"Oh, my handsome manly vampire. Achoo!" That high falsetto voice--not to mention the sneeze-- drew Bastien's attention to the two men standing sev¬eral feet away from Terri's prone body. Vincent and... Chris? He thought it was the editor but couldn't be sure. The man had a sheet draped over his head and caught beneath his chin in Little Red Rid¬ing Hood style. Judging from that, and from the re¬ally bad imitation of a female voice the editor was affecting, Bastien would guess he was supposed to be a woman. For some reason.

"How my heart beats for y--achoo!--you, Dracula. You stir my fire, my desire." Chris let the page he was reading drop to his side with disgust. "Who wrote this drivel?" he asked.

"A playwright," Vincent sniffed. "A professional playwright."

"Well, I'm a pro--achoo!--professional editor. And I--achoo I--wouldn't publish this poppycock."

"You just don't understand camp," Vincent snapped. "Haven't you ever heard of a little play-- later made into a major motion picture--called the Rocky Horror Picture Show?"

"That was good camp," Chris informed him, then rubbed his nose. "This--achoo!--is drivel. God, I wish the drugstore guy would get here with those-- achoo!--allergy pills."

"Believe me, so do I," Vincent said. He spotted Bastien in the entry and smiled. "Cousin! So you fi¬nally decided to join the living, did you?"

"Yes." His gaze shifted back to Terri, who blinked her eyes open, sat up to glance over at him, then scrambled to her feet.

"Good morning," she said brightly. "Did you sleep well?"

Nodding, Bastien moved purposely forward. His curiosity was killing him. Terri's eyes widened in sur¬prise when he paused in front of her, wiped one of the red spots off her neck, and pressed it to his tongue.

"Sauce?" he asked with disbelief. A couple of drops of sauce were what had nearly caused him the vampire equivalent of a heart attack? He'd thought--

"Ketchup, actually." Terri gave a laugh as she wiped off the rest. "We were helping Vincent with his lines. I was Lucy, and Chris is Mina." She glanced toward the editor, who sneezed violently three times in a row. She then leaned forward to tell Bastien in hushed tones, "He's allergic to the flowers. I sug¬gested he go to his room until we can get the pictures done and the flowers out, but he says it won't help."

"I did when they first arrived," the editor com¬plained. "But there are so many--achoo!--that the pollen is all through the apartment. Achoo! It wasn't much better than being out here." He removed the sheet from around his head and shoulders, and sank onto the couch with a groan.

Bastien slowly turned, only now noticing the flow¬ers that filled the living room and made it look like a bloody flower shop... or a mortuary. He didn't know how he had missed them on first glance, except that the sight of Terri lying prone on the floor had so overset him, he hadn't noticed anything else.

"I made breakfast," Terri announced, drawing Bastien's attention. "Omelets. I left some of the mix in the fridge for when you got up. Would you like some?"

Bastien took in her bright eyes and hopeful smile, and found a smile of his own claiming his lips. "Lovely."

"Good. It'll just be a minute," she assured him cheerfully, then turned on her heel and left.

Bastien hesitated, then followed. He had meant she was lovely, not that an omelet for breakfast would be lovely. But that was okay. He'd eat the omelet if she'd gone to the trouble of making enough for him. It ac¬tually sounded good anyway. An omelet. Made with Terri's own two hands.

You got it bad. Those words drifted into his mind with a chuckle. Vincent!

Bastien ignored him.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?" Terri asked as he entered the kitchen. She took out of the fridge a bowl filled with a mixture of eggs and various other ingredients.

"I'll get it," Bastien said and moved to the coffee pot. He usually tried to avoid the stuff; caffeine tended to have an exaggerated effect on his kind, but it was morning now, long before he would go back to sleep. There had been a time when he would have just been lying down to sleep after having been up through the night. Some members of his family, and he supposed others of his kind, still kept their night hours, but that wasn't possible for Bastien to do and run Argeneau Enterprises efficiently. Most business was conducted during the day, and Bastien found it easier to simply consume more blood than he other¬wise would need and deal with matters during the day.

