Antoine peered through the door’s gap. “See anything of interest?” he said, raising his brow.
Cassandra blushed and blushed again. “Huh?”
“John,” Antoine added. “Did he see anything of interest in Egypt, what took him there of all places?” He offered her his neatly folded clothes.
“Oh, just one of his seminars…” She took the pile of clothes and looked away—she’d seen enough for now.
“I’ll be out in a minute,” Antoine said, shutting the door.
“Take your time…” Cassie mused, examining Antoine’s suit. The cut and fabric looked expensive… Why the sudden change of style? She much preferred him in blue jeans and a t-shirt—though truth be told, she’d rather have him wear nothing at all.
The thought made her smile.
The coast is clear. In the laundry room, Cassie took the chance to make a quick victory dance. “Yes!” she whispered. Hands in the air, head shaking, wide grin... the works. “He’s back!”
Picking up the phone and dialing his number hadn’t been easy but his presence here tonight made it all worth it.
Theirs was a connection without precedent in her dating experience. A torrid romance, the perfect balance between heavenly bliss and stormy quarrels. Reconciling with Antoine after having a row with him was definitely the best part.
Tonight was her one shot to make things right between them. But if she wanted her plan to succeed, she had to get rid of the vampires.
Cassandra peeked into the living room. The vampires conversed in the lowest of voices.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But it looks like I had plans for the evening… Can we continue this tomorrow?”
Phillip stretched his arms over the sofa’s back and inhaled sharply. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Whereas I wouldn't.” Lockhart rose from his seat. “But it’s getting late and I’m rather hungry.”
A hungry vampire makes a lousy house guest. Good thing they’re leaving.
“Umbrella?” Cassie pointed at the one by the entrance.
“Not for me, thanks.” Phillip opened the door. “I like walking in the rain.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ivan said. “There’s no way in hell I’m ruining this suit.”
“So I guess I'll see you later,” Cassie said.
“Cassandra,” Lockhart turned. “I should tell you—”
“Ivan Lockhart, is that you?” Antoine stood in the middle of the hallway, wrapped in the black silk robe.
Lockhart’s eyes lit with enthusiasm the second he saw him. “Antoine, I thought I’d heard your voice!”
“This is a pleasant surprise.” Antoine embraced him. A gleam of mischief shone in Lockhart's eyes as they loomed above Antoine's shoulder.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.” He offered his hand to Phillip. “Antoine Somerset.”
“We have not, but it’s about time we did.” Phillip shook his hand. “The name’s Phillip Blackwell. Ivan has told me much about you.”
“Bad things, I hope.” Antoine winked at Ivan—he actually winked at him. “Listen, how about we all go out tonight?”
What was happening? Cassandra was stunned, her brain numbed by a massive outpouring of questions. How on earth had they met and when? What did Lockhart want from Antoine? And most important of all, why had he not killed him?
Two very different worlds in Cassie’s life had just collided and she didn’t like it one bit.
And then there was Lockhart. That devilish creature all but grinned after hearing Antoine’s invitation.
Don’t you dare accept, Lockhart!
“I’m afraid we’re otherwise engaged for the evening…” Lockhart finally said. “Rain check?”
Mon Dieu! Cassandra breathed a little easier. The glimmer in Lockhart’s eyes told her just how much he enjoyed every minute of her torture.
“That’s too bad…” Antoine paused. “We’re still on for the weekend, though. Right?”
“Of course. There’s much to celebrate.” Ivan smiled.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked. I’m so going to regret this.
“You haven’t told her?” Lockhart pursed his lips and folded his arms over his chest.
“Not yet,” Antoine said, lowering his gaze and hiding his hands in the robe’s pockets.
“I’m listening,” Cassandra said.
“There um… There was a meeting, downtown…” he stuttered. Why was he suddenly so bashful?
“A meeting that marked the beginning of Antoine’s success as an entrepreneur.” Lockhart pressed Antoine’s shoulder, his eyes gleaming with pride.
