“Nate, look—”

Two thoughts went through my mind when I saw the man who’d stepped through the door. The first was holy crap. He’d stopped the axe that was just centimeters from striking his very broad chest, catching the blade between his palms before the juvenile delinquent who’d thrown it could finish his shouted warning. My second thought was also holy crap.

The man was sex walking. Wide shoulders, flat stomach, wavy, dark hair… I suddenly realized the appeal of those firefighter calendars that the nurses ogled in the coffee room.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he said to me.

I took the hand he offered, nervous electricity zinging up my arm at his touch, and got to my feet. I almost said “It’s all right,” before I realized it definitely was not. My hands shook as I reached for the door.

“What the hell were you thinking, Ziggy?” he raged at the younger man before turning back to me. “Are you hurt, do you need anything? An ambulance?”

He put his hand on my shoulder, and I shrugged it off angrily. “Do most customers leave in an ambulance?”

Ziggy pointed his finger accusingly at me. “She’s a fucking vampire, man! Don’t let her out of here!”

With a ferocity that startled me, the man yelled at the boy. “Get her a compress for her head!”

Ziggy sputtered in disbelief. “Maybe I should get her a cup of my nice warm blood, too? Sprinkle some marshmallows in it?”

“Upstairs, now!”

The kid pushed past us as he mumbled furiously under his breath, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass in the window rattled.

“I don’t think he’s coming back with the compress,” I observed dryly.

“No, I don’t, either.” The man laughed quietly, holding out his hand. “I’m Nathan Grant.”

“Carrie Ames.”

Get out of here, you moron, my brain screamed. He’s still got the damn axe! Yet my feet stayed rooted to the spot, completely under the control of the morbid curiosity that had brought me this far and the ruthless attraction that urged me to stay as close to this man as possible.

Nathan cocked his head and regarded me with sparkling gray eyes. Clearing his throat, he leaned the axe against the doorpost and crossed his arms over his chest. “Ames. You’re the doctor from the newspaper?”

His voice was deep and seductively masculine, his words pronounced with a distinctly Scottish accent. I had a hard time concentrating on his question, distracted as I was by his perfect mouth. “Uh…yeah. That would be me.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t the friendliest expression I’d ever seen. It reminded me of the way the dentist looks right before he says you have to come back for a root canal. “Then we’ve got a lot to talk about, Doctor. I apologize for Ziggy. He’s got it in his head that he’s a vampire hunter. How’d he find you?”

“Find me?” Zigmeister69. I’d been set up. “E-mail.”

Nathan chuckled. “Figures. Nightblood.com?”