My father was many things, including a brutal businessman, but he had a passion for all things in life. Wine. Women. Cigars. Sex. At least two of his passions had killed his marriage to my mother.

  He was wealthy, powerful, and highly sought after by men and women alike. And I hated not having a relationship with him any longer.

  I allowed a slight smile, another quick glance at the dashing man. “You’re right. I know that. However, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into the deep end of the pool. Men annoy the fuck out of me.” That was the truth. I didn’t need a boy toy or some guy acting as if he could be the only man I needed. Or worse. But… A girl could fantasize. She could also take a taste. When I brushed my hand down the length of my neck, there was no doubt in my mind he was watching my every move. Carrie nudged me seconds later, rolling her eyes.

  “Just so you know, girl lost in an erotic dream, that man who thinks you’re the next great thing to a cinnamon bun just happens to be the owner of the club. He’s very single and considered the most eligible bachelor in town. He’s forty-one, never married. No children and he owns houses in Key West, Barbados, and a fabulous seven thousand square foot estate right here in New Orleans.”

  I’d been gone from the city where I was born for so long that I had no clue who anyone was any longer. “It’s fascinating that you know his entire life history,” I teased. “Does that make him safe?”

  “If you can call alligators in the wild safe,” Miley offered, huffing afterwards. “Sure, he’s gorgeous but he’s also mafia, or so say the rumors, but there isn’t a woman in town who wouldn’t offer herself to the gorgeous man on a silver platter if he asked. Except this girl. Nope.”

  “Liar. You’d drape your body over him if you could. That’s what you told me the last time we were here,” Carrie chastised.

  I found myself moving further into the light, trying to make out his features, another set of even stranger tickling sensations washing over me.

  Mafia.

  Another cold chill drifted all the way to my toes. I certainly knew of a powerful mafia family, but they hadn’t owned nightclubs before. Or had they? “What’s his name?” When neither girl responded right away, I raised my voice. “What is his name?”

  “Good God, I didn’t think you were interested,” Carrie snapped back. “Francois Thibodeaux. Why?”

  I took a deep breath, holding it. My luck was… strange.

  “Oh, no reason,” I mused, although there were a million reasons to walk out of this club right now.

  Not only did I know him, but he was also definitely considered off limits. If I dared consider touching him, my father would kill me. They’d once been very close. Sadly, the last I’d heard their relationship had become strained. That wouldn’t make good dinner conversation. Neither would the reality of who I was.

  But I had to admit, the man was safe, at least to me. In fact, he’d just as soon kill any man who looked at me cross-eyed, his oath to my father one that would last until the end of time. He was also a completely alpha male, even dressed in a ten-thousand-dollar suit. Tingles of excitement tore through me, the thought of tasting the forbidden fruit almost too much to resist. The man was the epitome of control, ruthless beyond anyone’s imagination and even from where I was standing, likely the most gorgeous man I’d laid eyes on.

  Perhaps in my last act of resolve, I remained in the shadows, determined to walk away before it was too late, and I crossed a line that could never be recrossed.

  But a girl could dream about what didn’t belong to her at least for one night.

  Besides, the last words we’d spoken to each other had been terse, his glare as if I was something abhorrent that had crawled from the center of the earth, a slug or something worse. And I’d allowed myself to hate him, just like I’d been taught to do, the reason for my mother dragging me halfway across the country.

  Hate was in my blood, my parents’ bitter divorce tainting the relationship with my father to the point I hadn’t talked to him in almost three years. That’s why returning home under the cloak of darkness had been a stupid idea, but it was the only other place I felt safe.

  Safe.

  Was there really any truth to that word? The honest truth was as long as I was under the brutal man’s roof, I would be safer than anywhere else in the country. At least I might as well enjoy myself.

  As another trickle of the electricity I’d felt before tingled my entire system, I realized I had to be a terrible person for hungering what was considered taboo. At least after leaving here tonight, I’d never put myself in another awkward position of running into Francois again.

  “Are you okay?” Carrie asked, touching my arm. For all her pushing, she was worried and terrified for me.

  I took a deep breath, lifting my glass. “I’m perfectly fine. Let’s dance the night away.”

  She continued studying me for a full minute. Then a mischievous smile crossed her face. “You’re on, girlfriend. Come on. Let your ambassadors for the night show you around the place. There are all kinds of hidden gems inside this defunct bank turned nightclub, delicious little treasures. And who knows, you might find a tasty treat for the night so I can get you off my couch.” She laughed and I smacked her on the arm before stealing another glance at the balcony from my protected shadows.

  The man I’d once adored was nowhere to be seen.

  CHAPTER 5

  Delaney

  An hour later and I hadn’t seen Francois again, which had allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief. Granted, the building was huge, the partying continuing on all six floors, various smaller rooms leading to promises of sin and fulfillment of the darkest fantasies. Getting lost in the place would be easy, which was my fallback plan to avoid him.

  Even if the longing to take a walk on the wild side continued to play out in my mind. I could still do that, just not with the selection of choice.

