The Vampire and the Virgin (42 page)

wonderfully broad shoulders, the short sleeves tight around his biceps.

If only she could see his face better. Her gaze drifted over to the telescope. Why not? She rushed over, pointed

the telescope in the man’s direction, and peered through the eyepiece.

Oh, yeah, he did not disappoint. His eyes looked sharp and intelligent, pale, though she couldn’t tell the color.

Green, she hoped, since that was her favorite. He had a straight, strong nose, a wide mouth, and a strong jaw

with a sexy hint of dark whiskers. There was a grim expression on his face, but it didn’t make him unattractive.

Quite the opposite. It added to his aura of masculine power.

He passed by the house, and she admired his sharp profile for a few seconds, then lowered the scope to his

body. His chest expanded with each deep breath, and she found herself matching her breaths to his. Even

lower, she noted his muscular thighs and calves. His white running shoes pounded on the sand, leaving a

steady trail.

He continued down the beach toward the rock known as Petra, giving her a glorious view of his backside.

“Opa,”
she muttered as she continued to spy on him through the telescope. She’d seen plenty of fit men

during her training days for the Bureau, but this guy put them to shame. While their muscles had seemed

forced and clumpy, this guy looked completely natural, moving with an easy, graceful control.

She was still focused on his rump when she noticed the attached legs were no longer moving. Did he run out

of steam? He hadn’t seemed tired. His jogging shorts slowly turned, affording her a long look at his groin. She

gulped.

She raised the scope to his chest. Oh dear. That huge expanse of chest was now facing her direction. Surely,

he wasn’t…she lifted the scope to his face and gasped.

He was looking straight at her!

She jumped back, pulling her blanket tight around her. How could he see her? The courtyard was dark and

the walls reached to her waist. But then the walls were whitewashed and she was cocooned in a white blanket,

and the moon and stars were bright. Maybe he
could
see this far. Surely he hadn’t been able to hear her? She’d

barely spoken over a whisper.

He stepped toward her, gazing at her with intense eyes. Oh God, he’d caught her ogling him with a telescope!

He stepped toward her, gazing at her with intense eyes. Oh God, he’d caught her ogling him with a telescope!

She pressed a hand against her mouth to keep from groaning out loud. Apparently, the smallest of sounds was

carrying across the beach.

He took another step toward her, and the moon glinted off his hair. Red? She hadn’t met any redheaded men

at the party that night. Who was this man?

“Olivia,” Eleni called through the open door. “Your tea is steeping.”

She strode into the kitchen and waited impatiently for her mug of tea. “There’s a man on the beach.”

“Are you sure? It’s almost two in the morning.”

“Come and see. Maybe you know him.” Olivia wandered back to the patio and peered over the wall.

He was gone.

“He—he was there.” Olivia pointed south toward Petra. There was no sign of him anywhere.

Eleni gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re exhausted and seeing shadows. Drink your tea, child, and go to

bed.”

“He was real,” she whispered. And the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
Dear God, please let him be

real.

real.

Coming April 2010

Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake

A delightful new romance from debut author

Sarah MacLean

Kiss someone passionately, fire a pistol, attend a duel…

Lady Calpurnia Hartwell has had enough. Sick and tired of following rules and never having any fun, the

inveterate spinster decides it’s time to throw caution to the wind…at least just this once. But when a little fun

leads her into the arms of a devastating rake, good Lady Callie must decide if she’ll retreat to the life she

knows…or succumb to a most ruinous temptation.

W
ho are you?” The Marquess of Ralston’s eyes narrowed in the darkness, taking in the soft angles of Callie’s

face. “Wait…” She imagined his eyes flashing with recognition. “You’re Allendale’s daughter. I noticed you

earlier.”

She could not contain her sarcastic response. “I’m sure you did, my lord. It would be rather hard to miss me.”

She covered her mouth immediately, shocked that she had spoken so boldly.

He chuckled. “Yes. Well, it isn’t the most flattering of gowns.”

She couldn’t help her own laughter from slipping out. “How very diplomatic of you, my lord. You may admit it. I

look rather too much like an apricot.”

This time, he laughed aloud. “An apt comparison. But I wonder, is there ever a point where one looks
enough

like an apricot?” He indicated that she should resume her place on the bench and, after a moment’s hesitation,

she did so.

“Likely not.” She smiled broadly, amazed that she wasn’t nearly as humiliated by his agreement as she would

have expected. No, indeed, she found it rather freeing. “My mother…she’s desperate for a daughter she can

dress like a fashion plate. Sadly, I shall never be such a child. How I long for my sister to come out and distract

the countess from my person.”

He joined her on the bench. “How old is your sister?”

“Eight,” she said mournfully.

“Ah. Not ideal.”

“An understatement.” She looked up at the star-filled sky. “No, I shall be long on the shelf by the time she

makes her debut.”

“What makes you so certain you’re shelf-bound?”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “While I appreciate your chivalry, my lord, your feigned ignorance insults us

both.” When he failed to reply, she stared down at her hands and replied, “My choices are rather limited.”

“How so?”

“I seem able to have my pick of the impoverished, the aged, and the deadly dull,” she said, ticking the

categories off on her fingers as she spoke.

He chuckled. “I find that difficult to believe.”

“Oh, it’s true. I’m not the type of young lady who brings gentlemen to heel. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I have eyes. And I see no such thing.” His voice lowered, soft and rich as velvet as he reached out to stroke

her cheek. Her breath caught and she wondered at the intense wave of awareness coursing through her.

She leaned into his caress, unable to resist, as he moved his hand to grasp her chin. “What is your name?”

he asked softly.

