“Thank you. But you didn’t come here to look at the house.” She crooked her finger as she backed to the doors. “Are we on liquid lunch today, or just here for some fun?”

“I need blood.” I spread my hands helplessly. “Whatever you’d call that.”

“I’d call it your lucky day.” With a goofy flourish, March pushed open the doors to my left.

I might have envisioned the decor wrong, but I’d been right on the money about the prostitutes. Everywhere I looked, gorgeous men draped themselves over ultramasculine leather furniture. My eyes boggled at the variety. Dark, fair, long-haired or neatly trimmed, some with androgynous bodies, some overly muscled.

“Take your pick,” March said proudly. “These are the feeders.”

“Um…” I gestured to the foyer, where the butler stood with my bag. One of Nathan’s many, stringent rules was “always be prepared.” In my bag I had all the necessities for harvesting blood from a willing donor. I don’t know how I’d planned to find one in case I needed to, but I was definitely prepared.

“I’m not what you would call…traditional,” I told March. Chewing my lip, I scanned each of the men.

The madam laughed. “There’s nothing you can do to shock them.”

“No, I mean, I don’t bite.” I stepped forward and cleared my throat. Many pairs of curious male eyes turned to me. “I’m looking for someone who’s not afraid of needles.”

There was a noticeable shift in the energy of the room. Some of the men looked away, as if they’d become suddenly interested in the walls. The rest looked worried or amused, or a combination of both.

“Nothing kinky,” I assured them. “I just need blood.”

“Why not bite us?” a tall, thin man with model looks asked.

“Excuse me?” March placed her hands on her hips and raked an angry glare over the men. “Do I pay you to question my customers?”

A few of them offered a grudging, “No.”

“I can’t hear you,” March insisted, raising her hand to her ear.

One voice rose above the chorus of resulting answers. “I’ll do it.”

When I found the source of the voice, my stomach leaped into my throat. When I’d said, “Nothing kinky,” I may have lied. The guy was gorgeous, with long blond hair and a tan that would make Icarus weep with jealousy. He was shirtless, and his faded jeans rode low on his hips.

My mouth suddenly dry, I gestured for him to come closer. “What’s your blood type?”

He laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”