Kiss of Pride by Sandra Hill Page A

rock, if there’s enough time.”
    “There’s no way that—”
    “I will pay three times the going rate. Cash.”
    There was a long sigh. Vikar could tell he’d caught the contractor’s interest. “Buddy, you could be talking a half mil or more.”
    “That I am.” Vikar took his black American Express card out of his pocket and read the numbers over the phone.
    While he was waiting for a response, the contractor no doubt checking out his credit rating, Alex walked into the kitchen. Her hair was still wet and combed off her face and down her back. She wore tight, calf-length white pants and a lime-green T-shirt that proclaimed, “D.C. Marathon.” On her bare feet, he noticed pale peach enameled toenails.
    Immediately his cock did a happy dance. Aroused by toes? What next?
    “You have an American Express Centurion card?” he heard in the phone still pressed to his ear.
    “Yes, I do.”
    “How ’bout I come up there in say, two hours, no later than noon, and we can talk?”
    “I will be here.” Vikar gave the man the address and directions.
    Before the contractor hung up, he added, “Do me a favor, pal? Don’t call anyone else. I might be able to handle it all with subcontracting. Unemployment is high in Pennsylvania at the moment.”
    “Agreed! But a seven-day completion schedule is a deal breaker for me. Ten days in a crunch, but that’s it.”
    After he ended the call, he turned and saw Alex standing in front of the open cooling box . . . refrigerator. She’d already turned on the coffeemaker and it was bubbling away. He would have done it himself but last time he’d tried, he’d ended up with hot water and nothing else.
    “I’m starved,” she said.
    “Me too.”
    She arched her brows at him. “Where’s Lizzie?” She cocked her head to the side, listening. “And everyone else?”
    “They’re all gone, except for you, me, Armod, two warrior karls, and one blood ceorl.”
    She opened her mouth to ask more questions about where everyone had gone, why they’d gone, and what were a warrior karl and a blood ceorl, no doubt, but instead asked, “Has anyone eaten yet?”
    He shook his head slowly.
    “How does a mushroom and cheese omelet sound?”
    “Wonderful,” he started to say, but his stomach growled first, giving her a better answer. They both laughed.
    “Go see if anyone else wants to share breakfast with us,” she ordered.
    He did, and soon he, Alex, Armod, Svein, Jogeir, and Dagmar were seated on stools along the counter, devouring cheese-oozing omelets, toasted and buttered French bread— turned out Armod knew how to work a toaster oven —along with cold orange juice, warm Fake-O, and hot coffee. Everyone talked amiably, except for Alex, who was soaking up all the information she could from their conversation, and Dagmar. Blood ceorls were unable to talk.
    While Svein and Jogeir went off to their guard stations, and Armod and Dagmar were cleaning up the dishes and countertops, Vikar booted up his laptop and pulled out a legal pad and pen from a box of supplies he’d brought from the office.
    “What are you doing?” Alex asked, sipping at her second cup of coffee. He could only handle one. Caffeine affected vampires like a sugar high for kids. His nerves were already jangling.
    “I’ve sent everyone . . . almost everyone . . . away for one week. Maybe ten days. I need to have this heap of rocks renovated by then, or at least habitable.”
    “You’re joking.”
    “That’s what the contractor said on the phone a little while ago. He’ll be here soon to assess the situation.”
    “It would take a miracle.”
    “Money creates miracles betimes. If you throw enough cash at the right person, it might be doable.”
    “So, what’s on your list?” she asked, pulling her stool closer so that she could see his computer screen.
    For a moment, he was disconcerted by the scent of her apple-scented shampoo. First peaches, now apples. He was becoming a fruit connoisseur. He