by Sierra Dafoe
How ludicrous was it that he’d gone to all this effort, only to find the woman destined to be his mate before Sang Rouge was even open?
Chapter Two
Why in God’s name had she told him yes? As the afternoon progressed, Larissa had found herself growing angrier, not calmer. Christ, he’d practically assaulted her in her very own office!
And her cunt was still throbbing in response to his actions. That was the real problem, Larissa knew. That was what was keeping her out here, dithering on the sidewalk in front of Sang Rouge, even though she was already six minutes late.
You wouldn’t have been six minutes late if you hadn’t changed your outfit three times, ninny.
No. She wouldn’t have. And the fact that she’d been that indecisive told her everything she needed to know about whether her attraction this morning had been real.
Soft slats of light fell through wooden shutters, laying a crosshatch of warm golden bars across the dark pavement. The sign overhead creaked lightly in the chill October wind, and Larissa shivered.
This is stupid.
There was no way she was going to let some arrogant ass make her be this neurotic. So what if he was tall, or unnervingly handsome, or set her clit to singing like a damn canary? He was a client—no more, no less. A client who just happened to push all her erotic buttons, but he didn’t know that.
And he wouldn’t find out, either.
Briskly, she raised her hand and knocked on the heavy oak door, straightening her shoulders as it opened, determined to be distant, professional, cool…
God, she’d forgotten exactly how green his eyes were.
He stood in the doorway, looking her up and down slowly, his gaze pausing at the plunging neckline of her silk blouse. Gritting her jaw, Larissa tugged her jacket tightly closed. “So can I come in, or would you rather talk here?”
With a small, challenging smile, he stepped back and gestured her inside.
“Thank you.” She marched through the doorway, gripping her briefcase—and stopped short, gazing around her in surprise.
Whoever this Adrian Dane was, he’d done a masterful job of restoring the old building. From the spacious magnificence of the main room with its glittering chandeliers to the cozier ambience of the bar, the place exuded a gracious, soothing elegance. Deep-cushioned booths lined the bar’s walls. Tables glistening with fine china were spaced around the large dance floor, its oak boards gleaming with layers of polish. Accents of red gleamed everywhere—the leather upholstery of the booths, the antique glass wall-sconces, the deep maroon rugs.
“You like it?”
Like it? She loved it. Sang Rouge was incredible. It was like walking onto the set of a Hollywood musical. It was beguiling. Seductive. It practically oozed romance.
It was as hard to resist as its owner.
“It hardly matters what I think of it, does it?” Firmly, Larissa pushed aside her thoughts. “I just have to advertise it, Mr. Dane.”
“Adrian, please.”
Larissa felt like her smile was made of cardboard. “Adrian.”
With another of those cool, challenging grins, he led her away from the arch to the main room and into the bar.
It was ridiculous. She’d spent the first half of the day trying to convince herself that her reaction to him had simply been a fluke, an erotic hangover, if you will, from her frustration of the night before. Then she’d spent the second half trying furiously to lose herself in her work.
And now here she was, walking into an empty, sumptuous nightclub with a man who might have been assembled straight from her fantasies—the broad, rolling shoulders, the tousled, midnight-black hair… A man who, she discovered as he went behind the bar, was capable of making her impossibly wet simply by opening a bottle of wine. He was dressed more casually this evening; suit jacket gone, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. She stared at them as he worked the cork out, remembering vividly the way he’d grabbed her, dragging her to him…
Oh, stop it, Rissa!
Jerking his head, Adrian beckoned her to a barstool as he fished two glasses out of a shipping box, gave them a perfunctory wipe and poured the cabernet. He seemed calmer tonight, more settled, less impatient. Less like a man who might simply take her right up against the bar, maybe bend her over it with his fist in her hair…
Pointedly ignoring the glass he proffered her, Larissa snapped open her briefcase and took out a notepad. Client. Just a client. Get it together, girl!
“So. What kind of advertising did you have in mind, Mr. Dane?”
