by Julia Mills
I nodded, then quickly replied, “Yes, Madame,” to avoid reprimand, not sure where she was going but interested enough to pay attention.
“A vampire is no different. He also wants his food to taste a certain way. But instead of adding salt or garlic, he prefers his blood paired with alcohol and seasoned with endorphins like oxytocin that only occur during sex.”
She looked right into my eyes, which I felt grow to the size of saucers. I knew vampires liked sex with their blood but had no idea why. The truth was a little more startling than I was ready for. Then she said, “That is why my girls live with their vampire during the term of their employment, which brings me to my next question. Have you ever slept with a vampire before?”
My mouth dropped open as her stare became more intense. I got the same feeling as when Roarke was looking at me; like she was digging through my brain for the truth. Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I shook my head.
Not missing a beat, Madame de Beaufort smiled, “Good. That’s very good. Roarke will be pleased.” Then she asked, “Do you like sex? Are you experienced?”
At this point I could no longer sit still. I knew I was blushing. Sex was not something I ever talked about, not even with my mother, and definitely not with Vanessa. I mean, Mom had given me the talk when I got my period, and I was a nurse for cripes sake. I’d taken all the classes. Passed with flying colors. Knew all the anatomy, physiology, psychology, and biology. It was just not something I’d had very much practical experience with. Aside from Daniel Howard, Senior class president and quarterback of the football team in my senior year, I had no personal sexual experience.
Speaking to the window to avoid any further embarrassment, I replied, “Yes, I like sex.” Because I had enjoyed it the three times I’d had it with Daniel. “And…to be honest, I have only ever been with one man.”
I heard Madame’s pen scratching on the paper as I waited for her reply. It wasn’t that I had completely decided to go along with the whole harebrained scheme, but I had to admit it was the only prospect on my horizon, and I didn’t want to screw it up out of the gate.
Turning around when the suspense got to be too much, I watched Madame de Beaufort stand, smooth her skirt, turn toward me, and lean her shapely behind on the corner of the table. With her arms elegantly crossed over her ample chest, she smiled. “The fact that you have never been with a vampire, have an incredibly limited sexual history, and display your emotions so freely, are very sought after attributes for a courtesan, especially someone like Roarke.”
She reached for another stack of papers, held them out to me, and advised, “You need to read this contract and confidentiality agreement. It is for your protection as well as Roarke’s. When you have finished, signed, and if you have no further questions, we will begin your training.”
I took the papers from her hand, sat back down in my chair, and stared at the black writing on the stark white page. Apparently, they were my ticket out of jail. All I had to do was sign on the dotted line and spend thirty days with an attractive, rich, arrogant vampire then I would have my life back. It had to be better than jail, right?
Chapter Five
I stuffed all thoughts of what my family would say if they were alive, what I thought of vampires as a whole, and what was going to happen after my training and focused on listening to Madame de Beaufort’s teachings. I must admit, after the first day I hardly noticed all the weird ways she pronounced things and stopped flinching every time she touched me. We hadn’t bonded. I don’t think the Madame bonded with anyone, but I could safely say we were coexisting and working together toward a common goal.
Roarke, who had been absent and I was told would remain so until I was ready, had arranged for Madame de Beaufort and I to have side-by-side suites in the hotel. Since all my clothing had been destroyed, the first order of business after I had been allowed two days of rest and recuperation was to get the appropriate wardrobe to be a courtesan for a man such as Roarke. Those were Madame’s words, not mine.
During those two days, I thought about my life before I found the children. I really did have it made. I spent most of my time working and hanging out with Vanessa, who I had no doubt was climbing the walls wondering what had happened to me. But then again maybe she knew. She had, after all, been trying to explain something about good vampires and bad vampires before the dead drop on the roller coaster ride I was calling my life began.
I was able to send her a text message and say that I would be out of contact for a while. I used the excuse that I was staying with the kids until my apartment had been repaired and it wasn’t safe for her to know where we were. I knew she had been to my home and knew about the vandalism from the message I received that read WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY? All caps. She was screaming at me in text.
A little time apart would do us good. She still had her career and I was…well…I was now a paid escort to a vampire, at least for the time being. Besides feeling like we might not have that much in common anymore, I had signed an ironclad confidentiality agreement making contact on any other than a ‘Hi, how you doing?’ level out of the question. Madame had explained that I would be required to attend functions with Roarke and at those functions I might see people I knew. She explained that I was to be cordial, always considering that my actions reflected upon Roarke, but for the most part I was cut off from my old world until my thirty days of service came to an end.
My spirits were sinking as I waited for the wardrobe consultant to arrive. Madame had explained that he was the best in the business and had extensive experience in dressing courtesans all over the world. All that kept going through my mind was a photo of me at six years old, dressed in my mother’s prom dress and heels with bright pink lipstick covering most of my face and my long dark hair piled up on top of my head with a scarlet ribbon tied around it. To say fashion was not my thing, even all those years ago, was an understatement.
I had never really had to use makeup and only had the occasional pimple during puberty; I had a natural glow to my cheeks and my big dark eyes came lined with long black eyelashes. Several girls during high school and college had told me how jealous they were that I didn’t have to wear makeup, but I think most thought I was just plain Jane from the farmland.
