Love Bites

By Maggie Osborne

An award-winning vampire romance from a Two-Time RITA Award-Winning Author.

Kay Erickson's sexy new employer, a charismatic late-night talk show host, insists that he's a real vampire. But vampires aren't supposed to be vibrant, happy, exciting and fun to be with. Vampires don't ride skate boards and motorcycles, ski, do the things Trevor does. But Trevor d'Laine also possesses a dark and dangerous side. His hypnotic, silvery-blue eyes awaken passions Kay has never experienced, his kisses open visions of a forbidden world.

An explosive desire neither can deny sends them both into a perilous spiral. Trevor has promised Kay has nothing to fear from him, but can he keep that promise? And Trevor has frightening friends . . .

Awards:
Best Series Romance of the Year -- Romantic Times
Award of Excellence -- Colorado Romance Writers
Bookrack Award for Bestselling Harlequin American

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maggie Osborne
• Release date: Sep 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310872525

Book preview

Love Bites

Maggie Osborne

"I’m a happy vampire."

Happier than you can guess. I like having time to read every book that ever interested me, time to visit every monument ever erected, time to sample every pleasure available to night people. I’m invulnerable to disease or accident. I’ll never age, never die. Why would I want to give that up?

Kay met his eyes. Maybe because you can never be wholly yourself without fearing discovery. Maybe because if mortals knew you actually existed, you’d be hunted and destroyed. Maybe because you long for sunlight. Maybe because you feel isolated and lonely. Maybe because you don’t like how you’re forced to live. Maybe because—

Stop! He stared at her and his fingers tightened on the stem of his brandy glass. For someone who’s entered the game late, you’ve come up to speed very quickly.

Praise for Love Bites

"On very special occasions, we encounter a romance so remarkably special that the normal rating system simply does not apply. Love Bites is a luminous blend of love and laughter, this fabulous romance embodies an emotional depth of sublime intensity. With great pleasure, we declare Love Bites to be more than worth our 5 star rating, given to those rare gems that transcend genre boundaries."

– Romantic Times... 5 stars

The love story and ensuing conflicts are taut and sensitive, and the reader’s emotions are drawn out much like a vampire’s kiss.

– Affaire de Coeur... 4+ stars

Awards:

Best Series Romance of the Year – Romantic Times

Award of Excellence – Colorado Romance Writers

Bookrack Award for Bestselling Harlequin American

Publishing History

Print edition published by Harlequin Books

The author writing as Margaret St. George

Copyright 1995 by Margaret St. George

Digital Edition published by Maggie Osborne at Smashwords 2014

Cover design by Tammy Seidick Design

Digital formatting by A Thirsty Mind Book Design

All rights reserved. No part of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews, may be reproduced in any form by any means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission from the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The scanning, uploading, and distributing of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic and print editions, and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Table of Contents

Reviews

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Notes

Sample of Salem’s Daughter

Sample of Lady Reluctant

Maggie Osborne

1

"Good eve-n-ing. This is. Trevor d’Laine, Prince of Darkness. If you’ve just tuned in, fellow vampires and insomniacs, our topic tonight is night frights. What scares you when the lights go out? Give me a call, creatures of the IV. Tell us what gives you the creepy-crawlies."

D’Laine’s rich voice poured through the overhead speakers like smooth dark honey. Kay paused midway across the lobby of station WRD— 88.7 on your radio dial —and listened.

All radio hosts had appealing voices, but not all could reach through the wires and seduce their listeners. Feeling Trevor d’Laine’s voice wrap around her like sweet dark smoke, an absurd impression seized Kay that d’Laine was speaking solely to her, whispering intimate comments for her ears alone.

No wonder Trevor d’Laine had the highest-rated and most-talked-about radio show in the Denver area. With a voice like his, Kay suspected d’Laine’s audience would have been equally enthralled if he’d merely read aloud the operating instructions for his toaster. She gave her head a small shake to clear her thoughts.

