“Absolutely not. The way NOLA traffic is at night, it’s not sensible for you to be driving. We’ll swing by and pick you up. That will give you time to focus on those last minute costume details you ladies always have.”

Savannah glanced over her shoulder as Matt paused. A smile crossed his handsome features, caused by whatever response was coming from the other end of the hands-free he had in his ear. His gaze lifted to her, and the smile became deeper, his dark eyes caressing her in that way that never failed to make her knees weaken. As she straightened from the crib where she’d been tucking in their daughter, his attention shifted there. The tenderness that entered his expression made her heart lift. It was ridiculous, how much she loved him. Loved them both.

Then his gaze came back to her, and the knee weakening thing returned. Even as he was listening to Delilah on the phone, he was studying her costume with an increasing heat in those eyes that never missed a detail…or the nuances beneath them. It seemed simple, a flowing white dress, the off-the-shoulder ruffled neckline punctuated by a scarlet red ribbon, but because of the way he took his time following it, she could feel every inch of the soft fabric against her skin. Her hair was loose, but she’d pulled it over one shoulder when leaning over Angelica. Now his gaze moved to her bared throat, such that she could actually feel the nerve endings from beneath her ear to her collarbone tingle. It was as if she wanted to feel the pressure of his teeth there. The irony wasn’t lost on her, even as the strength of her own desire for him to actually do it bemused her.

She was supposed to look like an innocent Victorian heroine, about to go to bed. If she hadn’t been wearing a slip and strapless bra beneath the translucent fabric, the nursery lamp would have been giving him a clear outline of her body, her nipples pressed against the thin cotton. He’d already told her in great detail his plans to see the nightrail without those impediments later. However, given he was about to take her into the cream of NOLA society for the Halloween charity ball, he fully approved of the modesty. Her possessive husband.

“Yes, I realize you’re an adult woman, fully capable of taking care of yourself. We’ll still be there in an hour. We’ll look forward to it.” His lips twitched. “No, I will not say ‘I vwant to drink your blood’”. He made the statement in an exaggerated Transylvania accent, earning his wife’s amusement.

As he cut the connection, Savannah arched a brow. “Given that she doesn’t know what you’re wearing, that was pretty ironic.”

“Well, it’s New Orleans. Everyone thinks about vampires here. I told her we’re giving her a ride.”

“I heard. You know there’s a very fine line between chivalry and sexism. Or a knight in shining armor and a caveman with club.”

He shrugged. “Potato, potahto.”

“You’re getting more tyrannical as you get older. And you were already pretty overbearing.”

“You weren’t complaining last night.”

“I was gagged.”

“And screaming through a couple of orgasms.” He drew closer, evading her elbow to his hard stomach. He closed his strong fingers over the potential weapon, but only to employ one from his own arsenal. His mouth, against her throat. She could swear the man could read her mind sometimes. Or maybe they were just fueling each other’s desires, given the complimentary costumes they were wearing.

As a matter of personal pride, she managed an indifferent look as he lifted his head, though her blood was rushing beneath the skin where his mouth had teased her. She gave him a critical once-over, sliding a finger beneath the cravat he wore with the starched white shirt. “You know, I thought this might end up looking kind of cheesy, but you pull off Christopher Lee’s Dracula exceedingly well. With a Texas GQ flare.”

He wore a floor length velvet-lined cape and well-cut black trousers, his dark hair brushed back so the widow’s peak showed. He’d eschewed any pale makeup of course, but the raptor gaze more than made up for it. He reminded her of her personal favorite vampire, Chris Sarandon’s Jerry Danbridge from Fright Night. She vividly remembered his hypnotic dance with Charlie’s girlfriend in the club, taking command of her senses with those piercing eyes.

Then Savannah’s gaze dropped to the floor. Her lips curved. The polished black cowboy boots he wore beneath the dress slacks more than qualified her Texas GQ comment.

For his part, as Matt watched her appraise his costume, he was considering her reaction to his mouth on her neck. Though it was always a highly erogenous zone for her, ever since he’d donned his costume for the night, he’d noticed that response seemed to have intensified. He could say the same for himself. He’d never thought of himself as the role playing type, especially when it came to costumes, but it was interesting where it took the mind. Savannah’s pale throat, the generous cleavage the bra beneath offered up for his inspection, absorbed him. He imagined slipping into her bedroom, intending to dine on the rich blood of an innocent virgin. At the touch of his fangs on her throat, demanding she give up her body and her blood to him, she’d yield with a soft sigh.

When she turned to adjust the blanket over their daughter, he pressed himself up against her backside. He dropped his hand from her hip to caress her upper thigh, close to the part of her he knew would be dampening for him. His formidable wife. His beautiful submissive.

She let out a soft sigh just like his imaginings, her body melting back into him. “This is why the costume suits you,” she murmured, a shiver running through her as he brushed his lips along her carotid again.

“The dark, dominant vampire, taking over his victim with just a touch.”

“And the beautiful, innocent heroine, wearing her white nightclothes, except one scarlet ribbon, the color of sexual maturity and blood.” He wrapped a finger in it, teasing her nipple beneath the bra with the side of his hand. Testing, he set his fangs to her throat. He heard the catch in her breath, saw the tightening of her fingers on the edge of the crib. Felt her nipple harden under his hand. Christ, he was going to fuck her right here, before the night had even begun.

Of course, no way he’d be doing that in front of Angelica, no matter how young and oblivious she was. He did have some restraint. Restraints… He slid his grip to her arm, manacled her slim wrist. He thought about how she might look later with that scarlet ribbon holding her wrists to their headboard.

“Oh…” Her voice had that lovely breathy sound. “Those fangs feel very…lifelike.”

They should, since they were the best that money could buy, and adhered so they could be used exactly as the lore intended.

“I want you to bite me, to draw blood. Is that odd?” Her near whisper made him bite back a growl. He wanted to do it as well. Instead, he stroked her neck with his fingers and suckled on her flesh, a hard kiss that left a red mark as he drew back.

“The best I’ll do. For now.” He gave her a critical look. “I’m rethinking the hair. You always wear it up. It’s too much of a temptation to these other men, seeing it down like this.”

