Midnight Lover. Rosemary Laurey

richness, life, and strength flowed from her as he absorbed the sustenance he needed. He drank slowly, very slowly, to prolong the pleasure while taking the least needed.

      Her breathing quickened, her body tensed a little as her heartbeat sped. She let out a little sigh and leaned into him.

      Talk about temptation!

      As he wrapped an arm around her shoulder to hold her steady, he was only too aware of the wondrous warmth of her body, the glorious swell of her breasts and the scent of aroused woman. She was responding to his touch. Never before…or had she and he’d refused to acknowledge? He slowed his tasting but kept his lips on her neck, needing the connection, the link with her mortality, relishing the few moments of intimacy. He held her close, reveling in her scent and warmth. He ran a hand over the curve of her breast and down her belly and back, wanting to feel her skin but knowing that would weaken his resolve. As his lips pulled on her blood, her body tensed more, her hips rocked, her breasts pressed against his arm. His mind joined hers, to share the joy he drew from her. Her heartbeat raced, but with pleasure, not fear. He gathered up his own satisfaction and let it wash over her, filling her mind with her own sweetness until she shuddered as a soft climax rippled through her.

      He still held her, waiting until her body calmed and her heartbeat settled. Gently he took his lips away and licked the site of his bite. She’d heal fast and never know what she’d given him. He eased his arm away from her shoulders and stood. He dropped a kiss on her forehead, leaving a suggestion that she wake in fifteen minutes and make herself a cup of the mint tea she so enjoyed, before he disappeared into the shadows.

      Toby heard Laura go down the hall to the kitchen in precisely fifteen minutes. She’d take her cup back to Piet’s room and no doubt have a relaxed and peaceful night.

      Which was more than he would.

      He was strung tight with restlessness. He really should feed somewhere else next time but he knew he wouldn’t. Laura Fox was a drug. A need. He’d keep her close. Protect her.

      And right now, he’d better run or fly off some of his restlessness. He was here to work. To sort out the mess of Connor Inc. He might not need as much sleep as a mortal, but he did need his wits about him in the morning. He just hoped he’d have them all intact.

      Laura Fox dropped a tea bag into a mug and poured on boiling water. She was thirsty, very thirsty in fact. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep—after all, she was paid to watch Mr. Connor and take care of anything he needed—but doze off she had and as a result felt strangely energized and relaxed. Maybe power naps were as helpful as some people claimed. On the other hand, did power naps usually involve wildly erotic dreams about employers? Not that she’d complain. Mr. Toby Wise was pretty much the substance of dreams. Tall, good looking, with a Brit accent smooth enough to melt butter and darned considerate and courteous to boot.

      Too damn bad she was committed to poking, prying and investigating him. Why the hell had she ever agreed?

      Restored by Laura’s unwitting gift, Toby was more than ready to face the morning. Things were going well. The irregular goings-on at Connor Inc. were either dismantled or disposed of. He’d done what Elizabeth Connor Kyd had asked of him, and had the pleasure of living once again on his native soil.

      He looked up as the door opened. “The Feds are here?” he asked his secretary. He’d been expecting them but it didn’t mean he had to welcome them.

      “Yes, Mr. Wise.” Sarah Wallace, the middle-aged and wonderfully efficient assistant he’d inherited with the rest of Connor Inc., twitched the corner of her mouth. “I can always stall them.”

      Not much point, really. He shrugged and grinned. “Send in the clowns!”

      She permitted herself a smile. “Would you like an urgent transatlantic call in a few minutes?”

      He would like a good chin wag with Tom Kyd about this but might as well find out what they wanted, or rather, knew. “Let’s hear them out first. But how about you stay and take notes.”

      “Good idea, Mr. Wise. A witness never hurts, but say as little as possible without a lawyer present.”

      Good advice. Ms. Wallace was a godsend. As she swiveled on her sensible one-inch heels, he stopped her. “Just a sec. Have they ever been here before?”

      Before he’d taken on the running of Connor Inc., he meant, and she understood. “There was one occasion, while Mr. Radcliffe was here.”

      “What happened?”

      “They stayed about ten minutes, left, and never came back….”

      They probably were lucky to get out alive and without brain damage, given Laran’s monstrous, unethical and hideous methods. If vampires had blood pressure, Toby’s would be mounting, but as it was…“Let’s hope this visit will be as brief.” With Sarah present, he couldn’t use mind control. He should have thought of that before he asked her to stay but…

      There were two of them.

      He really noticed only one. The younger, shorter, dark-skinned and very definitely female one: Agent Healy, whose slim navy skirt rose enticingly up her legs as she sat in the chair Sarah drew up for her. “Grace Healy” read the little rectangle of card on his desk. The other, Agent Randall Bright, looked anything but bright, but Toby had been around long enough not to let appearances deceive him. Bright was older, with a generous paunch, a florid complexion and large, strong hands.

      Foolish mortal! He actually had the nerve to try the hard-squeeze handshake. Toby resisted the temptation to crush a few metatarsals but met grasp with grip, looking Agent Bright in the eye as he smiled and closed his fingers over the man’s hand. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

      “You replaced Mr. Radcliffe?” Bright asked as he retrieved his slightly compressed hand.

      “I did.” A brief smile and look of helpful interest seemed in order here.

      “You wouldn’t know where we could locate him?” Agent Healy asked.

      He would. The incinerated remains of Laran Radcliffe were in London—at the bottom of the Serpentine, or was it the Regents Canal? Never mind. She wanted an answer. “He was in England in March. He called Mr. Connor from somewhere in Devon and hasn’t been heard of since.”

      He wouldn’t have believed it either. Bright snorted. Healy just raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Nothing?”

      “Not a dicky bird!” Too late he remembered “dicky” might offend. It wasn’t always easy communicating in his native land. Mind you, things had changed a bit since 1865. The fact that Grace Healy was an FBI agent rather underscored the fact. Back then, she’d have been picking cotton or, if very fortunate, gracing her owner’s mattress.

      “What about his pay? Bank accounts? 401(k)? He just left all that?”

      “Yes. Since we have no record of a next of kin, we set up an escrow account, in case he reappears.”

      “You think that likely?” Bright asked.

      “To be honest, no.” Not unless ashes could reanimate.

      “What makes you so sure, Mr. Wise?”

      Toby turned to Agent Healy. “Because two members of my colony witnessed a witch destroy him” might be pushing credibility a trifle. “Because of the tangle he left behind him.”

      They obviously hadn’t expected him to admit the existence of irregularities quite this early in the conversation. It was most likely a big mistake. But he’d just made it. Toby leaned back, letting his leather chair rock slightly. “When Laran Radcliffe departed, disappeared, absconded, or whatever, Mr. Connor’s daughter, Elizabeth, hired me to sort things out.”

      “And you found…?”

      Toby made himself look at her but forbade himself to smile. “I’m not in a position to share details of company finances at this point.”