Authors: Nadia Aidan
A Total-E-Bound Publication
©Copyright Nadia Aidan 2009
Cover Art by Natalie Winters ©Copyright October
Edited by Christine Riley
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2009 by Total-E-Bound Publishing 1 The Corner, Faldingworth Road, Spridlington, Market Rasen, Lincolnshire, LN8 2DE, UK.
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated
New Orleans, Louisiana 1858
Roarke slipped into the darkened room and listened. He couldn’t stay there long. The band of vampires after him would surely barge into every room in the house in order to find him.
He was irritated that he had to be there in the first place and now found himself in this predicament. For one, he despised these damn quadroon balls, the very notion of them despicable—mothers selling their daughters to French men, who would just make them their whores, their
. Their greed and shame for who they were was the very reason why some had begun to exploit the situation. They thought their daughters were being kept as wealthy mistresses of French settlers, but they were being sold. Free women, of the
, were being kidnapped and sold to plantations in the South, their education and beauty making them treasured commodities.
The New Orleans Supernatural Crime Bureau were convinced a vampire had lured these women, seduced them with the kiss of the
, then sold them to human slave traders for a hefty profit. Roarke had taken this assignment, his last one, and when he was done he would head north to Philadelphia for a well deserved break. Now all he had to do was stay alive long enough to wrap up this case.
There was a commotion down the hall, and he knew he had to get out of there quick. He turned towards the window but froze, his gaze glued to the revolver pointed at his chest.
He looked up. A woman. He couldn’t see her face, her face hidden behind a mask, and the tiny window left the room shrouded in almost complete darkness, but he sensed she was probably a beauty behind her disguise.
Pardon moi, Mademoiselle
. Can I trouble you for a favour?”
“A favour?” Her eyes widened. “You’re in my boarding room. You need to leave.” She emphasised her point by lifting her gun higher.
“Please.” He jerked his head towards the door. “You hear that noise on the other side? There are some men out there, and they will kill me if you don’t either let me go or help me.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why would someone be trying to kill you?”
He didn’t have time for this. He was seconds away from knocking her unconscious and jumping through that window. But if he fled, he’d cause enough commotion to arouse suspicion, and if he were a criminal, that would be enough to make him pack up shop and move on to the next town. Roarke refused to let that happen. He touched her emotions using his empathic abilities. She was frightened, but that was it. She seemed trustworthy enough. “Those guys out there are protecting a man who is kidnapping women and selling them into slavery. I’m here to stop them and if you help me I can—”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’m going to have to wrestle that gun from you, knock you out, and escape out that window behind us, but the guy I’m after will probably get away if I have to do that. So I’m hoping it won’t come to that.”
She hesitated and seconds ticked by before she slowly lowered her gun. He breathed a sigh of relief, although suspicion was still etched across her face.
“How can I help you?”
The raucous sounds were getting closer.
“You can lie down on that bed, lift your skirts, and pretend that we are making love.”
He really didn’t have time for this. They were only one door away. He moved with supernatural speed, wrenching her gun from her hand and setting it on the floor by the bed, out of sight. Before she could utter a protest he had her flat on her back, her drawers off, skirts up and was between her thighs.
She pushed at his chest, ready to scream, and that just wouldn’t do. He captured her lips in a searing kiss, using every skill he’d learned from the courtesans in India to seduce her. She resisted, and he was impressed—women never resisted him, but he was determined.
Still probing her sweet mouth, his hands slid up her stocking clad legs, caressing the bare skin beneath her garters. He rocked his erection against her pussy, and what had been resistance just moments ago, now turned into moans. Her bodice was low, the swells of her breasts spilling over the top. He ached to rip it down, to reveal the soft mounds, but remembered himself. This was only a game of subterfuge, which reminded him. He needed to make it look real.
He didn’t think any of the men had caught his face, but just in case, he needed them to be so shamed that they wouldn’t question why he didn’t lift his head.
He undid his trousers, pushing them past his hips, his bare ass on display. Despite the fact that it was a ruse, his cock hardened, a blatant response to the woman beneath him.
He settled between her spread thighs, careful not to enter her, but it was a struggle. She was just so hot, so wet, so achingly tempting. He groaned. If she gave him just the slightest hint, he would be inside her in seconds.
