Dark Deception (Vampire Royals of New York #1) - Sarah Piper Page 0,14
cold fingers around his heart, but he wouldn’t give Duchanes the satisfaction of showing a shred of vulnerability.
“I appreciate your concern,” Dorian said evenly. “But we’re not seeking an alliance at this time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I—”
“But I thought… Well, this is awkward. Malcolm assured me you’d be on board. Did he not speak with you?” He furrowed his brow in confusion, but the smug satisfaction dripping from his tone said it all.
He knew damn well Malcolm hadn’t discussed this with Dorian. Knew damn well the revelation would drive another nail into the coffin of the brothers’ already fraught relationship.
Next time aim for the heart, Mac. You’ll kill me faster that way.
Dorian gripped his drink so tightly, his fingertips turned white. No wonder Malcolm was so keen on pushing an alliance earlier; from the sound of it, he’d all but signed on the dotted line.
“Malcolm has neither the experience nor the authority to make deals for House Redthorne,” Dorian said, fighting to keep the bitterness from his tone. Then, with a smile that belied his anger, “But I’ll bring your proposition to my family for proper consideration.”
And prompt dismissal, you arrogant dick.
Before another calculated response could slip from Duchanes’ greasy lips, Dorian set his glass on the bar, turned his back on the bloodsucker, and stalked off in search of the only thing that could salvage an otherwise dreadful night.
Chapter Six
Safely out of view, Charley leaned against the door inside the study, blinking back tears of relief. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, her limbs trembling and hot.
Holy. Shit.
She couldn’t believe she’d taken it so far.
A million five? What was she thinking? Christ, Rudy would’ve had her executed if she called for a wire transfer like that. Her bids were primarily for show—all part of blending in, except on the rare occasion when Rudy wanted a piece for his personal collection. Sure, she would’ve loved to nab the Egyptian piece for Sasha—her sister was as obsessed with ancient art as she was with vampires—but even that was a fantasy. A million dollars, fifty-five thousand… For Charley, it was all the same.
Completely unreachable.
But something had overtaken her tonight, breaking through all the rules and boundaries that were supposed to keep her safe and on point.
It was that damned man. She couldn’t keep her head straight around him. Each time she told herself to walk away, something about him lured her right back in again—a dark magnetism she couldn’t escape.
From that first sighting in the lobby, he’d ignited something dangerous inside her.
Something that made her want to play with fire.
Fitting, since Rudy would burn me at the stake if he found out about this.
Thankfully, the stranger was a fighter. Charley had to admire his grit. She’d only intended to tease him, to up the stakes in a game he obviously enjoyed—okay, and maybe screw with that Duchanes asshole in the process—but her competitive streak took over, driving her to keep pushing, pushing, pushing.
In the end, the man was on the hook for three million for a piece that was probably worth a third of that on the private market, tonight’s auction notwithstanding. He must’ve really wanted it.
Or maybe he just enjoyed sparring with me…
Charley closed her eyes as a shiver gripped her spine, imagining for the hundredth time what that man could do to her with a few hours and a pair of handcuffs…
God, this job was killing her sex life. D-O-motherfucking-A.
The sound of the security guard’s clunky footsteps in the hallway yanked her thoughts out of the sex morgue and back to the task at hand. Instinctively she dropped to the floor, scooting beneath a massive oak desk just before the door swung open.
From her vantage point, she could only see the man’s scuffed black shoes. He stepped into the room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Charley held her breath, hoping like hell he couldn’t smell her perfume or hear the tell-tale thump of her heart.
In the auction room, another round of applause erupted, and the guard finally retreated, closing the door behind him.
Charley released her breath, the tension and leftover adrenaline making her stiff and achy.
Still under the desk, she pulled on her gloves, then felt along the underside for the mechanism that would unlatch the drawers. After a quick bit of maneuvering, she popped it, releasing the flimsy locks.
Every drawer held more of the same—old receipts, computer manuals, junk mail, random family photos, recipe cards, office supplies. Totally worthless.