Her eyes darted from the interior of the car to the little blue box he held.
“Oh yes.” She liked everything about this man.
She slid onto the passenger seat and he shut the door, taking the box of macarons with him and placing it on his lap as he got in and revved the engine. A pulse of his jaw momentarily switched the playful man over to focus. Certainly he had a dark side that he seemed to guard as precisely as he ordered his home. The heart was a home, after all.
“Want a sip? If I had two cup holders, I’d have picked you up a cup.” He handed her a paper coffee cup and shifted into gear.
The espresso was dark and commanding, much like Rook. Verity sipped the bitter brew while the crushed-fruit Alfa Disco glided through the city as if on air.
Settled into the leather seat that was as soft and buttery as she’d guessed, she observed her dashing host from the side. So intriguing, that tuft of gray hair above his ear. Immortals tended to age slowly. How long had he lived?
A furrow in his brow made her wonder if he concentrated too intently when driving. Cool, calm, yet ultra-aware. A hunter to the core. She wanted to reach over and trace the triangle of stubble that underlined his mouth, but instead she curled her fingers into her palm.
“What?” he suddenly asked after they’d driven ten minutes. He turned, navigating the car into an ill-lit underground lot. “You’ve been staring at me since we left your place. Do I have my shirt on inside-out?”
No, but if he had, then he’d have an excuse to remove it and give her a look at what she felt sure were sexy abs. The shirt in question stretched snugly across his pecs and about his biceps.
“Is this normal business practice for the Order of the Stake?” she wondered as he stopped the car and dashed around the front to open her door.
She stepped out. “Inviting witches into headquarters?” she reiterated. “It feels sneaky to me.”
“We’re not being sneaky. Just clandestine.”
“Mmm, clandestine appeals.”
“Everything about you appeals, Verity.” He nudged her hair with his nose as he tucked a kiss behind her ear. Stepping back and pressing his palms together as if to remind himself to keep his distance at work, he then said, “It is rare an outsider is invited into the inner sanctum, so to speak. So forget everything you see inside, will you?”
“Or you’ll have to kill me?” she joked, handing him the espresso as he led her toward an elevator.
“I don’t kill witches.”
She wanted to trust that statement but could never get beyond the distinct scent of burning flesh reminiscent of her mother’s death.
“But you’ve killed female vampires?” She followed him into the elevator.
He tilted his head at her, his eyes seeking but probably not seeing what he wanted to see. He couldn’t read her? Good.
“On occasion I’ve had to stake a woman,” he finally said. “It’s never easy. But my job, first and foremost, is to protect humans, and I do it no matter the costs.”
She nodded. The man was a killer, and she didn’t want to get on his bad side. But only a vampire could do that. She hoped.
The elevator doors slid open to a limestone-walled hallway. It appeared as though it had been carved from the stone beneath the city, much like the hundreds of miles of labyrinths that coiled under Paris.
“Cozy,” she commented, following Rook’s sure strides past a few steel doors that looked out of place nestled within the stone walls. The air was humid, the light thin. “What’s above?”
“Don’t ask me to reveal the exact location of this place,” he said over a shoulder. “I probably should have blindfolded you.”
“You had me at clandestine escapades, but I’ll swing for the blindfold, too.”
She walked right into his embrace. The man slid his mouth along her jaw, and at her ear he whispered, “That can be arranged. But not here.”
“Of course, not at your place of business. Don’t worry. You can trust me to keep a closed mouth about this visit,” she said.
She tapped the blue box, and the knight swung out of the embrace and into a stride. Verity picked up her steps to keep his pace. And to keep the box in eyesight.
Excitement scurried through her system. She had been invited into the inner sanctum! There was something cool about that. A bit like playacting the spies she’d seen in movies. Too bad the man didn’t keep a blindfold in his desk drawer. A little kink never hurt anyone.
Rook arrived at a door. “Ready?”
So much unsaid in that word. An invitation to much more than was exposed on the surface of the sultry look he cast her.
“Always.” And that was a yes to both helping him and the lascivious deeds his eyes promised. “Anything I see while I’m here will go to the grave with me. Promise.”
He spread his hand before her chest, as if to touch, then did not. Must have remembered he couldn’t read her. “I believe you. My office.”
He opened the door and gestured her inside. Expecting hi-tech cyber décor with blinking lights and secret passkeys, Verity let out a sigh of disappointment as she entered the room. It was plain and spare, much like his home, with only a marble-topped desk and a few ancient weapons hung on the limestone walls. Not a retinal-eye-reading device in sight, nor a green laser security beam threatening to cut her off at the knees should she make the wrong step.
“Collected over the years?” she asked and tapped the cold iron spike protruding from a mace. The tip of it was blunted, no doubt from repeatedly connecting to stone or perhaps skull.
“Yes, and used in battle more than a few times.”
She imagined Rook swinging the mace at a vampire’s head, and then—no, she didn’t want to consider the gory details. Besides, beheading a vampire wasn’t always the trick to ending its life. The heart had to burst to guarantee sure death.
Rubbing her palms over her sweater skirt, at Rook’s direction she took a seat in the office chair, while he stood beside her and booted up the computer. Tilting her head closer to his chest, she picked up his tobacco and peaches scent. Wonder if she could lick that delicious scent off his skin? She would certainly like to try. And she’d start…there, just under his jaw where it formed a square corner of his face.
“Verity?”
Had he said something to her while she’d been imagining dancing her tongue over his body?
“It’s yours.” He placed the box on the desk next to the mouse pad. “Thank you.” He winked.
“Always willing to help. Uh, for macarons, of course.”
“Of course. You’ll find we have a few photos. Some vamps photograph well enough, but many do not, so there are sketches mixed in with the photos. Click the right arrow
