“He wanted an update. He’s got a small army ready to assault Kaštel at any moment. He’s trigger happy, but I reminded him that Maras may lead us to the other vampires first.”
“We can hope. Though, I’m sure they are exercising extreme caution after Owen showed up. Then you leave your scent all over that winemaker Torres. That was too sloppy, Lucas.” He kept his tone neutral, but Lucas flinched anyway. Opening his desk, Ethan took out his gold handled dagger with the sun emblem on its hilt. He spun it on the desk, point down like a spinning top.
“You’re right, it was sloppy. No doubt it put them on alert. But by sending in Zoey, we knew they would catch our scent eventually.”
Ethan nodded. After a good long spin, the dagger toppled with a clunk. “As I said, I remain hopeful that she can gather information that will lead us to the other Croatian vampires.” He picked up the dagger again.
“Do you think they will smell that she’s sleeping with you?”
The dagger fumbled from his fingers, and for a moment it seemed it would crash onto the carpet. But he caught it. “I don’t think it matters. Either way, if she smells like us, they won’t trust her. They might even run. With Zoey there, we’ll know if they are planning to flee. Any sign of flight, and we call in Father’s soldiers.”
Lucas leaned over the desk and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you think Maras will hurt her?”
Ethan polished the golden dagger against his knee. “I think he will do what they always do—try to seduce her, feed from her, and enslave her in his household.”
Lucas leaned in another inch and his whisper became shrill. “So you’re okay with Zoey becoming a vampire slave?”
The dagger glinted nicely when Ethan held it up to the light. “It won’t happen. There’s no way he could seduce her. Zoey’s not the type to be wooed or used. She’s as cold as ice.” He liked her ice. It made her shiny and flawless like his golden blade.
“Zoey? She’s a little reserved, but friendly enough once you get to know her.”
It was fun to toy with Lucas. “She puts on a good show, but she’s damaged.”
Lucas sat back and crossed his arms. “Zoey? No she’s not.”
Ethan set the dagger down in front of him. “Trust me. I think it’s because of what happened with her husband.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows. “Zoey was married?”
“Yes. Several years ago.”
“So she’s divorced?”
This time he spun the dagger flat on his desk, like a compass. “No. He died in an accident.”
“That’s awful. What happened?”
“It’s really not my place to tell you,” he replied, as if Zoey had confided him. He wished she had, but perhaps that would come in time.
Lifting his eyes from the dagger resting on the desk, he caught Lucas watching him.
“Well, I hope she’s safe up there,” his brother said.
“She’ll be fine. Zoey’s always fine.”
Careful to avoid smudges, he picked the gleaming blade up between his fingertips and set it into its velvet-lined case.
Between two low hills, Zoey caught a glimpse of the beautiful house nestled among the vineyards. Even from the front drive, the Kaštel Estate Winery was enchanting. Textured white stucco walls reached upward to the roof of Spanish tile. It was a picturesque Mediterranean villa, well suited to a family who’d emigrated from an island in the Adriatic Sea.
As soon as the entire house came into view, its large windows and old-fashioned door called to her invitingly. The white house and orderly flowerbeds were immaculate, but somehow it still looked lived-in, and she couldn’t wait to see inside. She imagined walking up the front steps and putting her very own key in the lock. For the first time since she could remember, she wished she had a home, not just a place to sleep and store her things.
Thankfully, the troublesome feeling passed. But during her flight of fancy the car had come to a dead stop in the middle of the drive. Embarrassed, she scanned the façade for witnesses to her idiotic gaping.
In the circular drive, a stocky man waited for her to pull up. Dark brown hair draped across his brow and hung over his ears. She drove forward, rolled down her window, and extended her hand.
“I’m Zoey Porter.”
“Pedro Torres.” He shook her hand.
“Oh, yes, Lucas mentioned you,” Zoey said.
His eyes crinkled at the edges, and Zoey couldn’t help but grin as the dots connected. She’d been right. There was something different in Lucas’s smile when he talked about Pedro.
