Kiss of Pride by Sandra Hill Read Free Book Online

went wide.
    “Vikar! Have you been surly again? Tsk, tsk!”
    Vikar shoved his brother inside with a sharp hip slam and closed the door behind him, leaving them both on the doorstep. She could hear laughter on the other side of the door.
    “You’re Vikar?”
    “In the flesh,” he said on a long sigh.
    “Lord Vikar?”
    He nodded.
    “Ha, ha, ha! You? Some kind of Lord of the Vampire Dance?”
    “Surely you jest, m’lady. I do not dance.”
    “No offense, honey, but you look more like a silly Viking than a vampire.”
    “Silly Viking?” he hissed suddenly and flashed a pair of impressive fangs at her.
    “Spare me the hokey act. I’ve seen more than enough fangs in town today. Lots more authentic than yours, too.”
    “You are not afraid of me?” He seemed confused.
    “Not a bit.”
    He shook his head as if to clear it, then seemed to come to a decision. “Listen, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I agreed to no interview with your magazine. There were several phone calls asking for an interview with a man named”—his eyebrows raised with sudden understanding—“Alex Kelly.”
    “Obviously not a man.”
    “Obviously,” he agreed, his eyes regarding her with deliberate sexual interest.
    Oh jeesh, this guy must really be Lord Vikar. Hope I haven’t killed my chances for an interview.
    “But I did not agree to an interview. So, male or female, it is a moot point.” He put his hand on the doorknob and was about to go back inside.
    “Your agent arranged it,” she said quickly.
    “My what?” He half turned back to her.
    “Agent. A guy named Mike Archer.”
    “Mike Arch-her,” he said slowly, facing her directly again. Then understanding seemed to hit him. He was not pleased with whatever that understanding was. “That figures. No matter! I am not doing an interview. Send me a bill for your expenses, and I’ll send a check. In the meantime—” He stopped suddenly and put a hand to her chin, turning it so that her neck was exposed. Sparks erupted where he touched her skin, and they slingshotted throughout her body. She was immediately aroused. “You have two marks on your neck.”
    At first she was bewildered, but then she put a hand to her neck. “Oh, those are just mosquito bites. Did I tell you I’m staying on a farm? The Bed & Blood. You wouldn’t believe how many— Whoa, what are you doing?”
    He’d opened the door with one hand and grabbed her by the upper arm with the other, yanking her inside with him. The door closed loudly behind them.
    At first she was disoriented because of the poor lighting, which was not helped by the closed shutters. All around them, on the wide stairway, in the corridors, and in what must have once been salons, standing on high ladders with feather dusters and paint rollers, and on hands and knees on marble floors with scrub brushes, strange-looking men and a few women stared at her. Big half-opened boxes of furniture and accessories—recently delivered, she presumed—towered in piles up to the ceiling, including what must be at least a dozen wide-screen TVs. In the background, on what must be a castlewide sound system, hymns played. Hymns?
    The strange people silently gawked at her, as if she were the oddball. Or the next item on their menu, if those licking their lips were any indication.
    They all had pale blue eyes. Many had very light skin, although there appeared to be something resembling a tanning bed on the other side of the hall in the old dining room, where two men paused in the midst of a fencing match using huge swords. A set of free weights lay along the edge, along with boxing gloves and a yet to be installed punching bag.
    Some of the people wore regular T-shirts and jeans. Others wore historical attire totally out of place in this time period. A Mississippi riverboat gambler. More Vikings. A Regency lady. And, of course, Spartacus, who was grinning, as if he were in on the joke of the century. Which would be her.
    Almost all of them