She winced, knowing what was to come. “Calpurnia.” She closed her eyes again, embarrassed by the

extravagant name—a name with which no one but a hopelessly romantic mother with an unhealthy obsession

with Shakespeare would have considered saddling a child.

“Calpurnia.” He tested the name on his tongue. “As in, Caesar’s wife?”

The blush flared higher as she nodded. “The very same.”

He smiled. “I must make it a point to better acquaint myself with your parents. That is a bold name, to be

sure.”

“It’s a horrible name.”

“Nonsense. Calpurnia was Empress of Rome—strong and beautiful and smarter than the men who

surrounded her. She saw the future. She stood strong in the face of her husband’s assassination. She is a

marvelous namesake.” He shook her chin firmly as he spoke. “It is a name to be lived up to. And I think you are

well able to do so, if only you would attempt it.”

well able to do so, if only you would attempt it.”

She was speechless in the wake of his frank lecture. Before she had a chance to reply, he continued. “Now, I

must take my leave. And you, Lady Calpurnia, must return to the ballroom, head held high. Do you think you can

do that?” He gave her chin a final tap and stood, leaving her cold in the wake of his departure.

She stood with him and nodded, starry-eyed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good girl.” He leaned closer and whispered, his breath fanning the hair at her nape and sending a thrill

through her, warming her in the cool April night. “Remember, you are an empress. Behave as one and they will

have no choice but to see you as such. I already do…” He paused, and she held her breath, waiting for his

words. “Your Highness.”

And with that, he was off, disappearing deeper into the maze and leaving Callie with a silly grin on her face.

She did not think twice before following him, so keen she was to be near him. At that moment, she would have

followed him anywhere, this prince among men who had noticed
her
, not her dowry or her horrible dress, but

her!

If I am an empress, he is the only man worthy enough to be my emperor.

She did not have to go far to catch him. Several yards in, the maze opened on a clearing that featured a large,

gleaming fountain adorned with cherubs. There, bathed in a silvery glow was her prince, all broad shoulders

and long legs. Callie held her breath at the sight of him—exquisite, as though he himself had been carved from

marble.

And then she noticed the woman in his arms. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp, her hand flying to her lips

as her eyes widened. In all her seventeen years she’d never witnessed something so…wonderfully

scandalous.

The moonlight cast his paramour in an ethereal glow, her blonde hair turned white, her pale gown gossamer

in the darkness. Callie stepped back into the shadows, peering around the corner of the hedge, half wishing

she hadn’t followed, entirely unable to turn away from their embrace. My, how they kissed.

And in the deep pit of her stomach, youthful surprise was replaced with a slow burn of jealousy, for she had

never in all her life wanted to be someone else so very much. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine it

was she in his arms: her long, delicate fingers threading through his dark, gleaming hair; her lithe body that his

strong hands stroked and molded; her lips he nibbled; her moans coursing through the night air at his

caresses.

As she watched his lips trail down the long column of the woman’s throat, Callie ran her fingers down the

same path on her own neck, unable to resist pretending that the feather-light touch was his. She stared as his

hand stroked up his lover’s smooth, contoured bodice and he grasped the edge of the delicate gown, pulling it

down, baring one high, small breast to the night. His teeth flashed wickedly as he looked down at the perfect

mound and spoke a single word, “Gorgeous,” before lowering his lips to its dark tip, pebbled by the cool air and

his warm embrace. His paramour threw her head back in ecstasy, unable to control her pleasure in his arms,

and Callie could not tear her eyes from the spectacle of them, brushing her hand across her own breast,

feeling its tip harden beneath the silk of her gown, imagining it was his hand, his mouth, upon her.

“Ralston…”

The name, carried on a feminine moan, sliced through the clearing, shaking Callie from her reverie. In shock,

she dropped her hand and whirled away from the scene upon which she had intruded. She rushed through the

maze, desperate for escape, and stopped once more at the marble bench where her garden excursion had

begun. Breathing heavily, she collected herself, shocked by her behavior. Ladies did not eavesdrop. And they

certainly
did not fantasize in such a manner.

Besides, fantasies would do her no good.

She pushed aside a devastating pang of sorrow as the truth coursed through her. She would never have the

magnificent Marquess of Ralston, nor anyone like him. She felt an acute certainty that the things he had said to

her earlier were not truth, but instead the lies of an inveterate seducer, carefully chosen to appease her and

send her blithely off, easing his dark tryst with his ravishing beauty. He hadn’t believed a word of it.

No, she was not Calpurnia, Empress of Rome. She was plain old Callie. And she always would be.

No, she was not Calpurnia, Empress of Rome. She was plain old Callie. And she always would be.

Acknowledgments

Even though this is the eighth book in the Love at Stake series, the journey from beginning to end was just as

tough and arduous as the first book. For those dear friends and critique partners who made the journey with me

—MJ, Sandy, and Vicky—you have my love and gratitude. My thanks to my editor, Erika Tsang, for her wisdom

and patience. My thanks to everyone at HarperCollins for the best publicity, marketing, and artwork in the

business. My thanks to my agent, Michelle Grajkowski of Three Seas, not only for her expertise, but for always

being there with a smile and word of encouragement. My thanks to all my readers. You guys are the best! And

finally, my love and thanks to my husband and children. Whether we’re celebrating good news or enduring the

rigors of deadline hell, they are always there for me.

rigors of deadline hell, they are always there for me.

About the Author

KERRELYN SPARKS
is the
New York Times
bestselling author of the Love at Stake series. Each book in the

series has landed on the
USA Today
bestseller list, but when the fourth book,
The Undead Next Door
, jumped

onto the
New York Times
list at #14, even the undead sat up and took notice. That same book was nominated