“We are dressed as Victorian characters. We are not actually living in Victorian times,” she reproved him, but her blue eyes flickered with that glowing pleasure his proprietary nature evoked in her. Sometimes. “Plus, we’re running late. Especially if we’re picking up Delilah.”

“She stayed late at the Barksylvania adoption carnival at the shelter, helping out. Least I could do was offer her a ride. Her friend Lisa went on ahead to the plantation to make sure things were running smoothly. This way, Delilah will get a chance to put together that interview she wants to do for the magazine article she is writing along the way.”

“And you all can fluster her with your usual overwhelming sexual vibes.” Savannah gave him an amused look.

“Well, I am vwearing zee costume and everything.” He dropped the accent to curl his finger in the ribbon once more. “Your shawl’s not going to be warm enough if you want to walk in Athena’s gardens.”

“Am I going to want to walk in Athena’s gardens?” That slim brow arched again, lips quivering against a smile. “They’re quite extensive. A lot of things can hide in those dark shadows.”

He smiled and brought her close to him again. “I’ll go along and protect you.”

“And you’ll wrap your cloak around me to keep me warm.” She pressed up against him, brought his own blood to boil by putting her lips against his throat for a teasing nip. “But I don’t think I’ll need it.”

* * * * *

Back at the hotel, where Delilah waits for her ride…

I could not have been more thrilled than when Savannah Kensington asked me to come down to NOLA and help coordinate a fundraiser which would benefit the shelter where she and Matt adopted their adorable dog Moose. With it being so close to Halloween we decided on a family friendly Barksylvania adoption-themed carnival at the actual shelter and then an adult-themed Halloween ball later on in the evening. Tonight’s extravagant event is being held at the home of Athena Francesca Summers, a benefactor of the shelter (and friend of the Kensingtons). Athena comes from old Southern money and, from what I understand, she has a gorgeous plantation home on the outskirts of New Orleans. It’s on the annual New Orleans spring garden tour, so I am beyond excited to see it. She also has a fiancé who is a gorgeous retired Navy SEAL. Since not only Dale but a group of his SEAL buddies who volunteer at the shelter will be at the event, I’m anticipating a scenic tour of those sights as well. Lisa, who is dressed as the very sexy Elvira for the Ball, is probably knee deep in those Navy SEALs right about now.

Volunteering for this event certainly comes with some very delicious benefits!

However, as much as I’m looking forward to this evening, my mind is focused a little bit more on the near-present. I am not only about to ride to the event in a limo with the K&A men, but the very exquisite K&A women as well. It’s a good thing I don’t get flustered easily, since I revealed my very own Boardroom fantasy to the men during an earlier interview with them. My body flushes with heat as I distinctly remember pushing the limits of my fantasy by asking Matt for some “hard core, knock down, dirty, I can’t walk for a week hook me up to an IV sex” and calling Lucas’ tongue a “weapon of mass destruction”. I have a distinct feeling that Cass would back me up on the tongue thing.

I claim temporary insanity when it comes to these men. Your mind has a will of its own when you are near them! As I take one last look in the mirror and make a slight adjustment to the costume I have selected for tonight’s Ball, and chastise myself for not having an extra pair of hands to help me get it on, my cell phone rings. It’s Max telling me that they are a few minutes away and that I should head down toward the hotel lobby. I’m all too familiar with the way the Knights like to tease and push the limits. I should know; I’m just as bad myself. So with my body already hyper aware that this will be no ordinary limo ride, I give myself the courtesy of one delicious shot of liquid courage, courtesy of Mr. Grey Goose himself, and I’m off.

My heart skips a beat as I come down into the lobby and see Max out in front of the hotel, already standing by the limo door. A woman could certainly get used to the sight of such a handsome man waiting for her. He’s working the full security detail/chauffeur look tonight in his dark suit, white shirt and thin black tie, an outfit that emphasizes the powerful, ready-to-end-a-fight-before-it-starts kind of body. Of course, with him being a former Navy SEAL, it’s not window dressing. My pulse picks up a little when I think about the fact that there’s probably at least one gun under his coat and a wicked looking knife tucked somewhere else. It makes this girl itch to take my hands and slide them under his coat. I’d fan my fingers across that broad chest and then slowly glide them down over the six pack abs that are no doubt hiding under that white shirt of his. I’d keep going until I could skim my fingers ever so gently above the waistband of his pants.

It’s hard not to fantasize what it would be like to feel all of that power on top of you, or better yet, nestled between your thighs underneath you. Janet certainly is a very, very lucky woman. The sun has set, but it’s light enough that he’s still wearing the dark glasses that make the most of the strong jaw and give him that very remote, sexy look. He’s getting more than a few looks, the “who the hell is he picking up?” vibe that can’t help but make me feel like I am the luckiest woman in the world. As I make my way toward him, and he offers his hand to help me into the limo, I wonder if I should have had another shot of liquid courage. Especially if I can’t even get past Max without my mind wandering into places it shouldn’t go.

Of course, I do have to suppress a bit of disappointment that he’s not in costume…

“Good evening Max. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.” The smile I offer him is genuine and warm and returned in kind as I place my hand in his. “I see you’re not dressed for the ball tonight. Aren’t you and Janet attending?”

“No, ma’am.” That touch of Texas drawl just adds to the whole appealing package. “Janet’s giving the Kensington’s nanny a break tonight. I’m going to join her and Angelica after I drop you off. Wade will pick you all back up when you’re ready to go.” His gaze slides over my costume, and the twitch of the corner of the mouth tells me I’ve earned male approval—causing a warm tingle to spread throughout my already heated body. Obviously the hours that I have spent curling my long, dark brunette hair into shiny ringlets was worth it. Max’s eyes come alive as he sweeps them across my hair and down to where the silver cross hangs precariously close to the vee of my breasts—right at the opening of my white peasant blouse that is lurking underneath the soft, red velvet crop jacket. His look cruises onward from there over the black leather corset that is laced within an inch of my life with blood red velvet string.

