“And why’s that?”
“I couldn’t sleep either.”
“Ah. What do you suppose we should do about it?”
The man trailed his fingers along the neckline of Leah’s sports bra before slipping his fingers beneath the stretchy material and giving the breast a squeeze. Miles away, Zak grimaced, fiercely thankful he didn’t have to feel the pudgy fingers groping him.
“I have a few ideas,” Calso purred.
“I bet you do.”
A flush stained the man’s round face. “Upstairs. Now.”
Zak made what he hoped sounded like a giggle. “I have a better idea.”
He arched a brow. “Games?”
“Catch me.”
Without giving the fool a chance to react, Zak turned and hurried the short distance to the end of the room.
“Dammit, Leah, what are you doing?” the man growled, in instant pursuit.
“Playing.” Zak opened the door and darted into the office, taking a quick inventory of the room.
A leather sofa and wing chairs surrounding a lacquer table. Several tall bookcases that were stuffed with aged leather books. A heavy walnut desk set by the marble fireplace with a wide mantel that held a number of bronze statues.
At last he turned back to watch Calso storm into the room.
“What the hell are you doing?” he rasped.
“You don’t like my game?” Zak prodded, carefully monitoring Calso’s gaze, which instinctively shifted toward the area of the desk.
“You know you’re not allowed in here.”
Zak backed toward the desk, his gaze never leaving Calso’s revealing eyes.
“Why not?”
“It’s my private office.”
“It’s not business hours. Don’t you want me naked on your desk?”
Zak reached the corner of the desk, lifting a hand to shove back his thick curtain of hair. How did females tolerate the itchy stuff?
Calso hesitated, the dark eyes narrowing in speculation. Was he debating the pleasure of banging her on the glossy surface?
Clearly, Zak hadn’t found the sweet spot.
Before Calso could try and pin him to the desk, Zak was sliding to the side, heading directly for the fireplace.
“Or maybe you would rather I—”
“Enough,” Calso snapped as he lurched forward. “Get away from there.”
Zak followed the man’s worried gaze. Ah. How tediously predictable. A wall safe hidden behind the Picasso.
“As you command,” he drawled, moving to stand directly in front of Calso.
The man started to relax until he caught sight of the amulet that was beginning to glow in the clinging darkness.
“What’s this?”
Zak managed to stretch the rigid lips into a smile. “Death.”
Calso stumbled back, fear and confusion twisting the pudgy face. But it was far too late. He’d barely taken a step backward when the amulet released its magic, slamming into him with a lethal force.
Zak watched Calso drop to his knees, the skin ripping like tissue paper as the magic inside him began to swell and expand.
Magic was never a pleasant way to die.
And this was a particularly nasty spell.
But effective, he had to concede, stepping back as the dead man fell face first onto the rare Persian carpet, swiftly turning into nothing but charred ashes.
Anya was nothing if not efficient.
Assured the man was dead, Zak turned away, crossing to the fireplace.
It took less than five minutes to find the trigger on the Picasso that allowed it to swing forward, revealing the safe set in the wall. Reaching up, he pressed his hand against the scanner, not at all surprised when he heard the lock click.
The arrogant bastard never considered his own lover might betray him.
Hubris.
The weakness of every wealthy man.
Reaching for the small handle on the safe, he tugged it open.
Anticipation hummed through him as he reached inside and shoved aside the papers to find the pale stone vessel that was shaped like a small vase with an odd winged creature etched on the front. With care he pried out the cotton that blocked the opening at the top of the vessel and turned it upside down to shake out the coin inside.
A mile to the north, his heart in his real body gave a sudden leap.
Soon...
Soon he would have the just rewards he so richly deserved.
Still struggling to catch his breath, Duncan shifted to lie on his side, studying Callie’s delicate profile outlined by the rosy promise of dawn.
Christ.
That hadn’t been good sex.
It had been ... cataclysmic sex.
Shattering.
But why?
Holding her close, he tried on a few excuses.
He’d been celibate for too long. A man wasn’t meant to be without a woman in his bed, right?
