Lure of the Blood

Evernight Publishing

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2011 Doris O'Connor

 ISBN:
978-1-927368-10-7

Cover
Artist: LF Designs

Editor:
JC Chute

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING:
The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal.  No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in
print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations
embodied in reviews.

This
is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

With
thanks to my long suffering and ever supportive husband, who believed in this
story from the moment I first mentioned the idea to him. 

And to the
UCW girls, you rock!

LURE OF
THE BLOOD

Doris
O'Connor

Copyright © 2011

Chapter One

Adjusting her mask and pulling the silk gloves
up higher on her toned arms, Marnie took a deep breath. She could do this. The
mask afforded anonymity, and she sure could do with the money. Putting herself
through law school had proven more expensive than she first thought, and even
with the student loan, she was struggling. So when Ellie had suggested Marnie
join her at the exclusive pole-dancing club, she had jumped at the chance.

“Those boobs you keep hiding will rake in the
tips, you’ll see. And the boss runs a tight ship. No funny business
allowed––unless you want it, of course.”

She certainly did not want any funny business.
There had been plenty of offers over the last three months, but none she’d been
remotely interested in, until now

The familiar beat of her number rolled over
her. Taking another, deeper breath she sashayed on stage to the catcalls of a
few regulars. Plastering a smile on her face and hooking one stocking-clad leg
over her pole, she began to move. Slowly, sensually her hips undulated in time
to the music and she shut her eyes, giving herself over to the moment. Her long
chestnut hair cascaded, covering her face as she bent over seductively, showing
her barely covered ass off to the wolf-whistling hoots of the stag party in
front of her platform. She froze for just an instant. He was here. Slowly
straightening up, she rolled her hips into the pole and risked another glance
towards the table at the back, half set in shadow. His large hands nursed a
straight scotch, though he never actually seemed to drink. They tightened for
an instant as she cast a searching gaze upwards into the shadows, engulfing the
mysterious man. But as usual she could only see his silhouette.  He was tall,
broad-shouldered and dark, judging by the smattering of black hair dusting
strong forearms, one jeans-clad knee pulled over the other, as he sat back in
the chair, watching her.

Heat suffused her skin at the slow appraisal
she could sense. All the fine hair on her body stood to attention, her nipples
chafed against the confines of her basque, and her clammy hands slipped on the
pole as she swung herself high, shuddering at the feel of the cool metal
against her moist folds. One look was all it took to send her hormones into
hyper drive. What was it about this stranger? He never made a move, and left
the minute she finished her routine as mysteriously as he appeared. In fact, if
Ellie hadn’t commented on her admirer and her body didn’t react in such an
embarrassingly obvious way whenever he was near, Marnie would have thought he
was a figment of her overactive imagination.

Her skin prickled wherever his gaze lingered.
Her laboured breathing had nothing to do with the dance; the heat of arousal
spread through her veins like molten lava, and she licked her dry lips. Hell’s
bells! If she reacted like that to him across a crowded club, what would it be
like if he ever asked for a private dance in one of the secluded booths? The
mere thought made her miss her step and pain shot through her as her body
connected with the pole a bit too forcefully. The breath whooshed out of her
lungs.
Shit! Concentrate, girl.

Teetering over in her thigh-high stiletto boots
would give the leering stag party attendees a good eyeful, but there was only
one lap she wanted to end up in, and he never made a move, damn him, no matter
how outrageous her dancing became.

For two long, agonising weeks, Mr.
Sexy-and-Mysterious had watched her from the shadows, having her slowly
dissolve into a bag of needful drool every night, yet she was no closer to
knowing who he was.

Ellie had just shaken her head, when Marnie
asked if she knew who he was. The boss had tapped his nose, his grey eyes
narrowing as he looked her up and down.

“Sweetie, trust me, his kind are bad news. Pray
he keeps his distance.”

“What if I don’t want him to?” Marnie had
asked, eliciting a surprised gasp from Ellie and a deep sigh from the man in
front of her.

“Be careful what you wish for. A good girl like
you would never be a match for him.”

