Sweetblood 02.5 - Enchanted by Blood (7 page)

Charlotte laughed. “I don’t mind. My grandmother used to do the same thing. Though she also corrected my posture, told me to enunciate and examined my hands to make sure I was using the miracle cream she ordered from TV. I…I miss it, actually.”

“I’m terribly sorry. How long ago did she pass?”

“Several years ago now,” Charlotte answered. To Trace she said, “You’re a lucky man to still have yours.”

“Well, you come sit next to me, my dear.” She patted the sofa next to her.

Trace ran a hand over his jaw. She might as well have said, “Come into my lair where we will plot against the sensibilities of my grandson.” Last year, she’d made no bones about how much she liked Charlotte. Unlike the old cronies on the Council, his grandmother had always been progressive in her thinking.

“Trace,” she continued, “will you have Marcel prepare a pot of tea and a few finger sandwiches? And the cream scones, too. Charlotte had a long drive out here and I’m sure she’s hungry.”

“Oh, I’m fine, ma’am. Thank you. I ate a little something before I came.”

“Nonsense. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve tried Marcel’s pastries.” His grandmother cupped a hand to her mouth as if she were letting Charlotte in on a secret. “They’re to die for.”

Trace left them in the sitting room discussing various brands of hand cream. The holidays couldn’t come and go fast enough.

CHARLOTTE HAD TO CRANE her neck to see the ceiling in the formal living room and mentally calculated the height. Although the room was large enough to accommodate a very tall tree, she didn’t want to go much more than about sixteen feet, purely from a logistical standpoint. “Real or fake?”

“Excuse me?” Trace asked from the arched entryway.

“Are you thinking of a fresh tree or an artificial one?”

He looked up from his phone for a moment, one eyebrow raised as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Just do whatever you think is necessary.”

Some help he was going to be. She talked through a few of her ideas. A large tree near the window, greenery on the fireplace mantel, Christmas-themed ornamentation, naturally.

“Sounds good to me.” He didn’t look up from his phone, just kept punching away.

She narrowed her eyes, suddenly needing to test him.
Let’s just see how much he’s paying attention
. “And then I’ll bring in a moose head and nail it to the wall over there. It’ll have giant antlers and I’ll stuff a bunch of mistletoe in its mouth.” She glanced over to him and saw him nodding, so she continued. “I’ve got a life-size blow-up Santa that we’ll set on the sofa and we’ll also dress a blow-up doll in a Mrs. Claus outfit. We’ll put red and green lights, the large ones, everywhere. From the ceiling, around the doorways, in all the potted plants.”

Still he nodded, concentrating only on that damn phone. If he was playing Angry Birds or some other game, she was going to be seriously pissed.

“Then we’ll crochet some red and green pillow cushions for the sofas and I’ll get a holiday sweater for you to wear at the party. You know how everyone loves wearing Christmas sweaters. You’ll have a light-up tie that twinkles when you turn it on. You’ll be the envy of all your guests. What do you think?”

“I think it sounds great.”

She groaned loudly. “You’re hopeless, you know that?” Impossibly gorgeous, but hopeless nonetheless.

“Pardon?” He dragged his attention from the phone and looked up. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of work-related issues hitting the fan right now.”

“I see.” Why had he even bothered asking her to run her ideas past him if he wasn’t going to listen to a word she was saying? He should’ve just turned her loose in the house and told her to go for it.

“And, no,” he said with a chuckle. “I nix the moose head idea, but the blow up dolls could be interesting.”

The laugh that burst from her throat came out more like a snort. Embarrassed, she clamped a hand over her mouth and almost dropped her notebook. He grinned and her face heated up. Great, she’d totally misread him. He had been listening after all. She made a mental note not to underestimate him the next time.

“Are you always that creative?” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

What did he expect, she thought, lifting her chin slightly. He’d been glued to that phone the whole time. “I didn’t think you were paying attention.”

“You didn’t?” He advanced toward her. She wanted to step backward, but knowing the sofa table was behind her, she stood firm. “So you were testing me.” He leaned in close, his breath ruffling her hair. The smell of his cologne was warm, but subtle.

Her heart raced as she imagined running her hands over his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. She would press her nose to his skin, breathe him in, and— Good God, what was she thinking? She grabbed the edge of the table behind her in an effort to regain some control. “I suppose I was.”

With his lips parted slightly, he examined her face slowly. Her earrings, her hair, her forehead, her chin. When he stretched out his arm to her, she stilled. But instead of touching her, drawing her close, he reached past her to fish a piece of candy from a crystal bowl on the table. As he unwrapped it, she saw the faintest hint of a smile. Like he knew precisely the effect he was having on her and was enjoying every minute.

“Rest assured,” he said. “I couldn’t not pay attention to you even if I tried.” Then he turned and she had no choice but to follow him out of the room.

He took her down a wide, window-filled gallery, and Charlotte tried to focus on what she was hired to do, rather than on her hot tour guide. Curiously, all the windows were outfitted with retractable shutters. If she hadn’t been examining all the details, she may not have noticed them because the windows were unshuttered now, the blackness outside pressing against the panes.

When they entered the library, her heart rate jumped. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A ladder on a track reached to the second set of shelves above them. Everywhere she looked, there were books. Probably more than some small-town libraries could boast.

The atmosphere seemed charged, almost electric. Like the room was filled with possibilities. Which, she supposed, was accurate.

Needing a distraction, she examined the large antique desk set at an angle near the window. The top was well polished, the scrollwork on the front exquisite. It had to be several hundred years old. She ran her hands over the wood and for some ungodly reason, she found herself wondering if any of its owners had ever had sex on it. It would’ve been unplanned, of course. Sex on a hard surface wasn’t something one set out to do. It would’ve happened spontaneously.

