A Vampire's Promise by Carla Susan Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

Nevertheless, auto-moron that I am, even I could appreciate something this lovely to look at. “She’s beautiful,” I told him sincerely.
    I didn’t need to be an enthusiast to appreciate the care and time taken to restore and maintain such a vehicle. It almost qualified as a work of art. I had no idea the year or the specific make and model, but I did know enough to recognize that “she” was from a time when Detroit was synonymous with muscle cars. She was powder blue with a cream interior, and her chrome work sparkled like a beauty pageant queen all dressed up for a night on the town. She was even wearing classic whitewalls. It was almost criminal to make her sit next to vehicles better suited to a mud rally.
    â€œWhat is she?” I asked.
    His face lit up like a little kid, eager to show off a new toy “A Ford Fairlane.”
    â€œWhat year?” I asked, only because I know that’s what you’re supposed to do.
    â€œFifty-seven.”
    Wow. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said his car was older than the POS. But despite the generosity of his comment last night, I think the Fairlane rolled off the assembly line already a classic.
    â€œDoes she have a name?” I asked, half-jokingly.
    â€œFrancine.”
    Of course. What else would you call a Ford Fairlane? And I have absolutely no idea where the wave of jealousy came from, but it rolled through me with a vengeance. This was a car, for God’s sake! Talk about being ridiculous. But it was nice to know the Viking had a “she” in his life that weighed a hell of a lot more than I did.
    He looked at me and hesitated a fraction of a second before saying, “If you’d rather drive your own car I won’t be offended.”
    Now it was my turn to hesitate. Common sense said that was exactly what I should do, thereby guaranteeing I had a ride home if, for some reason, the evening went belly-up. Only the flip side of that coin was that I’d be sending the message that I was expecting the evening to be a disaster.
    While it was true I had come here with every intention of telling him this was a mistake, the words hadn’t made it out of my mouth. And since I’d already concluded he wasn’t a serial killer, it seemed churlish to refuse to go with him. Moreover, how often was I going to get a chance to ride in such a vehicle?
    He tilted his head and gave me a look that created a pocket of warmth inside me. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
    And he wouldn’t. Don’t ask me how I could be so certain; I couldn’t have explained it if I’d tried, but I knew it was true. He would protect me with everything he had. I nodded, and he opened the passenger-side door for me. Francine’s bench seat made me feel like I was sitting on a plush couch rather than in a car. The Viking got in the other side and then turned and looked at me.
    â€œWhat kind of movies do you like?”
    â€œPretty much everything,” I said with a laugh, pleased that it wasn’t nervous sounding. “But I’m not a great fan of musicals, I think anything with subtitles is pretentious, and slasher flicks are, for the most part, insulting.”
    The silence told me I probably should have stopped after “pretty much everything.”
    â€œSlasher flicks?”
    Was he serious? The look on his face said apparently so.
    â€œYou know,” I explained, “lots of gratuitous blood and gore, with stupid D-cup bimbos running around half naked in the middle of the night chased by an axe-wielding homicidal maniac.”
    Another silence, then, “D-cup?” I lifted an eyebrow. If I had to explain that, we had a serious problem. “Ah, I understand.”
    He caught on quick. I like that in a man. As he turned the key in the ignition, I felt, as well as heard, Francine’s engine come to life with a loud, throaty purr.
    â€œWhat do you think of