"Son of a bitch,” she swore suddenly.

She ran to the bathroom and began ripping off her clothes, her sweater first, her bra. Half-naked, she leaned closer to the mirror, holding up her hair and searching her neck for any telltale marks. She was perversely disappointed when she found none, but immediately stripped off her skirt, shimmying it over her hips and down to the floor. She'd read all those books about vampires; there was a big vein in the thigh that some of them were very fond of. She stared at her bare thighs in the mirror and then sat down to look with her own eyes. Nothing. No bite marks of any kind.

Perched on her closed toilet seat in the chilly bathroom, mostly naked, she suddenly felt pretty stupid. If he'd ravished her, why would he have bothered to put her clothes back on? “Stupid,” she muttered. She stood and stared at her reflection. “He did something, though. I know he did."

She shivered viciously and began picking up her scattered clothes. Walking back into the bedroom, she folded the sweater and threw the rest into her clothes hamper, then stripped off her underwear and went to take a hot shower, standing under the pulsing jets for awhile and letting them warm her up. The first thing she'd done after moving into the duplex was replace the “water saver” abomination Mrs. M. had frugally provided with a decent showerhead. She believed in conservation, but enough was enough. Sometimes a woman needed a good, hot pummeling—of the watery variety, that is.

Once out of the shower and dried off, she pulled on her warmest sweats and sheepskin-lined slippers and headed downstairs for coffee. As the first shot of caffeine flowed deliciously through her system, she again considered her murky memories of the night before. She definitely remembered arriving back here at the house with Raj, because she remembered specifically inviting him in. He'd closed the door and then . . . A jolt of desire swept her from head to toe, just like before. Something had happened to her. Something to do with that damn vampire. And she intended to find out what it was.

She stomped back up to her office and found the white business card he'd left on her desk. She dialed his number, knowing he'd be down for the day and hoping the ringing phone would make his rest a hell of a lot less restful.

Raj was uncharacteristically edgy and dissatisfied as he dressed for the night. And it wasn't the usual hunger making him feel this way. He was old enough, and powerful enough, that he didn't need to feed nightly. The woman at the bar two nights ago should have been more than sufficient to keep him strong for another day at least—not that he had to go that long, but he could. He considered stopping in for a drink somewhere on the way to meet Em and the others, but if he needed blood that badly, he could always tap into the bagged supply at the warehouse. And besides, for some reason the idea of feeding from an anonymous stranger was unappealing.

No, it wasn't for some reason. It was for a very specific reason, one with blond hair and a tidy little body he was eager to taste in every way possible. Too eager. Raj didn't believe in self-indulgence. Yes, he drove nice cars and wore nice clothes, and his penthouse in Manhattan was well beyond comfortable in its amenities, but those were things, meaningless possessions he could walk away from without a thought. When it came to his personal life, he was all about discipline and control. He had the occasional vodka, but never drank to excess. He preferred blood from the vein of a beautiful woman, but he never overindulged and always left his women happy and sated. He had his vampire children, but he was their master and their sire. He was not their friend or their drinking buddy. Emelie he trusted utterly, but she was the only one.

Which was why this sudden irrational attraction to Sarah Stratton was so irritating. His need to protect her, to taste her, to steal her away and make her his and his alone, was powerful and instinctive. He didn't have to think about whether he wanted her; he did want her—totally and in every way possible. It took an effort to stop himself from ripping her clothes off and to hell with the consequences. He shook his head in disgust. If he had a choice, he'd fly back to Manhattan tonight and never see Sarah Stratton again. Since that wasn't an option, he'd simply have to act like a civilized man instead of a ravening beast, even if the latter was closer to the truth.

He pulled on his leather jacket and picked up his cell phone, noticing there was an incoming message from the lovely Sarah herself. He frowned, thinking she was canceling their appointment tonight, which was unacceptable. When he heard her message, his frown deepened.

"I know you did something last night, vampire, and I want to know what it was. No one screws around with my head, you got that? Not even you. And to hell with ten o'clock, Mr. High and Mighty. I want you here ten minutes after sundown or I'm going to the cops."

There was a pause during which he could hear her give a frustrated sigh.

"Okay, so I won't really go to the cops, but I'm not waiting around either. If you're not here by nine, I'm leaving and you can just use your stupid vampire tricks to try and find me."