Her belly tightened, heat concentrating between her legs.

What was wrong with her? Her imagination. These sensations. Clearly, her night with Trace had addled her brain, had left her completely out of sorts.

Despite her efforts to control them, images from the other night kept appearing in her head. She and Trace had made love several times. At first, she’d been fully clothed with only her panties gone. He’d paused only long enough to drop his trousers before he was on top of her. The whole experience had been deliciously naughty. But instead of leaving afterward, as she half expected him to do, he’d undressed her and made love to her again.

This time, with her on top.

Had she really told him she didn’t think he’d fit? She tried not to smile at how silly that sounded now. Chewing at her lip, she walked around to the far side of the desk. Every man must dream of a woman saying that to him. Although she’d have to imagine she probably wasn’t the first woman to say it to Trace. He hadn’t acted all that surprised, just pleased.

Goose bumps sprang up on her arms at the memory of him. He’d been slow and surprisingly gentle at first. One thing she was sure of: it was a night she wouldn’t soon forget.

“So how do you envision decorating this room?” he asked.

She gathered her wits about her, took a deep breath, and turned to face him. With his arms crossed, he’d been watching her, a dark expression on his face. Anger? Irritation? Boredom? He seemed so emotionally closed off now, like he’d suddenly erected a wall between them. What was going on with him? She could’ve sworn he’d been warming up to her. Or maybe it was just her wishful imagination. She stifled her disappointment and had to remind herself that a relationship with a client wasn’t a good idea anyway.

“Given that your event is right around the corner, there won’t be time to place any orders,” she said to Trace as she chewed on her pencil. “I’ll have to make do with what we have. Where do you keep your holiday decorations?”

“We’ve got a storage room downstairs, but I’m not sure what’s in it.”

“A storage room?” She shivered. Normally, she enjoyed taking inventory of what a client had that she could use, but for some reason, the mention of a downstairs storage room gave her chills.

As if sensing her discomfort, he added, “I’ll have one of the staff bring all the holiday boxes upstairs.”

She relaxed and opened up her planner. “Perfect. I’ll go through the boxes when I come back tomorrow and make a list of things we need. Don’t worry. I’m very resourceful. Then the following day, I’ll hit a few places in town before the Xtark Software holiday party, and if I can’t find what we need, I’ll—”

His head jerked up, his eyebrows two dark slashes above his eyes. “Xtark Software?”

“Yeah. I didn’t handle their party—they’d already had it contracted—but they did invite me.”

“And who are you going with? Do you have a date?”

The strain in his voice pleased her for some reason. Was it a tinge of jealousy? “I’m meeting up with a couple of girlfriends there.”

“Including the one who left you at the club?” he asked.

“Kari? Yes. She works for Xtark.”

“Well, there’s been a slight change in plans.” A determined light shone in his eyes, as if he automatically expected her to agree with whatever he was about to tell her.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll be going to the party with me.”

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE TIME CHARLOTTE and Trace had arrived at the Edgemont Hotel, the event was in full swing.

He hadn’t told her any details about his concerns with Xtark, citing confidentiality issues, only that he didn’t trust them. What did he suspect they were doing? Selling body parts? Shanghaiing partygoers? Even though she wanted to be ticked off at the forceful way he’d invited himself, it thrilled her to know he cared. She was pretty sure if someone else had spoken to her in the same manner, she’d have told him where he could stick it, but then Trace had a knack for getting away with things other men couldn’t.

The ballroom was brimming with activity. Twinkle lights hung from the ceiling, illuminating the dance floor, and the band was playing a rock version of a holiday classic. Columns of gold and silver balloons were positioned randomly between the fifty or so linen-covered tables. She liked the simplicity of the centerpieces: large crystal bowls filled with silver ornaments and small gold-wrapped boxes. Probably takeaway favors for guests at the end of the evening.

Too bad she wasn’t as pleased with her outfit as she was with the decor. Why was it that some people had a natural knack for knowing what to wear while others didn’t? She looked down at her black cocktail dress, then glanced at Trace’s jeans and sport coat. Everyone else wore jeans, as well, making her feel self-conscious and overdressed. She should’ve guessed that “cocktail attire” for a software company meant a button-up shirt and a clean pair of sneakers.

“You look very beautiful, by the way,” Trace said softly, sending tingles down her spine.

She looked into his face to find his eyes dark, yet sincere. The pulse at the base of his throat flickered, drawing her attention. And as she exhaled, she found herself wondering how it would feel to have her lips pressed there.

“Thank you,” she managed to say, marveling again at how perceptive he was. The fact that he’d picked up on these subtle cues of hers that no other man would’ve noticed made her feel relevant and important to him. And she rather liked it.

She paused to talk to a few people she knew while Trace went to get them drinks.

“Whoa, girl, he’s really hot,” Kari said, scrutinizing him as if he were a piece of meat in a butcher’s display case. “Where on earth did you find him?”

“I didn’t. He found me.” She quickly explained how she’d almost been mugged.

“That’s sooo chivalrous.” Rose Marie covered her heart with one hand.

“I agree,” said Deb.

Kari twirled the swizzle stick in her drink. “Damn. I obviously went home with the wrong man.”

“Thank God you did,” said Rose Marie. “I don’t want to think what could’ve happened to Char if he hadn’t been there.”

“The dude I did go home with turned out to be a total bust, too,” Kari continued, ignoring Rose Marie’s comment. “He keeps giving me one excuse after another why I can’t meet with their vendor manager about selling into their company.”

“I thought he was the one making the decisions,” Charlotte said.

“Yeah, I did, too.” Kari rolled her eyes. “So, speaking of good hookups, your man looks loaded.”

Charlotte glanced over at Trace, who was still in line at the bar. “I don’t know about that.”