Read Online A Girls Guide to Vampires by Katie MacAlister - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katie MacAlister
Tags: vampire
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man.
One glossy chocolate eyebrow rose as he glanced down at me. "Um?"
"You're carrying me," I said, feeling it necessary to say something intelligent, but lacking the wits to actually pull intelligent things out of my scrambled brains. First insanity, then drugging—now I was in the arms of a man who might be a vampire, and all I could think of was how nice he smelled and how warm he was.
Of course he's warm, he just fed.
I squashed that inner voice down flat and met his amber eyes without flinching. Much.
"Yes," he agreed, his voice thrumming inside me. He had an English accent, giving his voice a richness that reminded me of antique mahogany. It was very sexy. I liked it. A lot .
"Up the stairs."
"Your room's at the top," he replied.
"But you're not puffing or straining or breaking out into a sweat."
Both eyebrows went up at that. "Should I be?"
"I'm not an inconsiderable weight," I pointed out. "Most men would balk at hefting me across a room, not to mention up three flights of stairs."
"I am not most men," he stated, turning on the first landing.
You can say that again , trembled at the edge of my tongue, but I bit it back, saying instead, "Regardless of your obviously fit state, I'm too heavy. I'll give you a hernia. If you put me down, I'll be happy to walk the rest of the way."
"You're not too heavy."
I looked at him as if he had an extra toe growing out of his ear. "What planet are you from? In case it escaped your notice, I'm six feet tall and built like a brick oven, as my mother used to say."
"I happen to think a woman's shape looks better with curves," he said blithely, looking me up and down. "Yours look good on you."
Well, stap my vitals! A man who had enough muscles to haul me around and still managed to say nice things about my overabundance of curves? If only he wasn't the walking dead, I would have proposed marriage on the spot. But the probability was that if I wasn't insane, he was what he shouldn't be, so marriage was out. Which was a shame, really, because the closer I got to him, the better he looked. He was about four inches taller than me, was broad in all those areas that men look good being broad in, had a hard, angular face and dark curly hair, but it was those eyes that snagged and held my attention. Amber, deep amber, pure and clear and flecked with gold and brown. He started up the second flight of stairs.
Vampires can mesmerize with their eyes.
"Um."
"Are we back to that again?"
I tried to look down my nose at him, not an easy thing to do when you're being carried. "I apologize for the lamentable lack of scintillating conversation, sir, but I have recently been unconscious and I find some allowances are going to have to be made."
"I see."
"For example, we haven't been introduced."
He rounded the last landing, looking faintly startled by my words. "I thought introductions went the way of eight-track tapes and laser disks."
"They're not entirely extinct," I answered. "I'm Joy Randall."
He hauled me up the last few stairs, stopping at the top to look into my eyes. "Raphael."
"Just Raphael?"
He shrugged.
"Most people have two or more names."
"Do they?"
"Yes." I waited. He looked at me with those beautiful eyes as if he were memorizing my face. I got tired of waiting for him, and decided to give him a nudge in the right direction. You'd have thought someone who'd lived for centuries would have picked up a few social skills along the way. "My middle name is Martine. I was named for my grandmother. Joy Martine Randall."
Abruptly a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "I was named for my great-grandfather."
"Great-grandpa Raphael?"
"Griffin. My name is Raphael Griffin St. John."
"Nice to meet you, Raphael." I hazarded a smile before I realized what I was doing. Flirting with a vampire! What was next for me—French kissing a werewolf? Dirty dancing with a zombie? "For the record, I think your parents did the right thing."
I loved his eyebrows. I loved the way
One glossy chocolate eyebrow rose as he glanced down at me. "Um?"
"You're carrying me," I said, feeling it necessary to say something intelligent, but lacking the wits to actually pull intelligent things out of my scrambled brains. First insanity, then drugging—now I was in the arms of a man who might be a vampire, and all I could think of was how nice he smelled and how warm he was.
Of course he's warm, he just fed.
I squashed that inner voice down flat and met his amber eyes without flinching. Much.
"Yes," he agreed, his voice thrumming inside me. He had an English accent, giving his voice a richness that reminded me of antique mahogany. It was very sexy. I liked it. A lot .
"Up the stairs."
"Your room's at the top," he replied.
"But you're not puffing or straining or breaking out into a sweat."
Both eyebrows went up at that. "Should I be?"
"I'm not an inconsiderable weight," I pointed out. "Most men would balk at hefting me across a room, not to mention up three flights of stairs."
"I am not most men," he stated, turning on the first landing.
You can say that again , trembled at the edge of my tongue, but I bit it back, saying instead, "Regardless of your obviously fit state, I'm too heavy. I'll give you a hernia. If you put me down, I'll be happy to walk the rest of the way."
"You're not too heavy."
I looked at him as if he had an extra toe growing out of his ear. "What planet are you from? In case it escaped your notice, I'm six feet tall and built like a brick oven, as my mother used to say."
"I happen to think a woman's shape looks better with curves," he said blithely, looking me up and down. "Yours look good on you."
Well, stap my vitals! A man who had enough muscles to haul me around and still managed to say nice things about my overabundance of curves? If only he wasn't the walking dead, I would have proposed marriage on the spot. But the probability was that if I wasn't insane, he was what he shouldn't be, so marriage was out. Which was a shame, really, because the closer I got to him, the better he looked. He was about four inches taller than me, was broad in all those areas that men look good being broad in, had a hard, angular face and dark curly hair, but it was those eyes that snagged and held my attention. Amber, deep amber, pure and clear and flecked with gold and brown. He started up the second flight of stairs.
Vampires can mesmerize with their eyes.
"Um."
"Are we back to that again?"
I tried to look down my nose at him, not an easy thing to do when you're being carried. "I apologize for the lamentable lack of scintillating conversation, sir, but I have recently been unconscious and I find some allowances are going to have to be made."
"I see."
"For example, we haven't been introduced."
He rounded the last landing, looking faintly startled by my words. "I thought introductions went the way of eight-track tapes and laser disks."
"They're not entirely extinct," I answered. "I'm Joy Randall."
He hauled me up the last few stairs, stopping at the top to look into my eyes. "Raphael."
"Just Raphael?"
He shrugged.
"Most people have two or more names."
"Do they?"
"Yes." I waited. He looked at me with those beautiful eyes as if he were memorizing my face. I got tired of waiting for him, and decided to give him a nudge in the right direction. You'd have thought someone who'd lived for centuries would have picked up a few social skills along the way. "My middle name is Martine. I was named for my grandmother. Joy Martine Randall."
Abruptly a smile quirked at the corner of his lips. "I was named for my great-grandfather."
"Great-grandpa Raphael?"
"Griffin. My name is Raphael Griffin St. John."
"Nice to meet you, Raphael." I hazarded a smile before I realized what I was doing. Flirting with a vampire! What was next for me—French kissing a werewolf? Dirty dancing with a zombie? "For the record, I think your parents did the right thing."
I loved his eyebrows. I loved the way
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