Page 80 of Bad Luck Vampire

“You’re asking about the sex life of my great-great-great-great-grandparents who are thousands of years old. You don’t think that’s bold?” he asked with interest.

Sophie blew out a breath. “I suppose. But it’s kind of important.”

Alasdair stilled and tilted his head. “You’re considering agreeing to be my life mate?”

“Well, duh,” she said with disgust, hardly believing he’d think she wouldn’t. “I mean, come on, the sex is killer, and we do seem to get along really well. And if you won’t die, cheat, or leave me and the sex continues to be good for at least a couple hundred years or so...” Sophie shrugged. “I don’t really see a downside.”

Alasdair’s eyebrows flew up, and then he announced, “My parents were mated barely nine months before Colle and I were born and are apparently still scandalizing the servants more than three hundred years later by getting caught in a state of dishabille in the dining hall, the library, the conservatory, my father’s office, and the gardens.”

Sophie felt her eyebrows climb as he listed off rooms. “Where do they live? A castle?”

“Yes,” he said as if it was no big deal.

“Damn,” she breathed, and then glanced at him sharply. “This is in Scotland, right?”

“Yes.”

Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have a title, do you?”

Alasdair shook his head. “My father’s a baron, but that’s hardly any title at all.”

She snorted at the comment. It certainly seemed like a title to her.

“Sophie?” he asked, solemnly. “Will you agree to be my life mate?”

She peered at him for a moment, tempted to say yes, but then asked, “This turning business? Does it hurt?”

Alasdair stiffened, but it was his expression that answered her question.

“It does, doesn’t it?” she demanded, her voice accusing, and before he could respond, asked, “A lot?”

“I’m afraid so,” he admitted.

“Of course it does,” she muttered with disappointment, and turned to crawl up the bed to drop with her head on the pillow, but her body on top of the covers.

“Is that a no?” Alasdair asked after a moment of silence had passed.

“It’s an I-need-to-sleep-on-this,” she growled into her pillow, and then lifted her head and glanced back at him to add, “And a you-need-to-do-a-heck-of-a-lot-more-romancing-me-if-you-expect-me-to-suffer-agony-to-be-with-you.”

Alasdair’s eyes widened, and in the next moment he was crawling quickly up the bed. Sophie dropped her head back onto the pillow and smiled when he began nuzzling her neck and running his hands over her body through her clothes.

Sophie tiptoed up the hall, creeping past the guest bedroom as quietly as she could. Connor might have claimed they slept soundly, but she suspected it wasn’t true. These men were Enforcers. She doubted any of them slept soundly. They probably woke at the slightest bit of noise, which probably meant it didn’t matter how quiet she was, they’d wake up, but Sophie was still going to try.

It was only ten o’clock in the morning. She hadn’t slept for more than three hours or so. She should still be sleeping like Alasdair was, but thirst had woken her up. That and hunger, but the thirst was worse. Or maybe the gnawing at her stomach was. Sophie couldn’t be sure, they were both bad, and she supposed that was to be expected. They hadn’t managed to finish either their food or drink last night before the men had shown up, and she honestly wasn’t sure when they’d eaten or had something to drink before that. Which was the problem with amazing sex, Sophie decided now. They got so busy and distracted they forgot to eat and drink.

Of course, a lot of the time last night had been spent talking with Alasdair’s uncles, brother, and Tybo. She and Alasdair had only actually managed one round of orgasm-inducing messing about after that. Then they’d passed out and slept straight through the last three hours. That messing about hadn’t been sex. Alasdair hadn’t had to remove even a stitch of her clothing or his to bring her to orgasm and she’d woken up still fully dressed.

Honestly, it was a bit embarrassing how responsive she was to him. Or maybe it was his skill, Sophie thought, and supposed she couldn’t complain about the thirty to fifty thousand women Ludan had guessed Alasdair had been with if it had resulted in the skill that man had.

Thirty to fifty thousand women, Sophie thought with dismay. Alasdair had assured her it hadn’t been that many while he’d sucked on her neck and caressed her through her jeans last night. He’d said it had probably been less than half that. As if fifteen to twenty-five thousand was better. But she was reaping the benefits, so...

Glancing around the living room as she crept through, Sophie noted with relief that all the uncles were sleeping. That or they were faking it, she supposed as she slipped into the kitchen.

Stifling a yawn, Sophie retrieved a glass from the cupboard and got herself some water. She gulped that down and had reached to turn the tap on to get another glassful when the sound of knocking reached her ears. Turning off the tap, she twisted her head to listen, unsure if it had been at her door, or across the hall. But a second tap sounded, and this time she was sure it was for her. It was probably Mrs. Abbott from next door, Sophie thought, setting her glass on the counter. That lovely older lady baked every Sunday and often brought her treats as a thank-you for collecting her mail for her when she got her own.

Sophie hurried out into the entry, desperate to answer the door before Mrs. Abbott could knock again and wake up the whole apartment. She did manage it, but then stilled in surprise when she saw who was at her door.

“Papa?” Her gaze slid over George Tomlinson, taking in his unusually disheveled appearance, along with the flowers he had in one hand and the bag in the other.

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