He also lingers an extra moment on the skin tight black riding pants that leave no room to the imagination as to what is underneath them; absolutely nothing at all. His attention finally settles at the thigh high suede boots that buckle up the side. Since I am going as Anna from the movie Van Helsing, my trusty sword sits in its holster, slung low across my slim hips. You never know when a girl may need a good, thick sword these days.

“I think Ben is going to feel himself doubly blessed tonight,” he observes, with a wry curl of his lips. “You look stunning, ma’am.”

Ben? I’m about to ask him what he means, but he’s already switched gears, back into professional mode.

“You’ll find champagne, wine and soda chilling in the mini-bar, Miss Delilah. Apothic Red, to fit the night.”

“Apothic Red is an excellent choice for this evening, Max, and one of my favorite California wines. The delicious mixture of Zinfandel, Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot is truly to die for. A very fitting choice for this evening indeed.”

Given my previous experiences with the K&A men, I’m sure there will also be a complement of chocolate to go with the alcohol choices, but, trust me, there isn’t an ounce of room to spare inside this costume, at least not yet. Besides which, Max’s fingers on mine, helping me into the car, give me another warning thrill. It tells me I better hold off on the alcohol, because my senses are about to be overwhelmed enough. Just being in the mere presence of these K&A men is intoxicating enough as it is.

As I slide into the seat, I make eye contact and smile. And find myself completely tongue-tied. Yes, that’s the normal state when confronted by Matt Kensington and the four prime males who work for him, but tonight my speechlessness has another cause. They had refused to give me a hint at their costume choices, but as I examine each pairing, a delighted grin spreads across my face, wider and wider. It’s a dream come true for me. All of these fine men are dressed as my favorite creatures of the night—vampires! There’s got to be a story behind this and I’m just the person to pry it out of them. That is, as soon as we all stop laughing over my choice of costume!

I realize then what Max had meant. Marcie is dressed as the beautiful Selene from Underworld, who, like Anna from Van Helsing, was also played by Kate Beckinsale. Accordingly, Ben makes the executive decision to tuck me in on one side of him, keeping Marcie on the other, and spreads his arms in a exclusive manner over the seat behind each of us, giving the rest of the men a very satisfied look. “I did say Kate was my fantasy tonight. I just didn’t realize I was going to get two of them.”

As I turn my head to the side to look into those stunning green eyes of his, I can’t help but take the opportunity to tease him. “All good things come in twos, double the pleasure, double the fun, as they say. Do you think you are up for the challenge tonight?” Marcie and I look over at each other and then we both give Ben a wicked grin.

I really should know better than to taunt a man who was rumored to have the stamina to wear out multiple partners in the same night, before Marcie became the full focus of his attentions. (I really need to ask her what vitamins she’s taking.). Those green eyes fill with what can only be called diabolical purpose. Lucifer would look like that. “The question is, are you?” he purrs, twisting one of my ringlets around his finger and giving it a tug. His other arm slides onto Marcie’s shoulder, his hand moving to her waist and then curving around her hip, thumb caressing the bone there, drawing her into the erotic threat he’s weaving around me. I decide it’s wise to turn my attention to the rest of the limo occupants. Quickly.

“Bonjour Monsieurs and Mademoiselles! I really appreciate you coming to rescue a damsel in distress on such short notice.”

“Don’t encourage them, Delilah,” Dana says. “They already think they have to rescue us from cracks in the sidewalks.”

“It was a pothole,” Peter interjects. “And you were heading toward it like a steamroller. It would have swallowed you whole. All the money for street repair in New Orleans goes to corrupt politicians.”

“Then your focus should be on that, for the greater good of everyone.”

“Who says we can’t do both?” Ben offered.

He’s eased back on the sensual intensity, which gives me a little room to breathe mentally, if not physically. Of course, it’s not a hardship at all to be sandwiched between Ben’s broad shoulders, my hip pressed against Jon’s. I’m in the middle of the best manwich ever to have been assembled on God’s green Earth. Jon has that delicious sandalwood scent that’s soothing and provocative at once. Ben stretches his other arm back over my seat, a match for the one he has behind Marcie, his long legs adjusting. “That’s much better. I couldn’t put my arm around Jon. It would just give him ideas.”

Unfortunately having Ben’s arm around me gives me all kinds of ideas that shouldn’t be running through my head with Marcie in the limo, ones that have me unconsciously stroking the lacing of my corset with my fingers. I think I need to switch my thoughts to the fact that I have one very hot date waiting for me at the Ball as my better half, Gabriel Van Helsing. Lucky for me, Dale’s Navy SEAL friend is a huge fan of the movie and offered to come along to complete my look.

As everyone offers a warm hello and Jon snorts, I wonder if the men can sense the frisson of excitement currently running up my spine after I get a glimpse of the piece de resistance that accompanies their smiles. Ben, who is always the first to tease a woman, tips me off with his broad, exaggerated grin.

They have fangs. And not the cheesy plastic party kind. These fangs look like honest-to-God real teeth. It makes my neck pulse flutter in a decidedly dangerous way as my thumb gently caresses the side of my throat in anticipation.

“Ok gentlemen I’ll bite.” I couldn’t help myself with that one. Really I couldn’t. “Who wants to share with me the reason for the unanimous costume choice for the guys?”

“We had a bet, and they lost,” Cassandra said smugly. Lucas gives her a pained look, but he doesn’t appear too put out, given that she’s pressed up against his side and he has his palm resting high on her inner thigh, his wedding ring finger stroking her in a way that only looks deceptively random. Her flush suggests she’s as aware of that as I am.

In the course of my multiple encounters with the Knights, I’ve noticed, as they’ve each acquired their significant other, they’ve become more blatantly sexual around each other and their lucky circle of intimate acquaintances, like myself.

I have to admire Cassandra’s focus. I wonder if it takes constant practice, like building up tolerance to a drug by injections of the same substance. I don’t think any woman could ever get immune to the out front sexual Dominance of the five K&A men, but perhaps that’s why each of the women who ended up marrying into this circle has such a strong personality. She needs it to hold her own. Of course with a set of Masters who have no qualms about joining forces to overwhelm a woman’s senses in whatever way is necessary to send her to mindless ecstasy, I expect the women only get to hold their own to a certain point. But they’re probably not complaining! I doubt that I would be!

