How to Marry a Millionaire Vampire

CHAPTER 14

Shanna hid in her hotel room most of the next day, waiting until it was time to meet Bob at the safe house. Her thoughts eventually gravitated back to Roman. How could she have been so wrong about him?

He was a brilliant scientist and a gorgeous-looking man. He'd rescued her without a concern for his own safety. He'd been kind and generous. And there had been something else she'd sensed inside him. A great well of remorse and regret. She'd understood his pain. God knew she lived with guilt and remorse every day of her life. Karen had been alive when she'd first found her, but out of fear, she'd done nothing to help her.

Her gut instinct had told her that Roman suffered from the same kind of torment. She'd felt connected to him in a deep-rooted, elemental way, as if their two souls knew how to comfort each other more than anyone else's ever could. He'd given her hope for the future, and God help her, she had sworn she was giving him hope. It had felt so right with him.

So how could he be a womanizing bastard with a harem? Had her loneliness and fear skewed her perceptions so that she no longer read people correctly? Had she somehow projected her own feelings of guilt and despair on him, making him appear totally different from his real self? Who was the real Roman Draganesti?

She'd been so sure about him. She had thought he was the perfect man. She had thought he was a man she could fall in love with. A tear rolled down her cheek. To be honest, she had already started falling for him. That was why it had hurt so much to discover his harem.

In the afternoon, she visited the hotel's computer room and did a search. She found nothing on Roman, but the website for Romatech Industries came up, complete with a picture of the facility near White Plains, New York. It looked lovely, surrounded by manicured gardens. She printed the page and folded it up in her purse. Why? She didn't want to see him again. He was a womanizing pig. Wasn't he? She sighed. Whatever he was, he was driving her crazy. And she had more important matters to worry about. Like staying alive.

By seven-forty-five that evening, she was ready for her trip to the safe house. The clothes Radinka had purchased were not designed for blending into the woodwork. With her hot-pink pants and camisole, and a big cotton shirt of neon orange and pink plaid, she could be spotted a mile away.

Oh well. She would just think of it as a disguise. No one would expect her to look like a hot-pink version of Marilyn Monroe.

She packed up her belongings and took the elevator down to the lobby. She waited a few minutes in the taxi line in front of the hotel. The sun had set, but the city was still bright with lights—bright enough that Shanna spotted a black SUV parked across the street. She caught her breath. A coincidence, that was all. There were hundreds of black SUVs in New York City.

The next cab was hers. She climbed in and was instantly assaulted by the smell of hot pastrami. She leaned forward to give the driver the address and noticed his half-eaten sandwich resting on a sheet of crumpled foil in the front seat. The taxi lurched forward, making her fall back.

"New Rochelle?" the driver asked as he careened onto the avenue, headed north toward Central Park.

Shanna glanced back. The SUV was pulling away from the curb. Oh, great. Her taxi made a right turn. She took a deep breath, waited, then looked back. The SUV was turning. Dammit!

She leaned toward the cab driver. "You see the black SUV behind us? It's following us."

The driver looked in the rearview mirror. "No, no. Is okay."

She couldn't place his accent, but his complexion indicated African or maybe Caribbean. She glanced at his ID card. "Oringo, I'm serious. Take a turn up here and see for yourself."

He shrugged. "If you like." He made a left turn onto Sixth, then flashed her a grin. "See? No black SUV."

The SUV turned onto Sixth Avenue.

Oringo's smile faded. "You in trouble, miss?"

"I could be if they catch me. Can you lose them?"

"You mean, like in movies?"

"Yes, exactly."

"We in a movie?" Oringo looked around as if he expected to see cameras set up on the sidewalk.

"No, but I can give you an extra fifty if you lose them." Shanna mentally counted her cash. Dang, by the time this ride was over, she'd be almost completely tapped.

"You got a deal." Oringo slammed on the accelerator and zoomed across two lanes to make a righthand turn.

Shanna fell back against the seat. She fumbled about for a seat belt. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

"Ah, damn! It is still behind us." Oringo swerved into another right turn. They were now going south, the wrong direction. "What kind of trouble you in?"

"It's a long story."

"Ah." Oringo cut through a parking lot and burst out onto a street without slowing down. "I know where you can get a good Rolex. Or Prada bag. Real cheap. Looks like the real thing."

"I appreciate that, but I really don't have time to shop right now." Shanna flinched when the cab ran a red light and narrowly missed getting hit by a delivery van.

"Too bad." Oringo grinned at her in the rearview mirror. "You look like good customer."

