Vampire Vacation by C. J. Ellisson Page A

He towers over me by seven inches, but the come-fuck-me-heels put us a little closer. Intensifying my look, I drop my lids and recall the way my body felt when I came that last time. I push out a bit and watch his pupils dilate with passion.
    Want to go again? His voice rumbles in my mind.
    I turn and step away. I hesitate a bit then look back over my shoulder. The corner of my mouth turns up in a delicious little grin.
    “Later,” I say aloud. “Can you keep up, baby?”
    He smiles, reaching out to smack my rump. I prance away with a little burst of speed so his fingers miss me, but barely. I spread my legs in a wide stance before bending from the waist to pick up my discarded dress. His quick intake of breath indicates the only answer I need. Oh yes, he’ll be ready to play again later.
    With the dress in hand, I rise to walk away without looking back. “Come have some coffee with me. I need to discuss our new guests and see what you think.” I walk up the stairs, with my naked butt jiggling in the breeze, the dress draped over my arm.
    Who happens to be standing at the top of the stairs but Jonathan. Damn! Caught almost nudie with blatant physical evidence on me that I’ve recently made love. I can do this. I can pretend I always walk around like this.
    “Umm,” I raise an eyebrow then look down at my watch, “you’re a bit early. It’s only 7:30.”
    I love to flirt, but it’s usually on my terms, not being caught by surprise after making love with my husband.
    Jonathan, a sturdy man of medium height, stands not much taller than me. He’s dressed as usual: jeans and layers of thermal with a plaid flannel shirt. His good-old-boy style screams lumberjack, but it helps him blend in well with the locals. The smell surrounding him contains elements of the outdoors with hints of animal musk too. His thick chest supports crossed arms, which I know are corded with muscle under the bulky clothes.
    I imagine he could’ve made an excellent wrestler, but picturing him rolling around in tight clothes may not be a good idea right now. His quick smile adds to his natural aura of confidence, making him a great choice to handle dealings in town.
    Jonathan inhales deeply, which triggers a low-pitched rumble in his chest. That bastard scents my recent releases and gets off on it! Arrogant prick.
    “Down, boy,” I say with as much nonchalance as I can muster. “Let me get a robe on.”
    I walk toward the bedroom as gracefully as I can in my semi-naked state. I’m not going to cover up with my hands, acting embarrassed. It would show weakness to a predator, which is exactly what this werewolf is, something I can never allow myself to forget.
    “I’ll be back in a minute,” I add.
    I can feel his eyes follow me as I walk away.
    He starts to snigger, “Nice hammer imprint on your shoulder blade.”
    Deciding to rise above his school-aged amusement, I ignore him and keep walking. Rafe comes up the stairs as I cross into our closet for a robe. I grab the closest one, an emerald silk number, before hustling back out.
    “Watcha doing here, Wolfman? Like to listen in to what you’ll never get?”
    Uh-oh. Danger, Will Robinson, danger! I sprint down the hall projecting calm happy thoughts into their minds before inserting myself between the two. Catching them both right as Jonathan straightens to launch himself at Rafe.
    “Now, now, let’s play nice. Rafe, you must know why I’ve called Jonathan here.”
    Jonathan’s the only werewolf on our compound. He left his pack in Canada about seven years ago when he didn’t want to challenge his Alpha for dominance. In my eyes, it made him an honorable man for doing so. Two powerful male wolves, Alphas, can’t stay in the same pack for long or a fight to the death would occur. Rafe stares down at the shorter but still powerful man.
    Time to get everyone back on track and off the lingering scent of sex in the air.
    “The whole ‘dead body in the shed’ thing,” I remind Rafe.