He was watching her, she saw, as if something about her actions amused the hell out of him—for what unfathomable reason she couldn’t begin to guess. He shrugged lightly and sipped his wine. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Well, did you want print? Radio ads? Direct mail? I have to tell you up front, your options are going to be severely limited at this late stage.”
His eyes glinted with a hint of impatience. “I thought that was your job, deciding all that.”
“It is, if you want it to be.” Folding her arms, she returned his look steadily. His smile broadened and Larissa glanced away, her gaze falling instead on the hand curled around the delicate globe of his wineglass. There was a scattering of small, dark hairs across the back, and his fingers looked both strong and agile.
What would it be like to have those fingers buried in her hair, dragging her head back as he kissed her fiercely—or, better yet, as he fucked her?
Gritting her teeth, she pulled her gaze away, trying vainly to ignore her pulsing clit. God, why had she worn a lace thong tonight? She could feel the scratchy fabric tugging at her mons, making her doubly conscious of the hot, moist throb between her thighs.
“How would you advertise it—at this late stage?” He grinned briefly, almost mockingly. But even though this afternoon she hadn’t been able to generate a single idea no matter how hard she’d cudgeled her brains, Larissa knew. She’d known the instant she stepped through the door of Sang Rouge.
“Roses.” She smiled.
“I’m sorry?”
“Roses,” she repeated. “Blood-red roses.”
“Ahh.” Adrian rolled the stem of his wineglass between his fingers and Larissa bit her lip, trying to suppress the image of those fingers rolling her nipples in just the same way…
“We do a stealth thing,” she continued desperately. “Turn the negatives into positives. No advertising? Fine. Instead, we be mysterious. Enigmatic. Elegant.”
“Go on.”
Listening, Adrian ambled his way from behind the bar and toward her. Larissa reached hurriedly for her wineglass, clasping it before her breasts like a shield. “Usually, with direct marketing, you figure a ten-three-one ratio—ten people receive your message, three people look at it, one responds. But when it’s Halloween, people already have plans… What’s your fire-code capacity?”
“Five hundred and twenty.”
“So we make it eight thousand long-stemmed red roses, each one hand-delivered with an engraved invitation. Something cryptic, mysterious…pique their curiosity.”
She was getting excited—and not, for a change, by Adrian. There was a certain creative thrill, a rush, that came with getting a good idea. That rush was what had first inspired her to pursue advertising. It was what still got her juices flowing.
Not that they weren’t already flowing enough.
Nodding thoughtfully, Adrian leaned against the bar next to her, so close she could feel the warmth of his body all along her left thigh. She fought to keep her voice steady. “We target young professionals, unmarried white-collar workers…I can’t guarantee you capacity, but you should have a good crowd.”
Adrian smiled. “I like the way you think.”
Larissa flushed with pleasure. When was the last time a man had complimented her brain? Usually it was her breasts—one reason she normally kept them carefully covered. She hadn’t tonight, though. Tonight she’d worn a silk blouse with a lo
w-scooped front beneath her jacket—and no bra.
Why in Christ’s name had she worn something so revealing?
You know why, Rissa. For the same reason you wore stockings instead of pantyhose, and the patent-leather pumps that make your calves look like a million bucks.
Ignoring that all-too-knowing inner voice she asked, “Don’t you want to know what it’ll cost?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Everything costs. You can do this by Wednesday?”
It was her turn to be dismissive. This was her home turf, her expertise. Larissa tossed her head with a snort. “Try me.”
“Yes,” Adrian murmured, and her breath caught in her throat as the warm approval in his eyes shaded into something darker—something almost feral. “Yes. I think I will.” Holding her gaze, he bent down and claimed her lips in a searing kiss.
The heat that had been simmering inside her all day exploded into a conflagration. Her thong, already damp, immediately became soaked. When his tongue, firm and undeniable, pushed its way into her mouth, Larissa moaned aloud.
Frantically, she tried to draw back, to pull away, but his hands clamped on her arms, pulling her up to him, turning her so her back was against the bar. His body pressed against hers, hard and demanding, and she could feel the urgent throb of his cock against her belly.
