The Braddock Boys: Brent. Kimberly RayeЧитать онлайн книгу.

      1

      BRENT BRADDOCK HAD NEVER been the type of man to beat around the bush when it came to something he wanted. He was straightforward. Determined. Persistent.

      One hundred and fifty years as a vampire who fed off both blood and sex hadn’t changed him much.

      While the average bloodsucker tried to curb the lust with a little roll in the hay, Brent preferred going straight for the jugular, no pun intended.

      Not that he didn’t like sex.

      He loved it, and he sure as shootin’ fired off a round whenever possible. Once upon a time, he’d been one of the fastest guns in the Confederacy and the most precise. Now he called himself a bodyguard and offered his skills to the highest bidder, which meant he spent a great deal of time in the big cities.

      New York. Chicago. L.A. Prime hunting ground when it came to getting down and dirty. He could fall into bed with the prettiest filly around and never run the risk of seeing her again.

      But this was small town central.

      If he bedded a woman tonight, he was sure to bump into her again and again before he said goodbye to this map dot. While she might not remember him thanks to his vamp mojo, he would remember her. Worse, she would become more than a face. And that he didn’t like.

      He didn’t want to know that she’d been voted Most Popular back in high school or that her dad owned the local feed store or that she went to the VFW Hall every Thursday night for spaghetti dinner. He didn’t want to know her, period.

      Knowing made it harder to turn his back and walk away.

      And Brent Braddock always walked away.

      “I didn’t sign up for this,” muttered the woman who pushed through the rear Exit of the Dairy Freeze. “I’m a waitress not a bus boy. I do tables, not trash.”

      The door creaked shut behind her, muffling the whir of a shake machine and the hisss and poppp! of a burger grill. June bugs bumped against the single bulb that burned near the back door.

      She wore a white button up blouse with her name embroidered in pink across the right pocket, white shorts and a pair of white sneakers. Her breaths echoed in his ears and he tuned in to the steady thump of her pulse.

      A knife twisted inside of him and his muscles clenched. Heat hummed the length of his spine. His hunger stirred. He watched as she dumped an empty banana crate near the dumpster a few feet away from where he stood in the shadows.

      She started to turn, but then her gaze hooked on him and she started. “Holy Toledo,” she touched a hand to her chest, “you scared me.” She eyed him. “We don’t allow customers out back.”

      “I’m not a customer.”

      “Then