Love Bites Read Online Free PDF

room—a plasma TV, a built-in sewing machine, and spindles holding every color thread in the rainbow. And the art on the walls—original Toulouse-Lautrecs and stuff. What the hell was I doing there? How do you date a woman who spends more on her water bill than you make in a year?
    I’m a damn good detective, but I didn’t have a clue about what to expect now that we were back at her house. I opened her door and gave her my hand to help her out of the car. Instantly, heat ran up my arm and flooded my chest. It felt like I’d grabbed hold of a live wire and a couple thousand volts were frying my body.
    “Jesus!” I said, pulling my hand away. “Did you do that on purpose?” She might as well have Tasered me. I looked to see if my skin was burned.
    “What?”
    “That heat thing. Shooting out from your hand into my body like a lightning strike.”
    She’d moved away from me and reached the front door. She put her key in the lock and without looking back said, “I think you’d better come in, Peter. We have a lot to talk about.” She opened the door, disarmed the security system, and disappeared into the house, not even waiting to see if I’d follow.
    My arm was still tingling. I knew I shouldn’t go in. I shouldn’t have been there at all; I was already pushing the limit on departmental policy. But I couldn’t resist. It had only been two weeks since I’d discovered True Blood was a reality series. Everything I’d ever believed about monsters and ghouls had gone right out the window, and I was still trying to get a handle on Ovsanna’s lifestyle. Plus, I’d had a great time with her at my parents’, and I wanted to talk to her some more. I wanted to find out a lot more about her. I needed to . . . if I was going to decide to see her again.
    As long as I didn’t get burned.

CHAPTER NINE

    It was all I could do to keep my fangs in place and my nails from elongating. I was damned if I was going to ruin another manicure. The last time I’d gotten emotional, I’d left polish all over L.A.
    Anger had caused that change, though; this was another emotion entirely.
    Lust.
    No, not just lust . . . something more complicated. I liked this man. He made me laugh. He was strong and fearless, and I didn’t intimidate him, even after he found out what I am. I mean, it’s hard enough to handle approaching a movie star, but how many men could deal with discovering that an age-old, terrifying myth is actually true? Peter not only rescued the Vampyres of Hollywood—Douglas Fairbanks and Charlie Chaplin among them—he even let me feed on him to save my life. That takes balls.
    Figuratively speaking.
    I barreled into the house and headed for my downstairs office, not waiting to see if he followed. I knew what was going on, and I had to get myself under control. It’s a pattern of mine, although it took me a century or two to recognize it because it happens so infrequently. I’ll go years without finding anyone attractive, and then someone comes along—sometimes it’s a man, sometimes a woman—with a certain look in the eyes, and I am captivated. It was like that with Rimbaud. You’d think after him I would have learned my lesson. What a mess he turned out to be. But no, when there’s a response, when I see the same interest reflected back at me, then a subtle current of sexual arousal sets in. I start sleeping even less than my usual five hours, my skin gets hypersensitive to the touch. I have more trouble keeping my fangs in place, my nails from elongating, and the Thirst comes on me more insistently and too often. It takes a real effort of will not to change.
    That’s what Peter had felt when he took my hand getting out of the car. I lost control. Not good. I needed either to shut him out completely—walk away and not let him in my life in any way—or to explain to him what was going on with me and let him decide what he wanted the next step to be.
    I didn’t want to shut him out. I wanted to get