Not everyone wants to grow up to be a faerie princess. The bad news is I am one. But I’m better at throwing punches than kissing babies. The good news is that’s just the thing you need when investigating a murder and getting mixed up with hot, deadly vampires.
His features were chiseled and his mouth lush. My own mouth went moist just looking at it. The pool hall seemed to fade away as I drank him in.
Holy mother of gods, he was gorgeous. I stared up into his eyes, dumbstruck. It took me a second to differentiate the thumping of music that bumped in the background with my heart trying to break free from my rib cage. His mouth quirked up at the corner. He had caught me staring. My face flamed. Excuse me while I made a fool of myself.
“Let me get it for you,” he said, as he bent down.
There was a smoothness to his movements my mind almost couldn’t make sense of. I was so busy ogling the way his muscles rippled under that magnificent fitted T-shirt and the way his low-slung jeans gripped his thighs that it didn’t quite hit me he wasn’t backing away until he was eye level with the hem of my, very short, skirt.
My mind froze and all of my limbs lost their ability to function. All I could do was stare at him with my mouth open. He looked up. Our gazes held and I could feel everything in me change. It was like a puzzle piece locking into place. My heart clattered to a stop and all my nerve endings stood on end.
The logical part of my brain wanted to kick a booted foot against his swoon-worthy chest to put a good ten feet between us. He was a stranger. He shouldn’t be that close to me. The other, completely insane, half of my brain wondered what he would do if I assumed a wider stance.
I settled for doing nothing, which was convenient because my body didn’t seem to be able to move anyway. His eyes never left mine as he rose back up. When he was at his full height again, he reached an arm towards me. For one time-altering second, I thought he was reaching for me. My body made a miraculous recovery from its temporary paralysis and swayed to him before my brain had a say in the matter.
I could only thank the gods that I didn’t do anything more embarrassing before I realized something was in his hand. I blinked in what felt like slow motion and forced myself to look at the object. In his hand my sash caught the light and flashed it back merrily. I ignored the blush that ran to the tips of my toes as I took the presented item with as much dignity as I could muster.
“Thank you…” I trailed off, hoping he would give me his name.
He didn’t disappoint. “Sven,” he said through those perfect lips. “My name is Sven.”
About the author:
Erica Reeder spends her freetime…wait- what free time?! In her mind, she’d spend it taking trips and playing on the beach with her son and husband. In reality, her time is filled with cooking up kooky characters and scheming plot twists, sprinkled in with playing Mario Party and a healthy dose of family time.
Erica Reeder is everywhere! Or maybe just at the following places:
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