by Sarah Piper
My little mermaid, he’d say, gently patting her bottom as the tears spilled from her eyes. How ‘bout we get some ice cream and call it a day?
She had been in danger, though—that was the thing. Charley knew she’d brushed against death on those trips, and every time, she swore she’d never return to Cape May, never give the sea another chance to steal her soul.
It was only back in the trailer after the long drive home, snugly tucked into the princess bed she’d outgrown years earlier, that the other feeling took root.
Survival.
It warmed her, knowing she’d outsmarted a force as terrible and ancient as the sea. It made her feel like a fighter. And as the months passed, the fear receded, leaving only the feeling of triumph—a hot blaze in her chest that fueled her through the long northeast winters, driving her right back to the shores the following year, waves nipping her toes, her nemesis whispering an invitation she could never refuse.
Charley hadn’t thought about those trips, about that feeling, in more than a decade.
But when she woke up in her late father’s Park Avenue penthouse the morning after the auction, her body still aching with desire, the memories rushed back in a blink.
Because that feeling—the undertow, the danger, the pure exhilaration of touching the edge of death and living to tell the tale—was exactly how it’d felt to be in the stranger’s arms.
In Dorian Redthorne’s arms.
And just like all those trips to the Cape, Charley found herself wanting to go back to him, forgetting the danger, remembering only the survival. The wicked rush. The desperate need to feel the blaze of heat in her chest, again and again…
In a fit of frustration, she threw off her duvet and hit the remote for the blinds, flooding her bedroom with light.
But even as the bright morning sun burned away the last of her erotic dreams, darkness crept in along the edges.
Charley glanced at the suit jacket draped over her reading chair. Rudy hadn’t said another word about Dorian last night, but her uncle was like a dog with a bone. There was no way he’d let it go—not after hearing about the Whitfield.
She had no idea what he was planning—only that he was planning. All Charley could do now was brace for the storm… and hope like hell she survived.
“Someone had a good night.” Sasha breezed into the kitchen with a grin that lit up the room, her blond ponytail swishing across her shoulders. “And that someone needs to spill it, especially since she stood me up for vampire movie night.”
Charley’s cheeks burned, but she recovered quickly, forcing a playful eye-roll. “If you call schmoozing with a bunch of art stiffs a good night, I feel sorry for your future boyfriends. Sorry I didn’t text—that auction dragged on forever.”
“Are your pants hot? Like, on fire?”
“Excuse me?”
“Because you’re such a liar!” Sasha poured herself a coffee, dumping in about half the sugar bowl and enough almond creamer to turn it beige. In a singsong voice, she said, “I know your faces, Chuck. And that…” She swirled her finger in front of Charley’s eyes. “…is not the face of a woman who spent the night schmoozing.”
“You’re a regular private eye, aren’t you?” Charley stuck out her tongue.
“Was he cute, at least? What’d y’all do?” At the granite-topped breakfast bar, she took the seat next to Charley, stirring her coffee with trademark Sasha exuberance, spoon clinking against the mug like a bell. “I’m not leaving this room until I get the scoop—starting with the dude’s name.”
God, I need more caffeine for this conversation…
Unlike her big sister, Sasha was an open book. She talked in her sleep, sang in the shower, thought and daydreamed out loud. She did everything out loud, full blast, no holding back. Charley admired that about her, but it also made her feel like a total fraud. There was a lot Sasha didn’t know about Charley’s life, and as much as Charley loved her, she needed to keep it that way.
The girls had different fathers, and since Charley’s mother had split and moved to Florida when she was six, searching for a man with, quote, potential, Charley didn’t even know Sasha existed—not until Mom called up one day with some sob story, trying to extort them. Charley’s father told her about the call afterward—broke the news that Charley had a baby sister.
Charley was unfazed. She was twelve years old by then, and her father and the crew he’d put together over the years—Uncle Rudy, Trick, Welshman, and Bones—were the only family she needed. As far as Charley was concerned, Mom could take her new family and jump off the closest pier.
