Ranson, Tracy L. - Prince of Darkness [Bloodborn 3] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Tracy L. Ranson

  For a long time, she’d never dressed up, preferring tennis shoes and jeans to miniskirts and heels. Even in her job, she always dressed conservatively with low heels and high necklines. Nothing she did ever called for anything beyond that.

  She put the last dress away when she looked at the time. Almost two thirty. Damn, did it take that long to put everything away? Time to get going to Pandora’s.

  Regret nipped at her. She shouldn’t be doing this. Drake wanted something in return. Men always did. They never did anything out of the goodness of their hearts without expecting a piece of ass in payment.

  She frowned. If he thought he would get her body in payment for all the things he’d bought her, he was sadly mistaken. She couldn’t be bought or sold. After her investigation was over, she’d find some way to repay Drake for everything. Picking up her purse, she headed down to Pandora’s.

  An equally plush establishment as Rambling Rose, Pandora’s was truly a sight to behold. Decorated in pink and white, everything looked so clean and elegant. Stylists and spa employees, both men and women, dressed in uniforms of tight white jeans and pink shirts. All wore smiles and pleasant expressions, each one tending to their customers if they were the only ones in the salon.

  They immediately whisked her away to the mud room where they gave her a mud treatment. Then it was on to a massage and a Dermitàge treatment. A manicure and pedicure followed, making her more relaxed than she’d been in a long while.

  The hairstylist suggested a great cut that tamed her unruly curls, and added a few more chestnut highlights to her hair. She looked great, especially once the makeup artist finished with her. He applied makeup that seemed barely there, much more understated than she could have done, yet it worked wonders for her face. “Bellissimo!” exclaimed Giorgio, the makeup artist. “Youa will a maka men a pant for you.”

  “Thank you, Giorgio. That wasn’t what I was going for,” she joked. She sat for a minute. She couldn’t let Drake take care of this as well. He’d spent ten thousand dollars on her clothes, which she shouldn’t have gotten, and he certainly didn’t need to take care of this as well. “Where do I pay?”

  “Ata the counter when youa camea in.”

  “Thanks again, Giorgio.”

  She slid out of the chair and made her way to the counter where a bleached blonde stood popping bubblegum and turning the pages of a Hollywood gossip magazine. “I’d like to pay please.”

  “Just a minute,” she snapped and attempted to finish the lie-filled article she read.

  Christine stood there for a few seconds before garnering the girl’s attention again. “Excuse me, but I’d like to pay because I’ve got things to do.”

  The blonde looked up, wearing an annoyed expression, and snapped, “Didn’t I just tell you’d I’d be with you in a minute?”

  Rage colored Christine’s vision, and mentally she counted to ten. “I don’t think you heard me. I want to pay and leave.”

  The receptionist’s blues eyes turned as cold as the winter snow in February, her mouth drawn tight. “Are you deaf?”

  The minute Christine opened her mouth to say something, the woman’s expression dropped into a mask of stark fear. What in the hell is going on?

  “Does there seem to be a problem here?” Drake’s stern voice drifted over her shoulder. The blonde must have seen him walking in, hence the change in her expression.

  “Um, no, Mr. Haaken. The lady just wants to pay her bill.”

  “She has none.” His voice deepened into a dangerous tone conveying a subtle warning. “I heard how you were treating her when I walked up. Did you forget there’s a policy against treating my customers rudely?”

  Fear radiated in the blonde’s blue eyes as she muttered in a low tone, “No, I haven’t, Mr. Haaken.”

  He spread his hands out on the counter and bent from his waist, glowering at her. “Consider this your one warning. If I ever catch you treating one of my customers, this woman in particular, in a curt, rude manner again, I’ll fire you without warning and severance. Do I make myself clear?”

  The blonde nodded and wiped away her running tears. Mascara pooled beneath her eyes, forming black spider like puddles. “Yes, sir. You’ve given me a good opportunity, and I’m not going to waste it.”

  “Do you promise?”