"Thanks." Shanna looked behind them. The black SUV was still there, though it had been stopped momentarily by the red light. She glanced at the dashboard clock. It was fifteen past eight. She would arrive at the safe house late.

If she ever arrived at all.

Roman arrived at Romatech at twenty past eight. The Gala Opening Ball was scheduled to begin sharply at nine. He wandered across the ballroom. A swarm of balloons hovered along the ceiling like a colony of black and albino bats. He groaned inwardly. Why did his guests love this ghoulish atmosphere? He certainly didn't feel like partying when everything here reminded him he was dead.

The tables were covered with black tablecloths, topped crosswise with square white tablecloths.

Black vases filled with white funeral lilies stood at the ends of each table. The center of each table was left blank for now. That space was reserved for the ice sculptures.

Behind each of the three tables was a black coffin. No satin on the interior. They were actually giant ice chests. Nestled among the ice cubes were bottles of the new taste sensations he was introducing tonight—Bubbly Blood and Blood Lite.

A small stage had been erected on one side of the room,in front of the glass windows that overlooked the garden. The band was already there, setting up their equipment.

A pair of double doors suddenly swung open. Workers held the doors while others wheeled in the ice sculptures. A flurry of activity buzzed around the sculptures. Everyone was excited.

Roman had never felt more depressed. His tuxedo was uncomfortable. The cape—ridiculous. And there had been no word about Shanna. She'd disappeared, leaving him ragged with worry and his tired old heart withered with loss. He'd asked Connor to watch Petrovsky's house tonight. The Scotsman had agreed, even though it meant he would miss the Opening Ball. At least, as far as Roman could tell, the Russians hadn't found Shanna, either.

Radinka strode toward him, her face flushed. "Doesn't it look wonderful? This will be the best party I've ever planned."

He shrugged. "I guess." He noted the warning glint in Radinka's eyes. "It looks great. You did a wonderful job."

She snorted. "I know when I'm being patronized. Your tie is crooked." She reached up to adjust his bow tie.

"It's hard to do without a mirror. Besides, it wasn't in the dress code at the monastery."

Radinka paused. "Then it is true? You were a monk?"

"Not a very good one. I've broken most of my vows." All but one.

She made a dismissive sound as she finished with his bow tie. "You are still a good man. I will forever be in your debt."

"No regrets?" Roman asked softly.

Her eyes filled with tears. "No. Never. He would have died if you hadn't…"

Turned her son into a demon? Roman doubted she wanted to hear the harsh words.

Radinka stepped back and blinked to clear her eyes. "Don't make me feel all mushy. I have too much work to do."

Roman nodded. "We still haven't found her."

"Shanna? Don't worry. She will come back. She must. She is in your future." Radinka touched her forehead. "I have seen it."

Roman sighed. "I want to believe you. Really I do, but I lost my faith many years ago."

"And you turned to science?"

"Yes. It's dependable. It gives me answers." And it hasn't abandoned me like God. Or betrayed me like Eliza. Or run away like Shanna.

Radinka shook her head, regarding him sadly. "For a very old man, you have much to learn." She pursed her lips. "You realize, don't you, that in order to have a future with Shanna, you will have to get rid of your harem."

"Shanna's gone. The point is moot."

Radinka narrowed her eyes. "Why do you keep them? As far as I can tell, you ignore them."

"And you're supposed to ignore my personal life, remember?"

"How can I when you are so miserable?"

Roman took a deep breath. One of the ice sculptures was in place. God's blood, it was the most hideous goblin he'd ever seen. "A coven master must have a harem. It's an ancient tradition. The harem is a symbol of his power and prestige."

Radinka stared blandly at him, unimpressed.

"It's a vampire thing, okay?"

She crossed her arms. "In that case, I hope my son never becomes a coven master."

"They have nowhere else to go. They were raised in times when ladies weren't expected to work.

They have no skills."

"They're good at freeloading."

Roman lifted a brow. "They needed a place to live and blood to drink. I needed the appearance of a harem. Overall, the arrangement has worked quite well."

"It's only for show, then? You haven't had sex with them?"

Roman shifted his weight from one foot to another. He reached up to loosen the tie that was strangling him.

"Don't mess it up!" Radinka slapped his hand away. She glared at him. "No wonder Shanna is so angry with you."

"They don't mean anything to me."

"And that is meant as an excuse?" Radinka snorted. "Men. Even as vampires, you're all alike." She glanced to the side. "Speaking of vampire men, they have arrived. And I need to get back to work."

