Chapter 4

My body was on autopilot as my car sped down the old county road toward the convenience store where I’d met Nevi Sharpe. It was as if a homing device took over. It was a good thing too, since my mind was off in so many directions. I didn’t belong behind the wheel of a car. I was shaken and confused and in absolute denial of what Geoffrey Jenkins had insisted was fact.

My mind whirled as it tried to decipher fantasy from reality. It was such an outrageous claim. He simply had to have been making it up.

Geoffrey had looked me straight in the eye—as sober as you please—and informed me that he was a handler. He handled situations that had to do with the supernatural. How did one become a handler? Why, you were born to the task, of course.

Apparently, handlers possessed different talents. His happened to be telepathy, which was why he was able to project his thoughts into my head. His tale got even more fantastic when he claimed that I was a handler too.

Handlers are born into a certain seed line that skips generations - Of course they are! A handler can’t tell if he or she is one until he or she becomes an adult. The handler genes don’t kick into gear until his or her twenty-fifth birthday. I asked if Lisa or Greg was a handler too. Oh no, just me. That’s because, not only did the genes skip generations, but only one member of the family got them at a time.

Lucky me.

Assuming there was some truth behind his statement, I asked just how he handled the supposed supernatural. “You’ll see soon enough. If I’m not mistaken, you’ll be twenty-five soon,” was his reply.

The best was yet to come. Apparently my, oh-so-yummy Nevi Sharpe was a blood sucking vampire. Sexy, hot, mister “A” list man of my dreams, was not even a man. According to crazy Geoffrey Jenkins, he was the devil’s spawn.

Hearing this last bit of information tipped the scale of my patience and I blew my stack.

I didn’t know what kind of sick joke—and it had to be a joke—my buddies, or more likely my wicked sister, were playing on me, but someone needed to tell them that it was not April Fool’s day. It was New Year’s Day and the messing around had gone too far.

I’d had enough.

Barging past crazy Geoffrey without so much as a word, I’d bounded down the stairs and quickly made my excuses to the surprised dinner party. I grabbed my coat and unceremoniously exited the house.

I now had an excuse to see Nevi Sharpe again. It was just getting dark. If Nevi was truly a vampire, then nighttime was the right time to track him down and see for myself.

So, off to the convenience store I went.

Vampire indeed! In a movie, maybe.

On the bright side, Geoffrey’s crazy talk gave me the perfect excuse—to myself at least—to justify going back to the convenience store without appearing like a pathetic stalker. I was only going to see if Nevi looked dead or alive to me. He certainly seemed alive the night before. Absolutely alive.

By the time I reached the convenience store, I’d managed to regain some of my composure and my senses. I hesitated as I pulled into the parking lot. What excuse was I going to use for entering the store so soon after filling my car up with gas? I could run in, buy a pack of gum, and run out again. If Nevi was in there—which I certainly hoped he’d be—and struck up a conversation with me, he’d probably assume I lived nearby since I had no valid justification for driving thirty minutes out of my way for a pack of gum. I could have made up a story about having been to a party nearby, but I hated lies. Not to mention I sucked at them.

I rested my head against the steering wheel and moaned. This was stupid. Maybe I should just go home. It had been a long day and I was tired. I just turned the keys in the ignition—grateful the car had only been off for a few minutes so that it started without the usual cold weather drama—when I heard a light tapping on my window.

It was Nevi.

He motioned for me to roll my window down.

I felt trapped. What was I going to say to him? How should I act? How was I going to explain my presence in his parking lot? How was I going to explain my nasty old car? I could feel the panic rising.

“Good evening Miss Ewing. Err, it is Miss, is it not?” he said.

“Yes. It’s Miss,” I replied dumbly. It’s just so hard to act smooth in the presence of an “A” list guy.

“Are you coming or going?” He flashed his beautiful white teeth at me, “I hope you are coming.”

“N-no. Actually, I’m going.”

Chicken!

