Relentless Seduction

by Jillian Burns

  “What are you doing?”

  “Listen, Julia. I—I can’t leave yet. I may make a complete fool of myself, but I have to try, you know? Otherwise I’ll—”

  Julia squealed and jumped up to capture Claire in her arms. “Yes! Go! I was so hoping there was something between you and Rafe.”

  “You were?”

  “Oh, Claire. If you’d only seen the way you two looked at each other.” Julia was shaking her head, her lips pursed. “Puhlease.”

  “Rafe was? I mean, looking at me?”

  “Well, I guess I’m not the best judge of these things. I mean, I thought Armand loved me, didn’t I?” She peered off into the distance and scrunched up her face and then snapped her gaze back to Claire. “But that’s not important.” She waved her hand.

  “It’s not?” Claire was losing her courage.

  “No. It’s not,” Julia insisted. “What’s important is that you find out. Right?”

  “Right.” Claire nodded. “Find out what?” She just wanted to be sure what Julia was saying made sense because right now everything was starting to seem surreal.

  “If he loves you like he looked like he loved you last night.” Julia took hold of Claire’s shoulders, spun her to face the exit and pushed. “Now go! I’ll get our tickets changed to later flights and catch a cab to the hotel.”

  Claire glanced back. “You’re not going home?”

  “Are you kidding?” Julia grinned. “I have to see how this all turns out. Call me, okay?”

  Claire nodded and started walking toward the exit. Walking accelerated to jogging. And jogging turned to running.

  * * *

  RAFE WOKE UP AS HIS head hit the floor. He groaned and lay still until the dizziness passed. Then he opened one bleary eye.

  He was in his office. There was bright afternoon light slanting in through the blinds. He’d fallen off the sofa.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his palms over them and rubbed. Or one palm, anyway. The other was half-covered in a cast.

  Now he remembered. He’d taken the bottle of Wild Turkey—but not the tumbler—with him to his office last night, or early this morning, actually. He must’ve passed out.

  Disgusted, he tried to sit up and pain shot through his head. His stomach was traveling on a fishing boat in choppy waters. He lay still until the queasiness subsided and then tried again. Water. Aspirin. He made it to the sink behind the bar and nearly spilled the aspirin trying to get the cap off with one hand. He had to slump down on a stool before he could swallow the medicine and toss back the glass of water.

  He looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar and scowled. How had he let himself get like this? His gaze landed on the beer clock. Only an hour until he was supposed to open?

  He shot off the stool and bolted up the stairs to his apartment, someone hammering wooden stakes into his head. He needed a hot shower, a thorough teeth brushing and a shave. All of which would take twice as long to complete with his arm in a cast. Mixing drinks with one hand was going to be a pain in the butt, too.

  As he entered his apartment, he looked at it as if seeing it for the first time. Shabby, tiny, messy. The only thing of any quality was the bed. And the sheets were rumpled, the comforter lying in a heap on the floor. He found himself bending over the side where Claire had laid and inhaling. Yes. Just a hint of her scent, a clean, laundry detergent type of smell, but mixed with honey.

  He closed his eyes and inhaled again, and saw her lying in his bed. Now he really was torturing himself. He ran a hand over the sheets and saw her long legs, her voluptuous breasts and her big brown eyes staring at him in wonder, as if he’d just reached up and plucked the moon from the sky and handed it to her on a silver platter.

  No one had ever looked at him like that before. Just like no one had ever had his back in a fight before. He couldn’t believe she’d shown up and whacked Shadow over the head like that. He knew she couldn’t possibly be accustomed to such physical violence. And yet she’d said she was saving him.

  Saving him...

  His gut twisted and this time he didn’t think it had anything to do with a hangover.

  He got cleaned up with barely a minute to spare and went downstairs to switch on the lights and music. Bulldog and his two waitresses were waiting as he unlocked the front door, as well as a fairly long line of goth and vampire-costumed customers.

