Enthrall Me (Underbelly Chronicles Book 4)

by Tamara Hogan

  Yes, she had excellent instincts.

  “But—” her clever fingers gave a subtle twist, unbuttoning his tuxedo jacket “—let’s not talk about our esteemed host.” With a glance over to the French doors, she pulled him to the far end of the shadowy balcony, slipping her clever hands under his jacket. “Have I told you how ridiculously hot you look tonight?”

  Heat crept up his neck. “I believe you might have mentioned it.” Right in front of Nick, as Wyland had handed her into the limo.

  “It bears repeating,” she murmured against his neck. Her forefinger took a meandering journey over his black bow tie, down one of his shirt pleats, down, down, until she reached the juncture where their bodies met, where crisp cotton kissed her delightful décolletage.

  Wyland wrapped his arms around her, tugging her closer. Her red-soled shoes added inches to her height, changing the alignment of their bodies in very intriguing ways. She made the most of it, exploring his neck and jawline with lips, tongue, and teeth. It was all he could do to not grind his cock against her soft, sweet heat. His hand drifted south, caressing the back that so enthralled him, until he reached the drape of silk just below her waist.

  He paused. “Are you really not wearing anything under this gown?”

  Teasing laughter vibrated against his neck.

  He glanced at the French doors. He could find out in seconds, could simply slide his hand beneath the concealing drape of fabric. Then he’d know for sure—not that he could do anything with the information except be taunted by it. Tormented by it.

  “You’re considering it, aren’t you? Considering groping my bare ass at this fancy party, with other people standing not twenty feet away.” Her voice was an incantation, inflaming nerves already scraped raw. When she looked up at him, her eyes seemed to glow.

  “Witch.” He pressed her against his erection. “You think I won’t?”

  A delicate shiver shook her frame. “I think you will.”

  She was right, damn her eyes, because his hand was already sliding under the filmy fabric, skimming the slope of her sweet, rounded bottom.

  Nothing but skin. “Bloody hell.” His fingers flexed, squeezing her resilient flesh. An image suddenly popped into his head, of her standing at the balcony railing, looking at the lake, and of him, embracing her from behind. Of her, surreptitiously shifting her skirt. Of him, unzipping his pants. Of a fast, furtive fuck, right here, right now.

  Christ, his cock was going to burst right out of his pants, and from the sultry expression on her face, she damn well knew it. He gave her butt cheek a smart little tap. “I wish I could turn you over my knee and give you the spanking you so dearly deserve—”

  “Someone’s coming,” she hissed. She tried to back away, but his hand was caught in her dress.

  The French doors opened. Mila Stanton strode onto the balcony, followed by the young man he’d seen her with earlier. “Dom, what the hell did you think would happen? Didn’t you notice the guards?” She threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “You don’t just…just casually approach Krispin Woolf and start a conversation.”

  Wyland backed Tia into the darkest corner of the balcony.

  “He’s my Alpha,” the boy said. “I just wanted to thank him for everything he’s doing for my father.”

  Ah, Perry Reese’s son Dominic. Wyland had been in the ER when Reese had arrived, barely clinging to life after a horrific car accident. Now a quadriplegic, one of Krispin Woolf’s closest advisors cursed the doctors who’d saved his life.

  “The guards didn’t have to get so rough.” The young man scowled, rubbing his upper arms through his suit coat. “What did they think I was going to do, pull a knife on him or something?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” Tia whispered.

  He brought his finger up to his lips. Mila and Dominic were on the other side of the balcony and hadn’t noticed them yet—which was good, because he was still hard as a pike. Given the young couple’s body language, and their easy annoyance with each other, Wyland guessed they were lovers.

  “Dom, you have to be careful around Krispin Woolf.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  “Then why—”

  “Mila, what did you think I was going to do? Tell him how worthless last month’s GPL meeting was over hors d’oeuvres? Please. I just wanted to thank the man.”

  “But you can’t just…there’s a protocol…damn it, there’s no talking to you.” Mila shot her young suitor a scathing glance. “I’m leaving.”