  Christine noticed the blonde’s hands shaking like leaves before a storm. “I promise.”

  He stood to his full height and chucked the blonde under the chin. “Good. Now get back to work. Remember what I said.”

  Drake spun around to face Christine. The black mask of rage disappeared, replaced by a sexy killer smile. “Shall we go?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I thought I’d come down and make sure my employees treated you well.”

  She scowled and snapped, “You don’t need to check up on me if that’s what you mean.”

  His gaze swept up and down her body like a gentle caress as he licked his lips. “I’m not checking up on you, though I must say you look good enough to eat right now.”

  Flutters of pulsing desire coursed up and down her spine at the thought of this man’s head buried between her thighs, lapping at the juice of her sex like a thirsty man finding water in the desert. “Thanks for the compliment, but I really must be going.”

  “How about lunch?”

  “Not hungry.”

  “How about dinner?”

  She looked at him. “You never quit, do you?”

  “Never. Come with me. We’ll go somewhere and discuss the plans for tonight.”

  Chapter Four

  The tight red sheath dress Christine slipped into for the first night of her undercover work fit her like a second skin. She’d spotted the garment first thing when she stepped inside Rambling Rose. Immediately, she fell in love with it, but that lust quickly turned to disappointment when she noticed the price tag. Two thousand dollars. She’d put the dress back, but Sharon had deftly picked it up and put it behind the counter and told her to look for more things. She’d reiterated Mr. Haaken said spare no expense.

  Christine slipped her feet into a pair of three inch blood red platform heels. She looked at herself in the mirror and twirled to see if everything was in place. For a brief moment, she considered herself hot—it didn’t last long. Jason’s haunting words took care of that swiftly enough.

  “You have an ugly body,” he’d taunted her. “No man is going to want you.” She often asked him why he was with her then. “Because you need me, and I feel sorry for you because no one else wants you, including your mother.”

  A lonely tear sprang to her eye, but she held back. What Jason had said was true. Mom kicked her out on her sixteenth birthday and told her to have a nice life—all because she’d refused to prostitute herself out to earn Mom crack money. Thankfully, she’d been smart enough to find a shelter and finish school and go to college. Mom tracked her down through the years via various ways, including even showing up in at the police station strung out on crack. Mom ranted and raved about Christine not taking care of her in her old age and about how ungrateful of a child Christine was. She tried to calm Mom down, but the junkie wouldn’t have any of it. In order to get rid of the woman who gave birth to her, Christine had been forced to give her mother what little money she had. Mom practically skipped out of the police station, probably to go get another rock or two of crack. The next day, she took out a restraining order against her junkie parent.

  Christine shook her newly cut hair and stared at her makeup a bit more. She wished with all her heart she could see herself as beautiful, but she couldn’t. Jason’s lingering effects kept her from doing so.

  She sighed and looked at her bedside clock. Nearly nine o’clock. She was supposed to be there at eight, but she held back. Why, she didn’t know. No use in putting off the inevitable.

  * * * *

  Christine pulled her Mustang to a stop at the curb. Curiously, the same young man who’d parked her car previously stood shivering
in the cold with his hands jammed into the pockets of his black leather jacket, his breath dancing in the night air

  She got out and let him slide behind the wheel. “I guess Mr. Haaken told you I was coming.”

  “Yup,” the man said and slammed her door. “He wants me to stick close to you, so when you’re ready, I can get your car.”

  “No need for that.”

  He chuckled slightly as he shifted the car into drive. “Got my orders, ma’am. Hafta follow ’em to a T.”

  Christine stepped back and allowed him to take her Mustang away to park.

  She shook against the cold, her red silk wrap no better at keeping out the cold than a piece of plastic wrap. Her chest tightened. She was afraid and shouldn’t be. Why? She’d been in much tighter spots than this and hadn’t been this worried. After all, she’d taken down bigger guys than Drake, though she’d had to admit none of them had been as hot and sexy.

  Christine closed her eyes for a moment. She knew why.

