I bit out a curse that made the man on the other end stutter an apology. “I—I’m sorry, monsieur le comte, but there was nothing I could do. Germain—he’s too strong—”
“Yes, yes,” I said impatiently. “You did the right thing in calling me. I’ll be there by tomorrow morning.”
My next call was to Malik. “Get in touch with Jean-Michel.” He was the pilot of my private jet. “Tell him we’ll be leaving for Paris in two—no, three hours.”
He nodded, and I shut the door and went to tell Star.
I found her in the dining room staring out at the harbor. It was late afternoon, and golden sunlight danced over the dark green water. She had a palm pressed to the window as if trying to absorb the life and light in the scene below. I was reminded of that shooting star tattoo on her hip.
I scowled. Did she have to act like she was in a goddamn prison? I’d done everything I could to make her happy.
But this wasn’t her world. She was young, full of energy. A sunflower kind of woman…
God, I was a bastard for forcing this on her. Lord help me if she ever found out the truth.
Guilt made my tone abrupt. “I have to leave for Paris in a few hours.”
“Paris, France?” She turned around. When I nodded, she grinned. “Awesome. I’ve always wanted to go—”
“You’re not coming.”
Her face fell. “You’re leaving me here?”
I wasn’t used to explaining myself to anyone, but I found myself saying, “It’s for two or three days only. My clan—there is a…situation in Paris. Business—you’d only be bored.”
“In Paris? Are you kidding? How could I be bored?”
I blew out a breath. “I’m sorry, but I must say no.”
“Okay.” She shrugged, and I sensed her hurt, but I wasn’t going to budge on this. It was for her own safety. The last thing I wanted to do was take a soft, innocent human like her into a nest of warring vampires.
“You can stay at the hotel. Order anything you like—do some shopping, perhaps. How does that sound?”
She moved a shoulder. Then she brightened. “I know, I’ll go back to the apartment. I have some things I need to do any—”
My stomach iced. “Absolutely not.” There was no way in hell I was letting her out of my protection. She was a marked woman, whether she knew it or not.
She folded her arms over her chest. “Why not?”
“Your apartment—it’s not safe.”
“Hey, I know it’s not in a pricey neighborhood like this, but it’s not like I’m not used to it.”
I growled. “Damn it woman. This is not up for argument. You will stay here in the hotel.”
She glared at me. “And if I leave?”
I stepped closer. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
Our gazes locked but I wasn’t going to back down. Not on this.
“You will stay in the hotel,” I said, my voice dark with compulsion, “until I return.” She swallowed and I relented enough to say, “Damn it, Star. This is for your own safety. Allow me to take care of you. Please.”
Her chest heaved. “Why would you want to? I’m just a paid body for you to fuck—and feed from.”
“Perhaps,” I growled back. “But for this month, you’re my body. My woman. And you will let me protect you.”
I increased the force of the compulsion.
“Stop it.” She smacked my chest. “You bastard, don’t you dare try to force me.”
“Then don’t be foolish. I am a count, ruler of a vast clan of vampires. My enemies would love to feed on my woman, but they can’t touch you as long as you are with me. The hotel is safe too—I own it, and the employees are all mine. But as soon as you go back to your own apartment, you become vulnerable. You might as well paste a target on that pretty neck of yours.”
She scowled at me another few seconds and then blew out a breath. “Fine. Whatever you say, Count. But what am I going to do while you’re gone? Lay around in bed and eat chocolates? I want to paint. I need to paint.”
“That is the problem? You want to paint?” I waved a hand. “Then you will paint. We will make you a studio.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell Malik what you need. By tomorrow morning, it will be here. And I mean anything. Make the studio of your dreams—the money is nothing.”
“Maybe for you,” she muttered.
“I only want for you to be happy.”
She scrutinized me. “But why? I signed a contract. You’re paying me a ridiculous amount of money. We both know that if you wanted to, you could lock me in here while you’re gone. No one would stop you.”