  Damn it.

  Miley had even told me there was a secure area on the bottom floor where the actual vault had been left, used only for very special parties and private functions.

  By invitation only.

  It seemed every floor had a different theme, every room decorated in different vibrant shades of crimson and violet, sapphire and emerald. Pulsing music pounded through massive speaker systems, the lighting unlike anything I’d experienced in Los Angeles.

  The club was entirely different than anything I remembered the Thibodeaux family owning. Even though my father had attempted to shield me from the man, never talking about the criminal activities, I’d been no fool even in my early teenage years. The danger and domination had been part of Francois’ allure, the predator in the man always present.

  What I adored about the club was the attention to detail, the cutting-edge artwork on the walls and the waiters and bartenders in different uniforms depending on the theme. It seemed every piece of music had been created for them as well, the eclectic mix full of passion and freedom. Coming here had been good for my psyche, even if I could never do so again. It was too risky running into him, which would mean I’d need to explain myself to my father.

  I’d yet to decide what to do, but I knew my agent wouldn’t allow me to stay hidden for long. There were too many upcoming shoots, designers refusing to be denied no matter how brutal the crime I’d endured. Still, I’d forgotten how grounding being in New Orleans could feel, the energy and pulse of the city an important part of my past and the woman I’d become. Maybe it was time to consider a move. And a new career. I’d soon be labeled as getting too old for the runway, and while I’d grabbed my share of magazine covers, only two of them had led to anything substantial.

  I was no actress.

  I had no degree, much to my father’s chagrin.

  What the hell was I supposed to do? Feeling sorry for myself was ridiculous.

  With the girls off dancing, I found myself venturing into a few of the rooms I hadn’t entered, feeling like a princess as I descended the massive set of wooden stairs, the steps carpeted in scarlet. Maybe this was what Scarlett O’Hara had felt like. I smiled as I moved to the first floor, studying the various mosaics positioned on the more than thirty-foot walls. There were also tapestries, every one of them provocative yet so classy.

  Miley had told me the place had remained vacant for several years, gutted by a fire. That had been after a small hurricane had rolled through. I couldn’t imagine how much money Francois and his family had spent renovating the location, but I was impressed. Maybe some of my savvy father’s business acumen had rubbed off on the man.

  I moved away from the crowd, taking a minute to refresh myself in the insanely gorgeous marble ladies’ room before heading upstairs, continuing to dance a portion of the night away. Only another hallway caught my eye. I glanced over my shoulder, chewing on my lower lip.

  What are you doing, Delaney?

  Could it possibly lead to the infamous vault? I glanced over my shoulder as if I was breaking a cardinal rule or worse, continuing down the path. The gilded sign on the door allowed me to realize that my instinct had been right.

  “Employees and invited guests only.” Great. The sign was clear. I wasn’t allowed to enter. Those were the rules. A grin crossed my face and I glanced over my shoulder again, waiting until the sound of drunken laughter and squeals passed by the hallway, the group of girls more flamboyant than most I’d seen.

  By all rights and if I was a good girl, I would head upstairs, tracking down Carrie and Miley. When had I ever been the kind of girl to play by the rules? I moved closer, excited by the prospects of what I’d find inside the tempting vault.

  While I expected to find a locked door, I was pleasantly surprised when the handle turned. So I was being a bad girl but the way the private room had been described was far too much of a draw. “Wow.”

  There was something extraordinary about the location, intimate lighting turning on the minute I walked inside. When the door automatically closed behind me with a soft click, I jumped, half expecting some men the size of the four outside the front door to enter. I envisioned them picking me up, pitching me over a set of their broad shoulders and tossing me onto the street.

  I’d always had a vivid imagination.

  Besides, this wasn’t technically trespassing. I was simply entering into private space. I took another sip of my almost empty drink, shocked that it really did look like the interior of a bank vault, at least those I’d seen on television, but the space was much larger. What had been kept inside the locked facility? I could only imagine.

  The scenery in front of me was straight out of the nineteen twenties and I was required to walk through a set of thick iron bars through a massive circle transforming a steel wall into an opening. What appeared to be the original locks were in place and I wondered if they were still working.

  If they could be used to lock someone inside.

  Laughing, I was floored by the first room’s gorgeous, posh furniture, chairs and banquettes molded from rich-looking crushed velvet, the crimson color a throwback to a long-ago era. The crystal chandeliers were made of iridescent cut stones, every pristine diamond shape catching the light breeze coming from the HVAC system, flicking and chiming with a delicate sound.

  The long bar was ornate in design, the exotic wood reddish in color. After passing through another smaller circular entrance, I shifted into a more private section, the single table massive I ran my fingers across the smooth wood, marveling in the sixteen high-back velvet chairs positioned perfectly around the rectangular shape. What a perfect setting for a fabulous and intimate dinner for a famous star or a head of state.