  Because of him.

  Drake Haaken had to be the sexiest man she’d ever met and the problem was he knew it. She couldn’t deny the hot, animalistic attraction she felt for him, a desire that could possibly jeopardize her investigation. Despite the call of her body, she needed to keep a clear head about this. Drake could have his pick of any hot chick here, so he wasn’t interested in her beyond a one-night stand. She wasn’t up to being a stop gap.

  Christine turned around. Scores of people hovered near the entrance waiting for their turn to go inside. Some dressed very conservatively while others wore outlandish costumes with the vain hopes they’d be the ones picked.

  Despite her trepidation and the hammer of her heart, Christine strode up to the doorman with a confident grace. This man was new, dressed in a nice pair of tan slacks, a white shirt, and a petulant scowl. His bald head gleamed like a piece of chrome underneath the street light. “Mr. Haaken is expecting me.”

  “Get in line, lady, like the rest of us!” a man shouted from the throng bustling to get in, the pushing and shoving steadily growing.

  The tall doorman glowered down from his perch. He smiled, his teeth very white. “Mr. Haaken didn’t leave no word about anyone wanting ta see him. I’m sorry, lady, but you’ll have to get in line.”

  Christine tucked her clutch with the thin chain under her bare arm and remained staunch. She wasn’t going anywhere, and she wanted him to know that. “But wait a minute, he’s expecting me.”

  He jumped down from his perch with a thump and landed his towering form in front of her, his arms crossed. “Look here, lady. I told ya to get in line like everyone else. Are you deaf?”

  Christine shifted. She couldn’t exactly whip out her badge and show him why she was here. “Never mind. I’ll call him—”

  “What were you going to call me, my love?”

  She whirled around and came face to face with Drake’s chest, and she nearly swallowed a mouthful of his silky hair. “Um, your doorman doesn’t know I’m supposed to see you tonight.” She couldn’t help noticing he wore tight black jeans and the boots with the silver tips. A long-sleeve, red silk shirt completed his ensemble. He’d drawn his hair back from his temples and clipped it in the back. She shivered the moment his sensually erotic cologne drifted over to her. Tonight he wore something softer, not his usual musky scent.

  Drake glared at his offending employee, his thick arms crossed over his massive chest. “I heard the way you talked to my woman. I’ll not tolerate that.”

  At his words, a surge of rigidity stormed through her, tensing every muscle. She’d never been called someone’s woman before, and she couldn’t be sure how to feel. Jason always referred to her as the old ball and chain to his friends though they’d never been married. Or he’d call her his old lady but never his woman.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Haaken. Won’t happen again,” the doorman said and jumped back to his stand with the quickness of a cat pouncing on prey. “Nobody told me she was coming.”

  “In the future, you’ll treat her with as much respect as you treat me. Understood?”

  “Yes, Mr. Haaken.”

  “Now get back to work.”

  Drake slid his thick arm around her bared shoulders and guided her back toward the brilliantly lit entrance. Dimly, she heard the doorman say, “Must be flavor of the day.” She cringed. She didn’t want to be considered Drake’s girlfriend or mistress, but under the circumstances, it might not be a bad idea.

  “Ignore the asshole,” Drake whispered in her ear and then flicked at curve with his tongue.

  Her nipples tingled beneath her padded bra, which sent a strange quiver down to her sex.

  “Come with me. There are some friends I want you to meet.”

  With that, Drake removed his arm from her shoulders. He grasped her hand and guided her through the crowded bar. Music blared from the well-hidden speakers, accompanied by the pulsing strobe lights. People crowded on the dance floor swaying to the techno beats.

  He pushed through the thick throng of bodies to a round booth in the back already crowded with people. She noticed five gorgeous women sitting there with equally exotic-looking men. She stopped for a second, staring at them all.

  Drake halted his long legged stride and spun around. His icy gray eyes narrowed in concern and he said, “What’s wrong?”

  Christine shook off her grip of uneasiness as easily as one removed a coat. “Nothing. Let’s go meet your friends.”

