She picked up on the third ring.
"Hello. This is Jules DeMario."
"Oh yes. I was afraid you weren't going to call," she answered.
"Well, I was away for the day," he lied easily. He'd had centuries to perfect the art of deflecting curiosity about his nocturnal habits.
She cleared her throat. "I was hoping we could get together."
"But you're nervous about meeting a man you don't know," he guessed.
"Yes."
"What did you have in mind?"
"I'm a painter." She hesitated. "And I wanted to do a series on the more shocking aspects of New Orleans nightlife."
"Sounds interesting." Very interesting.
"I've been told there are facets of the city that most tourists don't get to experience. And I've also been told that trying to find them on my own might be dangerous."
"That's true."
"Would you be willing to be my guide?"
"That depends. We should get acquainted first."
"Yes. But it's best if we meet in a public place."
Since the suggestion was wise for both of them, he agreed immediately. "How about the old Jax Brewery building? It's been turned into a shopping mall. There's a bar called Ernie's on the top floor."
"The building down by the river?"
"Yes."
"How will I know you?" she asked.
"I'm five-ten. One hundred and forty-five pounds. I have dark hair. Dark eyes. I'll wear a T-shirt that says 'Let the good times roll.'"
"All right."
"And how will I know you?"
"By my flaming red hair. And my look of uncertainty."
"Fair enough. Will ten o'clock work for you?"
"Yes."
Over the years, Jules had learned to adapt to his environment. He spent much of the time between the phone call and their meeting looking up Taylor Lawson on the Internet.
He found that she was a notable artist whose paintings hung in many small galleries on the West Coast.
She'd started selling in her early twenties, ten years ago, and had worked her way up to the rank of respected artist. Her style was representational, with a touch of the hauntingly romantic. Her use of colors was adventurous.
Her publicity photo was just as tantalizing as her work. She stared boldly out at the camera, her red hair a wreath around her head and her green eyes direct and challenging.
Would she be as striking in person? Eager to find out, he arrived at the rooftop bar early, ordered a beer and poured a lot of it into an empty glass that someone had left behind. Then he settled down to wait.
When a striking redhead walked in, he was lounging comfortably at a table near the door. She'd dressed casually, in dark slacks and an emerald green knit top.
As she stood looking around the room, he gave her a little wave.
With a slightly hesitant smile on her face, she crossed to him.
"Taylor?"
"Yes."
"I'm Jules."
"Nice to meet you," she said in that low sexy voice that he liked as much in person as over the phone.
They shook, and he also liked the firm strength of her hand. His own hand was large and warm. One thing he'd been amused about in his reading was the notion that a vampire had to be cold. In reality, he had control of his temperature, just the way he had control over a partner's mind when he was drawing blood. And since he walked through the world of men, he kept his own body at a steady ninety-eight-point-six.
He was aware of her tantalizing woman's scent drifting toward him. And of the way she licked her lips with an endearingly nervous gesture.
He cleared his throat. "What can I get you?"
"Chardonnay."
He ordered from the bartender, then ushered her outside onto the cement deck overlooking the river, just as a tourist paddle wheel boat went by. In the warm night, there were few people outside, and it wasn't difficult to find a corner table.
He crossed his legs at the ankles and stretched them out beside the table, trying to look a lot more casual than he felt. He'd rarely been more attracted to a woman. And he wanted to get to know her better. "So what really brings you to the city?"
She hesitated for a moment before saying, "I needed to get away from a man who wanted to continue a relationship with me—when we both knew it was over."
"That's a pretty direct answer."
"I know. But I hate evasions, and I wanted us to start out on the right foot."
Evasions? Like the guy sitting across from you is a vampire?
He lifted the bottle and covered the opening with his tongue, just letting the beer wet his lips, thinking that if he were totally frank with her, she'd run screaming from the premises.
"I checked out some of your work," he said instead.
"How? I presume you didn't make a quick trip to San Francisco or Monterey?"
"Google."
She laughed. "It's hard to keep secrets these days."
"Some people manage it," he answered. "I like your technique and your subject matter."
"In which paintings?" she challenged.
"All of them. You started off experimenting with forms and colors. And you've matured as an artist."
"I've gotten stale," she answered quickly, her slender fingers clenching the stem of the wineglass. Scraping back her chair, she crossed to the railing and stood staring out at the dark river.
He followed her. "Why do you think so?"
"I need a change of scenery and some new subject matter."
"In the nightclubs of Sin City?"
She raised her chin. "If you put it that way, yes. New experiences often spark my creativity."
He was thinking of a new experience he could give her when she asked, "Can you tell me a little bit about yourself?"
"Like what?"
"You have a British accent. Were you born there?"
"Yes. But I was lucky enough to get away from that cold climate."
"So the sun attracted you to New Orleans?"
"The heat, actually." He tipped his head to one side, watching her. "If we're going slumming, I need to know we're completely comfortable with each other."
"What do you mean?" she asked, the fine edge of nerves audible in her voice.
