CHAPTER TWO

Meredith gave a squeak of dismay and ducked under the water as a second man strolled out, his arms full of fluffy towels.

Good Lord, he was as buff as Erickson. He had the same tall body and delicious triangular proportion of shoulders to hips, but in coloring, he was Stefan Erickson’s complete opposite. He had raven-black hair scraped back from sculpted cheekbones and square forehead, Italian swarthiness, and eyes the color of dark chocolate. His wide smile spoke of hot nights on the Italian Riviera and lovemaking by the blue Mediterranean. Meredith could easily imagine him whispering “ti amo” as his body covered some lucky woman’s in the dark.

His English, though, was pure American. “A mermaid?” he said, leaning over to stare into the water. “I don’t know, I don’t see a tail.”

Great. Two rich, hunky perverts and no way out of the apartment without a key card.

“Just give me the towels. This is so embarrassing.”

The dark man’s grin widened. “I don’t see anything to be embarrassed about.”

“It isn’t you who fell in the pool.”

Erickson glanced at his friend. “Give her the towels.”

Mario didn’t look abashed. He plopped the towels on the end of a chaise and then he and Erickson stood aside. Waiting.

“Turn your backs,” Meredith gasped.

Both men obediently turned around and studied the glass wall, which showed a nice, albeit faint, reflection of the pool area. “Close your eyes.”

Mario did, but Meredith couldn’t see Stefan’s eyes behind the sunglasses. But she couldn’t stay in the pool forever. The thin dress clung to her entire body, wrinkles suctioning to her skin. She kicked off her sandals and jerked at the wet zipper on her dress, but couldn’t make the damn thing open.

“Could you…” Pant. “…help me?”

Both men turned around, still smiling. Face burning, Meredith stared over the wall to Las Vegas and the mountains while Stefan stepped behind her. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he found the zipper and easily drew it down her back. All the way down. She felt the whisper of his touch along each vertebra to the base of her spine.

“Thank you,” she said, whirling around.

He stood there smiling at her like he waited for her to drop the wet dress. Under her glare, he chuckled and turned his back again.

One of the fluffy things in the pile was a long terry robe. Quickly Meredith peeled off the soaking dress and pulled the robe around her, tying it with shaking fingers before grabbing a towel to dry her hair.

“All right, you can look.”

They were still grinning. She might be covered, but the way both men looked her over she felt stripped naked and spread out for their delights. That was nonsense—the thick robe covered her from neck to ankles, and she’d tied it tight—but still she felt as though every part of her was revealed to them for their pleasure.

They liked what they saw. Mario’s wide grin and Stefan’s slow smile made her burn all over. She was going to have to make this interview quick and get the hell out of here.

“You can stop laughing at me now,” she said as she snatched up her wet clothes and sandals.

“But you are a delight,” Stefan said. “I have not felt this light of heart in a long while. Come inside and have a drink.”

To her astonishment, he slid his arm gently around her waist and led her inside.

Stefan’s hunger flared high at the feel of her curved waist under his hand, but he’d learned to suppress hunger for so long that he could for a few more hours. Just a few more hours, and then…

And then, with any luck, this beautiful woman would set him free.

She was tall, her damp red hair just brushing his nose, and her limbs were long and sleek, in perfect proportion to her height. He remembered her from the hidden cameras in the lobby, her long-legged stride, her bright eyes taking in every bit of the tacky reception area, her red hair the color of fire. A luscious, sensual woman, and he hadn’t been able to resist her.

Mario had cautioned him against getting his hopes up, but Mario was trying to be a friend. Stefan would gamble on her. After all, that’s what Las Vegas was all about, the insane hope that long odds would pay off, and you’d walk away a millionaire.

What Meredith could give him was a damn sight more important than money. She could not only give him life itself, but restore him to full power. If he did not soon regain his abilities as a vampire master, he would fade and die just like any other mortal, only in unbelievable pain. He’d seen a vampire master die before, and it had not been pretty.

He’d have to go slowly, introduce her to concepts she wouldn’t believe at first, then teach her the duties he’d ask of her. By then she’d be willing and ready and wanting to fulfill every one of his wishes and desires.

Maybe. There was always a risk. And this was the last risk Stefan could afford to take.