“Looks like you won’t be needing that umbrella anymore, Ivan,” Phillip said, stepping on the front porch. “It stopped raining.”
“Lucky me…” Lockhart said. She had heard those words before. Antoine had said them to her a few minutes after he’d arrived. Even the tone was exactly the same. “We should be going. See you soon.”
Finally.
Lockhart stopped at the front porch. “On second thought…” turning around. “You may want to meet us later at the Dungeon’s Lounge, if you feel like it.”
Antoine smiled. “Sounds great! We’ll see you there in a couple of hours.”
No. We won’t.
“I never would have guessed you knew Ivan.” Antoine opened the refrigerator, searching for a bottle of Moët. Old habits die hard, and it was a habit of Antoine's to start the evening with a glass of champagne.
“And, why is that?” she said, folding her arms over her chest. Cassie had every reason to be connected with Lockhart, but of course, Antoine knew nothing of it. And the less he knew, the better.
“It's just that—well, the two of you are so different, t'sais?”
“We most certainly are,” she mused.
“How did you meet him?” he added, ransacking the refrigerator.
“He’s a... friend of the family.” Tired of his unsuccessful quest, Cassandra pulled out the bottle of champagne. Holding it by the neck, she turned the label for him to see. “Voici.”
Antoine took the bottle off her hands, pleased. “This will do beautifully.”
“Don’t open it,” she urged. “Not here.”
He took a pair of glasses from the cupboard. “The studio?” he asked, raising his brow.
Cassie nodded.
She followed him upstairs. Cassandra clasped her hands, battling the wish to tear his robe away, and open it like a Christmas present.
“Is he a friend of John’s?” Antoine asked.
Cassie snapped out of her daydream. “Who?”
“Ivan, of course…” he said.
Her lips stretched in an uneasy smile. “Enough talk about Lockhart,” she said. “Here it is: My new painting studio.” She pointed him to the room’s entrance.
Antoine opened the double French doors, revealing the spacious white room. From the tall white stuccoed ceiling hung a pair of crystal chandeliers. Wide French windows framed Deveraux Hall's vast gardens, its copse rose in the horizon against the evening sky. Large canvases leaned against the walls, covered in white linens. She kept her collection of brushes and multicolored oils in a bucket over a round wooden table.
“C’est merveilleux…” Antoine mused, heading to the window.
“It was a surprise from Uncle John,” Cassie said, hugging her arms. “I found it like this when I returned from Paris.” Granny's funeral flashed before her eyes. Her loss was too close to her heart.
Antoine turned and contemplated her in silence. But he needn't say a word, his loving stare was more than enough.
“Did it make you happy?” Antoine moved towards her. He spoke in the softest voice as if she might break otherwise.
“Happy?” She gave him a mirthless laugh. “I haven’t been happy for the past—” Antoine kissed her lips. It was a heartfelt kiss full of longing. Cassandra’s every limb trembled as his hands cupped the sides of her face, driving her back to the recamier.
&nbs
p; The second they sat, Antoine parted enough from her for their eyes to meet. “I’ve been miserable, chérie,” he whispered, smoothing his hand down her jawline.
“It’s been too long…” she said, thrilled by the warmth of his body so close to hers.
Antoine kissed her lips once more. “Do you want me to leave?” he said with a sultry voice. Her legs tingled at the touch of his hands climbing her thighs.
Cassandra knew his game only too well. Antoine would take his time seducing her until she no longer could contain her desire for him. And she loved every minute of this torture.
“Never again,” she whispered.
At first, she thought it was a dream. But as his hand smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, she knew it was real.
“Belle l'âme et la figure…” Beautiful in body and soul, Antoine mused.
Cassandra couldn’t help but smile.
“You heard every word,” he teased.
She opened her eyes. “I would never spoil such a perfect moment,” she said, gliding her hand on his chest.