  Drake started to make his way to the darkened recess of the bar and headed toward the richly padded round booth. Just enough room existed for them. He gestured for her to take a seat then he slid in beside her like an anchor, as if to keep her from going anywhere.

  “I’d like to introduce you to my friends,” Drake announced over the crowd. “This is Raphael and Liz.”

  She shook hands with the devilishly handsome dark-haired man and his equally beautiful wife. “Pleased to meet you both.”

  Liz gave her a comforting smile and extended her hand, saying, “We’re charmed as well.”

  “Nicholas and Tatiana are next up.”

  The sleek, silver-blonde beauty stuck her hand out. “Very glad to meet you,” Tatiana said, her voice tinged with a Russian accent

  Nicholas picked up Christine’s hand and kissed the back of it with elegant European flair. “Charmed as well.”

  Drake leaned over to her. “The dark-haired one is Alexandra, and she’s a handful.”

  “I am not, you ass!” Alexandra claimed in a joking tone and punched Drake’s arm playfully. “Don’t let him kid you. I’m a bit of a pervert, but I’m okay.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said rubbing his arm. “The redhead is Gabrielle.”

  His flame haired friend grabbed Christine’s hand before she could extend it and pumped vigorously, offering her sentiments in a deeply French accented voice, “Enchanté. Nice to meet you.”

  Drake smiled, directing her gaze to the last woman. “The last is Siobhan.”

  “Very glad to meet you,” said the slender blonde Siobhan with the dazzling green eyes.

  Christine let go of her trepidations with an exhale of a soft breath. “Glad to meet all of you.”

  Drake leaned in close, his mouth temptingly close to her ear. A flutter of anticipation stirred in her belly, threatening to spread out to the rest of her body. “These are my closest and dearest friends, love.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said in a strangled voice, her attention darting everywhere else to keep her mind off Drake’s deeply sexual attraction. “Can I talk to you privately?”

  One of Drake’s eyebrows lifted mischievously with a quick jerk. “See? I told you she couldn’t wait to have me alone.”

  Christine cringed when he said that. She was getting a little sick of his sexual innuendo, at least in front of other people. When they were alone, she could handle him. “Is it okay if we go to your office?”

  Drake slid out of the booth and offered a hand. She slid her hand in his, her
fingers curling around his broad palm. He nodded to the others. “We’ll be right back.”

  Drake strode to his office with a confident air, her hand in his. She kept up with his long-legged stride despite the hammering of her heart. Her flesh pulsed with strange tingles of desire every time he touched her, every cell crying out for more of him. She shouldn’t and couldn’t harbor these feelings for him. He was merely a means to an end—or was he?

  He opened the door to his office and ushered her inside. “Have a seat.”

  Christine walked over to the couch where they’d spent a bit of passionate time and sat down, crossing her legs demurely. “We need to set up some ground rules here.”

  “I agree.” He slammed the door and threw the lock over to the right.

  Terror instantly gripped her, but she tamped down the emotions with a bit of silent meditation. Just because he had locked the door didn’t mean he was going to do something against her will. Besides, she was a cop and could take his ass down if need be. She relaxed slightly. “Why are you locking the door?”

  “I want to keep any interruptions at bay.” Drake walked across the room with a slow, sexy stride and joined her on the couch. “What were you saying?”

  His closeness and sensual smelling cologne overwhelmed her. “Um, I was saying we need to set some ground rules.” A thick lump of anticipation formed in her throat, and she closed her eyes against the barrage on her senses.

  “Yes, ground rules,” he murmured softly and scooted closer to her on the couch. Leather creaked, breaking the veil of her hitching breath. “Is there any reason we need those?”

  “Yeah—we do.” Christine could barely breathe as Drake’s chilly fingertips swept over her bare shoulder and turned her around to face him. “This can’t go on.”

  He brushed a soft kiss her cheek and then moved to nibble behind her left ear. “Why do we need such things?”