“Pull in right over there, and I’ll help you with your bags.”
As she walked with Pedro through the front door, he handed her bag to a pretty blond woman wearing a kitchen apron. Was she a housekeeper of some sort? How old fashioned.
“I’ll take you down to Andre’s office,” Pedro said. “It’s in the cellar.”
As Zoey followed Pedro down the stone stairs, she was thankful for the cool, moist air. She could comfortably leave her jacket on and avoid revealing her damp armpits.
Chapter 5
ANDRE AND KOS BOTH STOOD when Pedro opened the office door for Zoey Porter. She smelled of Hunter, though not as strongly as Pedro had the day he met Lucas Bennett. Still, the smell was enough to draw out Andre’s fangs. He suppressed his growl.
As he clenched his fists and his jaw, working to control his predatory reaction, he observed Zoey Porter’s feet. She wore feminine, red shoes with low heels. Her shapely calves ended where her narrow black skirt began, covering trim but strong thighs. Her hips curved gently, and her waist looked narrow. He wished he could see her breasts better under her jacket, and the rare desire surprised him. Andre had another surprise waiting for him as his gaze finally reached her face. Her mouth gaped, and her brown eyes were wide with recognition.
It was her. The beauty he had met more than a year back, the very last time he had gone to San Francisco. No, they hadn’t really met. She had appeared next him at the bar and said, “I noticed you’re not actually drinking that whiskey. Recovering alcoholic?”
“Something like that,” Andre said, while turning toward her.
She’d taken the glass from him and swallowed it in one gulp. “Damn. That was a nice bourbon. I should have sipped it.” She laughed.
Andre laughed too. “Yes, it’s very nice. I enjoy the way it smells.”
Her gaze roamed over him, but he didn’t bother with the same full body perusal. He had seen what he was looking for in her eyes. They were almond shaped and very dark brown. Behind their lovely color was absolutely no emotion.
“Please, have a seat,” he said. He extended his hand and began to say, “I’m—”
“No names.”
Andre’s lips had twitched into a smile; that was how he liked it too. She’d climbed onto a barstool and propped one foot on the rung of his. Her tight black pants revealed perfectly shaped legs. Not that he really cared, he would probably only pull them down over her hips far enough to bend her over a table somewhere and take her from behind. He got hard thinking about it.
They sat quietly without looking at each other for several long minutes, and he indulged his fantasy a little longer. Her ass would be peachy soft, and she would clench around him, all hot and wet.
When the fantasy got too heated, he forced himself back into the present moment. It was oddly quiet. Normally, the women tried to talk him into leaving with promises like, “You can do anything you want to me, baby.”
Finally, their eyes met. Had he thought hers were empty? Now they were full of something he couldn’t name—a spark of recognition. Suddenly, her eyes said she knew things about him she could not possibly know. He did not want to be known like that. He looked at the scratched wooden surface of the bar.
She stood up and walked away.
“Wait,” he said, and grabbed her arm roughly.
She did not flinch. “I’m leaving,” she said. “This feels…” She waved her hand back and
forth between them a few times. “Whatever this is, it’s too much. I don’t like it.” She walked away in a hurry, heels clicking briskly on the floor.
Stunned, he watched her round, gorgeous ass until she went out the door. Once he got over the shock of the sudden connection and then separation, he was well and truly relieved she had the sense to leave when his own sense had abandoned him. Although, her good sense made her even more intriguing. A lot of women—hell, a lot of people—couldn’t have walked away from a kindred spirit like that. Even if what they held in common was a desolate numbness.
Since that night, Andre could not shake off the memory of her. Sex had been a chore since his wife’s death, and his wasting disease had diminished his lust for decades. But meeting her caused him to think about sex more frequently than he had in years, and it did not take much to trigger the fantasy of bending her over a table and driving into her.
