Chapter Ten
Before Charley could take her next breath, Dorian blurred out of her space, the sudden absence of his touch leaving her as cold and unbalanced as his warnings.
He stood behind her now, leaning back against the side of the stone hearth, arms crossed over his chest, eyes blazing.
She had no idea what Dorian knew, but it was clear he’d uncoveredsomethingabout her. Her mind raced with possibilities, but in the end, it didn’t matter.
By the time she left this room, he’d know everything. Every terrible truth.
“I fucked up, Dorian,” Charley said. “Seriously, it’s the worst mistake of my life—and it’s not even just one mistake. It’s a truckload of them, and every day I keep piling on more, and I just…God. There’s so much I need to tell you.”
“Oh, but there isn’t. You see, Charlotte, I have a great many connections, as you might imagine. Connections in the world of finance and government. In records and archives and law enforcement. In all manner of public and private sector agencies filled with people—human and supernatural alike—damn near tripping over themselves to do favors for the vampire king. In the time it took you to enjoy lunch and a leisurely Sunday drive with my brother, I’ve been on the phone.” He tapped his lips, his words measured and even. “And do you know what I’ve learned?”
Charley shook her head, a tremble rolling from her shoulders to her feet.
“There is absolutely no record of Charlotte D'Amico at any art consultancy in the tri-state area,” he began, “of which there are surprisingly few.”
“I know. I can explain. I—”
“There is no record,” he continued, taking a step toward her, “of Charlotte D'Amico ever having been employed in any capacity at any of the city’s hundreds of museums. Not in Manhattan or the boroughs. Not in New Jersey or Connecticut or Pennsylvania.”
“I’m—”
“In fact, no one has heard of you at any museum, gallery, art school, library, auction house, or antiques dealership on the entire eastern seaboard. As far as the legitimate art world is concerned, Charlotte D'Amico doesn’t exist.”
He was right, and he’d rendered her speechless. All she could do was stand there, waiting for the guillotine to drop.
“You live on Park Avenue,” he said, taking another step toward her. “You seem to be supporting yourself and your sister quite comfortably, yet you’ve got no verifiable source of income. You’ve never paid taxes on anything more than an inheritance from your father which, while sizable at the time, was hardly enough to sustain your current lifestyle.”
The mention of her father unmoored her, immediately putting her on the defensive.
“You were in my homeonetime, in the middle of the night, in a moment of extreme duress,” she said, as if she had a damn leg to stand on. It was stupid and desperate, but then, so was she. “You think that makes you an expert on my financial situation?”
Dorian was towering over her now, glaring down at her with barely contained fury. “Everything about you is a bloodylie. Look at me and tell me it isn’t.”
She met his gaze, but she couldn’t tell him anything. Everything about herwasa lie, and they both knew it.
“And you’re a fuckingvampire,” she hissed anyway, desperate to feel something other than the guilt burning through her lungs. “Are we really making judgment calls?”
She felt the instant pressure of his impossibly strong grip on her arms, and then the room spun, the floor disappearing beneath her feet. When she finally found her footing again, she was clear across the dining room, hands braced against the sideboard, Dorian standing ominously behind her.
He leaned close and grabbed the edge of the mahogany, caging her between his arms from behind and meeting her gaze in the antique mirror.
She glared at him, her own anger rising to meet his. “Whatever you think you know about me? I promise you, you’re not even scratching the surface.”
“Iverymuch doubt that.”
“Then you canverymuch fuck off.”
“Tell me, Charlotte,” he said, voice low and menacing in her ear, so fucking sexy it made her thighs clench. “What’s a suitable punishment for a liar and a con? For a woman who entered my life under false pretenses, and continues to stand here and lie to me in my own home, even now?”
He fisted the back of her waistband, knuckles brushing the skin of her back, sending a hot rush up her spine.
Charley swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry. For all his anger—and hers too—it was obvious they both still wanted each other. They were like two planets orbiting the same star, set on a collision course that could only end in a fiery, monumental explosion, yet neither seemed willing—or even able—to change direction.
“I could tear these clothes from your body and claim you right here,” he said. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He slid his hand around to the front of her jeans, deftly unfastening the button. Then, dipping his fingers into her underwear and sliding over her clit, “You’re already wet for me. Already imagining my cock slamming into you from behind,owningyou.”
“Please…” Charley was hot and breathless, her skin flush beneath the heavy sweater, her core trembling for his touch.
