Downbeat (Biting Love, Book 7)
Striking the right note could
shatter more than their hearts.
After an attack that slaughtered his
family, vampire Dragan Zajicek walled off his heart and went on a
sixteen-hundred-year rampage with the bad boys of history.
Now a rock star of the concert
podium and master freelance spy, he’s taken the baton for a small orchestra
near Chicago to investigate rumors of a monstrous, undefeatable vampire dubbed
the Soul Stealer.
But it’s the lovely, unassuming
Raquel “Rocky” Hrbek who mesmerizes him from the first touch of her luscious
lips on her flute.
Rocky, a shy shadow scarred by
middle school cruelty, is mystified as to why core-meltingly gorgeous Dragan
would notice a mouse like her. As his stolen kisses draw her dangerously close
to the edge of her carefully constructed comfort zone, he exposes her
secret—she’s investigating the monster herself.
As their quest draws them closer
together, the monster zeroes in on the woman Dragan’s rebellious heart tells
him is his mate. Now they must find a way to destroy the indestructible before
Rocky is utterly consumed. And Chicago is bathed in the blood of innocents.
Warning: Contains a master of
seduction and symphonies, an awkward and innocent flutist, small-town humor,
heart-stopping action, and an exodus to Iowa. Oh, and the cheese balls are
ba-a-ack—and deadlier than ever.
Excerpt
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Downbeat:
“May I accompany you, Ms. Hrbek?”
I jumped and nearly tripped. Zajicek caught my wrist to steady me. His fingers
were long and slender but amazingly strong—and fiercely warm. Like iron filings
to a magnet, my skin aligned instantly to him. Hot sensation juddered through
me, knocking me even more off balance. I scrambled to regain my equilibrium,
only to have my feet scud into one of the semi-vertical sidewalk stones. My
flute bag slipped off my shoulder and nosedived into the crook of my arm,
yanking me sideways. I went down.
Powerful arms wrapped around me and saved me from severe pavement burn. The
arms were gentle righting me, and I stood in their comforting embrace a moment
to get my breath back. A strong heart beat under my cheek. My palms pressed
against warm, crisp cotton. The body under the cotton was a solid,
cloth-covered cliff, so unlike my own soft limbs. I shivered.
“Are you all right, Ms. Hrbek?” Zajicek’s deep honeyed tones, tinged with
amusement, came from somewhere over my head.
“Huh?” Not the snappiest of rejoinders but I was cheek-to-massive-chest with
Dragan Zajicek, the posterboy I’d had the hots for half my life.
He was definitely not pasteboard now. The longer I stood there the more I felt.
Every ridge of his taut abdomen, the roped muscles of his long thighs, the poke
of his belt buckle; they all became alarmingly three-dimensional. His warm
breath stirred my hair. Something else stirred too, at hip level…and silent
laughter rippled through him.
My brain churned. The intimate way he held me made no sense, but the laughter,
well, my clumsiness had lightened the room on more than one occasion.
Then Zajicek’s long fingers slid under my chin, raising my face. His brilliant
eyes were shuttered by slumberous lids. I stared in bemusement as his face
expanded in my vision…
His lips found mine.
Warm. Smooth. Exciting. “Some Enchanted Evening” sang through my right brain.
My left brain locked up in utter confusion. A man was kissing me. Zajicek was
kissing me. The sum of my kissing experience was a slobbery grandmother and a
few rushed awkward sexual encounters. I never really saw what the fuss was
about. Until Zajicek.
I always thought kisses were simply the press of lips. His mouth didn’t simply
anything. It rubbed, it tasted, it gently teased. Warm, velvety soft, his
tongue began to explore.
I stood there in stupefied awe.
Until he murmured against my lips, “How clumsy you are, Ms. Hrbek. How very
fortunate I was here to catch you.”
He thought I’d done it on purpose.
I struggled out of his embrace. He was slow letting go, his fingers firm on my
arms.
With a little tilt of his head, he perused me. Whatever he saw on my face made
him release me with an extravagant sigh. “I beg your pardon. Apparently I
misread your…desires.”
I flushed, because he hadn’t misread my “desires” at all. Just my intentions. I
jerked my flute bag onto my shoulder and started determinedly toward my car,
fiercely watching my feet on the uneven sidewalk. “No biggie. What did you
want, Maestro?”
Long legs kept graceful pace with me. “Call me Dragan, please. Maestro is so
overused.”
His first name? It implied an intimacy I couldn’t afford. “You call me Ms.
Hrbek.”
“Yes, but perhaps you would allow me the familiarity of your first name as
well?” His tone was coaxing.
I skewed a look at him, immediately returning my attention to the stones,
although I was beginning to think Zajicek was more treacherous than my footing.
“If you want. After all, you’ll be seeing us weekly for a while.”
“Perhaps you and I will be seeing a great deal more of each other, hmm?”
Yikes. My stomach flipped, my attention disintegrated and the elevated corner
of a concrete slab cold-cocked my foot. I tripped and would have fallen again
if not for Zajicek’s lightning reflexes. He caught me in his arms, steadying
me. Senses reeling, I let him, my forebrain scolding idiot but my lizard brain
panting and presenting its tail. Before I could completely self-combust, he
brushed a thumb over my cheek and released me.