But five years ago—about a week after her father’s death—a young girl showed up unannounced at Charley’s building, shivering and hungry, eyes wild with the kind of desperate, bone-deep fear no fourteen-year-old should ever know.
Charley didn’t recognize her, but in her backpack—shoved in with a bunch of tattered clothes and a dog-eared romance novel the girl had found on the bus—was an envelope with Charley’s name and address. The letter inside was from their mother.
It was full of bullshit about wanting a better life for Sasha, about how wrong she’d been to keep the sisters apart, but the truth Sasha shared later was much more sinister. Mom was using again—a habit she’d nursed long before she left Charley and her dad—and her dickbag, drug-dealing, boyfriend-of-the-month had driven Sasha to the Greyhound station in Jacksonville that morning, getting her a one-way ticket to New York.
Don’t come back, the boyfriend warned. You’ve upset your mother enough. Nothing left for you here.
I understand if you don’t want me, Sasha had said to Charley. But maybe I could have a sandwich? Then I’ll figure something else out. Please—I just need to eat.
Charley’s life may have been fucked up, but she’d never been hungry. In that moment, it didn’t matter that Charley was raised in a life of crime, that Sasha was a stranger, that her own mother could be so cruel. She vowed, right then and there, her sister would never know that kind of hunger or helpless fear again.
Five years on, she was still doing her best to keep Sasha safe, to give her a good life.
Unfortunately, that required a few little white lies. And a few major ones, too. About Charley’s job. Her boss. Where the money had come from.
Where it was still coming from.
“The dude’s name,” Charley said now, “is already forgotten.”
“So you did have a date! I knew it!” Sasha cocked an eyebrow, a cute trick she’d recently mastered. “Did you get any?”
“Nope.” Charley forged on, feigning defeat. “It sucked. Everything about the guy sucked.”
In more ways than one…
“Bummer. Maybe you should update your dating profile? No offense, but ‘museum consultant’ doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m hot and spontaneous and totally down to fuck.’”
Charley laughed. She’d deleted that “profile” about fifteen minutes after Sasha set it up for her last year. Her sister’s heart was in the right place—she’d been worried about Charley after things crashed and burned with the documents forger, a man Sasha believed was an insurance salesman. But come on. Online dating? Even if Charley was a legitimate museum consultant—a girl with a normal job and a regular life—how could she find the kind of man she wanted through an app? The kind of man who could take her to the edge, test her limits, talk dirty to her all night long, and wake her up with soft cuddles and kisses and breakfast in bed? Danger wrapped in silk—that’s what she wanted.
Did that kind of man even exist?
Charley loved the idea of trusting her pleasure to a strong, dominant man, but she’d learned the hard way that those men—real men, the ones who’d know how to take care of her—were few and far between. Her ex talked a good game, but when it came down to it, he preferred to demean rather than dominate. For him, it was all about ego, and whenever Charley tried to express her needs, he shut her down—sometimes by withholding sex, other times with a cruel joke, often with
humiliation. The last time she’d tried to talk dirty, to push the boundaries a bit, he’d called her a filthy whore and accused her of cheating. Slapped her hard on the mouth, drawing blood and leaving one hell of a bruise.
That was nearly a year ago. She hadn’t shared his bed since.
Charley’s mind drifted back to last night’s forbidden rendezvous. God, she would’ve loved to dish about it with her sister, but when it came to her “work” events, Charley had a strict need-to-know policy, and Sasha didn’t need to know. As far as Sasha was concerned, her big sister was a consultant who spent a lot of time looking at old paintings and helping people buy and sell family heirlooms. There were more than a few shades of gray in that definition, but for now, Charley needed to keep the specifics to herself.
Specifics… like how his strong, talented fingers put my vibrator to shame…
Charley cleared her throat and blinked away the memories, locking them back in that closet where they belonged.
“Sasha,” she said, “I appreciate your concern. Really. But I’m done dating. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“In bed?” Sasha teased.