Case in point. Ben is murmuring something to Marcie. Though I don’t hear the words, the tone is very different from his teasing of a moment ago. The look she gives him, the flush to her cheeks, makes my imagination spin over what command he’s put against her delicate ear. With effort, I bring my attention back to Cass. She’s paused, a knowing look in her eyes as I tried to wade through all the pheromones saturating the limo. “Ben,” she says, a mild rebuke in her tone.

He gives her a bland look, all innocence, but then he settles back, giving me a wink and another tug on my hair, more playful this time. “Nice costume, Delilah.”

I have to laugh at his leer. It helps ease the sexual tension. Somewhat.

“What was the bet?” I ask Cassandra, somewhat steadier.

“It doesn’t matter. They cheated,” Lucas says.

“We absolutely did not,” Dana retorted. “It wasn’t so much a bet as it was a game. They wanted to play bondage poker, which they always win, so Cass proposed Last Man Standing Poker instead.”

“She used to have us play Last Man to determine who had to do the dinner dishes,” Marcie puts in. “First person out had to do the dishes that night. Second one had to do it the next night, etc. The winner got to skip a night and choose someone who had to do double duty.”

“Bondage poker?” I ask.

“Yes.” Rachel glances at Jon. “We learned how to play at a…bed and breakfast in North Carolina.”

“It wasn’t a bed and breakfast.” Jon gently corrects her. He caresses her nape underneath her thick blond hair. “I purchased a night for Rachel at a bordello. Tell them why.”

“I had a fantasy about…him being a customer, and he’d paid for me for the night.”

Her hesitancy suggests she’s a little embarrassed to be telling this to an audience, but the sharing also obviously arouses her. I understand the feeling. Lucas leans forward, adjusting my air vent so I feel a cool stream of air over my flesh. I thank him with a wink, thinking I could use more than just one air vent pointed in my direction right about now.

“I wanted the experience to be in as authentic an environment as possible.” Jon slid a finger along the base of her throat, teasing the valley of her lush breasts before returning his hand to her knee. “Later that night we had dinner with the Madam. She showed us how to play bondage poker.”

“It’s like Twister meets strip poker,” Marcie says. “The winning hand can require your opponent to remove an article of clothing, or don a restraint, or endure a punishment…you get the idea.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ben interjects to me. “Do the men really always win bondage poker, or do the women always deliberately lose?”

“I think either way it is a win-win situation for everyone. Frankly I think you are all up to no good!” I find myself grinning as I say this.

“Back to the bet,” Cassandra interrupts him with a gimlet eye. “We went with Last Man Standing Poker. The women would win if the last “man” was one of us. And it was.”

“Who?” My gaze darts around the vehicle, but I don’t have to wait for the answer. All fingers point toward Dana. As if sensing them, the blind woman beams.

“I have a great poker face.”

“It came down to her and Matt,” Marcie says, obvious admiration in her tone. “It was fucking awesome. Like a face-off between Jada Pinkett’s Captain Niobe in the Matrix and Al Pacino as Lucifer in The Devil’s Advocate.”

Matt raises a brow and Marcie shrugs, grinning. “It fit. I’m not saying you’re like Satan. But you are an awful lot like Al Pacino’s Satan.”

“Don’t forget our Victorian heroine.” Dana nods in Savannah’s direction. “She was my real ace up the sleeve—and no, that wasn’t literal, Lucas. She had to provide me some help with the cards, of course, and reading Matt’s face. We all know she’s the only one who has a chance in hell of getting one up on Matt. Her and Janet of course.”

A cough from the front punctuates that, and Matt sends a narrow look that way. “Something to add, Max?”

“No sir. Just clearing my throat.”

“Anyhow,” Cass continues, “It was a wild card bet. We could choose what we wanted after we won.”

“Within limits,” Ben says. “No way any male/male fantasies were happening.”

That might be a good thing, considering any male/male fantasies involving these men could easily put a woman into an early grave. Although said woman would surely die with a smile on her face!

“Chickenshit,” Marcie mutters, earning a pinch she fends off with a giggle and a call for help. Dana reaches across and hits Ben’s knee with her folded cane.

“Don’t be messing with my girl. You’ll mess up her costume.”

“Ow,” Ben complains. “Mom, they’re touching me.”

Savannah rolls her eyes at that. “You’d never guess they have superhuman focus during business meetings,” she says to me. “Back to the point. They had to dress as vampires. Vampires we fantasize about.”

“They were sure that Marcie would go for Angel or Spike, she’s such a Buffy fan, but I kind of beat her to the punch.” Cassandra looks toward Lucas with a smile.

My gaze goes to the K&A CFO in sheer appreciation. His sandy-colored hair is a much lighter shade tonight—bleached. He wears a tan duster with red lining, black jeans and T-shirt, and heavy Goth boots with the buckles up the calves. The stage makeup he is using has lightened his biker’s tan, and someone had done a professional job with it, hollowing out his cheekbones to give him the angular look James Marsters brought to the character of Spike. His gray eyes have a different look to them, a little more blue to the silver, the use of contacts, I’m sure. And then of course there are those fangs, the tips of which show as he takes a sip from the drink he balances on one knee. He even has Spike’s arrogant sprawled posture, an ankle on his opposite knee, arms spread out on either side of the seat.

Seeing my attention to that, Cass nods. “We said they had to give the costumes 100%. Which includes the look, the mannerisms, everything. And you know how thorough they are.”

“Thank you, Jesus God,” Dana agrees fervently.

“Well, I would have told Ben I wanted the Spike or Angel thing, but your closet obsession with Spike stole my thunder.” Marcie grins at her sister. “Seriously, as much as I love Angel, it didn’t fit Ben.” She turns her attention to me. “Have you ever seen Frank Langella’s Dracula?”

“Oh yes! Actually that movie is one of my favorites. He was so elegant and charming, yet so dangerous at the same time. He is definitely my favorite actor to portray Dracula. Did you realize that Frank Langella never wore fangs in the movie?”

