The Vampire Affair #1

  The Vampire Affair

  By

  Vivi Anna

  Copyright 2013 by Vivi Anna

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  The Vampire Affair (Part One)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  AuthorBio

  Chapter One

  The Toronto International Film Festival was a huge event that I was covering for Hot Gossip, a Calgary entertainment magazine. It was my first major assignment. So it was definitely a big deal. The editor was relying on me for some juicy gossip.

  So far I’d found it boring as hell and I’d gotten nothing either juicy or gossipy.

  After an uneventful day of stargazing, I decided to take in some nightlife. My best friend Serena, who was also the magazine’s photographer, accompanied me to a well-known place downtown. Hopefully, I’d spy someone famous and get some juicy tidbit for the front page. Tired of my stories always being on page seven or ten, right after the tampon advertisement, I hoped for something scandalous.

  The gig at Hot Gossip was my first real writing job. The managing editor, Carmen, had hired me right out of college. At twenty-three, I was her youngest writer on staff. And I planned to do the best damn job ever.

  So, we set up camp at the bar. It had a good view of the entire club, and good maneuverability, in case I had to chase after someone. I had taken the first sip of my Pomtini, when I spotted him.

  The first thing I noticed was his eyes. They flashed like uncut sapphires. Even from across the room, their intense appraisal drilled me right to the core. I nearly choked on my drink, when I realized he was smiling at me.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Serena asked as she patted me on the back.

  “I think I just saw a vision.”

  “What? Where?” Serena craned her long neck, quickly scanning the room.

  “Across the dance floor. To the right.”

  As Serena turned, I grabbed her arm.

  “No, don’t look.”

  “Well, how can I check him out if I can’t look at him?”

  “Just don’t make it obvious. I don’t want him to think I’m desperate.”

  “But you are desperate.”

  “Yeah, so. He doesn’t need to know that yet. Let him work that out on his own.”

  Serena swiveled on her chair casually to glance in his direction. I looked too. He was busy lighting a cigarette for a long, lithe woman with sleek, red hair.

  “Damn, girl.”

  “He smiled at me,” I squealed.

  Serena’s chocolate brown eyes narrowing to slits. “Are you sure? He is across the room.”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?”

  She laughed and slapped my arm. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t doubt he would smile at you, you’re a drop dead gorgeous bitch.”

  “Thank you.” I giggled.

  “You’re welcome. Now what are you going to do about that fine piece of maleness? It’s been like six months since you got laid.”

  “Really? It’s been that long?”

  Serena nodded in sympathy. I wanted to hug her right there and then and confess to her that it had been much longer than that. Try two years. But he had broken my heart and my trust and I hadn’t been able to get it back.

  Nick and I had gone to school together. Both journalism majors. And he had fucked me over for a job. He’d used me and my connections to land a great position at Maclean’s. It had hurt something fierce and I think I was still nursing the wounds.

  No man since had even been tempting enough to lower my guard.

  “Huh, are you sure?”

  “Yes. And now you need to do something about that. Go get ‘em tiger.”

  I set my drink down on the bar, and slid off the stool. I smoothed down the sleek line of my short skirt and adjusted the strap of my new Victoria’s Secret water bra. “I’m going to dance.”

  “If you need any help, just yell.” Serena giggled.

  I shot her a dirty look and pushed my way onto the crowded dance floor moving my body to the rhythm of the techno music. I casually made my way across the floor to end up dancing beside a trio of men dressed in spandex and sequins when I made contact again.

  His eyes locked on mine, like laser sighting. I couldn’t look away. From this close proximity, I could clearly see his full luscious mouth, his straight white teeth, and the dimples that winked at me teasingly. Saliva pooled in my mouth. He was almost too good-looking at this close range. Maybe I made a mistake. I couldn’t possibly get his number. I probably couldn’t even get his name. Except, he did seem interested.

  The music’s tempo slowed. The sound, sexy and deep like Barry White’s voice. I started to sway to the vibration, my hips moving seductively. His gaze traveled down my body, devouring every inch. I could feel my inhibitions melting away.

  The male trio had moved, so he could see me clearly. I was seduced by the moment, and didn’t care what he saw. I moved my hands over my body ever so slightly. He watched my actions, licking his lips.

  I imagined it was his hands on me and his body heat melting my insides. I kept dancing. Eyes locked with his. I let the seductive music take over. Swaying and grinding, and feeling myself up, I made love to him from across the room. At that moment, I had never felt so decadent, so free from judgment. For the first time in my life, I felt liberated and uninhibited.

  Damn Nick, how had hurt me so badly. I was desirable. I wasn’t a prude.

  The music abruptly stopped, and all eyes landed on me.

  I looked around. Various men and women were smirking; others were gaping like fish out of water. My cheeks reddened, then I turned and ran from the floor without another glance in his direction.

  I ran to the washrooms. Snide comments followed me out as I turned into the hallway. There was a crowd hovering around the doors. Turning the other way, I went down a poorly lit deserted hall. It wound its way to the back exit. I stopped and leaned against the cool cement wall.

