Be Still My Vampire Heart(32)

 

Quickly she stashed stakes around the apartment so she could access them easily. She made up the bed and placed the silver handcuffs and chains under her pillow. She stripped down to her bra and panties and lounged on the bed, waiting. Whether he came tonight or tomorrow night, it didn't matter.

 

She was ready for him, and he would die.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7

 

 

 

 

Emma woke with a start and glanced at the bedside clock. It was almost noon. Sometime, close to dawn, she'd fallen asleep. And Angus hadn't come.

 

She threw her clothes on and jogged to her apartment in SoHo. She ate a quick breakfast, took a quick shower, then packed some clothes to take back to Austin's place. Unfortunately, she didn't have much in the realm of sexy. Her clothes tended to be practical and comfortable, clothes she could fight in. She'd never played the seductress before. Where did you hide a stake if you were wearing nothing but lacy underwear?

 

She ended up tossing all her lingerie into the suitcase. She could figure out the sexy outfit later. She wheeled her suitcase into the tiny living room.

 

Half a dozen stakes remained on the coffee table. Angus had left them alone. She settled on the loveseat in front of her laptop. Since it was Sunday, she didn't expect many e-mails. Actually, she never had many. It was hard to maintain friendships when so much of her life was secret. She clicked on the inbox and saw one message that had been sent at four-forty-three A.M. From Angus MacKay.

 

Her heart took a little leap, but she quickly squelched it. Of course she found the man exciting. She was planning to kill him tonight. She took a deep breath. Correction. She was planning to seduce him, then kill him.

 

She'd never done anything so blatant before, but she felt sure Angus would do his part. He'd gotten an erection just lying next to her in the park. He was probably well experienced when it came to sex. Centuries of leaving the ladies verra satisfied. Not that she would ever know. She wasn't going to let it get out of hand.

 

She opened his message.

 

Dear Emma, I was sorry to miss you. I was tempted to take your laptop since it might be filled with interesting information, and obtaining information is what I do. I declined, though, in hopes that you will realize I am trustworthy.

 

Emma snorted. A trustworthy vampire?

 

I know where you are. I will meet you at Austin Erickson's apartment Sunday night at eight. I will not harm you. I simply want to talk.

 

What on earth was there to talk about? Obviously, he wanted her to stop slaying. He claimed to be worried about her safety, but she suspected he was more worried about the safety of his vampire buddies. How far was he prepared to go to stop her? If she refused to stop, would he try to kill her? She almost wished he would. It would justify her plan to kill him.

 

And yet he claimed he meant her no harm. He'd clearly refrained from hurting her in the park. He'd refrained from attacking her last night in Austin's apartment. He claimed to drink blood from a bottle, and she'd seen him drink from a flask.

 

Emma closed her eyes and rubbed them. This was wishful thinking. She was attracted to him. She enjoyed talking to him, looking at him. She liked indulging in a fantasy of the brave, heroic warrior. And if he wore a kilt, so much the better.

 

But that's all it was. A fantasy. The reality was he'd existed for centuries by preying on innocent mortals. It was about time the tables were turned, and an innocent mortal preyed on him.

 

She leaned forward and typed him a message.

 

I'll be ready. Wear something sexy.

 

She held her breath and pushed Send.

 

There, it was done. She glanced at the computer clock. Three P.M. In little more than five hours, Angus MacKay would be dead.

 

He had worn something sexy.

 

Emma had been in the bathroom, applying a darker shade of lipstick than she normally wore, when she heard him call out to her from the living room. She fluffed up her hair, wished herself good luck in the mirror, and rushed into the bedroom. A quick glance at the bedside clock confirmed it was eight P.M. He was right on time.

 

She'd left the bedroom door slightly ajar, and she peered into the living room. Her mouth dropped open. No kilt, no sporran. He was wearing black jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and a black duster—all sexy. His long auburn hair was tied back with a black leather cord.

 

Her heart squeezed in her chest. Oh God, why couldn't he be human? Over five hundred years old. They just didn't make men like this anymore.

 

She swung the door open, and he turned to look at her. His gaze lowered, taking in her short silk bathrobe. When his eyes returned to hers, she could see the heat sizzling to life.

 

So far, so good.

 

"I'm running a bit behind. I still need to get dressed." She raised her arms to prop them against the door and doorjamb. His expression remained the same. She glanced down.