What's a good old country boy vampire supposed to do when a smartass city-slicker female barrels into his life and totally disrupts it? What's wrong with hunting deer-with a rifle-for their blood, having a bushy beard, drinking beer out of Mason jars and sleeping in the bathtub? And what's wrong with his name? He was named after his grandfather. Rusty Nipple is a fine name.
Amber arrives at her late aunt's quiet farm planning to write her vampire romance, only to find a man in her bathtub-a dead man. Only he's not dead. Well, sort of not dead. What more could a romance writer ask for but her very own vampire hero? He'll be able to tell Amber things about vampires no other author could ever find out. Her book will skyrocket to the top of the bestseller lists!
But how is she supposed to write about a suave, sexy, debonair vampire if Rusty won't cooperate?