Mary Hughes

The Bite of Silence

Copyright © 2009 by Mary Hughes

Chapter One

It’s a little-known fact that when vampires fly, they hog the window seats.

I saw Nikos the instant I boarded the plane. Well, who could miss those immense shoulders and hewn cheekbones, that aggressive jaw?

He’d cut his dark hair ruthlessly short since I’d last seen him-heaven forbid it display any softness with its curls. He had the kind of remorselessly perfect features that could withstand even the unforgiving scrutiny of a high-resolution camera lens. A perfect, sculpted body too, although that wasn’t my medium. I’d have loved to photograph him as King Leonidas, fatally wounded but still roaring as he charged, unyielding, into battle.

Nikos sat in 3F, first window seat on the right, and you’re probably way ahead of me when I say I suspected he was a vampire. Although sat isn’t quite the right word. He dominated the entire space, not only his seat but the empty one next to it, his large body relaxed but impeccably groomed in a tailored charcoal suit, snow white shirt and crimson silk tie. He was absorbed in his netbook and didn’t see me.

I checked my ticket but I already knew it was 32D, my bra size. At the time I thought that was lucky. Should have known better.

I wanted to join him in the worst way-despite the kind of reception I knew I’d get. The first time I’d met him, in November, I’d practically throttled my friend Nixie to get an introduction to the gorgeous Colossus of Rhodes standing astride his half of the room. He’d said one word-a drawled “Giasou” sounding sexy as hell but which I found out later was only hello-given me a curt nod and walked away. Nixie called him Spartacus in a suit. To my mind that was too civilized. He was massive, muscular and severely reserved.

Every time I’d made an overture he’d dismissed me with a few well-chosen words. It only sank my fascination deeper. I was reduced to needling him whenever I saw him, just to get a reaction.

A quick scan showed no one was boarding behind me. The flight, Chicago to New York, was half empty. Well. Here was a two-hour opportunity marked 3E. I slid in and opened my mouth to make a smartass crack.

Without looking he said, “Don’t.”

My mouth dropped open. “You can’t know who I am.”

The corner of his lips twitched. “Don’t, Twyla.” He still hadn’t looked.

I humphed back into the seat. “I don’t know how you do that. The whole identity-without-looking thing.”

“Good peripheral vision.” He still hadn’t acknowledged my existence, damn him. At least not with his eyes. He had the sexiest eyes, velvet brown framed by glossy obsidian lashes and brows. Brooding bedroom eyes. I really wanted him to look at me.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?” Look at me. Come on. Just once.

He exhaled audibly, in another man a heavy sigh, and closed his netbook. Without a word he hit me with his full attention.

Nikos didn’t use a lot of words but he didn’t need them. Not when he could express whole paragraphs with those compelling eyes.

This look said I was walking uncomfortably near some line. Nikos had a lot of lines, all hidden. If you shot a marble in on one side of his personality, instead of coming out the other it would bounce on secret internal walls and shoot out in some unpredictable way. I suspected some of those ways were deadly.

A frisson ran through me. Not fear exactly, but maybe heightened awareness. I covered it with words. “Well, if you had asked, I’d say I’m seeing Broadway shows.” I stuffed my carry-on between my feet. “And drinking too much liquor and dancing through at least two pairs of Kenneth Cole heels. And I’d say I’m going to celebrate New Year’s in Times Square by kissing as many hottie guys as I can find.”

His jaw tightened ever so slightly at that, though it may have been my hopeful imagination. Of course he didn’t say anything.

Up to me to carry the conversational ball. “So what are you doing here, Nikos?”

“Business.” He reopened his netbook.

Without thinking, I slapped it shut. His head came up so fast I only registered it after the fact. His eyes were sable daggers. Scary how something so drooling-gorgeous could be so incredibly deadly. I patted the netbook, withdrew my hand.

“Twyla.” He plucked a magazine from the rack and shoved it into my hands. “Read.”

Nikos-speak for enough. After the dagger-glare treatment any sane person would have dropped it. Obviously he did not know who he was dealing with. I set phasers on needle. “I’d rather look outside. Mind if I open the window shade?” Whatcha gonna do now, Mr. Taciturn Vampire? I reached over him for the tab. I didn’t think sunshine’d really make him fry, but I was counting on some sort of reaction.

He caught my wrist without even moving. And of course without looking. “Leave the shade alone.”

Ooh, four words in a row. I was on a roll. “It’ll keep me from bothering you.” I reached for the shade with my other hand.

He swept it out of the air with two fingers-of his same hand. Both my wrists were caught, one snared in forefinger and thumb, the other between palm and two fingers. Damn, the man had big hands.

Made me kinda shivery. “You’re on business? I thought you helped Julian Emerson manage those two teeny townhouses in Meiers Corners. What business would you have in New York? Unless you’re a lawyer too?”

“No.” He released me and went back to his netbook.

If our conversation were a ball, he’d not only dropped it, he’d punched a hole in it and squashed it flat. Luckily I had conversation for both of us. “I’m going to see my cousin. I did him a big favor and he invited me to visit him in return.” I waited for a response or an “uh-huh” or even a dark glare.

Futile, of course. Fine. Conversation enough for both of us would have to be literal. I pitched my voice low. “What favor, Twyla?” Resetting to me I answered, “I’m glad you asked, Nikos. As executive admin for the mayor of Meiers Corners, I’m a bit of a bureaucratic whiz, and I cut some red tape for him with an international company.” I dropped back to Nikos’s deep growl. “Uh-huh. Tell me more.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. The man-or a bit more-had burnt umber lips etched with the accuracy of a cursive italic nib. I wanted to kiss them in the worst way.

“Don’t,” he said again.

“I wasn’t going to make a snarky comment.”

“I know.” His lids closed slowly. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Ooh, six words. And he’d caught my heated interest. Maybe that even meant he was interested in return. I was making progress.

A shrill soprano drilled through my optimism. “You there! You black woman, what are you doing here? That’s my seat.”

The woman shooting eye-darts at me combined the worst attributes of a dentist and a diva. She was painful, impossible to ignore, and a lot of designers had died to cover her bony ass.

I pointed at the six empty seats across the aisle. “Can’t you-”

Diva Dentist whirled front. “Stewardess, I demand you deal with this woman. She doesn’t belong in first class.”