“So you’re not related, then?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “He does claim a kinship with my family, but none of us knows where he really comes from, and privately, we don’t consider him family.”
“And yet you’re working for him.”
“When Anthony wants something, he doesn’t give you much choice. I don’t know how he heard about me and what I do. I have a reputation in the field, but it’s a rather obscure field and a tight-knit group. But he found out somehow, and while he was discreet, the message to me was clear. If I didn’t take this job, my family would suffer. I’ll admit that the work is fascinating, but all I’ve wanted was to finish the job and go back home.”
Christian noticed that she’d said “wanted” not “want.” As if her goals had changed recently. “And now?” he murmured, sliding his fingers around the curve of her hip, drawing her in until their bodies touched.
She jumped at the contact, giving him a look that was both startled and confused. “Now?” she repeated, staring at him wide-eyed. She swallowed hard, and said, “Now, I think I’d like a cup of coffee.”
Christian gave her a half smile, and leaned over to touch his lips to the top of her warm hair. “Then, that’s what you shall have. I must warn you however, that you might fall in love with my brewing skills.”
MARC FLICKED ON the lights in the kitchen, and Natalie caught sight of the gleaming machine taking up half the counter space on one side.
“I can make you anything you’d like,” Christian said with unabashed pride.
“Wow. That’s a serious espresso maker.”
“Christian takes his coffee seriously,” Marc said, biting back a smile.
Christian pushed up the sleeves of his black sweater, and went directly to the machine. He opened a cupboard next to it, and began setting out ingredients, his hand poised over the row of syrup bottles lined up against the tile backsplash. “The usual, Marc?”
Marc opened the fridge and pulled out an old-fashioned glass bottle of milk, and an über-professional looking stainless steel whipped cream dispenser that made her hope Christian never saw the imitation stuff sitting in a tub in her freezer. These guys were really serious about their coffee. The unreality of the moment struck her—here she was, sitting in a house in the suburbs, watching two big, buff vampires putter around the kitchen, making fancy coffee. Or maybe not just coffee. She frowned when Marc returned to the cupboard for . . . caramel sauce?
She stared at the drink Christian was constructing. “Is that a caramel macchiato?”
“Best drink ever invented,” Marc said.
“He’s a farm boy at heart. Loves his sweets,” Christian said at the same time. “He’s mine, but I can only do so much.”
Marc didn’t seem bothered by the description. In fact, he seemed rather pleased. But what Christian had said only confused Natalie. This was one of those vampire things that she didn’t fully understand. Vampires were humans who’d been “turned” by another vampire. She knew that much, and she knew that not just any old vampire could create a new one. There was a definite rank structure among vampires, based on power, and only the top few could make a new vampire.
“Does that mean Marc is your vampire child?” she asked Christian, then caught her breath, hoping she hadn’t asked something taboo.
“Of course, he is,” Christian said agreeably, as he whacked the filter to dislodge the spent grounds. He winked at her. “I do good work, don’t I?” He aimed a fond look at Marc, and asked. “How’s that macchiato?”
“Perfect, as always.”
“So what will it be, Natalie?” Christian asked her, as twin streams of espresso poured into matching cups, and the rich scent of a dark brew wafted through the air.
Natalie shrugged, figuring she might as well go for it. “Can you do a pumpkin spice latte?”
Christian slid his gaze sideways in a glance that she couldn’t interpret. Was he insulted that she’d asked? Or appalled at her taste in drinks? But he didn’t say anything, just opened the same cupboard, and pulled down a shaker of something that sure smelled like pumpkin spice. Was there anything he didn’t have in that cupboard?
Minutes later, the unmistakable scent of autumn baking joined the delicious aroma of real coffee beans, and Christian slid a grande-sized ceramic cup onto the counter in front of her. She took a cautious sip, and . . .
“You really did it. This is delicious!”
“I told you,” Marc said, taking a stool at the end of the kitchen’s island counter with his macchiato. “He takes his coffee seriously.”
Christian joined them a moment later, sitting next to Natalie with a double espresso in a brilliant blue ceramic cup. As she watched, he plucked two sugar cubes from a dish sitting on the counter, then picked up a small, golden spoon and began stirring.
“So, Natalie,” he said casually. “What happened in Anthony’s office after I left last night?”
“What makes you think something happened?”
Christian gave her a chiding look. “I am an uncommonly powerful vampire, ma chére. I can hear the racing of your heart, the shallowness of your breath. And I pay attention to things that matter. You were both surprised and relieved to see me when you walked into Jaclyn’s office tonight. You suspect Anthony of plotting against me, and were afraid he’d already succeeded when I didn’t return your call.”