She headed toward one of the tables.

"Radinka." She glanced back when he called her. "Thank you. You really have outdone yourself."

She smiled wryly. "Not bad for a mortal?"

"The best." He hoped she knew he wasn't patronizing her. He waited as the men approached. Jean-Luc, Gregori, and Laszlo were in front. Bringing up the rear were Angus and his Highlanders.

Angus Mac Kay was a huge man, a warrior who had mellowed only slightly over the centuries. He was in formal Highland dress—a black jacket over a white jabot shirt with lace at the neck and sleeves. Because of the black and white ball, the Highlanders were wearing kilts that displayed the Scott black and white or the Douglas gray tartan. Their sporrans were made of black muskrat fur.

With a nod, Angus dispersed his Highlanders. They spread out to conduct a security check of the building.

In an attempt to look somewhat civilized, Angus had tied his shoulder-length auburn hair into a queue with a strip of black leather. A black-handled dagger was barely visible in one of his black knee socks. Angus never went anywhere without a weapon. In fact, Roman figured his old friend had probably stashed a claymore in one of the potted plants by the entrance.

Jean-Luc was so much the opposite, it was almost laughable to see them side by side. Jean-Luc Echarpe had sophistication down to a fine art. He was more than the grand coven master of Western Europe. He was a world-renowned fashion designer. At first, Jean-Luc had focused on evening wear, since he and his followers were only active during the night. But when movie stars had started wearing his designs, his business had mushroomed. Now he was on the cutting edge of everyday fashion with his line of Chique Gothique.

Jean-Luc was sporting a black tuxedo with a black cape lined in gray silk. He carried a black walking stick he didn't need. He was the most agile vampire Roman had ever met. Tall and slim, he could run up the side of a building without batting an eye. His curly black hair was worn with a disheveled look, and his twinkling blue eyes dared anyone to disagree with his taste.

Jean-Luc might look like a fop, but Roman knew better. The Frenchman could turn deadly in less than a second.

Roman nodded at his friends. "Shall we go to my office?"

"Aye," Angus replied for the group. "Gregori tells me ye have some new drinks for us tonight."

"Yes. They're the latest from my line of Fusion Cuisine." Roman escorted the men down a hall to his office. "The first one, Bubbly Blood, is a combination of blood and champagne. It'll be advertised as the drink of choice for those special vampire occasions."

"Formidable, mon ami." Jean-Luc smiled. "I have sorely missed the taste of champagne."

"Well, it still tastes more like blood, I'm afraid," Roman continued. "But the fizz is there. And the alcoholic content. You can get a definite buzz after a few glasses."

"I can vouch for that," Gregori added. "I volunteered as guinea pig and drank a bunch. Great stuff. At least I think it was." He grinned. "I don't remember much about that night."

Laszlo fiddled with a button on his rental tux. "We rolled you out to the car in an office chair."

The men chuckled. Laszlo blushed. Roman suspected the chemist was nervous at being in the company of three major coven masters. But then, Laszlo always looked nervous.

"Did ye get the whisky I sent ye?" Angus asked.

"Yes." Roman slapped his old friend on the shoulder. "Your fusion drink of whisky and blood is next on our list."

"Och, good," Angus said.

"I tried the Chocolood." Jean-Luc wrinkled his Gallic nose. "It was too sweet for my taste, but the ladies love it."

"They love it too much." Roman opened his office door. "That's why I invented the second drink we're introducing tonight. Blood Lite."

"A diet drink?" Jean-Luc entered his office.

"Yes." Roman remained at the door until all the men had entered. "I was receiving too many complaints from the women in my coven. They were gaining weight and holding me responsible."

"Umph." Angus took a seat in front of Roman's desk. "I've had a wee bit of grousing from my women, too, but it dinna stop them from wanting the stuff."

"They love it." Gregori perched on the corner of Roman's desk. "Sales have tripled in the last quarter."

"Hopefully, Blood Lite will take care of the weight problem. It's low in cholesterol and also has an extremely low blood sugar count." When Roman saw that Laszlo was hovering by the door, he laid a hand on the chemist's shoulder. "Laszlo is my most gifted chemist. Last night he received a death threat."

Laszlo studied his scuffed black loafers and twisted a button on his rental tux.

Angus shifted in his chair, his expression grim as he looked Laszlo over. "Who would threaten this man?"

"We believe it was Ivan Petrovsky." Roman closed the door, then crossed the room to his desk. "Och." Angus frowned. "The Russian coven master here in America. According to my intelligence reports, he works as a paid assassin. But who would pay to kill yer wee chemist?"