He knew from her work that she was an assertive woman who had artistic talent, training, and bold ideas about her own work. But now he sensed the vulnerability that she strove to keep hidden.
He lifted the glass from her hand and set it on the table before turning back to her.
Clasping her hand with his, he led her around a corner, to a small extension of the balcony where they were alone in the humid night with only the sounds and smells of the city drifting up toward them.
It could begin and end here, he thought with a mixture of dread and anticipation. But he'd decided that if this wasn't going to work out the way he wanted, then ending it immediately was best.
Silently, he pulled her close, swamped by so many sensations at once that his brain went from anticipation to overcharged in the space of a heartbeat. He could feel the shape of her slender body. The pressure of her high breasts against his chest. The brush of her red curls on his cheek.
And he was captured by that sweet woman's scent that had tantalized him from the first moment she'd walked into the bar.
She stood quietly in his arms, as though debating whether to take the next step.
He held his breath, and slowly, slowly she raised her face, meeting his questioning gaze.
There was only a brief moment of eye contact—but enough for a silent question and answer. With her permission, he lowered his lips to hers.
He had wanted to know if they would be good together. Good was hardly the right word.
The touch of their lips was like lightning crackling through the night sky in some dark, primeval forest. From the small sound she made, he knew she felt it, too.
The lightning ignited a fire in his belly, the flames flaring white-hot.
It had
been two years since he had kissed a woman on the lips. And he knew he had been saving the pleasure for this one. She tasted better than anything he could remember in his life and beyond. Better than fine wine or pure spring water or even blood.
He gathered her in, pressing her breasts against his chest, holding her to his body, swaying slightly as though he had suddenly become unsteady on his feet. He sipped at her lips, nipped with his teeth, then traced a sensuous path with his tongue.
When he'd taken her in his arms, he had thought he was merely testing their compatibility. But now his mind had spun out of control. He wanted her. This instant. He needed to sink his teeth into her tender flesh and draw some of her essence into himself.
It took all the self-control he possessed to break the kiss and lift his head. As he looked down on her with his keen night vision, he could see the unfocused confusion in her eyes.
Lord, what was he doing? Planning to ravage her out here on this balcony overlooking the river? They had some privacy, but not enough for him to do what he wanted with her.
He ached to take her back to his house where they could be alone. Although she had wanted to meet him in a public place, he knew he could change her mind about that now. But he wasn't going to force her. More than her submission to him, he craved her consent. And he knew that waiting for their ultimate joining would make it all the better.
"So, what next?" he asked in a voice that he couldn't quite hold steady.
Chapter Three
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Taylor waited a beat before answering. She had impulsively called up a man she didn't know. And now some inner voice warned her to run as fast as she could in the other direction. She had met him less than a half-hour ago, and his kiss had left her head spinning.
He'd said he'd looked her up on the Internet. She should have done the same thing. All she knew about him was that he was handsome as sin. He'd beguiled Evelyn Bromley. He had a trace of a British accent. And he had the power to make her forget where she was and why it was a dumb idea to leap into the arms of a stranger.
Yet at the same time, he had left her aching for more. The question was, could she keep her head long enough to make an informed decision?
Maybe it was the expression on his face and the tone of his voice that swayed her. If he'd looked and sounded smug after that kiss, she would have told him the meeting wasn't working out. But he seemed as overcome by the intimate contact as she. And the look in his dark eyes told her that the answer she gave mattered very much to him.
He hadn't just been playing with her—testing his powers as a lover. He'd been emotionally involved.
She moistened her dry mouth and said, "We were going to go pub crawling or whatever they call it here."
"Where would you like to go?"
"I've heard of a place called the Venus Club," she said boldly.
He raised an eyebrow. "It's not a spot for the timid."
"I think I have the right escort."
He nodded, then held out his hand, ushering her toward the door. "Let's go."
They took the elevator down to the street level, turned right along the busy sidewalk, past the Café du Monde, then across Decatur Street to avoid the dark and shadowed bulk of the French Market. They turned up Ursulines, then onto Dauphine, and she couldn't help feeling a little nervous as they left the crowds and the lights behind.
"Is it safe here?" she whispered, edging closer to Jules. "I mean, we could take a cab."
"It's only another block," he answered.
Her uneasy feeling was confirmed when a man stepped out of a passageway between two houses, a gun in his hand.
The robber hardly had time to demand her purse before Jules turned the tables. In truth, she saw only a blur of motion as he grabbed the assailant by his shirt, spun him around and tossed him back into the passageway, where he landed with a whoosh of breath from his lungs.
She watched, flabbergasted, as Jules kicked the gun away, then waited to see if the man was going to get up. When the robber didn't stir, he calmly pulled out a cell phone and called 911. As soon as he'd finished giving the location, he took her arm and ushered her down the street again.
"Aren't we going to wait for the police?" she asked, trying not to sound dazed.
"I don't want to get involved."
"But can't they trace the source of the call?"
