Enticed By Blood: A Sweetblood World Vampire Romance by Laurie London

Chapter 1
    J uliette Bishop wished she could turn around and go home. Although New Orleans was a beautiful city, it was the last place on earth she wanted to be.
    She stepped through the wrought iron gates of the restaurant courtyard, where twisted branches from several trees formed a canopy overhead. If her hands weren’t full, she’d brush a wisp of hair out of her eyes. She tried blowing it away, but the strand clung stubbornly to her damp skin.
    After her flight, she’d had just enough time to shower at the hotel, change and take a taxi to the French Quarter. Little good that did, because the back of her silk tank felt as if it were already covered in sweat. The locals were probably used to this humidity, but by San Francisco standards, it was almost unbearable.
    She glanced around. Only a few tables in the courtyard between the two buildings were occupied. Maybe there were more people inside.
    With a heavy portfolio in one hand and a handbag in the other, she headed toward the hostess station. The brick footing was uneven, so she had to walk on her tiptoes to avoid catching a heel.
    “Welcome,” said a young woman with sleek black hair. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”
    Nodding, Juliette set her things on a nearby chair, relieved to be rid of the weight for a moment. “I’m meeting someone, but I’m a little early. I doubt he’s here yet.”
    She pictured herself sitting inside an air-conditioned bar for fifteen or twenty minutes, sipping a tall cool drink. One with an umbrella and lots of ice. That would give her time to cool down and collect her thoughts.
    Under her breath, she cursed her father’s alcoholic business partner for putting her in this situation. If it hadn’t been for Henry’s drinking problem, she wouldn’t be here right now, taking time off from her job at the brokerage firm, trying to salvage her father’s biggest customer—her former lover. A man she despised.
    She’d met Andre Lescarbeau last New Year’s Eve in San Francisco. Fueled by one too many peach bellinis and his delicious French accent, she soon found herself in his hotel suite having the best sex of her life. He was dominant and demanding, and although she considered herself a strong, confident woman, she’d willingly submitted to him.
    He wouldn’t let her take any time off from work, insisting that he had important business matters to attend to during the day. But every evening like clockwork, when she stepped out of her building on Market Street, there he was, waiting for her at the curb in his vintage Aston Martin convertible. How he managed the parking mojo night after night was beyond her.
    Andre had asked about her family, so she told him what her father did and all the awards his vintage woodworking company had won, including the articles in Architectural Digest , Traditional Home , and Southern Living . Unbeknownst to her, Andre later contacted her father to do some work for him. He’d inherited a string of old boutique hotels in the South—New Orleans, Mobile, Savannah, Charleston—and was planning to renovate all of them one-by-one.
    But one night, without warning, Andre wasn’t waiting for her. She tried reaching him, but he didn’t answer her calls or texts. Worried that something bad had happened to him, she finally went to his hotel, where someone at the front desk remembered he’d left for the airport at dusk with a beautiful young woman in tow. His wife.
    It felt as if she’d been punched in the gut. She’d been having sex with a married man. Had actually been falling for him. No wonder he’d been so secretive, sharing little about his personal life. She wasted no time erasing his name from her contacts and vowed never to be so gullible or naive again.
    But here she was, less than a year later, getting ready to meet with him.
    She had to forget their past. Shove it behind her and do what she needed to do—convince Andre not to cancel his contract. A contract big enough that it would