Mario was talking in his usual cheerful way, flirting outrageously and behaving like an idiot. Women fell for it, and he claimed his payment easily.

Mario busily poured himself his usual glass of deep red wine. He asked what Meredith wanted, then competently mixed her a scotch and soda.

“Stefan?” Mario hovered behind the bar, his hands closing on a bottle of Stefan’s favorite vodka. Stefan nodded once, and Mario poured him a shot, straight up, no ice, no mixer. He set Stefan’s cut crystal shot glass on the bar with a thunk and pushed Meredith’s highball of scotch and tinkling ice cubes at her.

“Salut,” Mario said, raising his glass.

“Cheers,” Meredith answered and took a sip. Her face smoothed into lines of pleasure as she tasted the smooth malt of the whiskey.

Stefan pictured that look of relaxed joy giving in to his touch as she lay spread beneath him. Her beautiful green eyes would be heavy with lovemaking, her breath sweet, her sounds of pleasure arousing.

Just thinking about her was arousing. Maybe he should jump in the pool and let the cold water calm him down. No, that brought thoughts of Meredith joining him, peeling off the robe he’d just watched her put over her lovely, lithe body…

Making no toast, he lifted his glass and downed his vodka in one swallow.

“I have to admit, this is the weirdest way I’ve ever started a research interview.” Meredith set down her glass and crossed her legs on the leather-backed bar stool.

“Interview?” Mario said blankly.

“Yes. That’s why I’m here.” She glanced at Stefan. “I figured you stopped avoiding me once I actually showed up at your hotel.”

“I don’t grant interviews,” Stefan said, not really listening.

Mario grinned behind Meredith. He was enjoying the hell out of this, damn him. “What magazine do you write for?”

Meredith looked confused. “No magazine. I wrote a book, Vampires in Myth and Legend. I’m working on the sequel. I wanted to interview Mr. Erickson about owning this hotel—a mecca for wannabe vamps and people who love vampire lore. I think there’s enough here for several chapters.”

Mario swigged down his wine. “You want to write about us? Interview me. My name is Mario del Monico, and I’m a vampire.”

Stefan saw Meredith start, her color rising. Very pretty color, beginning at her throat where it disappeared so interestingly into shadows he wanted to lick, rising up her long, kissable neck to flood her face. She thought Mario was making fun of her.

Then she relaxed and smiled. “Oh, you mean you’re a Vegas Vampire. One of the dancers. I should have guessed.”

“Have you seen the show?” Mario asked, his voice hopeful.

“Not yet, but I have a voucher.” She shot Stefan a puzzled glance. “Which you had the desk clerk give me. Why? If you didn’t know about the interview, why did you give me all those coupons and invite me up here?” She started to frown. “And why are you wearing your sunglasses inside?”

Because you are not ready for me, he thought, but said out loud, “The light bothers my eyes. Come here, I want to show you something.”

Curiously, Meredith hopped down from the stool, grabbing her glass of scotch on the way. She let Stefan rest his arm lightly on her shoulder as he drew her to the leather couch positioned in front of the flat-screen television.

She sat down on the leather and tucked her bare feet under her. Stefan sat beside her, sliding his feet out of the flip-flops and propping them on the coffee table. He lifted the phone from the table beside the sofa, rested it in his lap, and called his alert security team who waited for his every command. “This is Erickson. Play back the feed I was looking at earlier.”

The security man said a smart “Yes, sir,” and the screen in front of them flickered to life.

The picture showed the lobby of Transylvania Castle two hours ago, when he and Mario had watched Meredith walk in. A camera near the Coffin Bar swiveled and focused on a leggy woman in a rumpled cotton dress and wind-mussed hair carrying a duffel bag across the lobby to a check-in desk.

“That’s me,” Meredith said in surprise.

The feed tracked her from camera to camera, and then the lens above the reception desk zoomed down on her as she grinned and spilled things from her duffel bag.

“Freeze that,” Stefan said into the phone.

“Yes, sir.” The picture obediently stilled.

“So?” Meredith looked bewildered. “That’s when I showed the clerk my book. You must have realized who I was.”

“I had no bloody idea who you were,” Stefan said. “I told my security to let you to have free run of this hotel and to bring you up to me.”