“You are perfect, chérie.” Antoine lay back on the recamier, clasping his hands on the nape of his neck. “This entire week has been perfect… First I signed the best deal of my life, and now, we’re back together. I couldn’t ask for more.”
Oh, right… His deal with the Devil. Cassandra turned. “And how is Lockhart involved in that deal?”
“Ivan,” he emphasized. “He pulled some strings, introduced me to the right people—bref, we signed a contract last Monday that got me twenty-five million dollars in my bank account.”
“Oh…” She pursed her lips. Why would Lockhart want to help him out? What interest could he have in her boyfriend? She scowled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you’d be happy to hear this.”
She sat on the recamier, pulled her dress off its arm, and slipped it on quickly. “How exactly did you meet Lockhart?”
Antoine pursed his lips. “What is this, an interrogation?”
“No, of course not…” she said. “I’m curious, that’s all.” Curious to find out what you’ve gotten yourself into.
He inhaled sharply before speaking. “I met Ivan years ago, before I met you. It was back when I opened The Dungeon’s Lounge.”
Cassandra combed her bangs with her fingers. “So… you’re friends.” She tossed her dark hair over her shoulders and moved to the bay windows, where she stood contemplating the garden below. Stay calm, Cassie. Stay calm.
“More than that, I’d say.” Antoine sat on the recamier. “The man’s brilliant, Cassie! He’s got fortune and influence like you wouldn’t imagine… He’s my mentor, a reminder of all I aspire to become—”
“Don’t ever say that!” She turned with a frown.
Antoine laughed, but he kept it short. “What’s so wrong about wanting to be rich and powerful?” he asked with a pretense of innocence.
Cassandra’s expression softened. Furtive as a lynx, she climbed on the recamier and knelt beside him.
“Antoine…” she whispered. “I like you just the way you are. I wouldn’t change a thing about you.”
He seized her wrist and pulled her close to steal a kiss off her lips, smoothing his hands on her waist. “There’s always room for improvement, chérie,” he whispered.
Cassandra shook her head. “Not like this,” she mused.
“Dammit, Cassie!” He slipped on the robe and got off the recamier. “Money has never been an issue for your family. You know how hard it’s been for me…” Antoine paced in the room.
“I do,” she said, trying hard to sound understanding.
“Six years ago, I left all I’d ever known back in Luxembourg and moved to America with barely enough cash to survive for a week…” running his fingers through his hair. “I worked like a dog to get to where I am. And it hasn’t been easy, but at last, I’ve made something of myself!”
“Oui. Je sais, mon amour…”
“I don’t expect you to understand how much I struggled to get here, but I would at least expect you to rejoice in my achievements…” He paused. “Twenty-five million dollars may mean nothing to you, but to me, this is the highlight of my career as an entrepreneur!” Antoine wouldn’t stop now.
“That is not fair,” she said. “Antoine, please… Let’s not do this.”
“You’re right… I don’t want to fight.” He stopped at the doorway. “You should wear the black dress with the lace trimming… It looks lovely on you.”
“Um, why would I change clothes?” she asked.
“We’re going to The Dungeon’s Lounge to meet them, remember?”
“Oh, that…” Cassandra cleared her throat. Well, here it goes. “I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
“I have things to do…” She sat on the recamier and crossed her legs. “I never agreed to your plan—yours and Lockhart’s.”
Antoine held his breath. “Are you sure? It would mean so much to me…”
“Why don’t you stay here instead?” Cassandra said, moving towards him. Inches away from his lips, she stopped. “Stay with me tonight.”
“I can’t,” he said. “This is too important, chérie.”
How dare he refuse her? “You’d rather be with him?” she muttered.
“How can you say that?” he whispered. “He’s done so much for me… Please, try to understand.”
Cassandra scowled. “Oh, I understand perfectly.” She marched out of the room, picked up his dried suit and walked straight back in.
“Here!” she said, tossing the suit at him. “Leave as fast as you can! We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, would we?”