As he dropped his head to nuzzle her neck, she whispered, “No.” Never mind that her entire body was trembling with lust. Never mind that her cunt was practically begging to have him inside her. No. No and no and no.
Raising his head, Adrian grinned like a hungry tiger. Then he kissed her again, plunging his tongue deep into her warm, wet mouth. He rocked his hips forward, grinding his erection against the swell of her mons, right against the spot that clamored loudest for his attention. She wobbled on her heels, her brain reeling, her whole body teetering on the verge of orgasm.
He was so sure of himself, the bastard! He simply ignored her refusal, as if it were meaningless, as if he could see straight through her clothes to her sodden cunt. Who the hell did he think he was?
Drawing herself upright, she pushed him away firmly. “I said no, Mr. Dane. I don’t fuck men I work for.”
“Your mouth said no, Ms. Hardy.” Grinning, he slid one hand under her skirt, pulled her thong underwear to one side and trailed a finger through the juice-soaked folds of her cleft. “This says yes. Rather loudly, in fact.”
Then he thumbed her clit, and Larissa moaned aloud as her climax ripped through her, hot and hard and aching. Only Adrian’s hand on her arm kept her upright. Her juices gushed down over his fingers as he worked them inside her, plunging them deep into her clenching passage.
Gasping, she slumped in his grip as the aftershocks poured through her. Smiling triumphantly, Adrian slid his hand from her cunt. Holding her pinned with those emerald eyes, he raised his fingers to his lips and licked her fluids from them.
Even as her clit throbbed again at the sight, Larissa felt fury well up inside her. “How dare you?” Tearing herself from his grasp, she whirled toward the door.
Catching her arm, he spun her around, dragging her against him with an inexorable grip. His eyes were narrowed now, no longer amused. “I dare because you want me to, Larissa. I dare because everything in me cries out to take you, to claim you, to ride you until you scream in ecstasy.”
He loomed over her, the muscles in his shoulders taut, the cords standing out in his neck. She could feel his cock pulsing against her with redoubled urgency. Jesus, she couldn’t move! She couldn’t think. Even if she could command her body, his grip on her arms this time was unbreakable.
His words echoed in her skull, eroding her defenses. “I dare because everything in you wants me as badly as I want you. And you will make love to me, Larissa—right now.”
She couldn’t say no. She didn’t want to say no. But even as her knees started to give way in longing, Larissa summoned a hard, contemptuous grin. “Really? You think so? Then make me.”
* * * * *
She was magnificent. Utterly magnificent. Her hazel eyes sparked fire. Her chest heaved. Her body arched against his, daring him to take her.
Adrian’s balls pulsed, growing even fuller, their weight an aching counterpoint to the iron hardness of his cock. There was such fire in her, such spirit! She aroused him as no other woman ever had.
Oh, he’d never cared for the weak, vapid females so many vampires favored as prey—such languid meats held little savor for him. But Larissa Hardy made every other woman he’d ever fed from look frail and bloodless in comparison.
How many men had shrank before that regal glare, misinterpreting the challenge in her voice for rejection? Or worse, had responded from the depths of their insecurities, using her ruthlessly in an attempt to assuage their bruised egos? Had even one of them ever heard the note in her voice for what it was—the roar of a lioness demanding her due? Demanding her mate prove himself worthy of her?
He’d been right. He’d been absolutely right. She was his destined mate, his companion, his equal. And he would have her. Now. Tonight. By the time he was done, she would be his.
Adrian let his smile grow hard. Wordlessly, he seized the front of her blouse and ripped it open. Larissa’s eyes flew wide as her breasts spilled out into the soft light, firm and round and gloriously full. Staring at them, Adrian felt his breath growing ragged.
Her nipples were erect, the dusky areolas around them contracted into furrows. Those two hard, upraised points jutted out at him with the same aroused defiance that tightened her jaw.
Let her resist. That was all right. She would moan wantonly, begging to submit to him soon enough. Clasping the shoulders of her jacket, Adrian dragged it off her and tossed it aside, reclaiming his hold on her before she could retreat. Then he settled himself on a barstool, gripping her tightly between his thighs.
