Ensnared: A Vampire Blood Courtesans Romance Read online

  ENSNARED

  A VAMPIRE BLOOD COURTESANS ROMANCE

  REBECCA RIVARD AND MICHELLE FOX

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: Star

  CHAPTER TWO: Remy

  CHAPTER THREE: Star

  CHAPTER FOUR: Star

  CHAPTER FIVE: Star

  CHAPTER SIX: Remy

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Star

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Star

  CHAPTER NINE: Remy

  CHAPTER TEN: Star

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Remy

  CHAPTER TWELVE: Star

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Remy

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Star

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Remy

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Star

  Copyright

  CHAPTER ONE: Star

  Panic clawed my chest. I started awake, my heart hammering like a wild thing.

  What was I going to do?

  The bar where I’d been waitressing had closed last month, and I hadn’t been able to find a new job. I had enough to pay May’s rent, but that would leave me less than a hundred dollars for food and utilities.

  And I’d still have to come up with the rent for June.

  I gazed around me, picking out shapes in the early morning light. I rented an attic in a row house on Baltimore’s east side. My apartment was basically one large room with a kitchen at one end, my bed at the other, and three tall dormer windows in the middle. It was cramped, but it was mine and I loved it, from the sloping ceiling that I’d painted sky blue to the sunny yellow walls.

  My gaze fell on the row of paintings along one wall. My paintings. Maybe they weren’t any good, but they were all I had in the world.

  I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, but my mind was racing like a hamster on a wheel. After a few minutes I gave up trying to fall back asleep. Pulling on a hoodie, I crept down the two flights of stairs past my landlords’ apartment and out the front door.

  The sun wasn’t up yet but it was already warm outside, a hint of the humid Maryland summer to come. As I sat down on the front stoop, a soft predawn haze spread over the line of Formstone row houses that marched up my street. On a nearby roof, a robin was singing to its mate, and a squirrel sent me an inquisitive look from the trunk of a scrubby street tree.

  At least if I lost the apartment, I wouldn’t freeze. But what would happen to my paintings?

  Panic grabbed me again. I hugged my knees and told myself that something would turn up.

  Suddenly the robin went silent as if it had been choked in mid-note. The squirrel froze and then whisked itself into the tree branches.

  Every hair on my body stood straight up.

  I looked carefully around me. There. A dark swirl in the shadows at the end of the block…and then a man emerged like a grim, powerful magician.

  Across the street, my neighbor was jogging down her stoop. She glanced his way and did a double-take.

  But the man was looking at me. My breath hitched. He was gorgeous: broad shoulders, black hair that curled over his collar and a face too beautiful to be real. He and his sleek charcoal suit stood out in my working-class neighborhood like a Ferrari in a sea of Fords.

  Wariness skittered up my spine. He was too out of place. Rich, gorgeous men didn’t walk down our street. Ever.

  And they didn’t stare as if they knew me…or wanted to.

  I dragged my gaze from him and waited for him to pass.

  Footsteps, soft and unhurried on the sidewalk. Then a low, seductive voice. “Good morning, chérie.”

  I knew enough French to know he’d called me ‘dear’ or ‘sweetheart.’ I shouldn’t have liked it, but damn, it was sexy, especially with his faint European accent. Desire curled through me, warm and unexpected. I scowled and returned his greeting curtly.

  His nostrils flared, almost like he’d scented that curl of desire. His gaze traveled down my body, lingering on my bare legs. I glared at him and deliberately tugged the hem of my hoodie lower to cover my thighs.

  His gaze snapped back to my face. This close, he was even more beautiful, but in a chilly, glittering way, his eyes coal-black save for an odd rim of silver-blue around the pupils.

  Time stopped. I stilled, entranced by that shock of color.

  “Who are you?” A dark murmur that stroked my skin like phantom fingers. He was five feet away but it felt like he was looming over me.

  I moved a shoulder. “No one.”