“Anyway, what about your night?”
“Well, since you stood me up, I finished my English essay.”
The word “English” sent another unbidden spark through Charley’s insides. Thankfully, Sasha was still talking, and Charley gave her the undivided attention she deserved.
“I heard back from the professor this morning,” Sasha said. “She thinks I might be a good candidate for her advanced literature seminar in the spring. She only takes ten students—mostly seniors—and you have to be invited to even apply. If I get in, I’ll be the first freshman ever admitted.”
“Sasha, that’s amazing!” Charley beamed. She was so proud of her sister. Sasha’s education—her entire future—was the reason Charley did what she did, and nothing made her happier than hearing about her sister’s hard-earned achievements. Despite a rocky childhood, Sasha had worked her ass off in high school, earning a scholarship to Hunter College in the city, which she supplemented with a coffee shop gig to cover the extras. She’d even taken two classes in the summer, trying to get some of her basic coursework done early while she figured out what she wanted to study.
Charley might not have had the opportunity to go to college, to follow a path of her own choosing, but she’d be damned if she wouldn’t give that to her sister. Sasha was the best thing in her life, and she deserved the world. There was nothing Charley wouldn’t do to protect her. To keep that big, live-out-loud smile on her beautiful face.
“This calls for a celebration,” Charley said, already rising to rummage through the cupboards. “Chocolate chip banana pancakes?”
“But I didn’t get in yet! I won’t know until the end of the semester.”
“You’ll get in. I know it.” Charley pulled out the flour, sugar, and a bag of chocolate chips.
“We should’ve planned this better! I’m on the lunch shift at Perk.” Sasha reached for her cell. “Lemme see if I can get Darcy to switch—she owes me. We can spend the whole day together.”
“Oh… I’ve got a lunch thing I can’t get out of.” Charley frowned, thoughts of Rudy souring her mood. There was no way he’d let her bail on their appointment today—especially after last night’s failure.
Sasha’s smile slipped. “Okay, no problem.”
Charley hated that she’d put that disappointed look in her sister’s eyes, but she understood all too well where it had come from. Between Sasha’s classes and Charley’s crazy job, the girls had barely shared a meal together all month, let alone spent any quality time together. And even though last night was totally Rudy’s fault, the end result was the same. Charley had missed plans with her sister. Again.
“Hey,” Charley said. “How about tonight? We’ll go out—just the two of us.”
Sasha brightened. “For real? You don’t have to work?”
“Nope—just the lunch thing. So… we’ll grab an early dinner somewhere later, maybe see a movie?”
“Let’s go to Bryant Park!” Sasha bounced on her toes, her blue eyes glittering. “They’re showing Sleepless in Seattle tonight. We can do a Shake Shack picnic.”
“It’s a date.” Charley dumped the chocolate chips into a bowl, deciding to make the pancakes anyway. Her anxiety about Rudy was already melting away, the thought of a picnic and outdoor movie with her sister bolstering her mood.
Sasha hugged her from behind as she leaned in to steal a chocolate chip. “What did I do to deserve you, Chuck?”
Charley grinned, turning to press a kiss to Sasha’s cheek.
You showed up, she thought. And you stayed.
Chapter Fifteen
That fucking closet was going to haunt him for the rest of his immortal life.
Charlotte had awoken something inside him—a hunger that had lain dormant for far too long. Now, Dorian couldn’t even hang up his suit coat in the office this morning without his cock getting hard—a situation that would become problematic if he didn’t do something about it.
Like track that woman down, drag her back to Ravenswood, and show her exactly what she’s been missing out on her whole life…
Dorian sighed. He was the one missing out. Last night he’d sent her home with another man without a fight, and now he’d probably never see her again.
Maybe it was for the best.
Behind those seductive copper eyes, Charlotte was a deep vault of secrets. Nothing about her was innocent, and with everything else going on in his life right now, Dorian didn’t need that kind of trouble.
