La Luxure: Discover Your Blood Lust (33 page)

She shook her head. "No. I don't expect you
to. I mean, I hope, I wish - but I know I don't deserve it." She
wiped again at the rapidly escaping tears. "I really am truly
sorry, Armand. It was just my stupid pride. I couldn't admit I was
dumb enough to believe something so ludicrous unless I'd somehow
been misled. I said things..." she took a deep, ragged breath. "And
I wrongly blamed you."

"You expect me to believe that you are
suddenly okay with all this?" He waved his hand around the empty
room, indicating the conference in the halls outside. "That you
don't think I'm some blood drinking creep seducing innocent women
into his house of perversion."

Her voice was as weak as she felt. "Yes?"

"But I have a fake life remember?"

She winced. "I don't believe that. I didn't
even truly believe it at the time. I was just so stupid angry, I
couldn't admit it, or see how ridiculous I was being."

"Is that why you jumped on the first plane
out of New Orleans?"

Her knuckles hurt she was wringing her hands
so hard. "I couldn't be so close to you knowing I'd screwed
everything up. It took me a few days to get my head straight, and
by then it was too late."

"Damnit, Julia. Do you know how much you
fucked with my head? How crazy you've made me the last few
weeks?"

"I'm so sorry-"

"And what happens tomorrow?" he asked,
cutting through her words. He moved closer and her heart caught in
her throat. "After I take you up to my hotel room and fuck you all
night - because you know that's where this is inevitably heading -
and you wake up and realize you don't really want to be with this
freak after all," he jabbed a thumb at his chest, "that what you
truly desire is some doctor or lawyer and a house with a white
picket fence."

She shook her head fiercely. "That won't
happen. I spent years pursuing a mundane life and wondering why I
was so unhappy. But when I was with you, I was happier than I've
ever been. Nothing, no one has ever made me feel the way you
do."

He closed his eyes. "I want to believe you,"
he whispered.

"Please," she begged, finally giving into the
tears and letting them fall without interference. This was her last
chance to fight for him. "I have never been more sincere about
anything in my entire life. The things I said to you...I would take
it all back if I could. You didn't deserve any of it and I wish-"
she paused. There was so much regret she wanted to express, but she
couldn't quite find the words. "I just wish I could go back and do
it over," she said quickly. "Any pain I caused you, I am so very,
very sorry."

Slowly, his eyes opened and the intensity in
those hazel orbs nearly knocked her off her feet. For a long moment
he studied her, a million conflicting emotions crossing his face.
When she could not longer bear to look at him, she turned her stare
to the floor and tried to regain some form of composure under his
scrutinizing gaze. She knew this was what she deserved, and as hard
as his rejection was to accept, she knew she had to.

Finally, after three or four indelicate
sniffs, she turned for the door. "I'll go."

"Julia. Stop. Jesus, just stop." Grabbing her
shoulder and spinning her, he cupped her face in his hands and
enveloped her mouth in a soft, sensual kiss. All the anger had
drained away, and the only thing she could taste was his passion,
his desire. Tentatively, she kissed him back, savoring the silky
softness of his full lips and the warmth of his tongue as it gently
pulsed in her mouth. In case this was the last time she would ever
feel his lips on hers, she wanted to remember every sensation with
perfect clarity.

Keeping her face in his hands, he slowly
pulled back. "Please don't cry," he whispered. "I forgive you."

That only made her cry harder. "Really?"

His smile was small as he wiped at her tears
with his thumbs. "Yes. Completely."

If the world ended right then, Julia would
die in utter bliss.

* * *

Armand kept his eyes locked squarely on hers
until she blinked that she understood. No matter what had
transpired between them, no matter how torn up he'd been the last
few weeks, he hated to see her so devastated.

"I am not completely without fault in all
this," he admitted. "You were right. There is a bit of
a...
façade
to my personality that I don't often let people
see past. I could have been more upfront with you. I should have
been more upfront."