After nodding to a receptionist seated across the lobby, she walked toward a vinyl-cushioned sofa and inspected the double row of photographs above it.

If you’re looking for Trevor’s photograph, you won’t find it, the receptionist called, setting aside a copy of People. She grinned. Vampires can’t be photographed, remember?

Kay could think of no response to that remark.

Trying not to be obvious, she checked her appearance in the reflection glancing off one of the glass-framed photographs. Snowflakes glistened in her dark chignon, melting and causing the tiny hairs near her face to curl toward her cheeks. Her oval face looked winter pale in the reflection and she wondered if she should have chosen a brighter lipstick. Not red, of course; red wouldn’t be appropriate for a job interview, not appropriate for any occasion that Kay could think of, actually.

She glanced at the receptionist who didn’t share her prejudice against crimson lipstick. Mr. d’Laine carries the vampire persona that far? He won’t permit photographs?

"You should have heard the furor when the Denver Post photographed Trevor at a charity ball. The station manager moved the earth to kill that photo. Hey, the vampire thing works for him. Trev’s show pulls the highest ratings in Colorado."

I guess there’s no accounting for public taste.

Instantly the receptionist’s demeanor cooled and Kay realized she’d committed a tactless blunder. A slight flush brightened her cheekbones.

So what can I do for you? the receptionist asked.

Kay approached the desk, conscious of her heels tapping across the tiled floor like exclamation points, punctuating the flow of words whispering out of the speaker system. Someone calling himself Icabod was relating an encounter with a ghost.

The receptionist’s cool expectant gaze lifted to Kay’s face. So...?

I have an appointment with Mr. d’Laine at two o’clock. Suppressing a sigh, Kay glanced at the bank of clock faces behind the receptionist. Someone had pasted a cutout of a chubby Buddha over the clock tracking the time in Hong Kong. In Denver, it was ten minutes till two.

Summoning a smile, she attempted to repair the chilly damage caused by her earlier comment. Does Mr. d’Laine always schedule interviews for the middle of the night?

The receptionist inspected Kay’s wool business suit and high-necked silk blouse, her neat chignon and small pearl earrings.

You’re here to apply for the assistant’s job? she inquired, thawing a little.

Kay nodded, resisting an urge to stare in disbelief at the clock faces. It staggered her to realize that she had actually agreed to an interview at two in the morning. The yawn that had been tickling her throat since midnight threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyelids felt heavy.

If she didn’t keep talking, it was possible she’d fall asleep on her feet. `Did you have many responses to the ad?"

The receptionist flipped back her hair and smiled. You’re the only one who agreed to an interview at this hour.

Which might mean the job was hers if she wanted it. She wasn’t sure. She frowned at the studio photographs of the station’s on-the-air personalities, thinking about d’Laine’s notable absence. How far did he carry the vampire pretense? Just how weird and neurotic was he?

What’s d’Laine like? she asked, prudently rephrasing the question she really wanted to ask.

A dreamy look drifted over the receptionist’s heavily made up eyes. He’s wonderful, she said, drawing the words into a long wistful purr. He can bite my neck anytime he wants to.

I mean, to work with.

A clatter sounded from the tiled hallway that opened off the lobby and Kay turned toward the noise.

That will be Trevor, the receptionist said, laughing. He’s signed off. Hastily, she patted her hair and tugged her sweater over ample breasts.

A skateboard shot into the lobby. The man riding it leaned to one side, banked into a turn, then rocketed toward the desk. He jumped off a few feet from Kay and caught the skateboard before it banged into her ankles. A pleased grin spread across his handsome face.

How about that, Candy babes? A perfect turn!

Usually he crashes into the sofa, Candy explained, grinning.