At least she didn’t walk away with the Whitfield.
It was a small comfort—one that didn’t last long. How had she gotten so thoroughly under his skin? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt more than a vague curiosity about a woman, let alone the borderline obsessing he was doing right now.
Sipping coffee as black and bitter as his heart, he stood before his 40th floor office windows and took in the view, a vast sea of skyscrapers that stretched from his building in Tribeca up to the northern edge of Manhattan. In the distance, the top of the Chrysler Building gleamed beneath a gorgeous sapphire-blue sky, making it nearly impossible for his foul mood to linger. Despite the ache behind his eyes, his mind was clear today—a sign that the second round of demon blood had nourished him.
That was something, anyway.
“Rough night, mate?” Aiden Donovan, Dorian’s business partner and best friend, barged into his office with his usual lack of decorum. “You look like hell.”
“And you look like someone who thinks he can show up without an appointment.”
“So rude, right?” Aiden laughed, and—just as he’d been doing since they were children in West Sussex centuries ago—made himself at home.
Today, it meant kicking back in Dorian’s leather executive chair. Back then, it’d meant accompanying the Redthorne boys on every trip into London for supplies for their father’s medical experiments, or helping Dorian care for his horse, or partaking in the family’s meals. He was the son of a local blacksmith, but his mother had died giving birth to him, and his father pretended Aiden didn’t exist. He spent so much time at the Redthorne residence that eventually Dorian’s mother gave him a room and instructed the staff to set a regular place for him at the table, where he dined with them for hundreds of meals throughout childhood and into adulthood, until the very last.
“Yet you never make good on those threats to fire me,” Aiden said now.
Dorian scrubbed a hand over his face. “Bit of a long night, is all.”
Long was an understatement. Trouble or not, Charlotte had gotten to him. Badly. No matter how many cold showers and stiff drinks later, he couldn’t get her out of his system. Even a morning run around lower Manhattan before work couldn’t clear his head. The feel of her velvety skin, the sounds she’d made as she writhed in his arms, the taste of her flesh still lingering on his lips, the dan
gerously addicting scent of her blood, rich and warm beneath her skin…
Every last memory conspired to undo him.
Drink her or fuck her, that’s what he’d said. And though he’d come close to doing both, in the end, he’d walked away.
“What’s her name?” Aiden asked. When Dorian didn’t respond, Aiden laughed. “I’ve known you since your first wank, Redthorne. As a human. You think I don’t recognize your morning-after look? Must’ve been one hell of a row. Vampire?”
“Stop talking,” Dorian said, settling into the chair across from him. “Unless you’re looking for a severance package. As in, the kind where I sever your head from your body.”
Aiden laughed again. “You know I’m right.”
Of course he was right. Aiden knew almost everything about him. After the massacre at West Sussex, when the dust had finally settled and Dorian’s father decided they’d move to New York, Aiden’s accompaniment wasn’t even up for debate. As far as Aiden and Dorian were concerned, they were brothers, blood or not.
First as humans, then as vampires.
Aiden traveled with them to New York. Made a good life for himself here, learning the ropes of a new country and new customs right alongside Dorian. And later, when Dorian’s actual brothers had turned their backs on him, Aiden’s loyalty had never wavered.
Fifteen years ago, ready for new challenges, the pair started a new business venture together. From humble beginnings in a Chelsea storefront shoehorned between a highly questionable Indian restaurant and an even more questionable no-name drug store, they’d built FierceConnect, now a multi-billion-dollar company that had given Dorian more focus, purpose, and joy than he’d ever thought possible.
He owed the man his life. And he’d never be able to repay him—not if they had a hundred immortal lifetimes together.
“And how was your reunion with the little princelings?” Aiden asked now. “I trust they’re all settled in at Ravenswood?”
Aiden had never been close with Dorian’s brothers. They’d always treated him as a lowly outsider, even after he’d been turned right alongside them. It was a slight Aiden had never quite forgiven, and neither had Dorian.