Kiss of Pride by Sandra Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

fearing a recurrence of the erotic current that flowed betwixt them. “I mean you no harm, that I do swear.” He placed a hand over his heart for emphasis.
    She studied him for a moment, then set her canister on the desk that was piled high with bills and account books and wallpaper samples, a Bible, and two empty bottles of Fake-O. Cobwebs hung from every corner. Apparently, she’d decided he was no longer a threat. “How come you’re being so open now, when a few minutes ago you were refusing my interview?”
    I have no idea. “Because I saw the fang marks on your neck.” Maybe Mike has put a motor on my tongue now.
    “I beg your pardon.”
    Enough! There was no way to convince this woman that he needed to suck out a bit of her blood to test for a demon infection. No quick way, leastways. And time was of the essence.
    So, with a speed faster than any human could comprehend, he grasped both her wrists and held them behind her back with one of his hands, his hips propelled her back against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and his other hand grasped her chin, forcing it to the side so that her neck lay open to him. With a reflexive hiss of anticipation, his fangs came out and he sank his teeth into her skin where she’d already been bitten.
    He’d done this hundreds of times before. He could do it in his sleep. He could do it and recite the Poetic Edda in his head. He could be cool, calm, and as collected as any Viking vampire angel in the midst of a fanging. But this was different, he recognized instantly.
    The taste of her washed over him like a tidal wave. His cock shot up without warning and he went lance hard without any forewarning. It was a thickening so exquisitely orgasmic that he felt his knees begin to buckle.
    Jerking backward, he released his hold on her and put the back of his hand to his mouth, rubbing. Staggering to the other side of the desk, he plopped down to the swivel chair to hide the continuing erection that tented his shorts, the thigh-length braies men wore here in the summer months.
    At the same time, she appeared more stunned than angry, although the anger was sure to come. Gingerly picking up a dirty tunic from another chair, she dropped it to the floor before sitting down to stare across the desk at him.
    “Who are you?” they both asked at the same time.
    Was that arousal hazing her green eyes? Was she feeling as shocked as he was? And why, after being dead for one thousand, one hundred and sixty-two years, was he being sucker-punched with this kind of temptation?
    Mike , he immediately thought. Again.
    On the other hand, what if the fiendish Jasper, head of all the demon vampires, had a hand in this? What if this reddish-blonde vision was actually a Lucipire? Hmm. He would have to tread carefully. At least the pole between his legs was unthickening.
    “I am Vikar Sigurdsson,” he repeated. I sound like a dumb dolt . “You ask who I am. I am the owner . . . um, developer of this property.” Well, that was true. To a point.
    “And a vampire?”
    The smirk on her face was not pleasing to him. Not at all.
    Still , he advised himself, tread carefully . “Not precisely. The word vampire implies dark. Evil. I am neither of those.”
    She arched her pretty reddish-blonde brows in question.
    “I am a Viking vampire angel. A vangel, to be precise.” Betimes honesty was the best policy. She’d never believe him anyhow.
    “I notice you’ve put your fangs away.”
    Vikar felt himself blush. “I only go fangy on occasion. We Vikings are vain about our appearance.” He shrugged as if he could not help himself.
    “Do you ever turn into a bat?”
    He shivered with distaste. He hated the ugly buggers.
    “Do you even have wings?”
    “Not yet.” Probably never.
    “And you drink blood.”
    “Anything red will do,” he joked.
    “So, a vampire and a Viking. I guess instead of going a-Viking, you go a-vamping.” The snide tone to her voice betrayed her disbelief. She must have