Still the door kept banging. Fine, that was a bit of an exaggeration. Whoever was on the other side of it was doing a more polite rapping of the knuckles than anything. But it still sounded like agonizing thunder in my head. I’d decided to sleep after all, snatching both Asher’s spot and his blanket as soon as he’d gotten up in the morning. I didn’t sleep all that much, but woe betide the poor sap who gets between me and a full REM cycle. Every single knock was like a hammer against the inside of my skull.
The banging continued. Knocking, whatever. It was starting to piss me off.
“Fuck this,” I grunted.
I peeled myself out from under the blanket groggily, forcing myself to slither off the sofa, silently cursing both Asher and Gil. What was the point of tolerating non-nocturnal people when they couldn’t even be trusted to feed me their blood or answer doors?
My legs carried me towards the door as if they were personally itching to kick both it and whoever was knocking down into the dirt. The bolt wasn’t secured. Huh. Asher and Gil must have gone out. I was still going to be pissy with them, trust me. I turned the knob and threw the door open.
“Will you knock off that racket, I was – oh. Oh, hello.”
I smoothed my hair back, knowing it was sticking up in places, although maybe our evening visitor liked a little bit of bedhead. It was dark outside, very late afternoon, maybe, early evening, but something about her was glowing. Could have been her skin, or the golden blonde of her hair. Could have been the reddening in her cheeks.
We’re not going to mince words here. I’m not a bad-looking fellow. You might even say that I’m devastatingly gorgeous. All angles, all sharpness and sleekness, whether it’s the jawline, the cheekbones, the pricy haircut. I could tell that the lady agreed. I tend to sleep shirtless, too, and that might have had an effect as well. Some might call me sinewy, or lean. No one would mistake me for a bodybuilder, but I had muscle where it counted.
All I had on was a pair of skinny black jeans slung low on my hips, and she was wearing a yellow dress. Gingham, a little bit of white lace in places. She reminded me of a picnic, or a bright summer’s day, something I hadn’t enjoyed in far too long. And from where I stood, she smelled faintly of something sweet. Was it honey? Nectar? She was a vision, a feast for the eyes. Delectable to the senses.
I wanted to throw her against the doorframe and suck her dry.
But Sterling, first name only, like Madonna, is a gentleman. Consent is sexy.
But so was she. Damn it.
“Evening,” she said. Wow. Even her voice was sweet. “I’m sorry to call so late, but I wanted to introduce myself to the new owner.”
I cocked an eyebrow. Owner? Oh, right, we owned property. Well, more property, in my case. Yeah, old Sterling has a few silver dollars squirreled away someplace. I’ll tell you my biggest financial secret. Step one: invest. Step two: never die. A hundred years of interest does wonders for the portfolio.
The corner of my mouth lifted as I grinned, just out of one end, lopsided, because everybody loves something a little wicked, a little crooked.
“I guess that would be me, then. Name’s Sterling.” I didn’t offer my hand to shake. I’m cold as death on the best of days, worse when I haven’t fed on someone fresh.
“Olivia Everett,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Everett? As in the Everett House?”
“That’s right. Uriah Everett was my great, great, great – well, it carries on. He’s an ancestor. He helped found this town, you know? Back when they first found silver in the mountains.”
“Right,” I said, scratching my stomach. “Right. Well, I’d invite you in, but.” I waved vaguely at the furniture, and the thick layers of dust.
She reddened again. “I really do apologize. The cabin has been in disrepair for years. There has been very, very little interest in it, which is why I was so surprised when a buyer appeared out of nowhere. Oh, I’m so embarrassed.”
The blood was rising hot and quick to her cheeks, too close to the surface. I could feel it from where I stood, searing the cold of the evening air between us. I cleared my throat, fighting to tear my eyes away from her skin, her neck.
“Don’t worry about it. Though I’m a little surprised to learn that you’d give up the house so readily.”
She rubbed the back of her wrist, looking down bashfully. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Olivia was doing this on purpose. All of it.
“Like I said, there isn’t much interest in the place at all. Tourists don’t really come to Silveropolis, and the locals remember Uriah well, but not well enough to pay for a tour of his cabin. A bit of a shame to say so, but the money from the sale would do better in my business.” She looked around the inside of the house, then shrugged. “I could arrange for a cleaning service to come, if you like?”
I waved my hand. “Don’t worry about it. Did you say your business?”
She nodded, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, exposing more of her neck. Damn it.
“It’s nothing, really. A small business, I suppose. I run a little shop in town that specializes in fresh produce. Lots of it is local, but I do bring in a few things that we don’t get down here. Exotic fruit.” Her eyes twinkled as she said it.
I leaned my forearm against the doorframe and crossed my legs. “Sounds tasty.”
Olivia giggled. “I’ll let you be the judge. You should come down and visit. Everett’s Exotica. You can’t miss it.”