No more trips to San Francisco; in spite of his desire, it was better to stay home. The wash of pleasure and pain that had come over him when she looked at him like she knew him—it had made him want to crawl in a hole and hide, and it had made him want to knock on every door in the city in search of her.
It took Zoey two seconds flat to realize that Andre Maras was the man who’d been haunting her dreams for more than a year. Had Ethan planned this?
Impossible—she’d never told him about her encounter with the stranger.
That night, she’d hoped for a few hours of invigorating distraction. She had walked into the barely lit club and immediately noticed a man seated on a stool, his broad back bent over the bar. The angle of his spine and the curve of his shoulders captivated her. What could burden a man like that? She leaned against a sticky wall by the entrance and watched him sit as still as a lion about to pounce. But he never did, even when a few attractive women approached. So she sat next to him. When their gazes met, his speckled green eyes bored right into the hollow place inside her.
She’d never regretted walking away, even if he appeared in her dreams almost every night.
In his office, he looked very much like he had in the bar. He’d worn an untucked, casual button-down shirt over dark jeans and black European-looking boots. He had a European accent to match, although he’d only spoken twenty words. Today he wore gray slacks and a crisp white shirt instead.
God, he was big—six feet four or five and stacked with the muscles of a warrior, the kind a man built with manual labor, not at the gym. His dark hair was clipped close to his head, but she could tell it would have a tight curl if he let it get longer. Just a sprinkling of gray showed at his temples. A prominent aquiline nose sat between his hazel eyes, and his olive skin was radiant. Though there was nothing pretty about him, his features came together in untamed perfection. She wasn’t in the habit of thinking men beautiful, but he was.
As he examined her from toe to head, the heat of a blush followed his gaze. When his eyes finally reached her face, they opened in surprise. The spark between them ignited again, and her breath rushed out of her body.
Fuck, she thought. This is was last thing she needed.
Pedro and the other man chuckled. Great. Apparently, she’d said it out loud. The heat crawled up her neck and bloomed on her cheeks.
“I’m getting the feeling you two have met?” said the blond man.
She struggled to regain her composure. “Only in passing. We weren’t properly introduced.” Stepping forward, she extended her hand to the blond. “Zoey Porter.”
“Kosjenic Maras, but please, call me Kos.” They shook hands. “And this is my father, Andre.”
Father? They looked to be about the same age, maybe thirty or thirty-five. How could he have a son that old? Maybe he wasn’t as young as he looked. She turned back to examine him, only to notice he remained completely stunned to see her. Somehow, as huge and gorgeous as he was, he seemed vulnerable as he stared.
“Ms. Porter, can I get you something to drink? Coffee or water?” Pedro asked, as if trying to make up for Andre’s silence.
“A glass of water would be great.”
He walked over to a wet bar and filled a glass for her. Zoey noticed a decanter of something honey colored, probably more bourbon for Andre to sniff. She wouldn’t mind a few fingers of that instead.
As if he heard her thoughts, Andre finally spoke. “Pedro, pour Ms. Porter some bourbon. One for yourself too. Can’t have her drinking alone.”
It would be professional to demur. Too bad. “Thank you. Kos, you don’t drink either?” Kos looked surprised she knew that about his father.
“I don’t care for spirits,” he replied. “I prefer wine.”
Taking her glass from Pedro, she said to all three men, “Please call me Zoey.”
Andre gestured for them to be seated at four overstuffed, dark brown, leather armchairs around a coffee table. She liked the old world style of the office; it was comforting. The walls were the same brick as the wine cellar she had come through. A few large oil paintings hung on them. They showed quaint Mediterranean villages and Zoey guessed the scenes were of his native Croatia. Woven rugs added color in warm hues. His desk was clearly an antique, as were the floor lamps and some clunky brass sconces on the walls.
He looked longingly at his desk. Did the big boy want some protection? Surely she wasn’t that scary.
Then he began to speak, and the impression of vulnerability vanished. “I assume Ethan Bennett has explained to you our goals for re-branding the wine from our new vineyard?”
