My eyes followed him to the kitchen. The moment of truth arrived.
Did I bunk an uggo?
He took a deep breath and looked over at me, catching my gaze.
“I guess I should have told you the rules beforehand,” he sighed.
“What rules? Did I break one?”
“No, no. You were—are perfect. There is only one rule here. What happens in the guest house stays in the guest house.” He stood, waiting on me to confirm.
“Okay …”
What the hell does that mean? Did I bang someone famous? A movie star? A model? A politician? I cringed at that last thought.
The Phantom Man slipped off his mask, and even in the dim moonlight, I could see that I’d just banged Victor Beaumont.
“I should go.” I hopped up, checking to make sure my skirt covered the gaping hole in my crotch. No, not my literal crotch that had been rammed by Victor Beaumont’s impressive—and I hated to admit it—big-ass cock. I meant, the hole that he’d ripped open in the seat of my leggings.
“Wait. Why? Let me walk you out as soon as I put this mask back on. Hold on a sec!”
“I thought you were a vampire.”
“Huh?”
“Your costume, Victor Beaumont! I saw you crawl out of that casket as a vampire!”
“I was only a vampire for show. This”—he motioned at the mask—“is the real me. I couldn’t have a good time at my party if I had to play host. I just wanted to do my thing and go have fun.”
“So, you just ghosted everyone, literally like a phantom.”
“Pretty much. Too many business people here tonight. I wouldn’t have been able to party with clients droning on and on about spreadsheets and due dates.”
“Typical.” I snorted.
“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean? Have we met?” He dropped his mask on the counter and came toward me, cocking his head to the side.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t remember me if we had?”
“Oh no, I think I’d definitely remember you. I can’t forget that tail of yours and that sound you made when I pushed my dick deep inside you.” He whistled.
My eyes had rolled in the back of my head twice now—once from the way he’d fucked me senseless and twice from this bullshit charm game he was trying to pull over on me.
“Hey! You could have had Malcolm,” he said, reaching out to playfully give my left breast two honks.
“Did you seriously just do that?” I put my hands on my hips and straightened my back.
“Yeah, sorry. Was that not appropriate? I thought it was okay if I touched you there, seeing that we just … ya know.” He thrust his hips back and forth, making his impressively still-erect cock bounce around. “My bad, my bad!” He held his hands in the air and backed away.
“It’s not that. I don’t care that you just honked my tit after you just had your dick in me. I’ll let that slide … this time.”
“Rawr.” He shot me another devilish grin, stepping back toward me.
“It’s that—I’m just—” I tried to tell him, but his lips were back on mine before I could get a word out.
His arms wrapped around me, and his tongue slipped inside my mouth as I lost my train of thought.
“What is it then?” he whispered into my cheek.
For someone who was a complete asshole, he sure made me breathless. But that was how that type of man worked, right? Alpha males and their big egos could charm the pants off of anyone—except me.
I pulled back, shaking the bad decisions out of my head and getting ahold of myself.
“Victor Beaumont,” I huffed as I stuck out my hand, “I’m Samantha Masson, the woman who jumped through hoops to get you the bats and everything else.”
“Oh. Well … fuck.” Victor sucked in his breath and took a step back again.
Two
Victor
I’d boned one of the most uptight—and tight—women in the whole city of New Orleans. Not only had I fucked Little Miss Hard-Ass, but I’d also fucked my employee. That couldn’t be good. I kept a strict boundary between my business and my personal life. Who would have guessed that Samantha Masson was a supermodel and not some crotchety old lady?
Sara had always told me that Samantha needed this and Samantha needed that, making her out to be the world’s biggest nag. Sara had also said that Samantha thought some of my requests were impossible, ridiculous, and stupid. Yes, Sara had even told me that—stupid. Could you believe it? I, Victor Beaumont, the most successful bachelor in Crescent City, stupid. I had let it slide because Samantha did come through for me—always. Her events had drawn more attention to my business than the last event planner ever had, and that planner really was a crotchety old granny. But Samantha … wow. She was something else.
“Thank you for the bats,” I said, hurrying off to find my pants.
I remembered I’d stripped them off and stood stark-naked in front of her—Samantha Masson. Fuck! Although that was a pretty sweet move I’d pulled. How could anyone resist that? She’d watched me slowly undress, and I could practically see that her mouth began to water.
“You’re welcome. That sent me into a tizzy, you know. Running around, trying to get bats at the last minute—which real bats would have been impossible, so I hope that you are happy with what you got. Me and the guys in sound and lighting got it done. They worked super hard on it—rushing it. For you. Just another day of working for Victor Beaumont.” Her voice trailed off.
Is she seriously bringing up work right after we fucked like animals?
“Hey, I’m a great boss! Sara tells me so all the time.”
“Oh, yeah? I bet she does.” She snorted. “Mr. Beaumont, you are the most amazing man to walk on this earth. Here, hold my clipboard while I kiss your ass and order all your employees around like the mere peons that they are!” Her voice rose three octaves, and her nose stuck straight up into the air.
“You should be a comedian! I think you got that impression down! She is like that.”
We both laughed at Sara’s expense. Sara was the real ice queen but not to me. I could tell Sara to jump, and she would ask, How high? She probably thought that we would marry one day—not happening. Other than the whole stuck-up bitch attitude and the fake bless your hearts, she had a face like a bulldog—a rabid bulldog.
“What’s her problem anyway? Why does she treat everyone so terrible? Why does she walk around like she is pissed off all the time?”
“I have no idea. I guess it’s her way of thinking she can get things done. She sees me being authoritative, and maybe she is trying to follow in my footsteps. Except I’m not an asshole, and being like that only attracts the wrong people.” I shrug my shoulders like I’d just dropped some type of proverb.
“Not an asshole, eh?” She raised her brows.
“Would you have let an asshole touch you like I just touched you?” I shot her my best innocent grin.
“You see, that’s an asshole thing to say.”
“No, it’s not. And you’re avoiding the question.”
“No, I’m not. That was very asshole-ish of you to say.”