  I banged my forehead against the concrete. What was I thinking, acting like a complete idiot? I could never go back in there. What would Serena say? I would never live this down. Maybe I could play it as if I was really drunk and didn’t realize what I was doing. Then the only person who would really think me a fool would be myself.

  Oh God, I’d never been so embarrassed in my entire life. I couldn’t believe I’d done that. It was as if something had possessed me. Nudged me into a compromising situation. I had barely even had one drink.

  I stiffened as I sensed a presence behind me. Quickly turning my head, all I saw was electric blue, like in a clear summer sky.

  “Why did you run away?” His voice was rich and deep, like melted chocolate, with a slight musical lilt. He had an accent. British possibly.

  “The show was over.” I kept my back to him, but I shivered at his nearness. He was standing close. Close enough to smell him, a sweet tantalizing mixture of sweat, expensive cologne and something indescribable. He stepped closer, his intensity pressing intimately into my back, pinning me to the wall.

  “I was hoping for a sequel.”

  “Then get the movie.”

  He laughed. The vibrations crept up my spine, and caressed my throat like lover’s fingers. A flash of heat rushed down my body.


  “You smell incredible.” Leaning closer, he sniffed at my hair.

  My eyes fluttered shut as a rush of shivers zigzagged over my back. Even with my three inch heeled boots, the top of my head only came to his nose. He was a big man with broad shoulders and wide hands. One of those powerful hands could dominate me with ease. My knees nearly gave out at the thought.

  “Why don’t you turn around?” He teased, his accent thickening with arousal.

  “I don’t want to.” I was enjoying this game. Cat and mouse. But who was the cat and who was the mouse?

  He moved closer to me. I could feel him pressed against my body, his erection pushing against the small of my back. I took in a ragged breath as he bent down and kissed the side of my neck, his teeth scraping against my skin. His lips lingered at the exact spot where my heartbeat thumped erratically.

  My body quivered with each soft touch of his mouth. I moaned deep in my throat at the gentle contact. The dominant way he had me pressed against the cold wall, and the gentle soft kisses at my neck drove me to the edge, making me want to scream at the contrasts. I wanted to urge him for more, and beg him to stop at the same time. I craved this more than anything.

  “I don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” he asked, his breath puffing against my skin, sending another wave of shivers down my spine.

  “Make out with strangers.”

  “Me either,” he said, “I’m not sure why I followed you, but when I saw you here, alone, I couldn’t resist.”

  I knew I should’ve been cautious, afraid even. He was right. We were alone. He could do anything to me, and there was no one around to stop him. Even if I screamed I wasn’t sure anyone would hear me. I was being stupid and careless, but still that didn’t stop my thighs from clenching in anticipation of him.

  With a burning need, I turned and sought his mouth with mine. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer. Our tongues mated in a frantic dance. I nipped at his lips, eager for more.

  As he fisted his hands in my hair, he savaged my mouth, licking and biting. I could taste mint, alcohol, and man. I desired to inhale him, to suck him inside, to feast on his flavor.

  When I came up for air, I said, “This is crazy. You could be a serial killer.”

  “So could you,” he said, as he nibbled on my chin and made his way down my neck to my shoulder.

  “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really.” And I arched my back, and let him nibble his way over my cleavage. Again his teeth rasped against my flesh. I had the distinct impression that he wanted to bite into me. That sent a delicious shiver across my flesh.

  I’d let him, in a heartbeat. A little pain mixed with pleasure. Just the thought of that from him, this mysterious man, made me wet.

  Someone cleared their throat, but my lust-filled mind ignored it. I was so wrapped up in him.

  “Jonathan?”

  Our heads whipped up. A stocky man with glasses stood at the end of the hall. Jonathan dropped his hands.

  “What are you doing?” The man asked, a quizzical look on his face. “We’re waiting for you back at the table.”

  “Nothing,” Jonathan said with a sigh, taking a step away from me, distancing himself.

  The stocky man walked closer to us. “Who you got there?”

  “No one you need to worry about, David.”

  I glanced up at Jonathan then. He was avoiding my stare, looking like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, embarrassed almost.

  “You’re an asshole.” I snapped.

  He glanced down at me. The look in his eyes spoke volumes. They screamed of dismissal and embarrassment. Angry tears welled in my eyes. How dare he make me cry. I snarled at him, and punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, but I swear he was laughing. I stormed back down the hall passing the stocky man with his hands in his pockets. He gave me an innocent look as I passed, quickly moving out of my way. Smart boy.

  Fuming, I made my way back to where Serena still sat.

  “I saw him follow you to the bathrooms. Did you get his number?”

  Without a word, I grabbed my jacket and purse, and stomped out of the club, Serena trailing behind me.

  “Oh yeah, I got his number all right. 1-800-asshole.”

  Chapter Two

  Unrolling the magazine I’d purchased first thing this morning when I’d gotten my Timmie’s coffee, I stared down at Jonathan Devane’s chiseled features. His vivid blue eyes taunted me. I dare you not to want me.

