The Single Undead Moms Club (Half Moon Hollow series Book 4) (26 page)

“A spark plug? You have no idea what you’re lookin’ at, do ya?” Junior asked me, his expression not quite friendly.

“It’s . . . an engine,” I said.

“I thought you were a vampire,” Terry exclaimed. I couldn’t help but notice Junior’s face going from irritated to downright livid at the word “vampire.”

“That doesn’t mean I know how to fix cars. It’s not like they download information into our brains like in
The
Matrix
.”

“Well, I, for one, am glad I finally found something you’re not good at . . . besides socializin’ with the normals,” Wade teased as he approached with two motorcycle helmets in hand.

“Oh, hush,” I told him, making Terry raise his eyebrows. “I’ll show you my accounting software sometime and let you try to make heads or tails of it.”

Wade scoffed. “The difference is, I know my limits. And that limit is long division.”

“Hardly,” I muttered.

“Y’all see what you can do to fix up the mom-mobile. I gotta get this little lady to Murphy.”

“But your project—” I said, grimacing guiltily when I saw the irritated expression on Junior’s face.

“It’ll keep,” Wade told me. “The boys get their overtime, one way or the other. And Terry’s savin’ up for an engagement ring for his gal, aren’t ya, Terry?”

Terry ducked his head, and his rounded cheeks flushed pink.

“Well, OK, I need a ride, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to ride on that thing!” I exclaimed. “I’ll probably go flying off the back when you hit a bump or something.”

“You’re a vampire,” he said, strapping on his own brain bucket. “You’re invincible. If anything happens, you’ll just heal up anyway.”

“That won’t save my pride,” I told him, watching Junior carefully as he eyed my van. Well, great, now I had to worry even more about my brake lines.

I threw my leg over the motorcycle, thankful that I’d worn jeans and a thick canvas jacket, and slipped my arms around Wade’s waist.

“Hold on tight,” he told me, squeezing my hands.

“Oh, don’t worry,” I told him.

It was curiously pleasant to ride along on the motorcycle, the vibrations sending little thrills up and down my spine. I propped my chin against Wade’s shoulder and for a few precious moments let myself forget my legal troubles, Danny’s needs, the Pumpkin Patch, the million little tasks I had to accomplish to keep our lives running. I wrapped myself around Wade’s back, enjoying the warmth seeping through his clothes to my chest. I closed my eyes and took in his metallic, citrus scent. And I just enjoyed the experience of flying down the highway.

It took a few minutes
for me to feel the first drops of rain against my skin.

It appeared that Wade and I were about to be caught in one of the Bluegrass State’s sudden “change of season” thunderstorms.

Within minutes, we were being battered by sheets of rain, which quickly soaked through my clothes. Tree limbs whipped over our heads like hysterical mothers throwing their arms up in the air over ungrateful children. The wind changed directions, throwing leaves and debris into the mix, so now we were battered
and
blind.

“I’ve got to pull over!” Wade yelled over his shoulder. Even my ears could barely pick up his voice over the roar of the storm. But we were on a deserted highway in the middle of nowhere. There was no convenient Starbucks where we could take shelter. In the distance, against the backdrop of lightning, I saw the outline of some sort of structure.

“There!” I yelled, pointing over Wade’s shoulder. He nodded and sped toward what looked like an old tobacco barn, leaning under the weight of disuse. Before Wade could stop, I leaped off the back of the bike, skidding in the mud and yanking the old barn door open. Wade slowed, his brake lights casting an eerie red glow around the empty barn.

Tobacco farmers used to use outbuildings like these to smoke the leaves after they were harvested, great billowing piles of burley painting the interior walls with the tar grime and a rich scent that still hung in the air years after western Kentucky’s farmers all but abandoned the state’s traditional cash crop. The barns were usually located on the far outreaches of the farms, to keep the smell and fire risk far from the farmers’ homes. Now this barn was being used to store old tractors and what looked to be an inordinate number of old rusty scythes spread out on antique tables, which was . . . concerning.

“This is why people drive cars, with roofs and windows and stuff!” I exclaimed as Wade shut off the engine.

“Well, if I knew I was going to be carrying a passenger through a storm, I woulda taken my truck to work tonight.”

