Sucker for Love (5 page)

W
hen I cracked open an eye late that afternoon, I fully expected to find the bed beside me empty.

What I didn’t expect was my mother, live and in color, looming over me.

“Ma? What are you—” The words stalled in my throat as I cast a frantic glance at the tangle of sheets next to me just to make sure I hadn’t imagined Ty going AWOL again.

Sure enough, the bed was empty.

Thankfully.

Not that I wanted a one-sided relationship with a made vampire who couldn’t commit. But we were still in the honeymoon phase, so I was willing to hang in there and see where things might lead. Just because, you know, I’m the curious sort who likes to experience afterlife and all that it has to offer.

All right, already. I’m the hopeless romantic sort with a weakness for happily-ever-afters, particularly my own.

I simply could not live with myself for the next trillion or so years if I didn’t at least give him a chance. Even if I did have the unnerving feeling that I’d latched onto a bona fide commitment-phobe.

On top of that, I was born and he was made, and Ash was one hundred percent right. My mother was going to freakin’
freak.

But not just yet.

While I wanted my mother in-the-know when it came to my relationship with Ty, finding out about the man your only daughter is boffing and actually catching them
en boff were
two very different things.

I gathered the sheet up under my arms, struggled to a sitting position and tried to look innocent.

My ma could sniff out the dreaded G faster than a werewolf could locate the nearest barbeque joint. I drew a deep breath (hey, it helps the average human) and tuned out the
Ack! She is so going to kill me!
I ignored the heat creeping up my neck and focused on the zillion questions inspired by my ma’s sudden appearance.

Why?

What?

When?

Where?

Cartier?

My gaze snagged on the pearl and diamond
choker that encircled my mother’s slim neck. I forgot my mental inquisition and drank in the vampire standing beside my bed.

Jacqueline Marchette was rocking it in a pair of gray Armani tailored pants, a black silk shell and a fitted red Marni jacket that accented her tall, svelte figure. Her long dark hair was swept back in a chic ponytail. Dark eyeliner rimmed rich brown eyes framed with perfectly arched eyebrows. High sculpted cheekbones, a delicate nose and flawless skin betrayed her pure bloodline. She smelled of cherries jubilee, Chanel No. 5 and determination.

Uh-oh.

“How’d you get in here?” I blurted.

“I’m a vampire, dear. I have ways.”

My gaze ping-ponged toward the heavy-duty blinds to my left. “You levitated through the window?”

“Don’t be silly. I don’t levitate when I’ve got a perfectly comfortable pair of Jimmy Choos to walk in.”

“You used your super-strength to break the lock on my front door?”

“And risk a three hundred dollar Belgian manicure? Darling, please.”

“You morphed into a whiff of smoke and seeped through the cracks?”

“And risk smelling like the inside of your father’s favorite pipe? Stop being overly dramatic, Lilliana. I slipped your building super a few fifties.” She held up a key. “It’s a capitalist society, dear. Money trumps vampire magic every time. Provided you have money,
of course.” She fingered the edge of my bedsheet and stared down her perfect nose. “Cotton poly blend?”

My defenses went on full alert. “These are Egyptian cotton. Sort of.” She shook her head and I stiffened. “The good sheets are dirty. I haven’t made it to the Laundromat yet.”

“Well, that explains why you’re naked.”

“Maybe I was having hot, random sex with strangers,” I heard myself say. Hey, a vamp’s gotta have her pride and my mom was much too quick to buy the Laundromat excuse. “A really hot, handsome stranger.”

“If only.” My mother cast a glance around her. “You know, if you would just take your father up on his offer, you wouldn’t have to live like this. Not only is the salary good at Moe’s, but we just added dental.”

“My fangs are fine, Ma.”

“And maid service.”

“I like cleaning. Really.”

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she gave a disdainful little sniff that made me feel like I should be starring in
The Biggest Loser.

“Did you drive all the way from Connecticut just to criticize me?”

“Don’t be silly, dear. I can do that over the phone.” She shook her head. “Someone has to stop your brother from making a tragic mistake that he will regret for the rest of his afterlife. Your father and I are headed over to Park Avenue right now to talk some
sense into him.” She nailed me with a stare. “And you’re coming with us.”

My mom needed me. As terrifying as the thought was, it was also sort of sweet. In a weird, twisted,
Mommy Dearest
way. My ego perked. “I’m the moral support?”

“You’re the distraction, dear.” She flicked an invisible piece of lint from her sleeve. “First, we’ll try to persuade him with a nice fat, juicy raise. If that doesn’t work, we’ll throw in a four-week, all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii. And if
that
doesn’t work, I’m going to slip these into the human’s drink.” She held up a small silver packet of pills.

“Please tell me those are vitamins.”

She shook her head and gave an evil grin. “Birth control pills, dear. I got them from Millicent Von Waldenburg, who got them from her son, Ivan. You remember Ivan?”

“Isn’t he the one who slicks his hair back?”

“It’s a classic look, dear. Think Frank Langella.”

“Or the Fonz.”

She gave me a pointed glare. “You’re much too picky, Lilliana. You’ll never find a decent eternity mate if you don’t bend a little. Ivan is a fabulous prospect. His fertility rating is an eight and he’s got several nice real estate investments that are paying off heavily.”

“I’m not going out with Ivan.”

“Of course you’re not.” She waved a hand at me. “You’re going out with Remy.”

Remy Tremaine was the chief of the Fairfield Police Department and the perfect born vampire. He had a fabulous fertility rating, a smoking body and a nice side business providing bodyguards for the rich and famous. We’d grown up together, terrorized each other and, more recently, had our very first official date.

And our last.

I’d explained about Ty and given the spiel about how I’d still like to be friends. While Remy hadn’t bought it (made + born = not a chance in hell), I’d set aside the few feelings I had for him and moved on.