He lifted his head, her eyes were glazed with lust, her lips full and puffy as if a bee had stung them.
“When they come in, do not break the kiss to look at them, you understand?”
She nodded and he captured her lips again, chanting to himself that this was not real—not real.
Everything after that happened so fast, most of it was a blur.
She wound her arms around him, her thighs holding him close. A ragged moan escaped him when she lifted her hips, the tip of his cock parting her wet folds.
He wanted to call her name, bite out a warning, but
, he hadn’t asked the lady her name. He started to lift his head, but the door burst open.
He plundered her mouth.
Her hips jerked higher.
Unable to stop himself, he pushed inside her, and her cry ripped through the air.
There were a series of muffled apologies and the door slammed shut.
,” he cursed as he held himself still above her, his breaths coming in choppy pants as he fought to quiet the urgency that raged within him.
“Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He touched her face. “At least remove your mask so I can—”
“No,” she said softly, her hips moving beneath him, sending him tunnelling deeper.
He let out a hoarse curse, his control slipping as he drove into her, burying himself deep inside her until he could not go any further.
Their bodies moved in unison, as they twisted together against the sheets, their muffled cries and groans of pleasure echoing off the walls of the room.
Her body was tight around him, but it opened to him, yielded beneath him and he moved within her at a frenzied pace, his thrusts now deeper and harder as he neared completion. She surged up to meet him, her hips lifting off the bed to pull him deeper within her body and he rode her with rough strokes, his hips bucking furiously.
She clasped her ankles around him, her body tensing beneath him. She’d barely climaxed, crying out in pleasure, before he erupted. With a strangled groan, he thrust into her one final time and released his seed deep within her womb.
They collapsed against the bed, their breathing laboured as sweat trickled across their entwined bodies.
He cursed under his breath and rolled off of her. It had been her first time—she deserved so much better than to be tumbled in the sheets with a man who was nothing but a stranger to her. But he had to go. A transaction was taking place tonight. If he missed it, he wouldn’t get another chance like this again.
“I have to go. The man I’m after will escape if I don’t leave now.”
She nodded, her eyes wide. She looked both innocent and seductive, with the bed sheet clutched to her ample chest. “I understand.”
He could tell she didn’t. “What’s your name at least? I could find you when this is over and I could see you again.” That was a bit of a lie. He didn’t really want to see her again. She wasn’t part of his plan. All he wanted to do was wrap up this case and start anew in Philadelphia.
Her eyes narrowed, a flash of pain leaping in her eyes before it quickly disappeared.
It was almost as if she’d heard his thoughts. He touched her emotions again. He didn’t feel any pain, and he would have known if she was a vampire, or another supernatural being. No, just an ordinary human.
“You better go,” she said softly.
He hesitated. “But what about seeing you again?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“At least tell me your name.”
She shook her head, a smile on her face that he swore was forced, but in the darkness he couldn’t be sure. “No names. It’s better this way. Go,” she whispered, urging him to leave again.
So why didn’t he? He cursed. He felt as if he should say something—do something. He reached inside his pocket. His watch.
“What is this?” she asked when he handed it to her.
“You can remain a mystery, but my name is Roarke Dimitru. I’ll be leaving for Philadelphia as soon as I finish here, but I have a home in the Bayou. It shouldn’t be difficult to find my residence, I’m well known in the Bayou, just ask someone. If you ever need anything, go there and present this watch. My servants will know how to find me.”
He knew before he slipped out that she would never look for him, and when he’d later returned to search for her, it was as if she’d vanished into thin air, like the mist along the Bayou.
Las Vegas, Nevada—Present day
Jasmeene LeCourt smoothed her sweaty palms down the length of her jean clad thighs, blowing out a long, shaky breath. Butterflies fluttered in her belly, but she ignored them and lifted her fist to rap softly against the door.
The deep, brusque voice on the other side called for her to come in, and before she lost her nerve she stepped inside.
Lieutenant Roarke Dimitru’s head was down, his attention focused on the stack of papers littering his desk. Jasmeene studied the older vamp, and the impressive swell of muscle and sinew beneath his grey t-shirt, the corded thickness of his large biceps straining against the soft fabric. He was a ruggedly handsome man with his stubbled jaw and chestnut brown locks that curled lazily around his broad shoulders.