Tori McAdams was a sensible woman. She didn't believe in hocus-pocus, she didn't believe that crossing a black cat's path was bad luck. She had broken more mirrors than she cared to count and couldn't remember ever wishing on a star./ And she didn't believe in vampires.
But the petite little blonde in front of her obviously did. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and from time to time, got that oddly unfocused look of true fear. As a private investigator, Tori had learned to smell bullshit a mile away. And this girl truly believed somebody was stalking her, trying to turn her into a vampire.
Some sick fuck had done a real number on her. No telling what the back-story was, because the girl was getting more incoherent by the second. Jeez, what was she--all of nineteen?
Twenty-eight-year-old Tori suddenly felt very old.
And it wasn't getting any better as she sat up and took a closer look at the mark on the girl's neck--revealed as her head fell forward--her pixie-like hair falling away from the ragged gash.
Gash? Or teeth marks? Shit, now she was losing her mind.
But they really did look like teeth marks.
Tori knew she couldn't turn this poor kid out onto the streets--and young Dani Mitchell was too scared to go home. ""He can get me there,"" she whispered, over and over again, when Tori had offered to take her.
So, reluctantly, knowing she had no other choice, she made up the little sofa bed in the small room beyond her office. God knew she had spent enough nights here after a late night stake out.
And she doubted the little thing in front of her was a danger. Dani looked about as dangerous as a wet kitten. It took a lot of soothing and hand holding before the girl would stretch out on the bed, but finally she fell asleep.
Tori collapsed into her chair with a sigh and rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. She yearned for a tall, cold margarita, her bed, and some aspirin.
Instead she sat up, reached for the phone, and started making calls.
The last one on her list should have been her first.
But Declan Reilly was somebody she tried to avoid whenever possible.
He made her itchy.
In the worst possible way. Hearing his voice was enough to harden her nipples, dampen her panties and have her verging on the edge of orgasm. He was sex incarnate--sexy as a god, smart as a whip, and just the tiniest bit arrogant. He had wide shoulders, rounded with muscle, a powerful chest that tapered down to a flat, carved belly and narrow hips, strong legs that he covered with denim which encased them so well, showing him to perfection--especially that ass...Tori shook her head, forcing herself to concentrate.
But when Declan was in her thoughts, it was difficult.
A sexy Irish accent remained from the years he had spent growing up in Dublin, and looking into his misty green eyes was almost enough to make Tori believe in leprechauns and faeries.
Almost, but not quite.
He had gone out of his way to make it clear that he found her very appealing. He flirted, he teased, he asked, he seduced. It didn't take much though; Declan was a seduction--with thick, wavy, blond hair that grew a little too long over his collar, seductive green eyes, a clever mouth, hands with wide palms, and long narrow fingers.
But Tori refused to give in.
She was tempted. Thinking of his hands, his mouth, the way he smelled, damnation, was she tempted.
But there was a flaw.
Only one that she could think of, but it was a doozy.
He was a cop.
No way, no how was she getting involved with a cop. No matter how mouth watering he was.
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