Eve Parker never expects to be turned on by a man who comments on her erotic blog Pulse. After chatting online with the sensual Mr. G for a week, she breaks her rule about dating random strangers from the internet. Once they meet face to face, Eve is captivated by the enigmatic man. When the handsome Mr. G reveals his true identity—a vampire with the power to control her body and mind—she believes the magnetic pull between them may be an act of fate.
I walked into the bar and grill where we’d agreed to meet and glanced around the dimly lit space. Mr. G said he’d be wearing a suit with a red rose in the lapel. Given that no one in this part of the sticks wore a suit—unless they had
a court date or a funeral to attend—I figured I’d be able to spot him immediately.
Scanning the dining area I found he hadn’t arrived yet. I turned my head toward the bar to see if maybe he’d gotten here early and was enjoying a drink. Nope.
No sexy Adonis types in a suit at the bar.
“Just one sweetheart, or are ya meetin’ someone here?” The hostess asked me in a syrupy sweet drawl.
“Um, I’m meeting someone, but I don’t think he’s here yet.”
“No problem. I can get ya seated and…Oh, my gawd!” I watched as her blue eyes widened at something that appeared to be behind me. The woman’s mouth formed the shape of an O but no sound came out.
What the hell?
I turned around and as I did, awareness tingled throughout my body as sure as if I’d stuck a fork into an electrical socket.
Before me stood the dark haired stud of my fantasies. No longer just a figment of my imagination, he was real and right in front of me. And he was wearing a suit that looked as though it had been custom made for him. In the left lapel pocket, a red rose bud peeked out. Mr. G had arrived.
“You must be Eve,” he said to me.
That voice. It was like pure silk and sex and the finest, smoothest chocolate all rolled into one.
I couldn’t speak. Just like the hostess, Mr. G had rendered me mute with his sexual magnetism. I nodded dumbly and stuck my hand out in front of me as though this were a job interview and not a date. As though I wanted to impress him with my skill set instead of strip him of that gorgeous suit and fuck him on the floor of this restaurant.
Mr. G took my hand, but rather than giving it a friendly shake, he used that appendage to pull me closer to him. His arms wrapped around me, enveloping me in an embrace.
God damn, he smelled good.
“I think we’ve moved well beyond a simple handshake greeting, don’t you, darling?”
He said the words low, his mouth near my ear. The proximity of the liquid sex in his tone of voice made me hot all over.
Still speechless, unless one counts “hum-a-nah-hum-a-nah-hum-a-nah” as words, I merely stared at him, helpless. He turned his smoldering gaze onto the hostess.
“We’d like a booth, please. One of those back there,” he said as he pointed to the partially enclosed tables near the back of the restaurant.
The woman simpered and tittered about, gathering up a couple of menus.
She gave Mr. G a look over her shoulder as she led us toward our table, but her steps faltered when her shin made contact with the wooden leg of a barstool.
That was totally going to leave a mark. Poor girl. The catty bitch inside me soared at her injury. That’s what she got for trying to scope out my date.
My hand was still clasped in his and I couldn’t help myself, I edged my body a little closer to him as we waited for the hostess to place our menus and silverware on the table. It took her an inordinate amount of time, which I chalked up to the unsteadiness of her hands. The menus shook like leaves on a tree in a windstorm.
“Your server will be right with you,” she promised, her gaze never leaving Mr. G.
With any luck our server would be a straight man, that way my hackles wouldn’t be raised the entire meal. I felt like releasing my claws and hissing at any woman that dared to turn her stare his way.
“So, tell me more about Pulse. How did a good girl like you get started writing about sex?”
“Who says I’m a good girl?” I asked with a flick of my hair.
I ran my hand down the front of my dress. Apparently animal print was what they made matronly clothing out of now. And here I’d thought my outfit screamed sexpot, not librarian.
“Oh, make no misunderstanding, I think you’re a very good girl…but I can also tell you have a wild side. There’s no mistaking what’s written in those eyes of yours.”
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About the author
Ariel Storm believes that fantasies are meant to be explored, on the pages of her manuscripts, and beyond. Ariel fell in love with all things paranormal, magical and mystical at a young age. Her obsession with the dark, dangerous and forbidden began in her teen years as a way to rebel against her strict religious upbringing. Her stories can range from contemporary BDSM to new adult to paranormal. One thing will never change, and that’s writing scorching hot erotic romance with unconventionally sexy alpha heroes.
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