  Closing the bar last night didn’t seem to have hurt business. He took his place behind the bar and signaled to Bulldog to let ’em in. And he got busy filling orders. Draft beers, mixed drinks, the hard stuff on the rocks or neat.

  Along with the regulars on stools were plenty of tourists in street clothes. Middle-aged couples wanting to add a little spice to their routine lives, Sorority girls looking for a hook-up and—Rafe froze. He blinked. Standing at the bar where he’d first seen her was a tall geeky-looking woman wearing thick glasses and a multi-colored knitted monstrosity with fringe. A riot of brunette curls framed her face.

  He just stood and stared at her.

  She met his gaze and the passion in her eyes made his chest expand with something like joy. Yeah, he was pretty sure this was joy he was feeling.

  He sauntered over and leaned his right palm on the bar. “What can I do for you, cher?”

  She bit her beautiful bottom lip and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I, uh...” She cleared her throat. She was adorable. He leaned over the bar, cupped her face with his good hand and kissed her.

  With a whimper, she threw her arms around his neck and opened to him, deepening the kiss. Vaguely he noticed gasps and murmurs and whistles from the crowd, but all he could feel was Claire. In his arms, the taste of her, the scent.

  “Come here.” He slid his hand around her waist and lifted and pulled and she hopped and landed her butt on the bar. In a denim skirt and half boots, she swung her legs over and slid down on his side and into his arms. Screw the sling, he needed to hold her.

  Ignoring the complaints and grumbling from customers, he stared into her eyes. “This isn’t a goodbye kiss, I hope. ’Cause I’m not letting you go now. You’re caught in my vampire’s lair.”

  She raised her brows, but her mouth was turned up at the corners. “Are you hypnotizing me to your will?”

  He slowly moved her hair away from the tender part of her neck, sank his mouth onto the flesh, scraped his teeth and then kissed all along the curve of her neck. “Is it working?”

  She dropped her head back and moaned. “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Good.” He cupped the back of her head and covered her lips with his. With the kiss he tried to convey all the emotions he could barely name much less speak. Joy and hope. And love— Well, he should probably say that in a minute. He slanted his mouth over hers and poured his soul into the kiss.

  “I love you.” He trailed tiny kisses from the corner of her mouth to her jaw. “I want you to stay.” More kisses along her delicate ear to her temple. “For as long as you can.” He kissed her eyes. “I don’t know how—”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She kissed him back, running her fingers over his scruffy cheeks and through his hair. “We’ll work something out later. I don’t need a plan right now. I just need you.”

  He hugged her close and kissed her deep and wet until he couldn’t tell who was kissing who.

  He pulled back, narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you want to spout some statistic about the survival rate of relationships that begin with a dangerous experience?”

  She smiled and chuckled. He’d never heard her laugh. It was rich and throaty, sexy as hell. “Screw statistics.” She pushed the hair from his eyes. “I love you, Rafe Moreau.”

  Epilogue

  1 year later—Mardi Gras

  CLAIRE HESITATED AT THE door to Once Bitten, tugging up her black hose and tugging down the hem of her short black dress. She smoothed her hair, pulled up and back, the frizzy curls tamed into shiny ringlets that hung from a topknot. The style was Julia’s suggestion. She’d said it resemb
led a witch’s hairdo from an old vampire soap opera.

  Resisting the urge to check her makeup one more time, Claire took a deep breath, licked her bloodred lips and swung open the door.

  The bar was full to capacity. There were the usual Goths and vamps. The mostly naked snake lady, the girls dancing in the hanging cages. And tonight there were swarms of tourists looking to party hard.

  The season of Carnival had begun two weeks ago, with several parades each day marching uptown and through mid-city. But today was Lundi Gras, and the big parade was rolling its outrageously spectacular floats down St. Charles Avenue tonight. This was the most exciting time of the year in New Orleans, and Claire’s favorite. Of course, she had other, more personal reasons for that.

