by Mara Leigh
My cheeks rage again with heat, a searing combo of embarrassment, shame and anger. I can’t begin to sort out my conflicting emotions, especially given all the champagne I’ve consumed, another possible source of the flames now I think of it. At some point I lost count of the number of glasses and realize I never went to the kitchen to get the dinner that the hotel staff were kindly holding for me.
“Let yourself enjoy their attention,” Shana says. “Zuben raised a few red flags for me at our first meeting, but now that I’ve gotten to know him, I approve.” She winks. “He’s very smart and a serious man, not unlike you. Perfect for you.”
I nod, unable to express to Shana how I feel about Zuben. His negative words about Ryker annoyed me, but now that it’s been a minute, I’m starting to wonder if his warning was based on something more than jealousy. Ryker does seem dangerous…
“Plus. He’s not hard to look at.” Shana winks. “I haven’t been with a man since the nineties, but if I were a few years younger…hell, even at my age, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”
“Why, thank you.” Ryker arrives out of nowhere. Hand on his heart, he winks at Shana, then turns to me. “You ladies were talking about me, right?”
Shana laughs uncomfortably. “Of course not.”
“Ah well,” he says. “A fellow can dream.” He turns to me. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” My body buzzes under his attention.
“For me to win you on the auction block.” He grins, cocking his head slightly.
“What?” I take a step back. “No.” I shake my head so vigorously it makes me dizzy, and I stagger on my heels.
Ryker gently touches my back to support me.
“The emcee’s about to call you,” he says. “I’d be thrilled to have the opportunity to make another donation to the charity. Even more if it’s for an evening with you.” Closing his eyes, he leans a little closer and inhales, as if in some kind of ecstasy, and it thrills me way more than it should.
“The bidding, you know it’s just for a date—just dinner,” I blurt.
“But of course.” He raises a hand to his chest. “A gentleman would never expect anything more than your delightful company.”
“Thank you.” I like Ryker and won’t take the warnings from a jealous man as gospel.
“Glad it’s settled.” Hand lightly on my back, Ryker steers me toward the stairs leading up to the stage, and his lips move close to my ear. “Of course, a man can always hope for more.”
“More what?” I smile at him, chuckling in spite of the nerves going off inside me. Even without Zuben’s warning, I know exactly what Ryker means by more, but while it could be the champagne talking, my body is throbbing at the idea of a dinner date with Ryker turning into more.
Zuben’s warning suddenly feels like a dare. A dare that makes me want to test the waters with a man like Ryker. Although I had plenty of daytime flirtations and dates during college, I’ve never gone for more. I’m twenty-five. It’s time.
It’s time to come out of the shell I’ve been hiding inside—a mental shell my mother molded around me with her irrational fears. Plus, if Sanctuary House can benefit from my going on my first date, all the better.
The emcee calls me on stage, and as I draw a long breath, bracing myself to go up the stairs. Ryker’s hand brushes softly up and down my spine, a gesture that I expect is supposed to be comforting, but instead excites every nerve in my body.
“I will win you,” he says close to my ear. “And I cannot wait to have you for dinner.”
Stirred by his innuendo, I quiver as I walk up the stairs, but when I reach the stage Zuben’s danger warning flashes again, and I glance back at Ryker. His smile is charming, encouraging, supportive—not a hint of menace or predation.
Well, maybe a little predation. In spite of my undeniable connection to both men, I’m puzzled by Zuben, but Ryker I get. I know exactly what he wants.
Stepping to the center of the stage, I’m struck by the heat and glare, feeling exposed, almost naked under the spotlight’s scrutiny.
“Ember Cross is the accountant for Sanctuary House,” the emcee says to the crowd. She flips the card she’s holding. “Other than that, I don’t have much information about this lovely young woman, or the date that’s planned, but ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure she’ll be wonderful company for an evening out.”