"The Malcontents would want to kill anyone who is involved in the making of synthetic blood,"Jean-Luc said.

"Aye, that's true," Angus agreed. "Is that the case then?"

Roman sat behind his desk. "We haven't heard from them since last October when they left their little Halloween present at my front door."

"You mean the explosives?" Jean-Luc turned toward the Scotsman. "You're the expert. Who do you think is the leader of these True Ones?"

"We have it narrowed down to three suspects." Angus loosened the lace collar around his throat. "I thought we would discuss it during the conference. Something has to be done about them."

"I agree." Jean-Luc tapped his walking stick on the floor as if to accentuate how strongly he felt. He had reason to feel strongly. The Malcontents had tried to kill him, too.

Roman clasped his hands on his desk. "If you don't have Ivan Petrovsky on your list of suspects, then you should add him."

"He's already at the top of the list," Angus said. "Why has he threatened yer chemist? Ye would make a more likely target."

"I'm sure he'll get around to me as soon as he realizes I'm responsible for this latest situation." Angus narrowed his eyes. "Explain yerself."

Roman shifted his weight in his chair. "It's a long story."

"They always are." Jean-Luc gave him a knowing smile. "And they always involve a woman, n 'estce pas?

"In this case, yes." Roman took a deep breath. "Her name is Shanna Whelan. She's Ivan Petrovsky's latest mark. The Russian mafia wants her dead, and Ivan's working for them."

"Ye gave the woman yer protection?" Angus asked.

"But of course." Jean-Luc shrugged. "If she is a member of his coven, it is his duty to protect her."

"Laszlo was instrumental in her escape," Gregori explained. "That's why Petrovsky wants to kill him."

With a groan, Laszlo leaned over to pick up a button off the floor.

"So ye must protect the lady and the chemist." Angus drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair.

" Tis a tricky situation, to be sure, but one you couldna help. Our most sacred responsibility as coven masters is to protect our followers."

Roman swallowed hard. The shit was about to hit the fan. "She's not a member of my coven."

Angus and Jean-Luc stared at him a full five seconds.

"She's mortal."

Jean-Luc blinked. Angus's knuckles turned white as he gripped the arms of his chair. They exchanged wary looks.

Finally Angus cleared his throat. "Ye're interfering with the assassination of a mortal?"

"Yes. I gave her sanctuary. I felt it was justified since she's being hunted by one of our kind."

Jean-Luc placed both hands on the gold knob of his walking stick and leaned forward. "It is not like you to involve yourself with the mortal world. Especially when it could result in danger to your coven."

"I… was in need of her services at the time."

Jean-Luc shrugged. "We all have needs from time to time. But we have a saying in French—in the dark, all cats are gray. Why risk so much for this one mortal?"

"It's hard to explain. She… she's special."

Angus banged a fist on his chair. "There's nothing more important than keeping our existence a secret from the mortals. I hope ye dinna confide in the girl."

"I kept her as ignorant as possible." Roman sighed. "Unfortunately, my… harem couldn't keep their mouths shut."

Angus's frown was forbidding. "How much does she know?"

"My name, my business. Where I live and that I keep a group of women. She has no idea we're vampires." So far. Roman knew she was clever enough to figure out the truth.

Angus snorted. "I hope the lass was worth it. If Petrovsky finds out ye're hiding her—"

"He knows," Gregori announced.

"Merde," Jean-Luc whispered.

Angus grimaced. "Was he invited to the ball?"

"Yes." Roman crossed his arms on the desk and leaned forward. "The invitations went out before this problem arose. Petrovsky is invited every year as a gesture of goodwill, but he hasn't attended in eighteen years."

"Since the introduction of synthetic blood," Jean-Luc added. "I remember his reaction. He was furious. Refused to try the stuff and stormed out of the building, yelling curses and threats to all who betrayed his outdated ideology."

While Jean-Luc talked, Angus unbuttoned his jacket and withdrew a pistol from a shoulder holster.

He checked to make sure it was fully loaded. "I'm ready for the bastard. Silver bullets."

Roman winced. "Try not to shoot any of my coven, Angus."

The Scotsman lifted a brow. "I'm betting he'll come. After all, he knows ye have the girl. Is she here at Romatech?"

"I don't have her anymore. She escaped."

"What?" Angus jumped to his feet. "Are ye saying she escaped while my Highlanders were on duty?"

Roman exchanged a look with Gregori. "Well, yes. She did."