“How unfortunate, I was looking forward to getting to know you a little better,” he said while frowning slightly.

I seized the opportunity to inspect the man. He looked incredibly human to me. I was almost embarrassed to have entertained Geoffrey’s tale for even the remotest second. After all, I’d only just met Geoffrey. For all I knew he lived at some mental hospital and had been let out to visit his parents for the holiday.

“Could I persuade you to join me for a cup of coffee?” he asked.

There! Right there! He asked me to join him for coffee, not blood. What vampire invited people to coffee? Since I didn’t know any actual vampires—and truly doubted their existence—I couldn’t answer. If you followed the steady descriptions of vampires in movies, on television, and in books, they drank blood— and maybe some booze— but not coffee.

Even though I was the only one there who was aware of the fact that I’d entertained Geoffrey’s accusations, I felt completely foolish. I wanted to run and hide. There was no way I’d be able to act normal in the man’s presence just then. “I’m sorry, I can’t. Perhaps another time?”

Oh, please say another time would be good.

“How about tomorrow evening? Would you care to dine with me?” he asked.

I thought I detected just a hint of a bow while he made the invitation.

Thank you, God, thank you, God, thank you, God!

“I’d like that,” I replied, doing my best to contain my excitement. Then it hit me and the excitement left just as quickly as it came. “Gosh, I forgot I have to work tomorrow until ten.”

He looked at me for a moment and smiled, “So we’ll have a late dinner.”

“Okay,” I replied, not even bothering to tame the enthusiasm in my voice.

“Where shall I pick you up?” he asked with that deep sultry voice that made my heart thump and my toes curl.

Oh boy, now I risked exposure as the stalker I was. How could I tell him that I lived an easy thirty minutes away? Any intelligent “A” list guy would hear that bit of information and see stalker written all over it.

“Could I just meet you someplace?” I asked hesitantly.

His brows knit together for a moment before they relaxed again and smiled what appeared to be—I hoped it was, at least—a genuine smile. “That would be fine. There is a wonderful Italian restaurant about twenty minutes north of here called Costello’s. I believe they serve late enough for us to enjoy a fine meal at such an hour. Do you know of it?”

I nodded eagerly. Not only did I know of it, but it was ridiculously close to my home. If I played it right, I’d be able to run home to change after work before I met him there.

“Very, good,” he said. “I’ll call ahead and reserve a table for…shall we say ten-thirty?”

Oh yes, I’d be cutting it very close. I wondered what his stance was on tardiness.

“That’s fine…thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” I replied as I slowly started backing the car out of the parking space I’d been occupying.

He gave my hood a quick tap with his knuckles before sauntering into the store in a happy, casual manner. It appeared we were both looking forward to this dinner.

I inspected my face in my rearview mirror. Since when did I appeal to men like him? It would have been absolutely horrendous if this was all a big trick.

Oh, please let it be the real thing. Just once, I’d like to be the one getting envious stares because I’m on the arm of a hot guy instead of being the one who stares enviously because I’m not.

* * * *

Work dragged. Fortunately, I’d pulled waitress duty so my hair didn’t smell too much like French fries by the end of the shift. It figured we were busy. My feet were killing me. Oh well, at least I’d managed to get Francine—the other waitress on my shift—to cover for me for the final thirty minutes. That gave me an hour to go home, shower, change, and meet Nevi at Costello’s.

It was doable.

Frank sat on the edge of my bed while I tossed dresses to and fro in search of the right thing to wear. I’d picked out a cute little red dress as soon as I’d gotten home the night before, but when Frank saw it, he vetoed it immediately. He claimed it made me look too available. Well, I was available; painfully so, but I understood where Frank was coming from.