“I didn’t even notice.” Marcie grins. “But I’m glad Ben wore them tonight.” She reaches up, touches his mouth with one glossy fingernail and he obliges her with a tiny nip, eyes intensifying upon her. “I saw it one night, late night television,” she explains, pulling her gaze away from his face reluctantly. “The scene that caught me was where he very nearly bites a woman’s neck while they’re dancing, but then he draws back and gives this little secret smile. He’s savoring the moment…drawing it out. It’s scary sexy. You know he can kill her, but you sort of don’t care, because you want to see him do whatever it is he wants to do to her.”

“Memo,” Lucas advises Ben. “Marcie probably shouldn’t handle any public relations interviews tonight. Not sure how well that will translate.”

“It doesn’t matter how offended people act. They know exactly what I mean,” Marcie sniffs. “And a lot of them agree in their dark little hearts.”

As I shift my gaze to Ben, I see that scary/sexy aura reflected very well. He looks like a turn of the century lord-of-the-manor, come back from a gallop on the moors. He wears an unlaced open white shirt that reveals a generous amount of hard chest. His tight black breeches are going to have every woman at the Ball staring at his ass, thighs and undeniably sizeable package (including myself of course). The look is accentuated by the polished knee-high boots. He also has a cape folded over the seat. He arches a brow, and his expression changes, the glitter in his eyes so close to Frank’s mesmerizing charisma I wonder if he had dramatic coaching. Of course, he is a lawyer, used to regular court performances.

“When I will you to do a thing,” he intones, “It shall be done. Hear and obey.”

“Yesss Master.” And even though I respond in a playful tone, I’m sure Ben picks up on the fact that I’m not completely unaffected by that command. Damn him.

“There’s a scary sadistic streak to Frank Langella.” Marcie sends me a conspiratorial wink. She knows all too well how I feel. I caught her shiver when he said the words, and I’m sure he did as well. “It fits Ben.”

“Boy howdy,” Dana mutters.

“Does that mean my slave doesn’t want me to share her with him again?” Peter murmurs. “Teach her another lesson?”

The men never allow a bystander to hear what they don’t want heard, so the fact I’m able to pick up that tidbit tells me they’re enjoying playing with me. I’m coming to the conclusion that they are vampires, fed by women’s arousal. From Savannah’s look of amused sympathy toward me, she’s more than aware of it. I know she’ll intervene when she thinks it’s getting a bit much, but at the moment I can’t say it’s bothering me in the slightest. In fact I might be enjoying it a little too much.

Dana swallows. Ben’s gaze has shifted and sharpened on her. His hand is back on Marcie’s leg, and her thighs automatically part for him as he caresses her. Dana’s expression suggests a mix of arousal and terror, as if she can feel his regard, but she rallies quickly. Which Peter anticipates, because when her chin firms and lifts, his storm gray eyes smile, waiting for her sassy retort.

“He’s welcome anytime. But he should bring martial arts Barbie along.” She presses her body against her Master’s larger one, her fingers sliding along his lower abdomen, teasing his belt. “She’s always in trouble, so we can share the lesson. Give our Masters a taste of girl-girl submission.”

Peter cocks his brow toward Ben, a dangerous smile surfacing as Marcie’s gaze becomes more heavy-lidded. Ben’s fingers have tightened on her thigh.

“I think they like the idea, Dana,” Marcie says.

“Why don’t you tell us about Peter’s costume, Dana?” Savannah cuts across them, giving them all a severe look. “Behave.”

I can’t help but notice Matt is simply listening to all of this, leaning back behind his wife, playing with her loose hair, those dark eyes missing nothing, firm mouth occasionally quirking at the comments being exchanged. What is going through the man’s mind?

Peter grins broadly, distracting me. It’s a disconcerting effect, given he has the most prominent fangs of the group, and one of the most intimidating costumes. Dana lifts her hand to stroke through the buzz cut that has been done a la Wesley Snipes, with the triangular cuts along the scalp.

“Blade was just the obvious choice. I mean, total kick ass, monster-sized guy, weighed down with weapons.”

I have to agree Peter looks the part, complete with wraparound glasses, black leather duster and a faux samurai scabbarded blade that has a back holster. He’s also wearing the heavy buckled boots, apparently the fashion choice of modern urban vampires like Blade and Spike.

That leaves Jon. As my gaze shifts to him, I shake my head. I never would have thought it, but it’s perfect. “Gary Oldman, right?”

Not the gross mutation of Dracula, where Gary had the long braid and creepy talons. This was Gary in the gray top hat and swallow tail coat. The look is completed by the high dark gray silk cravat and silver stick pin, boots and tailored trousers. Jon even wears the steam punk style wire-rimmed shades. His dark hair has either been grown out further for the occasion, or he’s employed Hollywood grade hair extensions, managing Gary’s wavy locks to his shoulders. As beautiful as Jon’s features already are, it works well, even with the trim moustache and tiny sharp line of beard. At my expectant, hopeful look, he relents, and gives me a flash of the fangs.

Rachel beams at my expression. “I’m trying to convince him to grow his hair out that long for real. We all love it.”

“Yeah, the girls won’t stop playing with it,” Ben snorts and affects a feminine tone. “He’s going to let them put it in curlers for him later tonight. Then they’ll exchange secrets and play with a Ouija board.”

“You’re just jealous you’re not invited,” Jon says mildly. “They’ll all be wearing lingerie and having pillow fights.”

“Yes, because that’s what happens at all girl sleepovers.” Lucas nods sagely. “We’ve seen it in movies. Take video, Jon.”

I shake my head at all of them. Despite the continuous banter, I have to say that the dark, dangerous and extremely desirable vampire vibe is quite fitting for the men. “How do you guys feel about the costume theme the women chose for you?”

As if he’d noticed my attention, Matt surprises me by being the one to speak up. He’s playing with the satin ribbon trim at the neckline of Savannah’s costume, his fingers twisting in the curls of her blonde hair that have fallen over the upper rise of her pale breasts. Now he shifts his other hand to her lap, clasping her slender fingers in his much larger hand. “By marrying us, I think the lovely women in this car have fulfilled every fantasy we could wish,” he says. “It seems only fair that we occasionally try to accommodate one of theirs.”

