Lifestyles of the Rich and Undead (2 page)

“I’m not your dear, and I’d like the keys to my gate and house that you obviously pilfered from somewhere. Now.”

He held out a hand for them, yelping and jerking his arm back when the sun raised a couple of white blisters on his palm.

Served him right, the obstinate vampire. Trudy was just contemplating whether or not she could squeeze an interview out of him by holding his precious keys hostage when Manuela, with a rapt look at Grayson, hurried forward and handed him a big old-fashioned ring holding the keys to his house.

“We got them from the real estate agent,” Manuela told him, her eyes dewy with idol worship. “He said you wouldn’t mind so long as we didn’t go into the house. I told Trudy we shouldn’t go in the house. I told her we shouldn’t disturb you. I’m Manuela. I’m chock-f of blood.”

Gray looked more than a little startled now, a fact that Trudy took advantage of to push past him into the dark coolness of the hall. She’d have a word or two with that shameless hussy Manuela after she convinced the sexy—if annoyingly obstinate—vampire that it was in his best interest to be eligible and plastered all over the TV sets of the Otherworld. “Grayson,” she purred, closing the door behind her against the protests of both the producer and the cameraman outside, while covertly brushing a switch to the microphone pack strapped to her back. “I think we’ve gotten off to a very awkward start. Let’s start over, shall we?”

“No,” he said, but he didn’t throw her out, a point she counted in her favor. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, an expression of annoyance on his face, clearly unaware that their conversation was being recorded by the film crew outside the door. She’d have to make sure they got some video to match the “interview” later.

“And it’s such a nice face, too,” she said to herself, smiling at the flare of surprise in his eyes as she allowed a hand to caress his chest for a brief moment. “You have a very strong jaw, Gray, but I like that in a man.”

“I am not interested in—”

“Of course you’re not,” she interrupted, trailing a finger along his jawline. “Ooh, stubble. That’s so sexy. I particularly like it when it rubs against my thighs.”

A new light of sexual interest briefly lit his eyes, the light that she was used to commanding in men . . . and some women. Trudy was a believer in opportunity, and didn’t particularly care who offered it. If seducing this brooding vampire would ensure that he’d appear on her show, then she’d take one for the team . . . and enjoy every second of her sacrifice.

“Your chin is very nice as well.” She leaned forward, making sure her cleavage was amply available, and gently bit his chin. “Blunt, but manly.”

He pulled back, his expression now one of suspicion. Drat it, she’d gone too far. Obviously, he was one of those men who took a while to warm up to a woman. Unless he preferred his seductions with a more masculine tinge? Perhaps she should mention that Ernst was right outside, just in case his tastes lay in that direction.

“If you are attempting to seduce me to be on your blasted television show, you can stop right now. I told you that I’m not interested in being your eligible bachelor.”

“No?” She gave him a swiftly calculating look. “Pity. I’ll get Ernst, then.” There was a shout of protest from outside the door that she ignored, adding, “He’s the delicious young man you might have noticed hovering in the background. I’m sure he’d be happy to . . .
talk
. . . with you about being on the show—”

He stopped her as she was reaching for the door. “For the love of Christ, woman, I’m not a pederast!”

“Oh, he’s not a boy. He’s married, as a matter of fact—”

“Nor am I sexually interested in men!”

“No?” She turned back to him with a warm and tantalizing smile. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. All those ladies out there will be thrilled as well.”

“Look, Turdy—”

“Trudy,” she corrected him, annoyance at the faint sound of laughter from outside making her voice more strident than was proper in a seduction. She fought to bring it back to the smooth purr that had been so very effective with other hesitant guests on her show. “It’s
Trudy
.”

“My apologies.” He made a little bow that thrilled Trudy to the tips of her pink-painted toenails. “The simple fact is that I am not interested in a sexual dalliance with anyone. And for the last time, I do not wish to be on your television show.”