We finally settled on a sky-blue mohair sweater dress that hugged my body modestly, yet had a hint of “sexy” mixed in. Not wanting to overdo it, I opted for an attractive multicolored scarf, instead of a necklace, and plain gold ball earrings. My hair hung down my back. I held it away from my face by a thin hair band. There was snow on the ground, but I thought I could get away with wearing the red pumps that matched the red clutch I was carrying. After all, it hadn’t snowed for a while and people shoveled the walkways by now. At Frank’s insistence, I tucked my boots into the back seat of the car in case of an emergency.

“You look beautiful,” Frank mumbled—more to himself than to me—as I spun around for his final review. “You’re like some fairy tale lovely.”

I don’t know if it was his compliment or the fact that I was going on a date with the most handsome man I’d ever laid eyes on, but I felt beautiful. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I was a fairly good-looking woman. I felt truly beautiful.

Frank held my good wool coat out for me and I slid my arms into its sleeves. Once he had it positioned on my shoulders, I turned and gave him a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you,” I squealed as I headed for the door.

With a rueful smile, Frank nudged me out the door. He watched me from the open doorway until I had driven almost out of sight.

I heaved a sigh. I was aware that Frank had feelings for me, but he hadn’t acted upon them for fear of destroying our relationship. I was grateful for that. Although I thought the world of him and enjoyed his company above most of the other people I knew, I was not in the least attracted to him. Living with a man who you weren’t attracted to while he made advances could get messy. It was sad, actually. Frank and I were incredibly compatible on so many levels. This was why I considered him one of my very best friends. I’d often thought it was too bad he wasn’t gay. That would have made things so much easier, but we managed.

Nevi was leaning against a gorgeous, black Jaguar and talking on his cell phone when I pulled into the almost empty parking lot of Costello’s Italian Restaurant. I looked at my watch. It was exactly ten thirty.

Good.

As I opened my car door, he flipped his phone shut and rushed over to help me out of the car.

“You look ravishing, my dear,” he said with a throaty whisper. When he saw I left my coat opened, he seized the opportunity to stand back while gently spreading my hands wide over my head so my dress could be more clearly seen. “I definitely approve of your choice of attire. It’s elegant, like the woman.”

Wow, wow and triple wow! With a line like that, I couldn’t even be angry at the fact he’d checked my outfit out like one might a little girl’s. That was some smooth talking. Whether he meant it or not, it certainly worked. Goose bumps ran rampant while my body heated up at the same time.

“Shall we go in?” he asked.

Nevi offered me his arm like a man would in the old black and white movies. I took it, nervously, doing my best to hold back the giggle that so wanted to erupt. It wasn’t as if I found anything funny. I was nervous. I tended to giggle when I was nervous.

My parents were anything but poor. I grew up exposed to country club living. I was always on the sidelines, the observer…never the observed. I felt like I was living a fairy tale.

“You tremble, are you cold?” Nevi asked as he guided me into the dimly lit restaurant.

“No,” I replied meekly.”

“Nervous?” he asked.

I believed honesty would be the best policy. “Yes,” I stated boldly.

“You have no reason to fear me,” he said, smiling, “I will do nothing to harm you.”

How could I tell him the sheer magnitude of his presence made me quake nervously in my pumps? I thought it was potent from across the counter on New Year’s Eve, but it in no way compared to the experience of standing this close to him, to touching him.

Now that I was growing accustomed to the fact he was the best-looking man I’d ever had the privilege of spending time with, I was able to note other factors. The powerful energy emanating from him was totally real. It wasn’t simply because of my infatuation with his looks. He was literally radiating energy of such a magnitude that a person of less solid footing might actually have been knocked over. I found myself wondering if the same was true about the equally handsome Geoffrey. He emitted a power of his own when we’d met. Was it equal to Nevi’s?

Geoffrey. I couldn’t get him off my mind. Why did his insane story trouble me? I dealt with odd people on a daily basis at the diner. There were even a few who were regulars. Al Beano was positive than an alien lived in the shed in his backyard and Old Gus insisted he was the reincarnation of Abe Lincoln. I believed in aliens. I believed in reincarnation. Yet, I paid them no mind. I did not believe in vampires. I just didn’t know why I couldn’t shake off Geoffrey’s crazy story.

