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heartbreaking—perhaps more for her than him.
    Deanna put on her lightweight jacket and with chin high, walked out the front door toward his car.
     
     
    Burney should’ve been deep in his vamp nap instead of watching the store like he was on a stakeout. Memories flooded his mind of his days as a Bow Street Runner in London in 1836 and his stint as a detective in 1956 Portland, Maine. He smiled at the reminiscences; he always worked the night shift. Police work agreed with his temperament and sense of justice. Perhaps it was time for another go at a crime occupation. Going into business as a gun for hire could be an option. The modeling gig was growing tedious.
    He’d had to procure extra blood to make up for his lack of sleep and strength. Sitting here in the car for the last hour and a half had him thinking thoughts he believed buried long ago. Something compelled him to seek out Dean Brooks. He had to be near her, touch her, and hold her. These feelings were against everything he had put in place to protect his heart. He shouldn’t have written the letter. It revealed more emotion than he had shown since he was turned.
    Dean’s scent wafted in through the vents. He unlocked the door for her. The sun was too bright for him to get out of the car.
    She climbed in and closed the door. His breath hitched in his chest. God, she affects me . Dean leaned toward him and laid a soft, tender kiss on his lips. He was shocked and had to control himself to keep from reciprocating.
    “Your letter was wonderful. Emotional, heartfelt, and I will treasure it.”
    “I’m glad, love. I thought we might head into Newburgh. Get a bite to eat for you then go see a movie.”
    She nodded and fastened her safety belt. Burney put the transmission in gear and the Town Car’s powerful engine rumbled to life. He pulled out of the parking place and took his time heading for the exit to the interstate.
    “Did you have a good day at work?”
    Dean shrugged. “My job is boring.”
    “Nothing you do or talk about is boring to me.”
    “God, you say the most wonderful things. Why do you have to be a vampire?” she asked.
    “So you believe me, then?”
    “I do. I don’t know why. Are the movies and books right? Can you turn into a bat or some other creature? Control the weather, or teleport?”
    “No, the movies are not right about everything. And no, I can’t do anything you mentioned. I don’t have superpowers. My senses are enhanced, and I can move quickly and stealthily. I’m stronger than a human. In all other ways, I am a man.”
    “You’re not taking me to a vampire movie, are you?”
    Burney cast a quick glance her way. Her luscious, full lips quirked in jest. The smile shot jets of blissful desire through his entire body.
    “No, love. I am taking you to see Casablanca . It’s the seventieth anniversary of the release and select theaters are showing the movie on the big screen. I remember the first time I saw it. I was in London at the time, early spring of 1943.”
    He glanced at Dean. The glorious smile that warmed his heart had disappeared.
    “That’s an old movie, right? I don’t like black-and-white creakers.”
    Disappointment rolled through him as the difference in their ages came to the surface. “Have you ever watched an old movie?”
    “Not really. I watched Ben-Hur one Easter. I liked it. But it was in color.”
    Jaysus, spare me from the younger generation .
    “Well, do this for me. Give it a chance. You should try something different at least once.”
    Dean shrugged. “You mean like date a vampire? If it will make you happy, okay. I’ll go to the movie with you.”
    Dean turned and gazed out the passenger window, lost in thought. They did not speak for several minutes. Finally, she turned to look at him.
    “I’m wondering why I’m not more—scared or frightened of this situation. Is this mate-of-the-soul thing putting a spell on me?”
    An interesting question and one he really had no answer for.
    “I