The
thunk
of the plane door opening dragged her eyes forward. Christian was emerging, a spring in his long lean legs as he descended the rolling stairs. He wore a Western jacket with his jeans tonight, plus a white button-down and string tie. As he moved, the shirt stretched taut across the muscles of his chest, but it was his dirt-colored cowboy hat that tipped her pulse into overdrive. He seemed quintessentially male to her, closer to the earth than the average man, more present in his body. His movements conveyed a coiled energy, as if the power that fueled him couldn’t be contained by his flesh. Seeing him like this, so confident and alert, confirmed her earlier assumption that he was a night owl.
When his gaze zeroed in on hers, her throat tightened. Rather than let him guess what he’d done to her, she popped the trunk and stepped out. She worked to make her voice calm.
“You’re right on time,” she said.
He was in front of her sooner than she expected, as if he had the power to travel in the blink of an eye. Also unexpected was the way he took her hand. He didn’t shake it, just clasped it between his own. Even shadowed by the brim of his hat, his coffee eyes seemed to gleam.
“Grace,” he said in his dark, smooth voice, sounding almost glad to see her again.
The feel of his fingers—so long, so cool—caused a hard, quick pulse to flicker between her legs. She remembered those fingers stroking her a bit too well. Maybe he did, too. He cleared his throat and let go. Grace had the sensation that Roy’s arrival saved them both from embarrassment.
“Nice moon,” the older man observed, tipping his head back to take it in. It was a huge, back-rocked crescent, its edges glowing cinematically through what was probably a thin veil of smog.
“Yes,” Grace agreed. “You can stow the luggage in the trunk.” Her eyes rounded at the number of bags the two airline employees were swiftly setting on the ground. She wouldn’t have pegged Christian as a clotheshorse. “The backseat, too, if you need it.”
Christian must have guessed her thoughts. “Roy tends to pack the kitchen sink when we travel.”
“Ha,” Roy retorted, swinging two bags in. “Some of us appreciate our creature comforts.”
Christian’s grin surprised her, not only because it was very white, but because it expressed such fondness for his companion. She wouldn’t have guessed the laconic cowboy liked anyone that much. “We’ll take whatever doesn’t fit,” put in one of the jumpsuits. “All part of FC Air’s door-to-door service.”
“Do you have a card?” Grace asked, impressed by their professionalism. “My boss might want to hire you sometime.”
The jumpsuits laughed as if she’d said something funny. Interestingly, their teeth were as brilliant as Christian’s. Whatever toothpaste they all were using, Grace wanted stock in it.
“Your boss knows how to reach us,” said the taller of the men. “Whether she has what it takes to hire us remains to be seen.”
“We should go,” Christian said, before Grace could ask what he meant by this.
“Of course.” Grace tried to conceal her flustered state. “You must be tired from traveling.”
Without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment, Christian claimed the front seat next to her. When he wedged his shoulders across the corner to get comfortable, his legs were a good deal longer than Miss Wei’s. Grace’s nerves twitched hotly as his knee bumped her thigh. More than a little rattled, she sent up a prayer that she wouldn’t stall the engine on the first try. Thankfully, the V-8 came through for her. Her relief sighed out as the car roared to life.
“Miss Wei leased a bungalow for you at the Chateau Marmont,” she informed her passengers, once they were safely on the nearly empty Hollywood Freeway.
“A bungalow?”
The growling question in Christian’s voice ran through her in a long shiver. “It’s a little house on the hotel grounds. The Chateau is known for its discretion. Lots of big stars stay there when they want to keep what they’re up to quiet. Humphrey Bogart. Lauren Bacall. Which isn’t to suggest you have anything to hide.”
Christian laughed through his nose and slouched lower. “The thought never crossed my mind.”
Grace glanced at him. His long arms were stretched along the window and the back of the seat, creating a blatant come-get-me sprawl. The camera wasn’t the only thing that was going to eat him up. Grace returned her eyes to the road but not soon enough. Her temperature had taken a noticeable tick upward.