If I felt naked before, now the full heat of the lights and the gaze of the crowd are penetrating the thin fabric of my dress and licking my skin. I press my hand to my belly to verify the dress is still there and then force a smile as I hear the first bid—one hundred dollars.
I can’t see the bidder, the lights shining on me are too bright, but whoever it was, they’re quickly outbid, and then again, as the price for a date with me rises quickly to a thousand.
“Do I hear, eleven hundred?” the emcee calls out. “Come on ladies and gentlemen. This is the last lot of the evening, let’s make it the highest.”
“Five thousand,” calls a voice.
Shading my eyes, I step to the side. Zuben is standing near the front of the crowd, looking at me intently. He holds the highest bid.
Chapter Eight
Zuben
The crowd murmurs, reacting to my dramatic jump in the bid, but the thump of Ember’s heart underscores the crowd’s sounds—a strong, rapidly increasing drumbeat that calls to me with the enticing promise of her blood.
I will win her. I must. That despicable pirate may have been the one to coax her onto the stage, but in the end, she will be mine.
Mine?
I catch myself. Ember is very attractive and extremely appealing, as humans go, but no chance will I claim her as mine. I don’t believe in the notion of love—it is nothing but temporary hormonal reactions—and she is too important to sully with physical urges.
I have the winning bid. Our dinner will give me time to discuss my research with her, help her to understand how important I suspect she may be—and will keep her away from the pirate.
Ryker steps into view near the side of the stage. Most vampires have the sense to change their clothing to fit with the times, but Ryker’s outfit is beyond outlandish, drawing unnecessary attention. I shake my head at his long leather jacket and tight breaches, his heavy belt and a silk shirt I expect is voluminous under that jacket—not to mention those farcical boots. For a man who denies he is a pirate, he most certainly dresses like one. All that is missing is a parrot for his shoulder.
“Ten thousand,” Ryker calls out, and then smirks at me.
I frown. For a brief moment, I believed he had no additional resources on hand to bid against me tonight. Certainly such a freebooter would have nothing resembling a credit card or local bank account.
I clear my throat. “Twenty.”
“Twenty thousand?” The emcee looks at me in dismay.
I nod to her, and then turn my full attention back to Ember.
Her slender body is trembling, her chest rising and falling as she breathes rapidly under the hot lights and attention.
“Fifty thousand,” Ryker shouts, and the crowd goes wild, making me lose the sound of Ember’s heart for a moment, but I can still detect the scent of her blood over that of the other hundreds of humans in the room. She is beyond special.
“Fifty thousand going once!” the emcee calls out.
I snap out of my thoughts. “One hundred thousand.”
Ember sways on her feet, and every instinct in my body wants to leap onto the stage to steady her. But moving that quickly will expose me to this crowd, and while I can defend myself from the hotel security staff’s stakes, I cannot risk exposing myself—or DEFTA—in such a reckless manner.
Based on myths and works of fiction, humans fear vampires, but we are grossly misunderstood. And out of such ignorance, under the human laws of most countries, shoving a stake into a vampire’s heart is perfectly legal. No questions asked. Barbaric.
“Two hundred thousand.” Ryker jumps onto t
he stage, arms raised, and the crowd cheers. His leap was beyond the athletic ability of most humans, but distracted by his absurdly high bid, no one seems to have taken notice—at least not enough to pull out a stake.
“Three hundred!” I shout, and then head for the stage, taking the stairs in a civilized manner, and striding across to a spot near the center, where I take the opportunity to glare at my opponent.
This auction is akin to a ridiculous duel of the past, the pair of us facing each other with Ember and the emcee between us. Ryker looks determined, but there are no bounds to how much I will bid.
“Four hundred.” Ryker widens his stance and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Five hundred thousand,” I declare.
Ryker turns toward the opposite side of the stage and beckons someone forward. Shana walks up to him, looking dazed but euphoric as Ryker whispers into her ear. From this distance, I should be able to hear easily, but I’m too focused on Ember’s heartbeat, on the rush of blood in her veins, on the whoosh of air in her lungs—all overpowering other sounds.
