Vote Then Read: Volume I

by Carly Phillips

  “Okay.” Annoyance flashed in her green eyes, making him want to kiss her. “So are there more types I should know about?”

  “It depends on who you ask. Ichorians and Hydraians are the most prominent, but there are those who believe Seraphim still walk the earth. They’re rare and supposedly the creators of my race, but I’ve never met one.”

  “Seraphim.” Her lips twisted. “Like angels?”

  “Why are you giving me that look?” It held traces of laughter and surprise, offending him slightly. “Are you surprised I may be a descendant of the divinity?”

  “It…well…” She bit her lip, her eyes crinkling with mirth. “I sort of nicknamed you demon when you wouldn’t give me your name.”

  Oh. He grinned. “You gave me a pet name.”

  “No, I gave you a name when I didn’t have anything else to call you.”

  “It’s cute.” The indignant look she gave him was adorable as well. So feisty. “Ichorians are descended from a fallen Seraphim, or so the rumor says, so it’s still appropriate.” He brushed his knuckles down the curve of her neck. Her soft skin blushed a pretty shade of pink in response. “Mmm, I like my pet name.”

  “It’s not a pet name.” She flipped to the next photo and his smile died.

  He didn’t know Owen well, but Amelia did. She knew all the Hydraians.

  “He looks so happy here,” his blonde murmured, not realizing the turmoil building in his chest.

  Issac would be sending this particular reminder back to Jacque.

  “Do you know why he was killed?” Astasiya asked while turning the page to display another memory. The blue eyes staring up from the page haunted Issac’s soul. He didn’t need the fresh reminder. Not today. He took the album from her and closed it.

  “I have my suspicions, but nothing concrete.” He stood and returned the album to the shelf, his touch lingering on the familiar binding. Amelia’s creativity was etched into every groove. There were hundreds of these books in Hydria. Jacque knew what he was doing when he dropped this particular one off. It seemed a call to the young teleporter would be required this afternoon.

  “Who is she?” Astasiya asked, her arms folded tightly around her stomach from her position on the couch. “The woman in all those pictures, I mean.”

  Issac longed to change the subject, but the memories troubling her gaze reminded him too much of his own. This woman understood loss. Not just Owen, but her birth parents as well. The information Mateo provided said they died in a house fire. Clear human fabrication. Whatever happened to her parents weighed heavily upon her. It was evident in the way she studied him now.

  “My sister, Amelia.” He held out a hand to help Astasiya stand. It served as an excuse to touch her, one she accepted with minimal hesitation despite the shocked expression on her face. Questions brewed in her eyes, ones he had no interest in addressing. Ever.

  Besides, they had business to discuss.

  “I have to attend a gala tonight, and I would like to take you with me,” he told her. “As my date.” He dropped her hand and feigned fixing his already immaculate tie. The blood-red color suited his current mood. Having a delectable yet unavailable woman in his bed for three nights was enough to drive a sane man mad. He would definitely need to feed soon. Too bad what he wanted wasn’t on the menu.

  Issac retrieved his jacket from the back of the couch and put it on while she considered his request.

  “Okay,” she said slowly. “But only if you give me five more answers to whatever I ask and tell me what an Ichorian is.”

  His lips curled, intrigued. Playing with fire, are we, darling? He welcomed the challenge, especially after that unfortunate walk down memory lane. This—negotiating—he could do. “Are you trying to make a deal with me, Miss Davenport?”

  Fierce green eyes met his, provoking all manner of inappropriate thoughts. Like what they would look like in the throes of passion. “No, I’m giving you my terms.”

  He nearly laughed. No woman ever gave him terms for a date. Not that this necessarily qualified since he considered it more of a business arrangement. They needed to be seen in public together for his plan to work, and to put to rest any suspicions the CRF had about her reacting to the Nizari poison. Winning her over in the process would be an added bonus, one that would make her more helpful.

