Real Vampires Live Large (Glory St. Clair #2)

Real Vampires Live Large (Glory St. Clair #2) Page 15

I could never read his mind, but I had a feeling . . . Could he see down my V-neck T-shirt?

“Of course I can, Gloriana. Why do you think I’m standing here? You mentioned cup size. I got distracted checking them out for myself.” Richard chuckled, then stepped back when I jumped to my feet.

“Mind reading scumbag.” I slammed the computer shut. “This lesson’s over.”

“Temper, temper. You said you were irresistible. I just proved the point.” Richard dodged my fist, grinned and headed for the door. “I look forward to our next lesson. And while I’m downstairs, I’ll scan the neighborhood for any suspicious characters. It’s been a while since I’ve made a mortal scream. Sounds like fun.”

I slammed the door behind him and threw the dead bolts. Then I pushed Valdez off the couch and picked up the remote. I needed something funny. Two and a Half Men. When Charlie came on to blond bimbo number sixty -seven, I remembered Richard’s hand, warm on my shoulder and the twinkle in his eyes when he’d admitted to copping a peek. Okay, I admit it, I don’t mind a little male appreciation from someone besides Blade. Hey, Gloriana’s still got it. And I was beginning to understand why Flo had gone for Richard. He had a certain charm . . .

My cell phone rang during the third commercial.

“I got your e-mail.”

If the male voice had been Blade’s, I would have been glad to hear it. Instead I gripped the phone until the plastic cracked.

“I got yours first.” Nice comeback, Glory. “For a billionaire, you’ve got weird hobbies. Has anyone ever suggested therapy? ”

“For a vampire, you’ve got an interesting vocabulary. Has anyone ever suggested a stake through the heart? ” He actually laughed.

“Bastard.” My extensive vocabulary deserted me.

“You’re angry. Are your fangs out?”

“Damn straight.”

“I wish I could see them. Run your tongue over them. So sharp, so pretty.”

“Sharp enough to suck you dry, you creep.”

“I remember how you looked on Halloween. Your very generous breasts thrusting against that wooden stake.” Westwood made a sound that creeped me out. “What are you wearing right now, Gloriana? Are you naked?”

My stomach lurched and I stared at the phone for half a second before I snapped it closed and threw it across the room. It hit Flo’s collection of Patrick Swayze movies (don’t ask), then bounced on the rug. Valdez’s cold nose brushed my face.

I threw my arms around him and laid my cheek on his warm fur.

“Westwood?”

“Yes.” I shuddered. “I think we just had phone sex.”

The phone rang again and we all stared at it.

“Pick it up. Let me talk to that asshole.” Will paced around the phone. “Damn it, this dog form sucks. Answer the damned phone, Glory.”

“No.” The ringing stopped for a few blessed seconds then started again.

“Check the caller ID.” Valdez licked my cheek and I finally let go of him. “Could be Blade. He’ll be worried if you don’t answer. ”

The phone quit ringing, then beeped to indicate I had voice mail. I made myself rescue the battered phone and check the number. Blade. Thank God. But why did he have to be so far away? I’d give anything to feel his arms around me now. I listened to his voice mail and realized I had to call him back before he flew home to check on me. Times like these, I realized a cell phone is nothing but a long leash. Okay, there were worse things than having a man worried about you. Like having a homicidal maniac as a pen pal. I ignored the rock in the pit of my stomach and hit the speed dial.

I wasn’t about to mention Westwood’s call. Blade needed to keep his cool and the idea that Westwood . . . Well, let’s just say the whole thing was seriously creeping me out. The less said about it, the better.

"It looks good, Glory.” Flo threw down her paintbrush and wiped her hands on a burnt orange cotton T-shirt that she’d declared too ugly to be more than a rag. “A little plain, maybe, but I think better than it did before.”

I couldn’t argue, at least not without whining. I couldn ’t get over the nagging fear that we’d get this place back together and Westwood’s fire bomber would strike again.

“Snap out of it, Glory. Damian’s put in extra thick windows and hired security to do drive-bys during the day.” Flo put her hand on my shoulder. “And Jeremiah has gone after this Westwood. He’ll make him pay for this.” Flo gestured at the empty racks beside her. “You’ll be back in business in no time.”

“Right. I’m snapping out of it right now.” Damian’s workmen had been quick about getting up new drywall and installing flooring. I’d picked out the wood laminate myself, trying for a space that shouted retro, hip, spend your cash here. But fixtures and stock were up to me. Fortunately, an army of friends had shown up ready to paint, clean, whatever I needed. Most surprising had been Flo, who’d put her manicure at risk to pick up a paint brush.

