Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2012 Doris O’Connor
ISBN: 978-1-927368-66-4
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: JC Chute
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
Give me 500 words, containing narrow boat, thigh highs, lantern, and costa coffee.
Thank you Jo for that mental kick up the behind. This is for you.
LURE OF FOREVER
Doris O’Connor
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
Coralie grumbled under her breath, clutching the lukewarm cup of coffee to her half-naked chest in a vain effort to warm up. Who, in the name of all that was holy, would want a Strip-o-Gram on a canal boat? In the rain? Why ever had she agreed to this? Surely, there had to be an easier way to earn a living.
As she tottered along the canal path, her thigh-high stiletto boots kept slipping in the mud underfoot, making her feel less like a Strip-o-Gram and more like a mud wrestler. Never again. Jerry would just have to do her own dirty work in the future.
The canal boat suddenly appearing around the corner announced her destination. Right, here goes nothing. She pushed sodden strands of chestnut hair out of her face, tossed the useless coffee into the canal, and straightened her shoulders. The better to show off her cleavage.
Before she could rap on the door, it swung open, and Coralie's jaw hit the floor.
The man standing in the open doorway had to be at least six-foot-three of sex on legs, a drop-dead-gorgeous male in tightly packed designer jeans. The light spilling through the door silhouetted his broad shoulders and muscled torso, tapering off to lean hips and strong thighs, ending in Italian designer shoes. Who wore designer shoes on a blinking canal boat?
Before she could voice that opinion, however, the man grabbed Coralie around the waist with a growl that vibrated through every fiber of her body. He shoved her into the room's bright interior with a muttered French curse. She collided with another warm male chest, and looked up into amused silver-grey eyes.
"Forgive my friend Lucas. He's just had some bad news."
Another mountain of a man, his rugged features holding an appreciative smile as he ran his eyes slowly over her body, winked at her and let her go. She stepped back, unease traveling down her spine. The boat was filled with several more enticing examples of wannabe-Chippendale's men, and one ethereally beautiful blonde woman whose assessing, ice-cold blue stare made Coralie feel as though she was dessert. Suddenly all too aware of her half-naked guise, she wished she'd brought a coat to hide behind. To top it off, she was dripping water on the immaculately polished oak flooring.
"Oh, is it snack time? You could have found something cleaner…"
Cleaner? Who did this woman think she was? And what did she mean, 'snack time'? The tendril of unease increased and Coralie shook her head. Were those fangs in the woman's mouth? She shouldn't have watched that old horror movie last night, clearly. A quick glance around showed that half of the other people also sported fangs, and the man she'd stumbled against didn't look amused anymore. At least he wasn't sporting fake teeth. Thank the Lord for small mercies.
Oh, good God. I've walked into a boat full of wannabe vampire loonies. It isn't even Halloween, for pity's sake.
Coralie took another step back and made direct contact with Mr. Super Gorgeous. He looked positively murderous, his moss-green eyes glittering in barely suppressed fury as he shoved one hand through his mop of black hair, and Coralie groaned to herself. That “bed hair” of his looked way too sexy. She could almost forgive him the fake teeth he was also sporting. Typical: the first man in ages to make her libido sit up and take notice, and he was some sort of weirdo with a vampire fetish.
"Ok, you … you… whatever you may be," Coralie pulled her shoulders back and tried for a seductive smile. The sooner she did her number, the faster she could get away from these… people. Calling the murderous-looking hunk––whose seductive gaze now settled fully on her––a 'crank pot' would probably not earn her a generous tip. "Just tell me who the birthday boy is and I'll be out of your hair."
"Birthday boy?" He growled the words, and butterflies settled in Coralie's stomach. His eyebrows drew together as he glared at her.
Heaven help me.
The deep, slightly accented voice came straight out of every one of her fantasies. Too bad the man himself was not only weird, but also clearly not the brightest star in the pack.
"Yes, the birthday boy. Believe it or not, I don't normally run around dressed like a third-rate hooker." She pointed to her laced-up ivory top and short black skirt that comprised the French maid's outfit she'd just about managed to squeeze into. "And I don't go knocking on strange men's doors for the fun of it. You booked a Strip-o-Gram for the birthday boy, so tell me who he is, so I can get this over with."
And please stop staring at me as though you've never seen boobs before.
He had stopped glaring at her during her little speech and his eyes weren't frosty anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact, if the way her body reacted to him was anything to go by. Damn it all, what was wrong with her today? This was all Jerry's fault. She had to find herself a decent job and not rely on Coralie to bail her out all the time. Now, what was he saying?
It was his turn to stare at her as though she wasn't quite right in the head. Thankfully, the slightly puzzled expression on his face meant she could breathe normally again. It had to be because she’d been caught in the rain in this ridiculous outfit that she felt so strange. She was probably coming down with the flu––yes, that had to be it. Nothing at all to do with the man addressing her, again, in that to-die-for voice.
"Are you suggesting I would call a Strip-o-Gram?"
He sounded positively offended, whilst the man behind him erupted into gales of laughter.
"Well, Lucas, you could do worse."