My mother obviously hadn’t gotten the email on that.

“Remy and I are just friends,” I told her for the bizillionth time.

“We’ll see,” she said in a voice that never failed to strike fear in the hearts of frightened villagers and send yours truly running online to
MyTherapist.com
.

“Ivan is feeding off this gynecologist from Queens,” she went on. “When he heard what Jack was contemplating, he got them for me. Your father and I aren’t the only ones up in arms over your brother’s poor judgment. The entire born vamp community is outraged. They understand, of course, that it’s not Jack’s fault. He wouldn’t willingly betray his species. He’s just powerless against such strong magic.”

“For the last time, Mandy is
not
a witch. She’s a medical examiner.”

“She comes from a long line of witches, and you know what they say.”

“Live and let live?”

“The snake doesn’t slither far from the egg.”

What?

“She’s mesmerizing him, all right,” she went on. “But her powers are nothing compared to ours. Now get up and get dressed. Your father is waiting downstairs in the car.”

I gave her my most apologetic smile. “Gee, I’d love to help save Jack and the pristine Marchette reputation,”—
not
—“but I’ve got a schedule full of clients.” An even bigger
not.

I wasn’t spiking my sister-in-law’s tea with Yaz. For one thing, Jack and Mandy’s baby plans were none of my business. Two? I actually liked Mandy. And three, I wasn’t climbing out of bed in my birthday suit even if my mother had seen it all before.

She hadn’t seen it in a good 488 years. Nor had she seen the heart-shaped tattoo I’d had done the day before I’d lost my virginity and stopped aging. It wasn’t the greatest tat (think small wagon, a vial full of henna and an ancient gypsy rather than a state-of-the-art shop, sterilized needles and an Ed Hardy wannabe), but it was mine and it summed up my romantic personality.

“Why don’t you take Nina and Rob?” I suggested. When my mother didn’t look the least bit excited over the prospect, I added, “Nina was just saying to
me last night how anxious she is to get to know you.”

“That’s ridiculous. We’ve known each other for ages.” My mother picked at another piece of nonexistent lint. “She grew up with you.”

“You know her as the BFF of your one and only beautiful, vivacious, über hot daughter. You don’t know her as the potential mother of your first grandchild. There’s a huge difference.”

That got her attention. She nailed me with a pointed stare. “What are you talking about?”

I shrugged, gathered the sheet tighter and wiggled my way toward the edge of the bed. “Just that she’s a born vampire and Rob is a born vampire and things have been going pretty great between them. The next logical step is for them to move in together. Maybe open a joint bank account. And maybe, you know, possibly pledge their eternal commitment to each other.”

Actually, the next logical step for Nina was to dump Rob, because her longest relationship to date was just under six weeks and she had a huge fear of waking up one evening and feeling as if her afterlife had passed her by while she’d been stuck having sex with the same vampire.

Likewise, Rob usually jumped ship just after seven weeks, or right before the Moe’s Memorial Day Dinner Under the Stars, whichever came first.

What, you might ask, is the MMDDUS? Take one
lush Connecticut estate, add a fireworks display, an all-you-can-eat chicken wing buffet (for the humans) and at least three dozen Hooters girls (for the vampires), and you get the picture.

Rob had a thing for orange shorts, as did every other male vampire on the Moe’s payroll. Hence his sudden need to be single and a total jerk-off when May rolled around.

Until then …

“They’re definitely getting serious.” I nodded. “Commitment vials, matching coffins, monogrammed blood bags—the works.”

She looked like one of Satan’s hounds who’d just caught a whiff of a runaway soul. “I suppose we could make a detour by Rob’s.” Before I could blink, I heard my apartment door open and close and,
poof,
she was gone.

I hurried to the door, threw the deadbolt and turned to glare at Killer, who sat curled up on the sofa.

“You could have warned me when she got here.”

What do I look like? A watch dog? I don’t do loyalty or protection or any of that crap. I’m a cat, i.e., snotty, selfish and hungry.
He blinked.
Speaking of which, if I don’t hear the can opener in the next five seconds, things are going to get ugly.

“I’m trading you in for a cocker spaniel.”

Yeah, yeah. And I’m the next Miss Congeniality. Get moving, sister.

I glared and then headed to the kitchen. I know, I know. I should let him starve. But I needed all the
good luck I could get and I had a feeling animal cruelty wouldn’t score me any brownie points with the CEV Upstairs. Unless I was sucking said animal dry.

I contemplated the notion all of five seconds before opening a can of Kittylicious and dumping it into Killer’s bowl. Then I spent the next hour doing hair and makeup and trying not to think about Esther.

Ash was right. She was probably off with Mr. Visa having hot, wild sex and sucking each other dry. When she finally came up for air, she would call and explain the couch incident. He’d spilled a drink. She’d spilled a drink. They’d both been having an emo moment.

Something.

I had absolutely nothing to worry about.

My head knew that. Unfortunately, my gut wasn’t buying it. It kept nagging at me, insisting that something was wrong.

A feeling that grew stronger as I left Killer parked near his scratching post with strict instructions not to pee or barf on
anything,
locked up my apartment and headed for the office.

A
sh was waiting for me when I walked into Dead End Dating. He wore a gray button-down, faded jeans and scuffed brown biker boots. While there was nothing designer about his clothes, his buff bod was the stuff Calvin ads were made of.

Not that I noticed that sort of thing since I’m officially “involved” with Ty.

All right, already. So I noticed. I’m involved, not dead.

Okay, so I’m technically dead, too, but you get the point.

I ix-nayed the lustful thoughts that rolled through my brain, dropped my purse on the corner of my desk and sank down into my chair to brace myself for what I knew had to be bad news.