Their Dark Reflections
By Amanda Meuwissen
Personal assistant Sam Coleman can do it all: housekeeping, groundskeeping, bookkeeping. The catch? It’s a con.
Ed Simon, his newest millionaire boss, doesn’t know Sam Goldman is a Robin Hood for hire who targets rich jerks. Sure, Sam keeps the money for himself, his crew, and his real employers, but at least they only steal from bad people.
Until sweet, fumbling Ed, who doesn’t seem to have a single vice. Too bad the people who hired Sam won’t let him back out. They want Ed’s money, and they’ll hurt Sam and his friends to get it.
For years Ed has kept people at arm’s length, but Sam’s charms wear down his defenses—just as he learns their budding relationship was an act. Sam isn’t who Ed thought he was, but Ed has a dark secret too: he’s a vampire. And someone is framing him for a series of bloody murders.
When the real villains force their hand, Sam and Ed must choose: work together, trust each other, and give in to the feelings growing between them… or let what might have been bleed out like the victims piling at their feet.
To Meagan Hedin, who I will always share my deepest hopes and dreams with, and who understands how well a good horror story can still work in a romance.
Sam knocked on the paneling of the wrought-iron doors, trying to peer through the glass. It was frosted, offering no insight into what lay inside. Mr. Simons’s instructions were for him to
let himself in, but he still wanted to announce himself.
Hearing no response, Sam tried one of the handles, and it gave way with ease.
“Mr. Si—” He cut off with a gape as he entered. He’d known the house would be impressive from the outside, but this was Real Housewives kind of ostentatious, opening into a huge two-story entryway with a grand staircase leading to the second floor.
The décor was antique and modern mixed, with standing radios from the ’20s or ’30s on either side of the doors, resting atop trendy black-and-white tiles. Two matching art deco tables bookended the staircase in similar fashion, sporting their own vintage radios. This guy must be a collector.
Good. That meant there would be even more worthwhile prizes than what Sam planned to steal.
“Please close the doors behind you, Mr. Coleman,” a voice called from the second floor.
Sam obeyed, noticing how the opaqueness of the glass kept out any natural light. The nearby curtains were closed as well, making it harder to blink upward through the dimness and see his host.
Sam had ridden there on his motorcycle to throw off his new “client.” Any other professional with his resume would drive something more practical. The bike added a distinctive edge, so that when his skills proved worthy, Mr. Simons would be that much more intrigued by him—and easier to con.
Little good that did when the man couldn’t see outside. Sam openly gawking around the foyer like an amateur didn’t help either. He was twenty-three, not a child. He needed to act like it.
“Mr. Simons,” he said, clearing his throat to start over, “a pleasure to finally meet you in person. I hope you don’t mind me parking my motorcycle in the driveway.”
“Not at all.” He must have seen the bike after all or wasn’t that easily surprised. At first, he made a somewhat hazy figure descending the stairs until he was close enough for Sam to see him clearly. “And call me Ed.”
Sam nearly gaped again, because Ed was not the old rich guy he’d expected.
First, he couldn’t have been older than thirty, with well-coifed strawberry-blond hair, green eyes, and a tall, slender frame dressed primly—and maybe a little ridiculously with a sweater vest and bow tie—which all amounted to a nerdy boy-next-door who didn’t seem to realize he’d grown up hotter than his wardrobe.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too.” Ed smiled warmly and extended his hand.
Hot and nice. This wasn’t turning out like Sam had planned at all.
“If I can call you Ed, then please, call me Sam.”
Attractive and well-mannered. This wasn’t turning out like Ed had planned at all.
Sam’s skills and experience had been listed as housework, groundskeeping, scheduling, even personal finance—everything Ed needed in a temporary assistant. He hadn’t expected someone so young, though, or with such a roguish smile.
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