“You always were too noble for your own good, Styx.”
“True.”
Awareness feathered over Cezar’s skin. Anna was headed toward a side door of the reception room.
“Go home, amigo. Be with your beautiful werewolf.”
“A tempting offer, but I will not leave you here alone.”
“I appreciate your concern, Styx.” Cezar sent his master a warning glance. “But my duty now is to the Commission and they have given me orders I cannot ignore.”
A cold anger burned in Styx’s dark eyes before he gave a grudging nod.
“You will contact me if you have need?”
“Of course.”
Anna didn’t have to look at Conde Cezar to know that he was aware of her every movement. He might be speaking to the gorgeous man who looked remarkably like an Aztec chief, but her entire body shivered with the sense of his unwavering attention.
It was time to put her plan into motion.
Her hastily thrown together, fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, stupidest-plan-ever plan.
Anna swallowed a hysterical laugh.
So, it wasn’t the best plan. It was more a click-your-heels-twice-and-pray-things-didn’t-go-to-hell sort of deal, but it was all that she had for the moment. And the alternative was allowing Conde Cezar to disappear for another two centuries, leaving her plagued with questions.
She couldn’t stand it.
Nearly reaching the alcove that led to a bank of elevators, Anna was halted by an arm suddenly encircling her waist and hauling her back against a steely male body.
“You haven’t changed a bit, querida. Still as beautiful as the night I first caught sight of you.” His fingers trailed a path of seduction along the bare line of her shoulder. “Although there is a great deal more on display.”
An explosion of sensations rocked through Anna’s body at his touch. Sensations that she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
“You obviously haven’t changed either, Conde. You still don’t know how to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Life is barely worth living when I’m keeping my hands to myself.” The cool skin of his cheek brushed hers as he whispered in her ear. “Trust me, I know.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.”
The long, slender fingers briefly tightened on her waist before he slowly turned her to meet his dark, disturbing gaze.
“It’s been a long time, Anna Randal.”
“One hundred and ninety-five years.” Her hand absently lifted to rub the skin that still tingled from his touch. “Not that I’m counting.”
The full, sensuous lips twitched. “No, of course not.”
Her chin tilted. Jackass. “Where have you been?”
“Did you miss me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Still a little liar,” he taunted. With a deliberate motion his gaze skimmed over her stiff body, lingering on the silver gauze draped over the swell of her br**sts. “Would it make it easier if I confess that I’ve missed you? Even after one hundred and ninety-five years, I remember the precise scent of your skin, the feel of your slender body, the taste of your…”
“Blood?” she hissed, refusing to acknowledge the heat that stirred low in her stomach.