Fixed 01 - Fantasy Fix (3 page)

Lisette the Limber had happened, Reggie acknowledged, trying very hard not to picture the little blonde bimbo bent over Greg’s desk with her skirt hiked around her waist and her g-string tangled around her ankles. Reggie had been late for her lunch date with Greg and hadn’t thought anything about walking right into his office when she saw Lisette’s empty desk. She’d thought the woman had been taking a break. Instead, she’d been taking it doggy style from Reggie’s fiancé.

Reggie! I can explain!

Had anyone ever invented a more hackneyed reaction to that scene? She’d always credited Greg with a certain level of intelligence, but apparently she’d overestimated him. He might have been a genius when it came to portfolios and earnings ratios, but when it came to facing a shocked lover with his dick hanging out of his pants and his hands all over his administrative assistant, he possessed the approximate smarts of a seven-year old caught throwing snowballs at the poodle next door.

Reggie, I swear, Lisette and I were just—

Screwing like rabid minks on top of the latest NASDAQ reports?

She wished she’d come up with that response at the time, but all she’d been able to do was stand there with her mouth open and her breath frozen in her chest and the hand that wore his ring clenched tightly around the doorknob.

She took another swig of her beer and forced her mind away from replaying the rest of that scene. She still remembered every ugly word they’d hurled back and forth at each other, oblivious to the hallowed reputation of Sterling and Woulk Financial, Inc., but that didn’t mean she wanted them echoing in her head right now. Greg’s infidelity had ruined her plans for a marriage and family, her trust in the ability of men to keep their promises, and most of her last six months. She’d be damned if she’d let him ruin her night as well.

After drinking her beer on an empty stomach—she’d been too nervous to eat dinner earlier—Reggie could almost see how Ava might have a point. Maybe a good, fantasy-fulfilling fuck
was
the best way to forget about Greg, and if Ava already knew the guy, she could be confident he wouldn’t be an axe-murderer or some sort of monster. Maybe she just needed to relax and let herself go with the flow.

Reggie pushed away from the table, and the DJ spun into a new tune. The song had a deep, hypnotic beat and a dark, haunting melody. Reggie signaled for another beer and let her hips pick up the rhythm and sway along with the music. The black leather pants she’d thought would be too confining turned out to move quite well with her shimmies. She ignored the looks her ass attracted from a few men at the bar and tried to locate her friends.

Danice obviously liked the beat, too, because she accepted an invitation to dance with a tall, burly biker and shouted she’d be right back. Reggie watched her go, envying her friend’s ease in the crowded club. When her beer came, she raised it to her lips and turned to face the bar. She wondered if she’d be able to pick Ava’s friend out of the crowd.

Not the one right in front
, she decided, watching a pretty, pale boy gesture grandly to the bevy of emaciated young women who surrounded him. Ava knew Reggie well enough to realize she’d never go for an overly theatrical kid. How in the world would she take someone like that seriously? He’d pull out a pair of handcuffs, and she’d have to ask if his daddy knew where he’d gotten them. She similarly dismissed a handful of brooding punks and a couple of leather-clad biker types. Ava’s taste ran to something significantly more sophisticated.

Stubbornly ignoring her headache, she started to think Ava’s friend might have stood them up when her gaze hit the end of the bar and skidded to a halt. The most perfect man she’d ever seen sat there in the shadows with a hand wrapped around a glass of amber liquid and his eyes locked directly on her face.

* * * * *

Dmitri Vidâme nursed his single glass of Scotch and wondered yet again how he’d let himself be talked into attending this pretentious little game of make believe. The “Vampire Ball” hardly fit his normal thinking as to what constituted a good time, and frankly, the attendees who filled the Mausoleum’s vast basement dance floor had begun to annoy him.

Look at them,
he marveled, struggling to keep the sneer from his face.
If any of these children ever came face to face with a genuine vampire, they’d soil themselves and go running home to mommy.
Barely cut loose from apron strings, and they thought themselves misunderstood and tormented. They thought they felt more comfortable in the dark than in the sunlight, thought they knew what it meant to be isolated and tormented. Dmitri wanted nothing so much as to slap some sense into them.

