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Gentlemen Prefer Succubi by Jill Myles - Fiction
Jackie Brighton woke up in a Dumpster this morning, and her day has only gotten weirder. Her familiar B-cups have somehow become double Ds, her sex drive is insatiable, and apparently she had her fi rst one-night stand ever...with a fallen angel. All she remembers is gorgeous Noah's oddly hypnotic blue eyes...and then a dark stranger whose bite transformed her into an immortal siren with a sexy Itch. With help from Noah, Jackie begins to adapt to her new lifestyle -- until she accidentally sends Noah into the deadly clutches of the vampire queen and lands herself in a fi erce battle for an ancient halo with the queen's wickedly hot righthand man. Who just happens to be the vampire who originally bit her. How's a girl supposed to save the world when the enemy's so hard to resist?
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It had obviously been one hell of a night if I couldn't recall why I was waking up in a Dumpster.
I blinked a few times, staring at the sky overhead. A Dumpster? Surely not. But between the flies, the stench, and the garbage bags surrounding me, I didn't know what else it could be. My left hand rested on something clammy and wet, and I hoped that it was an old newspaper and not something more sinister. I didn't even want to think about what was tickling my bare toes.
I sat up, cradling my throbbing head and trying to think. What the hell had happened? I didn't normally find myself comatose and drooling amid piles of garbage.
Shit. My boss was going to be sooo totally pissed at me.
Something itched against my breast and I reached up to scratch, finding a hard plastic card shoved into the side of my bra.
A room key for a hotel. The Grand National here in New City, Wyoming.
My mind regurgitated a series of drunken memories from my bender last night. I'd met a man at the bar of the swanky hotel just as the sun was cresting into dawn and I was polishing off my latest martini. He'd walked into the bar and, since the place was deserted, headed straight for me and bought me another drink. I'd let him. I mean, hell, free alcohol.
He was even hot to boot, which was a nice change from the creeps that normally tried to pick me up. I vaguely remembered an amazing body, a voice that could stop traffic, and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen.
That wasn't the only thing I remembered. My brain flashed another image into my head, of a rather large part of my date's anatomy. Which I'd seen in close detail.
"Ohmigod. I'm a slut," I moaned, burying my face in my hands.
I'd never had a one-night stand before, but by the time I'd met my Blue-Eyed Casanova, I was eight or twelve martinis into an all-nighter and three sheets to the wind. I couldn't remember a darn thing except those eyes and that smile. And his dick.
That bothered me on levels I didn't even want to think about. I sighed and brushed a wet wad of trash off my hand and straightened my thick, smudged glasses on my face. At least they hadn't been wrecked in my night in the garbage.
"Who's there?" a warbling voice called, and I clambered through the trash to the edge of the Dumpster, peering over the metal side.
A bearded older man--homeless, if the stocking cap and reek of whiskey were any indication--stared up at me in surprise. A familiar cute black-and-pink handbag was tucked under his left arm.
"Hey, that's mine." I pointed a grimy finger at the purse. "Give it back."
Much to my surprise, he handed it up to me with a wide-eyed expression. "I thought you were dead. Sorry."
What an odd statement. I frowned down at him. "Sorry, no. Do you have anything else of mine I might be needing?" My legs were devoid of pantyhose, and my bare toes wiggled between the garbage. My shoes were nowhere to be seen, and I wasn't even sure I still had panties on--all of which was making me extremely nervous. Resisting the urge to cry, I swallowed hard.
"I didn't take them. I didn't take anything else." The bum sounded rather miffed that I had the gall to accuse him of stealing.
I ignored him and began to dig through the garbage, trying not to think too hard about what I was touching. Sure enough, my favorite pink-and-black Steve Madden pumps were there underneath a pizza box. I shook them out to be safe.
With my belongings in hand, I swung a leg over the side of the Dumpster and began to climb out. I'd probably given the bum a flash of panties (if I still had them), but I didn't care.
He took a swig from his brown-bag-covered bottle. "You were dead,...
Gentlemen Prefer SuccubiBy: Jill Myles