“Since we’re being honest here,

why not tell me the real reason you’re afraid?”

As though caught red-handed, his body tensed. But he had nothing to hide. “What are you talking about?”

Her silent gaze locked with his. “You’re afraid you have the hots for a bloodsucker?”

The muscles in his cheeks hurt as he spared a mock grin. “Well, aren’t you a modest little leech.”

A raised brow and the perfect curve of her tilted chin met his mockery with confidence. “You’re covering the look of lust with detest, but it’s not working. I can smell you.” She sidestepped the coffee table and ambled toward him. Even in a tucked polo and denims, she sauntered forward as if in sheer lingerie. “You’re hot, you’re bothered, and you’re fighting it.” With each declaration, she stepped closer. His heart pounded louder in his ears.

Mere inches separated them now. She angled her neck. That sensual mouth a whisper from his. He lost himself, drowned in her hazel depths.

“You don’t know what’s more frustrating, the fact I’m a vampire, or that you want me.”

When did her arms snake his neck? She arched into him. The delicious contact stole his sensibility.

Warm, feminine curves met the hardness of his body. Ian hissed. A perfect match, male and female, both from two strong lines of species physically ransomed by an instinct as old as time…raw attraction. “Don’t flatter yourself, vampire. You’re not my type.”