My hair had always been long, like past my waist long, and dark with golden and red highlights and enough natural wave that it didn’t hang limp and it wasn’t a pain in the butt to brush. I had never colored it and only had it trimmed every six months. It was mostly in a ponytail or on top of my head while I was at work, or down my back and tucked behind my ears on the side when I was home.
Going out, dressing up, or doing anything fancier than jeans and a T-shirt had never been my thing. To say I was nervous about being Roarke’s courtesan, both in public and private, was like saying the Hoover Dam was a blow-up pool in the backyard.
Thankfully, my turmoil was cut short by the small rap on the door followed by the scratch of a keycard in the lock and the grandest entrance into a hotel suite I had ever witnessed. Waiting to see who popped out from behind the huge rolling rack packed full of clothes, I sat up straight and held my breath.
What I saw was nothing like I expected and for the first time in a week made me genuinely smile. The man who appeared was over six-feet tall, lean muscled with a great complexion, an eight-inch violet mohawk, and a hoop earring in both ears. He was squeezed into acid-washed skinny jeans, wore a vintage Grateful Dead T-shirt with the arms cut off, and with the wave of his arm declared, “My name is Jacques and I am your Fashion Fairy Godmother,” in a high trill with a wink and a swish of his hips.
Not missing a beat, Jacques threw his bag on the couch and rushed over to me with his hands out and a smile on his face. “You must be Katharine. I have to say I’m surprised to meet you. In all the years I’ve worked with Madame Rouge and known of Roarke, I’ve never had the pleasure of dressing one of his courtesans.”
“Has he had a lot?” The question popped out o
f my mouth before my brain had gotten over the shock of the man before me but apparently, Jacques didn’t notice as he sat beside me and started to talk like we were old friends.
“Well, you see, that’s the thing, I don’t think he has. At least not from any of the gossip I could pick up around the water cooler.”
“And who is Madame Rogue?” I figured if he was answering questions, I was going to ask.
“She runs the New York office. It’s not very often she lets me help other madams but she and de Beaufort are old friends and once she knew it was for Roarke, well…to be honest, I think she was jealous that I was getting to come instead of her. He is quite a hunk.” Jacques looked down at his nails, wiped them on the leg of his jeans, and then sighed. “Shame he bats for your team.” Then with a quick smile he added, “But hey, I’m loving the cowboy vibe around here. I may have to go ropin’ and lassoin’ before I head back to the Big Apple.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Jacques was the splash of life and fun that I needed to get out of my funk and embrace what I was about to do. Before I could continue my questions, he was up and talking about my clothing. “I hear you have nothing but what you’re wearing?” He tried not to look down his nose at me, I could see it in his eyes, but he failed miserably.
Pushing the rack to the center of the room, Jacques started at the back with a couple of pairs of jeans. “These are size tens and twelves. Take them in there,” he pointed down the hall, “Try them and let me know which fits best.”
Grabbing the pants and getting to my feet, I was halfway down the hall when he called, “Better yet, come out and let me decide which fits best. Once we have sizes, I can set the shopping gurus loose and we’ll have all the garments we need at our fingertips within a day.”
I swear Jacques squealed in delight at the end of his sentence. I had never met anyone so excited about clothes but as the day went on, I learned his zeal knew no end. We, or rather he, decided I was a perfect size ten. I believe his exact comment was, “Now, that’s the way to package what you’ve got, girlie,” to which I nodded and took the next handful of garments.
Every time the doorbell rang, I cringed. I knew it meant more clothes were being delivered and I would be spending more time in and out of them. I think Jacques could’ve gone on all night had it not been for an appearance from Madame da Beaufort.
I heard Jacques say, “Hello, Madame. So good to see you.” Then she gave her patented French non-committal greeting before the telltale sounds of cheek kissing reached my ears.
The thought of running back into my room crossed my mind, but I was barely staying upright on the four-inch stilettos Jacques had insisted I try on. Besides, I knew beyond all doubt that the Madame had heard the rustle of my dress. There was no running away.
Making sure my shoulders were back and my head held high, I walked into the living room wearing an elegant black Chanel gown that was cut down to my navel, up to the top of my thigh just shy of my thong, and showed my entire back. I have no idea how the designers had used so much silk and I still felt naked, but they had accomplished a miraculous feat with style. Opening my mouth to say just that, I remembered who was there, slammed my lips shut at the sight of Madame, and kept walking as she motioned me forward.
Holding out her hand, palm up, she ordered, “Stop.” Then in slow, short steps she walked all the way around me, her eyes going from top to bottom then bottom to top with every step. I nearly jumped out of my skin when she ran the pointed tip of her fingernail up my spine and murmured, “Beautiful skin. It feels like silk and looks like porcelain. Roarke will be pleased.”
Biting my tongue to keep from letting one of the many smartass comments running through my mind fly, I simply stood still until she made her way back to the front and while looking at my braless cleavage said, “And those tits literally defy gravity,’ over her shoulder to Jacques.
“Yes, Madame de Beaufort, they are wonderful.”