He’d been fantasizing about this woman for longer than he wanted to admit.
He was under a shitload of stress. Everyone knew that adrenaline made everything seem to be in Technicolor. Including sex.
Unfortunately he couldn’t make any of the lame-ass excuses fit.
What had just happened between them defied explanation.
A fact that should have scared the hell out of him.
Instead, it just juiced him up with the need to have her again.
And again.
And again ...
Already hardening with anticipation, Duncan abruptly frowned as he realized that while he’d been reveling in the image of round two, Callie was lost in thoughts that had nothing to do with him or hot, sweaty sex.
“Hey.” He brushed his finger down the thin blade of her nose. “Where did you go?”
She blinked, as if coming back from a long distance. Then slowly she turned her head to meet his narrowed gaze. “I was just thinking.”
“And it brought a frown to that lovely face?” His finger moved to trace the furrow that marred her brow. “You promised you weren’t going to regret what happened in this bed.”
“I wasn’t thinking about”—a lovely blush stained her cheeks—“that.”
“That’s even worse,” he chided, captivated by the sight of her gemstone eyes catching and reflecting the first strands of light. Man. Had there ever been anything more beautiful? “I’m already a distant memory.” Using his free hand, he stroked down the curve of her back, pressing her against his stirring arousal. “Maybe I should remind you the kind of fireworks we strike off each other.”
Her breath caught. “Trust me, I’m never going to forget.”
He smiled at her husky tone, his gaze lingering on her lips, which were still red and swollen from his kisses.
“That’s what I want to hear.”
She rolled her eyes. “Arrogant.”
His smile faded as he sensed her lingering distraction. As much as he longed to drown in the silken pleasure of her body, Duncan wanted her full and complete attention when he was seducing her.
“Okay, Callie,” he murmured. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I was just thinking about what Boggs said.”
“Before breakfast?” He gave a dramatic shudder. “No wonder you’re not a morning person.”
She ignored his teasing. “He said that ‘to see into the future you must look into the past.”’
Duncan snorted. Boggs had unnerved him more than he wanted to admit, but he didn’t want Callie taking risks just because some crazy doppelganger implied that he’d seen her in some psychic vision.
“He said a lot of ridiculous things.”
“Maybe.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Maybe not.”
His spidey-senses jangled. He knew that look. And it was never good.
“So what are you scheming?”
She didn’t even blink at his impressive ability to read her expression. Why would she? She’d been raised among people who could peer into her every thought.
“There has to be some way we can discover more about Lord Zakhar.”
He stiffened, desperately battling against the primitive male urge to inform her that there was no way in hell she was going to put herself in danger. His sisters had taught him that the swiftest way to get a woman to do something was to tell her she couldn’t. Sexist? Maybe. But the knowledge had come in handy on more than one occasion.
“Internet?” he instead suggested. “I know a computer whiz at the station who could locate any information you need.”
“I prefer to find original journals if possible. They tend to be a little more reliable.”
Of course she preferred the originals. It couldn’t have been that simple.
“Will you travel to Russia?”
“Yes. Fane can take me.”
“Great,” he muttered.
She arched a brow. “It’s his job.”
It was. That didn’t mean Duncan had to like it.
“Fine. Then I’ll do my job and start a search for a strange Russian who has recently come to town.” His mind was already shifting through his various contacts. “If there’s word in the streets I’ll hear it.”
She reached up to touch the whiskers that shadowed his jaw. “You sound like a cop.”
“I don’t feel like a cop.”
“No?”
He turned his head to press his lips to the center of her palm. “No, I feel like a man who wants to lock away his lover to keep her safe.”
She jerked her hand away, her lips thinning in silent warning. “Duncan.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he hastily assured her. “I might occasionally act like a caveman, but I’m well aware I can’t drag you off to my cave.”
“Not if you want to keep your family jewels.”
He flinched. “Point made.” He smoothed his fingers through the rumpled crimson silk of her hair. “Besides, I understand better than anyone how important your gifts are to the world. It would be a sin against nature not to share them.”
She frowned. “You don’t have to mock me.”
