wise one of his children. Sort of the calm center amid a storm of fur and trouble.”
“Trouble being the key word in that statement. My brother definitely lives up to his name.”
“Malakai also tells me he’s encouraged you to start a pack?”
“Yes, Dad wants to retire. And we could use a more varied pack where I live. A mixture of families.”
“Always wise to integrate the pack with new blood. So you are married?”
“No, but I’m looking.”
“Heh. I’d introduce you to my granddaughters at the wedding—Trystan’s girls—but no. I don’t want you taking any from my family across the ocean.”
“Thanks. I do have my eye out while I’m in town.”
Rhys patted him on the back and led him back out to the office. “You enjoy the show last night?”
“It was interesting.” If not curious. And a boost to his ego. Until Blyss had shoved him out the door, and then his ego had fallen onto the concrete. “Met a gorgeous woman.”
“Ah? Werewolf?”
“No. Doubt I’ll find such luck so quickly.”
“You two have a date, then?”
“I think we’ve done the date, the first kiss, the— Let’s say it was sweet while it lasted.”
“Parisian women can be baffling. Such pretty baubles to admire, but try to nudge beneath the sparkle and learn them?” Rhys shook his head. “I am thankful for a long and loving relationship with my wife. Dating nowadays would stymie me. People don’t even talk anymore. They text. What is that about?”
Stryke offered him a shrug. He wasn’t much for texting. A long talk and hand-holding were more his style.
“But if you’re looking for a hookup in town,” Rhys continued, “talk to Johnny. He knows a lot of—”
“Vampires aren’t really my style. But thanks, Rhys. I’m going to head out. Unless you’ve more work for me?”
“Not at the moment, but I’m sure I will in a day or two. Thanks for helping out, Stryke. See you at the wedding this weekend.”
On the way home Stryke stopped for a crepe from a food stand across the cobbled street from Notre Dame. He’d been eyeing this stand every day since arrival. Worth the dive into unhealthy. Sickeningly sweet chocolate oozed out around thick slices of banana between the folded crepe.
Bananas were always healthy, right?
He consumed the crepe and wandered in through the lobby of the apartment building. Knocking on the door to the apartment his brother Blade was staying in, he waited, but no answer. Must still be out with the twins.
His parents were likely helping with the wedding stuff. And Kelyn had been serious about seeing the sights. The youngest Saint-Pierre brother had left the building this morning with a map in one hand and his iPod set to a city tour.
Shaking his head in admiration over Blade’s roguish prowess, Stryke headed up to his place. He surfed the television but couldn’t understand French or the Indian-language stations, though the talk shows that emulated the confrontational style so popular in the US were a hoot.
After fifteen minutes all the hair-pulling and shoving annoyed him. Time to head out and explore the city. Maybe he could pick up Kelyn’s scent and join him. He scanned out the window and eyed the row of shops across the river. He’d start there because he was pretty sure one of them was a bookshop.
A knock at the door must be a family member. Expecting a brother or even his mom or dad, Stryke answered the summons and chuffed out his breath at the sight of who it really was.
The sexy siren stood with one arm raised, her hand grasping high on the door frame, while her sinuous body slinked and seduced in red velvet. The dress hugged her from breasts to curvy hips. A party this early in the day? Stryke decided that every day—all day—was a party for this glamour girl.
“Blyss?”
She winked and strode across the threshold, handing him a filmy black scarf. He fumbled with it, not sure whether to scrunch it up and toss it aside or press it to his nose to inhale her scent. He compromised and brushed it over his face as he tossed it aside to land on the kitchen table littered with toast crumbs from a hasty breakfast.
Following the click of her high heels into the living room, which was bare of furnishings, save for a baroque couch and chair set that looked as if it hailed from the eighteenth century, Stryke waited for her to announce her reason for the visit.
Did he need a reason? Hell no.
The woman he’d thought to never see again stood not six feet away from him, looking like a sex goddess wrapped in red. Her dark hair was pinned up again, with a few wispy tendrils drawing his eye directly to her elegant neck. Right there. That was where he really wanted to kiss her.
She turned and crooked her finger at him and he almost lost it right there. But he was cool. Mostly. He got an instant hard-on, though. No fancy suit today, just a T-shirt and loose blue jeans that had gotten remarkably tighter.
“How’d you find where I’m staying?” he asked as he padded up to her and didn’t dare touch her. Yet. She smelled like flowers. And again he got lost in a meadow of blossoms.
“You told me you live above the candy shop. Only one on the island.”
“I didn’t think I’d see you again after that hasty send-off last night.”
“Excuse moi. I sometimes slip out of hostess mode, and then when I realize my guests are untended, I refocus with a vengeance. It’s a thing with me.”
“You often slip out of hostess mode at such gatherings?” Meaning, did she screw strange men in the office much?
Blyss tilted her head and fluttered her lashes.
Did he care what she did with other men? She was here now. She smelled like flowers. Looked like sin. And it was obvious she hadn’t come for a chat.
Stryke pulled her to him in a swift move that married their bodies at hips and chest. He felt her nipples harden beneath the velvet and his hand glided to one breast to squeeze. There was something about a woman intent upon getting exactly what she wanted. And he sensed this flawless piece of female was here on a seek-and-have-sex mission.
He dipped his head to her breasts. The dress was cut low, and he dashed his tongue under the velvet. She gasped and leaned into him, asking for more with her body.
“I hope you’re not busy,” she whispered. “I don’t normally stop by without first calling, but I didn’t have your mobile number.”
Mobile was what the French called the cell phone. He lashed his tongue over her firm breast. “Was only planning on sightseeing. Mmm, Blyss, you are incredible.”
Her hand slid up under his T-shirt, fingernails gently clawing his abs. “And you are très fantastique,
