her.
His voice was deeper, edgy and gruff. “I thought you’d want to hear what you’ll be working with.”
“Oh…” She stepped closer to him and took the iPod from his hand, her eyes averted, as she worried her lower lip. Their fingers brushed, and a tremor passed between them. Stepping back, she murmured, “That was very thoughtful. Thank you, Cole.”
He nodded, liking the way his name rolled off her lips a little too much. He remained silent, however, and her curious gaze lifted to his. His face felt tense, muscles strained, and his throat burned. Disappointment cut him off at the knees.
“Cole?” She tilted her head. A slight frown wrinkled her brow.
He opened his mouth, only to snap it shut again. He let out a low, frustrated growl that reverberated through the room. Shaking his head, as one would after taking a vicious right hook to the jaw, Cole pivoted on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving behind a trail of whispered, furious expletives.
****
He sat back on his heel, braced his forearm on his knee, and lowered the camera. His steady gaze followed the petite redhead as she entered the apartment building across the street. The metal door closed behind her with a heavy thud, 83
blocking her from his view. The sound echoed in the night, teasing a small grin from his lips.
Humans were so predictable. They ate at the same restaurants, followed the same routes to and from work, kept the sa me hours. And they all thought hiding behind metal doors, a nd deadbolts, and programmed security systems would keep them safe from the things that went bump in the night.
Monsters like him.
Silly sheep.
Running his tongue over his fangs, he lifted the camera again, aiming the extended lens at the second floor, third window on the left. And he waited.
Three, two, one… The light blinked on, then the next one over. Any moment now, she’d pick the watering can up to give the thirsty plants on her windowsills a drink.
Plants watered. Check. Cue the music.
Michael Buble poured from her open windows.
Apparently, she was feeling a bit mellow tonight.
Human females were laughable. A well placed compliment here, a small token of affection there, and they were putty in your hands.
Stowing the camera, he eased back into the shadows. He’d have to stop off and develop the pictures on his way back tonight. The memory stick was full now, thanks to Cole’s little blonde acquisition. She was a tiny morsel all right, hardly more than an hors d’oeuvres. But, in his experience, the little ones were often the sweetest.
Ms. Sinclair was an interesting development. One he’d be following with close interest.
84
Chapter 8
Late the next morning, Cole’s mood was already ten degrees south of dangerous by the time he arrived at the studio, exhausted and late.
He’d spent a long night tormented by visions of Alex in that sexy, abbreviated tank and boxers, with freshly washed, sleep-tousled hair and not an ounce of woman’s war paint on her beautiful face. A pint of bland, chilled blood and an hour in an icy shower hadn’t helped to put his lust to bed.
His agent had called in the wee hours of the morning, informing him there’d been a marked drop in sales. There’d also bee n some woman in Denver making accusations about several members of Stolen Innocence holding her captive in her basement and assaulting her—never mind the fact that at the time of the supposed crime the entire band had been on tour in Brisbane, an entire hemisphere away. Tommy had also reminded him they were long overdue to iron out the plans for their next tour, including going through the list of projected dates and cities.
Then security had phoned the main house reporting an attempted break in. It was the third in the last two weeks, and, once again, the intruder had managed to elude them. That call had been followed, nip and tuck, by one from the TFRA agent—a chillingly calm TFRA
His voice was deeper, edgy and gruff. “I thought you’d want to hear what you’ll be working with.”
“Oh…” She stepped closer to him and took the iPod from his hand, her eyes averted, as she worried her lower lip. Their fingers brushed, and a tremor passed between them. Stepping back, she murmured, “That was very thoughtful. Thank you, Cole.”
He nodded, liking the way his name rolled off her lips a little too much. He remained silent, however, and her curious gaze lifted to his. His face felt tense, muscles strained, and his throat burned. Disappointment cut him off at the knees.
“Cole?” She tilted her head. A slight frown wrinkled her brow.
He opened his mouth, only to snap it shut again. He let out a low, frustrated growl that reverberated through the room. Shaking his head, as one would after taking a vicious right hook to the jaw, Cole pivoted on his heel and stalked from the room, leaving behind a trail of whispered, furious expletives.
****
He sat back on his heel, braced his forearm on his knee, and lowered the camera. His steady gaze followed the petite redhead as she entered the apartment building across the street. The metal door closed behind her with a heavy thud, 83
blocking her from his view. The sound echoed in the night, teasing a small grin from his lips.
Humans were so predictable. They ate at the same restaurants, followed the same routes to and from work, kept the sa me hours. And they all thought hiding behind metal doors, a nd deadbolts, and programmed security systems would keep them safe from the things that went bump in the night.
Monsters like him.
Silly sheep.
Running his tongue over his fangs, he lifted the camera again, aiming the extended lens at the second floor, third window on the left. And he waited.
Three, two, one… The light blinked on, then the next one over. Any moment now, she’d pick the watering can up to give the thirsty plants on her windowsills a drink.
Plants watered. Check. Cue the music.
Michael Buble poured from her open windows.
Apparently, she was feeling a bit mellow tonight.
Human females were laughable. A well placed compliment here, a small token of affection there, and they were putty in your hands.
Stowing the camera, he eased back into the shadows. He’d have to stop off and develop the pictures on his way back tonight. The memory stick was full now, thanks to Cole’s little blonde acquisition. She was a tiny morsel all right, hardly more than an hors d’oeuvres. But, in his experience, the little ones were often the sweetest.
Ms. Sinclair was an interesting development. One he’d be following with close interest.
84
Chapter 8
Late the next morning, Cole’s mood was already ten degrees south of dangerous by the time he arrived at the studio, exhausted and late.
He’d spent a long night tormented by visions of Alex in that sexy, abbreviated tank and boxers, with freshly washed, sleep-tousled hair and not an ounce of woman’s war paint on her beautiful face. A pint of bland, chilled blood and an hour in an icy shower hadn’t helped to put his lust to bed.
His agent had called in the wee hours of the morning, informing him there’d been a marked drop in sales. There’d also bee n some woman in Denver making accusations about several members of Stolen Innocence holding her captive in her basement and assaulting her—never mind the fact that at the time of the supposed crime the entire band had been on tour in Brisbane, an entire hemisphere away. Tommy had also reminded him they were long overdue to iron out the plans for their next tour, including going through the list of projected dates and cities.
Then security had phoned the main house reporting an attempted break in. It was the third in the last two weeks, and, once again, the intruder had managed to elude them. That call had been followed, nip and tuck, by one from the TFRA agent—a chillingly calm TFRA
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