"It's one of those prepaid phones, where you can only call out."
"Oh," she managed to say before asking, "How did you do that? I mean lay him out so fast?"
"Martial arts training," he answered dismissively.
"Oh," she said again, still dazed.
"Let's go, before we miss the show."
"What show?"
"You'll see." He led her up the block and around the corner, where he gestured toward a red brick mansion surrounded by an iron fence. The windows were shuttered, but the sound of loud conversation and music drifted toward them.
"Here we are."
She looked at the building, seeing no sign that said VENUS CLUB. Apparently you had to know what it was.
"A nightclub takes up that whole house?"
"Yes, starting with the bar where people hook up if they don't have a date."
"A date! That's a quaint way to put it."
A grin flickered on his handsome face. "Well, I'm an old-fashioned kind of guy, so this place shocks my sensibilities."
"Oh? What can I expect besides the bar?"
His voice was teasing now as he said, "A cornucopia of delights. If you dare."
She lifted one shoulder. "Of course I dare. How do you know so much about this place if you find it shocking?"
He leaned closer to whisper, "I like to live dangerously."
The way he said it sent a tingle along her nerve endings. Was he just being theatrical? Or was he giving her some kind of warning?
For a moment she debated hopping into one of the cabs lined up at the corner. But she didn't want to leave him yet. So she accompanied him up a short flight of marble steps to a classic portico with white Ionic columns, where he spoke in a quiet voice to a man guarding the door. Although the fellow wore a tuxedo, he looked like a pro wrestler. But after some cash had been exchanged, he nodded pleasantly as she and Jules crossed the threshold, stepping out of the humid night into an even more heated atmosphere.
The front hall was dark, and it took several moments for her eyes to adjust. Then she saw the paintings on the walls and blinked. They were all close-ups of intimate body parts—breasts, vulvas, penises, in black and white.
Leaning closer to one, she decided that the brushwork wasn't particularly well done.
"Not exactly museum quality," Jules murmured, his lips near her ear.
She laughed, knowing that her case of nerves was bringing out the art critic in her.
"Let's explore." Jules took her hand and led her into a room that looked like it could have come out of a sixties movie, complete with a faceted ball spinning on the ceiling, sending floating dots swirling around the room. Couples were slow-dancing, if you could call it that. When she looked more closely, it appeared to be a giant make-out party. Which was kind of sweet, compared to the room across the hall where a porn flick was showing on a big-screen TV.
"Subtle," she muttered.
"Not my choice either. The more interesting stuff is upstairs," he said, steering her to the wide staircase. They climbed to another hallway. "At the back of the house, you can watch amateur strippers."
"No, thanks."
"Well, the ballet room is probably more your taste."
She followed him into a large space where couples and a few single guys stood facing the stage.
A man and a woman dressed in street clothing came out and bowed to the audience.
Jules bent so that his lips were close to her ear. "We're just in time for a performance."
She didn't know what they were going to see, but she let him lead her to one side, where they had a good view of the stage.
J
ules stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders as the strains of Swan Lake came from hidden speakers.
The dancers began what started as a classic pas de deux. But the performance soon became more sexually explicit. When the man lifted his partner up and twirled her above his head, his palm braced itself squarely against her crotch. And when he put her down, his hands cupped her breasts, then went to the buttons at the front of her blouse, which he began to open while she stroked her hand against the fly of his slacks.
It could have been crude. But it was all done with extreme sensuality that made Taylor's blood heat.
The male dancer pulled off his partner's shirt and tossed it away, his hands playing with the cups of her bra, her dark nipples clearly visible through the sheer fabric.
Taylor's response flamed higher, then higher still as Jules pulled her back against himself. Bending his head, he brushed her hair aside, so his lips could nibble at her cheek and then travel to the tender place where her jawline met her neck.
His whole body seemed to vibrate, and he made what was almost a purring sound in his throat as his mouth traveled to her ear and his tongue probed the sensitive channel while his hands traveled up and down her sides, stroking her hips then gliding upward to skim the sides of her breasts.
Her nipples were instantly taut, and she leaned her head back as she arched into the caress.
On the stage, the woman was skinning the man's trousers down his muscular legs. Then he pulled her close, unfastened her bra and tossed it out of the way. She was stripped to her panties now. And he wore only a white dress shirt unbuttoned all the way down the front.
Taylor's gaze remained on the explicit scene, but the show was only a minor part of what she was experiencing now.
Every muscle in her body tightened as Jules's fingers slid inward, inching toward her nipples. But he never quite touched them before he pulled his hands back.
A small sound of protest escaped from her lips.
Onstage, the man pressed on the woman's shoulders so that she went down on her knees in front of him. He sank his fingers into her hair, guiding her face against his crotch.
The edge of his open shirt hid his cock and her face from view, so that it was impossible to tell whether she had really taken him into her mouth. But it seemed that way from the reaction of her partner who threw his head back, his face contorted with pleasure.
Immortal Bad Boys Page 2
