CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

 

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“Hopeful that wasn’t the case. Who wants a gold digger?” he expanded his hands and tried to look innocent of all wrongdoing. It was kind of hard when his fangs were still showing.

“Who wants a vampire?” she shot back.

“Hmm, hand over a little bit of blood that would replenish in your body in no time and cause both people to find a very happily ever after, or hand over everything you own to someone who didn’t earn it and is only interest in what they can get from you?” He made a long show of thinking about it and finally offered her a quizzical look.

“Well, when you put it like that…”

“I do. Imagine the feeling of finding out that someone only wanted you so that they could fly around the world to exciting locations and exclusive and wonderful destinations in a private jet…”

“What? You have one of those as well?” she looked gobsmacked.

“Not yet, but now that I have a mate, I have a reason to get one. I mean – I’ve seen most of what the world has to offer – Caribbean islands with their crystal waters and white sands – Paris in the springtime – Rome – Venice – London…”

“Should I get out the violins and mood music because this is starting to sound like an advert?” Bree muttered.

“That all sounds wonderful, but…”

“Doesn’t it though?” He offered her a no fang closed smile.

 “But still…” Emily tried again.

“But?” Bree snorted. “Hell, I’d go in a heartbeat – a little blood for a whole lotta world – no biggie.” She lied. She hated to travel. She was a home-body – a hermit, but Emily didn’t need to know that, and this time she was meddling for the right reasons, and she wasn’t using magic.

There couldn’t be anything wrong with that – could there?

“I’m on the fence, so to speak,” Emily said, as she eyeballed the vampire with suspicion.

“Need a push?” Bree chuckled.

 

 

~

 

 

“Don’t grumble a growl and roll those eyes at me, fella,” Martha warned her mate as she sat beside him in the front of his pickup truck, headed toward pack land. “All I said was you’re driving like you’ve got one and a half feet in the grave…”

“And should I be rushing to get the rest of me in there as well?” he grumbled back. He shot a glare at her from beneath his furrowed brow. “I think you just like commenting for argument's sake.”

“Maybe I just like to get where I’m going before I’m too old to get there at all,” she huffed back.

“So, what you’re saying is – you can’t wait to get back to my cabin with me?”

“What?” Martha piped up, louder and a little more shrew-like that time. “Hell, no.”

“You said it, lady,” he offered back as amusement danced within him as she floundered in self-doubt and fidgeted in her seat.

“I know what I said, and it wasn’t that,” she assured him. “I think Mr big ears is just hearing what he wants to hear.”

“Oh, I think I heard you just fine, sweetheart,” he grinned to himself.

“Don’t call me sweetheart – there’s nothing sweet about me or my heart,” she snapped back. Martha hated to be wrong-footed, and he’d gotten the upper hand that time.

“Evidently,” he offered back.

“Can’t understand how fate could have been so wrong,” Martha grumbled.

“Right.”

“No, wrong.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are you deliberately trying to get me to zap you?” Martha turned in her seat to eyeball him with a death glare, but the man kept his eyes locked on the road ahead. He could feel her eyes on him, and he wasn’t playing that game.

“Didn’t know I needed to – you seem happy to zap away, no matter how innocent the victim…”

“Victim? Pah! Innocent my big toe!”

“What say we agree to disagree?”

“About everything…”

“If that’s your thing.” He shrugged.

“My thing?” Martha scowled harder at the man, but he still wasn’t looking at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you like to disagree with everything I say, so okay.” He shrugged.

“I do not disagree with everything you say.” She turned in her seat and folded her arms, then she huffed.

“You just did…”

“Did not.”

“Did it again.”

“Did not!”

“There you go – you just can’t seem to be able to just let things slide…”

“Can too.”

“And you always seem to want to have the last word.”

Martha went to open her mouth and stopped. He shot her a quick look, and she had her lips pressed together, and they were white. Yep, she really wanted to say something.

Martha strummed her fingertips against her upper arm as she fought to keep the words in. Hellfire – but, it was a special kind of torture. “Didn’t that time.”

“Kind of did,” he chuckled.

“Don’t you laugh at me!”

“Don’t make me.”

Martha bit down on her annoyance. The man was a right royal pain the backside, and how fate could ever have expected her to face the prospect of the rest of her life with the cantankerous old fart was a mystery to her.

Yet, his chuckle was deep and soothing, and he did have nice eyes when he smiled – which wasn’t a lot. “Butthead,” she muttered.

“Yep, you don’t need to have the last word at all.” He chuckled again and saw her lips quirk as she fought against a smile.

He had to say one thing for fate – it sure could make life interesting.