“Don’t make your meteorological miscalculations my fault,” I teased. “How far did we get?”

“About halfway,” he said. “No sense in callin’ anyone. We’ll just wait it out.”

“Or be sacrificed by the scary tobacco cult that clearly holds its meetings here.” I put my cell phone on flashlight mode and held it up so Wade could see the tables full of scythes.

He recoiled. “Yep. We live in a strange town.”

I nodded. “So just you and me. In a tobacco-torture-cult barn.”

“Can’t say I don’t know how to show a girl a good time.”

“If you try to tell me that we should ‘get out of these wet clothes,’ I will smack you. A lot.”

Wade laughed and jostled me with his shoulder. “Smartass.”

“My appeal is ninety-two percent sass-based.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Wade shook the water out of his hair. “It’s more a sixty-forty split.”

“Oh, really? And does the other forty percent depend on my ‘greatest rack in the history of racks’?”

Wade’s blue eyes bugged out of his head. “That wasn’t a dream?”

“Oh, no, it was very real.” I laughed as he dropped his head to his shoulder and groaned. I giggled, giving his shoulder a comforting “sorry you made an ass out of yourself” pat.

“Thank you for not killin’ me in my sleep,” he muttered against my damp skin.

“Eh, you’re cute, and you smell nice, so I think I’ll keep you.”

“That’s all of my good qualities?” he muttered. “Thanks a lot.”

I laughed, tilting his chin up so he had to meet my gaze. “OK, you are a good man and an excellent father. You are funny and smart and kind, and you listen to me. No one has ever really
listened
to me before. And you remind me that these insane things I’m doing, I’m doing them for the right reasons. And you just drive me crazy sometimes with how pretty you are, which I don’t think should be overlooked, in terms of a virtue—”

Wade closed his mouth over mine, effectively shutting me up. His hands, warm and alive, slid under my wet jacket and pulled me closer, so I could feel the beat of his heart against my own silent chest. I threaded my fingers through his damp hair, rubbing my thumb over his pulse point. It jumped with every stroke.

He broke away, chuckling softly as he backed me toward one of the tables. I could feel my nipples drawing tight and hard against the wet fabric of our shirts. I felt desire flicker between my thighs, and for the first time in years, I knew that desire was about to be fulfilled. Waves of an entirely different sort of hunger rolled through me, and I could feel my fangs stir, aching to break through and strike at Wade’s neck. The very idea of his sweet, warm blood flooding my mouth, into my throat, made me moan, even as the more human, rational parts of my brain rebelled.

I turned my head, capturing his lips to distract myself from the temptation of his jugular. I growled in appreciation at the taste of his mouth, cinnamon gum and the hint of smoke. He took advantage of this, sliding his tongue across my lips to dance with my own. He spread his hands over my ass and lifted me, wrapping my thighs around his waist. He hitched me up, raking my aching center over the growing bulge behind his zipper.

“We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” he rumbled against my lips as he carried me across the room to a table only half full of deadly farm implements. Laughing, I smacked at his arms, even as he spread me out over an empty spot on the table. He pushed at my wet jacket, protecting me from the rough wooden boards with its damp, heavy material. He rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip, raising his eyebrows, as if to ask permission.

I nodded and kissed him, hoping I was giving him some idea of how much I wanted him, how much I wanted to touch and be touched, how glad I was that it was Wade here with me. He propped my ass on the edge of the table and pushed his wet jacket back, letting it drop to the ground. His fingers splayed across my collarbone, tracing its curve down to the swell of my breasts. He kneaded them, teasing the nipples through the wet cotton of my shirt. I moaned, arching into his hands, bucking my hips. My ankles locked at the small of his back, trapping him against me. He tried not to let the wince show, but it was clear I was hurting him. I relaxed my legs from their vise-like grip, and he fell against me, face tucked into the valley of my cleavage.

I retreated, embarrassed by my lack of control, pulling my hands back and uncrossing my ankles. But Wade caught my thighs in his hands and wrapped them back around his hips, thrusting ever so slightly against me, showing me that his want for me hadn’t waned one bit. He reached for the button of my jeans, popped it loose, and dragged the stubborn denim down my hips. I was grateful that I’d worn one of the nicer pairs of panties I owned, cornflower-blue sateen with strategic lace panels. The warmth of his palm spanned between my hips, over my mound, and I sighed in contentment.