“What do you mean by that?” I croaked. Catching my flute bag to my chest, I
wheeled and trotted off, fast, too fast, almost running, nearly stumbling yet
again. Making a conscious effort to slow down, I cleared my throat. “Why would
you see more of me than any other orchestra member?”
“I am staying in Meiers Corners for the duration of Mr. Banger’s recovery. That
is what I wished to discuss with you. I have only just arrived in the area. I’d
like to follow you home this evening.”
Dragan Zajicek in all his powerful, elegant glory, driving behind me? My
internal meter was pinging red alert, core meltdown imminent. “You don’t need
to. I can tell you how to go. It’s not that far.”
“Perhaps. But it’s late and I would not wish to become lost.”
I opened my mouth to say no, heard my voice say, “Oka—” and snapped my jaw shut
so fast teeth sparked. Problem was, I liked being with him—which, considering I
was practically wearing my heart on my sleeve, was dangerous. What if he found
out his kiss was the first real one of my life, and had utterly demolished me?
“Ms. Hrbek?”
He was politely waiting for an answer. Politely, as if the whole of my pitiful
ego wasn’t in the balance.
I tried to see it from his point of view. The man wanted help getting around. A
few directions, not my soul. Simple neighborliness would do. I breathed deep,
and managed to rasp out, “Sure. No problem, Mr. Zajicek.”
He smiled and slipped his arm around mine. “Dragan, please.” His hip bumped
against my side as we walked.
My respiration rate shot through the roof. I gritted my teeth. Simple
neighborliness, yeah, right. Like your basic neighborhood raging inferno.
“Okay. First names. I’m Rocky.”
“Rocky? That’s a boy’s name.”
“It’s a nickname,” I admitted.
“Ah. And your real name?”
Yes. My “real” name.
My friend, Nixie Emerson, once told me names have power. In her case, she went
by her kicky middle name instead of “Dietlinde”, her dull-as-dust first. For
her, that was appropriate. Nixie was short and punk and smart as a whip—and as
smart-mouthed too, though she reined it in around her new baby.
In my case though, my “real” name was not appropriate. Anti-appropriate, in
fact. My mom named me Raquel, after Raquel Welch, the sex-goddess of the
sixties. So while Nixie’s name was right and good, mine was a joke. And
considering my nega-love-life, a rather nasty one at that. “Rocky’s good
enough, Mr. Zajicek.”
“Dragan,” he murmured, somehow pulling me closer. The heat of his body licked
flame-like up my side. I hissed and shifted my flute bag between us, but as a
defense it backfired. Zajicek simply plucked the bag from my hands. “Shall I
carry that?”
“You don’t have to. No, wait—”
“Nonsense. It is quite light.” He shifted my bag onto his own shoulder, not the
one between us. The strap wrapped itself over his muscles like a second skin,
and I swear it moaned happily.
Then Zajicek curled one hand around my waist and pulled me so close I could
barely breathe. I tried to, really I did. But every tentative inhale brought
the scent of him, cotton and sandalwood and burning masculinity. Every movement
of my ribcage scraped the side of my breast against his arm, until I was
trembling with the need to rub blatantly against him. Every breath drew cool
air over my tongue…yikes, I was lolling like a dog in heat.
My glasses fogged up, and I stumbled again.
Both Zajicek’s arms went around me. I felt incredibly clumsy and stupid, making
him rescue me continually from my own feet. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Zajicek—”
“Dragan,” he murmured, cupping my chin and lifting my face for another soft
kiss. His lips touched mine, his mouth moving in tiny circles as if to warm my
skin. He didn’t need to. I was plenty warm already—and a little buzzy.
“You taste wonderful.” His mouth opened and his tongue teased the seam of my
lips.
I jumped at the touch but Zajicek held me, so securely I relaxed into his arms.
It seemed to be some sort of cue for him to lick me and slide his tongue
between my lips, encouraging me to part them.
He asked so nicely, with tiny hot licks. So I did.
The instant my mouth opened he devoured me. His mouth slanted over mine and his
jaw dropped. Heat rushed in. I gasped. Shocked and a little scared, I fell
back, but he stepped with me, wrapped his arm around my back and trapped me
good. He had to bend quite a ways to do it.
My back arched like a bow, my breasts crushed to his chest, my hips to his
thighs. Something stirred against my belly, sending a jolt shearing through me.
My mouth tingled and my breasts tingled and I was getting really tingly between
my legs.
I slid my hands between us to try to wedge open some space. All I succeeded in
doing was fitting my palms to the hardest pectorals in the world.
The tingling between my legs was starting to drive me insane.
Zajicek’s mouth left mine to trail licks and nibbles down my jaw to my throat.
He nuzzled me there, an odd dark rumble coming from his chest, almost a lion’s
purr. “You smell divine. Ah, to taste you fully.” His tongue rasped over my
pulse.
Somewhere along the way his hand had found my breast and was kneading and
cupping while he sucked gently on the tender skin of my neck until my head
spun.
Then his fingers found my raised nipple and plucked.
A thousand Christmas lights went on in my head. I shrieked.
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