$4.24
Striking
the right note could shatter more than their hearts.
Downbeat
©
2014 Mary Hughes
Biting
Love, Book 7
After
an attack that slaughtered his family, vampire Dragan Zajicek walled
off his heart and went on a sixteen-hundred-year rampage with the bad
boys of history.
Now
a rock star of the concert podium and master freelance spy, he’s
taken the baton for a small orchestra near Chicago to investigate
rumors of a monstrous, undefeatable vampire dubbed the Soul Stealer.
But
it’s the lovely, unassuming Raquel “Rocky” Hrbek who mesmerizes
him from the first touch of her luscious lips on her flute.
Rocky,
a shy shadow scarred by middle school cruelty, is mystified as to why
core-meltingly gorgeous Dragan would notice a mouse like her. As his
stolen kisses draw her dangerously close to the edge of her carefully
constructed comfort zone, he exposes her secret—she’s
investigating the monster herself.
As
their quest draws them closer together, the monster zeroes in on the
woman Dragan’s rebellious heart tells him is his mate. Now they
must find a way to destroy the indestructible before Rocky is utterly
consumed. And Chicago is bathed in the blood of innocents.
Warning:
Contains a master of seduction and symphonies, an awkward and
innocent flutist, small-town humor, heart-stopping action, and an
exodus to Iowa. Oh, and the cheese balls are ba-a-ack—and deadlier
than ever.
Enjoy
the following excerpt for
Downbeat:
I
jumped and nearly tripped. Zajicek caught my wrist to steady me. His
fingers were long and slender but amazingly strong—and fiercely
warm. Like iron filings to a magnet, my skin aligned instantly to
him. Hot sensation juddered through me, knocking me even more off
balance. I scrambled to regain my equilibrium, only to have my feet
scud into one of the semi-vertical sidewalk stones. My flute bag
slipped off my shoulder and nosedived into the crook of my arm,
yanking me sideways. I went down.
Powerful
arms wrapped around me and saved me from severe pavement burn. The
arms were gentle righting me, and I stood in their comforting embrace
a moment to get my breath back. A strong heart beat under my cheek.
My palms pressed against warm, crisp cotton. The body under the
cotton was a solid, cloth-covered cliff, so unlike my own soft limbs.
I shivered.
“Are
you all right, Ms. Hrbek?” Zajicek’s deep honeyed tones, tinged
with amusement, came from somewhere over my head.
“Huh?”
Not the snappiest of rejoinders but I was cheek-to-massive-chest with
Dragan Zajicek, the posterboy I’d had the hots for half my life.
He
was definitely not pasteboard now. The longer I stood there the more
I felt. Every ridge of his taut abdomen, the roped muscles of his
long thighs, the poke of his belt buckle; they all became alarmingly
three-dimensional. His warm breath stirred my hair. Something else
stirred too, at hip level…and silent laughter rippled through him.
My
brain churned. The intimate way he held me made no sense, but the
laughter, well, my clumsiness had lightened the room on more than one
occasion.
Then
Zajicek’s long fingers slid under my chin, raising my face. His
brilliant eyes were shuttered by slumberous lids. I stared in
bemusement as his face expanded in my vision…
His
lips found mine.
Warm.
Smooth. Exciting. “Some Enchanted Evening” sang through my right
brain.
My
left brain locked up in utter confusion. A man was kissing me.
Zajicek
was kissing me. The sum of my kissing experience was a slobbery
grandmother and a few rushed awkward sexual encounters. I never
really saw what the fuss was about. Until Zajicek.
I
always thought kisses were simply the press of lips. His mouth didn’t
simply
anything. It rubbed, it tasted, it gently teased. Warm, velvety soft,
his tongue began to explore.
I
stood there in stupefied awe.
Until
he murmured against my lips, “How clumsy you are, Ms. Hrbek. How
very fortunate I was here to catch you.”
He
thought I’d done it on purpose.
I
struggled out of his embrace. He was slow letting go, his fingers
firm on my arms. With a little tilt of his head, he perused me.
Whatever he saw on my face made him release me with an extravagant
sigh. “I beg your pardon. Apparently I misread your…desires.”
I
flushed, because he hadn’t misread my “desires” at all. Just my
intentions. I jerked my flute bag onto my shoulder and started
determinedly toward my car, fiercely watching my feet on the uneven
sidewalk. “No biggie. What did you want, Maestro?”
Long
legs kept graceful pace with me. “Call me Dragan, please. Maestro
is so overused.”
His
first name? It implied an intimacy I couldn’t afford. “You call
me Ms. Hrbek.”
“Yes,
but perhaps you would allow me the familiarity of your first name as
well?” His tone was coaxing.
I
skewed a look at him, immediately returning my attention to the
stones, although I was beginning to think Zajicek was more
treacherous than my footing. “If you want. After all, you’ll be
seeing us weekly for a while.”
“Perhaps
you and I will be seeing a great deal more of each other, hmm?”
Yikes.
My stomach flipped, my attention disintegrated and the elevated
corner of a concrete slab cold-cocked my foot. I tripped and would
have fallen again if not for Zajicek’s lightning reflexes. He
caught me in his arms, steadying me. Senses reeling, I let him, my
forebrain scolding idiot
but my lizard brain panting and presenting its tail. Before I could
completely self-combust, he brushed a thumb over my cheek and
released me.
