The Real Werewives of Vampire County - By Alexandra Ivy Page 0,70
was at least one thing about this Stepford setup I’d like....
Jon nibbled on my earlobe.
The doorbell rang.
“Urk,” I said.
“Damn,” Jon said. He scowled. “The hell with it. They’ll go away.” He went back to nibbling, and I went back to melting.
The freaking doorbell rang a second time. Jon kept on nipping my neck, but I wasn’t into it anymore. I was distracted. When the bell rang a third time, I shoved him. “Okay, Dracula”—it’s a silly pet name, but the man has a thing for necks—“we’re going to have to take a timeout. I can’t get into the mood with all that ding-donging.”
Jon sighed. It was his turn to give a sad puppy look. It was clear where Joshua had learned it.
“Won’t work.” I pushed on his chest until he was upright.
“But it worked for Josh.” Ding dong. “Ignore it.” He grabbed my hand, flipped it over, and scattered tickly little kisses over the inside of my wrist.
Ding dong.
“I can’t ignore it.”
Ding dong.
Sheesh, whoever that was, they were persistent.
Jon motioned to me. “Stay put. I’ll be back in a minute.”
I decided I was okay with that plan ... until I heard a woman’s voice downstairs. Laughing.
I’d just left the best job of my life, said sayonara to every friend I had in the world, and hauled everything I owned three hundred miles. I didn’t do that to sit upstairs and listen to my soon-to-be husband flirt with another woman.
After a quick mirror check—a girl needs to make a good first impression—I headed downstairs to see why my not-quite fiancé hadn’t returned to me yet.
I wasn’t happy with what I saw when I reached the foyer. The world’s most perfect woman—Stepford, I’m telling you—was standing a little too close to Jon for my comfort. She was holding a covered Pyrex pan with something red in it. As I stepped onto the stone tile, the visitor’s attention snapped to me. So did Jon’s.
“Hi,” I said to them both.
Jon and the Stepford wife began chattering at the same time. Jon stopped.
Mrs. Perfect beamed at me. Perfect blond hair. Perfect makeup. Her dress was very well-maintained vintage. 1950s. Silk. I was guessing Harvey Berin. She was wearing a wedding ring. “Hello, Christine, I’m Samantha Phillips. I live next door. So good to meet you at last.” She shoved the hot dish into my hands, cherry pot holders keeping them from blistering. “I made a pan of lasagna, thinking you’d probably be too busy to cook tonight.”
The scents of tomato sauce and garlic and cheese tickled my nose. “How thoughtful. Thank you.” I took the pan to the kitchen and set it on the stove. I heard Jon and Samantha following me.
“Thank you,” Jon echoed.
When I turned around, I found Samantha standing with her hands clasped in front of her A-line skirt. I shoved the pot holders into her empty hands. “Thanks again.”
She jammed one hand into a skirt pocket, produced a business card. “I guess I should get going. Don’t want to keep you from your work.” She extended her arm, offering the card. “If you need help with anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m home all day. I can be here in a blink. Michelle and I used to—” She cut herself off. “Forgive me. Michelle was a good friend.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” I accepted the card and set it on the counter. “Thanks again. I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
“Okay, then. I can see myself out.” Samantha threw a cute little wave at Jon and hustled toward the door. I watched Jon watch her leave. When he finally glanced my way, I probably wasn’t looking too happy.
“I’m sorry about that. Samantha and my first wife were close. She had a very hard time after Michelle died. But I’d rather not talk about that right now.” He hauled me into his arms. “Michelle was my past. You are my future. And if you’re worried about Samantha, don’t be,” he said. “She’s very happily married. And I’m very happily almost-married.”
The man knew just what to say.
He also knew just what to do. He kissed me until I couldn’t breathe and I’d forgotten all about whatshername and her lasagna and her stupid cherry pot holders.
Oh yes, I was definitely feeling better now. Warm. Tingly. Happy.
“Shall we head back upstairs?” I asked, dragging my fingernails down his chest. I hadn’t seen that chest in three weeks. Long-distance dating sucked. It was so good to be done with that now.