by Sarah Piper
“Like what, love?”
“Like that.” She reached over and traced her fingers across his forehead, then down to his jaw. “You feel sorry for me.”
“No.” He grabbed her wrist, turning her hand over to press a kiss to her palm. “I just wish I could take away your pain. No one should have to endure—”
“But we do, right? Endure?” Charley pulled her hand back, unable to take the sweet, tender touch of his kiss. “Anyway, regrets are pretty useless. Everything that happened in my life… It all brought me to this point.”
“What point is that?”
She flashed a grin. “Oh, you know. Sipping antique Cognac. Hanging out in a gorgeous Elizabethan manor. Hobnobbing with elite supernatural art collectors.”
Dorian returned her smile, his eyes turning curious again. “You never told me how you got involved in the art world.”
“My father,” she said. It was instant and automatic, one of the few truths she could still admit. “He was in the business. He’s gone now, but after my mom split, it was just the two of us. I used to go with him to auctions and parties, tagging along and… well, snooping, I guess.”
“Ah.” He shot her a wink. “Some things never change.”
“I’ve always loved looking at other people’s art collections. My father recognized that early on and taught me everything he could. Paintings, statues, sculptures, tapestries… I wanted to know absolutely everything, and he always indulged my curiosities.”
“When did he pass?”
“Five years ago. I still think about him every day, though.” She tipped back the last of her drink, then sighed. As screwed up as it was, this part was all true too. Messy and complicated, colored with more than a few shades of gray, but real. “I guess that’s why I still love looking at people’s collections. Sometimes I run across a piece he loved, or one he taught me about, and I just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m looking for a connection. A sign that he’s still with me.”
“Adrift,” Dorian said softly.
Charley’s eyes widened.
“Last weekend,” he continued. “At the auction. It was the painting in the study, where—”
“I remember. I’m just surprised you do.”
“How could I not? It was in that room that…” Dorian shifted in the chair, trying unsuccessfully to hide the sudden bulge in his pants. “Suffice it to say, the painting made quite a lasting impression.”
“No kidding. Thanks to you, I’ll never be able to look at it again without…”
…recalling the time a stranger cornered you in the study at the Salvatore penthouse and forced you to come for him, again… and again… and again…
The memory of Dorian’s words echoed, and Charley closed her eyes, slipping back under the spell of those stolen moments…
“Fathers,” Dorian said suddenly, scattering her thoughts. “Whether we spent our lives loving them or loathing them, even in death, they never quite leave us.”
“No, I guess not.” She opened her eyes, a knot of emotion tightening her throat.
Her feelings about her dad were so thorny, and it’d been a long time since she’d really talked about him with anyone.
Yes, her father was responsible for recognizing and nurturing her love of art—a love that had quickly become a deep, inextricable part of her being. In that way, he’d always be with her.
But he was also responsible for turning her into a criminal with no foreseeable way out. In his image, she’d become a phantom, a woman who’d seduced a stranger to distract him from her crimes, and now found herself hopelessly tangled in an impossible, no-win situation that could only end in ruin.
Charley’s and Dorian’s.
Here’s your opening, girl. Tell Dorian the truth. Tell him everything, then throw yourself at his feet and beg for his forgiveness.
Maybe there was a way to stop this before it went any further. A way to stop Rudy altogether—not just from robbing Dorian, but from all the other heists to come.
If anyone could help her figure things out, it was Dorian Redthorne, immortal vampire king.
“What is it, love?” he asked, reaching out to touch her cheek again, his brow tight with worry.
“Dorian, there’s something… I need to…” She sucked in a deep breath, then opened her mouth again, ready to confess every last sin. But when the words finally broke free, all that came out was, “I need to get back to Sasha.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Will you do me a favor?” Charlotte asked.
They were standing in the circular drive, Jameson holding the limo door for her, ready to ferry her back to the city. Dorian had wanted to accompany them, but of course Charlotte insisted on going alone. He was lucky he’d convinced her to accept Jameson’s services at all.
His woman, he was quickly learning, was not big on compromise.
Under normal circumstances, neither was Dorian. But nothing about his interactions with Charlotte D’Amico had ever been normal, and now, after the way they’d shared their bodies last night—not to mention their secrets this afternoon—Dorian’s world was completely upside-down.
All he wanted to do was drag her back into the manor, tie her down, and push her right back to the edge—a dark, dangerous place they both craved. He’d heard it in her soft moans of pleasure, felt it in the way her body had responded to his punishing touch.
Yet here she was, leaving him again.
Asking for favors, no less.
“What is it?” he asked, doing his damnedest to keep the frustration from his tone.
Keeping her voice low, she said, “Can you get in touch with your art buyer, try to find out more about Hermes and the LaPorte?”
“Why is this so important to you?”
“I… I can’t tell you. Not until I know more.” She closed her eyes, the lines around her mouth deepening. “But Dorian? This has to stay quiet. Please don’t involve anyone other than the buyer and his connections. I can’t risk it.”
Trouble.
