Crave Page 7

  She was more than food to me now. Something more precious and it had only been a few days.

  “Oh, my God. Fresh blood,” I heard David whisper to himself in awe.

  Then he went straight to her before I had a chance to stop him.

  10

  Harley

  Death—he wasn’t as attractive as James. There were no simple, beautiful movements, no flirtatious ways, or cool confidence—just the claws and fangs of a crazed beast with the red eyes of the end.

  One minute, I was relaxed and aroused, running my fingers over the most beautiful death I had ever seen and feeling the cool hardness of his cheek as I awaited my first kiss. And the next minute, I was facing an actual cold-hearted killer.

  When I turned and saw the strange vampire staring back at me from the bedroom door, I silently wished it was James who was about to kill me. Something told me that he’d be quicker about it—as if he still had some human sympathy from his past. There wouldn’t have been pain if James had been my attacker.

  It was strange to think good things about a monster. I had only been around him a few days, and already I was seeing the differences in him from the other vampires I’d had the misfortune to meet in my life.

  He was the most human vampire I had ever met.

  That was my final thought before the other hungry leech lunged toward me. He was so fast I didn’t see him until he was on top of me. His hard, icy body dug into mine as his weight pressed into me.

  I landed hard on my back against a white shag rug. His jagged nails dug into my forearms before he shredded through my skin as if it was paper. I saw bits of my own bone as he ripped into me. The pain was like nothing I had ever felt. My arms burned as if he’d caught them on fire.

  I couldn’t scream.

  The noise was impossible.

  He hissed down into my face like a snake before striking. Spit and foaming venom dripped from his mouth and onto my cheeks. Turning my face away, I focused my gaze on my blood. The sticky red fluid was the reason my life had been hell from the start, and at that moment, I hated it.

  The contrast between my bright red blood splatter against the white rug was beautiful, though. It was abstract art that interpreted the life I had led. If I looked closely enough, I could see images of the family who had gone before me and broken promises of a future I would never know.

  Still, I cursed its existence—as I cursed my own existence.

  The burn on my arms lessened as numbness set in. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew the numbness was worse than the pain.

  It meant the end.

  It meant there would never be a pain again.

  That could be a good thing or a bad thing. It really depended on how you looked at it.

  I felt the puncture of fire on the side of my neck, and then there was nothing. Time stopped, and silence filled the space around me. I looked past the shoulder of the vampire who was feeding on me and saw James’s eyes.

  They were the same glowing red of my attacker. His hunger obvious, and his mouth set in an evil snarl. The man who had been so gentlemanly and polite just moments before was gone, and only the animal remained.

  I should have known better.

  No matter how human he seemed, James was still a vampire—he was still a wild beast.

  I was losing consciousness as my breath and blood were viciously sucked from my body. The last thing I saw before the blackness took me away was James. He was close as his face floated above mine.

  Were they taking turns?

  Was he going to finish me off?

  His eyes looked sad, but still, what I could only assume was my blood dripped from his mouth. I should have known he’d be the death of me. It was nothing less than what I deserved for wanting to kiss the enemy.

  I deserved this and more for thinking of allowing him to taste me—for wishing I could give him a part of me that was meant for only me—for wanting him to feel my life force on his tongue and my body on his.

  The pictures in the magazine from his treasure room had sent my body on a whirlwind of feelings and desires, and even though I knew it was wrong, I couldn’t help feeling like I wanted those things with him.

  A strange pain climbed under my ribcage. It was unnatural and unlike anything I had ever felt before. I couldn’t decide if it was death or the heartbreak of knowing James was helping the wild vampire end my life.

  Betrayal tasted bitter on my tongue on my way out. And even though my end was seconds away, I knew at that moment; it was indeed heartbreak I was feeling.

  I had seen bits of my history in his treasure room. I had been almost kissed, and I had felt the sting of heartbreak before meeting my end. Thanks to the vampire who was killing me, I’d had a chance to live a little. Thanks to a vampire who was killing me, I had almost known what it felt like to care about another person who wasn’t my family.

  Too bad he didn’t care enough about me, too.