  “Mila…” Dominic tried to take Mila’s hand as she passed, but she stepped out of reach, her heels tapping an annoyed staccato toward the door. The young man followed, catching her by the wrist, whirling her around.

  Time to nip this in the bud. “Hello, Mila,” he said, stepping out from the shadows.

  Mila’s gaze flicked from him to Tia. “Wyland. Ms. Quinn. We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “You did no such thing,” he said. “It’s a beautiful evening.” As they joined the young people, Mila took Dominic’s hand, the hand she’d tried so hard to avoid not five seconds ago. Apparently Mila didn’t need rescuing after all. “Allow me to introduce my companion, Tia Quinn.”

  Mila shook Tia’s hand. “How nice to meet you. I read In Like Quinn all the time.” She gestured to the young man. “And this is Dominic Reese.”

  “Ms. Quinn.” Dominic nodded, then quickly met his gaze. “Sir, I understand you treated my father after his accident,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Did Dominic realize his father still asked every doctor who examined him to let him die?

  After several uncomfortable seconds of silence, Dominic cleared his throat. “Mila, are you ready for another glass of champagne?”

  Sweat had popped at his hairline. For some reason, Mila’s young man was very nervous.

  “I’d love one,” Mila said. “May I bring you two a refreshment?”

  “We’re fine, thanks,” Tia answered with a kind smile.

  They watched the two youngsters go back to the ballroom. As soon as the French doors closed behind them, Tia grabbed his hand. “Did you hear that? The comment Dominic made about the GPL?”

  “I was paying more attention to how he touched Mila.”

  “The grabby-hands? Yeah, that was a total dick move.” Even though they were alone, she lowered her voice. “Remember what Sasha and Antonia said about the younger contingent of the GPL meeting at hotels around the city?”

  A puzzle piece clicked into place. “Ah.”

  “Perry Reese is one of Krispin Woolf’s closest advisors. Like father, like son?”

  Did Tia have proof that Perry Reese was a member of the Genetic Purity League? Before he could ask, she started walking toward the French doors. “Where are you going?”

  “Back to the party. I think I’d like some champagne after all.”

  He recognized that expression. She was a foxhound, hot on the trail. “Tia…”

  “Just some champagne, and maybe a little girl talk.” As she opened the door, she gave him a cheeky wink. “I’ll hook up with you later. And yes, I mean ‘hook up’ as defined in the Urban Dictionary.”

  Before he could ask her to be careful, or what the hell the Urban Dictionary was, she was gone.

  Tia found Mila standing alone at one of the bars, ordering a Long Island Iced Tea. Despite its innocuous name, the beverage had a serious kick. “That sounds awesome,” she said, joining her. “Make that two.” She glanced at Mila and smiled. “I decided I wanted a drink after all.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Mila sounded really annoyed, which both sucked and rocked. She didn’t wish the younger woman pain or ill will, but emotionally compromised people often spoke without thinking, revealing information they later wished they hadn’t. As the bartender poured shots of top shelf vodka, tequila, rum, triple sec, and gin into highball glasses, Tia pushed aside a spurt of guilt. Mila had ordered the drink bef
ore she’d even arrived. She was simply going to…be there when all that liquor hit. “Where’s the delectable Dominic?” The young man was nowhere in sight.

  Mila waved a hand toward a hallway. “That way. Bathroom, I think.”

  “Trouble in paradise?”

  Mila gave an exasperated sigh. “Have you ever heard that saying, ‘If it has tires or testicles, it’s going to give you trouble’?”

  Tia laughed. “Oh, that’s perfect. My car’s in the shop as we speak.” Wyland’s testicles, on the other hand, were in perfect working order.

  The bartender finished mixing their drinks. Mila thanked him, took both highball glasses, offered one to Tia, and lifted her own in an ironic toast. “To tires and testicles.”

  “I’ll drink to that. Them. Whatever.” The fumes rising from the glass were enough to give her a contact buzz, but she took a first testing sip. “Whoa,” she strangled out. Alcohol tap-danced on her tongue, paralyzing her vocal cords.

  Mila took a sip. “Good, right?”