Her red brows drew together, her glass of scotch hovering between lips and lap. “Why?”

“You truly do not know?”

“No.”

Stefan slowly gestured at the screen. “That is why.”

She looked back at the screen, which showed a beautiful young woman so full of life she sang with it. Stefan had wanted to see that life and feel it, touch it. Finding her in his pool, her dress outlining every delicious curve, had made his physical need soar into madness. She was perfect.

Her color rose again, a sensual flush that encompassed her entire body. Even her fingertips seemed to turn pink.

“Are you telling me you watch on your camera until you see a woman you like, and then you invite her up to your penthouse?” She slammed her glass to the table. “Oh my God, you are perverts.”

“Hold on,” Mario said, his smile dying. His voice took on the note of authority it must have had when he was an officer in the Venetian Army centuries ago. “Not every woman. Just you. He was looking for someone with very special qualities.”

“What, big boobs?” Meredith sprang to her feet—her bare, sexy feet—and started to stride away. “Honestly, men like you make me sick. I am out of here, all right?” She caught up her wet dress and leather sandals. “I’ll have your bellboy return the robe.”

She stamped away, out into the marble hall, her feet slapping on the floor. Air stirred as she opened the front door, and then they heard it slam.

Stefan and Mario waited, Stefan studying the picture on the screen. He felt the weight of Mario’s stare, but he had no intention of looking at him. Mario was worried about him and thought Stefan was crazy, and Mario was probably right. But Mario couldn’t understand the drain on a master who was losing power, the desperation that filled his body day and night. Not just anyone could destroy that desperation. It had to be the right woman, and he believed Meredith was she. He gambled with his life that he wasn’t wrong.

The front door slammed open again, and they heard her bare feet tramping back down the hall. She stopped in the living room door, hands on her hips, her dress softly dripping water to the floor.

“Could one of you please let me into the elevator?”

Stefan rose. It was time. “Meredith,” he said. “Come here.”

For an astonishing moment, he thought she would disobey. They never disobeyed. But Meredith Black had a defiance in her, an unwillingness to submit that most women, even ones in this century, lacked.

Then, hands still on hips, she stomped across the room toward him and let out a heavy sigh. “What?”

“Look into my eyes.”

“What for?”

Stefan slowly removed his glasses. Meredith’s eyes widened as she took the full impact of his gaze, but other than that, her expression did not change. She was not going to crumple bonelessly to his feet and murmur, “Command me, Master.”

Very strange. She was supposed to instantly submit. Few women could resist the eyes of a vampire master, and mortal women not at all. She should now be his to command, should be willing to do anything Stefan told her to, no matter how bizarre. She should do it and love it.

Meredith stayed on her feet, studying his eyes like she found him fascinating. Or maybe like she thought he was crazy. This was not a woman who would easily break, and the fact that she had the strength to defy him did funny things to his heart.

He heard Mario behind him, laughing under his breath. What the Italian vamp thought was so damn funny Stefan didn’t know.

His eyes were golden. Meredith stood mesmerized by the dark gold the same tawny shade as a lion’s eyes, framed with lashes as light as his hair. Damn. The man was gorgeous. He must have the women of Las Vegas falling all over him. No, not just Las Vegas, the entire world.

In fact, why didn’t he? Why wasn’t there a long-legged bimbo or three sunning themselves by his pool? They’d all look fantastic in bikinis and rise only to do something sexy like dive into the pool or saunter to the bar for another glass of sangria. Where were they?

Oh no, she thought in dismay, maybe Stefan and Mario are an item. That would just be too unfair.

But both men had been looking at her like they had hearty appetites and she was the main course at the lunch buffet. Like they hoped she hadn’t tied the robe too tight and it might slip off. Like men who looked at a woman and thought, attractive, sexy, maybe for me?

Stefan’s eyes pulled her thoughts back to him. Predator’s eyes, mmm. She felt as though she was falling into them, and maybe he’d catch her in his big brawny arms and hold her safe against his tall, hard body. Wouldn’t that be nice?

He made her weak in the knees too, and Meredith had never been weak in the knees over a man in her life. She had the sudden compulsion to kneel at his feet, maybe nibble his toes while she was down there. She resisted the compulsion, because she’d feel silly licking his ankles while Mario, who was already laughing at her, looked on.