I shrugged. I wasn’t sure myself why I got so much pleasure from indulging this woman. “Call it a whim. You please me, Star. And I like to encourage talent such as yours—it is a hobby of mine.”
I curved my hand around her nape. Her eyelids lowered and she arched into my touch, making soft sounds of arousal that were like hot licks over my balls.
Her eyes opened, the green dark with wanting. She moistened her lips. “When do you have to leave?”
“I could stay another hour—if you ask nicely.”
Her tongue swiped over her full red mouth. Her gaze darted to where my erection tented my boxers. “What do you mean, ask nicely?”
For answer, I set my hands on her shoulders, urging her down.
Understanding dawned and she went to her knees before me. I watched as she ran a finger up my length, teasing me through the black silk.
“That’s it,” I said in a guttural voice. “Take me in your mouth, little one.”
But of course, she didn’t obey—not my Star. Instead she ran her lips over my erection, wetting the silk with her tongue. I fisted my hands at my sides so I wouldn’t grab her and force her to suck me. I wanted her to do it willingly.
She set her lips against the head of my cock and made a humming sound that moved through the cloth as if it were tissue. I swore in French as the vibration went straight to my balls.
“You like that, huh?” she murmured against me, sending another hum of sensation through me.
“Oui. But I would like even more for you to do it against my bare skin.”
She sent me a cheeky grin. “That can be arranged. If you ask nicely.”
I just quirked a brow. She chuckled and eased my boxers down, helping me step out of them. One warm hand closed around my cock, while the fingers of her other hand teased my scrotum.
I stifled a groan. “Good girl. Touch me. Exactly like that.”
I watched her mouth hover near the tip. She ran her tongue around the flare, then licked her way down to my balls and then up again. When she reached the head, she sucked me into her mouth for a second and then released me with an audible pop. A shock of electricity shot up my spine and my whole body went rigid.
The hell with this.
I fisted my hands in her shiny black hair and pulled her head back so that I was looking into her eyes. “Suck me, Star. Now.”
She slanted me a look up from under her thick lashes. “Beg me, Count.”
CHAPTER TWELVE: Star
I don’t know what made me do it.
Maybe it was because Remy had gone all lordly on me. And then to top it off, he’d tried that compulsion shit on me. He hadn’t tried that since that third night when we’d gone out to dinner together.
But damn it, the man was going to Paris—without me. I told myself I was only disappointed because I’d always wanted to see France, but I was going to miss him. And that pissed me off more than anything. I might be only one in a long line of courtesans, but I’d promised myself I’d never beg Remy de la Lune for anything.
So I turned the tables on him.
But of course, Remy didn’t beg. Not Monsieur le comte.
Instead, he flashed his fangs, and said, “Star,” in a voice that sent a shiver down my spine.
I swiped my tongue up his hard cock again. Teasing him.
It wasn’t that
I didn’t want to do this for him, because I did. When he’d urged me to my knees, I’d gone willingly. He was so generous about pleasuring me that I was happy to return the favor.
I stroked my hand down his taut stomach, then wrapped my fingers around his erection. It jumped in my hand. I drew a slow breath, inhaling his musk. Already his scent was familiar to me, an earthy spice that made my insides knot with desire.
I set my mouth to the hard, hot line of him. His whole body went tight. I smiled to myself and hummed against his cock.
He groaned at the vibration. “Suck me,” he ordered, his patience gone.
I ignored him to trace a slow line up and down him with my tongue.
He closed his eyes and muttered something in French, and my lips curved. I wanted this as much as him. But some devilish part of me made me throw his own words back at him.
“Beg me, Count.”
His fingers tightened on my hair. I took a tiny taste and he groaned again.
“You know what to do,” I murmured against his erection.
He bit out a curse. “The hell I do.”
“Suit yourself. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I kept up the teasing licks and sucks until he speared his fingers through my hair and pulled my head back.