The alarm clanged in his head again. As much as he’d tried to deny it, her actions at the Salvatore and inside his own home last night—not to mention her evasiveness about the stolen artwork—convinced him she was into something nefarious. But Dorian couldn’t discern whether she’d caused the trouble, or she’d just been caught in the crossfire.
He still wasn’t convinced she didn’t have connections to Chernikov, either, or the other greater vampire families looking to make a power play, or any name on the increasingly long list of enemies eager to turn the Redthornes to ash.
But deep inside, he wanted to trust her. To help her, even if he was only helping her put the final stake through his heart.
“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked.
Again, she didn’t answer.
“You’re hiding something,” he said, frustration finally bubbling over. “You’ve been nothing but cagey since our first meeting, and now you’re standing on my property, asking for favors to which you’re not entitled, nor have you earned. I demand to know—”
“Don’t. Please.” With a gentle touch, she cupped his face, her eyes full of regret. “I realize how shady this sounds, but—”
“Darling, you have no bloody idea. I’ve met career politicians more honest and straightforward than you, even before I compelled them.”
A wounded look flickered through her gaze, and she removed her hand, but Dorian stood by his words. She was shady. Shady, frustrating, witty, intelligent, adventurous, beautiful, incredibly sexy, and quickly infiltrating his very bones.
“I know I haven’t earned the right to ask for this,” she said, “but—”
“You don’t trust me. After everything we’ve already shared.”
“You shouldn’t trust me, either, Dorian Redthorne. We’re still strangers. And we’re talking about stolen artwork here. The kind of information that can lead to some really unsavory places.”
“Like my bed?” He’d meant it to sound angry, but it c
ame out more like a taunt.
Charlotte couldn’t help her smile, and for a moment Dorian was so relieved to see the light return to her eyes, he almost stopped caring about the secrecy.
“I wouldn’t call your bed an unsavory place.” She took a step closer, sliding her hands over his shoulders, the sudden press of her body after so long without it quickly sending him into overdrive.
He slid his hands into her hair, drawing her even closer. “I have other unsavory beds, you know. A great many of them. Beds you haven’t yet had the pleasure of being bound to and thoroughly ravished upon.”
His cock twitched at the thought, and her eyes darkened with desire, blood racing hot through her veins.
But then she closed her eyes and pulled back, leaving him with nothing to embrace but the crisp autumn air and an armload of regrets.
“Goodbye, Dorian Redthorne,” she said softly. “Thank you, as always, for a lovely time.”
Dorian pressed a hand to his heart. “Ah, she bids me farewell, and yet my questions remain unanswered, the mystery of Charlotte D’Amico eternally unsolved.”
“I need more information,” she said, impatience snapping through her words. “Can you do me that favor? Talk to your guy?”
In response, Dorian grabbed her shoulders and hauled her close, claiming her in a kiss so fierce, so protective, so possessive, it left no doubt about his intentions. Then, finally breaking for air, he kissed a path to her ear and whispered, “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
Charlotte gave him a grateful smile, which Dorian reluctantly returned. He’d given in to her demands today, but she was going to have to start talking, sooner rather than later. Because after this weekend, whatever trouble Charlotte was heading for, whatever “unsavory places” awaited her, Dorian was going right down with her.
Whether she liked it or not.
She slid into the limo, and Jameson closed the door behind her.
“I shall take good care of her, sir,” he said.
“I’ve no doubts, Jameson,” Dorian replied. Then, in a low voice, “Keep the GPS activated. I’ll be right behind you.”
Chapter Forty
Charley could not stop shaking.
She was so livid, so out of her damn mind with rage, she could barely think straight, let alone get her body to cooperate. It was all she could do to give Jameson the address change, and hope like hell he didn’t rat her out to Dorian.
She was in enough trouble with the vampire as it was. The last thing she needed was Dorian finding out she didn’t go home, after she’d insisted over and over she needed to get back to Sasha.
Leaving Ravenswood, she had every intention of doing just that. But halfway across the Tappan Zee Bridge, she’d gotten a call from a frantic, freaked-out Sasha that changed everything.
Rudy had shown up at Perk today during Sasha’s shift, where he proceeded to order a cappuccino, plop his sketchy ass at the counter, and lurk.
For five fucking hours.
He’d peppered her with questions about her dating life, about Charley’s, about whether Charley’s so-called “new boyfriend” had ever been to their Park Avenue penthouse. He wanted to know if Sasha realized her sister was “whoring around” upstate this weekend, and if she’d heard from their “slut of a mother” lately. He told Sasha she was a stunning young woman—that their mother was a fool to toss a girl like her into the trash.
Sasha was so rattled, she didn’t even leave when her shift ended—she picked up a double, just so she wouldn’t have to exit the café until Rudy was long gone.
Now, hours later, Charley barreled out of the elevator that led to his apartment, damn near kicking down the door.
After a barrage of knocks and kicks, Rudy opened the door, his smile greasy and smug. “And the succubus returns. I wondered when I might hear from you.”