And for some reason, Meredith pictured herself in a floating white gown, the kind women wore on bad Victorian-set horror movies, the ones who became slaves to the vampire masters. She must have been doing way too much vampire research.

“My,” she said admiringly. “Why don’t you dress up like a vampire? You’d look great in a black leather coat. You could walk around and inspire your guests. Oh, wait, your bellboy said you were something of a recluse.”

“I am.” His voice was rich and vibrant, as sexy as the rest of him. “But tonight you will dine with me.”

“Yes, Mas—I mean, I will?” She drew on her resolve, wondering why she suddenly wanted to obey his every command. Obeying a man’s every command was simply not like Meredith Black. “You could ask me, you know, and anyway, I had thought of taking in a show. Maybe the Vegas Vampires, maybe one of the Cirque shows, maybe the Blue Man Group.”

“I will accompany you,” Stefan said.

Mario, behind him, continued to grin. “He can get you the best seats.”

“That’s very nice of you. But I still want to interview you. You’ve obviously made a fortune off the vampire craze, and you too, Mr. del Monico.” She found it almost impossible to switch her gaze from Stefan to Mario, but she did it. “The Vegas Vampires are known throughout the world because you claim to be real vampires.”

“I hope good looks and charm have something to do with it,” Mario said, pretending to be offended.

Meredith gave him a placating smile. “Having met you, I assure you it does.”

Stefan slid his sunglasses back into place, sadly cutting off the glow of his beautiful eyes. “Now that you are mine, Meredith, you deserve to know the truth. Mario and I are vampires. Real ones, not like those who dress up downstairs for atmosphere. I do employ true vampires, vampires who are like me, but they remain incognito.”

“Uh-huh.” Meredith looked Stefan up and down, from the top of his golden head to his tanned toes bare on the cashmere rug.

“It is now safe to give you this knowledge because I have made you my blood slave, and you will be loyal to me.”

“Blood slave. I see.”

She’d written about blood slaves in her books, men and women enthralled to the vampire, like Renfield in Dracula movies, people who guarded when their masters slept in their coffins or fetched victims for them or, if women, provided sexual companionship and brought up the children of the blood.

Of course, if she had to be a blood slave, who better to be a blood slave for? She let her gaze linger on Stefan’s throat, imagining licking the hollow there and what fun it would be. And she had just been accusing him of being a pervert.

“I have to choose the right one,” Stefan was saying. “When I saw you on the camera in the lobby, I knew it was you. I hope you can save me, Meredith.”

“Save you,” she repeated.

Stefan chewed his lip, hands on hips. He couldn’t know how utterly gorgeous he looked like that, his brow puckered in a frown, biceps stretching the sleeves of his T-shirt. “She does not believe.”

“I see that,” Mario answered. “She will.”

Meredith burst out laughing. “Oh, come on, you two. Vampires? You have to be kidding me. First, I met you out there, in full sun. And you have a tan.” She touched Stefan’s forearm, then wished she hadn’t, because she nearly melted at his feet again. His skin was smooth and satin warm, and she wanted to run her hands under his shirt to see if it felt the same there. “A vampire with a tan. Not to mention a reflection.” She pointed to a large mirror at the end of the living room, which reflected her in a white terry robe towered over by the blond Stefan and the dark Mario. “And you drink. Well, all right, vampires ate and drank on Buffy, but the writers deviated from classic literature to make the show more fun. Buffy gets a whole chapter in the new book.”

Stefan said nothing. It was unnerving to have the flat black glasses fixed on her, so she reached up and plucked them off his face.

His eyes flared gold, almost glowing. “You will come to believe.”

“You’d better hope so,” Mario muttered.

“You don’t have fangs, either,” Meredith pointed out. “Honestly, I’ve studied every facet of vampire lore there is, and neither of you fits the bill. If you’re going to pretend to be vampires, you should be more convincing.” She scooped up her clothes again, wincing at their cold clamminess and hoping the dip hadn’t ruined her room key. “I’ll have to be going if you’re taking me out to dinner. Fancy or casual?”

“Fancy. Most definitely fancy.”

“Oh.” Meredith deflated. “I don’t have anything to wear. Business casual is about as fancy as I brought.”