  “Mmm.” She tilted her head toward the sitting room Mila had indicated. “Do you mind if I sit for a minute? My feet are killing me.” She started walking toward the red-walled Victorian parlor without waiting for an answer. The younger woman would certainly follow. Hospitality was bred into Mila’s blood and bone.

  And she did, inviting Tia to sit on one of a pair of delicate, curvy-backed chairs she suspected had crossed the Atlantic with the family over a century ago. As soon as she settled onto the seat, she slipped off her shoes with a sigh of pleasure.

  Mila companionably did the same.

  As they made small talk—the party guests, the weather, their work—Tia bided her time, waiting for the right moment to nudge the conversation toward the meeting Dominic had mentioned out on the deck. She took a tiny sip of her drink, then leaned closer to Mila. “So, you and Dominic.” Her tone, a carefully calibrated blend of sensual appreciation, knowing feminine humor, and faerie empathy, invited confidences. “Are you dating?”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it dating.”

  She lifted a droll brow. “Just taking him for a test drive, then?”

  Mila snickered. “You might say that.” Lifting her glass, she downed a good quarter of the beverage. “Speaking of which, are you and Wyland, you know, together? I got the feeling we interrupted something out on the deck.”

  Together? What an interesting word. She and Wyland were lovers, yes, but …their relationship was more than just physical. She wasn’t just taking him for a test drive. She drove her cars until they died.

  Somewhere along the line, she’d fallen in love with him.

  “Tia? I beg your pardon.” Mila looked down at the sweating glass. “It was an intrusive question.”

  “No worries.” The smile she gave Mila was a little shaky around the edges. “I was just thinking that ‘together’ is a word I rather like. I’ve never liked the word ‘girlfriend’; it seems childish to me. ‘Lover’ feels too intimate for day-to-day use, but ‘partner’ isn’t intimate enough.” How had Wyland introduced her to Mila and Dominic out on the deck? As his companion. Yes, that worked, too. “Yes, we’re together.”

  “I could tell. His mouth was all swollen from kissing.” Her lips tipped mischievously. “And the way he looks at you? Rawr.”

  How could Mila tell Wyland’s lips were swollen? “You seem to know him quite well.”

  An odd expression flashed across Mila’s face. “He and my father do a lot of business together. He’s also my doctor. Speaking of which, what happened to your head?”

  “I tripped getting out of my car,” she said. “Clumsy me, I bumped my head against the door as I fell—”

  “Mila, there you are.” Dominic Reese strode into the sitting room, looking harried. He stutter-stepped when he saw her. “Oh, Ms. Quinn,” he said. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  Damn it. Her opportunity to talk to Mila alone was gone.

  Mila reached for his hand. “Is something wrong?”

  “Hannah had a nightmare.” He shrugged helplessly. “She didn’t want to wake up Mom, so she called me instead.”

  “Of course you had to take the call,” Mila soothed. “Is she okay now?”

  Tia sat quietly as they talked about Dominic’s young sister, who, in her opinion, might very much benefit from seeing a counselor. He clearly cared about his sister, and despite Mila’s earlier annoyance, she was offering him comfort now.

  In his beautiful suit and tie, the young werewolf looked perfectly respectable, but something about him made her body hair stand on end.

  Suddenly, two of Krispin Woolf’s oversized bodyguards entered the room. “Mr. Reese? Would you come with us, please?”

  “Why?” Dominic asked.

  It was a reasonable enough question.

  “The Alpha would like to speak with you.”

  Dominic tensed. “Of course.” He quickly buttoned his suit coat. “Ladies, please excuse me. Mila, I’ll find you later.”

  Mila nodded.

  They watched as the bodyguards escorted Dominic from the room. “What’s that all about?” Mila muttered.

  “I have no idea.” Earlier, on the deck, the young couple had been arguing about how Dominic had introduced himself to the Alpha. Maybe Krispin Woolf was rewarding his chutzpah.

  Or maybe not.

  Mila rose from her chair, casting a worried glance after Dominic. “I should really get back to the party.” She reached for her shoes.