"I should have looked harder. I mean, the
very first conversation we had was about looking past what's on the
surface."

"I know. The irony wasn't lost on me."
Tenderly, he kissed each of her cheeks in turn. It felt so good to
have her in his grasp. "Put your tears away, Julia. I was secretly
hoping to see you here. I longed for this moment."

She nodded, the movement tiny and jerky.

He caught her gaze again. "You are truly okay
with all of this? The conference, the Sang Community,
Luxure
, my desires...?"

"Completely."

"And you realize I'm wearing makeup."

"I know."

"That I put on myself..."

Her laugh was small and teary and sounded
perfect in his ears. "Well, you look fabulous. You'll have to share
your technique with me."

It was more than he dared hope for. "I should
have never let you walk out that door," he said, shaking his head.
"I nearly chased after you and demanded a better explanation. I
wish I had. We could have hashed this out weeks ago."

"I almost drove down to New Orleans a few
weekends ago. I made it to Memphis and then turned back. I was too
afraid and ashamed to face you."

"You would have saved my employees a few
weeks of hell if you had. I haven't been the best boss lately." He
bent to gently kiss her. "You really did a number on my head, Julia
Brown," he drawled in her ear.

"If I have to apologize every day for a
hundred years, I'll do it happily."

"That won't be necessary. All that matters is
that you are here now."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"No?" He eased his body close to hers until
her breasts were pressed softly against his stomach and her scent
overwhelmed him. "I do have a room."

Chewing at her bottom lip, she lifted her
eyes to his. "Would it be presumptuous of me to say,
lead the
way
?"

"Not at all. I only hope I can wait that
long. Being alone with you in here has tested my resolve as it is.
The elevator might prove too tempting."

Her hand in his, Armand led her from the
small conference room. Just as they reached the elevator doors,
Julia stopped abruptly. "Clare!"

"Your sister?"

She nodded. "Clare actually brought me here,"
she admitted sheepishly. "She was my back up plan in case things
didn't go well."

"With you in that dress how could they
not?"

He loved the tiny blush that crept into her
cheeks. "I really should let her, um..." Her brow twisted. "Let her
know I won't be
available
for a bit."

Armand grinned. "A little longer than a bit.
I can take you home in the morning. Or maybe next week, or next
year." He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. "Or how
about never."

"Mmm, I like those numbers." Julia moved
closer, and Armand was anxious to taste more of her when a cell
phone chirped happily from somewhere deep in the folds of her
purse. She sighed. "That's probably Clare. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. Go ahead."

She pulled out the phone, scanned the text
message and typed a brisk reply. "She's cool," she said as she slid
the phone back into her purse. "So, where is this room of
yours?"

* * *

Several hours later, basking in the aptly
described
afterglow
, Julia nuzzled against Armand's chest,
her body draped softly over his. The room was a wreck. There were
clothes and bedding strewn everywhere, the lamp on the desk was
knocked over, and somehow, the TV had been turned sideways on its
stand. Julia didn't remember being anywhere near the TV.

"I'm so glad I drummed up the courage to come
here," she murmured into his chest.

"Me too." His fingers lightly traced the
curve of her back. "I've never felt - " he paused, swallowed, then
cleared his throat. "Julia, I - "

She lifted up on her elbows and interrupted
his struggle with a soft kiss. "Me too," she said gently.

He peeled a strand of sweat soaked hair from
her face and rolled the hair between his fingers. "So, I, um, I
know it will be difficult," he said quietly, an uncertainty to his
smooth, deep voice. "I love New Orleans. I've spent my entire life
there. I wish I could say I wouldn't mind moving." He tucked the
hair behind her ear. "I'd love you to move closer to me, but I'm
not asking you to drop everything for me. I know you don't like to
fly, but I can fly up at least a couple times a month."

She smiled inwardly at the thought. He
remembered she didn't like to fly. She'd happily board any plane to
be with him. "That won't be necessary," she told him. His breathing
stopped and his body stiffened beneath her. "I quit my job today,"
she continued, hoping to relax him.

