Blood Rites: (Royal Blood #3) (2 page)

“What’s your name?” I asked, flashing my
best smile.

She flushed again. “Lorelei.”

Lorelei
.

Two

Lorelei

I glared at my mother. She was
at it
again
.

I sat in a fancy tearoom in Kensington, an
assortment of cakes and tea in fine china before us and couldn’t
understand how she could be so…insufferable.

“You’re not getting any younger, Lorelei,”
she was saying. “All the eligible bachelors will be gone by the
time you make up your mind.”

“
Mother
,” I hissed, my gaze flickering to the other patrons and
the staff. Rich heiresses and wives that had nothing better to do
than gossip and spend their husband’s money.

“It’s the truth, darling. We need to secure
your future.”

“My future?” I scoffed, totally fed up with
the same old argument. “Your social standing more like it.”

“
Lorelei
,” she scolded.

“I have to get back to work, Mother.” I
stood, gathering my purse. Brunch with my mother always ended one
of two ways and this was one of them. The other was very, very
similar.

I strode across the posh tearoom,
disapproving eyes following my progress. There were more pressing
matters to worry about in this world than who I did or did not
marry. The rumor mill was going to have a good time with this
one.

I let the door of the tearoom slam closed
behind me and breathed deeply. Freedom, sweet bloody freedom!

My mother was obsessed with my
relationship status. Being wealthy came with responsibilities, she
always said. I hadn’t known any other life, other than being the
daughter of a billionaire businessman, so I wasn’t quite sure what
it felt like to be normal. I was sent to the most exclusive private
schools in the UK and rubbed shoulders with some of the most up
themselves girls in the entire world. They were the daughters of
Lords and Barons and all of these archaic titles bestowed upon them
by the Queen or by birth and I was just plain old Lorelei Lansford
with the rich daddy. You think that would be enough, but no…it
mattered what blood you had in your veins.

The whole thing made me want to asphyxiate
on my own vomit.

My saving grace was my father,
of all people. He’d worked for his fortune from a young age, making
his mark in Corporate Resale. Buying failing companies, making them
profitable, then selling on to the highest bidder. He came from
humble roots and my mother had been the daughter of a rich
socialite. He suffered my mother because he loved her and I
supposed that's why he was so lenient on me. He wanted me to fall
in love one day, not be married off like one of his companies for
some business alliance.

I strode down a side street of boutiques in
Kensington, desperate to get away from Mother's constant whining
over my singledom. I didn’t care one iota for it. My work at the
gallery commanded most of my attention. Art and antiquity. That was
my thing, not popping out spoilt brats from between my legs.

Seriously, I was twenty-five years old and I
wanted to be in control of my own destiny. Why was that such a bad
thing? It wasn’t like I was falling over myself for the first guy
who—

I smacked into something hard
and stumbled, instantly realizing I’d collided with some poor man
in my haste to get away from my overbearing mother. Strong hands
grasped my shoulders and I gasped as the stranger’s phone hit the
footpath. The screen shattered and I felt my cheeks heat.
Great, just
great
.

Hastily, I bent to retrieve it.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed, trying to
smooth things over. “I didn’t mean—”

“No bother.”

I glanced up at the stranger and instantly
flushed. He was handsome. I mean, there were good looking guys,
then there was him. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders, blue
eyes and sandy blond hair. His jaw looked like it was bloody
chiseled from marble for heaven’s sake. And the suit he wore…dark
navy with a subtle pinstripe, cream dress shirt and silver tie.
Shit, were those platinum cufflinks?

He reached out for his shattered phone and
his fingers brushed lightly against my skin. Shivers ran up and
down my arm and I flushed scarlet.

“What’s your name?” he asked silkily.

Even his voice was pure sex. Oh hell, my
knickers were becoming damp. I flushed for the millionth bloody
time.

“Lorelei.”

A grin pulled at his perfectly
sculpted mouth and I felt weak at the knees. He held out his hand.
“Sebastian.”

Automatically, I curled my fingers around
his and my whole body seemed to come alive. His grip was firm, his
skin kind of rough for someone so refined in appearance. I wondered
what he did.

All too soon he let my hand go
and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.
Holy
shit
.

“I’m on my way to work,” I blurted, unable
to tear my gaze away from his.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling
with amusement. “Oh? Where is that?”

Oh
. I blinked. “The gallery, just down
the street.”

“Space Gallery?” he asked, tilting his head
to the side.

“You know it?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.
If he’d been into the gallery, I would’ve remembered him. I mean,
all my most private parts were currently salivating for him. Who
could forget that?

His lips curved into a smile. “I know it,
yes.”

A big hand clamped down on his shoulder and
I blinked, the spell broken. Bloody hell, I was totally in some
kind of sexual thrall. Was this what people went gaga over when
they said they were attracted to someone? If it was, then I finally
understood.

He glanced at the man beside
him and nodded. I didn’t realize we had an audience to our casual
flirting and I flushed.
More like eye fucking, Lorelei
. The man was tall, impeccably
dressed like Sebastian, but he wasn’t nearly half as attractive. He
looked like a bodyguard and I felt my curiosity bristle.

“Please excuse me, Lorelei,” Sebastian said,
inclining his head. “I have business I must attend to. Are you fine
to walk to the gallery?”

I nodded, disappointment bristling.

“
Please watch
where you are going,” he said, his voice full of amusement. He
brushed his hand against mine again. “
Precious cargo
.”

Oh, and he was smooth, too. I shook my head
like it’d clear the daze I was in.

“Yes. It’s only… I mean…” I sucked in a deep
breath. “I’ll be fine, thank you.”