“I think you’ll find the bungalow comfortable,” she continued, hoping her flush didn’t show. “It has two bedrooms and a kitchen. The fridge is stocked with staples, and there’s maid service. Oh, I rented a projector, too. You might want to watch the movies I left for you.” That conversational gambit exhausted, Grace’s fingers tensed on the steering wheel. When she checked the rearview mirror, Roy was staring out the side window, clearly not planning to chime in. “Miss Wei tells me you’re having someone drive your car up here.”
“And my Harley.”
“Good.” Grace swallowed. “That’s good. And naturally I’ll be available to drive you wherever you need till then.”
“Jack of all trades, are you?” This time Durand didn’t growl; he purred, causing little hairs on her arms to rise.
“That’s me,” she said too brightly, fixing her attention on the taillights in front of her. “I’ve scheduled an appointment for you at four tomorrow, with the manager of Mattson’s. I know you brought your own clothes, but we’ll want to make sure you have the right things for parties and dealing with the press. Then, at six, the hairstylist from the film will start working on your new look.”
“You expect me to shop for clothes for
two hours
?”
“However long you like,” Grace said, her hands shifting nervously. “I’m sure the manager will make it go quickly.”
“You’re coming,” Christian said, low and dark. “And that’s not a question. You’ll stay through the whole damn thing.”
“Of course. I’m sure Miss Wei would want me to . . . oversee your makeover.”
Christian snorted and looked out the front window. He was not a Chatty Charlie, that was for sure. They drove in silence, the light traffic whooshing by them on either side. The towering palms that lined the highway stood silvered by moonlight. Determined not to miss their exit, Grace began watching the signs for West Hollywood. Her skin was all over goose bumps with her awareness of the man beside her. To make matters worse, Christian kept stealing looks at her and frowning, as if unsatisfied with her profile.
“You grip that wheel any tighter, Grace, and your fingers are going to snap.”
She didn’t see him move, but suddenly his big hand was on top of hers on the steering wheel. She jumped so badly the car swerved out of their lane.
“Please
,
” she gasped once her lungs recovered. “Don’t touch me while I’m driving.”
Christian pulled his hand back and stared at her. “Fine. I won’t touch you while you’re driving. I was only trying to calm you down.”
“Well, you didn’t.” Grace knew she sounded as truculent as he did, but she couldn’t help herself. She tucked her perfectly brushed hair behind her ear. “I’d also appreciate it if you’d stop staring at me like I’ve grown horns.”
Christian jerked away and muttered something she probably didn’t want to hear. When she snuck a look at him, his jaw was clenched, his eyes gone narrow on the road ahead. Grace blew out a breath and told her nerves to settle.
“Welcome to LA,” his man Roy laughed softly from the backseat.
C
hristian’s temper was still simmering as Grace pulled up to the small bungalow. Heavy greenery surrounded it, and its windows looked well curtained, but Nim Wei’s consideration wasn’t counting for much right then. The queen had spelled Grace so well he couldn’t calm her with his touch, which—despite what Grace apparently believed—was all he had meant to do.
That he’d made the attempt very close to midnight, when his powers were at their height, told him he still couldn’t outmatch his maker when it came to her thralls.
Seeing Grace didn’t intend to get out or even turn off the engine, Christian schooled his face to its usual coolness and went to help Roy retrieve their bags. Despite his desire not to repeat previous mistakes, he couldn’t quite stop himself from pausing outside her door. She cranked down her window and looked up at him warily. He could see her better than a human would have in full daylight: the hectic flush on her cheekbones, the tremor she tried to hide by rolling her soft lips between her teeth. The only way to restrain his craving to lay his palm on her face was to curl his hand into a tight fist.
This urge to be kind to his betrayer was a pattern he was damn well going to break.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow,” she said. “Around three thirty.”
