Louis had no idea why she'd called to request a meeting, but the urgency in her voice made him wary. And the anticipation in his mood made him equally concerned.
Just a tool, he continued to remind himself. That's all Stacy Kimball could be to him. Her intelligence, her talent were meant for him to take advantage of, not admire. Experience had taught him to keep his distance. Set her on the path and let her own curiosity lead the way. A woman of her clever initiative couldn't resist the journey. His hope was that it would end where it would do him the most good.
But then Stacy Kimball arrived, and as she skimmed off her coat, he was staggered by what she revealed. A dull ache began, an impatient throb below his belt. A twin rumble of need and want growled to be recognized and appeased. He would do neither. He could do neither without compromising all.
But whatever else he was, he was still a man.
And she was a scientist. What kind of scientist looked like a Venus and dressed like a harlot? It was his experience that one didn't advertise what wasn't for sale. And Stacy Kimball looked like a red light special in the seduction aisle.
A thick French braid captured most of her honey-gold hair. Wisps escaped to frame her face with flirty softness. Blue gray eyes were kohled to the envy of a Middle Eastern concubine, the defining smudges lending a smoky sensuality to even the most innocent stare. Her mouth, so wide and lush and tempting, appeared just kissed by glossy color. And her high, glamorous cheekbones displayed the tint of a maiden's blush.
And blush, she should have, when observing herself in the mirror. The sleek inviting line of her long neck led to a seemingly endless downward visual plunge where skillfully undone buttons directed the eye into an amazing curve of cleavage. Fragrant shadows beckoned between gorgeously soft contours. Drowning there would be a man's sweetest fantasy. Until his gaze dropped to the tight skin of her black vinyl skirt. It barely topped her thighs then tormented the imagination with a zipper sketching up one sleek hip. In his raging imagination, he could feel the metal tab between his fingers, hear the rasp of paradise opening, revealing inch after inch of firm, nylon-clad leg.
He locked his hands behind his back, laced fingers going pale with tension.
What could the woman be thinking to present herself in such a fashion? Was it her purpose to distract him? If so, she'd succeeded brilliantly. Did she want him to forget that a razor-sharp mind lay beneath the tousled hair? That within her gloriously ripe breasts beat a blind ambition? He'd read her dossier. He knew she hadn't slept her way up through the scientific community. Her affairs were outside the field, brief, puzzlingly inappropriate, and severed with clinical precision. She never looked back.
What made a beautiful, passionate creature like Stacy Kimball settle for cheap, screw-top wine when she should have been bathing in champagne?
It wasn't his business to wonder. But he had to wonder what business brought her.
Then she hit him between the eyes with it.
Rodmini.
Protective instincts that had kept him alive for centuries surged to the forefront, demanding that he take swift, unwaveringly brutal action to guard his secret from further exposure. Exquisite agony pierced through his gums as necessity and need combined. He'd been hungry for her from the very first, and now he had an excuse to lose control.
He could smell her fear entwined intoxicatingly with her femininity. Expectation brought the anticipated taste of her to whet his lips. His muscles coiled with predatory intention, until logic slapped the urges from him.
If she knew who and what he was, why was she here?
Curiosity reined in his hunger and quieted his defensive panic. Why place her life in peril unless the risk was worth the potential gain?
What did she want from him?
Stacy saw her own end in the cauterizing fire consuming his gaze. She saw her death in the abrupt angles and hollows that altered his handsome looks into something lethally gaunt and ravenous. She'd awakened the demon residing within the man, and now she would pay the price.
Suddenly, even as she struggled to hold her ground against the expected attack, the danger lessened. The phosphorescent gleam extinguished. The sharp bones of his face softened. And he looked at her with a suspicious intensity while she shivered in realization of how close she'd come to death.
"Where did you hear that name?"
Relief made her cocky once more.
"My sources prefer to remain anonymous. I'm sure you can understand why."
Out of respect for her intelligence, he didn't try to spin some reasonable explanation as either a lie or a mistake to wave away the information she possessed. Instead, he studied her, gaze piercing and penetrating, in search of a different sort of truth.
"What do you plan to do with what you know?"
"That depends upon you. May I still call you Louis?"
His mouth tightened into a fierce smile as he made an affirming gesture with his hand. "Why not?"
Stacy wasn't fooled by his almost cavalier manner. He was a dangerous animal facing the confines of an unpleasant and potentially deadly trap. Only his curiosity held him at bay. But just in case his protective instincts got the better of him, she eased the small silver cross around from where it had dangled at the back of her neck. It flashed as it caught the room's muted light.
His gaze riveted to the crucifix that had more significance to him than to her. The sight of it took a huge bite out of his good will as his stare winced away. His nostrils flared, and his breath exhaled in a soft hiss. He spoke with a cutting tone.
"What do you want? Money? A promotion? Your own company? Name your blackmail."
"I want your blood."
)
