Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 283(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
It’s silly—I wasn’t starving. But I was living on a shoestring ever since I moved to Tucson to attend the University of Arizona to get my teaching degree. By the time I graduated, budget cuts had reduced teaching staff across all the districts, and I couldn’t find work, so I’d taken the job at the center. It didn’t pay much more than minimum wage, but at least I’m using my degree, and eventually it should help me find a teaching position.
But I don’t have money to splurge on all the things he bought: steak, shrimp, scallops. The most expensive brand of ice cream. Organic produce and imported crackers. Fine wine. European cheeses. I felt almost giddy about it.
He bought food from the deli, too, containers with shepherd’s pie, Greek salad and sweet potato french fries. Despite the imperious act, he pitches in with efficient ease, taking over the arranging of food in my refrigerator, opening the deli containers and setting plates out on the table.
“Thank you.” Now I’m slightly ashamed about my earlier demand that he contribute. I hope we aren’t taking turns with groceries because I can’t afford half of what he bought. I grab two forks and sit across from him, stealing peeks at his beautiful face, the way his canines extend just a little farther than a mortal’s, even when retracted. Why do I find that so appealing—especially when they should scare the bejeezus out of me? Or is it because they scare me?
I wolf the food down, and he raises an eyebrow when I clean my plate within just a few minutes.
“Do you want more? By all means.” He gestures with his fork toward the deli containers.
“No, thank you.”
“Go on, you ate like you were half-starved. I wouldn’t mind seeing a little more meat on your bones, too.”
“I’m not eating to suit your predilections about my body,” I say primly, standing up and carrying my plate to the sink. But then I spot the Belgian chocolate shortbread cookies on the counter. Softening my tone, I ask, “May I try one of those cookies?”
“Help yourself,” he says. “The food is for you.” As I rip open the package, he asks, “Do you start day shift tomorrow?”
“No, I get a day off.”
“What is your new schedule?”
“I work eight to five, like a normal person.”
He made a sound of disapproval. “Of course now you’ll want to sleep at night. I might have to make you quit that job.”
I half choke. “No,” I say in the hardest tone I can manage.
He raises a dark brow. “Do you love it?”
I cock my head and chew a cookie slowly before swallowing. “I love parts of it. I hate parts of it. But those kids need me. I couldn’t quit. I would drive a stake through your heart before I left that job.”
He turns back to his plate. “That’s a pretty cavalier way to talk about ending my life,” he observes. “Would you kill anyone who interfered with your career?”
“Well no, but—”
He turns back. “But what?”
I swallow.
“But I’m a vampire, so my life doesn’t count?”
I fiddle with the cookie packaging, not looking up.
“I see,” he said drily.
I break the cookie in two and lick a the chocolate part, closing my eyes to savor the rich treat. When I open my eyes, Charlie is looking at me like I’m a cookie, and he wants to take a bite out of me.
“What?” I bluster to hide my uncontrollable flush.
“That is disgusting,” he sniffs.
I wrinkle my nose, trying to think of a witty response.
“And rather cute.” His voice is deep and dark and delicious as chocolate.
My insides turn gooey, and I bite back a giggle. Fork, am I flirting? “Thanks again for buying groceries,” I say softly, giving the cookie another lick.
He lounges in my kitchen chair, all arrogance. “Well, you’ll need them, so you can cook for me.”
“I don’t really know how to cook.” Not exactly a witty comeback, but my vampire keeper needs to know.
“Well, I guess you’ll be learning that along with magic. You’ll have to study hard and prove to me you can handle working that job and still achieve the level of competency I need from you.”
I start to roll my eyes and yawn wide enough to crack my jaw. The clock reads three in the morning.
“You may go on to bed,” he pronounces his authoritative tone.
“Are you in charge of my bedtime, too?”
“I’m in charge of all of you, little mortal.” His gaze rakes up and down my body, and suddenly all my clothes feel too tight. I’m suddenly greedy with the desire for him to take charge immediately. Which is a bad plan all around. What is it about this vampire that makes my IQ plummet and my SQ rocket?
Unable to make an intelligent response, I flee to the bedroom.