Grinning, I reached for his shirt, pulling it gently over his head. No matter how many times I saw his sculpted, inked upper body, I would never stop admiring the curves of his toned torso, the way his tattoos accentuated the length of his arms. I traced them with my fingertips, the flashing golden flames of the phoenix curling over his shoulder, the curve of antlers from the deer skull on his forearm, the graceful dance of lettering on his ribs.

He caught my wrist, urging my hand down his belly to his zipper, and I made quick work of it. My panting joined his as I slid my cool fingers under the elastic of his underwear and wrapped them around the hot length of him. Groaning, he bucked forward, and his hands abandoned my breasts, landing hard beside my shoulders to brace himself.

The noises he made were fan-freaking-tastic. I could hear them, even over the howling of the wind and thunder outside.

He was kissing me again, making me forget my nerves, teasing my opening with warm, rough fingers, working me into a state of shameless, shaky need. I guided him toward me, sure that if he wasn’t inside me soon, I would die all over again. Growling softly, he slid home. I sobbed, throwing my head back and whacking it against the table as I rolled my hips, desperately trying to bring him closer.

He cradled my crown in one hand while he secured my ass on the table with the other. I clung to his shoulders, undulating against him. The more I moved, the tighter that delicious tension coiled inside of me. I could feel the coil of excitement gathering, building to something I couldn’t quite name but desperately needed. And in focusing on that feeling, I let my control slip.

Being so close to Wade, surrounded by his lovely human smell, the sound of his pounding pulse, it made my mouth water all over again. I could sense his blood flowing through his veins, under all that golden skin, mere inches from my lips. I could practically taste the tangy, warm throb of it over my lips. My fangs extended, stretching farther than I’d ever felt them go.

Just a little nip
, a cold, hissing voice seemed to whisper in my head.
He’ll hardly miss it. And it will be soooo good.

I licked my lips, tracing the line of Wade’s jugular with my eyes to find just the right spot to sink my teeth— Then I froze suddenly, sitting up and clamping my hand over my mouth. My throat was positively
burning
with thirst, and in my rush to get out the door earlier, I’d barely had breakfast. The synthetic blood I’d planned to drink during the evening I had left in my van. I didn’t want to feed from him. I’d managed to keep to my strict “vampire vegan” policy so far . . . and damn, he smelled like everything that was good and delicious in the world.

I would drain him dry.

I panicked, scrambling away from Wade, nearly uncoupling us. He frowned, holding on to me. When he saw me clutching my hand over my fangs, his golden brows rose, and he slowly peeled my hand away from my face. He kissed me, deliberately pressing his lips against each of my canines. He edged his mouth along my jaw, nipping and biting until he reached my throat. This left his neck exposed and vulnerable to my mouth.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered.

Wade shrugged, moving his hips and nudging against an absolutely wonderful spot inside me that even I didn’t know existed. “So don’t.”

I keened, digging my fingernails into the table. Panting, I licked my lips and tentatively scraped my fangs against his skin. Wade clutched me to his chest, preparing for the pain. I could feel the table buckling under my fingers as I concentrated on being gentle. My teeth sank into his vein, and warm, fragrant blood burst into my mouth.

I had missed out on a
lot.
Real, warm human blood straight from the source was better than any food, drink, or drug ever devised by man. I was drinking stars. His life was flowing into my mouth, satiating every taste bud, wetting my parched throat. And he never missed a stroke, moving over me as I drank from him. I could feel every cell in my body, his body. I could feel everything. I could feel
more.

Grunting, Wade picked up the pace, slamming his hips into mine. I curled around him, drinking deep. I had to stop. I didn’t want to hurt him. I didn’t want to take too much. I didn’t— Wade reached between us, arm bent at an awkward angle as he circled his fingers just above our joined bodies. I wrenched my face away from his neck as that coil inside me snapped and my whole body seemed to seize. I threw my head back, howling, as a racking climax burst through me. I felt the table crumble in my hands as I rode out the waves of pleasure.

Wade followed me over the edge, hips bucking, face buried against my collarbone. I collapsed back against the table. I stroked my hands down his back while his breathing settled.