Master of the Night (3 page)

He'd always been a neck man.

Then someone stepped in front of her, and she was gone.

“Excuse me,” Reece murmured to the CEO as he started after her. “I see someone I need to have a word with.” He could smooth any ruffled feathers later. Besides, he'd already discovered what Steve had wanted to know: Beneath Gavel's endless prattle lay fear and desperation. ComTec was sinking fast, and Champion International's offer was the only life raft in reach. Steve would soon add another holding to the family's impressive portfolio.

In the meantime, Reece planned to take care of more personal needs. If the Latent let him.

Absently he reached into his lapel and checked the foil packets he carried everywhere he went. Hungry for her as he was, Reece had no intention of entering a Latent without protection. Thomas and Lizzie had taught him the folly of that more than two centuries ago.

It wasn't a lesson he was ever likely to forget.

 

Pleased with her
work, Erin Grayson scooped a champagne flute from the tray of a passing waiter and slid deeper into the chatting crowd. She'd circle back around and give Champion another good look later. Tonight's objective was simply to establish contact, and piquing his interest was a good place to start.

So far it was definitely piqued. When Champion had looked at her, instant heat had leaped in his eyes, as if somebody had ignited a mental Molotov cocktail.

Erin meditated on the surprising strength of his reaction and frowned slightly. She wasn't that damn good looking. Not that she was coyote material, of course, but she'd played the game long enough to know what male response to expect. Most men were appreciative, but Champion had stared with a searing primal heat she'd felt to the soles of her spike-heeled Pradas. The man packed quite a punch.

There was something just a little bit off about him, though, something that made her instincts hum. A sense of danger. But was it the danger of a handsome, sexy man—or the evil of somebody who'd bankroll a death cult?

A slight frown curving her mouth, Erin took another sip of her champagne.

Champion certainly looked the part of a wealthy corporate prince. His tailored Ralph Lauren tux showcased the kind of broad-shouldered build that spoke of frequent, time-consuming trips to a gym. His mink-brown hair had been cut by someone who'd probably charged him two hundred bucks, and those broad, long-fingered hands had recently been subjected to an expensive manicure.

He could probably afford to give Death's Sabbat the money to buy weapons-grade anthrax. But was he the kind of man who'd do it?

True, there was a visible edge to him that didn't fit the pampered persona. The line of that hawk nose wasn't quite true, as if broken by either a fist or a polo mallet. The businessman he appeared to be would have gotten that fixed years ago. God knew his family could afford it; the Champions had been wealthy when Vanderbilt was a social-climbing upstart.

Actually, his whole face was subtly, oddly battered, despite its rough-cut good looks. A thin scar angled along his upper lip, and a shorter one slashed across a chiseled cheekbone. The resulting effect suggested knife fights and bar brawls rather than old money and Harvard.

But it was Champion's jungle green eyes that really made Erin's instincts chime. The last man she'd met with a stare that feral had been a DEA agent who'd gone deep cover in a Columbian drug cartel a little too long.

None of which jibed with the dossier she'd spent the morning studying. Champion's childhood had been spent in private schools, with Christmas vacations in Aspen and summers in Greece. Between racking up indifferent grades at Harvard, he'd kicked around Europe and gotten his heart broken by some Parisian bimbo his family had flatly refused to let him marry.

Yet her gut told her the owner of those hard eyes wouldn't have let anybody dictate who he could or couldn't wed. Not even on pain of losing a multimillion dollar inheritance.

On the other hand, she found it just as hard to believe such a handsome, suave man would be willing to bankroll an anthrax attack on Atlanta. So was the Outfit's intelligence that far off, or had Erin's instincts gone that far south? Neither alternative appealed.

Frowning, she looked back in his direction, expecting to see Champion still talking to that boor from ComTec. Instead he was barely six feet away and closing fast, his pirate's mouth curved in a lazy half-smile. His gaze met hers with predatory heat.

Erin almost bobbled her champagne as her instincts buzzed like cicadas. No junior VP would have dared walk away from George Gavel, not with the kind of power the CEO wielded. Particularly not when Champion International was trying to buy Gavel's company. And certainly not just to chase a woman. Champion would have to be an idiot.

