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She whirls around, eyes wide, and then stiffly says, “Yes. I…look forward to it.”
I’ve never seen anyone look more uncomfortable at the prospect of spending time with me.
“Tell me, Ms. Moreau,” I ask, leaning closer, “what do you hope to gain from our dinner date? You’ve piqued my interest, and I must admit I’m dying to know more about you.”
Her eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, I think I’ve caught her off guard. But then she smiles, and it’s like the sun breaking through the clouds.
“Isn’t that what we’ll be doing at the dinner, Ms. de Luca?” she asks, her voice lilting with amusement. “Getting to know one another?”
“Of course,” I agree, returning her smile. “I look forward to it. And I think—since we’ll be dining partners—you’d better call me Alessa.”
“Alessa, then. And please, call me Natalie. But I did have one request. I wondered if we might dine privately. At my apartment on Park Avenue.”
“I’m not sure if—” I begin.
She cuts me off. “I prefer staying out of the limelight,” she confides in a low voice. “In Europe, one could never quite escape the paparazzi. Even here—”
“I understand,” I say automatically. Even the mention of the paparazzi gives me the shivers. I certainly don’t need my whereabouts posted all over the internet. “Still, I don’t want my generous donors to feel slighted.”
Natalie’s brown eyes hold mine as she leans in even closer. “I had hoped,” she says softly, “for a more intimate experience with you. One on one. Just…for the night.” And then her plump lips curve into a hopeful, inviting smile as she trails a hand lightly down my arm.
Ah. Nowthat’smore like it.
“I’m sure darling Jacques will understand,” I tell her. “Leave your address with the auctioneer. I look forward to getting to know you better.Muchbetter.”
With a seductive flutter of my eyelashes, I smile my goodbye and sashay away.
Always leave them wanting more.
With the auction concluded, the orchestra strikes up a lively tune. The gala atmosphere returns as guests swarm the dance floor and partake of the flowing champagne. I float through the crowd, my smile never wavering. But my thoughts keep straying to the unexpected Natalie Moreau. Her outlandish bid, while beneficial to charity, raises questions about her intentions. There’s more to her than meets the eye, I’m sure of it.
Later, as the party begins winding down, I spot Natalie slipping quietly out the door. Watching her departure, I feel the stirrings of something I haven’t felt in a long time. Real interest. The mystery of Ms. Moreau intrigues me. I intend to crack it, one way or another.
What’s her game? That’s the question. But for now, I’ll bide my time until our dinner.
Because whatever the game, I plan to enjoy it.
CHAPTER4
NATALIE
The soft click of the lock echoes through the cavernous foyer as I enter the lavish Park Avenue penthouse. I pause in the doorway, taking in the grandiosity before me. Everything about this place is foreign, from the gleaming floors to the soft light fixtures sparkling above.
This kind of luxury is a galaxy away from my cozy apartment back home. And it makes me feel a little ill to be in here at all.
I wander through the open-concept living space, trailing my fingers along the smooth furnishings. I’ve looked through the whole place several times, but it feels different at night. Colder. Soulless. A far cry from the worn but comfortable couch I curl up on with a good book back in Queens.
I stop by the floor-to-ceiling windows and stare out at the city. It seems so remote from here. Does Alessa de Luca have a similar view, I wonder? Is that why it’s so easy for her, and others like her, to see other human lives as mere amusements? Playthings?
When you’re this high up above it all, it must be easy to think of yourself as a god.
Suddenly I need to be out of this dress, these shoes, this makeup. Time to take off the mask. But the decadence of the master suite still overwhelms me. The same floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. A canopy bed fit for royalty, piled high with pillows. The attached bathroom houses both an oversized shower and jetted tub. I avoid my reflection in the mirrors as I enter the walk-in closet, a whole room of its own, my fingers brushing across the rows of designer gowns now stored in here, silks and satins gliding smoothly beneath my fingertips.
As I kick off my heels with a sigh of relief and strip off the slinky black dress, I wonder—am I any better than the vampires who dwell in these buildings? Am I really doing the right thing, manipulating desires, weaving elaborate deceptions just to gain trust?
Does the end truly justify these means?
I think again of trailing my fingers down Alessa’s soft arm, of the spark of electricity between us, the way those sea-green eyes flew to mine. I got it just right, the breathy voice, the hesitant invitation.