“Yes, he explained all he could. But honestly, I don’t understand what you’re aiming for. I have a lot of questions.”
“Certainly. Would you like to start with them now?”
“Actually, I’d like to begin with a tour of the estate.”
“Ah, yes, a logical place to start. Pedro, would you give Ms. Porter a tour? Show her anything she’s interested in.”
It was funny that he wouldn’t call her Zoey, but it was downright strange he didn’t want to show her around himself, since the project seemed important to him. Why? Her toes twitched in her birthday shoes. Curiosity always made her jumpy, and she wanted to know everything about him.
Pedro as tour guide suited her fine, though. It would give her a chance to wrap her mind around this unsettling coincidence, and put up some defenses quickly. It was clear what she had to do—channel the curiosity into the project, and then get the hell away from him. Otherwise, she might shove Andre Maras to the ground and act out all her fantasies, whether he liked it or not.
Chapter 6
ANDRE TOOK A DEEP BREATH when the door closed behind her. Kos waited for a few more moments before he said, “What the hell?”
Andre shrugged. “We met once in a bar.”
Kos stood up and began to pace. “A bar? So, did you fuck her and then never call?”
“No, I did not fuck her. Nothing happened. We hardly spoke.” Andre tried to stay calm. Since the moment he had recognized Ms. Porter, his heart had been trying to race right out of his chest. Best to keep that reaction from Kos.
“When was this?”
Andre sighed, trying to calm his nerves. He hoped he sounded impatient, not frayed. “I don’t know. More than a year ago.”
“That long?” Kos stopped mid-stride. “You were practically paralyzed with shock when she walked in. I’ve never seen you speechless like that.”
“I never expected to see her again.” He wiped his hand down his clean-shaven face.
Kos waited for more of an explanation.
“And I’ve thought about her a few times in the last year.”
“I’m guessing those thoughts were not G-rated.”
No. They were also not few.
Kos returned to his chair. “Back when you didn’t fuck Zoey Porter, did she smell like Hunter? Because that’s a turn off for me.”
“Hell no.”
“Well, you didn’t fuck her, but a Hunter sure did.”
“What? I didn’t smell that.” Instantly, h
e lost all the calm he had gained and his heart thudded insistently.
“Well, I did, when she shook my hand. It must be Ethan, given Lucas is Pedro’s type.”
Andre ground his teeth. He remembered that, when they spoke on the phone, Ethan had sounded rather possessive of her.
“Do you think she knows what they are? What we are?” Kos asked.
“I don’t think so.” Again, he wiped his hand down his face.
“Then what the hell are they trying to accomplish sending her here?” Kos asked.
“My best guess? They must know we smelled them on Pedro and they want to know why we haven’t run yet.”
Kos crossed his arms tightly as if he were cold. “I keep asking myself the same question.”
“If we’ve found the cure, it’s not just for us. It will help our old friends and all the other refugees from Šolta. That’s why Ms. Porter is here—to help us reach them.”
“You’re right. But still, I have a very bad feeling about this,” Kos said as he stood up to leave. At the door, he said over his shoulder, “Best to feed often while she’s here. You were looking very hungry as you watched her walk out.” He closed the door before Andre could reply.
Kos was right, he did need to eat more often to keep up his waning strength. But none of the women in his household—Susan, Ally, and the simpering Lena—seemed nearly as appetizing as Zoey. His body had finally calmed down, but a sinking feeling in his gut replaced the initial shock. The spark between them could seriously complicate his plans.
Chapter 7
ONCE SHE SETTLED INTO HER ROOM, Zoey changed into a cool linen dress and spent the afternoon with Pedro touring the estate. He told Zoey the house was a replica of the Maras family home on the Island of Šolta in the Adriatic Sea. It was full of antiques, but Pedro said they were not original to the home on Šolta. That home and all its furnishings had been destroyed in a fire.
“I have a lot of questions,” Zoey said. “I looked at the winery’s website, but it’s…”
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