Beyond the entryway, Travis sat on the couch with a beer, shaking his head. “Not cool going off the radar like that, Charley.”
“I lost my phone,” she said.
“In Redthorne’s bed?”
Charley rolled her eyes. God, she wanted to throttle them both. After everything she’d witnessed this weekend, everything she’d learned from Dorian about the creatures that lurked in the shadows, Travis had been downgraded from a snake to a roach—an annoying pest who needed a good dose of Raid.
Rudy needed a dose too, but unfortunately, he was still the boss—one Charley had to appease, even when all she wanted to do was set him on fire and shoot his crusty ashes out of a canon.
“Come in, Charlotte.” Rudy’s smile fell away, his eyes dark and sinister. “I hope you have something worthwhile to share, for your sake and for Sasha’s. Did she mention we spent some time together today?”
Looking at him now, his hair slicked back, his calculating eyes, Charley wanted to claw his skin off, hold a knife to his throat, and give him a glimpse of the fear he’d instilled in Sasha.
But as furious as she was, she no longer wanted to tear him a new one.
That’s what he wanted—confirmation that his tactics worked. That he’d gotten to her.
Fuck that.
With a curious smile, she said, “Oh, really? I thought Sasha had to work today.”
Rudy’s jaw ticked. “I dropped by Perk to say hello.”
“Huh. I spoke to her earlier, but she didn’t mention it. She gets a lot of customers, though—hard to remember just one.”
Even if that one is a filthy, dickless scumbag who thinks preying on young girls makes him powerful…
He grunted out something that might’ve been a laugh or a warning or even indigestion, glaring at Charley with another silent threat. For a moment, she said nothing—just glared right back, wondering how such a human stain could hold so much sway over her life.
Her father may not have been up for any model citizen awards, but Charley was damn sure he’d never stand for his brother and former second-in-command treating his daughter and her sister this way.
But her dad was long gone, and unlike Dorian, Charley didn’t have super strength and immortality on her side. If she wanted to take back the reins of her wildly out-of-control life, she was going to have to do it herself—one small victory at a time.
Starting with taking charge at this meeting.
Ignoring her uncle’s menacing glare, she dropped her bag in the entryway and headed into the living room, taking the chair farthest from the cockroach. “Let’s make this quick—I’ve got things to do.”
Rudy joined them, settling in next to Travis. He wanted to lecture her. She could feel it simmering in the air, quickly moving to a boil. But right now, he wanted the intel more. That was her leverage. That would always be her leverage.
For now, she needed to play it smart. Let them think she was all in, as promised.
“It’s like you figured.” She glanced down at the papers spread across the coffee table—twice as many surveillance photos as they’d shown her last time. “The guy’s loaded.”
“Loaded and locked down,” Travis said. “Right?”
“Extremely locked down. The place is a vault.” Charley updated them on the security situation, leaving out certain details, embellishing others, giving them just enough to salivate over while still buying herself some wiggle room to figure out her next steps. “And right now, he’s got a bunch of family in town.”
She’d expected that bit of news to piss Rudy off, but he only sighed.
Weird.
“For how long?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Apparently, there was a death in the family.”
Nodding as if this was no big deal, Rudy tapped the floor plans on the table. “Walk me through the house, room by room. I need to know what’s in there.”
Charley patiently pointed out each room—master bedroom, additional bedrooms, sitting room, living room, formal dining room, on and on—listing off some of the high-end pieces that had decorated each. She omitted the elevator, and glossed over the basement quickly, trying
to keep their attention on the main floors.
“You sure you searched the basement completely?” Travis asked. “No poker room, media room, other places he might stash some art?”
Charley shook her head.
“I don’t buy it,” he said. “Rich jackoff like that? I bet he’s—”
“Look, guys,” Charley said, determined to keep control of the situation. “Dorian Redthorne isn’t some frat-boy stockbroker. He’s not even much of an entertainer—the fundraiser was apparently a once-in-a-lifetime event. He’s just a wealthy, somewhat reclusive businessman and collector—that’s it.”
And an immortal vampire who could tear your beating hearts out of your chests…
The image almost made her smile, but it wasn’t a serious option. For all his faults, Dorian wasn’t a murderer. He’d said it himself—vampires had laws against killing humans.
Besides, if Rudy died, where the hell would that leave Charley? She had no access to money, to the deed of her father’s condo. Rudy wasn’t just her uncle—he was her benefactor. Her sole source of income.
“What about the cars?” Travis asked. “Tell me he showed you the cars.”
Charley sighed. Being around these men always felt like a test, and she had a sneaking suspicion they still had people watching the property, which meant they might’ve seen her driving the Ferrari.
Again, she shared as little of the truth as possible.
“We took one of the cars out earlier,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t even know what kind it was. Cars aren’t my area of expertise, but yeah, there are a lot of them, and they look pretty.”
Not to mention, incredibly fun to drive. Despite the seriousness of the situation, it was hard for Charley not to smile at the memory of driving that Ferrari, the wind in her hair as she sped along the open road. She still couldn’t believe Dorian had let her drive it.