Our eyes met. His pale, inhuman gaze seared me. “Suck me.”
I moistened my lips. Part of me was amazed at my boldness—this was a vampire, after all. A man who could break me like a twig if I pushed him too far.
But then, I’d always had a reckless streak that even my dad hadn’t been able to beat out of me. Or maybe it was because of those beatings that sometimes I just didn’t fucking care. And besides, I was certain Remy wouldn’t hurt me—not physically, anyway. I had an instinct for that kind of violence—the kind that preys on small, helpless things—and I didn’t sense it in Remy, however dangerous he was otherwise.
His gaze was on my mouth. I waited until he brought his eyes back to mine again and then gave him my best innocent look and murmured, “I’m waiting.”
He regarded me through slit lids, and I suppressed a shiver. But that reckless streak wouldn’t let me back down.
He made a low, feral sound. “Damn you, woman. I don’t know why I put up with this.” Then he rocked his pelvis against my lips and growled, “Please.”
Good enough. I put my mouth on him and sucked him inside.
He hissed and said, “Good girl,” which for some reason made me hotter.
His hands came to my head, holding me in place as he slowly rocked in and out of my mouth. “Fuck. You feel so…tight.”
He’d lost his smooth tones. His voice was harsh, gritty, and I was so damn proud that I’d made him lose control.
And then he switched to French again, and I liked that even more.
I settled in to suck him in earnest. I could tell he was almost there when he stopped me, and he drew me back up. He jerked off my clothes and then said in a soft voice, “On your hands and knees.”
When I obeyed, he came to his knees behind me, grabbed my hips, and took me there on the carpet, hard and wild.
I pressed against him, nearly sobbing with pleasure.
“That’s it,” he said, thrusting in and out of me. “You are so beautiful. I want you too much…all the time.”
“Yes,” I moaned.
“Say you’re mine.” He fisted a hand in my hair and pulled it back. “Say it, woman. Say you’re mine. Mine only.”
I bit my lip. Sweat beaded on my spine. “Yes,” I cried to the hard rhythm of his thrusts as he rammed into me. “Yes…yes. I’m yours…I’m yours.”
Remy buried his teeth in the side of my neck and I screamed as pleasure shot from my head to my toes. “I’m yours.”
I collapsed on the carpet, Remy next to me.
As I dragged in a breath, I finally understood why those other courtesans had been willing to beg.
A man like Remy could become an addiction.
* * *
True to his word, Remy ordered Malik to turn one of the unused bedrooms into a studio, and the other man made a few phone calls and it was done by noon the next day.
To my surprise, Remy left Malik behind to guard me. I objected—anyone but Malik—but Remy only gave me a hard kiss, told me to behave myself, and left.
I told myself I’d imagined that look, but I’d survived my dad. I’d learned to be hypersensitive to atmosphere and expressions. Malik definitely didn’t like me. What I didn’t understand was why, until it occurred to me he was jealous of me and Remy. I’d figured a vampire was always like this with his courtesan, but maybe Remy did find me special.
I shrugged off Malik’s dislike. What did it matter? In another ten days I’d be gone, and Malik would have his master to himself again—until Remy hired the next courtesan.
Which I refused to think about.
Malik wasn’t any happier to be left behind than I was to have him guarding me, but the man was a professional. Other than checking in with me twice a day to make sure I had everything I needed—and trailing me whenever I left the hotel—I didn’t see him.
Meanwhile, I had a studio to die for. Remy must have told Malik to get me one of everything in the store, because when the order arrived, it was three times what I’d asked for: easels, canvases of every size, tubes and tubes of acrylic paint, brushes in a range of shapes and sizes. There was also acrylic gel and a special glue that I could use to affix photos and other objects to my paintings.
The bedroom itself had large windows that let in plenty of natural light, and an electrician had installed special lights with dimmer switches so that I could adjust the inside lights as needed.