“Take your blouse off,” he growled.
“No.”
With one swift yank, he ripped it from her. She gasped as the flimsy fabric tore, leaving her naked to the waist—but Adrian saw the gleam of moisture on her lips as saliva suddenly flooded her mouth.
“Now, do you want to unfasten your skirt or shall I do it for you?”
Glaring, she reached behind herself and unhooked it. He released the grip of his thighs just long enough to let it slide to the floor, leaving her standing there in nothing but a garter belt, stockings, a thong and her shoes. The thong, he noted, tied at the sides.
Adrian smiled.
Oh, you wanted this, Larissa. You wanted it as much as I.
Her eyes were wide, her chest heaving—not with fear, he knew. With anticipation. His balls throbbed again, growing tighter as the pressure built up inside them. The desire to seize her, bend her over the barstool, pound himself into her until he found his release, was almost irresistible.
But it wasn’t enough simply to take her. He had to make her want it. He had to make her want him—want him enough to bind herself to him forever.
Ignoring the clamoring ache in his groin, Adrian lifted his hands to the smooth curves of her breasts. Their weight against his palms redoubled the lust pounding through him. Cupping them lightly, he asked, “Tell me, Larissa. Has a man ever made you come just by touching your breasts?”
Chapter Three
Oh God. Oh, sweet God.
Larissa thought she might faint at the promise in his voice.
Even when she did allow herself to be taken to bed, the reality never, ever lived up to her hopes. Her Prince Charming of the hour invariably turned out to be ham-handed and pushy—a regular wham-bam-thank-you-Ma’am excuse for a lay—or another namby-pamby Ashley Wilkes.
Adrian Dane was neither.
She’d expected him to tumble her to the floor, slamming himself into her with all the finesse of a jackhammer. Instead, his fingertips trailed slow, idle circles around her breasts, so lightly it made her shiver with delight. Her overburdened nerves, still raw after that searing, unexpected orgasm, throbbed with mingled ag
ony and bliss. When his thumbs brushed the hard, raised nubs of her nipples, she gasped aloud.
How was he doing this to her? Her womb felt heavy, her cunt practically drowning in cream. Remembering the way he’d licked his fingers, tasting her juices, Larissa dropped her head back and moaned.
Her clit was throbbing again already and her cunt spasmed hungrily, aching for the hardness she could sense mere inches from her crotch. He held her between his legs, his powerful thigh muscles gripping her tightly, his hands moving over her breasts with the delicacy of a painter, barely brushing the skin.
Unable to help herself, she arched into his touch, urging him to fondle her harder. Glancing up at her from beneath those black brows, Adrian smiled lazily. Unexpectedly, his fingers closed on her nipples, pinching them roughly. Fire lanced through her body, sending a jolt of pure rapture through her swollen clit, and she rocked her hips forward, desperate for his cock.
“No.” His green eyes gleamed with malevolent humor as his thighs clamped harder, trapping her. “Oh no, sweet Larissa. Not ’til I say so.”
Gasping, quivering, she stared at him, pleading—but he merely went back to caressing her breasts, moving his thumbs in tight, teasing circles over her nipples.
The ache in her cunt grew into torment. It seemed like every ounce of her awareness was centered in those two burning nubs he tortured unmercifully. Wetting his fingers, he spread his saliva over them then blew on them lightly. The sudden chill made her flinch and whimper.
She honestly didn’t know how much more of this she could take. Her thoughts whirled and scattered like birds in a panic. She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze from his strong, clever fingers, endlessly kneading and stroking and squeezing her breasts. Spreading his hands flat, he moved his palms in a circle, dragging them over her erect, burning tips. Pressing harder, he rubbed more roughly, and Larissa heard a high, hungry cry spill from her throat.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Oh yes, you’re close now. Aren’t you, Larissa?”
Biting her lip, she fought back a moan. Grinning, Adrian seized her nipples and tweaked them, hard. A spike of delectable agony shot through her womb. Gasping, she felt her cunt start to contract as her clit throbbed in ecstasy.