Unless he'd made her. Erin didn't think she'd ever seen him at one of the cult's Sabbats, but what if she was wrong?

Her heartbeat took on an adrenaline-rush rhythm as every instinct demanded she run. Instead she gave Champion her best seductive smile.

One thing Erin Grayson knew was how to play the game.

 

“Good evening,” Reece
said when he was again close enough to breathe in the Latent's delicious scent.

“Hello.” He could hear her heartbeat pounding as she smiled that sensual smile at him. There was fear under the exotic musk of her perfume, an alarm that didn't quite mesh with her hooded come-get-me gaze. It made Reece wonder if she knew what he was. What she was.

What he could do to her.

Then again, maybe she was playing some other game altogether. Could be harmless, could be something that would get him killed. He didn't have enough information to be sure either way. Which meant he should probably cut his losses and walk.

And normally, Reece would have done just that, if it hadn't been so damn long since he'd tasted a Latent. Or a Maja, for that matter, since none of the witches last night had been interested in doing more than teasing him.

After all those months in Iraq, he was due for a night's respite. One night's sweet peace. It wasn't so much to ask after everything he'd given up.

“I hope I didn't lure you away from our host,” the Latent said as he reached her. Her heartbeat slowed from its original startled slam, and she gave him a teasing smile. “Don't you like golf?”

“Other games interest me more,” Reece said. Her carnal scent teased his senses and soothed his jangling instincts. He let his eyes drift to the impressive cleavage mounding in the heart-shaped frame of her bodice. “Particularly with the right partner.”

“Partner?” She took a sip of her champagne and pursed her sensual mouth. “Or opponent?”

He toasted her with his own glass. “Partner, definitely. Partners share the same goals.”

A spark of cynicism glinted in those clear blue eyes. “Nobody ever really has the same goals. The best you get is similarity. The focus is always different, no matter what it seems on the surface.”

He studied her, intrigued. “Depends on the game, Ms….?”

“Erin,” she supplied, extending a graceful hand. “Erin Grayson.”

“Lovely,” he murmured, reaching to take those long fingers in his. Her skin felt deliciously silken. His own seemed to heat in instant response. “Reece Champion.”

She let her hand linger just a moment before she slowly reclaimed it, brushing his fingers with her own in the process. The Desire purred in hot response. “What's it like being a member of a family you can trace back for centuries?”

“Confining,” Reece said, smiling easily. He'd fielded the question so many times, the answer had become rote.

Erin lifted one pale, perfect brow. “You don't find it romantic—all the lives that came before yours, all the struggle to build everything you enjoy?”

Not particularly, since he was the one who'd done the building. He wasn't about to tell her that, though. “It also comes with the responsibility not to screw it up for those who come after you.”

“I suppose everything has a price.” A waiter slipped through the crowd and paused beside them with a tray of canapés. Erin chose one and took a bite. Reece watched as her tongue swept a crumb from her lower lip with an agile pink flick. “The cost may not be evident, but it's always there.”

“Sometimes that's part of the rush,” he said, giving her a lazily suggestive smile. “How much can you get without paying more than you want?”

She studied him over the rim of her champagne glass. “You sound like a gambler, Mr. Champion.”

“Oh, yes. Are you?”

“Only for high stakes.” Her eyes shuttered in pleasure as she sipped, lashes curving against her creamy skin. “Nothing less is worth the trouble.”

“Or gives the same kick.” He smiled slowly. “Would you like to step out on the balcony with me? It's a little crowded in here.” Particularly for what he had in mind.

Another waiter approached. Erin set her glass on his tray and took another. “Why not?”

Reece led the way through the double French doors. Instantly a flood of cool night air blew against his hot skin, carrying the high wavering wail of a siren and the rumble of traffic. Just beyond the balcony's railing, the lights of Atlanta glittered across the dark earth, as if the sky had cast its stars on the ground.

“Beautiful view,” Erin murmured.

“Yes.” A full moon rode overhead, painting her face with pale, soft light. He moved closer, savoring the anticipation, the sheer elegant purity of her features, the lush scent of her body. “What color are your eyes?”

