Blood Lust - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,1

was that she’d disappeared from his office the second his back was turned. And then, nine months later, slipped through his security to abandon Molly in his private rooms.

What kind of woman did that?

“Okay,” he murmured, fiercely attempting to disguise his opinion of Myst. “What does she say?”

“That she has something she has to do, but she misses me,” Molly said. “And that soon we’ll be together again.”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed if she can’t come,” he said gently. He tenderly smoothed her silken curls. “You have me. And I’m never going away.”

“But she is coming.” Molly bounced up and down at the sound of the door to the suite being opened. “See? I told you.”

Bas surged upright, his hand reaching for the gun holstered at the small of his back.

What the hell? How had an intruder gotten past his security system?

“Molly, go to your room.”

“But it’s Mommy.”

There was the unmistakable scent of honeysuckle drenching the air before a silver-haired female stepped into the salon, her yellow sundress swirling around her slender legs. Bas hissed, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut.

Christ.

She was just as beautiful as ever.

Perhaps even more beautiful.

“Myst.” The name was wrenched from his lips.

Her delicate features were impossible to read. “Hello, Bas.”

He gave a shake of his head, trying desperately to dismiss his potent, intoxicating response to the sight of her.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Her gaze shifted to the tiny girl standing beside him, a luminous smile lighting her fragile features.

“I’ve come for my daughter.”

* * *

Myst had learned to endure living in a constant state of terror.

It wasn’t like she had a choice.

For years she’d attempted to avoid her inevitable fate, always on the run, always looking over her shoulder.

Stupidly, she assumed that she’d become so accustomed to her sense of dread that nothing could rattle her.

Until five years ago.

The day she’d first met the man who was standing in front of her like an angel of retribution.

Not that she’d felt dread when she’d walked into his office. She only wished she had.

No. If she wanted to be brutally honest, she’d tumbled into instant lust. Who could blame her? Bas Cavrilo was a stunningly beautiful male.

His features were carved by the hand of an artist. A wide brow. A narrow, arrogant blade of a nose. Full, sensuous lips that hinted at a passionate nature beneath his stern facade.

His skin was a pale ivory and satin smooth unless you counted the small eye-shaped emerald birthmark on the side of his neck, and the thin horizontal lines tattooed beneath it.

In contrast his hair was as black as midnight and cut short to emphasize his male beauty.

And his eyes . . . Lord, those eyes.

A tiny shudder had raced through her at her first glimpse of the metallic bronze eyes that held a cunning intelligence.

She’d felt as if something vital had been switched off in her brain. That would explain why she’d so recklessly chugged the scotch he’d offered after refusing to give her the job she so desperately needed.

And then another scotch had been chugged....

The next thing she knew she was giving in to the passion that had exploded between them with electric force. Once sanity had returned, she’d slipped away, hoping to put the crazed incident behind her.

Of course, she couldn’t be so lucky.

Instead she’d discovered that she was pregnant, and she’d learned the true meaning of terror.

Now she licked her lips, her heart thundering like a freight train in her chest as she forced herself to meet the scorching bronze glare.

“How did you get past my security?” Bas snapped.

Before she could speak, Molly was darting forward, ignoring her father’s biting fury with the confidence of a child who knew that she was well loved.

“Mommy, Mommy!” she cried.

Myst fell to her knees, enfolding the wiggling bundle of sunshine in her arms.

For a perilous second she closed her eyes, savoring the pure joy that briefly drove away the nightmares that were Myst’s constant companion.

“Hey, baby,” she murmured softly.

A shadow fell upon her as the tall, lethally dangerous assassin moved to tower over her. “I asked you a question.”

She pressed her cheek to the top of Molly’s soft curls, staring at the original Renoir painting that was hung on a far wall.

“I heard you.”

“Then you have no excuse for not answering.”

“You didn’t hire me, remember?” she muttered.

There was a startled silence. “I remember everything,” he at last said, the words oddly husky.

Myst shivered. Heavens. His voice was magic. Low, and whiskey smooth.