Cruel woman. Hi! You must be Kay Erickson. I’m Trevor d’Laine, and I’m entirely pleased to meet you. He thrust out his hand and grabbed Kay’s fingers, pumping her arm up and down in an enthusiastic shake. What did you ladies think of the show tonight? Did you hear that last caller and the headless ghost stuff? He laughed and rolled sparkling blue eyes toward the ceiling. Don’t you love this business? Hey, is it still snowing outside? I’ll get my coat, then we’ll walk over to the Coffee Mug and I’ll buy you a mocha latte to take the chill off. We’ll talk there. Leaning forward, he peered into Kay’s startled face, then tapped a finger on her nose. Stay put. Don’t go away.

He jumped on the skateboard and zoomed back the way he had come. Dumbfounded, Kay stared after him. She felt as if a whirlwind had spun through the room, charging the air with electricity and rearranging the molecules.

But Trevor d’Laine’s startling entrance made her rethink her first impression. If he was committed to convincing his listeners that he was a vampire, the pretense was a role reserved for the public. Here, he couldn’t have looked less like the popular conception of a vampire.

She’d never heard of a vampire clad in faded jeans and a Broncos sweatshirt, or wearing a WRD baseball cap with a ponytail swinging out the hole in the back of the cap. He also wore scruffy tennis shoes and a small gold hoop in his left ear.

You should see him in his vampire outfit, Candy said with a sigh. He’s gorgeous anytime but what that guy does for a tux and a cape ought to be outlawed.

Kay could imagine it. Despite his ponytail and earring, Trevor d’Laine was simply the most magnificently handsome man she had ever seen. Still feeling slightly dazed by the exuberance of his sudden appearance, she stared at the spot where he had careened into the hallway. Her hand tingled from his shake, and she continued to feel strange and fluttery inside from the moment when he had gazed into her eyes. That’s what she remembered most from the brief whirlwind encounter—d’Laine’s hypnotic eyes, dancing and sparkling like flashes of electric blue crystal.

You know who he reminds me of? Candy murmured. A long-haired Mel Gibson. Trevor is so exciting, so— she searched for the right word "—alive! He smolders with sexuality. He’s so connected to everything and everyone around him!"

This time d’Laine appeared quietly. One minute he wasn’t in the lobby; the next minute he was standing right behind Kay, taking her coat from her arm. His appearance was so sudden and silent that her heart leapt into her throat and she jumped.

Sorry if I startled you. Talking all the while, he helped her on with her coat, then blew a kiss at Candy. You look terrific tonight! If that boyfriend of yours isn’t treating you right, you let me know. Candy beamed at him and wiggled her fingers in a coy wave. See you tomorrow. Taking Kay’s arm, he led her across the lobby and out into the cold night.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of a leather jacket, he threw back his head and caught a snowflake on his tongue. I love nights like this. Look how the light surrounds the streetlamp like a halo. Beautiful! Early-spring storms are different from deep winter storms. You don’t talk much, do you?

Kay glanced up, noticing that he wasn’t especially tall. Maybe five foot ten. In her heels, she was only an inch or so shorter. This surprised her. D’Laine so thoroughly dominated his surroundings that she would have sworn he was well over six feet.

Actually, my fiancé complains that I talk too much, she said, noticing the snowflakes that clung to his ponytail, sparkling like diamonds strewn down a dark waterfall.

He grinned. Then it’s me. I’m always hyped after a good show. Did you hear any of it? One guy swore he can take photographs of ghosts. Do you think that’s possible?

I don’t have any idea, Kay said, dipping her chin into her coat collar. The temperature was middle-of-the-night frigid although d’Laine’s unzipped jacket indicated he didn’t notice. Or maybe Kay was shivering with nerves. She hated job interviews.

Here we are. I hope you like designer coffee. Are your feet cold? One of Gloria’s concoctions will warm you up. Trevor held the door for her and they stepped into the fragrant warmth of the coffee shop, deserted at this time of night.

The woman standing behind the counter broke into a wide smile. Great show tonight!