“Here, here. Well said.” Lucas raises the glass of whatever alcohol he’s imbibing, and the others follow suit, winning soft smiles from the women.

Matt clears his throat then, indicating he’s not done. His eyes meet his wife’s. “I admit, I find the way she responds to role-playing and costumes…very rewarding. It’s unexpected.”

At my raised brow, Jon steps in to clarify. “Some empirical evidence might help,” he says. Cupping Rachel’s face, he lifts it so he can slide his mouth down behind her ear, his other hand spreading out over her sternum, fingertips fanned so one of them is at the base of her throat. “The second I do this,” he murmurs, “her pulse leaps like a rabbit. The idea of the vampire intensifies that primal response. It’s fascinating.”

Rachel’s eyes have half closed, her hand slipping down to catch into the folds of his coat.

“Hmmmm. Looks like Frank Langella was right,” I observe. “I read he used to have men comment to him that they definitely reaped the sexual benefits of their wives seeing him in Dracula. “

“It just amps up that whole Dom vibe to a paranormal level,” Dana suggests, then gives a little breathless laugh as Peter dips his head to prick her neck with his fangs. “Just like that.”

A shiver runs through me as I watch Peter take a delicious little nip at Dana. “So, ladies, I have to tell you that I’m pretty impressed with you all. Really, how gratifying was it to win a bet against these men?”

“It was like fucking Christmas, ten times over,” Marcie declares, causing all the women to laugh, and eliciting good-humored grimaces among the men. “I wanted to upload it to YouTube. Of course, there’s always a down side, which is actually an upside. They have to reassert their testosterone, reclaim their manhood, that kind of thing. And we wouldn’t want to stand in the way of that…”

“So selfless,” Ben snorted.

“It was still cheating,” Lucas said. “They tag-teamed Dana’s cardplaying skills with Savannah’s ability to read Matt.”

“I’ve seen Matt turn plenty of meetings to his advantage, apparently single-handedly. When in actuality, he does it as a result of the information and resources you four have provided him.” Savannah gives Lucas an imperious look. “Would you consider that cheating?”

“Absolutely.” Ben stepped in to defend Lucas’s position. “He didn’t say cheating was wrong. He just said you cheated. A win is a win.”

“So says the soulless lawyer.” Cassandra rolls her eyes.

Waiting for the catcalls that follow that comment to run out, my attention has gone to the women’s costumes, and how well coordinated they are with their men. “All of you ladies have selected some amazing choices for your costumes. I would really love to hear your reasoning as to why you chose them.” And as I peer over Ben to glance at Marcie, I give her a quick wink and add, “Seems like great minds think alike. Right Kate?”

“Absolutely.” Marcie teases the hair at Ben’s nape with her fingers. “Just remember to go home with the right Kate tonight, Count. Or I might find just the place to shove this gun.”

“Why can’t I have both?” he says, with an utterly sinful look at me. Despite that, I notice the teasing glance he casts toward Marcie is obviously laced with quiet devotion. It’s still new, seeing this side of Ben displayed so openly. But it’s a good thing to see. “These women,” he mutters. “They think just because they own you, heart and soul, they can tell you what to do.”

“I didn’t hear her tell you what to do. She just warned you there are consequences for unwise actions,” Peter notes.

“I did consider dressing up as Lauren Hutton’s character, the Countess from Once Bitten,” I add. “But I figure I couldn’t find any virgin males at this shindig.” And definitely not in this car. At their amused looks, I shrug. “What? A girl’s gotta eat!”

I turn my attention to Cassandra’s costume now. She is wearing a long, dark wig, and has donned contacts that make her blue eyes equally dark and piercing. Her blouse clings to her torso, her forearms revealed by lace-draped sleeves that match the deep lace-edged neckline, a Goth look to go with her long velvet skirt and hook button boots. She also has applied stage makeup that makes her eyes look more deep set, cheeks drawn. It gives her a piercing intensity when she looks toward me. “With Lucas being Spike, I wanted to go as the true love of his life, Drusilla. It wasn’t fair that only the guys got the fangs.” Caressing Lucas’s jaw, she shifts to Drusilla’s drifting, singsong way of talking, managing it so well I know Marcie is right – Cass is a serious closet Buffy fan. “Delilah is soooo sweet. I’ll bet she tastes like clover, my lovely. And honey.”

Lucas eyes me, a very Spikelike look. Suddenly I find myself wondering whether Lucas shared my little Boardroom fantasy with Cass. When Cass turns her gaze to me as well, the two of them are pulling off a chillingly realistic representation of considering a victim who’s about to become dinner. In this crowd, that doesn’t have an entirely unpleasing feel to it, but before I get myself in trouble by offering up my femoral artery to Lucas for say a day, or two—or eternity for that matter—I decide it’s a good idea to clear my throat and turn my attention to Dana.

Dana wears a tight thin shirt in tie-dye blues and browns with an angel wing print overlay on it, a feminine counterpoint to the low slung tight brown leather pants, thick-soled shoes and snug gauntlet on her left arm. I notice a sling of arrows tucked off to the side. “Jessica Biel’s Abigail, from Blade Trinity,” Peter says, cueing his wife to my attention.

“Blade Trinity was my favorite of the three,” Dana says. “Wesley Snipes, Ryan Reynolds and Jessica Biel. I could get off on imagining them all day. All sorts of good fantasy possibilities there.” She tips her dark glasses down, the ones she often wears so people aren’t distracted by her blind eyes. “But that wasn’t the only reason I chose to go as Jessica. I have to provide my man back up, cover his ass. And not just because it’s so worth covering.”

“Groping, fondling…” Marcie puts in, dodging Ben’s pull on her hair.

“Amen, sister.” The petite black woman, who has amazing biceps definition, enough to compete with Jessica, beams. “If we get into any trouble, I have my girl Kate on speed dial over there to back me up. Of course, now I have two of them.” She nods in my direction. “Anna was pretty kickass in Van Helsing. She kept up with Hugh, big time.”

