Her Vampire Lover. Caridad Pineiro

      Chapter 1

      Lost luggage, weather delays and a missed connection were not how Sonja Dubcek had planned to start her dream vacation. Luckily, she had caught a flight that still got her to Amsterdam in time for her overnight train ride to Prague. It was almost antiquated to use the railroad instead of hopping on another plane, but Sonja was rather old-fashioned.

      Or at least that’s what her ex-boyfriend had said to her when she caught him in bed with one of her girlfriends.

      “Sunny,” he’d said, because everyone called her Sunny. “You’re just too uptight. Join the twenty-first century, for God’s sake.”

      He’d been casually leaning against the pillows in their bed, her former friend beside him. When he’d suggested a threesome, it had taken all her control not to lose it.

      That had been nearly two years ago and in all that time, Sunny had rebuilt her life, found better friends and promised herself a grand adventure because she knew she wasn’t as boring and predictable as her ex had insisted.

      This trip to Prague was just that. Her grand adventure. If a little romance happened to come her way, all the better.

      Hopefully, once her luggage finally showed up.

      She boarded the train with the small overnight bag she had thankfully packed with the essentials, and the conductor guided her to her sleeper. The room was a well-designed and modern bed/bath combo, but barely bigger than her closet at home. Because she had no luggage to speak of, it was perfect.

      Grungy from the nearly twenty hours of traveling, Sunny treated herself to a hot shower in the tiny corner cubicle. Washing away her troubles brightened her mood, until she creamed her elbow on the edge of the shower stall. Pain radiated through her arm and she wondered how anyone a bit bigger would be able to use the facilities. At five foot five and a size six, she barely fit.

      Rubbing at her elbow as she finished washing, she then dried off and switched into the spare set of clothes she had packed: a button-down Oxford shirt, black jeans and a rather tiny lacy bra and panty set to which she had treated herself at Victoria’s Secret. She could be just as daring as the next girl when she wanted to be.

      As a precaution, she hand-washed the T-shirt and undies she had been wearing, all the time hoping the airline would deliver her things to her hotel in Prague as promised.

      Too excited to just sit in her sleeper car, and with hunger starting to gnaw at her innards, she headed out to the dining car.

      She’d heard that Europeans ate later, but you couldn’t prove that from the nearly full restaurant and the line of people waiting to be seated. Sunny positioned herself at the end of the queue and patiently waited, occasionally scoping out the area to see if any tables had freed up. Impatiently she wondered why one booth capable of seating at least four remained empty, considering the crowd and the delays.

      Those having supper seemed in no mood to rush and nearly an hour passed before Sunny was finally the next person in line.

      The host in the foyer to the car arched a brow and said with an almost-disdainful sniff, “Table for one?”

      Biting back annoyance, Sunny nodded. “Just one.”

      With a flare of a hairy eyebrow, he said, “That’ll be another half an hour or so. We’ve just seated quite a few tables.”

      Sunny pointed to the still-empty booth. “What about that one?”

      Flailing his hands as if she had just suggested something sacrilegious, he said, “Oh no, no, no. That is the count’s table and it is reserved.”

      Sunny glanced at the table again. “It’s been vacant for at least an hour. Surely you have a limit for how long you hold reservations?”

      “For the count, we always make an exception. Just in case he decides to drop in.” The host tilted his head up at an angle that had him looking down at her as if she was a bug under a microscope.

      If Sunny was one thing, it was persistent. With a determined glare, she said, “Are you telling me that you don’t even know if the count is going to dine here tonight?”

      The man blustered for a moment under her withering stare, but then finally confirmed her understanding. “As I said, it is tradition to hold the spot.”

      “In my home we have a tradition as well. We don’t keep guests waiting.” Without a pause, she walked into the dining car and to the empty booth set for one.

      Interesting. She apparently wasn’t the only one who dined alone.

      The host, who had raced after her, stammered a protest as she reached the booth.

      “Madam, you cannot sit there,” he said quietly so only she would hear. He glanced around the room nervously, as if half expecting the count to materialize out of thin air.

      “Watch me.” She slipped in the booth and sat, admiring the rich patina of the leather covering the seat, so unlike the more pedestrian cloth on the other booths and chairs in the room. The booth itself was made from mahogany and intricately carved with a pattern of twining vines and roses.

      The host realized she would not be dissuaded and after another quick glance around the room, as if to decide if he might stuff her somewhere else instead, he raised his hand and snapped his fingers.

      One of the waiters immediately hurried over.

      “Give her your full attention. We need the table clear in case the count arrives.”

      Without another look at her, the man dashed back to his podium, his manner supercilious.

      “I’m so sorry, miss. Henri can be a little full of himself. What can I get you?” the waiter asked with a polite bow and a welcoming smile.

      Grateful for the change in attitude, she smiled and sank back into the comfortable bench. “A glass of cabernet and a menu would be nice.”

      “Certainly,