Jean-Luc chuckled. "She is special, n 'est-ce pas"?

With a muttered curse, Angus stashed his gun back into its holster. He paced across the office. "I canna believe it. A wee mortal lass outsmarting my Highlanders? Who was in charge at the time?

I'll flay him alive, the bastard."

"Connor was in charge," Roman answered, "but she was smart enough to avoid him. She picked a guard who didn't know her. She used a disguise and pretended she had come with Simone.

Apparently, her French accent is very convincing."

"I like her more all the time," Jean-Luc said.

Angus growled and continued to pace.

Gregori's cell phone rang. "I'll take this outside." He went out the door.

"Speaking of Simone—" Roman frowned at Jean-Luc. "Why did you let her come early? She's been nothing but trouble."

The Frenchman shrugged. "There is your answer, mon ami. She is trouble. I needed a break."

"She destroyed a nightclub the first night she was here. Last night she threatened to murder a few of my… women."

"But of course. La jalousie. It drives the women mad." Jean-Luc set his cane across his lap.

"Luckily, Simone is not in my harem. It is hard enough being her employer. If I were her master, she would drive me to despair. I have enough problems with my harem as it is."

Angus was still pacing back and forth, glowering at the floor. "I'm thinking of getting rid of mine," he grumbled. Slowly he became aware that the other men were staring at him. He stopped and squared his broad shoulders. " 'Tis not that I doona enjoy them. Hell, I enjoy them all the time. The lassies canna keep their hands off of me."

"Ah. Moi, aussi." Jean-Luc nodded and looked at Roman.

"Me, too," Roman repeated the words in English. He wondered if the other men were lying, too.

Angus scratched his chin. " 'Tis hard to keep that many wenches happy. They think I'm supposed to keep them entertained every night. They doona understand I have a business to run."

"Oui, exactement," Jean-Luc murmured. "I wonder sometimes if I am being selfish, keeping so many beautiful women all to myself. There are many lonesome male vampires in the world."

God's blood. Roman couldn't believe it. The other coven masters were just as tired of keeping a harem as he was. Maybe Radinka was right, and it was time to let the old tradition go. After all, he had convinced most of the vampire world to give up biting for the bottle.

Gregori slipped back inside, pocketing his cell phone. "That was Connor. Petrovsky and a few of his followers are on the move. Headed north into New Rochelle. Connor's following them."

"Any sign of Shanna?" Roman asked.

"No, but they're dressed in formal clothing. Black and white." Gregori gave Laszlo a worried look.

God's blood, Roman thought. They were coming to the ball.

"What should I do?" Laszlo asked, his eyes wide. "I can't stay here."

"Doona fret, lad." Angus marched over to Laszlo and gripped his shoulder. "I willna let them harm you. My men will be on red alert."

Roman watched as Angus pulled out his pistol. Jean-Luc twisted the knob on his walking stick and withdrew a long, sharp dagger. Damn. Was this going to be a ball or a bloodbath?

Suddenly the door opened, and Angus pointed his gun at the man entering.

Ian blinked. "Bugger. Not quite the welcome I was expecting."

Angus laughed and slipped the pistol back into his shoulder holster. "Ian, my old friend. How are you?"

"Verra well." Ian exchanged slaps on the shoulder with his boss. "I've just now returned from

Washington."

"Well, ye're back in the nick of time. Ivan Petrovsky is on his way. We may have a bit of trouble."

Ian grimaced. "We have a lot more trouble than that." He glanced at Roman. "It's a good thing I went to Langley. At least we have prior warning now."

"What are ye saying, man?" Angus asked.

"I did some investigation on Dr. Whelan's father," Ian explained.

Roman stood. "Is he CIA?"

"Aye." Ian nodded. "Last stationed in Russia, but three months ago he was brought back to

Washington to head up a new program. The files were heavily encrypted, but I was able to figure out most of it."

"Go on," Roman urged.

"He's in charge of an operation called Stake-Out."

Angus shrugged. "That's a common term in law enforcement."

"Not in this sense." Ian frowned. "They have a logo to go with the name. A wooden stake struck through a bat."

"Bugger," Angus whispered.

"Aye. They're compiling a list of targets for termination. Petrovsky and a few of his friends are on there." Ian regarded Roman sadly. "Ye're on the list, too."

Roman caught his breath. "Are you saying everyone on the list is a vampire?"

"Aye." Ian grimaced. "I'm sure ye know what this means."

Roman sat heavily in his chair. God's blood, this was terrible. His voice came out as a whisper, "They know about us."