  Releasing March 30th, 2018.

  Part Two of the Blood and Breed Series

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  A little pain. A lot of Pleasure.

  All my life I’ve only known hurt and survival—hiding from the vampires—watching every person I know get sucked dry.

  When James finds me and takes me back his place, I expect death to quickly follow. What I didn’t expect was to feel alive for the first time.

  I’ve decided to let go and let him show me the extent of raw pleasure, but giving someone free rein over your body also means allowing them access to your heart, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to let go when my time finally arrives.

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  Tabatha Vargo & Melissa Andrea

  HEARTBREAK FOR HIRE

  Copyright © 2018 by Tabatha Vargo & Melissa Andrea

  All Rights Reserved. Printed in the United States of America.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events or real people are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  HEARTBREAK FOR HIRE/ Tabatha Vargo & Melissa Andrea

  Cover Art by Romantic Book Designs

  Edited by Editing4Indies

  Book Design by Melissa Andrea

  HEARTBREAK FOR HIRE

  I turn trusted housewives into adulterous whores.

  Let’s face it, nothing lasts forever. She may have started out as your wet dream, but now, she’s your ball and chain. Let me set you free.

  I’ll turn your loyal lady into a lecherous liar.

  I can give you the uncontested divorce you desire, end your impending engagement, or rid you of that clingy girlfriend.

  Either way, you’ll be a free man.

  My name is Rift, and men pay me to have affairs with their women. It’s my job to get caught. While unethical, my profession is easy. Hell, most days it’s fun. At least until I fall for the soon-to-be ex of my newest client.

  PROLOGUE

  The soft click of the front door sounded in the distance. The only reason I heard such a quiet noise over her obnoxious sucking—which felt amazing—was because I was listening for it. I almost lost myself in her mouth a few times before I remembered exactly what I was doing.

  She looked up at me through her large curls and licked the head of my dick with a smile. My thumb skimmed the side of her cheek as I cupped it. She was sweet—one of the sweetest I’d fucked over. I almost felt bad for what I was doing to her, but then again, she had given in to me, which meant she wasn’t any different from the rest.

  Losing my fingers in her chestnut hair, I grinned when I heard the hallway floor squeak beneath his steps. He was close, and knowing the end was near filled my chest with excitement. After many years of doing this, the thrill never got old. No matter how many times I played a part in this drama, it was always like the first time.

  My eyes slid closed, and for a few seconds, I enjoyed the warmth of her mouth. I hadn’t fucked a woman for myself in a long time. I hadn’t tasted my preference of woman in years. It was always for work and whatever client I was working for. It didn’t matter what they looked like. They were the job.

  Don’t get me wrong, the women felt good. Sex was sex, after all, but getting paid the big bucks while I laid back and let them lick and suck my cock and balls or ride me like a prized stud somehow intensified the sensation.

  Another squeak.

  He was creeping as I had advised him to. He was buying himself precious time without spooking his wife and making her flee. This wouldn’t work if he didn’t catch her with her lips wrapped around my cock. He had to catch us in the act. Too much was riding on that exact moment.

  The hardwood floor just outside their door whined, and this time, it was a bit louder. I felt her mouth loosen as if she heard it too, and I quickly moaned in pleasure and pushed her down onto my shaft.

  He was close to catching us—I was close to wrapping up my fifty-thousand-dollar deal. I wasn’t about to let a loose floorboard or a reasonable blow job ruin that for me.

  My cell next to their bed ticked off the seconds until showtime.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Lights.

  Camera.

  Action.

  “Heather?” Jonathan Bishop said from the bedroom door.

  His intrusion was like clockwork. I couldn’t have timed it any better.

  My eyes clashed with his, a certain amount of understanding swimming in his brown orbs. He cut an imposing figure—tall and dark and wickedly handsome the way most women liked. It was no wonder he wasn’t without an abundance of women. Had our situation not been planned, I could see myself in for a good fight. He was a big guy, but I was bigger.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his eyes skimming over our scene and taking it in.

  The door squeaked as he pushed it open farther, filling the dim room with the light from the hallway. The light washed over our naked bodies, giving him a full view of us.