He smiled once more before
stepping around me and off the footpath. He slid into the back of a
black town car and his buff friend got into the driver’s side.
Blinking, I watched them pull out into traffic, wondering what the
hell had just happened. Nothing that exciting ever happened to
plain old rich bitch, Lorelei Lansford.

Turning, I walked down the street in a daze.
The way his fingers brushed against my skin...that tingling
feeling. That was an actual thing? I thought it only happened in
romance novels. Maybe I should’ve asked him for his number. No,
that was much to forward. Maybe he wasn’t interested.

Oh god,
Lorelei
, I
thought.
Get
a grip!

I pushed open the door to the
gallery and breathed in the earthy smell of wood. That could only
mean one thing and my skin began to hum. The new paintings had been
delivered and crates were being cracked open in preparation for
hanging. Now
that
was an aphrodisiac.

“Bex,” I called out, waltzing into the
office. What a bloody day and it wasn’t even lunchtime!

“The new collection is here,” came her
chirpy reply and she clapped her hands together in glee.

Rebecca Hemsworth, Bex for short, was not
only my best friend, she was one of the gallery curators. Me, being
the other. Together we were light and dark. I was willowy with
chestnut coloring and she was tall and striking with her blonde
hair and freckled nose. Yin and Yang and all of that. Match made in
bloody heaven.

Her father owned the gallery
through one of his companies and she’d asked to work here, spinning
that she needed 'real world experience'. In reality, art got her
off as much as it did me. Space Gallery was her baby and together
we had built it into one of the hottest upcoming spaces in
London.

“Are you okay?” she asked, swirling around
on her office chair.

I leaned against the desk and sighed. “Yeah,
I’m okay. Brunch with my mother.”

Bex laughed and turned back to the computer.
“Same old, huh?”

“Same old,” I replied with a groan. Well,
Mother was only part of it, the other was the mystery guy I’d
smacked into on the way over here. Sebastian. Whoever he was.

As my lady bits began to tingle at the
thought of his touch, I began to wonder if I would ever see him
again.

In a city this size he could be almost
anyone. Sighing, I decided to let it go before I could even develop
a crush on the poor guy. Love was something that had always eluded
me. Art on the other hand, that was screaming for my attention.

I ventured out the back to take a peek
inside the crates, eager to get to work.

Three

Vaughn

I stared out the window of my office,
watching busses and cars fly by on the street below.

There were a lot of things I
should doing, financial acquisitions, reports, making sure those
dickheads in Exeter were handling that shipment of military grade
rocket launchers with care. There were always a million things that
needed my attention, but today I could only think about one
thing.

That vixen I ran into on the street two days
ago.

“Lorelei Lansford,” Hawkes declared, dumping
a folder on the desk in front of me.

I leaned forward in my chair
and pulled the folder toward me. It’d only taken two days to
compile and I was itching to see what was inside.

It wasn’t the first time I’d
asked my bodyguard slash business associate to snoop on a woman I
was thinking about fucking. Well, more than just fucking,
playing
with
. There
were the one-night stands, the quick bangs at a party, the blowjobs
in a bathroom someplace… Those women I could just kick out and
never see again. The ones I played with stuck around a lot longer.
They might see things…and they might complain when I wanted to get
rough. Trouble wasn’t something I needed in my line of
work.

Ever since running into Lorelei on the
street, I couldn’t stop thinking about what her pussy would feel
like. It was obvious she found me attractive and she looked
sweet…the straight-laced kind of sweet. Those were usually the most
fun to play.

“
Lansford… Why does that name
sound familiar?” I asked, picking up the file.

“The Lansford’s are self-made billionaires,”
Hawkes explained. “The father made his money in Corporate Resale.
Still does.”

I flipped through the first few pages and
stopped when I saw her picture. Lorelei Lansford. “No title?”

“No title.”

Title was everything to society in these
parts. Barons, Dukes, Duchesses, Baronesses and what-fucking-evers.
The middle fucking ages never ended in this country and it was
still all about breeding. I glanced at the photograph once more
before closing the folder. The Lansford’s were the wave of the
future. I could respect a man who worked his way up from the
commons and dragged himself through shit to get to the top. I could
also respect a woman who was brought up to respect the wealth her
father had worked so hard to acquire.

Hawkes was still hovering and I glanced up
at him. “What?”

“Mr. Sykes has agreed to meet with you.”

I sat up straight in my chair. “Really? The
bad man finally wants to come and play?”

Sykes was the same age as me,
late twenties, and had the same drive to succeed in the criminal
underworld. Where I dealt with high society and pricy merchandise,
he dealt with the more gritty aspects. He was the leader of the
Necromancers who, on the surface, were nothing more than a regular
thuggish Motorcycle Club. Underneath all of that, their President
had more precise aspirations. He wanted to take his Club and turn
it into a slick cartel scaled operation. Together, we had a chance
of taking both our operations to the next level.

Sykes could help me expand my
drug trade and push our biggest competitor, rival bikers Royal
Blood, out completely. Not to mention, I could help him reach
international clients who were aligned with much darker passions.
It was the ultimate corporate merger of the underworld.

“He would like to schedule a meeting at your
earliest convenience,” Hawkes said.

I leaned back in my chair. Scratch my
Lorelei itch or meet with Sykes? Which would come first?

“Get Marcia on the phone,” I said, a devious
plan hatching in my mind.

Hawkes frowned. “A party? Now?”

“Yes, Hawkes. I’ve got a itch that needs
scratching.”

He glanced at me, his frown giving away that
he disapproved. He usually got some pussy out of it, so why he gave
a shit, I didn’t know.

“Her father mightn’t be titled, but he could
financially ruin you within months.”

“I understand, Hawkes,” I snapped. Gregory
Lansford was a ruthless man. He had to be to get to where he
was.

“She’s not like the others.”