Margo looked over at Enola. She was already packing up her things. She poured the leftover margarita into her glass.
“See y’all later,” she sang over her shoulder as she stumbled toward the house.
Margo could feel the burn of Bishop’s eyes on her body as she padded across the platform to grab a towel from the warmer. She dried her face before wrapping the towel around her waist.
She turned to Bishop. “What can I do for you.”
His lips lifted into a mischievous smirk. “So much,” he grumbled.
Margo glared at him impatiently as she walked over to the lounger. She sat, grab her sunglasses from the table, and slid them on. Bishop took a squat in the lounger that Enola had abandoned.
“I’d like you to cook for me?”
Margo slid her sunglasses down her nose and glared over the rim.
“I’m not a personal chef.”
Bishop grinned with mischief in his eyes.
“Well, how about I cook for you?”
“You’re not a personal chef.”
“Mademoiselle, I have lived many lives and worn many hats.”
Considering his age, Margo didn’t doubt that. But she’d bet that cooking for others wasn’t one of them. She pushed her glasses back on her face and relaxed against the lounger. Margo should have told him to go back to what, or rather, who he was doing when her family was nearly killed in his home, but every single time she looked his way, her desire counteracted her anger. Bishop’s beauty was commanding. He was, for lack of a better word... irresistible.
“When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“I’m busy.”
“No, you’re not,” he shot back as he stood. “I’ll send a car for you at 7.”
Margo sat up and snatched the glasses off her face. The nerve. The audacity of his high-handedness was shocking. She wanted to shout the words, “fuck you!” at his back. But alas, what came out was...
“I’ll drive myself, thank you!”
Chapter Sixteen
BISHOP
Bishop walked over and handed Beth a glass of champagne.
“What are your plans for the evening?” he asked her.
She pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear and smiled.
“I have a date.”
Bishop could tell that she was excited. Why wouldn’t she be? Beth was young, single, and beautiful. She deserved to be happy. He kept his selfish thoughts to himself. So, it had to be his expression that revealed his apprehension at the thought of her dating.
Beth’s eyes widened with concern. When she shook her head and placed her shaky hand over his, he instantly felt guilty.
“It’s just dinner and a movie, Bishop. When I’m ready for sex, you’ll be the first to know. I promise, my blood will remain as pure as the day we met.”
Bishop smiled and pulled her small hand to his lips.
“No worries, chérie. I want you to go on your date, have a great time, fall madly in love, and live happily ever after.”
Beth visibly relaxed.
“I wish.”
“I wish this for you,” Bishop confirmed honestly.
“And, you have a big date with the lovely Roux woman, huh?” Beth inquired with amusement.
“Date? I don’t date,” Bishop corrected.
Beth chuckled.
“You’re preparing dinner for a woman that you’re into and you’re hoping to take your relationship to a sexual level. Here, in America, that, monsieur, is called a date.”
“Oh, enough. Go on.” Bishop grumbled. “Have fun on your date. Tell him if he doesn’t treat you well, he’s a dead man.”
Beth giggled, but he could see the moment of fear that flashed in her eyes. It was because she knew that he wasn’t joking. In just a few weeks, Bishop had become very protective of Beth. She was sweet, funny, and possessed an enthusiasm about life that he admired.
Beth was well paid for allowing him to feed on her. More than enough to live well and pay for law school. But to Bishop, she had become much more than a food source. And contrary to what Marguerite believed, their arrangement was all very innocent. Although Bishop was admittedly amused by her jealousy, he never denied the accusation in her eyes.
“Do you need anything before I go?”
“No. Go and enjoy.”
Beth slid off the stool and straightened out her fitted blue dress. Bishop walked around the island and grabbed her shoulders.
“You look magnificent, chéri.”
Beth looked up at him with green eyes filled with glee.
“Thank you, and you look very handsome.” Smirking with a raised brow, she added, “Hope you get some tonight.”