“I will tell the boutique to give you any dress you desire and send the bill to me.”

“Free shopping? Well, if you insist, Mas—I mean Stefan.”

Stefan took her hand, fingers warm on her palm, and lifted it to his lips. Trickles of heat twirled down her spine, and her usually steady heart took on a staccato beat.

“We will meet at eight,” Stefan said. He pressed a key card into her hand as he released her.

“Eight. Right.” She backed away and waggled her fingers at them, feeling very strange inside. “Ta-ta for now. You will see me again, resplendent.”

She turned away from Stefan with reluctance and walked away across the marble floor. She felt their gazes on her all the way out into the hall, her mind a mishmash of what had just happened.

Somewhere deep inside her, a rational person was screaming that the Meredith Black she knew would never, ever let a man be her sugar daddy, buying her an expensive dress and paying for a fancy meal. She was a strong, independent woman who paid her own way.

Blood slaves, vampires. Stefan and Mario were cute but crazy. They had to be.

The rational Meredith got buried behind the some-what buoyant Meredith who wondered what Stefan would like her best in—blue, green, rich chocolate brown? Humming, she slid on her sandals, then opened the elevator with her key card and stepped inside. As the quiet elevator took her swiftly downward, she realized Stefan had neatly made her forget all about interviewing him for her book, but that didn’t seem as important anymore.

When he heard the elevator door slide shut, Stefan became bleak. He moodily sipped his vodka, lost in his thoughts.

“You still think she’s the one?” Mario said behind him.

Stefan dragged his gaze from the door Meredith had just gone out. Mario watched him, black eyes holding knowledge with a hint of sympathy.

“Yes.”

Mario shook his head and swigged back his wine. “Man,” he said. “I wish you luck.”

“I don’t need luck.”

Mario stared at him and then burst out laughing. “Yeah, you do. You poor slob.” Still laughing, Mario picked up a towel Meredith had left, slung it over his shoulder, and walked out to the pool.

Meredith tucked the key card Stefan had given her into her pocket as the elevator took her swiftly and noiselessly downward. The fact that he’d just given her a key to, in effect, his entire penthouse pleased her a little. Mom, you will never believe who just asked me out.

She was still humming, paying little attention, as she stepped past the polished gold doors at the bottom.

By the time the doors slid shut behind her, she realized she was in the wrong place. She’d pushed the button for the lobby, not the basement, and besides, the elevator only had two buttons—one for the lobby, the other for Stefan’s penthouse. So how did she get here?

She was definitely in a basement. Water and steam pipes, painted industrial white, gurgled overhead. She was in the belly of Transylvania Castle, in the real guts that ran the place. Interesting. Perhaps she could write a page or two on what the hotel looked like “backstage.”

She took a few steps down the narrow hall and found more boring white walls, more pipes, cement floors. The entire basement must look like this—oh well, it was enough for a footnote.

She turned back to find the elevator and couldn’t. Damn, she must have turned a corner and forgotten from which way she’d come. The boring monotony of the hall was easily confusing. Oh well, there would have to be some kind of elevator or stairway so the maintenance people could get up and down.

Unless they were real vampires and worked and slept down here and never saw the light of day. She giggled. She’d had way too much scotch upstairs in Stefan’s penthouse. She’d almost started thinking it would be cool if Mario and Stefan really were vampires. It would do wonders for the book.

This was getting eerie. The pipes and cement floor went on and on, the same, the same, the same. At last she spotted someone up ahead, his black garb standing out among the monotony of white.

“Thank God.” She hurried forward, her sandals loud on the bare floor. “Excuse me, could you tell me the way to the elevator?”

He moved faster than thought. One minute the man was looking away from her, the next, she was flat against the wall with his tall, cold body over her.

She looked up into an incredibly handsome face, perfectly formed, eyes the light blue of thick ice, and pure white hair that hung in a sleek wave over his leather-clad shoulders. Cold poured over her from his body, from his breath, from his fingertips that skimmed her cheek. Fear pounded deep inside her, the frantic fear of an animal that knows it’s trapped.

She also knew that unlike Mario and Stefan, unlike the bartender in the Coffin Bar or the pseudo-Draculas of the clerk and the bellboy, this man was truly a vampire.