Ensnared: A Vampire Blood Courtesans Romance (5 page)

“Unpleasant?” I mused. “I don’t think I’d find it…unpleasant.”

“Then suck me.”

I slid lower, pursed my lips and directed a stream of moist,
heated air over his cock.

“
Oui
,” he breathed. “
Comme ça
.”

I licked my tongue up him. Once, then again. Slow, easy
strokes.

I was operating on instinct, because I had the feeling that
if I was going to survive this month—and I mean emotionally—I needed to keep Remy
off balance. He was too old, too dark, too dominant. I’d read between the lines
of what Angelique had said about the other women. If I wasn’t careful, I was
going to be completely enslaved by him—and then when our thirty days were over,
he’d kick me to the curb and my stupid heart would be broken.

Not going to happen
.

I might be only a weak human, but I decided then and there
to keep this just about the sex. Remy de la Lune might own my body, but my
heart was mine.

We didn’t fall asleep until dawn was breaking over
the harbor. Remy pulled shut the blackout curtains, and then wrapped me in his arms
and murmured, “Rest.”

I was so wrung out, I went right off and slept until noon.
When I woke up, we were in almost the same position: Remy curled around me, one
big arm over my hip.

Keeping me in his control even in his sleep, because when I
moved, he gripped my waist and muttered, “Where are you going?”

I glanced back at him, but the room was so dark I could
barely make out his face. “To the john.”

He nodded and released me. “When you’re through, I’ll tell
you what I have planned for today.”

“Sounds good.”

As I walked to the bathroom, I felt his gaze on my naked
body. I had a feeling he could see perfectly well in the pitch-black room. I
flashed him a smile over my shoulder and his teeth gleamed whitely back.

Yep, he could.

The bathroom was like something out of Better Homes and
Gardens—warm terra-cotta tiles with black counters and stainless steel fixtures,
and a shower behind a clear glass wall. There was even a bowl of wrapped chocolates
on the granite counter. I gulped down two large glasses of water and then helped
myself to an orange-infused chocolate.

Oh. My. God
. I groaned aloud as it melted on my
tongue, lush and dark.

As I helped myself to another—this one spiced with chili—I
caught sight of myself in the mirror. My eyes were shining, my face was flushed
and my usually straight black hair looked like a rat had nested in it—a
hyperactive rat.

In fact, I looked like I’d been making love all night—to a
vamp. Which reminded me; I pulled back my hair and examined my neck. Even
though Remy had sucked from the same place each time, it wasn’t as bad as I
expected—just two small red marks and a faint bruise.

I glanced at my face again and shook my head. Then I
grinned.

Maybe being a vampire’s courtesan had some compensations.

The shower stall was larger than my entire bathroom at home.
I walked through the opening at one side and down the length of the shower to
where there were five showerheads arranged at various angles. It took me a few
seconds to figure out how everything worked, but once I did, I set the
temperature to hot and turned the handle.

All five showerheads kicked on, sending water streaming over
me from every possible direction. I practically purred as the heated water
washed over my skin.

A woman could get used to this.

To tell the truth, I honestly didn’t care if I was ever this
rich. Beyond having enough to eat and buy art supplies, money didn’t mean that much
to me. But hey, everyone likes being pampered now and then.

On shelves set into the tiles were a variety of organic
soaps and shampoos. I washed and conditioned my hair, then chose a lavender-speckled
soap. As I soaped up my breasts, Remy stepped into the shower and held out his
hand.

“I’ll do that.”

I turned and dropped the soap into his palm. “Don’t you
people sleep during the day?”

“The young ones do. They need more sleep than older vampires
like me. I can take the sun in small amounts, and get by on a few hours when I
want to.” His gaze flicked to my soapy breasts and his voice lowered. “And
right now I want to, very much.”

He tucked my wet hair behind my ears and cupped my face. He
seemed to have a perpetual night-beard. I ran a hand down his jaw, enjoying the
rough black stubble.

“Do you shave?”

“No, it’s always like that. However your hair is when you’re
turned, that’s how it remains.”

“I see.”

“Enough about me. I’m more interested in you.” He gave me a
soft, open-mouthed kiss. “Ah…you found the chocolate.” He licked the seam of my
lips.

I closed my eyes and swayed toward him. “Mm-hm.”

He flicked his tongue inside. “Dark chocolate. My favorite.”
He caressed my shoulders. “I ordered you something to eat, but it won’t be here
for a few minutes. You have time to finish your shower.”

