Bound to the Vampire (2 page)

So this was a game for him. He prodded, she sliced back.
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

He let his gaze travel down the length of her necklace, down the plunging neckline of her royal blue silk dress. If she wasn’t mistaken, his gaze lingered on each of the delicate peacock plums that hugged the bodice. He didn’t stop there. No, he was quickly on to her hips and finally to her toes.

She silently thanked her foresight to wear the elaborate peacock costume because right now she didn’t feel quite so naked under his thorough survey. She was ashamed to admit she liked hiding behind the blue and green feathered mask especially when those brilliant blue eyes returned to her face.

“We both know that's not true, Val-dear.” He strung the last two words together so they were one; an endearment just for her he’d told her so long ago. She’d believed him, had fallen for him and his sack of lies until there’d been nothing left of her heart.

Even as he frowned, he was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. Tall, lean, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, he was born to wear a suit, looked to-die-for in a tuxedo.

He leaned closer and another swirl of his cologne made her weak in the knees. The corner of his mouth hitched up a little higher.

Mon Dieu
he smelled fantastic. Her breath halted halfway up her throat and she despised that his nearness affected her so. He should be dead to her. He
was
dead to her. He had nailed his coffin shut years ago.

But somehow he was back with a challenge. What had he said?
We both know that's not true…

Yes, well…

“We do?” she asked, her voice frosty, trying to focus on the here and now, to remember all the reasons she should not, could not trust him again.

Even though her new store was full of people, his nearness was far too intimate for her liking. It was all there in his eyes, the tilt of his head, the way he leaned into her space as if he owned it. Owned
her.

The room was dark thanks to the black panels on the walls and ceiling. She glanced at the L shaped counter that ran the length of the side and back of the store. Her employees were busy showing and selling pieces. The pale marble floor sparkled in the candlelight. Her guests flowed freely in and out of the wide hallways of the Mystic Isle hotel. But the main attraction was the jewelry.

Well, she’d intended for the main attraction to be the jewelry, but right now she felt like the bug beneath a microscope thanks to Dameon’s poorly timed declaration. Indeed she could feel her friends sneaking covert glances as they attempted to carry on with their conversation. And Latham was watching them from his spot in the south doorway.

“I would recognize those lips anywhere,” he whispered and the sound was so seductive she got a little lightheaded.

“You would, would you?”

He continued to hold a hand over his heart and she noted how trim and polished his nails were. He’d always sailed past the nines and dressed to the tens. Only the best for Dameon LeBeau.

“I’ve missed you, Val-dear.” For a full second she thought he sounded almost sincere. But there was nothing sincere about him. She should have known how ruthless he was, but he’d hid that side of himself as he’d wooed her.

Dear Lord, she’d let herself be wooed. She’d willingly fallen under his spell. But that was then. This was now.

“V?”

Ceara Blackwell's voice was soft and quizzical. Thank gods for her friends and their impeccable timing. She half turned back to the circle and offered them a tight smile.

“Aren't you going to introduce us to your friend?” Coco Jeffres asked; her blue eyes bright against her dark skin. She watched them with unabashed curiosity.

Even though they all wore masks she noticed the way they were looking Dameon up and down trying to figure out who the devil he was.

She lifted her chin again and took a fortifying breath, preparing for her old life to collide with her new one.

“This is
Monsieur
LeBeau. He was just leaving.”

Dameon made a
tsking
sound and slid a possessive hand to the small of her back. Despite the layer of silk between them, she felt his touch like a brand. It went deeper than skin straight to the heart of her, reminding her body and mind just how he’d possessed her. How easily he could own her again in all the ways that mattered.

Coco’s mate, Grayson West, must have noticed her stiffen beneath Dameon's palm because the big werewolf took a menacing step forward. Valencia appreciated the warrior’s protectiveness.

“Still the same bossy Valencia,” Dameon murmured.

“If the lady said you're leaving then you're leaving,” Grayson ground out.

“It's all right, Grayson,” Valencia said, not wanting to cause another scene. “If you'll excuse us...”

Her coven mates and their men nodded…slowly, cautiously. Valencia’s heart swelled at their concern. She’d never needed anyone’s protection. Except for the night before her wedding; her heart had needed protecting from the man with his hand at her back.

Valencia was halfway across the floor, weaving between dancing couples when Dameon clasped her upper arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Dance with me.”

Dameon’s request was soft, like the sheerest silk, but potent as an anvil. If Valencia hadn’t already been stopped by his touch, his tantalizing tone would have done the trick.

Once upon a time, he'd made requests, spoken to her like he treasured her above all else. His touch hadn't just been gentle, it'd been reverent.

But today, surrounded by friends and guests decked out in masquerade costumes, his touch was insistent and his voice was dark and demanding. Temptation incarnate.

Damn the need he created within her. Damn him for still having any power over her. She shouldn't be the least bit curious about him after he'd broken her heart so coldly.

But she was…

Desperately curious.

Feigning nonchalance, she gave a casual shrug of her shoulders and then turned and stepped into his embrace. Once upon a time they’d been the stars of any dance floor they’d stepped onto. Somehow their bodies had spoken their own language. But that was a long time ago.

She couldn’t let him know about the silent war going on between her mind and body so she closed off her mind and opened her ears to the music. Her heart was currently neutral, like Sweden, which scared her.