Actually, that wasn’t precisely true. Even more than a little judicious violence, he wanted to go home. A quiet evening in front of his fireplace sounded infinitely more appealing to him than another five minutes surrounded by pretentious children in “gothic” garb. Even one of the endless, politically charged meetings of the Council of Others, on which he sat, sounded more appealing.

He swore under his breath and tossed back half of his drink in one swallow. He’d let Graham, his good friend and fellow Council member, talk him into coming to this torture session. Technically they were supposed to be there on business, looking for the young vamps who had taken to frequenting these Goth events and feeding off the eager attendees. The fledglings risked exposure with their behavior, and the Council had decided they needed a stern warning. He hadn’t spotted any of them at this event, though, and he was more than ready to go home. As soon as Graham stopped sniffing around that blowsy little blonde he currently “questioned,” Dmitri would say his goodbyes and head out. Maybe he’d stop for a bite on the way home, just to wash the taste of this place out of his mouth.

He had so many better things he could be doing, he reflected, trying to pick Graham out of the shifting crowd. Where had he and that blonde disappeared to? The Council that governed the alliance of New York’s vampire and lycanthrope populations had been busy lately, but even those problems hadn’t kept his mind occupied. He felt boredom creeping up on him and wondered if it were time for him to step down from his council seat in favor of new pursuits.

Restless, he waited impatiently at the bar, tempted to just forget goodbyes and leave Graham to his fate and his bimbo. He reached for his glass again, and he saw her.

She stepped up to the bar, swept along in the wake of four other women, but Dmitri could not have described a single one of them. He saw only her, with her face like a vision and her body like a gift from the gods.

The woman looked impatient and a little nervous and sadly out of place among the ridiculous throngs that surrounded her. For one thing, she had the look of a woman, rather than a child. He could see she was young, probably in her late twenties, but she wore her age comfortably as a mature woman should. Her skin, milk white and dusted with freckles the color of honey, looked smooth and unlined. He saw a great deal of it, from her hairline to the generous swell of her breasts that were cuddled and lifted by the black satin of her corset, from the graceful curve of her shoulder to the tips of her slender fingers. Her snug, black leather pants and tall, black boots covered everything else, hugging her curves with loving care and making his body tighten.

Lord, she is stunning.

He
felt
stunned. He hadn’t reacted to the mere sight of a woman in longer than he could remember, but he reacted to this one. Already he could feel his cock hardening beneath his trousers, filling with blood and heat, while his sense of boredom died a sharp death.

She stood out in stark contrast, relieved against the sea of sameness that surrounded her. She, too, had dressed all in black, but she shared nothing else with the other women in the room. Her skin had the pearlescent glow of natural fairness, and her hair had not been dyed a flat and light absorbing black. It rippled over her shoulders and down her back in waves of burnished mahogany. When she turned her head, the light caught it and sparked dancing flames across the shiny surface. Dmitri imagined burying his hands in it, using his grip to hold her still while he drove into her body.

He wanted that body, he acknowledged, wanted to feel those pale, white curves against him, under him. Her body flowed beneath clinging, black cloth and stiff metal boning in a reflection of Venus’s glory. Smooth, graceful shoulders curved down to generous breasts, and the corset accentuated the way her waist nipped in waspishly beneath their enticing fullness. Her hips flared from that narrow span, round and lush and firm, and her legs, gloved by the smooth leather pants, looked round and soft and perfect for clasping around his hips, or throwing over his shoulders, or tangling firmly with his.

He sat there at the bar, staring and fantasizing and wanting her, and while he did so, he gave in to his instincts and slipped lightly inside her mind.

She didn’t notice him, as wrapped up in her thoughts as she was, but he’d have been astounded if she had. Most people didn’t notice his mental presence even when he didn’t keep quiet, like he did now. Very few people out there had any sort of psychic talent, and even fewer knew how to use it. He didn’t probe deeply enough into the woman’s mind to see if she did; he just wanted to get a sense of her, to decide if more than her beautiful body intrigued him.

More than intrigued, he found himself entranced and unexpectedly entertained. This woman possessed a lively mind and a sharp-edged humor.

