man turned and his eyes went wide. “Where’d you come from?”

      “Do you really want to know?”

      The man blinked and shook his head. “Weren’t you just sitting clear across the room?”

      “I’ve got fast reflexes.” When the man didn’t look convinced, Garret added, “Shouldn’t you be at home with Liza?”

      Shock fueled the man’s expression and his gaze narrowed. “What do you know about my wife?”

      “I know she left your sorry ass because you’ve got a hair trigger when it comes to sex. I also know that the two of you are still married even though she’s staying at her mother’s.” Garret’s expression was as hard as granite. “You shouldn’t be here hitting on women. You should be begging Liza’s forgiveness.”

      The man looked confused for a long moment before an idea seemed to strike. “You’re one of them superheroes, ain’t ya?”

      “Not even close,” Garret replied.

      “What about a psychic? My Aunt Bertie was a psychic. She had forty cats and swore she could talk to every one of them. Always knew when one was getting sick.”

      “I’m not psychic either. I’m pissed. So get your hands off the lady. Now.”

      “Like hell—” he started, but his voice faded when Garret’s gaze collided with his.

      “Go home,” Garret told the man.

      And beg your wife to take you back. Viv added the silent thought when the man’s gaze finally shifted to hers. He nodded and released her arm.

      “Thanks,” she told Garret when the man finally walked away. “But you didn’t have to do that. I can take care of myself.”

      “I know.” His gaze drilled into hers, and for a split second time pulled her back, and the wall between them seemed to crumble.

      Concern sparkled in his eyes, along with a fierce protective light that stalled her heart.

      “About those pictures,” she heard herself say. “I…” I was lying. I don’t want to take your picture. I want you. Wild and naked and inside of me. She opened her mouth, but despite the moment of déjà vu, she couldn’t seem to force the words past her lips. “I—I can’t wait to get started,” she heard herself say. “See you tomorrow.”And then she turned and pushed through the Exit door.

      The sweltering Texas night sucked her up, and the door rocked shut behind her. Gravel crunched as she headed for the silver Jag parked at the far end of a row of motorcycles. Her ears tuned for any sound that would indicate that Garret followed.

      Nothing.

      A wave of disappointment crashed through her, followed by a surge of relief.

      Relief? What the hell was wrong with her?

      She should have hauled him outside with her, shoved him up against the nearest wall, kissed him full on the mouth and made her intentions crystal clear.

      That’s what she would have done with anybody else. What she’d always done to keep up her strength and feed the hunger that churned deep inside her.

      But while she’d soaked up plenty of sexual energy from her partner’s orgasms, she’d never closed her eyes and lost herself in the feel of her own body convulsing and splintering into a thousand little pieces.

      Not since her last night with Garret.

      She’d been a vampire back then and he’d been just another mortal, but the encounter had rocked her unlike any other. They’d had phenomenal sex and she’d been hooked.

      And so had he.

      The crazy fool had actually proposed to her.

      She touched her bare ring finger. She could still feel the metal sliding over her knuckle. In her mind’s eye, she saw the ornate gold band and the bloodred princesscut ruby. It had been small. Very small but pretty. His grandmother’s, he’d told her.

      She’d smiled indulgently and played along for a while. The way she always did when it came to men.

      She was a vampire. Charismatic. Mesmerizing. She could be dressed in baggy sweats, having the worst hair day on the planet, and men would still find her irresistible. It hadn’t been a bit surprising that Garret had fallen so hard for her so fast.

      No, what had really startled her was what she’d felt for him.

      She’d actually liked him.

      He’d been a patriot of Texas. Strong. Noble. Courageous. And from the moment he’d walked into the small saloon where she’d been working, aka feeding, she’d been attracted.

      So she’d done the unthinkable—she’d slept with him not once but several times. Even more than the sex, they’d actually spent time together.

      They’d gone on moonlit walks, held hands beneath the stars and confided their dreams to each other.

      Wild, far-out dreams of love and marriage and kids and a real home.

      She’d been a newly turned vampire back then, desperate to ignore the truth of what she’d become. Likewise, he’d been a man eager to escape the death and destruction that lived and breathed all around him.

      And so she’d pretended, and he’d pretended.

      She’d seen the love swimming in his eyes, and she’d let herself believe it was real.

      But it hadn’t been.

      Not then and certainly not now.

      He was no longer a weak human mesmerized by her vampiric charm, and she was no longer denying her true nature.

      They were both vampires, fully rooted in the present. When they had sex again, there would be no soft words between them, no foolhardy talk of happily ever after. No false promises.

      Just lust.

      Raw.

      Primitive.

      Savage.

      If they came together.

      The doubt pushed its way into her head as she climbed behind the wheel of her car and keyed the ignition.

      There could be no if.

      Sex had to be a sure thing, and the lame excuse she’d given him tonight would work in her favor. Pictures meant more than one. Which meant they wouldn’t be spending five minutes together sharing small talk. It would take hours, maybe even days, for her to set up her equipment—the cameras, the lighting, the back-ground—and get just the right shots. She had no doubt that the more time they spent with one another, the more explosive the

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