"How about toast with your omelet?" Terri asked.

"No. Thank you." Moving to lean against the counter, he watched her set a frying pan on the stove and turn on the burner underneath while she whisked the contents of the bowl. "How long have you been up?"

"About an hour." She dropped a dollop of oil in the frying pan, nodding in satisfaction when it began to spit and roll around on the hot surface. "The flow¬ers arrived just as I was starting to make the omelet. I couldn't believe how many there were when they fi¬nally finished bringing them up. I think the florist has gone nuts."

Bastien smiled and watched her pour the omelet into the pan. "I didn't know there'd be so many, ei-ther. I'll start taking pictures right after this."

Terri gave him a sympathetic smile as she set aside the now empty bowl. "That's a lot of pictures. I can help if you like."

"I'd like."

They were both silent for a moment. Terri was busy moving the omelet around in the pan to keep it from burning. He was busy watching her. The kitchen quickly started to fill with the rich aroma of onions and spice.

"I had a nice time last night," Bastien blurted sud¬denly, and could have kicked himself. But Terri met his gaze, a smile blossoming on her lips.

"So did I," she admitted shyly.

They fell silent again; then Bastien lifted a hand to run the knuckle of one finger down her cheek. Her eyes closed at once, and Terri tilted her face into the caress like a cat being petted. That action made it im¬possible for him to resist: Letting his hand slide around to catch her behind the neck, he pulled her forward and covered her mouth with his, smiling as her lips parted. Bastien immediately deepened the kiss. She tasted of herbs and spices and something sweet. Orange juice, he thought. If breakfast was as good as she tasted, it would be a pleasure to eat.

A small moan reached his ears and fanned the flames inside him. Bastien's kiss became rougher, more demanding, and Terri responded by opening further to him. Her hands crept around his neck.

She gasped, then arched nearer as Bastien let his hands rub down and across her back. She felt right in his arms. She belonged there. He liked having her there. She felt good, smelled good, and tasted good too. And the way Terri moaned, stretched, and pressed against him was irresistible. He could go on kissing her forever.

"Your omelet," she murmured when he broke away to trail kisses down her neck.

Bastien's mouth stilled by her ear, and he almost cursed but caught it back. Heaving a sigh, he placed one last kiss on her nose, then released her.

Terri smiled sympathetically at his less than pleased expression, then turned to the stove. Fortunately, their distracting little interlude had not seen the omelet burn. It was light and fluffy and smelled heavenly when she served it up on a plate and handed it to him several moments later.

Terri sat with him while he ate, and Bastien ended up devouring the entire omelet. As good as it was, he suspected he ate it in an effort to sate another hunger that was plaguing him. The one he had for the woman who sat across from him, drinking coffee and chattering cheerfully away.

Bastien was glad he had eaten the entire omelet when Terri commented happily that this was the first time she'd seen him actually eat anything substantial since her arrival. She looked pleased as punch, and proud too that it was her cooking. Bastien assured her it was absolutely delicious, then kissed her and thanked her for the meal before heading out to the living room. He had to see about the flowers and the photos he was supposed to take.

Terri soon joined him, and she suggested they re¬move the flowers to the penthouse office one at a time to take the photos, then remove them from the apartment entirely to be sure there weren't any missed or double shots. At least, that was her excuse. Bastien suspected that she really hoped to alleviate some of the editor's discomfort by removing the source of his misery. He didn't mind. The office got better light in the morning anyway and the photos would work better in there because of it. After hun¬dreds of years without daylight, he enjoyed seeing the sun and could do so, so long as his windows were treated to keep out the UV rays.

Terri was very fussy with the arrangements. Bastien would have just walked around snapping pic-ture after picture until he was done, but she insisted on the right backdrop and lighting for each shot so that Kate could get a "true picture" of each arrange¬ment. Between that and the process of downloading them every third or fourth photo, it took longer than expected. It was well past noon before they were what Bastien approximated was halfway through the job. He was waiting patiently as Terri fussed over the positioning of yet another arrangement, when he noted the way she absently rubbed the back of her neck as she bent to shift the urn.

