and made it impossible for her to relax because her entire body hummed with desire. Tracing the inner curve of her lower lip with her tongue, she tapped a fingernail against the crystal wine goblet.
“You like quinoa?” he asked over a shoulder.
“I’ll like anything you offer.” Including a tickling kiss from that sexy mustache. “It’s a treat to have a man cook for me.”
“I’ve been cooking for myself for centuries. I hired a chef for a few years in the early twentieth century but decided I prefer doing things for myself.”
“You like the control,” she guessed.
He nodded, conceding with a guilty grin.
“That’s the difference between the two of us,” she said. “I prefer people doing things for me.”
“It pleases me to do this for you.” His wink caught her as if a hand about her heart clasped ever so gently.
Verity swore under her breath. The man was sexy. But she’d only just met him. Cool the fire, and calm the jets. She didn’t need to trust him at this stage, but learning a little more about him would prove wiser than leaping blindly into lust. And after her last disastrous relationship, she was skittish.
By all means, she wanted to help him find his soul. Because—and this was just occurring to her now—if this hunter could find the vampire who may have stolen her necklace containing his soul, then naturally, he’d slay the longtooth. Then, if for some strange reason the spell she’d worked last night hadn’t been effective, she would have a backup reassurance that she’d never transform to vampire.
Not that she needed backup. Her spells were always effective.
She wandered over to the stove and peeked around Rook’s arm to inspect his creation. Bright chopped vegetables glistened in the frying pan. Scents of lemon, pepper and rosemary teased her nose.
“Looks delicious. Mind if I snoop about while you
create?”
“Go ahead. The bathroom is through the bedroom if you need it.”
“Thanks.”
As she strolled into the living room, her heels clicked on the parquet flooring. A vast ballroom-sized area, it was sparely furnished with only a massive turquoise velvet couch and a sleek glass coffee table that harbored a laptop and precise stacks of mail and books. Even the man’s clutter was controlled.
Along the far wall stood various large artifacts that drew her interest. A marble sculpture of a nude woman stretched backward in an impossible bend intrigued Verity enough to glide her fingers along the cool white curve of her torso. The creation felt as cool as Rook’s skin. Was he cold because of the demon within? Had to be. She studied the smooth stone. It had been carved especially for Rook. She knew it as she knew things about living, breathing people. It was that thing she had about knowing a person’s place in this world.
Touching the small brass knobs on the unstained apothecary’s cabinet next to the sculpture, she wondered at what might be inside the dozens of tiny drawers but respectfully did not pull any open.
Her heels clicked on the spotless wood floor as she crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Seine. Although the sun was setting, the gray sky was illuminated from all the unnatural light that burst forth from a city that never slept. Across the river, lights inside the four- and five-story buildings formed a pixilated artwork against the cityscape.
Verity performed a twirl right there because she felt light, despite the events of the previous evening. She didn’t want to think about that darkness. Tonight she would enjoy spending time with a handsome man.
Her mother would turn over in her grave.
“Just in it for the adventure,” she reminded herself, knowing her staunchly warned heart would never allow her to actually fall for a hunter. Any man, for that matter. Because just when she began to let down her guard and welcome in love, she had gained a stalker.
She walked on light feet to a door impressed with rococo carved wood scrollwork. She decided it must lead into Rook’s bedroom. Glancing over a shoulder to ensure he was still in the kitchen, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
A bedroom was a person’s thumbprint of their personality, and what an interesting study of the stoic knight. This was his sanctum.
Grays and blues designed the room’s color scheme, with the parquet floor painted a soft gray, much like in her attic bedroom. Calming and serene. Verity released her breath and then inhaled the subtle blend of cinnamon and myrrh. Exotic scents for an equally exotic man.
She decided suddenly that Rook was chocolate yuzu. She had a tendency to assign macaron flavors to the people she knew. Crisp and delightful on the outside, with a surprising tang on the inside.
Smiling at her assessment, she wandered inside the room. Again, little furniture, as if to collect possessions would somehow clutter the man’s vita. She liked that. Some who lived many centuries tended to collect hoards of material things. This home showed restraint. Control was certainly Rook’s mien.
A large turquoise velvet tufted ottoman—must be a match to the couch—sat near the window. Next to that a cloth yoga mat was spread out before an altar that featured a stone Buddha with tumescent belly and a gleeful grin.
“Disciplined,” she further assessed the man. “Yet also open, and…” her eyes fell over the bed “…so sensual.”
The middle of the room offered a peek beyond the tight-fisted control. A king-size bed sat beneath a fall of turquoise fabric tied up to allow entry to the innermost sanctuary. It resembled a harem hotspot, a post where illicit and exquisite pleasures could be had.
Verity tapped her lips. Such fantasies she could entertain beneath that gossamer fabric.
Keeping to the wall that hugged the living room, she tiptoed over to the wardrobe. Drawing her fingers along the steel front, she decided the modern-styled piece felt out of place in the room. A hinged door was open a crack.
Chewing the corner of her lip, she vacillated between whether or not to peek inside. She hadn’t done so out in the living room, but here, so far from the kitchen…?
She slid a finger between the crack in the wardrobe, and the heavy steel door glided toward her to reveal not clothes but—
Bloody Hecate, it’s an armory.
Must be the weapons he used when engaged in hunting. Dozens of titanium stakes were lined along the back of the wardrobe. Pistols and a crossbow and an assortment of blades. She marveled over the throwing stars she’d only seen used in movies. Ninja stuff. Did he use all this in the fight against vampires?
Daring to draw her fingers along the cool column of one of the stakes, she took it and held it, finding it was much lighter than expected. A flashlight was twice as heavy. Careful with it, she knew that the actual stake part came out of one end with some kind of release mechanism—
“You take that snooping thing seriously, don’t you?”
Startled, Verity squeezed the titanium column. The stake sprang out, jerking her arm back to hit Rook in the chest with her elbow.
