Dark Seduction (Vampire Royals of New York #2) - Sarah Piper Page 0,67
Aiden and Cole to make sure they were all set for Saturday’s meeting with Estas, review the additional Armitage files his corporate lawyers had sent over, work on his Midnight Marauder stats, test the new gaming gloves one of his programmers had delivered from R&D…
Anything but give in to the idea presently slithering through his mind.
But he couldn’t.
If Charlotte was seeing someone new, it could jeopardize everything—the entire show they’d been putting on for Rudy, her safety, Sasha’s, all of it. Whether she realized it or not, Dorian and his family were risking a lot to help her; one way or the other, he had a right to know what she was up to.
At least, that’s what he told himself as he poured a glass of scotch from a bottle he kept in his desk. The alcohol burned, but it steeled his nerves for the task ahead.
One way or the other.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After waiting in the limousine across the street from Charlotte’s building for nearly an hour, Dorian finally spotted his woman exiting the lobby.
She wore a simple black dress and a sheer, wine-colored wrap, her hair and makeup expertly styled. With every step, she carried herself with purpose, poise, and stone-cold determination.
Blood rushed to Dorian’s head, his heart thumping frantically in his chest.
Stunning.
In so many ways, the moment reminded him of the night they’d met, when he’d first caught sight of her in the Salvatore lobby, her smile lighting up the darkness.
“Do you see her?” Dorian leaned forward through the privacy window, pointing her out to Jameson as she marched down Park Avenue on foot. “Black dress, fucking gorgeous?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Follow her. Don’t get too close.”
As Jameson pulled the car into Park Avenue traffic, a flicker of guilt burned in Dorian’s chest. Although he and Aiden had kept tabs on Charlotte and Sasha all week, this was different.
Dorian told himself it was only to keep her safe, but that white-hot guilt eating through his guts called him a bloody liar.
He was spying on her.
Because deep down, all dangers and threats to her life aside, Dorian was a desperate, lovesick, jealous asshole who couldn’t stand the thought of some filthy human lowlife putting his hands—or any other body parts—on his woman.
What was her type, anyway? Thieves and con artists? Stockbrokers? A lawyer, perhaps?
Dorian scoffed.
Pathetic.
But… wait.
A new fear jammed into Dorian’s skull like an icepick.
What if her new man wasn’t human at all? What if she’d fallen for another vampire?
“Don’t lose her,” Dorian snapped.
“She’s just ahead, sir.”
Already he was itching to bolt from the car, to chase her down, to make a fucking scene. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down, keeping a close watch as Jameson trailed her to Eighty-Fourth Street, where she took a right and headed west.
It was a one-way street; they couldn’t follow.
“Sir?” Jameson asked.
“Cut down Eighty-Third. We’ll beat her to the other end and…Never mind. I’m going after her.”
“But, Mr. Redthorne, are you certain that’s—”
“Yes.” Ignoring Jameson’s voice of reason, Dorian exited the car and followed Charlotte’s path, spotting her midway down the block. She was heading for the park, charging down the street like a woman on a mission, wobbling each time her spiked heels hit the sidewalk.
Dorian kept his distance, following her right through the park until the path spilled them out onto Central Park West.
Why was she walking? In heels and a dress, no less? Where was her date? What kind of classless twat made a woman walk across town for a date?
A dead twat, that’s what kind.
Rage boiled inside him anew. He couldn’t wait to wrap his hands around the bastard’s neck. Perhaps he’d get a meal out of it too. Sink his fangs right into that fat, juicy artery and—
“Bloody hell.”
The breath whooshed from his lungs as he finally figured out where she was heading.
In a sharp, terrible instant, Charlotte’s so-called plans came into focus.
Not a date. A fucking job.
Just a few yards ahead of him on the sidewalk, she slipped away like a shadow beneath the blood-red awning, disappearing into the Salvatore.
Dorian stormed inside, promptly compelled the doorman, and stalked into the elevator, more than ready to make that fucking scene.
The auction was set up in the same penthouse as before, but it looked nothing like the place in his memory. Gone were the bar and the high-end furnishings, the caterers and bartenders that had previously served the bidders. Tonight, the place was stripped to its barest bones, the walls stark, the hardwood floors scuffed from