  She scanned behind the bar for Rafe, spotting him instantly in the sexy, gray button-down she’d bought him for his birthday last month. She’d told him it brought out the silver of his eyes and he’d gotten so quiet, at first, she’d thought he didn’t like it. When she asked if she should return it, he’d turned away, grabbed a towel to wipe a glass and admitted, after clearing his throat, that he hadn’t had a birthday present since he was a kid.

  She’d taken him in her arms and they’d made love right there against the bar.

  Now, he was smiling and juggling bottles and mixing drinks with the fluid grace she admired the first time she’d seen him. Her insides tingled just watching him.

  As if he felt her stare, he looked up and caught her eye. His smile went slack and his eyes flared. She felt his gaze intensely, as if he were touching her with his skillful hands.

  Consumed with love, she smiled and made her way through the crowd toward him.

  Rafe placed drinks in front of a couple of tourists and then sauntered over to her. “Cher, you gonna make it hard for me to stay behind this bar and work all night.”

  She pretend pouted and leaned forward over the bar, knowing the low-cut dress would show even more of her cleavage. “I don’t mean to make it hard.”

  “Yes, you do.” His eyes flared. “I could tell Reggie I’m taking a break and haul you upstairs right now,” he murmured in a husky voice.

  Ooh, how she’d love that. She checked out the tall, intelligent black man at the other end of the bar making drinks as fast as his hands could move, and sighed. “We better wait. Reggie is too good of an assistant manager to lose, and I don’t think he would appreciate being left alone when you’re this busy.”

  “You’re right. But as soon as I lock the door on the last customer, you better watch out, cher.” His penetrating eyes seemed to see right into her soul. She hoped he could see how much she loved him.

  If anyone had told her a year ago that she’d quit her job, uproot her entire life and move to New Orleans, she’d have thought they were high on something illegal. But she was surprisingly good at her new job, and her little row house had way more character than the sterile apartment she’d rented in Boston. But most of all, she loved the relationship she had with Rafe. They were friends and lovers and she loved who she was when she was with him.

  A couple of cute coeds called for frozen margaritas and Rafe glanced their way, and then motioned for Claire to follow him as he began making the drinks. “How’d your classes at Tulane go this morning?”

  “I can’t believe how much I love teaching. I hope I can make a difference. Did you know that only twenty-two percent of microbiologist majors are female?”

  He raised a brow. “I did not know that.” His sizzling gaze dropped to her cleavage. “Long as you didn’t teach your classes looking like that.” He gave a low growl.

  “No, I was just my normal fangtastic self.” She flashed her fake fangs at him.

  Rafe grimaced and rolled his eyes.

  She giggled, noticing the way his lips twitched as he tried not to smile at her corny joke. “So, hand me a tray and let me help out.” She gestured to the crowded sofas.

  “Seriously, cher?” He glanced at her as he filled several more orders for a waitress.

  “I think I can manage not to spill drinks on the customers.” She snatched up a tray and order pad and headed out, checking with the other waitresses as to where they needed her help.

  As she took drink orders, she smiled and asked tourists where they were from. Sometimes she joked and flashed her fangs. Who’d have thought she’d ever have the confidence to do that? But Rafe made her feel beautiful. And sexy. And loved.

  She noticed him again and smiled and he winked before returning to his customer. The next time she brought him a drink order, she waited while he filled it. “I wish Julia had been able to fly in today.”

  Rafe frowned. “Wasn’t she supposed to?”

  Claire shook her head. “She texted me yesterday and said her new salon was too busy for her to take time off work.”

  Rafe scowled. “She’s not gonna be happy that she missed this,” he mumbled.

  “What?”

  He looked up quickly with wide-eyed innocence. “Nothing.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Claire shrugged and turned to deliver her drinks. Collecting the money, she heard shouting from the bar.

