“I’m not with her.”

“Then you’re an idiot.”

“Not why I’m here.” And yet even as he said it, he collapsed his hand of cards and put them facedown on the pile. “I owe you fifty.”

“Forty-five. But you were going to lose this hand.”

“Probably. You want it now?”

“You’re good for the cash.”

As Craeg got to his feet, he looked at the piercing spacers that the male had put in the holes in his face and his ears—and abruptly, he wondered exactly how many more studs of metal the guy had in places you couldn’t see. “Did those piercings hurt when you got ’em?”

“Yes, that’s part of why I do it. The sex afterward is sharper.”

“The tats, too?”

“Yup.”

“Huh. Go fig. You know, you’re smarter than I thought you would be. Better card player, too.”

“Because I like ink and metal, you think that makes me dumb?”

“I’ve led a sheltered life, what can I say.”

He was over at the door when Axe spoke up. “I thought you were an asshat.”

Craeg frowned and looked over his shoulder. “Based on what?”

“You’re the vampire equivalent of a redneck. I thought there was nothing remarkable about you except for your size—and frankly, that’s what they make Mack trucks for.”

“And now?”

“I still think you’re an asshat.” The Goth smiled a little. “But I don’t mind asshats, as it turns out. Go figure, as you say. Besides, our fathers…”

As the male let that one hang, Craeg was glad the guy did. “Yeah. Anyway, good day.”

“Have fun, you kids.”

“That’s not happening.”

“So you say.”

Craeg stepped out into the corridor and looked all around. Everything was quiet, the proverbial coast clear, and still he stayed where he was. Down to the left, there were five single bedroom units. His was the first. Axe’s was next. And Paradise’s …

Well, three was a charm, wasn’t it.

But he didn’t go down to her right away. Even though he was about as romantic as a rock, he somehow ended up in his stall shower, cleaning his body as if he were about to meet the Scribe Virgin in person. And then he shaved. And even went over to the duffel bag he’d left where he’d dropped it the night before and unpacked his clothes all over the floor.

They were clean. That was about it.

Blue jeans. With holes. T-shirts. Without holes. His Syracuse Orange baseball cap.

With a curse, he settled for a pair of the uniform’s loose pants and a fresh Hanes undershirt. He kept his feet bare, and he prayed, prayed, that he tiptoed over to her place without getting caught.

Out the door. Another left to right to check no one was around. And then he pulled a T2 Linda Hamilton as he bounced on the balls of his feet down the bare concrete floor, making no sound at all. When he got to Paradise’s room, he knocked softly.

“Come in?” she said in a high, slightly stressed voice.

No poking his head in. Nope. His whole body shot inside and he forced the door closed behind himself.

“I’m so glad,” she said with a laugh. “I was worried … anyway.”

The only light on was the one in the loo, and she’d closed that little room off for the most part: She was sitting in the semi-dark on the bed, wearing a small white robe that was belted at her waist—and nothing else.

Whoa. Legs. Lots of … calves, thighs …

As he swayed from lust, she said, “You took a shower, too?”

He nodded. Because apparently he’d left his voice out in the hall.

“Do you want to come over here?”

He nodded again.

Next thing he knew, he was standing in front of her. And then he was kneeling. Putting his shaking hands on her legs, he dipped under the hem of the robe. Her skin was just as soft as he remembered.

Dropping his head down, he ran his lips back and forth over one of her knees.

Oh, fuck him. What he needed to do was jack back up, kiss her for a while, ease her flat … do her right with his hands—and then get the fucking hell out of Dodge.

That was so not what happened.

His palms drifted down to the sides of her thighs and then traveled up—taking the robe with them. As her flesh was exposed, he watched as she trembled and her hands tightened on the bedsheets.

“Are you scared?” he asked. Because he had to be sure.

“No,” she breathed.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you now?”

“No…”

He nodded, keeping his lips against her knee so that he stroked her with them. “Open your legs for me.”

The shivering got worse as she obeyed, exposing a pair of perfectly modest white cotton panties that just about made him come in his pants.

And her scent drove him insane.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a guttural voice.

“I know. I trust you.”

Craeg moved to the inside of her knee and took his sweet time, nuzzling, drawing his tongue over her thigh, running his fangs up and down.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he told her. “Guide me in. You know where you want me to be. Show me.”

Her touch was tentative at first, just ruffling through his short hair. “It’s so soft,” she whispered.

“So are you.”