Trevor grabbed a sugar container, holding it like a microphone. "Gloria, Gloooooria! A wide grin illuminated his face. Bring the lady a mocha latte and don’t spare the whipped cream. I’ll have one of those itty bitty cups of espresso. Do you want a muffin or a cinnamon roll?" he asked Kay, reaching for her coat.

Just coffee, thanks. Which she was going to need to get through the upcoming interview. The heat in the shop flooded through her bones, sapping her energy and dragging at her eyelids. She chose a seat facing away from the clock on the back wall.

This was the lonely time of night; there was no one in the place except herself, Trevor and Gloria. The rest of the world was sound asleep, home in bed where Kay wished she was.

Here you go. Gloria placed a cup of espresso in front of Trevor and served Kay a frothy concoction that looked loaded with calories. While Kay studied the mound of whipped cream, Gloria removed an envelope from her apron pocket and handed it to Trevor. One of your weird pals left this for you.

Thanks. Trevor nodded at the mocha latte. Try that. You’ll love it. Excuse me a sec, this may be important. He withdrew a folded note from the envelope, scanned it with a frown, then tucked it inside his coat pocket. Gloria, you sweet thing, would you mind calling me a cab? He glanced at a Mickey Mouse wristwatch. Have someone pick me up in an hour, okay?

You got it.

Now then, let me look at you. Pushing aside the espresso, he folded his arms on the table and devoted his full attention to Kay, falling silent for the first time. A tiny startled thrill raced down her spine. Trevor d’Laine didn’t just look at someone. He looked at someone.

He really saw the shape of her face, her nose, her mouth. She had an uncomfortable impression that his beautiful hypnotic eyes gazed inside her mind and read her secrets. Not that she had any interesting secrets. Still, it was a disconcerting moment.

Why do you wear your hair like that?

I beg your pardon? Surprise lifted her eyebrows.

He made a stirring motion with his forefinger. You have it all pulled back in a severe little knot. I’m wondering what you’d look like with short bouncy hair. You’re a lovely woman, but you seem intent on hiding it.

Kay stiffened. He had a lot of nerve criticizing her hairdo when he was sitting there wearing a ponytail and an earring. Just because he was the closest thing to male perfection that Kay had ever seen, that did not give him the right to criticize her. It irritated her that she experienced a sudden maddening compulsion to touch her hair. It was all she could do to keep her hands clasped in her lap.

I think we should talk about the job, she said sharply.

His voice dropped into the rich tones of a deejay and he sang a few lines from the old hit song Get a Job. After glancing at her, he laughed, sending a baritone wave rolling across the deserted coffee shop. You have a whipped cream mustache.

Mortified, Kay grabbed her napkin and scrubbed it across her lips. A rush of embarrassment pulsed hotly in her cheeks. Did I get it all? It occurred to her that she was wiping off her lipstick along with the whipped cream.

Miss Erickson—are you enjoying your life?

This was the strangest interview she had ever suffered through. Excuse me? Is enjoying life a requisite for the job?

Enjoying life is a requisite for being! He spread his arms in an exuberant expansive gesture. Every minute is precious and unique. Mortal life is very short. Are you enjoying every single second of your life, Miss Erickson? Are you embracing each new experience and wresting all you can from it? Are you doing all the things you ever wanted to do?

Kay stared at him, wondering if he could read minds. Look, it’s two-thirty in the morning, I’m dead tired, I have a long day scheduled for tomorrow and I’m beginning to suspect that I’ve wasted your time and mine. I didn’t drive across town in the middle of a snowy night to discuss my hair or my life-style. I came here to interview for a job!

That’s what we’re doing, he said with a blink of surprise. And may I say this flash of spirit is reassuring. I like that.