  When she glanced over, Reggie was straightening from the waist and produced a large yellow, purple and green iced cake complete with shiny plastic beads draped across it. He set it on the bar, and then brought out plates and forks and a large knife and gestured her over.

  “What’s this for?” Claire exchanged her tray for a plate. Checking out the customers on the nearby stools, she noted that the ones closest to her seemed to be waiting expectantly for her to eat her piece of cake.

  “It’s a King Cake, cher,” Rafe said, taking a slice for himself. “A New Orleans Mardi Gras tradition.”

  Cautiously, she picked up the fork and took a large bite. It was delicious. Kind of a cross between a Bundt cake and a cinnamon roll. She smiled and Rafe returned her smile, just then her fork hit on something solid. Picking the object out of her cake, she stared at it, and then stared at Rafe. It was a tiny plastic baby.

  The people around her whooped and cheered and nudged her with knowing winks. She tried to smile, but she was confused. She gave Rafe a questioning look.

  “Every King Cake has a plastic baby hidden in it,” Rafe explained. “The person who gets the baby in their slice must provide the cake next year. And—” he brought out a fake metal tiara “—it means you’re Queen for the night.”

  Reggie added, “Or you might be pregnant soon.”

  Rafe’s gaze heated and traveled down to her stomach.

  Swallowing a lump in her throat, Claire imagined herself big-bellied with Rafe’s child. A black-haired beauty with silver-gray eyes or a darkly handsome kindergartener charming all the girls with his smile. A sharp ache hit her chest. Just a year ago, she’d figured if love and a family were going to happen they would’ve already.

  Rafe reached for a cardboard box nearby and gave it to her. “Help me toss these out, your Majesty.”

  Claire opened the box to reveal black-and-red shiny beads and gold doubloons. New Orleanians called them “throws.” Rafe held another box and began tossing the contents to the crowd.

  Claire followed his example and moved out into the dance floor, flinging beads and doubloons. Excited murmurs started buzzing throughout the bar until most of the crowd was swarming around Claire and Rafe, hands in the air, calling, “Throw me something, Mister!”

  Claire heard, “Throw me something, Mistress!” She flung the throws until her box was empty.

  “Hey, Claire, think fast.”

  Rafe had pitched something to her. Was he crazy? Didn’t he know her well enough by now to realize she wasn’t coordinated enough to catch such things? An object sailed toward her as if in slow motion, and she lifted her hands up, waiting like the geeky kid in the outfield hoping to catch the ball that would give the other team its third strike.

  No, no, no— She squeezed her eyes closed and...caught it! Fumbled it. Then clutched it against her chest. With an exc
ited grin, she looked up to find Rafe standing right beside her. She gazed down at the black velvet ring box in her hands. Her mouth fell open. She blinked.

  “Open it, cher.” His Southern drawl was so tender.

  She opened the box and a gold ring with a single square-cut diamond sparkled from its bed of black silk.

  “I want you in my life forever, Claire. And I want to do this right. Marry me, make a family with me?”

  With tears blurring her vision, she nodded, and fell into his arms. She kissed him.

  The crowd cheered and whistled and Rafe broke their kiss and called for free drinks for everyone. The crowd hollered even louder and headed for the bar where Reggie and the waitresses were setting up shots.

  Rafe’s white teeth flashed in that sexy grin of his. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her so deep and profound she could feel all his hopes and dreams for their future.

  “Ow.” He pulled back. “You’re going to have to take those off.” He gingerly fingered her fangs.

  “Oh, I don’t know. The better to bite you with, my cherie amour.” She nuzzled into his neck and scraped her teeth against his skin.

  He chuckled. “I’ve been bitten.” He cupped her face and looked deep into her eyes. “By love.”

  She raised her gaze to the ceiling and groaned. “You’re so bad, Moreau.” She shook her head. “But—” she smiled and kissed him “—that’s just one of the things I love about you.”

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt of His First Noelle by Rhonda Nelson

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