It didn't work. "Why?"

Julia shrugged. "My life has never quite felt
right. But ever since New Orleans happened and I met you, it's felt
completely wrong."

"What are your plans?" His voice was quiet
and laced with trepidation.

"I don't know for sure yet. I'd planned on
traveling for a while, try and figure out what to do with myself.
That's all changed now, though. Hasn't it?" She paused. "Do you
like to travel, Armand? If you have the time, we could take a
trip...?"

He hugged her close, the tension fleeing his
body. "I love to travel. How about Europe, or if you want somewhere
warmer, I have a house in Cozumel. It's beautiful, sits right on
the beach."

"You have a beach house?" She laughed,
realizing there was so much about him she didn't know. It was okay
though, there was plenty of time to learn. "I thought you didn't
like the sun."

"That's what umbrellas are for. Besides, the
beach is just as beautiful at night. And more private."

She snuggled deeper into him. All the pieces
of her life were quickly clicking into place. It was exactly as the
smarmy fortune teller had predicted that very first night in New
Orleans. She had found a new love and he had indeed awakened a
woman she didn't know existed. And if a little blood fetish here
and there was the decent into evil, well, she'd better start
wearing more black.

She still wasn't sure exactly what the future
held, but right now, everything was perfect, and she was happy to
accept it as it was. "That sounds amazing," she breathed. "When do
we leave?"

"How quickly can you pack?"

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Shit, his hand was trembling.

Slade glanced down at the key quivering in
his hand as he attempted to slide it into
Luxure's
front
entrance lock. Like the withdrawal tremors of an alcoholic after an
all night drinking binge, his shaking hand was a symptom of a
craving that had gone unsatisfied. Body shakes were next. Then, if
he was lucky, a migraine, and finally, debilitating, chronic,
endless fatigue.

He was like a goddamn junkie and blood was
his fucking drug. Without it he was sick as shit. With it, well, he
was just normal.

With considerable effort, Slade managed to
settle his hand long enough to shove the key into its cozy home and
turn the dead bolt. Flicking on the lights, he stepped into the
empty bar. For a place that was open seven days a week,
Luxure
was impeccably clean. There wasn't a spot of dust on
the hardwood floors, and the black leather furniture glistened with
a light, polished sheen. The scent of lemon cleaner hung on the
still air, and it would take at least three sticks of incense to
camouflage it.

It was too pristine for Slade's tastes. He
liked things with a little more dirt to them, more substance, more
character. But
Luxure
wasn't his bar. And, like the majority
of his life, Armand Laroque, the bar owner and Slade's closest
friend, preferred clean control.

Slade didn't have that luxury. He was bound
by the thing that kept him healthy. Blood had him neatly in its
control.

Not that he was really complaining. For
Slade, craving blood wasn't a horrible desire. As far as he was
concerned, it wasn't that that different than sleep, or food, or
water. As a bonus, the vampire lifestyle was tailor made for him.
The only problem was the source of his drug.

He pulled out his phone and hit speed dial.
"Nikki? I'm sorry to bug you. I know it's only been a couple days.
Do you think you can swing by the bar tonight?"

There was a brief pause and it stung because
Slade knew he was asking for too much and she was hesitating.
"Never mind-" he started.

"No problem, Slade," she said quickly,
interrupting him. "Just let me finish up here and I'll be right
there. Fifteen minutes tops." She hung up the phone before he had a
chance to protest.

Slade stared at the dead phone in his hand.
Maybe he shouldn't have called her. There was a refrigerator filled
with blood in
Luxure's
back room.

He grimaced at the thought. Not only was the
taste of anticoagulant as unappealing as the taste of lube during
oral sex, but the shit had a tendency to make him sick. It wasn't
just a little nausea either, but Sorority girl, hugging the toilet
after a night of jungle juice, type of sick. And damn if hurling up
the blood his body apparently needed didn't defeat the whole
fucking purpose.