“Fine!” Antoine picked up the clothes. “I’m getting out of here!”
The Dungeon’s Lounge
12:15 AM
Antoine parked in the driveway. Instantly, he became the cynosure of all eyes. It was no secret that he owned the nightclub.
The valet opened the door. “Good evening, Mr. Somerset.”
“How’s it going, Mathew?” Antoine looked around and waved at the crowd.
“It’s been a busy night, sir.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said.
Slipping both hands into his pants pockets, he took a step back to get a full view of the nightclub's facade. Nothing flashy. No signs that would give away the establishment's purpose. Amber reflectors illuminated the brick walls. Flaming torches guided the way in through an arched tunnel in Ancient Roman style.
A crowd of beauties dressed in exquisite short garments huddled against the main entrance. Riley—the Lounge's manager—opened the doors and signaled Antoine a discrete hand wave. He suggested Antoine take the side entrance instead.
Through a narrow hallway, Antoine walked into the club. He stopped at a gap on the brick wall from where he could catch a glimpse of his nightclub. The vaulted room mixed Roman and modern architecture in a decadent contemporary style.
Top of the line lighting systems flashed myriad colors at the beat of the loud music. With a full dance floor, people had no choice but to dance near their tables. Waiters glided through the crowd, covering both ends of the room quickly.
“Packed as usual,” Antoine mused as he moved upstairs, towards his private balcony.
He snuck into the corner and sat on a black leather settee, delighted by the privacy the VIP room provided. Throngs of young people danced and drunk, committed to this cycle until the break of dawn. What flaw did Cassandra find in his way of having fun?
Cassie’s refusal to join him didn’t strike him as odd, though. She was prone to avoiding social situations. A quiet evening at home watching old films appealed to her more than mingling in society. She had never set a foot in the Dungeon’s Lounge and they had dated on and off for about two years.
Was it so difficult to please him for once? Was it too much to—? Hey… There was someone in the balcony, a few feet away, by the railing. It was a woman. Her silhouette merged with the shadows… or
was he imagining things?
Antoine leaned forward and sharpened his focus. It was real. There was a woman in the VIP room. How on earth had she gained access?
The woman turned. Her gaze met Antoine’s eyes.
Stand up and go to her.
A blue light beam landed on her, outlining her figure. She wore a tightly fitted short dress with a deep plunged V neckline and airy long sleeves. Graceful in every move, she tossed back her long light brown hair, revealing her face.
Antoine rose from the seat.
Flawless skin, full pink lips, amethyst-colored eyes… She was a goddess.
With more curiosity than interest, she swept him from head to toe with a quick glance. And then, she turned to the dance floor once more.
Sex-appeal, magnetism… whatever it was, this woman had it. And oddly enough, she didn’t seem aware of it—either that or she didn’t care to be admired.
In the jolting crowd, men and women noticed her. Some wanted her, others wanted to be her.
“Will you be needing anything else, boss?” The waiter brought in a bottle of Dom Pérignon—Riley’s usual attentions. He served two drinks and then waited for his instructions.
“Yes,” he mused with eyes locked on the mysterious woman. He then turned to the waiter. “Get me an Alabama Slammer and a Mind Eraser. Thanks, George.”
The waiter nodded and went away.
Antoine took both champagne saucers and moved to the railing where the Goddess stood. He took a quick look at his wristwatch.
12:59 AM.
“The band should start playing any minute now,” he said in her ear.
The woman turned and as her flaming amethyst eyes landed on him, the corner of her mouth curled in the hint of a smile. She took the champagne glass and turned to the dance floor.
The lights went off. The crowd’s dissonance faded. In the darkness, an electric guitar pierced the silence as blue and purple light beams hit the stage. A blinding flash followed the drums’ beat. The melody’s volume lowered as the soft voice sang the first lyrics of Nina Simone’s Feeling Good.
Call of Blood: A Novel of The Unnatural Brethren Page 5