Some would call the array of brightly colored costumes and dazzling jewelry chaotic, but that was nothing compared to the emotions clattering inside her: surprise, hatred, anticipation, confusion.

How had she not felt his presence? They were bound. Did he have a special power she didn’t know about?

More importantly, had Latham known Dameon would be on the island? Why hadn’t her friend said anything?

Dameon’s right hand slid around the curve of her waist and trailed down so slowly that she wondered if he’d managed to slow time. But then he snapped his left hand out as the first immortal notes of
La Cumparsita
began to play.

Suddenly she was plastered against his torso and he took a deep step forward that drove his hips against hers.

“I spent six years in Buenos Aires after the second world war,” he said.

As had she.

It’d been easy to get lost in the atmosphere. He’d obviously learned the Argentine tango from masters. His movements were so sure and effortless that she had no trouble following. As they spun their way around the floor, the world once again melted away and her universe focused on him. Always him.

“You are still
ze
most beautiful woman in any room,” he said as he applied a gentle pressure to her hip that had her crossing in front of him with her right foot, swiveling and stepping back across with her left.
Ochos
, they were called, had always been one of her favorite dance moves. She thought of it as the woman’s way to truly cement her partner’s attention and she had Dameon’s.

He was totally focused on her, his muscles tense enough to hold a perfect frame and yet loose enough to guide her easily.

“And you always thought you could get out of anything with a few sweet words.”

“It’s been rare to fail me.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

He tightened his hold on her hand and brought it down between them as he sank downward. When he straightened, she was in the air, right leg out, left leg tucked. She pointed her toe as he spun them in a tight circle.

“I recall having many firsts with you,” he murmured as he let her down.

They took three slow side steps that were perfectly timed with the music. His arm was high around her back now, holding her chest close to his. She tried and failed to ignore the closeness, the feeling of home and completion that filled every cell in her body.

It had been a long time since she’d danced with such a confident partner, had felt so fluid and graceful. That, she reasoned, was why she was enjoying herself so much.

Was he relishing the feel of her again? Did he miss having her in his arms, her breath on his cheek, and her head on the pillow next to his? Did he yearn for the days before life had spiraled out of control? Did he miss her, honestly miss her or was he simply saying what he thought she wanted to hear?

As their feet and legs tangled in complicated steps, she searched his face for a sign. Against her better judgment, she reached out to his mind.

“Trying to see what I’m thinking,
chérie
?”

“You would like that too much,” she said and snapped her head to the left.

The music paused as he dipped her and as she met his incredibly blue eyes again she wondered if he’d committed this song to memory. She relaxed into his hold, sure that he wouldn’t drop her. His hand was cool against the back of her neck. More than that, it was familiar.

But he’d always been familiar. They’d known each other all their lives. And at first he’d been the bad boy, the rake, the man she was to have nothing to do with. He’d been her first lover, her first dance partner, her first love. He’d stolen so much, so easily. Only later she’d realized he hadn’t stolen anything at all; she’d willingly given herself to him.

They’d found each other against all odds, a Romeo and Juliet story if there ever was one. And theirs had just as tragic of an ending despite the fact that their families had arranged a union between them. Their marriage was to do what nothing else had. Stop the fighting between their covens. Create a bond, a strong pair, a stronger coven, a leading couple that others would follow.

His heart hadn’t been involved, but his body had been. He’d never been able to resist her touch or hide his reaction.

Did she still have that kind of power over him? It’d be fun to see.

She pulled away from him, turned and took three carefully placed steps away that made her hips sway. Then she pivoted back, raising her right arm over her head.

It was then that she realized they’d once again cleared the dance floor. She hadn’t given a performance in ages. While the dancer in her had taken a vacation, she was never far away.

Valencia undulated to the music, from her shoulders all the way down to her hips. Slowly she sank down to the floor, keeping her gaze locked with Dameon’s. She’d learned a lot about seduction after she’d left his bed. In fact, she’d considered herself a silent student her whole life, watching, taking mental notes.

And as she kicked her left leg out she was careful to keep her toe pointed so the line of her leg would be the sexiest. Luckily, the front of her dress hit at her knee and the back trailed down in an almost mermaid like fashion, making such a deep lunge possible. Just as she’d hoped, his eyes followed her every move.

Eyes narrowing in challenge, his hands moved to the buttons of his jacket and he undid them hastily. Shrugging out of the jacket, he tossed it aside and strode forward.

Hand out to her, the look in his eyes made her stomach quiver. He spun her around three times before pulling her up into his arms. Those strong arms wrapped around her waist; chest to chest, he dragged her forward but her toes never left the floor.

“Why are you here?” she asked, plastered against him.

“I’ve never said no to a party.”

She stared over his shoulder and stamped down the little flutter in her stomach that his scent caused. He was just another man. Just another good looking, arrogant man who thought he could have any woman he wanted. And for whatever reason, right now he wanted to dance with her.

“I don’t believe you,” she challenged. She’d once lived a rather public life for a while. And she’d always owned property in France. He could have found her at any time. Looked her up, popped by for a “hello, sorry I decimated your heart with the heel of my boot.”

He obviously didn’t miss her
that
much.

“Believe what you want, Val-dear.”

Did he have to keep calling her that? The endearment sent her straight back to a time when she’d had stars in her eyes and love in her heart.