Shana steps up to the microphone. “Didn’t I promise that a live auction would be exciting!”
The crowd cheers.
Ryker moves toward Ember and I move closer too.
Gasping, Ember raises her palms, stopping us both a few feet away from her.
“It seems we may be at an impasse,” Shana says. “An impasse that I’m pleased to say will prove very beneficial to Sanctuary House, and more importantly, to our clients.”
She clears her throat. “I am calling and end to the bidding, so that these two gentlemen can discuss their final bids in a less public forum. Who knows?” She shrugs. “Perhaps our Ember will agree to have dinner with them both.”
The crowd roars, and I glare at Ryker. But then I coax my competitive side to stand down, calling instead on my intelligence, and on reason.
This auction means nothing. Even if I allow him to win, I can prevent him from actually going on the date and discovering what I suspect are the miraculous features of her blood. I will protect her no matter what.
“Let’s let these gentlemen talk,” Shana continues. “I’ll come back to let you all know the final bid, but for now, please enjoy the rest of your evening. Dance! Drink! And if you’re not staying overnight at the hotel, please have a safe trip home.”
The roar of applause fills my ears, but it still cannot drown the sound of Ember’s sweet, pounding heart.
Ryker pulls back the side of his leather jacket, and my body tenses. For a split second, I expect a stake, but instead, he flashes several gold bars stashed in the coat’s lining, letting me know that he is willing to pay millions to win her.
Fine. He might be attracted to the lovely Ember, he might even sense that she is special, but there is no chance that he knows what I know. I have been researching the possibility of her existence for centuries, and this lazy, likely illiterate pirate might be drawn to the scent of her blood; he might want to feed from her, to bed her, but he does not want her in the same way that I do.
In fact, bidding at all was foolish on my part. Ryker’s attention on Ember is only to raise my anger—payback for having him brought in for questioning.
Well, I have a payback plan of my own. Glaring at the pirate, it is hard not to smile. I will let him win this auction. But first I will make sure that Ryker empties that foolish jacket of all its gold bars, providing me with even more proof of his crimes. And with that proof, I will have him imprisoned, clearing my path to complete my research with the beautiful and delicious Ember.
Chapter Nine
Ember
Nerves scramble like a million ants loose inside me, but through that discomfort I can’t deny that my nerves are at least in part fueled by excitement.
After Shana stopped the live auction—was that just last night?—Ryker and Zuben held a private discussion that ended with Ryker donating another three gold bars to Sanctuary House for the privilege of taking me out to dinner. In total, Ryker donated four bold bars to our charity, counting the one he gave to cover his ticket, and that’s well over three million dollars. Nuts.
Nuts doesn’t begin to describe it.
And even stranger, in spite of his warnings to me about Ryker, Zuben didn’t seem all that disappointed once it was settled and, once again, offered to help Shana handle the gold bars.
I immediately wondered if Zuben had some scheme to steal the gold, but today’s events proved me wrong. With Zuben’s help, Shana sold two of the four gold bars, and the transactions were verifiably real—I’ve seen the records of the deposits into our bank account. And the other two bars are in a safety deposit box at our branch as a long-term investment for the charity. The board has scheduled an emergency meeting for Monday to discuss plans for our organization’s windfall.
Ryker’s massive donation is verifiably real.
I have irrefutable proof of his incredible generosity, and I can’t believe that a man like Ryker is interested in dinner with someone like me. Interested enough to pay millions.
Counting the minutes until he’s due to arrive, I lean against the large window of my ninth floor condo apartment, as the late afternoon sun glints off the center city office buildings in the distance. Tonight will be my second time out after dark, and it can’t possibly be as eventful as the first. I push away from the window. It’s time to get ready.
