A Venetian Vampire. Michele Hauf

      “I am quite well off, thank you.”

      No kidding. The palazzo must be worth a fortune, and she bet the suits set him back a couple thousand per outfit. “And I recall you said you weren’t a thief? I don’t get it.”

      “There’s nothing to get, Kyler. I wanted the Nécessaire egg. I devised a way to obtain it, via you.”

      “How’d that work out for you?”

      “I can’t argue the night ending on a high point with you pierced by my cock.” He stroked his jaw. The move was so sensual Kyler’s body heat rose a few degrees.

      Neither could she make the argument. And just the sound of it—pierced by his cock—ooh, it gave her a good shiver.

      “And I do love a good adventure. Such as werewolves,” he continued. “They provide a challenge. Keeps an old vamp on his toes. And in this case, I’ve also the pleasurable challenge of dallying with a very pretty vampiress thief who wishes to thwart my mission.”

      “I’ve never thwarted anything. I’m not a thwarter. But I will win this one. I don’t care why you want the egg. It was mine. I had my hands on it. And I will have it again.”

      “Do you know what the egg does?”

      She shrugged. She had a good idea what the egg could make happen, and she understood it wasn’t the actual egg, but something inside it. But she wasn’t about to lay down all her cards before this guy.

      “I thought it was a woman’s cosmetic kit inside the Nécessaire egg?” she said. “That’s what was advertised on the auction profile.”

      “Right. Filled with combs, nail files, a mirror and so on. But beyond what the public knows...let’s say it is important I obtain the egg. For the safety of many.”

      Kyler rolled her eyes. “Too vague. You didn’t win that argument.”

      Dante tilted his head back against the headboard and slid a hand down his abs. The action took her out of her cautious reluctance and into a wanting desire for what was not-so-cleverly hidden beneath the towel.

      “Fine,” he said. “We’ll play this game of cat and mouse. I like games. Especially one matched against a beautiful woman.”

      “I never mix business with pleasure,” Kyler said quickly.

      “Too late,” he said in a singsongy tone. “I’ve tasted your sweetness. Everywhere.”

      Her shoulders dropped. Yeah, tell her about it. She hated the man. But she also found him irresistible. And she hated herself for being interested in him. This was exhausting.

      “So what will we do with ourselves until my clothes arrive?”

      “I’m not waiting for clothes,” she said. “Perhaps I’ll step out and see if I can pick up the trail.”

      “That wouldn’t be wise.”

      “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

      “I would only wish to do such when you are naked and wanting before me.”

      She bristled and turned her head quickly to hide the sigh that crossed her lips.

      Dante leaned forward. “Have you experience with werewolves, Kyler? With fighting them? We do know the ones we heard on the bridge are armed with stakes. And they have our scents. How many times have you faced down the pointy tip of a stake?”

      She’d forgotten about that. Her answer was never, and please, never let it happen anytime. Soon enough she wouldn’t have to worry about a stake being her end. But if she wanted to maintain any sort of advantage in this game of Dante’s, she couldn’t let him see her bluff.

      “And what is your experience with fending off wolves?” she countered. “Are you some kind of trained killer? A werewolf slayer?”

      Dante chuckled and swung his legs off the bed. As he stood, he ran his fingers through his hair, which had already dried; the short strands stuck up ever so invitingly. “Over the decades I’ve picked up some defense skills. Werewolves may be strong, but they’re slow. We vamps have speed and agility going for us. And I’d like to think we have the brains, as well. The dogs are stupid. But if they are part of a pack, then we have to be careful. Two or even three werewolves shouldn’t present a problem. A whole pack? Then we’ve got issues.”

      “How do you know if they are with a pack?”

      He shrugged. “That is something we probably won’t know until it’s too late.”

      Kyler scoffed at his lack of knowledge. “What about you? Are you in a tribe?” She knew vampires gathered in tribes. She remained independent—not for lack of wanting to be in a tribe but rather for not knowing how to approach one to join.

      “Yes.” He strolled around to the end of the bed and stood three feet from her. Kyler’s neck heated. She could feel his electrically sensual draw prickle at her skin through the air. Her nipples hardened. She caught her breath before another exhale could escape. “Tribe Incroyables.”

      “Seriously? The Incredibles? That’s kind of cocky, don’t you think?”

      “We are rather incredible,” he said with all the boisterous pride such a statement demanded. “I didn’t name the tribe. It’s a tip of the hat to Dumas’s musketeers. Our tribe leader, Christian De Bareaux, was a musketeer in the seventeenth century. He’s a good man.”

      “How many are in your tribe?”

      “About a dozen. But no women allowed. Johnny Santiago’s sister wanted to join, and we wouldn’t allow it.”

      “So an old boy’s club, eh?”

      “Exactly, and we like it that way. What about you?” He took her in, assessingly this time. “You are tribeless.” He stated it as fact.

      “I am, and I like it that way. I don’t care to have vampires telling me what to do.”

      “What vampire has told you what to do?”

      She met his gaze and felt his delving intrusion deep in her being. It felt as if he peeled her open to expose the center, the secret parts she tried desperately to keep concealed. She fiddled with the shirt hem as he stepped closer.

      “No one,” she said, looking away. And then, more testily, she argued, “None of your business.”

      “Ah. So someone has told you what to do, and you’re rebelling against it ever happening again. Good for you, Kitten.”

      “He didn’t tell me what to do. I want to do this for him. I owe him.”

      “Ah? For what, may I ask?”

      “None of your business.”

      “But the he you mention is the same he you’ve stolen the egg for?”

      “This conversation is over.” She turned to pick up the backpack, and he placed a hand against the wall over her shoulder.

      “Since we can’t leave,” Dante said, “and since we’ve dispensed with the get-to-know-you bullshit, and you’ve set a boundary on conversation topics, I’m of a mind to make a suggestion for a new activity.”

      She could make one guess what that activity was, but she wouldn’t—couldn’t—succumb to his seductions. No matter that this was the first time she’d seen him in daylight and noticed how clear his sea glass eyes were. Cool and mysterious, like the Venetian lagoon.

      “And what is your suggestion?” she asked before she could stop herself.

      “We can either turn up the volume on the television and zone out on some idiotic talk show, or...” He leaned in until his nose brushed her wet hair above her ear. “Despite the fact you’re fully dressed, I could nail you to the wall with this.” The heavy weight of his cock beneath the towel thudded against