  “This isn’t happening,” he muttered. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  Shit.

  This wasn’t going to work.

  He was a terrible actor. He stood there, his eyes wide in feigned shock. That expression might have worked if it wasn’t for the noticeable grin he kept trying to cover.

  We’d discussed the proper way to “interrupt” my affair with his wife, but apparently, he hadn’t taken my advice to practice.

  My eyes trailed over his defensive stance—the tightness in his shoulders and his large, rigid arms … he looked like a man ready for a fight. Except for the fucking grin.

  His white button-up was tucked into his khaki slacks, and his hair was combed perfectly. Then I noticed the damp curl on the ends of his hair.

  Fuck.

  He didn’t look like a man who just got off a plane from a business trip. He looked fully rested and refreshed. The bastard still had damp hair from his shower.

  After our talk, he should have been the perfect picture of a nice guy catching the love of his life in her most dishonest moment. There should have been devastation in his eyes and possible moisture from pressing tears. He should have had heartache written all over his face.

  Nope.

  This fucker looked like he was ready to burst into his happy dance.

  Why didn’t these guys listen to me?

  I’d only been doing this job for the past seven years of my life. I knew what worked. I’d been in this same situation many times before. If the men showed their heartache and devastation properly, then the women fell into position, which was dropping to their knees and begging for forgiveness. The men wouldn’t give that forgiveness, of course, since that was kind of the point, but at the rate we were going, his wife would know something was up.

  His wife, Heather, who I’d been sleeping with for the past week, launched herself from the bed and plucked her rumpled clothes from the floor.

  “Oh my God, Jon.”

  She was panicking.

  They always panicked at that point. Next would be the lies, followed by the groveling, followed by the anger, and ending with the acceptance.

  There were five steps.

  She was on number one.

  “It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” she said, pulling her top over her tousled hair.

  Step number two: lies.

  Cheaters lied.

  That wasn’t shocking, in the least, but I had heard some crazy lies over the years. From nothing happened—when it was obvious we were fucking—to I thought I was dreaming. And let’s be honest, I am kind of dreamy in the sack.

  But this woman, she worked fast. Her step two moved in much quicker than the other women. Probably because she had a lot to lose.

  Three hundred grand and two kids, to be exact.

  I probably should have charged him more than the usual fifty grand since kids were involved.

  Her lies were useless, though. I always made sure the scene was set perfectly so there were no doubts.

  The door was unlocked, her clothes obviously strewn across the floor, and me fucking the life out of her—making her scream at the top of her lungs—or her lips wrapped around my cock. It didn’t matter as long as we were caught in the act.

  I was a perfectionist, and because of that, she wasn’t getting o
ut of this. Jonathan paid me good money to fuck his wife so he could get a divorce. He’d even paid extra for photos of our affair, all without my face discernible, of course. The man had money to lose and no prenup in sight. Her affair would save him a ton. Her guilt would keep her from pushing for more.

  I climbed from the bed and grabbed my jeans from the floor. My work was almost done.

  “Please, Jon, let me explain. Just let me talk to you. I love you so much, baby.”

  Step three: groveling.

  This step was the most embarrassing of the five. Women were famous for grabbing their man’s shirt to hold them in the room while they said any and everything they could—begging and pleading for a chance to explain. When, in reality, they couldn’t say shit when they were caught with me ten inches deep in one of their holes.

  I’d seen women crawl on their knees behind their husbands. Cry like small children. It was truly disgusting, but they did anything for the money. And that was what they really wanted. That was what they were really begging for.

  Security.

  A nice lifestyle.

  Not the man they supposedly loved.

  “Did you hear me?” she asked. “I said, I love you, Jon!”

  My shirt muffled his response when I pulled it over my head, but if he was a smart man, he was telling her to get her shit and get out.

  Heather was a sweet girl who seemed to love her husband. Honestly, she was one of the harder ones to break. It took me an extra two weeks to get her in bed, but once I did, she took care of the rest. She was eager to please me and happy to try new things. Having sex with her wasn’t bad at all. It wasn’t great, but she wasn’t the worst I’d ever had.