Firm hands turned me around so I was facing the terra-cotta wall.
I set my hands on the tiles. My body was still being massaged by several hot
streams. Remy moved my hair aside and, after rubbing some soap on a washcloth,
began scrubbing my back.

Oh, yeah
. I rounded my back like a cat against the
slight roughness of the cloth and gave a moan of pleasure.

He was just getting started. Next, he slid his arms around
my front and I arched in the other direction as his erection pressed into my
lower back. He took his time washing my breasts, lifting each one in turn and
soaping it thoroughly before rinsing it with his bare hand.

Rivulets of heat undulated through me. I rested my cheek
against the tiles and stifled a moan. The man could easily become an addiction.

He nudged my legs apart with a single hairy thigh and crouched
behind me, washing my feet and legs with the same care he’d given my breasts.

He dropped the washcloth and slid a hand between my thighs,
caressing me. “What’s this?” His mouth traced the outline of my tattoo.

“A shooting star.”

I’d designed it myself: a simple star outlined in black with
thin trails curling out behind it, giving a sense of forward motion. Scattered
among the trails were nine tiny black stars—one for every year since I’d left
the monster that was my father and started living again.

He pulled back to study it. “Because of your name?”

“Not really.”

“Then why?” His fingers stroked down my cleft again.

“Who cares?” I spread my legs a bit further and arched my
ass toward him.

“I want to know.” He nipped one of my cheeks. “Tell me,
Star. You chose it for a reason.”

My fingers flexed against the terra-cotta wall. “Freedom. It
means freedom to me.”

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” A single long finger
circled my needy center.

“No,” I gritted.

“By the dark skies.” He growled against my ass, his stubble
scraping erotically over my skin.  “You are so responsive. I knew you’d be
perfect for me.”

My breath sobbed out. “Take me, Remy. Now.” But he didn’t
move, just kept caressing me. I hesitated, and then added, “Please.”

I felt his smile against my bottom. He rose to his feet with
a muscular grace. “How?”

I shook my head against the tiles.

Strong hands pulled my hips back, tilting me at the right
angle. Teeth touched my neck as he positioned himself between my legs. “I asked
you a question, Star.”

“Hard,” I told the tiles. “I need it hard.”

“Then that’s what you will have.” He sank his fangs into my
neck and thrust into me.

* * *

When I came back to myself, Remy had turned off the
shower and was drying me with a fluffy white towel. That finished, he wrapped
me in a second towel and carried me back to the bedroom.

I reclined on the pillows, spent.

He turned on a single soft yellow light and stood looking
down at me. “You are feeling well? It was not too much for you?”

“Too much?” I smirked. “You blew my freaking mind—not that
I’m complaining. But I’m starving.” Right on cue, my stomach growled. I rubbed
it and gave him a mock-pout. “Didn’t you say you were going to feed me—or are
you going to keep me in bed all day?”

 He raised a brow at my sass. I had the feeling he didn’t
quite know how to deal with it.

“Of course I’m going to feed you. Your dinner should be
here”—he cocked his head to one side—“right about now.”

There was a discreet knock on the penthouse door. Remy pulled
on a pair of black jeans. “I’ll be right back,” he said and headed down the
hall.

I looked around for a bathrobe. When I didn’t see anything,
I reached for his shirt instead. It was some kind of silky rayon blend that
felt wonderful on my skin. I buttoned it up and ran a hand down the soft
material of the sleeve.

Remy returned pushing a trolley with two glasses, a bottle
of sparkling water and a plate piled high with all kinds of food. A small bowl held
strawberries dipped in dark chocolate, and there was a single sunflower in a
green glass vase.

He watched as I rolled up the shirt cuffs, then handed me a
napkin. I laid it on my lap and reached for the plate, but he picked it up
himself.  “It would give me pleasure to feed you.”

“Suit yourself.” I fluffed the pillows behind my back and sat
cross-legged.

Remy fed me an assortment of bite-sized morsels, each better
than the one before it: small slices of sweet cantaloupe; tiny crab cakes,
chunks of cheese, crispy waffle fries and a crusty peasant bread. I was
starving, but even if I hadn’t been I would’ve gorged myself. It was that good.

“Mm,” I said between bites. “I could get used to this.”

His lips twitched. But his eyes were serious. “Whatever you
wish. You have only to ask.”

I quirked a brow. “That’s a dangerous thing to tell a
woman.”