“What
do you mean by that?” I croaked. Catching my flute bag to my chest,
I wheeled and trotted off, fast, too fast, almost running, nearly
stumbling yet again. Making a conscious effort to slow down, I
cleared my throat. “Why would you see more of me than any other
orchestra member?”
“I
am staying in Meiers Corners for the duration of Mr. Banger’s
recovery. That is what I wished to discuss with you. I have only just
arrived in the area. I’d like to follow you home this evening.”
Dragan
Zajicek in all his powerful, elegant glory, driving behind me? My
internal meter was pinging red
alert, core meltdown imminent.
“You don’t need to. I can tell you how to go. It’s not that
far.”
“Perhaps.
But it’s late and I would not wish to become lost.”
I
opened my mouth to say no, heard my voice say, “Oka—” and
snapped my jaw shut so fast teeth sparked. Problem was, I liked being
with him—which, considering I was practically wearing my heart on
my sleeve, was dangerous. What if he found out his kiss was the first
real one of my life, and had utterly demolished me?
“Ms.
Hrbek?”
He
was politely waiting for an answer. Politely, as if the whole of my
pitiful ego wasn’t in the balance.
I
tried to see it from his point of view. The man wanted help getting
around. A few directions, not my soul. Simple neighborliness would
do. I breathed deep, and managed to rasp out, “Sure. No problem,
Mr. Zajicek.”
He
smiled and slipped his arm around mine. “Dragan, please.” His hip
bumped against my side as we walked.
My
respiration rate shot through the roof. I gritted my teeth. Simple
neighborliness, yeah, right. Like your basic neighborhood raging
inferno. “Okay. First names. I’m Rocky.”
“Rocky?
That’s a boy’s name.”
“It’s
a nickname,” I admitted.
“Ah.
And your real name?”
Yes.
My “real” name.
My
friend, Nixie Emerson, once told me names have power. In her case,
she went by her kicky middle name instead of “Dietlinde”, her
dull-as-dust first. For her, that was appropriate. Nixie was short
and punk and smart as a whip—and as smart-mouthed too, though she
reined it in around her new baby.
In
my case though, my “real” name was not appropriate.
Anti-appropriate, in fact. My mom named me Raquel, after Raquel
Welch, the sex-goddess of the sixties. So while Nixie’s name was
right and good, mine was a joke. And considering my nega-love-life, a
rather nasty one at that. “Rocky’s good enough, Mr. Zajicek.”
“Dragan,”
he murmured, somehow pulling me closer. The heat of his body licked
flame-like up my side. I hissed and shifted my flute bag between us,
but as a defense it backfired. Zajicek simply plucked the bag from my
hands. “Shall I carry that?”
“You
don’t have to. No, wait—”
“Nonsense.
It is quite light.” He shifted my bag onto his own shoulder, not
the one between us. The strap wrapped itself over his muscles like a
second skin, and I swear it moaned happily.
Then
Zajicek curled one hand around my waist and pulled me so close I
could barely breathe. I tried to, really I did. But every tentative
inhale brought the scent of him, cotton and sandalwood and burning
masculinity. Every movement of my ribcage scraped the side of my
breast against his arm, until I was trembling with the need to rub
blatantly against him. Every breath drew cool air over my
tongue…yikes, I was lolling like a dog in heat.
My
glasses fogged up, and I stumbled again.
Both
Zajicek’s arms went around me. I felt incredibly clumsy and stupid,
making him rescue me continually from my own feet. “I’m so sorry,
Mr. Zajicek—”
“Dragan,”
he murmured, cupping my chin and lifting my face for another soft
kiss. His lips touched mine, his mouth moving in tiny circles as if
to warm my skin. He didn’t need to. I was plenty warm already—and
a little buzzy.
“You
taste wonderful.” His mouth opened and his tongue teased the seam
of my lips.
I
jumped at the touch but Zajicek held me, so securely I relaxed into
his arms. It seemed to be some sort of cue for him to lick me and
slide his tongue between my lips, encouraging me to part them.
He
asked so nicely, with tiny hot licks. So I did.
The
instant my mouth opened he devoured me. His mouth slanted over mine
and his jaw dropped. Heat rushed in. I gasped. Shocked and a little
scared, I fell back, but he stepped with me, wrapped his arm around
my back and trapped me good. He had to bend quite a ways to do it.
My
back arched like a bow, my breasts crushed to his chest, my hips to
his thighs. Something stirred against my belly, sending a jolt
shearing through me. My mouth tingled and my breasts tingled and I
was getting really tingly between my legs.
I
slid my hands between us to try to wedge open some space. All I
succeeded in doing was fitting my palms to the hardest pectorals in
the world.
The
tingling between my legs was starting to drive me insane.
Zajicek’s
mouth left mine to trail licks and nibbles down my jaw to my throat.
He nuzzled me there, an odd dark rumble coming from his chest, almost
a lion’s purr. “You smell divine. Ah, to taste you fully.” His
tongue rasped over my pulse.
Somewhere
along the way his hand had found my breast and was kneading and
cupping while he sucked gently on the tender skin of my neck until my
head spun.
Then
his fingers found my raised nipple and plucked.
A
thousand Christmas lights went on in my head. I shrieked.
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