Death Times Two(28)

With reluctance, I pull away from her skin, aware I’ve had enough to heal completely. I don’t like stopping, but the thrill of not hurting her has sent such a spark of desire through me, I know it’s best if I distance myself for the moment. No one wants a guy covered in bloody clothes to make a pass at them. Well, maybe someone would, but I doubt Lisa is that type.
My tongue laps at her ragged flesh, the enzymes in vampire salvia close her self-inflicted injury and my small bite wound. A tremor washes over her during my ministrations. Heat floods my face as I think about spreading her out on a bed and triggering those tiny tremors all night long.
Slowly I sit up, cradling her wrist in both hands, unwilling to break the magical connection we’ve shared. The sickening sound of wet fabric peeling from the floor does the job of killing the moment just fine.
The clouded, lust-filled look in the reaper’s eyes fades. But if I’m not mistaken there’s a hint of interest still lingering in their blue depths. Just maybe… maybe if I play my cards right I’ll be lucky enough to have her share my bed. After we reap the rest of the ghosts, of course.
“Thank you,” I say, wishing I could take her in my arms and hug her for the incredible gift she’s given me—not just with her healing blood, but in allowing me to drink from someone without having them despise my very existence. “You have no idea what that meant to me.”
She snorts and looks away, perhaps embarrassed by my intense scrutiny. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get a bonus if the client helping me died.”
My heart plummets. Is that all I am to her? Just a client? Time to change her thinking. I’m not above crude fraternity tactics. I’ll make her see me as a man, not a vampire.#p#分页标题#e#
I stand, feigning nonchalance, and look over my ruined clothes and the broken phone lying where Lisa discarded it.
“I’m sure your boss would have understood. After all, they didn’t exactly prep you for this job.” I glance away, like my next actions are totally normal. “Not that I’d want to be dead for good. Not yet anyway.” I grab the soiled hem of my t-shirt in both hands and yank it over my head. “Too many things in life worth living for—even in this altered ‘undead’ state.” I flash her a little fang when my head reappears. Using the inside of the tee, I wipe my face and arms of any remaining residue.
Lisa takes a sharp inhale of breath. “What… uh, what are you doing?”
I lean down and unlace my black boots, toeing them off while I glance up at her. “Getting rid of my bloody clothes.”
Her face turns beet red. “Oh, yeah. That makes perfect sense.”
Noting my socks are free of stain, I straighten, hands going to my waistband. Slowly I open my jeans, watching her every reaction. She audibly swallows and her hand goes to her throat.
“You don’t mind, do you?” I ask, mischievous smile in place. Not that she’d notice. She’s staring too intently at my hands.
“Mind?” she squeaks. “No. Not at all.” She waves a hand at me. “You go on with whatever you need to do. I’ll uh…” She looks around wildly and hoists herself up from the floor. “I’ll shut the door so we can leave.”
She falters in her step when the metal of my zipper rasps in its descent. I know she’s dying to turn around. Hell, if the situation was reversed I’m sure I’d be blatantly ogling her, mother of three or not.
By the time she finishes with the door and closes the window shutter I’ve got my boots on and have balled my soiled clothes into a nearby trashcan. I venture behind the bar for bottled water and towels, hoping to clean up whatever remaining glop might be on my head and neck.
I crack open a water and lean over the tiny bar sink, wishing the ski lodge had showers like the gym. Cool water cascades over my head and trails into the metal sink. Perfect time to ask for help. She’ll be able to approach me on her own and stare her fill without censure.
“Hey, can you give me hand?”
Lisa clears her throat. “Uh… Sure. What do you need?”
“Come see if I got all the gore off.”
“Okay.” Relief sounds in her voice. “I can handle that.”
Lisa joins me behind the bar. I’m wearing the black boxer briefs my aunt gave me and in my spare time I work out like crazy—what the hell else is there to do in the Army or the long winters of Alaska? Sure, I might look silly walking through the tunnels in underwear and boots, but if it gets her checking me out and possibly thinking about having sex with me, then I don’t care. I’m not above a little blatant flaunting.