Читать книгу Her Vampire Lover - Caridad Pineiro - Страница 5

Chapter 1

Lost luggage, weather delays and a missed connection were not how Sonja Dubcek had planned to start her dream vacation. Luckily, she had caught a flight that still got her to Amsterdam in time for her overnight train ride to Prague. It was almost antiquated to use the railroad instead of hopping on another plane, but Sonja was rather old-fashioned.

Or at least that’s what her ex-boyfriend had said to her when she caught him in bed with one of her girlfriends.

“Sunny,” he’d said, because everyone called her Sunny. “You’re just too uptight. Join the twenty-first century, for God’s sake.”

He’d been casually leaning against the pillows in their bed, her former friend beside him. When he’d suggested a threesome, it had taken all her control not to lose it.

That had been nearly two years ago and in all that time, Sunny had rebuilt her life, found better friends and promised herself a grand adventure because she knew she wasn’t as boring and predictable as her ex had insisted.

This trip to Prague was just that. Her grand adventure. If a little romance happened to come her way, all the better.

Hopefully, once her luggage finally showed up.

She boarded the train with the small overnight bag she had thankfully packed with the essentials, and the conductor guided her to her sleeper. The room was a well-designed and modern bed/bath combo, but barely bigger than her closet at home. Because she had no luggage to speak of, it was perfect.

Grungy from the nearly twenty hours of traveling, Sunny treated herself to a hot shower in the tiny corner cubicle. Washing away her troubles brightened her mood, until she creamed her elbow on the edge of the shower stall. Pain radiated through her arm and she wondered how anyone a bit bigger would be able to use the facilities. At five foot five and a size six, she barely fit.

Rubbing at her elbow as she finished washing, she then dried off and switched into the spare set of clothes she had packed: a button-down Oxford shirt, black jeans and a rather tiny lacy bra and panty set to which she had treated herself at Victoria’s Secret. She could be just as daring as the next girl when she wanted to be.

As a precaution, she hand-washed the T-shirt and undies she had been wearing, all the time hoping the airline would deliver her things to her hotel in Prague as promised.

Too excited to just sit in her sleeper car, and with hunger starting to gnaw at her innards, she headed out to the dining car.

She’d heard that Europeans ate later, but you couldn’t prove that from the nearly full restaurant and the line of people waiting to be seated. Sunny positioned herself at the end of the queue and patiently waited, occasionally scoping out the area to see if any tables had freed up. Impatiently she wondered why one booth capable of seating at least four remained empty, considering the crowd and the delays.

Those having supper seemed in no mood to rush and nearly an hour passed before Sunny was finally the next person in line.

The host in the foyer to the car arched a brow and said with an almost-disdainful sniff, “Table for one?”

Biting back annoyance, Sunny nodded. “Just one.”

With a flare of a hairy eyebrow, he said, “That’ll be another half an hour or so. We’ve just seated quite a few tables.”

Sunny pointed to the still-empty booth. “What about that one?”

Flailing his hands as if she had just suggested something sacrilegious, he said, “Oh no, no, no. That is the count’s table and it is reserved.”

Sunny glanced at the table again. “It’s been vacant for at least an hour. Surely you have a limit for how long you hold reservations?”

“For the count, we always make an exception. Just in case he decides to drop in.” The host tilted his head up at an angle that had him looking down at her as if she was a bug under a microscope.

If Sunny was one thing, it was persistent. With a determined glare, she said, “Are you telling me that you don’t even know if the count is going to dine here tonight?”

The man blustered for a moment under her withering stare, but then finally confirmed her understanding. “As I said, it is tradition to hold the spot.”

“In my home we have a tradition as well. We don’t keep guests waiting.” Without a pause, she walked into the dining car and to the empty booth set for one.

Interesting. She apparently wasn’t the only one who dined alone.

The host, who had raced after her, stammered a protest as she reached the booth.