“Now all we need is some stock.” I sat on a stool next to my refurbished counter, which would hold my new cash register. The old one sat in the stock room, a lump of melted plastic that resembled a science experiment gone terribly wrong.

“Here you go.” Lacy, my day person and shape-shifting neighbor, pushed in through the door loaded down with dry cleaning bags. “These all came out pretty well. I tried to look them over before I accepted them.” She made a face. “Here’s the bill. I put it on your credit card like you asked. Major bucks, I’m afraid.”

I glanced at the bill and swallowed. Since when did dry cleaning cost more than a small car? “Here, let me help you.” I grabbed some bags and began hanging up dresses and suits on the metal racks we’d salvaged by scrubbing off black soot.

“And I have more for you, Glory.” Flo hopped up from where she’d settled to do the baseboards. “I cleaned out my closet.”

She smiled at Lacy. “Come upstairs and give me a hand.”

“Sure.” Lacy gave me a pinch me, I’m dreaming look behind Flo’s back. I love my roomie, but she’d never once considered letting me sell any of her vast collection of shoes, purses or clothes before. She’d always insisted classics never went out of style. And she was right. I’d built a business on that fact.

“Mr. Danger here didn’t even bother to look up when that door opened.” Valdez followed me to the back room where I picked up a trash can. “Will’s not worth the cost of Alpo.”

I set the can down and began stripping plastic bags off clothes. “He’s okay.” I looked around the shop. So much to do. I wished the dogs could hold a paint brush. Maybe if I tied one to Valdez’s tail . . .

“Oh, no you don’t. Not in the job description.” Valdez sat with a thump. “I was making a point here. About the slug otherwise known as Will. The point is, he’s dead to the world during the day. Which is when you’re most at risk.” Valdez sat near my feet while I stuffed bags into the trash can. “Then at night, when he should be on high alert, so maybe yours truly could get some rest, he’s spending all his time trying to look up Flo’s skirt or down your blouse.”

“I resent the implication, though I won’t apologize for appreciating fine women, cheese doodle. And I’ve been by the window scanning the street for mischief makers. I saw Lacy when she was a half block away. I know you don’t like cats, but the lady’s on your side, you know.” Will padded up to sit on my other side. “Nice suit.”

“Chanel.” I stroked the fine wool. Believe me, if I could have sucked in my gut enough to get the zipper up, I’d have kept it.

“In Paris I had a girlfriend once who shopped at Chanel. Expensive habit. I had to dump her.”

“Yeah, right. You dumped her . And I’m a Labradoodle, not a cheese doodle.”

“Oh, puh-leeze. At least I chose to be a purebred Great Pyrenees. A dog known as a faithful friend and fierce guardian. Not a mongrel with questionable ancestors.”

“Mongrel!” Valdez growled and moved in on Will. “Yeah, you’re fierce. Especially when you finally get up off your ass to come to the food bowl.”

“Right. Like you’re not Twinkie obsessed. And what’s with the jones you’ve got for Cheetos?”

I tuned out the ongoing saga. Between the ick factor of Will playing Peeping Tom and paint fumes, I needed air. I stepped outside and took a deep breath. The air was fresh and I instantly felt better. It was after two in the morning, thank God for all night dry cleaners, and the street was almost deserted. Mugs and Muffins, already back in business, boasted only one customer, a student type hunched over his laptop with his coffee at his elbow. His glasses weren’t tinted so I figured he wasn’t in the Westwood spy network. God, I was sick of being paranoid.

“Gloriana.” Oh, hell. A pain stabbed my forehead. “Come to me, Gloriana.”

The voice was inside my head. I had to follow it. I headed down the sidewalk toward the corner.

“Yes, darling. Come closer. You’re beautiful. Let me see you.”

I threw off my sweater and reached for the buttons on my blouse.

“What the hell are you doing?” Valdez head-butted me, knocking me on my ass. “Glory, look at me.”

I shook my head. “What?” Damn, I was freezing. My blouse was open to the waist giving the world a nice view of my black bra, my sweater a lump on the sidewalk a few feet away.

“Get inside, Gloriana.” Will ran to the corner, barking and snarling like he meant business. I staggered to my feet. “That voice. I swear I know it.” I grabbed my sweater and ran to the shop door. “Will. You get anything?”

“Nope. Whoever it was got away.”

Valdez pushed me inside. My brain was screaming. Even though the voice was gone, the headache seemed determined to hang on. And what was with the striptease? I buttoned my blouse and threw on my sweater again.