"Are you getting a sore neck?" he asked, setting the camera down and approaching her.

Terri straightened and glanced over her shoulder at him. He began to lightly massage the muscles of her upper back and neck.

"A little," she admitted, relaxing under his touch.

She gave a small sigh. "I think I must have slept in an awkward position last night. I've had a bit of a crick all morning, but it's really bothering me now."

"Hmmm." Bastien's gaze moved over the top of her head as he worked, noting that her hair wasn't just brown. There were blond and red highlights in among the chestnut-colored strands. She had lovely hair.

"Thank you," Terri murmured, and Bastien froze as he realized he had made the comment aloud. But he froze only briefly; then he caught her hair in one swathe and moved it over her shoulder so that it was out of the way, revealing her neck as he continued his massage.

"You have a lovely neck," he commented as he let his hands slide down her back, beginning to include her upper shoulders in his massage.

"I..." Terri paused on an indrawn breath as he leaned down to kiss the tender flesh that he'd re-vealed.

"Bastien," she whispered. He ran his tongue in a circle over the spot he'd just kissed, and there was such a wealth of longing in her voice that he closed his eyes to savor it. His hands stopped moving, but he made them slide down her sides and back up, then again, each upward stroke taking him farther around her side and tantalizingly closer to the curves of her breasts.

A low moan slid from her lips when Bastien finally slid his hands around far enough to brush the soft curves. And when he finally gave up trying to resist and cupped the full mounds in each hand, Terri leaned back into his chest with a murmur of pleasure.

"Oh, Bastien." Her voice was dreamy and sweet. He moved his mouth over her throat, then to her ear, and concentrated there as he caressed her soft breasts through her light, pink sweater.

Her hands came up to cover his, and he paused, until Terri's fingers tightened around his, urging him to hold her more firmly, to knead her flesh. Then Bastien slid his hands downward. He heard her moan with what sounded like disappointment. That moan died abruptly, and she seemed to hold her breath as he slid his fingers beneath the hem of her sweater and allowed them to ride up over her naked flesh under the top.

Terri was warm, her skin smooth and soft. There was no impediment to his caress until he reached the bottom of her bra. There Bastien paused with indeci¬sion, then crossed his hands over her chest, allowing his right hand to find the front edge of her bra and slip beneath.

"Oh," She rose up slightly on her toes and pushed back into his chest as his hand cupped her warm, naked flesh.

"Bastien?" Uncertainty and pleading were both in that one word, and Terri said his name with an ex-cited catch that did unbelievable things to him. He was having this effect on her. He was the reason her nipple was pebble hard beneath his fingers. He was why her breathing was suddenly coming in short, fast gasps.

"Terri." Bastien groaned, then withdrew his left hand to catch her under the chin and turn her head so that he could reach her mouth. Her response was gratifying if startling. This time it was she who slid her tongue out to run along his, and she who thrust her tongue into his mouth when his lips parted. She was kissing him with a passion that spoke eloquently of the effect he was having on her. Terri wanted him.

Slipping his other hand out from beneath her shirt, Bastien turned her to face him without breaking the kiss; then he took control, his own tongue lashing hers and thrusting with an answering passion. He had never wanted anyone as much in his life as he did Terri at that moment. He wanted to devour her. In fact, there was nothing else in the world that he thought he would rather do.

Moving her sideways and back, Bastien urged Terri down onto the sofa along the office wall. He lay down half on top of her, his elbow resting on the armrest by her head and one knee settled between her legs, helping to keep the worst of his weight sup¬ported, and the kiss turned frantic. Bastien's body was urging him to touch her everywhere at once, to rip her clothes off and explore her with the greed and want he was feeling, but he forced himself to remain in check, afraid that he would shock and terrify her with such an action.