  “No,” he said. “You are most definitely someone. A very beautiful someone.”

  I swallowed. I knew I should go inside but something kept me there, staring up at him, a rabbit hypnotized by a wolf.

  He tilted his head. “I’m making you uncomfortable. I’m sorry—that is not my intention.”

  I wrenched my ass off the stoop and stood up. That was better. I was on the second step so he didn’t loom over me—but now I was looking directly into his odd eyes. They seemed to glow in the dim light.

  I gulped and took an involuntary step back. My heels hit the marble rise behind me.

  He put out a hand. “Don’t be afraid.”

  I lifted my chin. “I’m not.”

  “Non? You have no reason to fear me, I promise.”

  I moved a shoulder.

  He frowned. “I have to go, but I would like to know you better. I may take you to dinner, perhaps?”

  “Dinner? With you?” I shook my head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll give you cab fare,” he said. “You will meet me at the restaurant. What do you say?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “I promise you may leave whenever you wish. You will be perfectly safe. Please?” He gave me a winning smile.

  Put like that, it sounded almost reasonable. And if nothing else, I’d get a free dinner. But something made me shake my head. “Thanks for the invite, but—”

  “Star.” His voice stopped me in the act of edging up the stairs. He set a black boot on the bottom step and leaned forward. “Why fight it?”

  “Fight what?” But my heart was thundering so hard I barely heard my own words.

  “This.” He touched the pulse hammering in the hollow of my throat. His breath caught and he stared fixedly at my neck.

  I swayed toward him. He leaned closer and I found myself raising my mouth to his. It was as if he really was a magician working some powerful spell on me.

  “Stop it.” I pushed his hand away. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it right now.”

  His gaze sharpened and I felt his will like a physical thing, beating against mine.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I mean it,” I said in a low, hard voice. “My landlords are right inside. Get away from me or I’ll scream so loud the whole fucking neighborhood will come down on you.”

  The man’s brows snapped together, and then, just like that, whatever he was doing stopped. He stepped back. “You’re right. This isn’t the time or place.”

  My chest heaved. “It will never be the time or place.”

  “Non? I want you, chérie. I promise I will make it worth your while.” He put his hands in his pants pockets and regarded me through hooded eyes.

  It took me a few seconds to realize what he meant. Then I gasped. Emotions chased through me: Anger, outrage—and temptation, God help me.

  Why not? a sly voice asked. Because I was broke, and with this man, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad way to make money.

  But would I ever be able to look myself in the eye again? And what would my mom have said? Shame twisted my stomach.

  “Get the hell out of here,” I gritted. “Now.”

  He quirked a dark brow. “As you say, Star. A bientôt.
Have a good day.” And with a parting nod, he sauntered back the way he came.

  I walked backward up the final two steps, afraid to turn my back on him, until my butt hit the front door. I yanked it open and darted inside.

  It was only then that I realized he knew my name.

  CHAPTER TWO: Remy

  I settled into the limo and waited as my right-hand man, Malik, shut the door and took a seat next to the chauffeur.

  By all the dark skies, I wanted the pretty little human. It had been a long time since I’d scented blood as sweet as hers. I craved her freshness, that spark that made her stand up to me even when her frantically beating heart signaled her fear. Her very youth was an aphrodisiac.

  Too bad she’d made it clear she wasn’t for sale.

  I was an old, powerful vampire. I could compel the woman to do anything I damned well pleased—but what would be the fun in that?

  I saw her again in my mind’s eye: dark, shiny hair. Golden skin that hinted of an Asian ancestor. Soft curves and strong legs that would wrap around my hips as I brought my mouth to her lovely throat…

  My fangs lengthened. I shifted, the thought of feeding from her as I thrust deep inside her tight little passage making me hard.

  Patience, I told myself. Patience.

  For now, I would have to wait. But not long. Because I would have her.

  What had made me catch her scent from a block away? Why had I cracked the limo window at just the right moment?

