Months he’d been working, slowly but surely, to chip away at that armor, and all he’d gotten was glimpses of a woman whose smile haunted him.
The idea that he’d only seen her the previous night and she might’ve been planning to behere,of all places, made him feel a bit like he was losing his mind.
It occurred to him that he should turn around and continue with his job. It was embarrassing enough to have taken a whole week to track down his prey. He’d never hear the end of it if he reported back that Easton got away because he’d been distracted by a woman he’d been chasing.
The fact that hehadto chase at all would be enough to send Felix into hysterics, which would quickly be followed by more punishment for his failure. He might even be forced to take the little Amauris to The Dolphin Cove, a water park and a franchise where nightmares were made.
But Luis was not in the habit of denying himself anything, and the thought of leaving her in this place, with these people, made him want to claw the walls. Easton could wait. Francesca was worth far more than him, anyway.
His expensive dress shoes didn’t make a sound as he crossed the sitting room. Drawn toward the warm glow of the bedroom, his senses sharpened to the point of a blade aimed squarely at the unsuspecting woman.
In one way, he’d been correct. The primary suite was used as something of a staging area. It just wasn’tEaston’sstaging area.
It was like someone had set off a bomb full of feminine shrapnel in the bedroom. Makeup, heels, dresses in all shapes and colors, and sparkling bits of jewelry were cast hither and yon. And amidst it all, standing with her back to him, was…her.
All of five feet tall, with deliciously round hips and a full bottom, she was dressed in a backless crimson gown that showed off the warmth of her sun-tanned skin. The wings of her shoulder blades gleamed faintly with a barely-visible sheen of shimmery powder as she moved. Honey brown hair was curled and pinned up into an elegant twist. His hungry gaze traced the wisps of hair that curled where her head met her delicate neck. The urge to smooth the tips of his fingers over them and down, following the tendons of her neck to the front of her perfect throat, hammered him with shocking force.
The muscles of his abdomen seized, cramping hard with a violent need. That same raw hunger pulsed in the roof of his mouth in an echo of every slow, deliberate step he took toward her.
He was so damn hungry. After meeting her, synth had lost all flavor. Nothing but her could satisfy him now, and he’d been so, so patient.
Slim arms and soft-looking hands struggled with a zipper on the low back. “This damn thing,” she muttered. “Figures that the only dress you own that happens to fit me also has a zipper made by a sadist. Or an idiot.”
Luis let out a soft exhale as he loomed over her. His eyelids briefly closed. The scent of her was unlike anything he’d experienced before. It was more than sweet. More than sensual. More than everything that had ever made his toes curl.
It was utterly singular, as if the goddess Grim had crafted this woman for him and him alone.
The fact that she stood there, entirely vulnerable and unaware of the predator at her back, was both exhilarating and infuriating. She hadn’t even bothered to glance in the standing mirror to see who she spoke to.
One of his greedy hands lifted. Gently brushing aside her straining fingers, he pinched the tiny zipper and began to slowly draw it up the small of her back.
Leaning in close, he whispered, “This is strike three, sugar.”
Francesca, as fine-boned and flighty as a bird, startled. Her head whipped around. Large brown eyes stared at him with shock through a soft fringe of brown curls.
“You’re not Maxine,” she said, the plum shape of her lips turning down in an adorable frown.
Luis offered her a slow smile. “Nope.”
Suddenly realizing just how close she was to him, his darling little bird hopped back a step, then several more, until she could press herself against one of the bed's tall posts.
“What— what areyoudoing here?” she gasped.
Following her retreat, he flatly informed her, “You’ve lost your mind if you think that’s where this conversation is starting. Why in the gods' names areyouhere, Frankie?”
For a moment she floundered, her lips opening and closing. “I…” She looked away, giving him ample opportunity to examine the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck.
It clearly wasn’t a perfect fit, but the gown was still gorgeous on her. Anything would be. A deep neckline showed off the fullness of her breasts and the delicate arches of her collar bones — neither of which he’d had the pleasure of seeing before now.
Jealousy warred with need. The roots of his fangs pulsed with the desire to make her off-limits to anyone else.
But that wasn’t new. The instinct had always been there, growing stronger with every too-short visit and fleeting peek into her life. It never mattered to him what she looked like, as long as she aimed that smile at him and him alone.
The Francescca he knew wore t-shirts and jeans. Yoga pants, sometimes. Always that damn apron. She didn’t have time for makeup, and he was lucky if he got to see her hair down for once.
Seeing her like this wasn’t just surprising, it sent every alarm in his mind blaring. Something wasn’t right here. Many, many somethings, and not just the obvious.
Finally able to gather herself a little, Francesca took a deep breath before asking in a curious, high-pitched tone, “So… you’re a contestant?