  “I will give you two answers.” He tucked a soft strand of her hair behind her ear and let his fingers drift down her neck. “And I will consider defining Ichorian more clearly for you.” By showing, not telling.

  She licked her lips and shook her head. “Three answers and you define Ichorian now.”

  He moved into her personal space, gripping her hip with one hand to hold her in place when she tried to move away. Their foolish conversation had already gone on longer than he intended. “We leave at seven.” He bent so their mouths were a hairsbreadth apart. “And I will only answer your three questions after the gala, not before or during.”

  Her breath fanned his lips, encouraging him to close the gap between them. But he waited, wanting her consent first.

  She gave a tiny nod, her lips grazing his. “Okay.” A single word that he took to mean so much more than it really did.

  His free hand tangled in her hair as he took her mouth with his. There was nothing tentative about his movements, all power and demand, and she melted into him the way she had the other night at the restaurant. Only this time he didn’t hold back. Wrapping his arm around her waist, he pulled her closer and devoured her.

  Three days of having her near, but so far away, fucked with his senses. He wanted this woman on a near-lethal level despite hardly knowing her. But when did he ever truly know his conquests?

  I want to know her, he thought, deepening their kiss. Very, very badly.

  She moaned, her tongue engaging his in a sensuous dance that fueled the need growing inside him. Every touch, every stroke, every nip made his intentions clear.

  I want you.

  And I will have you.

  Her body responded in kind, already yielding to his experience and desire.

  His hand tightened in her hair, holding her closer. He left nothing to the imagination, showing her exactly who he was and what he would demand, and she didn’t back down, meeting him move for move, showing him exactly what kind of lover she would be.

  An equal.

  Fierce.

  Confident.

  Her sweet arousal teased his senses, demanding more. Mmm, he longed to take her up on that unspoken offer. Alas, this was only meant as a proper introduction to his needs and intentions. He hardened the kiss, proving his dominance in a single swipe of his tongue against hers. She groaned in response, succumbing to his touch and command.

  Oh, yes, they would pair well in the bedroom.

  He eased back slowly, showing her with his eyes how she affected him. Promising her more. Vowing to finish this. Soon.

  “Hmm, I would continue this discussion, but you need to be seen in public.” He nipped her lower lip, not hard, just a soft tease for them both.

  “Public?” she repeated, her expression dazed.

  “Yes.” He nuzzled her nose, his palm sliding to the back of her neck. “It will help dispel any uncertainties surrounding your reaction to the Nizari poison.”

  She blinked, some of the fog lifting from her heated gaze. “You think someone noticed my reaction?”

  “It’s possible, but seeing you alive and healthy will negate any suspicions. Which is why my driver is waiting downstairs to take you out for an afternoon of pampering.” He brushed his lips against hers, enjoying the shiver it evoked from her. “Try to be ready by seven.”

  “I’ll just take the subway home. I have a few cocktail dresses in my closet. I don’t need any pampering.” She made little air quotes with her fingers before gripping the lapels of his jacket. The possessive action warmed him inside, as did her words. A woman denying his gifts provided such a rare experience. He rather liked it, not that he planned to allow it. />
  “It’s nonnegotiable, darling. I’ve already arranged everything and requested a friend to pull a few dresses for you to choose from.”

  “Should my closet be insulted?”

  He grinned. “No, I rather enjoyed going through your clothes, especially your lingerie. Someone has a lace fetish.” He nipped her bottom lip again as she struggled for a response. She’d failed to ask about her suitcase, something he attributed to her general alarm and confusion over the week’s events.

  “You were in my room?” she finally asked, her voice breathy.

  “It was that or dress you in my clothes.” An appealing thought, actually. The woman would look fantastic in a pair of boxer briefs and a white T-shirt. No bra or panties, just his clothes against her flesh. Mmm, he would tease her nipples through the thin fabric with his mouth until her taut peaks were visible beneath the shirt.

  A beautiful image, one that left his pants a little tight.