Bishop laughed.
“That, my dear, you need not doubt.”
“Well, okay, Mr. Man,” Beth mocked before turning to leave the kitchen.
Bishop moved to the fridge because he needed to prep for dinner. Margo should arrive in about thirty minutes. She’d reportedly walked right past the car he’d sent and climbed into her own. Bishop expected nothing less from the stubborn woman, but had Margo accepted the ride, he would’ve known exactly when she was arriving.
Bishop grabbed peppers and onions from the fridge and realized it was the first time he’d opened the refrigerator since he’d arrived in Louisiana. In France, he cooked all the time. Rather it be for entertaining, or simple self-indulgence. Although food was not Bishop’s lifeline, he did enjoy the various flavors.
He took the vegetables to the chopping block and turned to the patio entrance. Bishop could hear someone arriving before they approached the doors. Basile opened one of the double doors and stepped inside.
“Salut,” Basile greeted.
Bishop looked down at the manilla folder in his hand.
“Did you find something for me?” he asked in their native French.
“It’s all in here,” Basile responded, handing the folder over.
Bishop flipped it open and skimmed through the pages. Without looking up he asked, “What about the hostess?”
“I’m still investigating.”
Bishop glared up at Basile. The vampire population in Louisiana wasn’t that vast. How hard could it have been to get information about one vampire?
“I’ll have something soon,” Basile assured.
“Bien.”
Bishop returned the folder and picked up a large knife. As he sliced through red bell peppers, he marveled at the complexities of the Moreau/Roux family tree.
MARGO
Margo rounded the circular driveway and stopped right in front of the giant doors. She flipped down the visor and checked her makeup. Since she was as pretty as she was going to get, Margo smeared on a bit of lip gloss, grabbed her purse, and hopped out.
She glanced at her reflection in her window and turned to check the “ass view”. Margo was feeling a bit playful, so she chose a pleated, black and white, plaid schoolgirl skirt. Admittedly, Margo knew the length of her skirt was pushing the boundaries of tolerance in the fashion industry. Then again...
It was Chanel.
Margo deliberately paired her risqué skirt with a super-conservative, charcoal, ruffled blouse. The plan was to fuck with the vampire’s head, business on the top, party on the bottom.
Surprisingly, Bishop opened the door himself. He stepped past the threshold, looking like the best version of Thor she’d seen. His tall, hulking frame was covered in what had to be tailored, black slacks and a smokey gray dress shirt. Bishop’s thick, blonde mane was wrapped up in an unplanned man-bun. And the apron... the sight of him wearing an apron over his impeccably selected clothing was nearly orgasmic.
Margo cleared her throat and walked toward him. She took cleansing breaths to calm the bursts of lust that ignited every nerve ending. She swung her African locs over her shoulder and strutted like the heel-wearing pro that she was.
Margo made it to the porch, grateful that she’d arrived with some semblance of grace. The truth was, Bishop made Mar
go a bit nervous. So, she was dancing on the inside, proud of her sexy approach.
The desire in his eyes as he perused her attire would not be a distraction. She wouldn’t be thrown off by Bishop’s sickening good looks. But Margo had celebrated too soon. She was so busy watching him, watching her, and she tripped up the stairs.
In a flash, he was there. With an arm around her waist, Bishop yanked her body to his.
“I got you,” he assured in a deep whisper.
Margo grabbed his shoulders and steadied herself. She cleared her throat and pushed off his body to stand upright.
“Êtes-vous bon?” he asked, offering his hand.
When she was sure on her feet, Margo took a step backward and nodded.
“Ouais, je vais bien. I’m fine,” she said through uncomfortable laughter.
“You’re stunning, Marguerite; absolutely breathtaking.”
“Thank you.”
To recover from the humiliation of her fumble, Margo placed her hand in his and allowed him to assist her up the few steps that led to the arched double doors. When they entered the foyer, Margo looked up at the French-inspired murals on the unreachable tall ceiling. Every time she entered the vampire’s lair, the beauty of its historically significant architecture astonished her.