I confiscated a white cotton shirt of Remy’s, put on a pair of my new jeans and got to work. For the first two days, I painted nonstop, only coming out of the bedroom to eat and sleep, and take a walk—at noon.
It felt strange to be outside under the sunshine. I’d always been a night owl, so it hadn’t been hard for me to adapt to Remy’s hours. Still, it felt good to have the sun on my face. I walked for several miles each day, trailed by a scowling Malik, before heading back to the Inner Harbor and the hotel.
The painting was going well. I did a couple of quick studies and then started on the biggest canvas, six feet wide and three feet tall. I started with deep, moody colors: navy blue, forest green, black. Next, I bought a stack of magazines and cut them into pieces, gluing glossy bits of paper here and there.
It still wasn’t right, so I added streaks of electric blue, like Remy’s eyes when he was in full vamp-mode.
I was painting Remy, of course. Not his physical body, but his energy. The darkness that lived in him, but also the generosity. Because nothing in that contract had required him to create this studio for me—or to encourage my painting at all, for that matter.
By the third day, Remy still hadn’t returned and he hadn’t called me once. And damn it, I missed him. I felt empty, flat without him, like the world had lost some of its color.
On top of that, I was worried. Because right before he’d left, he’d said something to Malik that made me realize he was going back to France to put down a rebellion in his own clan. He’d stopped talking as soon as he’d realized I was in the room, but I’d overheard enough to realize he was walking into a civil war.
I shuddered. I couldn’t even imagine what war between vampires looked like.
For the first two days, I refused to ask Malik about Remy. Because no news was good news, right?
On the third morning, I broke. When Malik checked in with me after breakfast, I said, “Have you heard anything from Remy? Is he okay?”
Malik unbent enough to incline his head. “Monsieur de la Lune is well, thank you.”
“But when will he back?”
“I cannot say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Malik just stared back steadily.
“You know,” I said, “I’m not the enemy.”
But he just lifted a heavy black brow a
nd bowed himself out of the room.
I growled in frustration, and then pulled on the shirt I was using as a painting smock and strode down the hall to my studio.
A large painting like this usually took me weeks, but this one poured out in a feverish burst of creativity. By the fourth day, I was almost through.
That last day I forgot everything—even food—as I tried to get Remy down on canvas. I even ripped up the sketches I’d secretly made of him one day when he was asleep and glued them here and there on the painting, forming a huge spiral that twisted toward the center.
But it still needed something. I ran a hand over my hair, forgetting the paint on my fingers, and then it came to me. I grabbed my brush and added a fiery shadow at the center of the spiral. Two people, intertwined in a dark, sexy embrace. Remy—and me.
There. Then I stepped back and eyed it, then heaved a breath. I was done.
I set down my brush and paced restlessly around the room, still humming from having made the best painting of my life. My stomach growled and I realized I was starving. I glanced at the windows. From the angle of the sun, it was close to seven o’clock and I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
I cleaned the brushes, scrubbed my hands, and did my best to get the streak of red paint out of my hair. Then I ate a big dinner before setting out for a walk.
I didn’t plan to go AWOL. Remy’s little talk about vampires wanting his woman had convinced me to fall in with his orders.
But as I entered the lobby, Malik was waiting. He nodded, back to his usual expressionless self.
“Any news on Remy?” I asked.
“He is fine,” Malik said. “That’s all you need to know.”
I nodded, but inside, I was boiling. Four whole days with no word from Remy—not even a quick hi, how’re you doing?—and Malik was about as communicative as a concrete block.
The hell with it. Suddenly all I wanted was to go home, if just for a couple of hours. After all, I’d been walking around with only Malik as a bodyguard for the past few days and nothing had happened.
And besides, I wanted to stick it to Malik. Maybe that was immature, but I was coming down off a painter’s high and not thinking clearly.
It wasn’t hard; Malik was there to protect me, not imprison me. He wasn’t expecting me to give him the slip.
Ensnared: A Vampire Blood Courtesans Romance Page 8
