D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat

D.B.Reynolds Amerikai vámpírok sorozat angol nyelven

 

Raphael 1

 

Chapter Four

THERE ARE WORSE ways to wake up than with a beautiful man between your legs. Cynthia smiled lazily as she smacked Nick on the ass, indicating he should move his great bulk off of her. He rolled over and her digital clock came into view, its bloody red numbers letting her know it was nearly one in the afternoon.

“I need to take a shower,” she said and stood, giving him a look over her shoulder. “You coming?”

Nick bounced off the bed with as much energy as if he’d slept the whole night instead of keeping her awake with a marathon of sex. She shook her head in amazement as she leaned in to turn on the hot water, then stepped under the spray, trying to decide if she should wash her hair before or after . . .

Nick’s strong arms circled her waist, pulling her against him. Guess, it was going to be after.

SHE WAS FEELING good when she walked into the kitchen. Every muscle in her body felt like she’d been working out at the gym instead of lying in bed. Well, perhaps “lying” wasn’t exactly the right verb. Her soft chuckle was cut off when she saw her sister Holly sitting at the kitchen counter, reading a magazine and eating a sensible snack of yogurt and fruit. Cyn had almost forgotten—and God knew she’d tried—that Holly was spending a few days here while her own house was being painted . . . or fumigated . . . or something. It was one of those house things which was why Cyn lived in a condo.

“Good afternoon, Cynthia,” Holly said with a pointed look at her watch. Holly didn’t approve of Cynthia’s hours. If Cyn was a night owl, then Holly was the proverbial early bird. And that was only the first of so many differences between them. In Holly’s perfect world, everyone rose at six a.m. and hopped through life like diligent little bunnies in the cabbage patch before returning every night to the perfect house and perfect family. The fact that Holly herself had yet to secure the perfect husband with which to breed the perfect family was a source of great distress to her. Not because she was eager to have children; the nanny would be taking care of those. No, Holly would be spending her days doing whatever it was rich wives did. She had very specific financial requirements for her future husband, which was probably why she hadn’t acquired one yet.

“Any word on your house?” Cyn asked, trying to remember how Holly had managed to guilt her yet again into staying here. It seemed every time her sister needed a break, Cyn’s condo on the beach became the local motel. She didn’t mind helping out, but she really didn’t want a roommate either. And the last time Holly had come for a visit—

“Really, Cyndi,” Holly called her back to the present with the nickname Cynthia hated, which was probably why Holly used it. “Could you make me feel any less welcome? It’s not like you don’t—Oh!” Holly’s cheeks pinkened attractively as Nick came down the stairs into the kitchen, exuding a dark, masculine energy that seemed to fill the room. His wavy brown hair was still wet from the shower, his shirt unbuttoned over low-riding blue jeans that showed his slim hips to great advantage. He was over six feet of well-toned muscle with broad shoulders, long, lean legs, and just enough silky dark hair on his chest to prove he was a fully adult male. While not enough to worry that one had crossed some invisible species boundary. Cynthia enjoyed the view, then walked over and stroked a hand over his bare waist, raising her face for a kiss.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You remember Nick, don’t you, Holly?”

“Yes,” Holly said shortly, giving them both a disgusted look.

Nick smiled and began buttoning his shirt. “I’ve got a flight to catch, babe,” he said to Cynthia as he tucked it in. He walked over to the couch and picked up his leather jacket, pulling keys out of the pocket. “Walk me out?”

Cynthia followed him down the stairs to the garage on the ground floor of her three-story beach condo. Nick threw his jacket onto the seat of a Ferrari convertible, then leaned against the door, pulling her between his legs. “You know, it’s hard to believe you two are sisters. It’s like you were raised on separate planets.”

“Half sisters, actually. Same mother, different father. And we never lived together. My parents divorced when I was three and I lived with my father. My mother didn’t bother to stay in touch; I barely knew Holly before high school.”

“I guess it’s good your dad cared,” Nick said with obvious awkwardness. They never discussed personal things. Theirs was strictly a relationship of mutual lust.

“Yeah, well, don’t get sentimental. I was just too low on the list of possessions for anyone to fight over.” She stood back, giving her ragged dark hair a nervous fluff and tucking her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “Have a good flight, Nicky.”

“Will do. I’ll give you a call when I’m in town.”

“I’ll be around,” she agreed.

He stood, gave her a hard, quick kiss, then slid into the car with a grin and was gone, taking all that energy with him and leaving an empty feeling behind.

Cynthia watched the racy car as it accelerated up the small hill behind her condo and turned onto the highway, then she climbed back upstairs with a sigh.

“I saw the car when I went to the store this morning,” Holly commented as Cyn returned to the kitchen. “I didn’t realize Nick had that kind of money. Like draws like, I suppose. Although he is awfully good looking. I wouldn’t mind having a go at him myself if you’re not interested.” She twisted a lock of blond hair between her fingers and gave Cynthia an appraising look.

Cynthia tried to imagine Nick and her sister together. Maybe not. “Nick’s just . . . Nick,” she said instead. “He calls when he’s in town and we have a good time.” She shrugged. “It works for both of us. No complications.”

“Complications,” her sister repeated sourly, dropping both perfectly manicured hands to the tile counter. “As in actually requiring you to take someone other than yourself into account once in awhile?”

Cynthia swallowed the sharp retort that leapt to mind, opened the refrigerator door and stared blindly at Holly’s yogurt stash, counting first to ten, then to twenty, before turning to face her sister. “Nick’s a friend, Holly. We enjoy each other’s company and that’s it. Not everyone is looking for a husband, you know.”

“Easy for you to say. Not everyone was gifted with a trust fund on her twenty-first birthday either. Some of us have to worry about our future.”

Cyn sighed. Money. It always came down to money with Holly. And the fact that Cyn’s father had it and Holly’s didn’t. Like it was Cynthia’s fault, like she’d somehow stolen what should have been Holly’s. Of course, Holly never wanted to hear the other side of it. About what it was like to be raised by the best nannies money could buy, and about being the only child at school whose parents never came to visit. About holidays with a pile of presents and no one to watch her open them, about all those little milestones of life—graduations, first day on the job, the first dollar she’d earned on her own—all those moments she’d celebrated alone because no one else cared enough to be there. No, Holly didn’t want to know about that part. “Actually, I do worry about my future,” Cyn said finally. “Which is why I have no intention of getting married.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Cyndi. See a therapist, for God’s sake.”

Cyn sucked in a breath. It wouldn’t serve anyone’s purposes for her and Holly to argue yet again. Nick hadn’t been far from right; they might as well be from different planets. She and Holly were sisters, but genetics was the only thing they had in common and there wasn’t even much evidence of that.

“I like my life the way it is,” she said quietly. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to run. Be sure to lock up if you go out.”