  He stepped away before he made the image a reality. Astasiya needed time to recover. He also didn’t have enough time to indulge in her the way he desired. Perhaps later, after the gala. Something to anticipate.

  “Do I want to know how you got into the condo?” she wondered.

  “Probably, but I’ll have to count it as a question and you owe me a date first.” He patted her on the ass because he could, and started toward the foyer. “Enjoy your spa day, darling.”

  “I don’t remember agreeing.”

  “I don’t remember offering a choice.” He called over his shoulder. “See you at seven.”

  9

  Smile for the Cameras

  She’s in the condo. Issac read the text message from his driver, Benjamin, as he exited Wakefield Pharmaceuticals’ headquarters.

  He typed a reply saying they would be ready for pickup in twenty minutes. It was only a five-minute walk to his condo building, and he’d changed into his tuxedo at the office. One of the perks of owning the company and the Wakefield Pharmaceuticals’ building meant he had another penthouse with a full bedroom and en suite bathroom. Not that he used it often. He much preferred his place off Chambers Street.

  He ran a hand over the silk lapel of his buttonless jacket, approving of his Italian designer’s creation. The wool kept him a bit warm for this June evening, but the overall fit worked. He’d paired it with a black vest, silk button-down, and trousers. Black on black—his trademark gala attire.

  “Evening, sir,” Paul greeted as he opened the door to the condo building. It was always “sir” or “Mister Wakefield” no matter how many times Issac suggested otherwise.

  “Hello, Paul.” He gave the man a nod as he headed toward the elevators.

  There were only two condos on his floor, both of which he owned. The larger one he used for himself, while his guests stayed in the smaller residence.

  Astasiya, however, waited inside his suite, an intimacy he reserved for only his closest friends and family. She’d stayed in his condo for several days already, nearly died there, so why not give her full rein? It would make her more comfortable.

  And yes, perhaps a small part of him enjoyed having her in his space.

  Not that he cared to investigate that feeling. There was no future for them. She didn’t know that, but he did.

  He entered the condo and followed the sweet aroma of lavender and soap to the great room. Astasiya stood by the windows, admiring the view. The evening hours always provided a glorious sight, but he couldn’t be bothered to appreciate it now. Not with the gorgeous blonde standing before him.

  Sapphire silk hugged her curves, flowing over her long legs to the floor. Two thin straps were all that kept the fabric from falling, leaving her entire back exposed to his touch. The hairstylist had piled Astasiya’s blonde hair up high on her head, exposing her neck and making him regret that he’d not had time to feed today.

  She’d be taunting him all night.

  Perhaps he would return the favor in a slightly different way.

  “Hello, darling,” he murmured, trailing his fingers down her spine. Her resulting shiver caused his lips to curl. “You’re stunning.”

  “And you look more expensive than you usually do” was her greeting.

  Cheeky minx.

  His hand fell to her hip as she turned. The slit up her left leg exposed her upper thigh and provided a glimpse at the silver heels she wore. They added several inches to her height and lengthened her already long legs. Glorious.

  “How was your afternoon?” he wondered, caressing her hip with his thumb. The designer dress certainly met his approval for the evening, though he’d have preferred a dipping neckline to the sweetheart cut.

  “The pampering was all right, I suppose.” Delight played over her full lips.

  Cheeky indeed. “Just all right?”

  “It was an experience.”

  He grinned. “Are you ready for another?” Issac could think of several entertaining activities for the evening, none of them just all right. One such activity? Finding out what color lingerie she’d selected. No bra, clearly, but he could feel the faint hint of lace against her hip. He traced the seductive texture with his thumb to the small of her back.

  Her pupils dilated, the unveiled suggestion stirring her interest. “Maybe.”

  Not exactly consent, but he could work with it.

  He placed his palm against her bare back, her skin warm beneath his touch. “Shall we?”

