He caught my hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. "Trust me, if we survive all this, I intend to make love to you so often and so well that you will beg me to stop."
I laughed and stepped close enough that my breasts were pressed against his chest. "I'm part werewolf, remember. You could be waiting a long time for me to beg off."
"I should hope so." He kissed me, long and slow, before finally adding, "In the meantime, you should rest."
I sighed again. "I guess if you're going to insist —"
"And I am."
"Then you'd better escort me to bed, James."
He did. And, frustratingly, did nothing more than that.
The first thing I did when I woke was ring Mike at his office. It was eight thirty, so I had no doubt he'd be there by now.
"Good morning, Risa." The voice was plummy and feminine, and belonged to his secretary, Beatrice. "You're calling early – hope there's not a problem."
"There's not." The vid-phone was turned off on her end, so I couldn't see what color her hair was this month. But the last time I'd been at the office it had been pale purple, and the month before that a vibrant red. Despite her age, she loved hair color variety as much as I loved Coke and cake. "Mike left me a message to give him a call ASAP. Is he around?"
"Just a moment, and I'll put you through."
There was a click, a brief moment of silence, then Mike's aristocratic features came on-screen. I didn't actually know how old Mike was – he didn't look old, and yet he didn't seem young, either. His hair was black but cut short, the dark curls clinging close to his head like a helmet. His eyes – a clear, striking gray – seemed to hold eons of knowledge behind them. Given Mom had once commented that he had a genius-level IQ, I guess that was to be expected.
"Risa," he said, his voice low and pleasant, "thank you for ringing back so promptly."
"I thought I'd better. It sounded urgent."
"Not so much urgent, more a warning."