Look at that
. He heard her voice in his head, husky and feminine and arousing.
Lord Velveteen thinks he’s just the shit sitting there with those silly little stick figures fawning all over his poet shirt. Does he have any idea how ridiculous it is for a grown man to have a visible ribcage and lacy shirt cuffs? Oh, wait. That’s right. He’s a long way from a grown man.

He watched her raise a bottle to her slick, painted mouth, and his eyes narrowed. He wanted those lips to part around his cock, and the violence of his lust surprised him. This woman had an unsettling effect on him.

And that one,
he heard her scoff.
How ridiculous does he look? He’s got more mascara on than I do, and he didn’t even check for clumps. Is he
crooking his finger
at me? Get real, sonny. I’m not about to answer that insulting little summons with a makeup tip, let alone with what you’re after.

Dmitri’s head whipped around, and his gaze locked on the mascaraed Romeo. A quick mental push sent the kid reeling back against the bar and put the fear of God into him—or, at least, the fear of Dmitri.

Where is this guy Ava invited?
If I have to wait around this circus much longer, he can kiss his chances for some nookie goodbye. I don’t care how badly they think I need this. I refuse to fuck someone who can’t even manage to show up on time for it.

Rage turned his vision black for a split second, and he actually felt his fangs lengthen in anticipation of the wounds he would inflict on any man who dared to touch her. He would show these pretenders a real vampire’s fury if a single one of them thought to lay a hand on what Dmitri intended to claim for his own. His woman would not fuck any man but him.

His woman
.

Dmitri registered the possessive term with surprise and tested the phrase in his mind. In all his considerable lifetime, he’d never felt such an instant proprietary interest in any woman. He’d never been tempted to conquer and claim so quickly. But in this case, he wanted to mark the woman so the entire world would know to keep its distance.

When he saw the woman turn her gaze to him, he ruthlessly tamped down his emotions and moved his touch to the edge of her mind. He didn’t think she had noticed his presence within her, but he felt it prudent to be cautious. Already, he detected a stubborn and independent streak in her. He didn’t want her to struggle against him. Not yet.

He felt her gaze on him, and he met her stare with a bold one of his own. Heat arced between them, slicing through the crowd as if to remove all barriers separating them. He wanted no barriers, wanted her bared to him, body and mind, so he could sate himself with her flesh, her thoughts and her blood.

She was perfect, and she would be his.

Chapter Three

Lord, but he is scrumptious.

Unable to keep from staring, Reggie decided even if this wasn’t Ava’s friend, he was the only man she wanted tying her to a bed, thank you very much.

He perched on his barstool with the lazy, elegant grace of a panther, and his thick, dark hair looked as glossy as a panther’s furry hide. It capped a face of arresting sensuality. She couldn’t call him handsome, not with features so firm and chiseled they looked like they’d been cut from granite, but she could definitely call him yummy. In fact, she’d just adore eating him all up.

His hard features matched his body, or what she could see of it from across the room. He had the graceful, muscled physique of the big cat she’d already compared him to, with broad shoulders, long, muscular legs and a lean, flat stomach. His dark, casual clothes suited him and drew attention to his impressive frame.

She found herself craning her head to see him better through the milling crowd. A knowing smile curved his sensual mouth, and Reggie blushed, cheeks flaming even harder when another gorgeous male specimen stopped beside her mystery man and placed a hand on his shoulder. The newcomer leaned his head down to hear what Mr. Mouthwatering had to say, and when his head turned and his eyes locked on her, she knew they were talking about her.

Oh, my. Apparently the truly drop-dead gorgeous travel in packs,
she thought, when she got a good look at Mr. Hunk’s friend.

The second man had a body covered in the lean, hard muscle of a runner, and his toffee highlighted, chocolaty dark hair looked like it needed a good cut. His skin was darker than Mr. Oohlala’s, but he had the same sort of commanding presence and authoritative stare.

She waited for the same surge of lust that had hit her the moment she saw the first mystery man, but nothing happened. Her brain appreciated the friend made a truly appealing decoration, but she experienced no urge to tear off her clothes and fling her body against his. Shifting her gaze to Mr. Magnificent, she felt her hands reaching toward her zipper.