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“Paul—”
“Haven’t you missed me?” he asked. “Aren’t you goin’ to invite me in?”
Why was he not noticing that so far, I’d only said his name?
“This isn’t a good time,” I told him.
“You’ve said that before.” He chuckled as he tried to step past me over the threshold.
“No,” I said, putting my hand on his shoulder and holding him in place. It was a far more effective tactic with Paul than with Cal, since Paul didn’t have superstrength. “I can’t. I told you, it’s not a good time.”
He caught the way I glanced over my shoulder toward the stairs. He slid his hand around my wrist, his fingers shockingly warm after my having dealt with Cal for the last few days. My arms relaxed by degrees. “Are you OK? What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” I insisted, stepping back out of his reach. “I told you, it’s just not a good time.”
“Are you sure nothin’s wrong?”
“Fine,” I promised. “I’m just working a lot, tired, you know?”
“You always have worked too hard.” He chuckled. “I could come in, make you one of my famous cheese omelets.”
“They’re famous because they’re the only thing you know how to cook.” I laughed, remembering the breakfast attempts that had resulted in Cajun-style “blackened” waffles. “And no, thanks. I appreciate the offer, but Gigi’s gone out with friends. I’ve got the house to myself, and I’m just going to go straight to bed.”
Paul’s eyes lit up, and I realized that I’d taken the exact conversational route I should have avoided. He thought I was about to issue an invitation. Oh … fudge.
“Well, that’s good news,” he said, taking another step inside the doorway, backing me inside. “Because I was hoping we could ‘catch up.’ ”
“Catching up”—another Paul code phrase, meaning “panties optional.”
I was spluttering an excuse when I felt a wintry hand slide around my waist. I tensed, and Cal’s smooth, honeyed voice said, “As a matter of fact, she’s busy at the moment. And if you don’t mind, we’d like to continue where we left off.”
I turned to find Cal smirking down at Paul. And he was shirtless. Shirtless, barefoot, with the top button of his jeans undone. Between that and my rumpled pajamas, it looked like Cal had just rolled out of bed to see why it was taking me so long to bring back the whipped cream and the padded handcuffs. It took all the dignity I had not to slap my palm over my forehead.
Suddenly, I wished I’d consumed a lot more vodka.
“Who the hell are you?” Paul’s tanned face flushed beet red. His wide brown eyes narrowed at me. “Iris, who is this?”
I stammered. “I—that is—uh, I—”
“I’m Cal.” The vampire grinned and slipped his arm from around my waist to extend his hand to Paul. I noticed that he didn’t drop his fangs … and he had adopted a softer version of our bluegrass drawl. His body language had relaxed, and he seemed to be intentionally moving at a slow, almost jerky pace. He was playing human bumpkin—pale human bumpkin but human all the same.
Looking at Cal’s hand as if he’d been offered dead squirrel à la mode, Paul spluttered, “Iris, honey, what the hell is going on?”
“Paul, I told you, it’s not a good time.”
“You’re seein’ someone else?” he exclaimed. “But you didn’t tell me.”
“Technically, I’m not seeing you,” I said, reluctantly adding, “right now.”
His cheeks flushed, as if he had just realized that this whole thing was playing out in front of a shirtless stranger.
“Paul, I’m sorry.”
“No, no.” He grimaced. “That’ll teach me not to call first, I guess. Really, I’m lucky this hasn’t happened before.”
It took me a moment to absorb his full meaning, before I cried, “Hey! That’s not fair!”
“You’re right,” he mocked, his hands up in a defensive position. “I’m just a little upset. I mean, it’s not every day you come over to your girlfriend’s house to find out she’s shacked up with a caveman.”