  Shitty thing was, I did want him. Badly.

  I slumped into my duct-taped chair at my cubicle desk and slapped the magazine down on my desk. Jonathan Devane, on the cover of Newsweek, heralded as the champion of Canadian artists.

  Devane Communications owned two television stations, a radio station, and a movie studio. They made Canadian shows with Canadian actors, writers, and directors. The man was also known to be a ruthless businessman rumored to have taken the company from his own father in a bitter shareholder dispute. But the most glaring thing about Jonathan, and the thing that pricked my ass the most, was the fact that he was a notorious playboy.

  I know I shouldn’t have gotten angry. It was just another magazine. Just another story about one of the richest, sexiest men in Canada. So what if just a mere eighteen months ago I’d locked lips with him in a downtown Toronto nightclub where he made me melt with his luscious lips and lean svelte body pressing against mine. It didn’t matter to me one bit. I was over it. Not that there was anything to get over. An alcohol induced kiss was nothing to obsess about.

  Too bad, I couldn’t write a story about him. He definitely wouldn’t be heralded as anything but a womanizing, patronizing ass.

  I turned my attention to the computer screen. I opened my latest file and scanned the contents. A story on J. Lo filming her latest movie in a nearby small town, I had been down there, trying to get an interview. It had been impossible. So I talked to the townsfolk and some of the extras in the movie. The majority of them had nothing but pleasant things to say about the star.

  Naturally, Carmen Van Gelder, as the senior editor of Hot Gossip, didn’t want to hear all the nice things people had to say. She wanted the dirt.

  Hot Gossip entertainment magazine, a two-bit Calgary rag very much like Britain’s Hello, was famous for their dirt. That was what I was being paid to write. Carmen reminded me of that every time I finished a piece. The story on J. Lo had been no different.

  Three days earlier, I had stood in Carmen’s office being reminded of that very pertinent part of working at the magazine.

  “This story sucks, Makayla. No one cares how ‘nice’ she is. They want to know how mean and nasty she is. That’s what sells magazines.” Carmen crossed out the entire page with a big, fat, red felt marker and then handed it back to me with a smug smile on her Botox-injected face.

  I looked down at it, a lump forming in my throat. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Find someone who hates her. I’m sure she dissed someone out there. It’s a small town. They hate big city people anyway. Someone will talk.”

  “And what if I can’t find anyone?”

  Carmen looked at me with severely arched eyebrows. “Then be creative. How many times do I have to tell you that creative writing is the first step to being a great journalist?”

  I had taken my marked up paper and headed back to the small town where I’d succeeded in finding some “dirt”. Carmen had been ecstatic with the few tidbits I’d managed to uncover.

  Now, as I cut and pasted those juicy tidbits into my story, I glanced back down at the magazine cover and Jonathan Devane’s comely face. Oh how I’d like to do a cut and paste on him. I just imagined all the choice goodies I could dig up.

  He was just begging to be exposed, with all his gallivanting around with supermodels and actresses. Every time I looked, a new woman emerged. Always a front-page spread of them together but apart. No kissing o
r hugging for this boy. He was a stickler for public displays of affection. He almost seemed like a cold fish, but I knew better.

  Opening my desk drawer, I tossed the magazine in with all the others I’d collected over time. Ever since his image had started showing up on various magazines a year ago, I’d been buying them up like a crackwhore. It was as if I had to. An uncontrollable urge. A compulsion.

  I slammed the drawer shut. Damn him. He’d gotten under my skin. I had desperately tried to forget him. To forget the dark shock of silky hair that fell sexily over his forehead and the way his dimples winked at the corner of his wide sensuous mouth when he smiled. The way his laugh sent delicious shivers up and down my spine. The way his full lips had felt on mine.Damn. I had to stop this...this obsessing. It was so unhealthy. I’d almost gone to see my doctor about getting sleeping pills, so I could have one night without him seducing me in my dreams. Almost every morning I woke up sweaty and unsatisfied. I’d been going through a lot of batteries lately.

  Our encounter had been a long time ago. I hadn’t even known him at the time. And he certainly hadn’t known who I was. Still didn’t. He probably didn’t even remember me at all.

  The nightclub had been dark and the music loud. Our intimate moment had been short. So what if it turned out to be the most erotic experience of my life thus far? And I couldn’t help but think about that night all over again.

  To this day, I never told Serena what happened. At least not in any kind of detail. Serena seemed to understand that I didn’t want to discuss it, so she never made it an issue.

  The intercom beeped into my thoughts and I pressed the button.

  “My office.” Carmen clicked off.

  Carmen was always abrupt, so I wasn’t too worried about the summons. After flicking on my screen saver, I walked the short distance to Carmen’s office and knocked on the door.

  “Come.”

  I entered and shut the door. I slunk into one of Carmen’s high-backed leather visitor chairs. One of my only perks working for Carmen was on the rare occasion when I was allowed to sit in one of these glorious chairs.