The loud clack of her heels echoed throughout the house as if the sound was coming through speakers. Margo noticed they were alone. Both times she’d been to the house, it had been buzzing with activity.
“Where is everyone?”
“Gone.”
“Everyone?”
“Everyone,” he confirmed.
They entered an elegant dining room. He led her to a chair in a far corner.
“Sit,” he urged.
Margo was in awe, admiring the china as she lowered to the seat.
“Flora Danica?” she asked.
Bishop raised a brow as if surprised.
“You have an eye for these things.”
“Of course. Plating is a big part of my job. It’s beautiful.”
Bishop nodded and lowered to one knee. She tensed when he cupped her foot in his hand.
“Relax,” he commanded as he slid her shoe off. “You can’t cook in these shoes.”
Bishop ignored the frown on her face and took off her other shoe. He pushed her shoes on the side of the chair and opened the shoebox.
“I told you I wasn’t cooking.”
He looked up at her with a disarming smile.
“I know. I was hoping you could help me in the kitchen. Size 8, right?”
Before Margo could respond, he pulled from a box, a pair of brown and gold Hermes comfort slides.
This was Bishop’s version of house shoes!
He slid a shoe on each foot, and they were a perfect fit.
“These should do fine.” Bishop stood and extended his hand.
Margo placed her hand in his and stood. But he didn’t step back, which left her with very little personal space. The scent of fresh cedarwood, combined with alpha-male, big dick energy was alluring. With a bit of hesitation, Margo raised her head and looked into his steamy gaze. She immediately regretted the decision, because when they locked eyes, her knees nearly buckled.
Bishop was beyond sexy. He looked like a man, maybe in his forties, but when looking into his aquatic blues, Margo saw the wisdom and experience that came with centuries of living. He reached up and cupped her face. Margo’s entire body responded when the rough pad of his thumb brushed against her cheek. Heavy lids shuttered as fire pulsed through her veins. Even in heat, she trembled. Butterflies fluttered in her tummy, her nipples instantly hardened, and there was an intense feeling of need contracting in her core.
“Bishop,” she whispered.
Why call his name? Did she want less... or more? Leaving her no time to decide, he pushed his lips to hers. The feeling of his mouth on hers was as natural as oxygen. So, when he pulled away, breaking their connection, it was as if he’d stolen the air from her lungs.
Margo’s eyes fluttered open and landed on a smile that framed perfect white teeth.
“You take my breath away, sweet Marguerite.” Bishop’s words were labored and sensual. Not to mention, he was speaking her thoughts. He took a step back and gestured toward the kitchen.
“Shall we?”
Bishop left her speechless, but she managed a nod. He placed his hand on her lower back and guided her into the kitchen.
“Oh, shit!” Margo gushed.
If the kiss hadn’t left her breathless, the kitchen definitely had. It was massive and modern, a rival to many of the high-end restaurants Margo had cooked in.
“That language is beneath you, Marguerite,” he grumbled.
Margo ignored him and walked over to his workspace on the island. She was impressed with his organizational skill. The area was neat. Peppers, onions, and spices were all separated neatly, ready to be chopped on the built-in chopper’s block.
Margo walked over to the sink and washed her hands, but it was filled with large prawns.
“Ooh, what are we cooking?”
Admittedly, Margo was excited about the thought of them in the kitchen together.
“Tonight, we eat Haitian, Kribich nan sos.”
Margo grinned. She was a seafood freak, and Haitian shrimp in sauce was one of her favorites.
“Really? And, you know how to prepare this dish?” she asked with a raised brow.
“Oui. Do you?”
“Of course.”
“Then let’s get to it.”
Bishop handed her an apron.
“What do you need me to do?” she asked, ready to dig in.
Bishop grabbed the knife and started chopping the vegetables.
“The shrimp need to be peeled and deveined.”