"Shut up, fleabag. This isn't funny."
"It so is. But if you didn't call her, who did? Unless…"
He sobered up, and threw Coralie a considering glance that gave her the shivers. Heck, she felt better when they were staring down her cleavage.
"Unless what? For goodness sake, stop playing games and tell me where you want me." Heat rose in her cheeks as Lucas's gaze once again settled on her nipples, poking through the sheer fabric of her top like come-and-get-me beacons. She crossed her arms. "Or I shall just leave now and tell the agency this was all a mistake?"
And lose Jerry her much-needed payment? Who are you kidding, girl, you wouldn't do that. It was strange, though. The agency had offered extra pay due to the location, and that's why Jerry had pleaded with her to go in her place. She couldn't afford any more no-shows, or the agency would let her go, and she needed the money for little Suz.
So if these two didn't call her…
Embarrassment flooded her when Coralie realized what must have happened. In the dark and her befuddled, half-frozen state, she'd stumbled on to the first available boat. What's the betting her destination was around the next bend? Great. She would have to make her excuses and endure this whole scenario again, and what's more, she'd have to step out into the rain that was now pelting the roof of the boat.
Sighing deeply, she stared at the mud on the floor with a frown. This wa
s so embarrassing. Not only had she turned up on the wrong boat, she’d also dragged a load of mud and water in with her. May the ground swallow her whole, right here and now.
Of course, that magic rabbit hole was never there when you needed it––not that she believed in magic.
"I'm sorry. It seems I got the wrong boat. I will leave you be. Do whatever it is that you were doing."
The cool hand on her arm stopped her. Great, now he wanted her to stay?
"What do you mean, you've got the wrong boat? I'm the only barge moored here. Unless…" The grip on her arm grew painful and Coralie's eyes widened with the discomfort. "Ion, check it out. If he uses a boat, the location of the unfortunate girls would make complete sense. But she's not his type. He prefers blondes, it seems."
Coralie stopped breathing. Jerry was blonde…what on earth were they going on about? Before she could ask, Ion took off through the door as though the hounds of hell were after him. He was followed by the other, non-fanged men in the room, which left her in the company of the weirdoes. Oh, great. She stared pointedly at Lucas's hand, which still held her arm in a firm grip.
"Would you mind letting me go? You're hurting me, and I really need to go."
He released her immediately with a mumbled French apology, but he didn't budge. Another two men moved in the way of the door, arms crossed over their chests. There was no way out, it seemed. Coralie's heart started pounding like a jackhammer, as her earlier unease returned with a vengeance. What the hell was going on here? Who were these people?
"What did you mean, he prefers blondes?"
"Nothing you need concern yourself with, human," the blonde woman replied. Her icy tone chilled Coralie to the bone. Hell's bells. Her freezer gave off more warmth than this Ice Queen. And, what did she mean, 'human'? They took their vamp fantasy a bit too far.
The words were out in the open before Coralie could stop them. "Considering I'm the one standing here dripping all over the floor, and the friend I'm standing in for is blonde, it seems to me it's very much my business."
"What friend?" Lucas growled in her ear and the woman was on top of her before she could blink. Boy, she moved fast.
"Lucas asked you a question. You would be wise to respond, human."
There she went again with the 'human' crap. Ice Queen sure fancied herself. Coralie rolled her eyes and bit her tongue. There was something really unsettling about the cold, unblinking stare leveled at her.
"Carmen, I will deal with this. Perhaps you ought to leave." The deep voice just behind her permeated Coralie's senses and her body responded. She had to stop herself from sinking back into the cool chest of the man behind her. It was the accent, she told herself, that's all. Nothing else. She would snap out of it any minute now.
Carmen gave her one last, long look and with a clap of her hands led everyone else out of the room, which left Coralie completely on her own with the man in question. His hands reached out, slowly turning her around by the shoulders.
Before she could step back, he cupped her chin in his hands, and Coralie lost herself in the deep, hypnotic quality of his gaze.
"Listen to me, Chere. You will not remember this…"
Chapter Two
Lucas looked into the doe-like eyes of the deliciously wrapped human parcel that had so unexpectedly landed on his boat. He extended his mind, probing, feeling, and hit a proverbial brick wall.
Sacre bleu! This couldn't be. The little morsel was human. He knew that as surely as though he'd tasted her. Yet every time he probed, the wall got stronger. Heat built under his hands, until he had to release her, and she blinked twice, stepping away from him with a frown.
"Will you stop staring at me, you…you, who the hell are you, anyway?"
Odd. Did she repel him on purpose, or was she an exceptionally good actress? There was only one way to find out.
"Lucas de Tourneau at your service, Miss...?"
"Coralie Roberts, but don't call me that. I'm Coral." Her voice wobbled and her eyes filled with sudden tears before she blinked them away. She straightened her shoulders with the same unconscious move he'd observed several times already, then shut her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again they glittered, seemingly in annoyance.
"Now that Miss Ice Queen has left, are you going to tell me what the hell is going on here?"
