Besides, the idea of a spy seemed preposterous, even for Armitage. The old mage was becoming a huge pain in Dorian’s ass, but he was a by-the-book pain in the ass.
No. Whatever Charlotte was up to, it was her own brand of trouble.
Trouble Dorian couldn’t get enough of.
“So, this was your work event?” he asked, reaching up to brush a lock of hair over her shoulder, his hand lingering on her soft skin.
She sucked in a breath and glanced up into his eyes, the sparks between them as undeniable as ever, burning Dorian’s resolve to ash.
“And your boring party?” she asked.
Dorian ran his hand down her arm, fingers encircling her gloved wrist. “What are the chances?”
“I was wondering the same thing.”
“Do you work for the museum?”
“No, I’m a… consultant.” Her pulse picked up, thrumming against the gentle press of his thumb. “But my company is a major supporter of their work. When we heard about the event, we couldn’t pass it up.”
Dorian relaxed, but only slightly. Even if her story were true, which he doubted, it didn’t explain why she’d been snooping upstairs, like she’d been snooping at the Salvatore auction.
“Have you been inside the manor yet?” he asked—a small test.
Please don’t lie to me, woman…
“Oh, yes. It’s incredible, but it’s… it’s so overwhelming in there.” She wrinkled her nose—the most adorable look of distaste Dorian had ever seen. “I kind of hate parties, to be honest.”
“That makes two of us.”
“We’re practically fugitives.”
“The opposite of party crashers.”
“Party dodgers.” Charlotte laughed, the music of it stirring something deep within him. “My dad used to say I was the easiest teenager ever. He never had to worry about me sneaking off to parties. I spent my weekends flipping through art history books and—”
Dorian’s mouth was on hers in a blink, silencing her as he took her into his arms. Even as he’d followed her upstairs, watching from the shadows as she snuck into the first bedroom, he’d wanted to kiss her.
She sighed in his embrace, nipples erect beneath the dress, and when she finally parted her lips and allowed him to deepen their kiss, all the awkwardness evaporated, bringing them right back to those precious, stolen moments in the Salvatore closet.
By the time they broke for air, her eyes were large and glassy, lipstick smeared across her mouth like blood. The sight sent a dark thrill through Dorian’s heart.
He ran his thumb along her lower lip, and Charlotte opened her mouth. Her teeth scraped his skin as he slid into the soft, wet heat, his cock straining against his pants.
The remembered scent of fresh blood rose anew.
He wanted to bite her.
He wanted to feed.
Slowly, he drew his thumb from her mouth and dragged it down her chin, down her throat, wrapping a hand around her delicate neck.
He could compel her to remain absolutely still. To tilt her head and offer the vein, welcoming the bite as readily as she’d welcomed his mouth against her flesh in that closet…
Forty-nine years, one month, and sixteen days.
That was the last time Dorian had fed on a live human. Since that fateful meal, he’d spent his days and nights burying his innate desires so deeply, he’d sworn nothing could unearth them again.
And yet…