She blinked at the question. “Blue.”

“Yes, but what shade? I've been wondering.” He dipped his head and scented her hair. His inhumanly acute hearing picked up the answering thump of her heart. Reece concealed a smile and went to work. “The blue keeps changing. Sometimes it's sapphire when the light is good, sometimes cerulean. Right now it's a deep, mysterious…cobalt, I think.” He drew back to consider those long-lashed eyes. “Definitely cobalt.”

Erin eyed him in pure admiration. “Oh, you've got talent.”

He grinned. “Well, yes. But that doesn't mean I'm not sincere.”

A blond brow rose. “Are you trying to get me into bed, Champion?”

“Yes.” Testing, he ran his fingertips over the curve of her bare shoulder. “How am I doing?”

“Let me get back to you on that.” Smiling wickedly, Erin turned away, slipping skillfully from beneath his hand. “Are you always this brazen?”

“Occupational hazard.” He followed her as she moved to the balcony and leaned against the glass-and-chrome railing.

“Of being a VP at Champion International?”

That hadn't been the occupation he was thinking of, but he shrugged lightly. “Of being a second cousin in a very large, very talented family. The Champions may have raised nepotism to a high art, but you've still got to impress those who run the show.”

“Ah,” she said, on a note of revelation, and took a sip of her champagne. “The family gene pool is stocked with sharks.”

“Not necessarily, but it does pay to be able to swim.” Reece studied her, wondering suddenly how she'd gotten invited to this very exclusive party. He did hope she wasn't someone's wife. He wasn't sure his willpower was strong enough to resist the temptation. “So who do you swim with?”

That red mouth curled. “Fishing, Champion?”

“I like to know whom I'm trying to seduce.”

“Meaning, can I leave with someone other than the one that brung me?” Erin asked, lengthening her vowels into an exaggerated Southern drawl. “What if I said I crashed the party?”

“Did you?”

“I'm not that brave.” She shrugged and looked off across the glittering city. “Actually, I called in a favor from a certain ComTec exec.”

“Why?”

Erin gave him a shimmering glance that swept from the toes of his Gucci loafers all the way up into his eyes. She smiled slowly. “Maybe I'm fishing.”

He grinned, appreciating her wit. “For what?”

She grinned back. “Shark.”

“Better be careful. You might get eaten.”

“Only if I'm lucky.”

“Mmmm. Strikes me the shark would be the one with the luck.”

She shot him a teasing, sidelong look. “You're such a gentleman.”

“But am I lucky?”

“I doubt luck has much to do with it.”

“Luck has everything to do with everything.”

“What, no faith in talent and preparation?”

Damn, he liked her. “No matter how talented and prepared you are, bad luck can torpedo you every time. But even the bumbling and lazy get lucky.”

“The talented and prepared make their own luck.”

He stepped incrementally closer until the lapels of his tux brushed the bodice of that maddening dress. “Is that my cue?”

Erin tilted her chin to look up at him. “I don't know. Is it?”

He lowered his head. “I think maybe it is.”

“There you go,” she said, just before he took her mouth. “Talented, prepared,
and
lucky.”

He slid into the kiss slowly, savoring the moment, knowing what it would do to both of them. How the taste of her would hit him after his long fast.

The Latent's lips bloomed open under his, silk parting for that first, eager thrust of his tongue. She tasted even more like sex than an ordinary woman did. Richer, darker, searing his senses like a slug of straight Scotch after drinking white wine. Like tangled limbs and darkness and drumming hearts.

God, he was ravenous for her. It had been too damn long.

With a groan, he eased his tongue deeper. Erin met it with a wet velvet stroke of her own. He licked at her, caught her full lower lip gently between his teeth. Suckled.

The Latent leaned into him, her soft breasts pillowing his chest. He eased his arms around her and drew her closer, deeper into the kiss. The red silk of her dress felt slick under his hands, warm from her body. Erin shifted on her high heels, her silky legs whispering against the fabric of his trousers. Curling her slender arms around him, she spread her fingers across his back. Reece could sense her body slowly awakening, readying itself for him, unconsciously eager for the Gift. His own blood began to burn with need.