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hair.”
    “The big Scot?” Avery smirked and rolled her eyes. “It figures.”
    “Did you happen to catch his name?”
    The space between Avery’s perfect eyebrows dented. “Oh, hell. I did, but now I can’t for the life of me recall what it was.”
    “Try,” Cat urged through clenched teeth. “Please. It’s important.”
    Avery got a faraway look. “I remember thinking of crackers, oddly enough.”
    “Crackers? You mean the Christmas kind?”
    “No, the other kind. Like biscuits.”
    Cat searched her mind for any brand of crackers with a man’s name. She could think of only one. “Was it Jacob, as in Jacob’s Cream Crackers?”
    Avery, scowling in concentration, shook her head. “Damn, why can’t I bloody remember? It was dead common too.”
    As Cat racked her brain, trying to come up with something else, Avery said, “Graham. That was it. Graham Lonigan. No, hang on. Logan. Graham Logan. Yes, I’m almost sure that’s it.”
    Graham Logan.
    The name seemed to fit the hole in her heart like a long-lost key.
    Avery gave her a probing look. “Once again, why ?”
    Even as a blush burned her cheeks, s he shrugged as if it was no big deal.
    “Right .” Avery sounded unconvinced. “Now come back inside and m-meet the O’Lyrs before we f-freeze our nipples off.”
    Cat followed her friend back inside the noisy pub and through the crowd to the fireplace. The heat felt good on her chilled skin, but did nothing to ease her mind. At least she knew his name now, which was better than nothing, though not by much.
    Branwen O’Lyr was even better looking up close. She was so beautiful, in fact, Cat had a hard time looking at her. Avery made the introductions. Benedict seemed amiable enough, but she got a bad vibe from his sister.
    When Avery and Branwen started talking about shoe shopping, she turned to Benedict and asked how he knew Graham.
    He seemed surprised by her question. “How do you?”
    “I met him earlier today at the university.”
    “The university? What was he doing there?”
    “I don’t know ,” she said. “Does he have any interest in the occult?”
    “He collects books about vampires and reads tarot cards. Do those things qualify?”
    She nodded. “Does he practice magic?”
    “Not that I know of.”
    Not a witch then. But he read tarot cards and collected vampire books, meaning they had loads in common, not the least of which was a strong mutual attraction. And it was mutual, wasn’t it? Why else had he approached her in the library, stared at her across the pub, and come to her rescue outside just now? So, why did he keep disappearing on her? And why had he warned her to stay away from him? His hot-and-cold behavior made no sense.
    Branwen turned from her conversation with Avery and, with cool eyes and a condescending smile, inserted, “Sounds to me like someone’s crushing on our Graham.”
    Taken aback, Cat stammered, “C-crushing? N-not at all. I’m just curious.”
    The other woman’s eyes turned from frosty to glacial, chilling her to the marrow. “Haven’t you heard, Cat? Curiosity kills.”
    At that, she turned on her heel and walked away. Cat watched her go, hurling visual daggers at her slinky back. It was obvious Miss O’Lyr wanted the hot Scot for herself. But did he want her?
    Which of the O’Lyrs do you live with, him or her?
    Both.
    The knife of jealousy pierced her heart. Was that why he’d warned her to stay away? Because Branwen was insanely possessive? She could believe it, but was she also homicidal? And, if so, why did he put up with it? Beauty, after all, was only skin-deep. Admittedly, she didn’t know Graham Logan very well. But what little she did know of him didn’t strike her as the least bit shallow.

Chapter 4: Romancing the Vampire
     
    She watched the High Street shops whiz past through the passenger window of Avery’s Cooper Mini. The Tea Cozy; the newsstand; the drug store and fish-and-chips shop; Leaf & Brew, the esoteric bookseller