It was hard to resist. It had been so terribly long since he had lain with a woman. It seemed forever since he had even had the urge to do so; yet now the hunger in him was worse than any he'd ever experi¬enced. Even his need for blood had never surpassed this yearning he was currently feeling.

Terri groaned and shifted against him, arching upward when his hand found her breast again through the soft fabric of her sweater. Bastien was, at first, frustrated that it wasn't a shirt he could unbutton and open, but his brain started working again and he broke their kiss to lean slightly away. Grabbing the hem of the top, he pushed it upward to reveal the pink lace bra she wore beneath.

The words color-coordinated and feminine ran through his mind, and Bastien nearly laughed at the inane thought. Then he noticed the darker cinnamon of her nipples visible through the pink bra, and a shudder of anticipation ran through him. Before he even realized what he intended, Bastien had lowered his mouth to cover that still erect and excited nipple through the lace of the bra.

Terri cried out and trembled. Her hands caught vi¬olently in his hair, clasping him tightly to her, and urging him on. His tongue moved over the textured material of her bra, dampening it and the hard nipple beneath.

"Bastien!" She gasped his name on a cry of pure need, and began to tug at his hair. He gave in to her demand and lifted his head, allowing her to pull him back up to cover her mouth with his.

"Ahhhhhr..."

Terri stiffened beneath him. That shout had come from outside, and reached them in the office. Both of them went still, waiting. When silence followed, Bastien relaxed and began to kiss Terri again, only to pause when a second shout followed.

Heaving a sigh, he lifted his head and met Terri's gaze.

"Maybe if we leave it alone, whatever it is will go away," she murmured hopefully.

"Maybe," he agreed, then glanced worriedly around at the sound of shattering glass. It was fol¬lowed by a warning shout from Vincent, which helped Bastien identify that the first two shouts had been Chris Keyes's. It didn't look as if the situation were going away, whatever it was. Turning, he pressed a kiss to Terri's nose.

"I'm afraid I have to go see what the kids are do¬ing," he said with grimace.

Terri released a sigh, but nodded and even man¬aged a smile. She withdrew her arms from around . him so they could both sit up.

Bastien helped her straighten her clothes, then stood, pulling her up with him, and led the way into the living room. What they found was like a scene from some insane, drug-induced dream. When they walked out, it was to find Chris hopping madly about the coffee table on his good leg, waving one crutch wildly in the air as he alternately sneezed and squawked. His second crutch lay forgotten on the floor between the couch and table.

As for Vincent, Bastien's cousin had removed his cape and was following the editor, snapping it in the air about the man's head in a half-crazed fashion that hit Chris in the head every second or third snap. Bastien couldn't decide if it was some new dance he was witnessing, or his cousin was attacking C.K.

He glanced at Terri uncertainly. "Is this another scene from the play?"

"I don't know," she admitted. Her expression was torn between concern and bewilderment. "It could be, I guess."

"Hmmm." Bastien turned back to the dancing duo, wondering if he should interfere. Or if he even really wanted to. Then he stiffened. Chris had made almost a full circle around the coffee table, and was now hopping toward where his abandoned crutch lay. Unfortunately, he was too busy swinging wildly with the other crutch to notice.

Bastien opened his mouth in warning, but Terri had also seen the trouble too and beat him to it.

"Chris! Look out! Your--" She winced as he stumbled over the crutch, flailed madly for a minute in an effort to regain his balance, then cried out as an equally unobservant Vincent slammed into him from behind. The two went down, crashing to the floor in a tangle of flailing limbs.

"--crutch," Terri finished on a sigh.

"You tried," Bastien said, patting her shoulder comfortingly. Then they both rushed forward as Vin-cent struggled to disentangle himself from a moan¬ing C.K.

"What were you two doing?" Bastien asked. Grasping his cousin's hand, he tugged upward, help¬ing Vinny get to his feet and off the editor, who was definitely suffering the worse of the struggle.

"There was a bee," Vincent explained.

"A bee?" Bastien gaped at him in disbelief. "All this nonsense over a little bee?"