  I was shocked just how peaceful and quiet it was, not a single sound from the other floors making it through the thick walls. No wonder it was considered private for reserved parties. There wasn’t anything like it that I’d ever been to. I placed my small purse on the table, turning in a full circle. The room was gorgeous.

  I shifted to the oversized work of art positioned on the opposite wall, the vivid design and bold paint drawing my eye, the scene depicting a gorgeous city in a different time, the engaging pictorial of a stunning night under a full moon, lights emitted from the festively decorated businesses. However, it wasn’t New Orleans but another location equally as grandiose. As I walked closer, I realized there was a brothel on one side of the street, several bars depicting sin and shame readily available on the garishly decorated storefronts.

  Drawn into the gorgeous setting, I laughed softly as I involuntarily reached up to trace one of the buildings, swaying my hips back and forth.

  Seconds later, I heard footsteps and froze, a moment of utter terror skating down my spine. If I’d walked into a trap, no one would hear me scream, no one would come to help me. Nausea tore through my system, the fear almost crippling. I dared not turn around. The mysterious visitor was decidedly male. That was easy to tell by the weight of his shoes hitting the floor. He exuded power, his aura dancing around him like a live wire, his fragrance filtering into my system, tickling my core. His scent was decidedly masculine, woodsy without being overpowering, a light hint of citrus mixed with something terribly exotic.

  He remained silent, as if daring me to speak first. I refused.

  “That’s my favorite depiction of Key West, New Orleans’ sister city.” His voice was rich and dark, the deep baritone drifting through me at an alarming rate. I was stunned he’d found me. Or maybe he’d hunted me down. Now I was more electrified than before, my breath caught in my throat. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I wasn’t certain what to say.

  Would he recognize me after all these years? I doubted it given I was all grown up now, taller and lankier, the baby fat that had once plagued me completely in my past. “I’ve never been to Key West, but I hear it’s incredible.” And I hadn’t been. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to Florida. But my father had been, many times, promising to take me when I was old enough to handle the debauchery. My mother had taken me out of the state before he’d had an opportunity, the bitter divorce forever ingrained in my mind.

  “It’s a magical place as well, somewhere I like to go to unwind from the day-to-day drudgery of life. That’s why I had one of its famous artists paint this particular canvas for me. I thought it was a perfect location for something so incredibly beautiful. It serves as a reminder that there’s more to life than just work.”

  “I think we can all forget how important that is.”

  “Very true.”

  “You’re the owner of The Vault.”

  “I am,” he said, walking closer. “Francois Thibodeaux. You have me curious. Who are you?”

  “No one important except I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Everyone is important, especially a woman as beautiful as you are.”

  This was going somewhere bad fast.

  I was stunned how much I was affected by his voice, the deep sultry tone entirely different than I remembered. Granted, he’d treated me as a child even in my teenage years, likely using a different voice on purpose. While the edginess remained, I was also more aroused than I wanted to admit, my nipples fully aroused.

  I dragged my tongue across my lower lip as he moved closer, trying to avoid breathing in his intoxicating scent. I dared lower my eyes, allowing myself a single glance in his direction. He was a beautiful man in every sense of the word. I hated how my body continued tingling, refusing to allow the desire to be locked down. Even trying to remind myself the man was the epitome of tall, dark, and evil wasn’t working, every nerve ending on fire.

  I purposely shifted my gaze to the other end of the painting, confused as to why he was suddenly quiet. Or why he’d followed me in here.

  Maybe because you are trespassing.

  I closed my eyes, trying to think of something clever to say, a way to slip out before he got an up close and personal look at my face. “I’m sorry. As I said, I shouldn’t have come in here. I apologize. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my friends. This is a magical location though, the painting the most stunning piece I’ve ever seen.”

  Every word was true, but I wasn’t planning on hanging around to hear his answer, quickly moving away without looking in the eyes.

  Then he grabbed my wrist, yanking me back, the hard jerk forcing me against his chest. I planted my palm against it, able to feel his rapid heartbeat on the tips of my fingers. I dared not lift my head. However, he was determined to have me look him in the eyes. He slid his index finger under my chin, brushing it lightly back and forth before lifting my head, forcing our already heated gazes to lock.

  “You’re not going anywhere until I allow you to,” he said with a darkness in his voice I’d never heard before.

  And a rush of excitement tore through me.

  CHAPTER 6

  “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it… I can resist everything but temptation.”

  —Oscar Wilde

  Delaney

  Temptation of the flesh.

  That’s exactly what Francois was. To indulge in the fantasy in any way, shape, or form would be a sin. But oh, my God. The desire for the man was overwhelming.

  Dear God. The man was serious, his fingers digging into my wrist as if to prove a point.

  “But I don’t belong to you,” I hissed, trying to jerk my arm free. How long would it be before he realized who I was? It felt as if his fingers were also tightening around my throat.

  The masterful man had told me years before that if there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was liars. That was the day I’d learned just how dangerous he was, watching in a mixture of horror and awe when he’d broken a man’s arm with a single snap of his hand for lying to him.