  I shrugged. These things happened. A wise man didn’t question them.

  The limo pulled out into the early-morning traffic, heading toward the Inner Harbor and my hotel.

  “Get her,” I told Malik in French.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Monsieur?”

  Malik was a member of an Algerian-French family that had served me for decades. He would do anything for me—up to and including murder. He’d even taken a bullet for me, which although it wouldn’t have killed me, would’ve weakened me at a crucial moment. I’d rewarded him by giving him a few drops of my blood, saving his life and creating a blood bond between us. Not that any of my employees would dare betray me, but Malik had my absolute trust.

  “The young woman on the stoop. I have chosen her to be my next blood courtesan. Her first name is Star.” I’d plucked the name from her mind.

  I gave Malik the address and he noted it in his phone.

  “But be clever,” I added. “I want her to believe she has a choice.”

  “Of course.”

  We both knew he would engineer it so she had no choice at all.

  I sat back, satisfied, and watched from behind black-tinted windows as the sun rose over Baltimore.

  CHAPTER THREE: Star

  He was there. Watching me from a table in the corner. Tall, dark and scary-with-an-accent.

  What the fu—?

  This was a small, shady gambling club, very much under the radar. Play by invitation only. How had he gotten past the doorman? Unless he was a gangster like most of the other patrons.

  Around me there was the gruff sound of men playing cards at the eight tables spaced around the room. There were only two games at Oakley’s, poker and blackjack, played with hundred dollar bills—not chips—per house rules.

  His gaze went over me, taking in my uniform: crisp white shirt, short red skirt and fuck-me scarlet heels. My nape prickled. My fingers curled around the round tray in my hands.

  “Hey, girl. Can we get our fucking drinks already?”

  I wrenched my focus back to the three lethal-looking men playing at the table next to me. The dealer, a thirty-something woman as hard-eyed as the men, paid me no mind, her gaze fixed on the big blond scowling at me.

  “Of course. Sorry, sir.” I moved around the table, setting a whiskey beside each man.

  The blond’s jacket stretched over his massive frame as he tossed back the whiskey in one gulp and then tapped the table. “Hit me. And you”—he jerked his head at me—“stay right where you are.”

  The other two men called, and the big blond won. The dealer pushed the cash toward him, and he added the bills to his stack without so much as a glance at them.

  I blinked. The man had won close to thirty thousand dollars—more than I’d made all last year—and he acted like it was nothing.

  The blond lifted a hand and crooked a thick finger at me. “Here, babe.” He tucked a folded hundred dollar bill into my neckline. “Get me and the boys here another whiskey.”

  The folded bill scratched as he shoved it deeper. His hand slid under my bra, grazing my nipple. I stiffened and clenched my jaw as his calloused fingers abraded my skin.

  “Sure thing, boss.” I forced a wink.

  But I could’ve sworn the dark man in the corner growled. No one else seemed to have heard, but then, at Oakley’s, if you had any brains, you minded your own business.

  As I wove through the tables to the bar, my gaze returned to him as if he was some kind of human magnet. Tonight he was all in black—his suit, his shirt. He even had on a narrow black tie. The round lamp hanging from a chain over his table illuminated only his hands and the lower part of his face, leaving the rest of him in the shadows.

  As I passed his table, he glanced up and I caught a flash of silver-blue. I faltered and almost lost my balance in those damn high heels. Then he shuttered his gaze and faded back into the shadows as if willing himself to disappear.

  I swallowed and continued to the bar to place the drink order.

  I didn’t wonder how he’d found me so easily. For a man like that, it was child’s play. He knew where I lived, and he apparently knew my name.

  If he wanted, he could probably dig up things about me that even my best friends didn’t know, like that my bank account was as empty as a church on Monday and that I was alone in the world except for my landlords, a gay couple I’d met at the last bar I’d worked at, a few friends and a father I hoped never to see again. Hell, he probably even knew that I hated milk but loved cheese and had a tattoo on my left hip.