He was the strangest and most fascinating man Kay had met in a long, long time—overwhelming actually. D’Laine seemed to resonate with an inner force that expanded to fill whatever environment he occupied. Everything about him was vibrantly, sizzlingly alive. Especially his eyes, the most beautiful eyes Kay had ever seen on a man. Absurdly long lashed, and a luminous shade of pale blue that sparkled and danced, teased and challenged. His eyes matched his voice, seductive and rich with a joie de vivre that pulled everyone around him into his orbit. Including Kay. The powerful sexiness of his physical vitality startled her and made her feel acutely uncomfortable. As if she wasn’t uneasy enough.

She drew a small breath and made herself look away from his appraising gaze. It was not like her to think about sex mere minutes after meeting a man. She was positive that twin fires of embarrassment and discomfort burned on her cheeks.

What exactly are you looking for, Mr. d’Laine? What duties would be involved? Her hot cheeks seemed to fascinate him.

That’s easy. I need a new Renfield.

A Renfield? Kay repeated, frowning. What’s a Renfield?

He smiled and Kay swallowed an involuntary gasp. He really was a stunningly handsome man, and he did look a little like Mel Gibson. Frowning, she tried to recall if she had ever before thought a man wearing a baseball cap and an earring was attractive, or even appealing.

"Every self-respecting vampire has an assistant named Renfield. Bram Stoker started the custom in his book, Dracula. Now, it’s practically a rule. Don’t you know anything about vampires?"

Not much, Kay admitted, making a face. Who does?

Actually a lot of people think they do. Of course, most of the stuff they think they know is wrong. But it is true that vampires need a mortal assistant. A Renfield.

A sinking sensation opened in the pit of Kay’s stomach. He might be wearing an unvampirelike orange sweatshirt and like to rocket around on a skateboard, but she’d been correct in her first impression. Trevor d’Laine was a little unhinged. What exactly does a Renfield do?

Everything.

Could you be more specific?

I’d want you to handle my finances, business dealings and organization work. You’d be in charge of making sure my house runs smoothly. You know, overseeing the maid service, taking my clothes to the laundry or cleaners, scheduling the pool service and the lawn-care people, arranging for any repairs that might be necessary. You would deal with the mail, keep track of my appointments, publicity appearances—things like that. When I have guests—which is frequently—I’d expect you to see to their comfort. Whatever I need to have done, I’d want you to do. Like I said... everything.

Kay considered. You’re not looking for an assistant, Mr. d’Laine, she said finally. You’re looking for a wife.

Instantly his smile vanished and an unidentifiable expression flooded into his eyes. Believe me, Renfield, he said softly, I’m not looking for a wife.

Something in his tone and expression made Kay feel that she had intruded. She waited a full minute before speaking again. If I accept this job, are you going to insist on calling me Renfield?

Yes.

You’re joking!

I’m afraid not.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. For one thing, assigning her a name was unbelievably arrogant. For another, it was distancing and diminished her as a person in her own right. Finally Kay thought about her grandmother Erickson who had had six teacup poodles, all named Sugar. When one Sugar went to poodle heaven, another Sugar appeared a few days later. As far as Grandma Erickson was concerned, the poodles were interchangeable.

What happened to your last Renfield?

He was a mortal. He died.

He was a mortal, Kay repeated, staring at him. D’Laine was absolutely entrenched in his vampire radio persona.

Trevor lifted his arm, pushed back the cuff of his sweatshirt and glanced at the Mickey Mouse watch, then outside. Your hours will be long and utterly unreasonable. I’d expect you to be on the job from sunrise to sunset. When I have evening guests, I might ask you to act as hostess for a few hours.

Kay blinked. That’s at least a twelve-hour day!

During the summer it could run even longer. That’s why I’d prefer that you live in my house. He studied her for a long moment. If you were male, like my previous Renfields, living on premises would be a requirement. A female Renfield is going to be an interesting new experience.

You expect me to live with you? Her voice spiraled into a thin strand of disbelief.

It would be more convenient for both of us, especially since you’ll be working at the house. You’d have your own apartment, of course, which I think you’ll find comfortable.

"That’s out