A good girl! Hah. Maybe that was the problem.
Maybe she was just fed up with being a
good girl.
Maybe all she needed
was a good seeing-to. Ellie had warned her that dancing every night would
arouse her latent sexuality. Whether it was the atmosphere, the skimpy
clothing, the obvious male admiration, or the actual dance, who knew?  Marnie
laughed it all off, even as she started to look forward to her sessions at the
club, increasing them from twice a week to almost every night. After all, what
else did she have to do? Her flat

 was lonely and cold and there was only so much
studying a girl could do. Still, she had never been tempted to take it further
with any of the customers, not until he walked in.

With one last hip roll and swing around the
pole, the music stopped and she bent down to pick up the bills slung on the
stage by the young men, stuffing them into her cleavage. She sashayed away,
feeling dejected. She didn’t need to look across to know that he had left.

“Cheer up, hun. All that cash ought to put a
smile on your face.”

Marnie shrugged her shoulders and made herself
smile at the bleached blonde, expertly applying her lipstick in the mirror of
the dressing room. Louisa was one of the oldest, most experienced dancers at
Pleasures
of the night
and her private dances were always booked out. Marnie was
pretty sure dancing wasn’t the only thing she did, if the different men she
went home with every night were any indication. Not that it was any of her
business.  And didn’t Marnie long to be taken home just once by her Mr.
Mysterious? Pressing her legs together in a vain attempt to relieve the ache
that dancing in front of his heated gaze always left her with, she pulled her
mask off in disgust at her traitorous body and rubbed her forehead.

“Talking of cash,” Louisa’s hand on her
shoulder made her look up into the feline eyes watching her intently, “we are
short one for the private booths and I’m overbooked as it is. I know you don’t
normally do them, but do you think you could help us out? Boss said you
wouldn’t, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”

“I don’t know. I was going to have an early
night.”

Louisa’s knowing laugh made Marnie wince.
“Moping over him isn’t going to help, sugar. You’re so wired right now, you’ll
never get to sleep. Get him out of your system by dancing for some of the old
codgers the boss has lined up, and earn yourself some extra readies. It’ll be fun,
you’ll see and you know they can’t touch, so go on. Beats going home and moping
over him.”

“I’m not moping, it’s just––”

“I know sugar, I know. We’ve all been there at
some point, and he’s a piece of yum, all right. He must have come back into
town. Haven’t seen him in years––not since after the last…well, never mind. You
don’t need to worry over it. Just surprised the boss is letting him in. So, how
about it? Gonna help us out, here?”

Marnie agreed and for the most part it all went
smoothly, apart from one punter who  hadn’t managed to keep his hands to
himself at all.

Marnie shuddered, pulling her coat around
herself a bit tighter against the unexpected chill of the night air. The
bouncers did their job admirably, and it had been the boss himself who chucked
the middle-aged, drunk businessman out into the street with a terse, “Don’t
ever bother coming back here!” But not before his swear words and look of sheer
hatred burned a shameful hole in Marnie’s mind and an icy fist of foreboding
clamped itself around her insides.  She shrunk away from the look of sheer fury
on the boss’s face when he whirled towards her with an almost wolf-like growl,
his fierce eyes glowing in the dim interior light.

Glowing eyes… Marnie shook her head at her
fanciful imagination and walked a bit faster. This wasn’t the
Twilight Zone
,
for pity’s sake. She was just tired and pissed off that she had missed the last
bus and there wasn’t a taxi to be had for at least another half an hour. It
would only take fifteen minutes to walk home. She liked walking, after all, and
the streets were deserted this time of night.

The yank on her hair came from nowhere. Her
scream of surprise was cut off by one cruel hand clamped over her mouth, as she
found herself pulled into an alley and slammed against a wall. Her head
connected with the wall with a sickening thud and when her vision cleared, she
was pressed against the pudgy

body of none other than Mr.
Can’t-Keep-His-Hands-To-Himself from earlier. Judging by the nauseating stench
of alcohol assaulting her and the glassy eyes raking her over, he had continued
drinking elsewhere. One hand now had a surprisingly strong grip on her throat,
whilst the other was fondling her breast through her coat. Bile and terror rose
in Marnie’s gut in equal measure.