My Gentleman Vampire: The Undead Have Style

I am sharing a newly edited excerpt from the book of the same name. Enjoy! 

Prologue

I lay perfectly still in the dark because I had a strange, inexplicable feeling that I wasn’t alone. The room was pitch black, a requirement for sleep. A mere pinprick of light had to be snuffed out. The room was cool. It seemed a little cooler than usual, but it was welcome, as it made my naked body under the blankets so warm and cozy. The settling sounds the house made, the creaks, pops, and sighs were all familiar, and they brought a fleeting sense of comfort, but didn’t replace the sense that someone was in my bedroom. Strangely, my reaction was less of fear than of annoyance. My sleep was disturbed, and I never function well with less than seven hours.

I snuggled down a bit under the covers, and then I realized exactly what the problem was: the new mattress. Mike had taken the other mattress, the one I had gotten used to, the one I truly needed to relax. I hadn’t wanted it, defiled as it was, not after I realized he’d screwed Alix on it--gross betrayal.

 I needed to put Mike and Alix out of my mind or I’d never fall asleep. I tried progressive relaxation exercises: contract, relax, contract, relax, working up from my feet to my shoulders. It was working, and I felt the tightness leave my body. I drifted off, finally, to sleep. I know now, of course, that I was right. I wasn’t alone.    

Chapter One

The Mysterious Outfit

“It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious.”

Oscar Wilde

The next morning I drained my coffee while sifting through the junk mail. Mike’s mail sometimes still showed up, and when it did, I wrote on it, “The fat cheater has moved” and returned it to the mailbox. I rationalized that it was the legal way of releasing a little frustration, preferable to throwing it in the trash. I carried my berries and yogurt to my closet to torture myself into some frumpy, random outfit I would throw together. I nearly dropped my breakfast as I saw—hanging on the valet hook I never used—a beautiful spring outfit styled from things I’d forgotten I owned: pressed Ann Taylor tan, linen-blend slacks, a pale blue, super soft tunic, and a blue patterned Burberry scarf I’d been given as a gift. The shoes, Cole Haan high heels I’d worn only once because I thought they were a bit too slutty, were on the floor at the foot of the ensemble. A Chanel handbag that I was afraid to use sat next to the pumps. I couldn’t remember styling this ensemble, and it unnerved me. My closet smelled of some cinnamon or foreign spice, and it looked like it had been reorganized a bit.

I sat down on the bed, munching the last of the berries. I’d changed the locks as soon as Mike moved out. I didn’t trust him, and I know there were a few things I’d bought when he lived with me that he coveted and he would have lifted them. He had recently moved in with Alix. That hadn’t taken more than a week. Mike couldn’t have been in the house, so I must have done it after the second glass of wine last night. Maybe I was a talented drunk. If so, I needed to get drunk more often.

Regardless, I had a chic, professional outfit to wear to meet with my agent to discuss the proposal for my next book. Vivian Carrollwood had become a friend in the last five years and had been through the entire Mike/Alix debacle with me. She was as close to a sister as I was ever going to get. I showered, pulled my hair back into a sleek ponytail, and applied concealer and lipstick, which is the works for me. I dressed in my new outfit and went off to talk a little business.

I drove thoughtfully, observing the onset of spring, the jadeite leaves and the riot of forsythia yellow. The forsythia did not bloom shyly, I thought. It was an leggy, unattractive plant most of the year, but it certainly owned the spring. Planted beds burst with copious varieties of bulbs: crocus, daffodils, and tulips.