"Miss Ice Queen?" he echoed in silent amusement. It was quite an apt description for the ruthless Carmen, but for Coralie's sake, he was glad the ruler of the council wasn't here to witness it. Carmen was not known for her sense of humor.
"Oh, for goodness sakes. The blonde who seemed so full of herself?"
"I'm fully aware of who you're referring to, Coralie," her sharp intake of breath stopped him as she stabbed her index finger in his chest repeatedly.
"Do not call me Coralie. Had I not said that just five seconds ago? I'm not—"
He grabbed her hand and pulled her flush into his body. Merde, if her curvy body didn't rub against all the right places. It had been way too long since he'd indulged himself. This little human may well regret having landed on his boat in the morning, and he had to find out what she knew. His blood surged south, pooling in his balls at the mere thought of having those soft curves writhing under him. All that banked passion, he sensed, would make for an interesting time between the sheets.
He allowed his fangs to run out a little further, waiting for her reaction, which turned out to be amusing and infuriating in equal measures. She rolled her eyes and pushed against his chest.
He let her go, but not before he noticed the way her breathing and heart accelerated with a satisfied smile. He may not be able to reach her mind, but her body was another matter. The exasperated sound she made deep in her throat shot straight to his cock, and he shifted imperceptibly to get comfortable in his jeans.
She glared at him, shaking her head, and drops of moisture flew in the air. His conscience stirred briefly. As she'd arrived here looking like a drowned rat, he figured she must be getting cold. He stepped closer again, but her raised hand and incredulous expression stopped him.
"You have got to be kidding me. Are those things growing? Seriously? Aren't you a bit too old to play Dracula?"
The nerve of the little minx. She made him sound like a five-year-old, playing dress up. As she headed for the door, dismissing him as though he was a child, he pounced and spun her around.
Her eyes widened and her breath hitched. He caged her in against the wall, the rhythm of her heartbeat reminding him he hadn't fed in several days. His cock pressed painfully against the seam of his fly, her ineffective struggles in his arms awakening the bloodlust he usually held under iron control. It had been way too long since he had the thrill of the chase. She shivered and stopped struggling when he ran his fangs along her neck and he smiled. He had her now. He pulled back slightly to see her expression. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide and unblinking as she looked up at him.
"Ah, that's better, Chere. Does this feel as though I'm playing at Dracula? I let you know he has nothing on me. I have been around for...Umph."
His balls exploded as her knee came up and hit the bull's eye. He staggered back when she pushed against his chest, in too much pain at that moment to stop her.
"Spare me, big boy. This may work in your little gatherings, but please. Are you that deluded, you actually believe you could hypnotize me? What next? You're gonna sparkle in the sun? Turn into a bat?" She stamped her foot in frustration at his complete inability to utter a response. "Oh, for goodness sakes. Speak, man. I didn't hit you that hard."
"That is a matter of interpretation." He just about managed to croak his response, and had to resist the urge to cup his aching balls to make sure they were still attached. That woman had bloody hard knees. At least she had the good grace to look a little chagrined, as her chocolate eyes rested briefly on his groin.
A slight flush crept into her cheeks and she didn't look at him when she mumbled, "Well, yes. I'm sorry if I hurt you, but what do y
ou expect me to do? Stand there and let you maul me with your fake teeth? They're bloody sharp, you know. If you insist on wearing them, I'd file them down, before you end up hurting someone."
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth and amusement replaced his annoyance. Righteous indignation warred with worry in every line of her delectable body. She was a walking enigma, this bundle of curves. The well-buried human part of him stirred in recognition––of what, exactly? He wasn't sure, and now was not the time to ponder that. Shifting slightly, relief flooded him as the ache in his balls ceased.
"Are you OK? Don't need an icepack or anything?”
"I'll live, it seems, but thank you. Shall we start again?" He extended his hand as he spoke.
She looked at it suspiciously and glanced up at his face, before taking his hand. A jolt of awareness shot up his arm and she dropped his hand as though she'd been burned. Her frown matched his as they stood staring at each other. What the hell was going on here?
"I…I really ought to go."
Her suddenly breathy voice had his balls aching anew. His ringing phone broke the growing awareness between them and he put one hand up in a silent bid for her to stay. She nodded warily, her expressive eyes flitting over his face, resting briefly on his mouth, and he grinned at her. She rolled her eyes and his amusement grew. Bet she wondered what he did with his teeth. File them down, indeed. She would find out soon enough how sharp they could be. Reading the display on his phone stopped those thoughts instantly: Ion.
****
Why was she still standing here, gawping at him as though he was the Holy Grail to womankind? He certainly didn't need the boost to his ego––that was for sure. How she'd managed to bring her knee up like that, she'd never know. Her body had simply melted against him when he caged her in against the wall, and even though she knew those blasted teeth were fake they still sent shivers down her body that settled between her thighs. It was every wicked fantasy come to life. God, she was no better than him, getting lost in the illusion. Vampires were damn hot in the fantasy realm, but that's where they belonged. She was not going to be turned into a crazy person who acted these fantasies out, no matter how delicious the man was.
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