  Not waiting for a reply, he applied just enough pressure to encourage her to move with him. She did and grabbed a black clutch from the table as they passed it.

  “So where is this gala?” she asked as they entered the elevator.

  “The Pierre.” The flare in her gaze told him she knew of it. Most New Yorkers did. It was a popular place for events. “Benjamin is driving us.”

  “The tall, chatty guy who took me all over the city today?”

  “That would be him.” The old man started working for Issac over a decade ago. A kind soul he paid handsomely to keep quiet about his personal affairs. Talkative he might be, but he understood the value of secrets.

  “He doesn’t get the night off?” she asked.

  “Not tonight.” Issac didn’t feel too bad about it; the man had been given most of the week off. A result of Issac staying cooped up in his condo waiting for a certain blonde to wake up.

  The gray-haired man greeted them as they exited the building, and opened the limo’s back door.

  “What happened to the car?” Astasiya asked, referring to the four-door vehicle Issac’s driver typically used for daily errands.

  “I upgraded it,” Benjamin replied, grinning.

  “Some upgrade,” she said as Issac helped her into the limo.

  Two flutes of champagne waited for them inside. He handed her one after settling beside her and took the other for himself. “To experiences, darling.”

  “I have no idea why we’re doing this, but sure.” She tapped her glass against his and took a healthy sip. “I hope there’s food at this event.”

  “You could say that.” These galas were more about the alcohol than the sustenance.

  She groaned. “It’s going to be one of those hoity-toity affairs, isn’t it? With artistic food meant for looking at and not eating?”

  “You sound familiar with them. Have you attended one?” He’d never seen her at a charity event, but then again, he usually attended these affairs with a date, so he may not have seen her.

  No. Not true. Issac definitely would have noticed her.

  “Yeah, no. Not my scene, but Lizzie’s been to several. She always complains about the food afterward.”

  Always piquing his curiosity and surprising him. “Why isn’t it your scene?” he wondered out loud. Most women adored lavish affairs.

  “I’m more of a movie-date or coffee-date kind of a girl.”

  “Go on.” He made a show of getting more comfortable and widened his legs enough to press his thigh against hers. It was the left one, exposed by the sl
it in the dress. His hand itched to settle there, slide his fingers beneath the silk, and explore. He busied himself with finishing his champagne and pouring a new glass instead.

  “You know, typical stuff. Like spending Friday night at home with a book or watching a movie. I don’t like the whole socialite thing. That’s Lizzie’s scene.”

  “Yet you appear to be fully ingrained in their world.”

  “Only by association.”

  “That’s all it takes.”

  “But it’s not my scene. I only tag along to keep Lizzie company.”

  He considered. “Your friendship with Elizabeth is interesting.” The Watkinses were social climbers, their daughter a notorious CRF science experiment—not that anyone knew, of course. The stunning redhead wasn’t related to her parents at all, something she seemed oblivious to. He wondered when George and Lillian would break the news to her. Allowing her to attend university and work full-time could not be their ultimate plans for the poor girl.

  Though, she had met Astasiya in the process.

  Was that an accident or something done on purpose?

  “How did you meet Elizabeth?” he asked.

  “We met during our freshman year at Columbia. She was my assigned roommate. It was awkward at first. She likes pink, I mean really likes pink, and hugs, and she can be a bit boy crazy. We had a few ground rules to work out, but she’s become my best friend over the years.” She smiled. “She’s Lizzie.”

  Ah, so potentially an arrangement then if Elizabeth was her roommate. Interesting. “And that’s how you met the Fitzgeralds?”

  “Yeah. Sunday brunch. It’s a monthly tradition. I think it started before Lizzie was born.”

  “I’m certain it did.” George helped create the CRF and was one of the few who knew what the organization was designed to do. “How are you feeling, by the way?” He’d meant to ask earlier but had been too caught up in her dress. She appeared perfectly healthy, all her bruises healed. A happy circumstance of her immortal heritage, no doubt.