“But all those female viewers—”

“Will just have to survive without me.” His gaze was on her, but she had the feeling that he wasn’t really seeing her. It was as if he was looking inward at some bone-deep sorrow. Trudy hated bone-deep sorrows. They never, ever translated well to the small screen. “I have nothing to offer any woman but possible death and endless torment.”

Great. Just what she needed—an emo vampire. At least he didn’t sparkle. “I understand you are reticent to appear as if you are shopping for a mate—what do they call Dark One mates? Believers?”

“Beloveds, and no, I am not searching for mine—not that I believe such a woman exists. More pity to her if she does.”

Again he had that inward-looking air. She hated it when men did that. She didn’t work out three times a week for men to ignore her when she was standing right there, tantalizingly close, within seduction range.

She paused, wondering if she’d taken the wrong tack with him. Maybe he really wasn’t looking for a sexual partner. There were other things vampires wanted. Gently, she placed her hands on his shoulders, leaning in until she caught a tantalizing scent that was a mixture of some exotic spice and warm man. “You look hungry, Gray. You look very, very hungry. Why don’t you have a bite, and then we can talk.”

To her pleasure, his eyes grew lighter. She’d heard once that Dark Ones had irises that reacted to strong emotions, and the fact that she had interested this man enough to cause his stormy gray eyes to lighten to a brilliant silver gave her a little burst of feminine power.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, but she knew he was lying.

“No?” She leaned in closer, allowing her breasts to brush against his chest. This time, he didn’t pull back. She tipped her head at an angle, clearly offering up the smooth stretch of throat. “I don’t mind, Gray. Just have a quick bite. You know you want it.”

A shudder ran through him as his head lowered toward her neck, his warm breath sending little chills down her back. The thought of what she was about to do—allow a man, a stranger, a deadly, dangerous vampire to drink her blood—was strangely thrilling and filled with taboo at the same time. She knew she should be repulsed by the idea of him feeding on her, but the truth was much, much simpler than that. Feeding him would establish a bond between them, a blood bond, and everyone knew that a blood bond opened up all sorts of possibilities for control.

With visions dancing in her head of an entire series built around Grayson the reluctant vampire, she welcomed the brush of his lips against her flesh.

Perhaps, with the right amount of prompting, she could even turn him into a TV star. Not one of her caliber, naturally, but it couldn’t hurt her career having a tame vampire at her side—

“No.” Grayson brought her out of her pleasant reverie by pushing her back, his face hard. “I said I’m not hungry. Good day.”

She blinked in surprise as he strode off into the shadows of a side hallway, so flabbergasted by his rejection that she didn’t even protest his insensitive treatment.

The door creaked open behind Trudy even as she was composing a scathing retort to hurl after the disappearing figure of the frustratingly moronic vampire who dared,
dared
to turn down her blood! As if she were a mere woman and not the world-famous, much-worshiped Trudy Bennes!

“Everything OK in here?” her producer, James, asked as he peered in. Trudy chose to ignore the amusement evident in his voice.

“Fine and dandy,” she snarled, storming toward the open door, intent on taking out her embarrassment on the first hapless crew member who was stupid enough to cross her path. “We’re going to have to get a new eligible bachelor, that’s all. Someone who’s not blind and a woman hater!”

“I don’t think he’s—,” James started to say, but ended his sentence with a cough when Trudy shot a look at him that, by rights, should have dropped him dead.

She took a deep breath, about to go into a tirade about men who didn’t know a good thing when it was all but plastered against their fronts, when a faint shimmering of light just beyond the door caught her eye. She pushed past the cameraman, who was filming, and Ernst, who wore a smug expression that she wanted to slap right off his face.

“Beauteous lady!” a masculine voice said in French as the light resolved itself into a figure of a man. “Allow me to be of some service to you. Any service, whatever your heart desires. Should you wish for the moon and stars, why, then I, Michel de Nostredame, will fetch them down from the sky and lay them at your tiny little feet with those ten delicious toes. Is that nail polish? How delectable!”

