Sophia concentrated on her own shift, relishing the painful stretch of muscle and popping of bone. There was a primitive satisfaction in calling on her powers.
Not quite as swift as Luc in regaining her balance, Sophia slowly rose to her feet and pulled on the short, silk robe tossed on the bed. Across the room, Luc was already dressed in a pair of khaki shorts and polo shirt that might have made him look civilized if not for the shadow of whiskers already darkening his jaw and the feral glint in his eyes.
“Anything?” he asked, referring to their recent jaunt through the vampire’s lair.
“No.”
He moved to the full-length mirror attached to the back of the door, smoothing back his hair.
“Which would seem to leave the cur as the last of our suspects.”
“Morton?” She snorted. “I can’t imagine him as a homicidal maniac.”
He turned to discover her eyeing his ass. A smug smile curved his lips.
“Looks are far too often deceiving.”
Sophia grimaced, picturing the dull fire hydrant of a cur. “They would have to be excessively deceiving.”
He shrugged. “I’ll soon find out.”
“Assuming he is guilty, I don’t know how walking around a golf course whacking at a white ball is going to convince the cur to confess.”
Luc crossed to stand directly in front of her. “He doesn’t need to confess.”
“No?”
He reached to grasp a lock of her hair, smoothing it between his fingers.
“Given enough time alone with him, I’ll know if he’s guilty.”
“Hmmm.” She studied the supreme confidence etched on his face. “You’re not a mind reader, are you?”
“I have any number of talents, cara.” His voice lowered to the husky drawl that made her shiver. “Not all of them involve a bed.”
“Arrogant dog.”
He paused, absently twirling her hair around one finger. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
She gave a vague wave of her hand, hoping he truly wasn’t a mind reader.
“Oh, you know.”
“Know what?”
“This and that.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your ‘this and that’ wouldn’t include a visit to Victoria, would it?”
Dammit. How had he known she was plotting something?
“Isn’t that what golf widows do?” she demanded. “Keep each other company with a bottle of Chardonnay?”
“No.”
She planted her fists on her hips. “Excuse me?”
“It’s too dangerous.”