I wracked my brain to try to remember the basic vampire traits the books I’d read and movies I’d watched described. Pale, waxen complexion. Nope. Nevi was a gorgeous island bronze and fairly robust looking. Cold body…Well, Nevi was a little on the cool side, but we’d just entered from a freezing parking lot. I’d wager I felt equally cool to the touch. Fangs. I searched his perfect smile and saw no traces of fangs. Red eyes. Another ‘no’. His eyes were dark and rich and oh so yummy.

I forced Geoffrey and his wild claims out of my mind and brought my focus to what Nevi was saying as he guided me by the elbow. We followed the restaurant host to a secluded table in a private dining room. I was surprised when I noticed that we were the only diners in the place.

“Are you closed?” I asked the host as he pulled my chair out for me.

“Technically, yes,” he replied, “but for the boss, we’re always open.”

“The boss?” I asked incredulously. My vivid imagination was all over the map with such a comment. What did the host mean by ‘boss’? Did Nevi own the restaurant or was there a deeper meaning?

Oh, damn Geoffrey Jenkins for ruining my experience by imbedding paranoia in my brain.

“I purchased Costello’s a few months ago,” Nevi explained with a smile. His voice was always so cool and level. “I took the liberty of arranging our meal so that the cook would not be overburdened by our late arrival. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Yes, it’s…it’s perfectly fine,” I muttered, as my eyes took in the sheer elegance of the room we’d been seated in. “This place is lovely.”

“Thank you. We are in the V.I.P. dining room. I reserve it for special guests like you,” he explained.

I could feel the flush creep up my cheeks.

“You are uncomfortable with complements,” he commented.

Before I could respond, the server approached the table with an open bottle of Pinotage. Nevi assured me he had already tasted its vintage and I would find it most palatable. He nodded toward me, indicating for the server to pour the wine in my glass. I could have been imagining things, but the server looked a little nervous. Was it because he was serving the boss’s table? He looked pretty young. Perhaps he was new at the job. I smiled and nodded my thanks when he’d finished his task and waited for him to pour some wine for Nevi. Instead, he set the bottle down on the table and retreated to the kitchen.

“Aren’t you having any wine?” I asked.

“It was my intention to join you in a glass of wine,” Nevi chuckled, “but it seems our server thought not.”

So, the server was new.

I relaxed and smiled.

“You have a beautiful smile,” my companion said as he poured his own wine.

I groaned inwardly. Had I stupidly relaxed to the point I showed my horrible teeth to Mr. Perfect Smile? Actually, my teeth weren’t so bad as long as no one put them side by side to Nevi’s perfect choppers.

“Can I ask you something?” Nevi asked.

Oh boy. It’s never good when you’re out on a first date and the guy starts the conversation with, “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded with more enthusiasm than I felt.

“Why do you dislike praise?” he asked softly.

“I-I don’t dislike it,” I stammered. I totally hadn’t expected a question like that.

Nevi leaned forward, rested his elbows on the table, clasped the fingers of both hands together, and rested his chin on them. “It appears to me that you grow quite uncomfortable whenever a compliment comes your way,” he said. He straightened back up and sat back from the table. Then he picked up a spoon and began twirling it between his fingers while its end balanced on the deep red clothed table. “Am I wrong?”

Okay, ready or not, here goes.

“Being uncomfortable, or should I say unaccustomed to compliments, is different from disliking them. I think I’ve gotten more compliments from you since we met than I have my entire twenty-four years on this Earth.”

Nevi looked dumbfounded. “I find this hard to believe,” he stated with sincerity.

“Maybe so, but it’s true.” I thought about it for a minute and corrected myself, “Maybe I should be clearer. I don’t get compliments from guys like you. I get them from guys who are…uh…not like you. They don’t really count like ones from guys like you would.” I was rambling and I knew it. By the look on Nevi’s face, I was not making sense either. So embarrassing! “I’m not making sense, am I?”

