Nice Girls Don't Date Dead Men by Molly Harper Read Free Book Online Page A

had tripped over a footstool and knocked over a side table.
    “It might be nice to have sex without breaking anything, what do you say?” I asked, peeking down at him over the edge of the table. Gabriel sat up, rubbing his forehead where my old hard-bound copy of
Sense and Sensibility
had conked him.
    “Haven’t you already read this a few dozen times?” he asked, flipping through the pages. “We’re going to have to have a literary intervention for you.”
    “It’s Jane Austen, so I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that,” I said, settling next to him and taking the book from his hands. “You can never read Jane Austen too many times. And this is one of my favorites. She manages to pull a believable happy ending out ofwhat could have been her saddest story. She could have left the Dashwood sisters alone, having learned their lessons from their respective traits. Marianne could have been left alone and ruined by her dramatic, impetuous behavior. Elinor could have taken her quiet dignity to a maiden’s grave. But she gave them the men they wanted or, in Marianne’s case, needed. Austen let both of them have a little bit more than they deserved.”
    “I love it when you talk about books,” he murmured against my neck. “It gets you all excited. Quick, tell me your theories about
Jane Eyre
and sexual repression again.”
    My burst of laughter was silenced by the press of Gabriel’s mouth.
    It’s amazing how much easier it is to be naked in front of another person when you have a little self-confidence. In order to attract prey, vampires are usually more attractive than they were in life. So I got the high-school bookworm’s Golden Ticket. My skin was clearer. My hair had changed to an actually desirable color found in the brunette spectrum
and
did what it was supposed to on occasion. My eyes, formerly an unremarkable muddy hazel, were now a clear and compelling hazel. My teeth were whiter. And my chest was in the locked and upright position forevermore. I never had to worry about sagging. If Mama would admit to my being a vampire, even she would have to concede that it seemed to agree with me.
    Mama probably wouldn’t have mentioned the boob thing specifically, though.
    Emboldened by my newfound confidence, I jumped over the couch and pounced on Gabriel, gleefully ripping at the buttons of his shirt. He was too busy slowly peeling off my socks to object. He grinned madly at my feet.
    “What?” I asked, hoping that after all of this, I hadn’t accidentally fallen for a foot fetishist.
    “I just never know what color your toenails are going to be,” he said, stroking my instep and kissing my ankle. “Will it be a prim pink? A contemplative cranberry? A playful plum?”
    “My toes are like a mood ring. Good to know. Now, I believe you were kissing my ankle in a very pleasant manner. Feel free to continue,” I commanded, wiggling my freshly painted carpals.
    “What is that?” he asked, staring with horror at the virulent shade of pulpy peach on my toenails.
    “I had to mix three different shades to find a peach that would match Jolene’s bridesmaids’ dresses. I did an experimental test run to see if my body would tolerate the color.”
    “Wow,” Gabriel mouthed silently.
    “Shut it,” I said, tossing the remnants of his shirt into a wastebasket. He took advantage of this lapse of concentration to pull me onto his lap, wrapping my legs around his waist. I smirked down at him, tucking his hair behind his ears. “How about we try to make it to a bed this time?”
    Gabriel didn’t answer, as his mouth was occupied, scraping his fangs gently over the curve of my breast.I loved and hated it when he did that. Loved it because he was teasing me, toying with me, reminding me of every dark pleasure he could inflict on me. Hated it because it reduced my whole world to a square inch of responsive flesh, making me forget everything—pride, sense, the ability to refrain from bizarre birdcall