At Shana’s urging, I went shopping after work, buying the second fancy dress of my life. I was planning to wear something more casual, or the red dress from last night, but Shana’s right: there is no chance that a man who dropped nearly three million dollars is going to take me someplace casual. And I shouldn’t wear the same dress two nights in a row.
A quick shower and blow dry later, I slip into my new dress and stare at my image. The pale pink satin skims my body and shines when it catches the light. I can’t do a bra or proper panties with this dress either—do people not wear undergarments anymore?—and the dress leaves most of my back exposed, with only a thin strip of vertical fabric, just wide enough to accommodate the zipper, stretching from very low on my back and up to my neck. The dress has a sheer jacket, so I won’t be quite this naked.
I reach back to pull up the zipper. But no matter how much I struggle and twist, there’s a point that I can’t pull the zipper past. In the store, the saleslady did the zipper, and it didn’t occur to me that I wouldn’t be able to do it myself at home.
Frustrated, I give up momentarily, and finish getting ready, putting on my strappy silver shoes, some of the red lipstick that Shana gave me last night, and then I fasten my hair back with two rhinestone covered clips.
Determined, I try for the zipper again, hoping my shoulders were just tense on the first attempt. I fold one arm back and push up while bending the other behind my head, trying to catch onto the zipper’s tag. My hands refuse to meet.
Just a little bit further. I’ve just about got it.
My doorbell rings.
I drop my arms, and my shoulder’s throb. But that sensations quickly forgotten as my heart pounds and my mouth goes dry. I glance at my phone. It’s 6:05. Ryker said he would pick me up around 7:00. I remember, because I knew it would be well after dark. Did I misunderstand? Is he early?
I make one final attempt at the zipper, but there’s a second knock at the door, this one louder and more urgent, so I grab the sheer jacket and small handbag and make a dash for the entrance.
Ryker knocks a third time—so eager to see me!—and I open the door.
But it’s not Ryker. It’s Zuben.
Mouth gaping I step back. “What are you doing here?”
I thrill races through me as I take in his imposing presence, tall and dark and devastating, with his heavily lashed eyes, his long, sculpted nose, and his lips that… I’ve never seen such richly, red lips that weren’t sporting lipstick, and while he’s dressed more casually today, a fitted crew neck cashmere sweater under a blazer, he’s still so put together and gorgeous
he could be straight off the page of a fashion magazine.
“Good evening, Ember.” His voice is rich and flavored with an accent I still can’t place, but is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever heard. “I am here to apologize,” he says. “I am exceedingly sorry that I made you uncomfortable last night. I would very much like the chance to explain.”
Is he here to try to stop me from going out with Ryker? Does he even know my date is tonight? “How did you get my address?”
“From Shana.”
I frown, shocked that my boss would give this man my address, no matter how much money he’s donated to Sanctuary House. But I’m glad that he plans to apologize.
“I mean you no harm.” Zuben clasps his hands behind his back and bows his head slightly, his eyes cast down. “I can promise you that.”
His posture works. He really does seem harmless. Especially compared to Ryker who I’m expecting in less than an hour.
“Okay.” I back a few feet from the door. “But I don’t have much time.”
He nods, lingering in my doorway.
“Come in.” I turn and walk toward the seating area of my condo, in an old building that contained rentals for almost a century before the units were offered for sale. Financed with the sale of the farm, my condo is beyond the means of most people my age, but I’m sure it seems like a dump to someone like Zuben.
“Your home is very comfortable,” Zuben says as he enters, then closes the door behind him.
“Comfortable?” I turn slowly, trying to read between the lines and determine his meaning. Comfortable could be taken as an insult.
“It is lovely.” He steps toward the window. “And what a beautiful view. How long have you lived here?”
“Why did you come?” My heart is racing as I watch him take in my home, the furniture I picked out piece by piece at various used furniture stores around the city.
“Ember.” He runs his hand across the back of my mid-century Danish sofa. “You have impeccable taste.”