  Girl talk was definitely over. “I should circulate, too.” Suddenly, the prospect exhausted her. Tia reluctantly stood, stepping into her discarded Louboutins as Mila fastened her ankle straps. “Thank you for the drink, and the conversation.”

  “Any time.”

  When? She and Mila didn’t run in the same circles; Mila was simply being polite. Asking for another meeting, another conversation, so soon after the party would presume upon a relationship that simply didn’t exist.

  Hold off. Bide your time.

  Patience was not her strong suit.

  She and Mila parted ways at the sitting room entrance. Instead of following Mila back to the party, she escaped to the ladies’ room, which had a pretty—and blessedly empty—sitting room of its own. She sat on the delicate upholstered chaise, kicked off her shoes again, and pulled a small notebook out of her clutch. After scribbling down notes and impressions for her column about the party, she set the notebook aside and thought about subjects that wouldn’t find their way into her column: How could she engineer a casual conversation with Mila Stanton about the Genetic Purity League? What had Dominic Reese’s mysterious conversation with Krispin Woolf been about?

  And how the hell had she managed to fall in love with the Vampire Second?

  Chapter Twenty

  The sounds of the party receded as the bodyguards led Dominic down a maze of hallways off the north side of the ballroom. It was all he could do to control the bounce in his step. The Alpha wanted to speak with him. Tia Quinn wasn’t dead.

  Maybe things were finally going his way.

  Why had he been nervous about coming to this party tonight? Yeah, Mila’s family’s mansion was pretty damn intimidating, with its acres of shining floors, the sparkling chandeliers, museum-quality art, the servants… Mila’s family had a damn ballroom in their house. But no one had treated him like he didn’t belong—no one except the intimidating Lyudmila, that is—but Mila had told him not to take it personally; her mother looked down her nose at everybody. Mila’s father had given him a polite, firm handshake when he’d arrived, but he was pretty sure it had been Stanton’s gaze boring into his back most of the night.

  He surreptitiously tugged at the hem of his suit jacket. Mila had been right about the suit—all the tux-wearing guests were older—but their age and power hadn’t stopped anyone from shaking his hand when Mila made introductions. President Sebastiani had even asked after his father’s health.

  And speaking of health…Tia Quinn looked pretty damn f
ine for a vampire who’d been left for the sun. Yeah, she had some visible stitches, but if the sun had damaged her in any way, he couldn’t tell. Earlier that morning, he’d discovered the garage door opener he’d stolen from her car opened the big, double garage door at River City Storage.

  He was getting pretty damn good at this surveillance stuff.

  When the hallway came to a T, one of the linebacker-sized guards jerked his head to the left. “This way.” The rich red carpet gave way to polished hardwood, and their footfalls clicked as they walked to the end of the hall. Each step brought them closer to a portrait of a younger Lyudmila, wearing a pearl-encrusted gown with a stiff, white ruff that hid her neck. Same disapproving gaze, though. It judged them as they approached.

  “Stop here.” The guards gave him a thorough pat-down, taking his phone from his pants pocket before gesturing to the door.

  The windowless interior room looked like an old-fashioned library, the walls covered with shelves and the shelves filled with books, and it smelled pleasantly of furniture polish. An antique globe stood in the corner, glinting with what looked like real gold. To the right of the fireplace was a towering grandfather clock, and exotic-looking objects from Stanton’s many travels were displayed under lights throughout the room.

  And there, sitting at a glossy wooden table with a guard at his back, was the WerePack Alpha, casually paging through an atlas.

  Talk about looks being deceiving. He had salt-and-pepper hair and an average-sized frame, but Krispin Woolf could take care of himself in a fight. His nose was crooked, his left earlobe was gone, and his closely cropped beard couldn’t disguise the scar that sliced across his left cheek. The previous WerePack Alpha had inflicted the grievous wound during an unusually bloody leadership challenge—a fight Krispin Woolf had won.

  Among the werewolves, leadership challenges were to the death.

  “Mr. Reese.” Krispin Woolf rose, then walked around the table with his hand extended. “Your father has spoken of you many times. How nice to finally meet you in person.”