  This job had been an answer to a prayer. My friend Janelle had called out of the blue to tell me the club where she worked was looking for a cocktail waitress. “The owner only hires hot young things,” she said.

  Well, I was young, anyway—twenty-four. I didn’t know about hot.

  “The money is effing incredible,” Janelle added.

  “I’m in.”

  Ms. Jones, the elegant African-American woman who interviewed me, looked me over with a professional eye. “You could use a haircut, but you have nice eyes. And your body will do.”

  I ignored the body remark to drag a hand over my straight black hair. “I can get it cut.”

  “Good. Get a swing cut—it will show off those big green eyes. The men will eat it up, especially with your skin—they like variety. What are you, anyway? You have a Spanish last name, but you look more Asian—”

  “I’m Filipina—half. My mom was American by way of Croatia.”

  “Ah, that explains the ethnic look. Excellent. Like I said, the men will eat you up. We try to have something for every taste.”

  I shifted uneasily. Lord knew I needed this job, but what had Janelle gotten me into? We’d been friends ever since we were teens after meeting in a homeless shelter during a bad time for both of us. We’d even been roommates for a year.

  But now I belatedly recalled that when I’d last seen her two months ago, she’d been clinging to a big brute of a man with a gang tattoo running down the side of his neck.

  “I’m not for sale,” I blurted. “My body, I mean.”

  “No?” she asked, not unkindly. “Everyone has their price.”

  “Not me.”

  “Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “We leave it up to the girls. Now, tell me about your experience. I understand you’ve worked as a cocktail waitress before?”

  A few minutes later she came to her feet and offered me her hand. “The job’s yours, Star.”

  Janelle and her bo
yfriend had vouched for me, and apparently that was good enough.

  I wasn’t stupid. I knew Oakley’s wasn’t strictly legal—it sure as hell wasn’t a licensed casino, and to enter it, I’d had to let them pat me down for weapons and a wire—but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  It wasn’t until the first night that I’d realized that half the members belonged to the same gang as Janelle’s friend. But Ms. Jones had told me what the waitresses averaged in tips, and I realized that in a single evening I’d make as much as I made in a whole week at my last job. I figured I’d stay for a few months, earn enough to buy a used car and a few other necessities—like the art supplies I craved like some people did drugs—and then move on.

  “Here you go, Star.” The bartender, Zeke, placed three whiskeys on the counter.

  I returned to the blond bastard’s table with the drinks to find his stack of money gone save for a single hundred dollar bill.

  I fought not to smile as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to find a luckier table.” He grabbed his whiskey and stalked off.

  I served the other two men and then moved onto my next table. In the corner, Janelle was waiting on tall, dark and scary’s table. Janelle was the kind of woman men stared at—big eyes, smooth coffee skin, and a long, sexy body.

  But the man barely glanced at her, simply took the glass of wine and raised it to me.

  I jerked my gaze away.

  Antoine, the owner’s second in command, appeared out of nowhere behind me “Mr. Oakley wants to see you, Star.”

  “Me? Why?”

  Antoine simply looked back, his dark face carved in stone.

  Okay. I looked around for somewhere to put my tray.

  Antoine jerked his head at Janelle. “Take it.”

  “Yes, sir.” She hurried forward and took the tray without looking at me. Not that I was surprised—if the Titanic were sinking, Janelle would be the first on a lifeboat.

  My gaze darted to the man in the corner. He was examining his cards, but I knew, with a gut-deep certainty, that he was aware of what was happening. I could feel it.

  Antoine grabbed my arm and propelled me toward the hall at the back of the club. Something about the way he was handling me made me wonder if I should try and make a run for it. But I told myself not to be silly. Why would I be in trouble? In the week I’d been at Oakley’s Club, I’d done my damnedest to be a model employee: showing up early and pitching in with any work that needed doing.