“
Oui
. But I think with you, it’s not so dangerous.”

“I’m not going to ask for diamonds, if that’s what you mean.
But I would love one of those chocolate-covered strawberries.”

“Of course.” He held one to my lips. I took a bite and
hummed with pleasure.

“Have some more,” he urged, not that I needed any coaxing.

I finished all five strawberries and then sat back, replete.
That’s when I realized Remy hadn’t tasted any of it.

“You don’t eat?” I didn’t think so, but last night, he’d
drunk that wine.

“
Non
. Nothing but wine. But it pleases me to see you
eat. I can almost taste the food with you.” He trailed a finger down my cheek.
“Your face is so expressive.”

He offered me a cube of Swiss cheese and I reluctantly shook
my head. “No thanks. If I eat any more I’m going to explode. But it was great.”

 “Good.” Remy set the plate on a side table.

Across the room, his cell phone rang. While he took the
call, I fingered the sunflower. It was a bright, fiery yellow, with petals
fanning around deep brown seeds in the center.

Remy glanced at me—and winked. “I guessed that you were a
sunflower kind of woman,” he mouthed.

My jaw dropped.
Had he really just winked at me?

It relaxed his whole face, made him look less like a
beautiful statue. In fact, he looked almost…human. Until now, I’d been
distracted by his aura of power to really look at him. Now I realized he must
have been turned as a young man, probably not much more than thirty.

What would make a thirty-year-old man choose to be a
vampire?

I recovered and mouthed back, “I am,” and Remy returned to
his conversation, frowning and speaking in rapid-fire French.

With him busy, I decided to explore my new home. The
penthouse was huge—big enough for a good-sized family. The furnishings were
exactly what I would’ve expected from Remy—tasteful and quietly expensive: beautiful,
one-of-a-kind furniture, spiky flowers in tall vases, museum-quality paintings
and sculptures. In addition to the master suite, there were two more bedrooms,
one of which had been converted into a small gym with a treadmill and various
other exercise machines.

A hallway beyond the bedrooms opened into a huge living
room/dining room. I walked into the dining room and fingered the large flower arrangement
on the sideboard, breathing in the sweet scent of roses and peonies.

I crossed the room to the wall of windows that ran down one
side of the dining room. While it was fun having wild rabbit sex and being hand-fed
like some kind of concubine, the idea of being trapped in here for another
twenty-nine days was a little scary.

Chill, Star. The man has to go out sometime.

But damn, I didn’t even know what the weather was like
today.

The windows were completely blocked by black blinds. I
pressed a button and the blinds slowly raised.

I smiled. The sun was out in full force, but even better, an
enclosed balcony ran down two sides of the dining room. I slipped out the door and
raised my face to the sunlight, drinking it in. It felt like it had been a week
since I’d been outside, not less than twenty-four hours.

Below me, the harbor sparkled like a million diamonds had
been scattered on its surface. Along the waterfront, a mix of tourists and
office workers strolled, a bright, busy crowd that I itched to sketch. I
propped my forearms on the railing and absorbed it—life, movement, color—until I
couldn’t stand it any longer.

I’d seen a desk stocked with pads and pens in the living
room. I darted back inside, helped myself to one of each and returned to the
balcony, where I sat cross-legged on the sun-warmed tiles and began to draw.

I had finished three sketches in rapid succession when I heard
my name. Remy was beckoning me from the doorway of the dining room.

The sun.
It must be too bright for him.

I jumped up and came back inside. “Sorry,” I said as I
closed the blinds, “I didn’t think.”

“No matter,” he said with a shrug. “As I said, I can take a
small amount of sunlight, especially through tinted glass like this, but I
prefer not to.” 

He glanced at the pad in my hand. “What are you doing,
ma
petite
?”

“Nothing.” I set the pad on the sideboard. “Was that call
anything important?”

“Business.” He skirted me to pick up the pad and flip
through it.

My face heated. “Those are just scribbles.’

“
Non
. You are an artist.”

I moved a shoulder. “A wanna-be, maybe.”

“‘Wanna-be’ means
want-to-be
, yes?” When I nodded, he
said, “So you think you are not an artist?”

I took the pad from him and held it to my chest. “Well,
maybe I am, but no one else thinks so.”

He took me by the shoulders. His hands caressed me even as
his face stayed dead serious. “Trust me, you are an artist. I am a collector,
and in my time, I’ve known many artists. You could use instruction, perhaps,
but you have the artist’s eye.”