Page 17 of Midnight Kiss

“Why do you think that?”

“Because you wouldn’t have fed me before you killed me,” Emily said. “And you wouldn’t kill me in a cemetery. Come on, that’s so cliche.”

“I take it you write mystery novels then?”

“No,” she said, “but this is actually great fodder for what I do write.”

“You’re leaving me in bated breath.” The car was full of her smell, so I opened the door and strode around to allow her out of her side. I held her hand in mine, conscious of how hot it was, how small, and guided her toward the cemetery gates. It wasn’t yet locked, but it would be. Not that it would be a problem for me.

“This way,” I said, guiding her inside.

We walked between the graves, some of them crumbling, others well-cared for with fresh flowers, and Emily stopped, her fingers tightening around mine. We shouldn’t have been touching, but it felt natural.

I released her, resisting the sensation of lack after she was gone. “You were saying?”

“Vampires,” she said.

I stiffened.

“I write stories about vampires. Romance stories. You know, like a story where the human falls in love with the vampire? Kind of like Twilight.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” I said.

“You’re kidding.” She turned toward me. “You haven’t? Where have you been for the last couple of years? Under a rock?”

In hibernation. “I don’t watch a lot of television. I prefer to read. Was that the book that was on your kitchen counter last night?”

“Huh? Oh, no,” she said, her cheeks coloring a beautiful shade of pink. “No, that was something else. It was a library book.”

“I see. Was it about vampires? You seemed rather protective over it.”

“Did I?” Emily frowned, and I pictured sweeping a hand over her brow to remove the confusion. “I guess you’re right. Can I tell you a secret? You won’t tell anyone?”

She trusted too easily. “Yes.”

“I shouldn’t have that book. It belongs in the library where I work? But I couldn’t resist. It’s a journal written by a Frenchman at the turn of the century, and it’s about vampires.”

“Naturally, that would be tempting for a woman who writes stories about them,” I said. “But …”

“What?”

I drew my tongue over my lips, drawing closer to her. “Why would you write about them? Vampires? They’re beasts in these books, aren’t they? Bloodsuckers?”

“I think,” she said, “that it’s about the idea of being swept away from your normal life. Everybody has fantasies.” That tempting blush deepened.

“Emily.” I cupped her cheek, stroking a thumb over it. “You’re as beautiful as a flower.” And as easily crushed.

“A flower,” she whispered. “I’d rather be something more hardy than a flower. Something that can survive.” Her gaze was locked onto mine, her pupils dilating in those blue eyes.

I could kiss her now. I could take her with me and make her mine, but that would destroy everything.

If I asked her for the book now, would she give it to me? She would surely question why I wanted it. She would lose the trust I had built with her.

Your mission is to get the book. Not to toy with this girl.

But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. The thought of harming her pained me. And it wasn’t a natural pain.

Distance. I needed distance from this. To figure out what had caused this strange connection between us.