in her life. Well, no matter. She’d never see him again.
She made her way straight home instead of heading to the office first—she was too shaken, and she could work from home. As the stranger had bade her, she was more cognizant of her surroundings than she had been. She couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was following her—or at the very least watching her.
No, she couldn’t shake that sensation, but as she reached the lobby door of her apartment building and slid gratefully inside, she realized that since she had run into stranger number two, she hadn’t been scared at all.
Chapter Two
Zachariah Novak wrapped himself in the shadows that dusted the corners of Jazlyn Adams’ small apartment. She was nervous—not only could he smell the light champagne scent that the nerves added to her blood but he had also watched her as she had sagged against her door once she’d thrown the deadbolt.
She would discover his presence soon enough, and it would frighten her. He was sorry for that, but he could not have this conversation with her anywhere else except, perhaps, his own home. The council was evil and had ears in unexpected places.
He waited while she paced a bit, raking her fingers through her tousled, long chestnut hair. He studied her intently as she made a sandwich of stale bread and what appeared to be some kind of pig meat, noting that she picked at the sandwich but didn’t actually ingest much.
When she finally threw her makeshift meal in the trash and stretched her arms above her head, Zachariah had to struggle to hold back a moan. She was a petite woman, yet he could see strength in the graceful curve of her back. The movement caused her small breasts to press against the thin cotton of her T-shirt, and he wanted to envelop them with his hands.
He could just imagine her in his playroom, restrained against the wall, her breasts naked, the soft creamy skin flushed from his attentions. He felt his cock begin to rise at the very thought.
With her toffee-colored, almond-shaped eyes, her silky hair and her lithe little body, not to mention the golden cream of her skin and that unexpected little scattering of freckles across her nose, Jazlyn Adams was a very attractive woman. He wanted her, had wanted her since the first time he’d set eyes on her—there was no denying that. What he didn’t know was whether having her in the way that he wanted would entice her to support his cause or send her screaming into the night.
Jazlyn had that feeling again. Unlike the icy prickles that she had experienced at the crime scene, though, this felt warm and soft, like a massage with heated oil, on the back of her neck.
She wasn’t sure what made her look up—she didn’t hear anything, didn’t see even a whisper of movement. But she did look up from the notes that she had scribbled in her little notepad, and there he was, four feet in front of her, big and bold and beautiful.
Though her heart leaped, she didn’t shriek as she had earlier. She stood abruptly, her muscles moving before her brain had given them consent. Her pencil was clutched tightly in her palm—she figured she could at least take out an eye with it.
“Get out.” The words were the ones that she would have spoken to anyone who didn’t belong in her apartment, but she found that she had trouble putting any force behind the words.
The man in front of her was huge, yes, six and a half feet of rock solid muscle. He also looked dangerous, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that with him she was safe.
That was a feeling, though. Her brain had an entirely different take on things.
“Out!” The man hadn’t moved—not even blinked an eye. Jazlyn waited a heartbeat, assessing the situation.
If he’d wanted to overpower her, he could have done so already, when she’d been caught off guard. It didn’t mean she was safe, but it put a different spin on things.
“Okay.” Deliberately she sat, though she kept the pencil clutched tightly in one hand. With her free hand, she picked up the bottle of beer she’d been drinking. The inch or so that was left was warm and unappealing, but she drank it anyway, feigning nonchalance. “If you won’t leave, tell me what you want. And then go, or I’ll kick your ass.”
To his credit, the giant didn’t laugh at her. This was good, because though she was half his size, she was stronger than she looked. She had no hope in hell of overpowering him, but she could put up one hell of a fight.
“I am Zachariah Novak.” He waited, as if expecting her to have some sort of reaction to the news. She raised an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue, but he simply stared at her, impassive.
“That’s...nice?” She wished it wasn’t quite so nice, actually. He was big and scary and in her apartment when he had no right to be, and her traitorous hormones didn’t care a whit.
“You know nothing of your ancestry, Jazlyn Adams?” The curiosity that had driven her to become a reporter leaped at the tantalizing tidbit, but she refused to give the stranger the satisfaction of being right.
“I know plenty about it, weird guy. Half Chinese, half French mother. English father. Not that it’s important.” Damn it, now she wanted to know what he was talking about.
No. It didn’t matter. What mattered was letting this man say what he needed to say and then getting him the heck out of her apartment.
“Well.” If she wasn’t mistaken, she had insulted him by calling him weird. He looked wounded enough that she felt compelled to apologize and bit her tongue instead.
“You will write about the woman who was murdered this evening.” He wasn’t asking a question, so she didn’t do any more than nod.
“There is more to the story than you could ever know. More than your media colleagues will be able to find out.” He inclined his head just the slightest bit, and Jazlyn bit her lip, thinking that such a small thing should in no way be so sexy.
“And?” The last of the beer was gone, and she set the bottle on the clutter littering the table with a sharp wooden clack.
She was intrigued, damn it. There wasn’t a reporter alive who wouldn’t jump at the thought of an exclusive.
But an exclusive what, exactly?
“I want you to write about it.”
It was the stillness, she realized. The lack of movement was what made him seem so dangerous. It spoke of control—deadly control.
“Why me?” Still feigning nonchalance, and still clutching the pencil in her hand, Jazlyn rose from her seat and perched a hip on the edge of the table. Her palms were sweating, and she ran her fingers through her hair to dry them.
For the first time since she had met him, Zachariah smiled fully, amused at her words. “You have said that you know all that you need to know about your ancestry, so I think we will leave that unanswered for now.”
Damn it. Jazlyn scowled as she realized that she had boxed herself into a corner. Her insurmountable stubbornness wouldn’t let her take back her words, however.
“Well, you have to give me something to go on. Right now you’re asking me to write a story about nothing.” Zachariah inclined his head at her words, conceding the point.
“Very