“You know it, girlfriend!” I say as Dana and I go for a fist bump.

Marcie is completely badass and sexy as hell in her Selene get-up of latex pants, corset, and a gun strapped to her thigh. She wears a black wig to match Kate’s hairstyle and has done the makeup accordingly to enhance her vivid eyes and lush, glossy mouth. She wears the contacts that turn her eyes that ethereal blue-grey. The effect is completely preternatural.

“A little less docile than Frank’s female victims,” she muses, running her hand up Ben’s thigh, “But I think he prefers it that way.”

“You bet your sweet ass,” Ben said, capturing the hand and bringing it to his lips, taking a not-so-gentle nip at her knuckles with those impressive fangs. “The more you fight, the harder I take you down, brat.”

“You can try.”

My attention shifts to Rachel at last. She’s in blue velvet, a dress tailored to cling perfectly to her lush figure. The deep neckline, tight sleeves and draped hips turn her into a Venus. The skirt flares out below the knees to show a slashed black lining. Her neck is bare and her blonde hair is swept up. In fact, as I look around, I realize none of the women are wearing necklaces or the collars I know they each have, a gift and binding to their respective Masters. The reasons are quite clear. No woman in her right mind would want to impede the fangs of these men reaching their intended target.

I can’t figure out who Rachel is supposed to be, but she’s dressed to be ravished, consumed, and Jon looks ready to devour. Which I realize is the point and the costume. When she notes my puzzlement, she nods, confirming it.

“I’m a vampire’s servant,” she says simply. “Wearing what he desires, ready to provide him blood…or whatever else he needs, when he needs it.”

“Well, Rachel,” I say, “you absolutely make the most beautiful vampire’s servant. I’m sure your Master”—I look at Jon out of the corner of my eye and find him smiling—“is very pleased with you. Your costume makes me think about a book I read recently, Taken by a Vampire, by Joey W. Hill. She writes the most exquisite stories about vampires and their servants. Taken has a servant named Niall. He is a 300 year old sexy-as-hell Scot who likes to wear kilts. Not a lot underneath those kilts, you know.” I grin as I say that last sentence.

“Love her books,” Lucas says, shocking me, but his eyes glint with humor. “And I haven’t read a single one of them.” He glances down at Cass. “But every time she does, I reap the benefits. I’ve been thinking we should send Ms. Hill some kind of gift. Chocolate, a Jaguar, a house in the Bahamas…”

“I happen to be a friend of Ms. Hill’s,” I reply, “and I know that that she has a fondness for Chris Hemsworth. You know, that delicious Aussie actor that plays the Marvel character Thor in the movies? Maybe you could arrange to have a Jaguar parked in the driveway of a house somewhere in the Bahamas where Chris would be waiting for her, covered in chocolate….” I can barely contain my laughter.

“Max.” Savannah reaches over the seat, lightly touching Max’s shoulder. “There’s a package store up ahead. I need to stop and pick up a hostess gift. Athena particularly likes Patron.”

The limo driver nods. “I’ll get it. How much, Mrs. Kensington?”

“A pint. She deserves a gallon for putting on this shindig, but that’s a little overblown to present at the door.”

“We could always have a keg delivered around back. It would give Dale an excuse to escape,” Lucas puts in with a grin. “SEALs tend to like to supervise and inspect all sealed packages.”

“As helpful as that is,” Savannah said dryly, “I don’t think they sell Patron in kegs.”

“Will any of Dale’s SEAL friends be there?” Dana asks, a mischievous grin crossing her face.

“I think you better become a lot less interested in that.” Peter gives her knee a squeeze.

“Just looking out for Rachel. She has a thing for SEAL booty too. She’s always checking out Max’s—”

“Don’t get me into trouble.” Rachel aims a kick across the aisle and connects, earning a yelp from Dana.

“I don’t look at it any more than anyone else. Plus, Janet said we could look as much as we wanted, as long as we didn’t touch.”

“We?” Lucas echoes, slanting a narrow look at his wife. “Matt, I think we need to end these monthly girl get-togethers.”

“As if you could,” Dana snorts.

“I think it’s time to change the subject,” Savannah interjects. “Before Max’s ears get any redder.”

Dana leans over Peter, putting a knee in his lap so she can stretch out and put her hands on their driver’s ears. “Yep. They’re warm. Ouch.” Peter lands a solid smack on her pert, lifted bottom in the tight leather and seats her firmly back beside him again.

“Behave, Sergeant,” he said.

Max pulls over with a look of relief, though I see resigned amusement tugging at his distracting mouth. It’s obvious how fond he is of everyone in the limo, but particularly the women so often in his charge. I notice he doesn’t volunteer the information I’m sure he already knows, that one of Dale’s friends would in fact be there as my escort. He’s leaving it to me to share that little tidbit with the women when the time is right.

Several of the males, including Peter, Jon and Ben, opt to get out, Peter and Jon wanting to make some purchases for later and Ben to stretch his legs and advise them. Though he’s apparently laid off his alcohol consumption since last I saw him, he’s still their go-to guy for the best choices in that department. I decide to get out as well, thinking that Lisa and I might like to have a late night glass of wine when we get back to the hotel. We’ll probably go through a whole bottle, just discussing the limo ride.

As I get out, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. In this company, I’m not concerned about the seedy location or NOLA’s more colorful characters, but when I glance that way, I find my gaze caught. My first thought is this man is not seedy in the least, but he is totally, in-all-the-right-ways dangerous. Glancing back at the limo, I catch Marcie’s eye through the limo window that she’s lowered and direct her attention that way. She follows my glance, and her own eyes widen. She speaks inside the limo and several other female faces appear as they lean forward for a better look.

Squatting against the brick wall of the building, the man is wearing faded jeans that fit in all the right ways and a snug T-shirt that etches out a powerful upper body. His tousled dark hair, stubbled jaw and intense midnight blue eyes complete the picture. As we exit the vehicle, his attention moves to us, and I recognize the expression of a male used to evaluating threats. I also note it seems like he’s guarding the alleyway entrance.