“Fine,” he agreed, though inside he was groaning at the idea. He was out of practice for waking that early. He almost turned to go, but one more impulse took hold of him. Her elbow was braced on the open window, and his hand found its way right beside that warmth. “You’ll be all right tonight? Driving home?”
“Of course I will. I’m used to keeping Miss Wei’s hours.”
She’d already given him the key to the bungalow. Fingering it in his pocket, Christian stepped away from the car.
“Good night,” Grace said. “Good night, Mr. Blunt.”
Roy lifted his hand as she reversed neatly out of the drive.
“Sure is a good-looking gal,” he observed. “And polite. Not that you got a close acquaintance with the niceties.”
“You have something you want to say, Roy?”
“Only that she has you twisted six ways to Sunday.”
“Get bent,” Christian said—rather mildly, by his standards.
Roy chuckled and hefted a pair of bags. “Well,” he said. “You gonna open the door for your human slave?”
Christian chose a curse with a bit more heat. “You watch it, old man. I can make you one anytime.”
The surprise that awaited them inside made Christian glad Grace had driven off. The door opened onto a cozy, softly lit living room. Built-in bookshelves lined the wall to either side of the fireplace. The furniture was comfortably worn, the rugs were faded, and the parquet floor had gone pale in places from foot traffic. A bulky TV cabinet filled one corner, along with the motion picture projector Grace had mentioned.
Rebel Without a Cause
sat atop a stack of film cans—his viewing homework, Christian presumed. That exotic accessory aside, the bungalow looked more home than hotel, complete with knickknacks and old paintings.
None of this was what had him stiffening in shock.
A very attractive young human woman sat in one of the leather wing chairs reading a magazine. What really made her presence noteworthy was that she was dressed in her underthings. Her boned black lace corset, which her slender figure hardly needed, lifted palm-size breasts into tempting mounds. She rose calmly as they entered and set down her
Women’s Wear Daily
, only teetering slightly on her four-inch heels. She was champagne blonde—not naturally, he didn’t think—and her face was painted exquisitely. Under the makeup, her expression was almost as serene as one of his own kind. Despite her slightness, she bore more than a small resemblance to Marilyn Monroe.
“Jayzus,” Roy breathed, which didn’t cause her to bat an eye.
“Hello,” she said in an appealing contralto. “You must be Christian. I’m Nicky from the service.”
“From the service,” Christian repeated, his brain too slow to make sense of this.
“Snacks R Us.” She handed him a card. “Welcome to the twentieth century.”
Christian looked down at the silver-embossed red rectangle. The lettering did indeed say “Snacks R Us,” plus “all employees fully bonded.”
Whatever “bonded” meant to mortals, he knew what it signified to
upyr
. “You’ve been bitten and thralled. You can’t tell other humans who you work for.”
Nicky stroked her tanned human neck, drawing his attention not only to its length but to the faint gold glow of a vampire’s mark. “One of Miss Wei’s senior people runs the agency. You can have a different human every evening, or you can request a favorite. I’m also to tell you that you’re free to hunt in the city as long as you don’t kill or cause trouble. Sex is extra,” she added, “but none of us at the service are averse to that.”
He could tell she wasn’t averse. Her pupils had swelled while she was speaking. Now she dropped her lashes and waited, her hands clasped servilely in front of her. Christian swallowed the saliva that had pooled in his mouth, his fangs half erect already. He knew he ought to accept this offer. He was hungry. He hadn’t fed off anyone since he’d met Grace three nights ago. Hunting would take time in a city he didn’t know. Somehow, though, these good reasons didn’t end up in his answer.
“This is all very efficient, but I prefer to find my own meals.”
“As you wish.” Nicky’s disappointment was apparent but controlled. She hesitated, then pulled a fogged-up silver pen from her cleavage. “Perhaps you’d allow me to write my direct phone number on the card? You can call me, or anyone at the service, anytime if you change your mind.”