Margo grimaced.
“Umm... that is a job for a sous chef.”
Bishop laughed. Without looking up, he said, “Tonight, you are my sous chef.”
“Hmph... you serious?” Margo scoffed.
Bishop stopped chopping and looked up at her. Her inner diva had escaped through her words, and she was a little embarrassed. Margo hadn’t performed such tasks in a long while. But she wasn’t above them. So, she jerked her inner diva back in, walked over to the sink, and got busy.
“I’ll pour you a glass of wine. I have a wonderful Pinot Grigio. Would you like to try it?”
“Very much so. Thank you.”
An hour and a half later, Margo had a newfound respect for Bishop. His knowledge of cooking was impressive. From chopping, seasoning, and selecting the perfect herbs, he knew exactly what he was doing. He could have been a chef; a sexy chef.
More than once, Margo imagined those skillful hands all over her body. Every time he lifted a spoon to taste, she imagined his lips on her skin. At some point, she’d even imagined him bending her over the island. It was definitely getting hot in the kitchen.
Margo grabbed a towel and wiped down the counter. She needed to think about something other than getting fucked from behind by “Vampire Thor.”
“Smells divine. I mean, you really know your way around the kitchen.”
Bishop chuckled arrogantly.
“You sound surprised.”
“Well... I am,” Margo admitted.
“I don’t understand why you’re so surprised,” he said with a shrug. “I have been around for hundreds of years. I’ve picked up a talent or two.”
“I guess, I just assumed other people cooked for you.”
Bishop grinned. “I have a kitchen staff, but I like to cook.”
Margo sipped her wine and looked around the massive kitchen.
“This is a lot of food for two people,” she pointed out.
“I’ve invited guests.”
Margo could feel the frown forming. She was surprised, and a bit disappointed. She was looking forward to being alone with him.
“Who’s coming, your walking sippy cup?” She didn’t even try to mask the sarcasm.
Bis
hop stop icing the eclairs and looked up with a devilish grin.
“No, c Beth is out for the night. I’ve invited some old friends.”
“How old? Hundred years old?” The question may have been rude, but Margo hadn’t expected dinner guests, and she didn’t know how comfortable she would be eating with a bunch of vampires.
“Twenty years, give or take a few. They’re not vampires, Marguerite.”
Margo shrugged, feigning indifference, and took a sip of her wine.
“You have human friends?”
Bishop laughed.
“I have all kinds of friends. This surprises you?”
“A little,” she confessed.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. You’re all... big, bad vampire and shit.”
Bishop frowned, no doubt, at her use of the curse word.
“You think I’m bad?”
Margo raised her glass to her lips.
Don’t know yet,” she mumbled before taking a sip.
“Well, aren’t you brave?”
“Or, stupid,” Margo muttered under her breath.
Bishop laughed without commenting. He moved around the kitchen, searching through drawers.
“What are you looking for?”
“Serving spoons. I’m not quite accustomed to this kitchen yet.”
Margo turned around to check the drawers near her until she found what he was looking for.
“Speaking of serving... if you sent everyone away, who’s gonna serve dinner?”
“I am.” He said it like he did it all the time.
“You?” Margo questioned with raised brows.
Bishop tilted his head, looking at her.
“Exactly who do you think I am?”
“Clearly, I don’t know,” she chortled.
“Ha-ha! Go put your shoes on. They’ll be here soon.”
“Yes, sir,” Margo agreed with a salute.
Twenty minutes later, Bishop was introducing her to two women from a city in Haiti called Les Cayes. According to Bishop, Sabine Etienne and Garcelle Joseph were sisters and good friends of his.
She and Bishop greeted the women at the door as if they were a regular couple in a little house on a prairie, not a massive vampire estate. The sisters were beautiful and friendly. Margo wondered which one, if not both, Bishop had fucked. She would have asked, but there was a certain level of hospitableness that went along with being southern.
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