Page 5 of Hot Blooded

“I’m not working myself into the ground. I promise. I like working nights, it’s quieter and it pays more than days. And lots of people work overtime. It’s not a big deal. It’s not even every day. Just Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

“Well, for how long?”

Tessa shrugged. “As long as I need to.”

“I don’t like this,” Ma said flatly.

Tessa’s throat and chest tightened. Hot, prickling discomfort chased over her skin. “Well it’s not for you to like or not like, is it?” she snapped.

Ma stiffened, brows drawing together, frown deepening.

Tessa sighed, rubbing at her forehead like she could scrub away the anger and the stress and the exhaustion. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Ma. I didn’t mean it like that. But this situation is tough, so we just have to deal with it. I’m heading out now. Thanks for the lunch, I’m looking forward to it.” She held up the leftovers Ma had packed like a peace offering.

Ma’s frown softened by a fraction. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“‘Night. Don’t forget to lock up after me.”

A few minutes later, Tessa was sitting on the train, riding north to where Amos lived in Old Town. By the time she reached her stop, she’d forgotten her stress and was mostly overcome with nerves. She walked beneath the girders of the L, the ground rumbling beneath her feet as a train passed overhead, and made her way through Old Town’s pretty streets.

When she reached Amos’s house, she stood outside the beautiful greystone, frozen with indecision. She was shivering, but this time it wasn’t from fear. Or, not entirely from fear. It hadn’t been that long since she’d learned vampires even existed, and now here she was, a professional blood “donor” about to go in for round two. Another round of being drained of blood while she orgasmed continuously in a stranger’s crushing hold.

Jesus Christ, what was she doing? She pinched the bridge of her nose while a heated flush spread through her whole body. Earning more money in fifteen minutes than you make in a day, that’s what you’re doing. Before her mind had quite made the decision, her feet brought her up the steps to Amos’s front door. She rang the bell and waited.

Amos Hansen. It didn’t sound like a vampire’s name. It sounded like somebody’s grandpa. Vampires were supposed to have names like Dante or Lucien or Aloysius. They were supposed to wear all black and have a sinister air of brooding mystery. On Monday, Amos had been wearing a crisp white oxford shirt and neatly pressed wool slacks. He was pale, yes, and had alarmingly red irises, but that was about the extent of his vampiric aesthetic.

Instead of tall, dark, and handsome, he was middling height with closely cropped dirty-blond hair and the sort of face that was best described as “honest.” Broad cheekbones, heavy brow, blocky jaw. Deep crow’s feet fanned out from the corners of his eyes. What had probably been dimples when he was young were now matching grooves in each cheek. He wasn’t model material, maybe, but there was still something pleasantly masculine about his features. He looked like a sturdy, corn-fed farm boy from a bygone era.

Well, maybe that’s exactly what he was.

The door suddenly opened, and there he was, the undead farm boy, in the flesh. Tessa stared at him. She knew she looked like a startled rabbit, but she couldn’t seem to make her face do anything normal.

“Uh… hi,” she managed to rasp.

Amos’s blood-red gaze swept over her, his expression totally neutral. He was slightly dressed down compared to last time, wearing jeans instead of wool slacks, but still in a crisp button-down shirt, this one a deep forest green. “Hello, Tessa. Come in.” She’d noticed there was just the slightest accent to his speech. She couldn’t place it, but she suspected it was a remnant of the way Chicagoans had spoken back when he’d been mortal.

She slipped her shoes off and followed him wordlessly to the sitting room. His home was like a museum. Not only because all the furnishings appeared to be from a previous century, but also because everything was so meticulously arranged and immaculately clean. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. All the wood surfaces gleamed like glass. All the art was hung perfectly level, the center of each piece aligned at the same height throughout the room. There was a vase of fresh flowers on the coffee table again, this time a riot of bright yellow daisies and lilies and mums.

“Oh, new flowers,” she said inanely, standing awkwardly beside the fancy little couch where she’d had the most powerful orgasm of her life two days ago.

Amos’s gaze went to the flowers, and suddenly the stoic mask fell away and he smiled at her. “Do you like them?” he asked earnestly.

Had he gotten them for her? Embarrassed pleasure tightened her chest, and she huffed out a breathy little laugh, like an awkward teenager getting a homecoming corsage. “They’re gorgeous,” she said, feeling her cheeks heat.

His smile grew, looking inordinately pleased.

“Uh, so…” She set her bag on the floor and sank down onto the velvet tufted settee. “Same routine as last time?”

Amos’s expression sobered. “If you were comfortable with that?”

She nodded.

He moved closer, standing over her again, about to bend down, when he suddenly paused. Tessa’s heart pounded as she stared up at him, toes already curling, fingers digging into the upholstery.

“I should warn you, your reaction last week… it’s probably going to happen again. It will probably happen every time.”

Her face burned. “I figured. It’s fine.”

“Well, I hope it’s more than fine,” he muttered, moving towards her again.

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