Hot Blooded

was never as good as the chance to tease.
    "You know," he said, a smile in his voice, "Mariann won't bite you if we go
in—unless that is what you are hoping for."
    Bastien blushed, no easy feat for his kind. He was glad Emile had not
witnessed his ridiculous morning tryst.
    "Eff you," he said and, as he'd intended, Emile laughed.
    "Very good,
mon ami
. Keep that up and soon no one will guess you
were bom anywhere but here."
    With Emile there watching, it was impossible to hang back. Emile might have
been Bastien's best friend for hundreds of years, might have seen him at his
very worst, but that didn't mean Bastien wanted to be thought a coward.
    He had taken a single step when Emile gave the back of Bastien's suit a
shake.
    "Hold it," he said. "Leave this off, old friend, and loosen that starchy
collar. For once you need to quit pretending you are here on business. No woman
wants to be wooed by a suck."
    "Fine." Bastien removed his jacket, tossed it into the bushes and attacked
the small white button that trapped his neck. Then, to prove he would not do
this halfway, he rolled up his sleeves as well.
    "
C'est bien
," said Emile. "Now you are casual."
    Gritting his teeth to hide his agitation, Bastien pushed through the bakery
door. From previous visits, he knew the closed sign did not mean locked. The
people of this town were alarmingly unparanoid. Inside, the decor was that of a
fifties diner—not re-created but preserved, with all the cracks and worn spots
left intact. Bastien had enjoyed the decade as he recalled: the films of Gary
Cooper, rock and roll, the smell of cheeseburgers on a grill.
    It was odd to think Mariann hadn't been born yet.
    He'd been more alone than he knew.
    Shivering, he trailed his hand along the counter's silvery trim, his heart
thumping faster at the prospect of seeing the object of his dreams. The things
he longed to do to her would have made her hair curl even more; his need to
possess her was quite savage. Awkward or not, her company had become as
necessary to him as food.
    "
Bon soir
," Emile called toward the kitchen door. "We have come to
keep you lovely ladies company."
    "Emile!" Heather exclaimed as she bounded out, her floppy chef's hat nearly
falling off. "You're just in time to get me out of the doghouse."
    Unlike himself and Mariann, Heather and Emile had become fast friends within
instants of their meeting, as evidenced by the laughing kisses they gave each
other's cheeks. As far as Bastien could tell, the girl didn't have a suspicious
bone in her body. Emile barely had to use his glamour to trick her into thinking
he looked human. Perhaps, young and pretty as she was, she was blase about
handsome men. At the least, Bastien knew she was not cowed by him.
    "Late night?" she joked, cocking one brow at him.
    "Planning," he said as he tried not to peer too obviously behind her
shoulder. "For the leaf peepers in the fall. We're thinking of having a grand
opening in time to take advantage of the tourists who come to see the colors
change. When we finished brainstorming, we decided to stop by for a cup of joe."
    "Sur-re," Heather said in her teenage drawl. "Cuz coffee is what everyone
wants before they toddle off to bed."
    Bastien wasn't certain, but he thought he saw her exchanging winks with
Emile.
    "Relax," she said at his frown. "Cinderella has pots to scrub, but I'll get
the boss to set you up."
    His palms immediately went damp. "Only if she's not too busy."
    "We're always busy," Heather teased, "but never too busy to make time for
you."
    With his keen
upyr
hearing, Bastien couldn't miss the whispered
argument that ensued behind the kitchen wall. The words "pretty boy" and
"weirdo" were particularly clear. Apparently, Mariann didn't want to see him.
His ears grew hot with a shame he hadn't felt since he was human.
    "Get out there," the teenager hissed at the last, "and for God's sake get a
life!"
    When Mariann emerged, Bastien prayed his face was not as pink as hers. He
didn't know why, but he found her completely adorable in her buttoned-up baking
jacket—not the most opportune reaction, considering her response to him.
    "The usual?" she asked, immediately busying herself at the elaborate
coffee-making machine.
    "Please," he said, then cleared his throat. "With a cup of water."
    Emile's interjection was too soft for anyone but him to hear. "Very smooth,"
he said. "I'm sure you've almost got her now."
    Bastien had to