Part of him wanted to chuckle at the exasperation in her voice. And part of him, completely irrational, wanted to applaud her determination in standing up to him. The more rational part demanded to know why she remembered anything at all about what had happened last night. Had he unconsciously wanted her to remember him and left a weakness in the memories he'd planted? That would be both stupid and dangerous. Only one way to find out. He punched in Em's speed dial. His vampires were awake and ready to go. He could hear their voices in the background when she answered.

"My lord."

"I've got an errand to run on the way over, Em. It won't take long."

"I hope not,” she said dryly. “Being stuck in this warehouse is like being trapped in a monkey cage. These guys need to be let out."

He laughed. “Not much longer. I'm on my way.” But first, he thought to himself, there's the matter of a stubborn little human to deal with.

Chapter Twenty-two

Sarah pulled her sweater over her head, smoothing it over her hips and checking to make sure the lace on her bra didn't look lumpy beneath the fine weave. Her freshly shampooed hair shone in the overhead light of her bedroom, and she'd put on just enough makeup to give her eyes a slightly smoky quality, the gold flecks like bits of fire in the smoke. Oh, get a grip, Sarah. Flecks of fire in the smoke, for God's sake. She laughed at herself. Clearly she'd been reading too many of those romance novels she was so fond of.

Of course, she was nothing like the kick-ass heroines in those books. She had never fired a gun, never used a knife—unless the ones in her kitchen drawer counted. And although she kept herself fit, there was no way she was going to high-kick anyone into submission. She was too short for one thing, and a little too curvy and five pounds too heavy, no matter how many mornings she ran her five-mile circuit. Some men liked her curves, though. Not usually the right men, but at least it proved she wasn't a total toad.

And why was she spending so much time getting ready anyway? This wasn't a date. Quite the opposite. She intended to read Raj the riot act and send him on his way. That was it.

"This definitely isn't a date,” she scolded her reflection for the umpteenth time. Of course, that begged the question of why she was wearing her best lace push-up bra and had taken the time to put on eye shadow in the first place. Oh well, gotta create the smoke for those flecks of fire, right?

She laughed out loud, like a crazy person, and sat on the edge of the bed to pull on her shoes. They weren't designed by anyone famous—like most women, she didn't have the budget to spend five hundred dollars on a pair of shoes. But they were nice and, more importantly, they had a four inch heel so she wouldn't feel like such a shrimp standing next to Raj. Not that this was a date or anything. She stood and turned off the overhead light as she walked out of the bedroom, ready to beard the lion in his den. Or her den. Or whatever. Because this definitely wasn't a date.

Raj took the stairs up to Sarah's porch in a graceful leap. He was in a hurry to get over to the warehouse and didn't have time to waste pretending to be human. He put his hand on the doorknob and, finding it unlocked, twisted it open and walked in, knocking as he did so.

He caught Sarah halfway down the stairs. She was wearing a different bra, one that made her obvious curves even more obvious beneath a soft wool sweater. And what the hell was he noticing that for? She was looking at him in shock, which quickly changed to outrage.

"Just come on in, why don't you?"

"I did, thanks,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. “You ever think of locking your door?"

"What would be the point? It wouldn't stop you, would it?"

"Nice. You about ready to leave?"

"Leave? Are we going somewhere?"

"Yes. I have a stop to make and then I'm taking you to dinner."

"Are you?” she asked, in a tone that implied quite the opposite. She came down another couple of steps but stayed on the staircase which put her at eye level with him. “What happened last night? And I want the truth, not more of your vampire bullshit."

"I wasn't aware I'd given you any vampire bullshit,” he said mildly.

"Ha, ha. What happened, Raj? And don't say nothing, because I know damn well you did something to my memories, and it sure as hell wasn't consensual."

Raj pulled back in surprise. First of all, she shouldn't have remembered anything, but secondly, her choice of words made him distinctly uncomfortable. He didn't take women against their will. Not ever. Not since that first night in the tavern when he'd been too out of his mind to realize what was happening. Sarah was waiting for an answer, glaring at him accusingly. She'd done something with her eyes that brought out the gray but didn't hide the gold flecks that were always there.

"We talked about the missing women,” he said slowly. “It was . . . you were upset. More than upset. I didn't understand why, but it bothered me to see you like that, so I put you out and took away the memories so you wouldn't have nightmares."