"That bee?" Terri gestured to a small insect now buzzing in circles over the editor's head.

Chris had been lying, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath. Those eyes now popped open, round with terror. "What? Where is it?"

"It's just a bee, man," Bastien said bracingly. He was almost embarrassed for the fellow--hopping around, screaming like a girl, and all over a little in¬sect. The editor would wet his pants at this rate. "You're a thousand times bigger than it. Get a hold of yourself."

"He's allergic to bees," Vincent explained in a hush.

"Oh." Bastien grunted, understanding a little bet¬ter. "Well, hell," he added as the bee decided to settle on the editor's nose. "This can't be good."

"Oh, God," C.K. whimpered.

"How allergic are you?" Terri sounded concerned. Her expression turned to outright panic, however, when rather than answer, Chris stuck his lower lip out to blow upward at his nose in an effort to encourage the bee to leave. "Don't blow at it! I read somewhere that blowing at them annoys them and makes them--"

"Ow!" C.K. cried.

"--sting," Terri finished in horror. Apparently, the bee had decided it had finally had enough, and had done just that. She turned sharply on Vincent. "How allergic is he?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, you knew he was allergic!"

"Well, he said he was, when the bee came flying out of one of the arrangements," the actor explained. "But he was busy hopping around at the time, trying to get away from it. He didn't stop to go into detail."

"Oh, dear."

When Terri turned to him, Bastien raised an eye¬brow.

"I think we'd better call an ambulance," she said.

"Maybe he has one of those shot things," Vincent suggested, drawing Terri's attention back to him. "I worked with a gal once who was allergic to peanuts, and she carried a shot of adrenaline or something."

Bastien ignored the two as they continued to de¬bate what to do. He had been watching the editor for reactions, and was alarmed at the speed with which the man's nose was swelling and his color changing. The man needed care right away, and an ambulance wouldn't do. It wouldn't be quick enough. Unless Chris had one of those shots Vincent mentioned, get¬ting him in the car and to the hospital at once was top priority.

"Do you have a shot?" he asked, kneeling beside the editor. When C.K. shook his head, Bastien nod¬ded and scooped him up in his arms. "Can someone grab my car keys off the coffee table?" he asked as he strode out of the living room.

There was silence for a minute, then a sudden rush of sound and movement behind Bastien. By the time he had pushed the elevator button and the doors slid open, Vincent and a breathless Terri were at his side.

"I got your keys," Vincent assured him. They all crowded onto the elevator, pushing Bastien and his bundle ahead of them.

"And I grabbed a pen," Terri added.

"A pen?" Vincent turned from pushing the button for the parking garage to peer at her.

"Yes. You know. In case we have to do one of those throat thingies," she explained.

"Throat thingies?" When Vincent glanced to Bastien in bewilderment, Bastien merely shook his head. He hadn't a clue what she was talking about.

"You know. If his throat closes up and he can't breathe, you have to slice a hole in his windpipe and stick the tube of the pen in for him to breathe through."

A stifled moan drew Bastien's gaze to the editor's now gray face. The man was looking pretty ghastly. He was almost a green color. Bastien couldn't decide if that was because he was having trouble breathing, or because Terri had just unintentionally scared the spit right out of him.

"Oh. A tracheotomy." Vincent nodded. "That could be necessary."

"Don't worry, Chris." Terri patted the editor's arm in an effort to soothe him. "We won't let you die. We'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive."

Though the man didn't say anything, Bastien got the impression that Terri's reassurance was more ter¬rifying to Chris than the fact that he was starting to have definite difficulty breathing.

As the elevator doors opened onto the parking garage, Bastien raced to his Mercedes.

"How are you feeling?" Terri asked as Bastien set Chris back on the couch several hours later.

"Let me die in peace," he said. At least that's what Terri thought he said. It was difficult to tell with his voice as garbled as it was. The editor's face was swollen and an angry red. It looked as if he'd been in a bad fight--and lost. She simply could not believe that the hospital had released him. He looked like they should have kept him at least a week. And his la¬bored efforts at breathing were not reassuring. Yet the doctor had pumped him full of something, made them all sit about for hours so they could "observe" C.K., then assured them he would be fine; he'd got to the hospital in time to save his life.