“Madam, you cannot sit there,” he said quietly so only she would hear. He glanced around the room nervously, as if half expecting the count to materialize out of thin air.

“Watch me.” She slipped in the booth and sat, admiring the rich patina of the leather covering the seat, so unlike the more pedestrian cloth on the other booths and chairs in the room. The booth itself was made from mahogany and intricately carved with a pattern of twining vines and roses.

The host realized she would not be dissuaded and after another quick glance around the room, as if to decide if he might stuff her somewhere else instead, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

One of the waiters immediately hurried over.

“Give her your full attention. We need the table clear in case the count arrives.”

Without another look at her, the man dashed back to his podium, his manner supercilious.

“I’m so sorry, miss. Henri can be a little full of himself. What can I get you?” the waiter asked with a polite bow and a welcoming smile.

Grateful for the change in attitude, she smiled and sank back into the comfortable bench. “A glass of cabernet and a menu would be nice.”

“Certainly, miss.” With a nod, her waiter rushed away and Sunny peered out the window. Dark shadows mingled with occasional bursts of lights from a passing station or the more muted glimmers from distant homes and towns. Not much to see of the countryside because it was night, but her return trip in a week would be during daytime and she looked forward to viewing it then.

The waiter arrived with her wine and menu, and hovered nearby as she perused it. Clearly he intended to honor the host’s request to move her along quickly. The menu had a nice selection, but given the prices on some of the items and the fact she had a budget to keep, she ordered the simplest and cheapest dish—the roasted chicken. Besides, some of the other choices were items she would not normally eat. Dining-wise, the adventure she had promised herself would have to wait a bit.

The waiter scurried to place her order, and Sunny picked up her glass and toasted the empty seat across from her. “To life and love.”

It was the way her parents had toasted each other for as long as she could remember. A drunk driver had taken their lives just last year and although she missed them every day, she was glad that they had gone together to their next adventure.

She sipped the wine. Dry, it had the barest hint of vanilla and berries. She placed the glass on the table, hoping that if it breathed a bit, the flavors would mature. As she turned to peer out the window again, she picked up on the growing silence in the room until it became unnaturally quiet, like the moment before a storm hit.

A second later, a low murmur grew and seemed to rush toward her like a tsunami bearing down on the shore. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of the host as he approached and of someone in a dark, impossibly black suit following immediately behind.

Preparing for the worst, she picked up her glass of wine and took a sip. Then she buried her attention on the dark, blurry images rushing past her window, until the reflection of the host standing beside the booth marred the view.

She turned to find him there, along with a man who could have been in one of those ads for expensive Swiss watches. Tall, lean and lethally elegant, she had no doubt that this was the count for whom the table had been reserved. Everything about him screamed rich and royal, from the perfect fit of what she now realized was a blue-black suit, to the snowy shirt with the perfectly knotted tie and the hand he held just so before him. His wrist boasted a large and obviously expensive gold watch. Swiss, of course.

“I’m sorry, miss. I warned you this table was reserved for the count. You’ll have to move,” the host said, but there was no hint of real apology in his voice. If anything, it had a nasty bite of “there, I told you so” in its tone.

While she tried to decide whether to cave and leave, or fight and maintain her ground, the count silenced the host with a polished and almost-careless gesture.

“Thank you, Henri, but that may not be necessary.”

The pitch of his voice was low and her toes curled as she imagined that voice in the dark, whispering the proverbial sweet nothings in her ear. Her gaze fixated on his lips, harshly masculine but full. A devastating smile came to them along with a hint of a boyish dimple at odds with his otherwise manly and proper appearance.

That dimple propelled her gaze upward. Her heart did a little flip-flop as she detected the glimmer of masculine interest. The curl that had begun in her toes at her first sight of him worked its way dangerously upward.

She licked suddenly dry lips and said, “I’m sorry, Count—”

“I prefer Gregori,” he replied smoothly and then gestured to the booth.

“Would you mind if I joined you for supper?”