"Excellent. Will we fit in your car or shall I send Juro back to fetch the big SUV? The limo is a bit too noticeable, don't you think?"
"Whoa!” Cynthia said, even as Duncan straightened in alarm and said, “Sire!"
Raphael glanced from one to the other of them, his eyebrows raised in question. Cynthia looked at Duncan and yielded the field to him.
"Sire, you cannot mean to do this yourself?” he asked diplomatically.
"But I do. It's been too long, Duncan, since I've left the safety of my estate and my guards. My enemies have noticed; they see it as a weakness. Do you think they would be moving against me otherwise? I must show them differently."
Duncan closed his eyes in resignation, then opened them to glare at Cynthia.
"Hey, don't look at me, Blondie. This isn't exactly my idea of a good time, either."
Raphael gave her a wolfish grin. Oh gods, he was looking forward to this. She figured the possibility of bloodshed had just increased dramatically. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I have to change clothes.” She spun around and was sliding the key card through the reader before she was aware that Raphael stood right behind her. She gave him a questioning look over her shoulder. “I don't really need help for this part, my lord."
"You can fill me in on the details while you change. No need to waste time, is there?"
"You know that whole vampires and invitation thing? Can that be undone?"
"I'm afraid it doesn't really work that way, Cyn,” he said cheerfully.
"Too bad,” she muttered as she pushed open the door.
* * * *
Cynthia climbed the stairs, very aware of the vampire behind her, his gaze no doubt firmly fixed on her ass. Could be worse, she thought to herself. At least the ass was equally firm; God knows she worked hard enough to keep it that way. She felt a hysterical bubble of laughter trying to force its way up and swallowed it down with a cough.
Reaching the second level, she proceeded directly through the kitchen to the next set of stairs. “Make yourself comfortable,” she said with a wave of her arm. “I'll be five—"
Raphael threw his elegant coat over the kitchen island and followed her. She frowned at him. “I thought we already established that I'm more comfortable upstairs with you,” he said with an innocent expression.
"Don't even bother with that look,” she scoffed.
Once in her bedroom, Raphael glanced around quickly, then slouched gracefully onto her bed, his long legs stretched out, his back propped against the pillows and headboard. Cynthia kicked off her shoes without thinking, then glanced up and caught the heat in his gaze. She swallowed dryly. “I'll...” She coughed nervously. “I'll just change in the closet."
"Don't leave on my account,” Raphael purred. “I'm quite comfortable now."
Cynthia hurried into the closet and began unbuttoning her shirt. She threw the suit into the hamper for dry cleaning. It wasn't really dirty, but that was faster than hanging it up and she felt the need to get clothes on quickly. She pulled her jeans on without zipping them and yanked a turtleneck sweater over her head, fluffing her hair back up with one hand. She was bending over to pull on her shitkicker boots, when she heard Raphael call out.
"How was your trip to Mrs. Judkins, Cyn?"
Cynthia suddenly remembered why she was supposed to be pissed at the vampire. Her boots in one hand, she stormed out of the closet. “That was a dirty trick, Raphael. You could have warned me—"
He shot off the bed faster than her eyes could follow, suddenly right in front of her, his eyes sleepy with lust, his voice so deep she could feel the vibration in her chest. “Was there a problem at the Judkins, Cyn?” His fingers slipped easily into the open waistband of her jeans, sliding beneath the fabric to caress her bare hip, his thumb insinuating itself beneath the band of her thong. It was such an intimate gesture, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up and met his black eyes. No, not black. Not now. They gleamed silver in the dim light.
"Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, no. It ... it surprised me, that's all,” she managed to say.
He lowered his head and ran his lips along her jaw, nuzzling first her ear, then her neck. The line of their bodies never touched, only his fingers stroking the smooth, na**d skin of her hip. His lips touched hers gently, nudging her mouth open, his tongue circling, tasting her.
Cynthia responded. How could she not? Every nerve in her body was tingling with desire, her br**sts begging to be touched, her mouth welcoming him even as she fought to keep from pressing herself against his hard body.
"So little time, sweet Cyn,” he whispered, then stepped back.
Cynthia gasped as he moved away. She wanted to curse him, to scream at him to ... what? Christ, she wanted him to take her, to throw her on the big bed and f**k her brains out. She knew what he'd feel like between her legs, forcing that thick shaft deep into her and driving it in and out...?
Pull yourself together, Cyn!
"Right,” she managed. “Okay...” She looked down at the bare skin still visible beneath her unzipped denims and wondered if she'd find a handprint seared into her skin where his fingers had held her. She shook her head and went to zip up, but discovered she was still holding the boots. Dropping them to the floor, she zipped quickly and sat down to pull them on. Raphael was back on the bed, sitting there watching her as if he'd never moved. Son of a bitch.