Nevi sat in silence and locked eyes with me for what seemed like an interminable length of time. I was getting more and more uncomfortable, but I couldn’t pull my gaze away from his deep brown liquid pools that threatened to pull me into their abyss. Fortunately, the server broke whatever it was that was going on when he brought our soup. It was delicious tomato bisque. I could have been imagining it, but Nevi’s looked a much deeper red than mine?

Grrr. Just wait until I get my hands-on Geoffrey. If we ever meet again, that is. I can’t let his craziness spoil my date.

We ate our soup in silence. We stole a glance at each other when we thought the other wasn’t looking. I could have been imagining it—or possibly hoping it—but I got the impression my “A” list hunk was actually a little shy.

I regretted my remark to Nevi. I’d obviously made him uncomfortable and ruined what I was certain was to be my one and only date with him.

I felt miserable.

Our main course was squash ravioli in a creamy vodka sauce. I allowed the server to grind some fresh Parmesan cheese on the top of mine.

Nevi declined.

I dove into my fare, not caring about the fact that I was eating twice as fast and twice as much as he was. I just wanted to finish my meal and have the date over with. I was so uncomfortable. Dates with a “B” or “C” list guy were far less stressful. Besides, I’d worked hard that day without a break and I didn’t think to nibble on something before I met with Nevi. I was starving.

I looked up from my empty plate. Nevi was watching at me while he mindlessly pushed his ravioli around the plate. From what I could see, he’d barely touched it, if he’d eaten any at all.

Now, I was doubly embarrassed.

I wiped my mouth as politely as I could and stifled a burp before reaching for my glass of wine and draining it as fast as humanly possible. It was an excellent vintage and quite potent. Relaxation and warmth replaced the embarrassed tension throughout my body.

Nevi refilled my glass without asking and then poured some more in his own wine glass. I wondered if he was ever going to speak again. I couldn’t believe my stupidity and lack of couth. I should have been able to behave in a far more refined manner than this. I’d had all the right exposure while growing up: country clubs, socials, cruises, and luncheons amongst society’s finest. Had I been working in the diner so long that I’d forgotten how to behave like a lady? My lack of conversational skills and gluttonous table manners made it painfully obvious I had.

Poor Nevi. He had no idea what he was getting himself into when he had asked me out. He must be doubly mortified to have his help witness this fiasco.

As embarrassed as I was for myself, I was even more embarrassed for my date. My company couldn’t have been easy for him. I’d screwed it up so badly that I was sure it was irreparable. Throwing caution to the wind, I tossed my head back and downed my newly poured glass of wine in record time. Screw it. If I got nothing else out of this date, I was going to enjoy the good food and exquisite wine.

As if on cue, Nevi poured the last of the wine into my glass.

The server—who had been standing against the far wall watching this show the entire time—made as if to fetch another bottle of wine. Nevi held his hand up to motion for him to stop.

Okay. I was being cut off.

The date was over.

Good.

I pulled a remarkable repeat of downing my wine in record time and grabbed my purse from the side of the table.

Time to go.

I was preparing to stand when the restaurant’s host arrived at our table with two liqueur glasses containing rich aromatic Sambuca. Although neither Nevi nor I were Italian, we gingerly locked our arms in the traditional toast and tossed our drinks back while the host declared, “Salute!”

I have to admit I rarely drink like I did that night. Yes, I’d had five or so glasses of that putrid excuse for champagne on New Year’s Eve, but it was cheap and watered down. Also, I might add, I vomited profusely. My date wine, on the other hand, was expensive, smooth, incredibly potent, and topped with Sambuca. This helped explain why our little toast was the last thing I remembered of night.

I woke up in my bed the following morning with absolutely no idea how I got there or how I’d managed to change into my nightgown. I also couldn’t explain why my dress hung neatly in the closet.

Truth be known…I didn’t think I wanted to know.