Well, if C.K. died, his family should sue and Terri would be willing to testify for them. She was positive the place really should have kept him at least overnight for observation. Since they hadn't, she'd keep a close eye on him herself.

"Terri?"

"Hmmm?" She straightened away from Chris to glance at Vincent, who dropped wearily into a chair.

"The next time we have an emergency and you want to drive, remind me to say no."

Terri grimaced. She had insisted on driving when they'd got down to the parking garage. Bastien had set Chris in the backseat of his car and climbed in, saying, "One of you get in on his other side in case I need help."

That had been all she'd had to hear; Terri had snatched the keys from a startled Vincent, handed him the pen, and jumped in the driver seat. Then she'd had to slide across to the other side, because she'd forgotten that the driver side was on the left in America, while it was on the right in England.

"Speaking of which," Bastien said idly, moving to the bar to fix a drink. "Do you have an international driver's license, Terri?"

"Er... no." She shifted uncomfortably, knowing that she really shouldn't have driven. But when faced with the choice of driving, or possibly having to help Bastien cut open the editor's throat, driving had been her choice. Terri wasn't very good with blood and stuff. That was why she'd grabbed the keys and hopped in the car, leaving Vincent no option but to climb in the back with Bastien.

Noting the exchange of glances between the two cousins, Terri felt it behooved her to point out, "But I got us there pretty fast."

"And even in one piece," Vincent added dryly. "I feel I should point out to you that the speed limits in England are higher than here."

Terri bit her lip to keep from smiling. She would never forget glancing into the rearview mirror to see Vincent's blanching face, and the way he clutched the backseat in horror as she swerved in and out of traffic at breakneck speeds, trying to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. All while Bastien had shouted di¬rections to her from the back seat. "Right at the next corner! Left here!" She'd been going so fast, she would swear she had taken a couple corners on two wheels.

"You did a fine job," Bastien said reassuringly, pouring whiskey into a glass. Then he ruined the ef-fect by downing the glass in one toss.

"I could use one of those, too," Vincent decided as Bastien poured another.

"Well..." Terri glanced at Chris. The poor man was sound asleep, which made her hesitate. She'd been about to ask him if he needed anything to make him more comfortable. That wasn't necessary.

"I suppose I should call the publisher he and Kate work for," Bastien said, walking back from around the bar with two glasses. "I'll have to call and leave a message on the answering machine, informing them that Chris won't be in any shape to go into the office tomorrow as he'd planned."

The editor had decided yesterday that he could work just as comfortably in the office as in the pent-house, now that his leg wasn't paining him as much. He had said it would probably be better for him any¬way, less distraction. Terri supposed it was out of the question for a while now.

Bastien handed Vincent the second drink he'd made, then turned slowly to contemplate the flowers on nearly every surface in the living room.

Terri glanced around, too. Miraculously, none of the remaining arrangements had been disturbed by the fracas. The breaking glass they had heard had ap¬parently been Chris's cup of coffee smashing to the floor.

"I guess I should make that call, then get back to taking those pictures," he decided.

"And I'll clean up the broken cup while you make the phone call, then I'll help you," Terri announced.

"And I..." Vincent paused to down his whiskey. Setting the empty glass down, he said, "Have to go feed. I mean, find something to eat. I'm starved."

Terri glanced at her watch at the announcement.

They had wasted the better part of the afternoon and early evening at the hospital. It was now past seven. They hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"Why don't you make yourself something to eat, Terri?" Bastien suggested. "I can handle the rest of the photos on my own while you cook."

"Okay," she agreed slowly. "Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

"I'm not hungry," he said. "Just fix yourself what you want. I'll grab a... er... sandwich... later if I get hungry."

Terri hesitated, then said, "I'll make a couple of sandwiches, and bring them into the office. We can eat while we work."

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