I’m not surprised to see he immediately attracts the attention of the males who have emerged from the car, because they’re the type of men who also stay aware of threats. There are the expected glances toward me to determine my location, the only woman out of the car, but Marcie steps out, as if she anticipates a threatening situation as well. Ben shoots her a look, which she ignores. The stranger shifts his gaze to her, takes a good long look and whistles. “Nice costume, Selene.”

“See,” Marcie tells Ben. “He’s not a threat. He watches movies.”

Peter snorts at that, but he’s touched Matt’s shoulder, and nods in a significant way toward the male. It’s then I see what Peter is pointing out. As the man in jeans straightens to his feet, it’s obvious that under his battered bomber jacket, he also has a gun.

It’s not only the men who are sharp-eyed. I hear Savannah say something, and then Max has emerged from the car.

Though he steps into a position to handle any threat that requires weapons, I realize Matt is the one positioned at the tip of the phalanx. He holds the gaze of the other man with his measuring dark eyes, two predators gauging intent.

At that moment, another male emerges from the alley. Slightly taller and leaner, but there’s a wave of danger coming from him that honestly eclipses every one present, and that says a lot, given the formidable display of testosterone on both sides. It’s clear the two men are together, though, from the way the other man doesn’t even turn, as if he feels him coming up behind him. When the new arrival adjusts his duster, I see a flash of steel. Did I just see…a sword? To hell with grabbing the wine. I’m going to need a bottle of that Patron for later instead.

While I’m not sure if it’s reassuring or not, the blue-eyed male doesn’t seem overly concerned by anything happening. He’s now noticed my costume and grins. “Two Kates. Any man’s fantasy.” He nudges the man in the duster. “You know, Selene does her kickass vampire thing in corset and heels. Way more impressive than you. Just like Ginger Roger says.”

The male in the duster rolls his eyes, but then the one with blue eyes turns his attention to the sword Peter has in the back harness. His mouth quirks. “Does it unsheathe, or has Hasbro pussied out and made it so it’s only for show, afraid a kid might hack himself to death with plastic?”

Peter nods coolly toward the other male. “He shows me his, I’ll show you mine.”

“Mine is not for show,” the taller male says. He meets Matt’s gaze then, and his hand closes over his companion’s broad shoulder. “Our business here is concluded. We are no threat to you and yours.”

“Yeah. You’re not.” Ben interjects. Though I don’t think he’d intended it, in the show of teeth that often happens when males are facing off, he reveals the fangs. Perhaps because he’s not consciously doing it, it actually comes off impressively scary.

The male in jeans merely blinks. “You tangle with me, Drac, you’ll get your pretty clothes dirty.”

“Ben,” Matt says, putting a quelling hand on his lawyer’s shoulder, in a manner similar to the way the other male has restrained his own companion, except for one key component. The other man still has his hand on the man in the bomber jacket, and I’m almost sure there’s a level of intriguing sexual intimacy. I hear him murmur the male’s name. “Gideon.”

Watching this Gideon and his male companion interact together has male/male fantasy written all over it, at least for me. I could use a napkin, tissue—possibly even a drop cloth—because I have a feeling I’m drooling all over myself.

The mild reproof seems to rein back the blue-eyed male’s predilection for poking an angry bear, but he glances at the one in the duster. “C’mon, it’s near Halloween. Show him yours. It’ll be fun.”

The dark-eyed one gives him an exasperated look, but then his lips part. In that moment, it feels like a cold wind sweeps across the sidewalk. His eyes seem to grow…darker. I know it’s my imagination, it must be, because the whites disappear. But the fangs are really what catch my attention and I find myself forgetting to breathe.

“Did they just…grow?” Marcie whispers it to me, her eyes widening as the man in faded jeans grins. He gives Ben a small salute.

“Amateurs,” he sneers. Then he and the other male are gone, disappearing into the alleyway. Everyone stands for a moment, not entirely sure what’s just happened. Max moves forward to the alley entrance, goes a few steps in, backed up by both Peter and Ben. All three return with puzzled looks.

“They’re gone,” Max reports to Matt. “No doors or exits, but they’re gone.”

“Fuck, it’s probably some of those Anne Rice nuts,” Ben says.

“No doubt. Let’s get our booze and go.” Matt directs them to make their purchases, but all of them stay watchful until they’re back in the car. Ben pulls Marcie down on his lap, giving her a hard kiss and a stern look.

“I’m never going to teach you to behave, am I?”

“Not if you need backup.” She puts her arms around him, snuggling down in his lap. She stretches her legs out so they’re braced against Dana’s thigh, and Dana gives her booted feet a fond squeeze.

“That goes for all of us, you bunch of Neanderthals,” the petite Blade sidekick says. “If Savannah hadn’t told Max to get out, you would have been bringing a plastic sword to a gunfight.”

Peter’s brow furrows. “It looked like he was carrying a katana.”

“Shades of Adrian Paul. There can be only one…” Cass intones, setting off a wave of laughter, easing the tensions of the past few moments.

Shortly thereafter, we’re pulling into the plantation’s driveway. The house is alive with lights, a party well underway.

“Overprotective, chivalrous,” Savannah murmurs to her husband, but there is a smile in her voice as she looks up at the man she loves.

“Sexist, caveman. I know.” He flashes the fangs at her. “But you wouldn’t have your creatures of the night any other way.”

“Savannah, I have to agree with Matt on this one.” I say it with a smile as I look around at everyone. “The night is young and the party is just getting started. As Frank Langella says in Dracula: ‘The night is made to enjoy life and love’, and that is my wish for all of you tonight, and every night to come, whether or not you have your fangs on.’”

I am saluted with various wine glasses and chocolate strawberries, and a host of fond looks. And on that note, Max opens the door. As he takes my hand to help me out of the limo, I suddenly hear all the K&A men say, “Delilah.” When I turn my head to look at them, they’ve all bared their fangs. In unison, they exclaim, “We vwant to drink your blood!”

A huge smile crosses my face and laughter fills the limo. As we disembark, I already know this will be the best “Howl”oween Ball ever!