It took Trudy all of three seconds to appraise the man before her. He was a ghost, obviously, since not many denizens of the Otherworld could suddenly manifest like that. He was also clearly a ghost of some longevity, since he had an air of gallantry that just wasn’t seen in modern-day spirits. He was good-looking enough, and she considered featuring him as the subject of her show instead of the annoying vampire, but the memory of just how poorly spirits photographed made her dismiss the idea. “I am Trudy Bennes, and yes, that’s Roses’ First Blush, a nail polish created just for me. I’m glad you like it,” she answered in English, signaling the cameraman to film Michel. If she couldn’t get the annoying Grayson to talk before the camera, then this ghost would have to do. Who knew, it might even add to Gray’s mystique. One never really knew what might stir viewers.

Michel turned to watch as the film crew shuffled to the side, his sudden frown of confusion clearing when the producer and assistant gestured for Trudy and him to move into the shade.

Obligingly, the ghost did so. “I am your so-charming servant,” he said with a bow, then paused, and with an expressive gesture of apology, corrected himself. “That is, I am the servant of your so-charming self.”

He spoke English with a faintly French accent and had a wide, engaging smile, but Trudy was a professional, and she wasn’t going to let something as minor as a charming personality interfere with her job. “Indeed. May I assume that you are bound to this house?”

“This place?” Michel leaned negligently against the wall, but evidently he wasn’t in fully corporeal form because he sank through the wall and disappeared, only to pop out a second later with a chagrined expression. “Er . . . why, yes, I am, as a matter of fact.”

Trudy kept her expression serene, not showing her annoyance in the least little bit. Not only was she saddled with an emo, woman-hating vampire, now she had a clownish ghost on her hands. “So you must know the owner of the house? You are familiar with him?”

“With Gray? Of course. He’s not often here, but when he is, we are the very closest of friends.” Michel leaned against the wall of the house, much more carefully this time, making sure he was solid before adopting a nonchalant posture.

“Excellent. We are doing an episode of
Lifestyles of the Rich and Undead
featuring Grayson, and he’s being a bit difficult about giving us the details about his life.”

“What sort of details?” Michel asked, absently scratching his groin. He was clad in some sort of jerkin and leggings, the likes of which Trudy hadn’t seen since the last time she’d watched the
Lord of the Rings
DVDs.

“What he’s like, what sorts of things he does for pleasure, ways he passes his time, what’s important to him—that sort of thing.”

“Bah. He is complicated. Me, I am much simpler. I will tell you anything you wish to know about me.” He leered at her, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Trudy pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes in a manner that told the randy ghost that she didn’t give a damn if he had three heads and a dancing moose. “Back to the subject at hand—Grayson Soucek.”

Michel gave a Gallic shrug. “What is there to say about him? He’s a moody bugger. Always going on about how damned he is, and how no good can come of his existence, and that sort of thing. The ladies like it, but me? It can be wearing after a while, you know?”

Trudy almost snorted in irritation. The ghost wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t already know. “Yes, yes, but what does he do with his time? You said you were his good friend, so tell me what you two do when you’re together.”

“Oh, just the usual sorts of things,” Michel said with an airy gesture. “Drinking, dicing, wenching—”

“What sort of women does he like? Other than redheads, that is?” Trudy couldn’t help but touch her own gloriously auburn hair.

The ghost hesitated. “Well, he likes them plump . . . no, that’s me. He likes young, innocent . . . no, that’s also me. Erm . . . he likes . . . ladies.”

“I know that, you stupid ghost. What sort of ladies?”

“The kind with breasts,” Michel answered, looking startled. “You know, females. Human females.”

Trudy took a deep breath. Really, it was a miracle she hadn’t lost control, faced with two such annoying men. “I understand that,” she said through gritted teeth. “What my viewers are interested in is what type of attributes Gray looks for in a woman. What attracts him. What turns him on. What raises the bloodlust in him that we’ve all heard is common in Dark Ones.”