“And they are natural?” She asked Jacques and not me, to which he replied, “Absolutely.”
At this point, I was just about to blow my top when she looked down her nose at me and asked, “Do you have to wear that horrific thong? It destroys the lines of the gown and makes a mockery of Karl’s work?”
Now, I had no idea who Karl was or why my thong offended him so much, but I had officially had enough. Opening my mouth to let Madame de Bitchford—as I had begun calling her in my head—know exactly what I thought of her, I never got to speak as Jacques jumped between us and said, “We’ll make sure she goes au’ natural in the final fitting.”
Turning toward the door and not a second too soon in my humble opinion, Madame de Beaufort sighed, “See that you do,” then added, “Oh and, Jacques, thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Grabbing my hand and squeezing so that I kept my mouth shut, Jacques waited until we heard the bell on the elevator indicating the Madame was on her way off our floor before turning to me and laughing out loud, “Girl, you have got to get a better poker face. These vamps are gonna eat you alive the way you wear your feelings on your sleeve.”
Snatching my wrist from his grasp, I kicked off the heels, spun on the balls of my feet, and started to stomp off to my room. I had officially had enough of being Jacques dress-up doll. But my grand exit was cut short when he jumped in front of me, put his hands on my shoulders, and shook his head. “They aren’t all snots like the Madame. From what I hear, Roarke is really nice, but he’s one of the old ones and with that comes a sense of entitlement. He will want you to look a certain way and act a certain way when you’re on his arm.” He winked. “Just let me help you with the clothes and then keep your temper during your training and you’ll be just fine.” He leaned forward and gave me a peck on the cheek. “You’re a smart cookie. You can do this.”
Blowing out a long-suffering breath and reminding myself how I’d gotten into this mess, I nodded and tried to smile. “Okay, but enough of the clothes for today. I’m putting on sweats and eating popcorn. Wanna hang?”
“You betcha, but only if you promise we can start bright and early in the morning. I have three more stores delivering garments and I have to be back in New York by the end of the week.”
“Promise,” I quickly agreed, picking up the skirt of my gown, sliding around Jacques, and heading to my room. Halfway there, I remembered something I wanted to ask. “Hey, who is this Karl she said designed this dress?”
High-pitched laughter filled the air as my new friend answered, “Karl Lagerfeld, you silly girl. You know Christian Louboutin shoes but not that Karl Lagerfeld is the head designer for Chanel?”
Shrugging as I walked across the threshold, I chuckled. “I like shoes...clothes? Not so much. Is there a crime in that?”
The rest of the night up until the afternoon that Jacques was to leave went off without a hitch. He picked out so many outfits and gowns and even my pajamas, which were little more than lace with satin strings, that I was never going to need to shop again. He was also thankfully present for the first few of my lessons with Madame de Beaufort. My Dresser, as he liked to be called, provided the perfect buffer between myself and the woman who simply could not be happy unless she was criticizing me.
After Jacques left it was a whole different story. Madame de Beaufort seemed to chill out; well, as much as a really old - Jacques’ words – not mine, French Madame who is a vampire and trains courtesan to be blood bags and sex slaves for the vampire elite, can be. She actually cracked a smile once or twice. I think she was shocked that I had decent manners and knew which fork to use for the salad and which for the shrimp and not to drink from the finger bowl.
The only problem we had was when she would ask me to don a pair of four or five-inch stilettos, take off my clothes, and march around the suite in my birthday suit. She insisted that it was to see the lines of my body while I walked. I didn’t buy it. So finally, on the third occasion that I was asked to perform this ridiculous task, I blurted out, “Is Roarke really going to
have me parade around in nothing but heels? I mean, I would think he has much better things to do with his time.”
An intrigued look came over Madame’s face as she closed the distance between us, cocked her hip, and tapped her blood-red lips with the tip of her fingernail. After a few seconds, she reached forward with the same hand and ran the tip of that very same nail across first one and then the other of my nipples. I felt them harden, knew I was blushing from head to toe, but refused to break eye contact with her.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, she stepped back, smiled the first real smile I had seen since meeting her, and said, “Very good, Katharine. Very, very good.” Her voice had dropped to a purr. “Being comfortable in your own skin is important when dealing with vampires. Your confidence, coupled with the beautiful blush of your ivory skin and the way your body reacts to touch, will be a combination Roarke will find irresistible.” She stepped forward, ran her fingernail down my arm, and grinned as goose bumps raised all over my body. “And irresistible will earn you the money you need to start your new future.”
Stepping back, she added, “You will be…”
But I never got to find out what I would be because her cell phone rang and I was dismissed with the flick of her wrist as she spoke to her caller. Deciding to make sure the Madame knew she hadn’t unnerved me, even though deep down inside she really had, I slowly turned and did my best seductive walk toward my room.
I had just reached the hallway when she beckoned, “Katharine darling, you’ll need to put on the beige linen suit and I’ll be in to help you pack. Roarke needs to go out of town and your presence has been requested.”
Nearly falling off my heels, I tried to keep the tremor out of my voice when I answered as I had been taught, “Yes, Madame.”
