He shrugged, stopping short of admitting that there had been no other women - not even once. He was raised as a machine, denied all physical contact save discipline. Until the past couple of days he'd been with Corinne, he hadn't known to crave anything more.

"Intimacy had no place in my upbringing," he told her. "This is not the kind of contact I was trained for."

"Well, you're doing just fine, if you ask me."

Again she smiled, and again his body responded with a kick of hot, coiling need. He knew she had to feel the vibration that seemed to thrum through every cell in his being. She had to feel the hard jut of his arousal, where it pressed insistently against her thigh, which had somehow wedged itself between his legs as they lay there, not even a bare inch separating them. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to ease some of the ache that was opening up inside him as he curved his hand around the tender arch of her nape and drew her closer. She didn't resist, not even for an instant.

Hunter moved toward her and slanted his mouth across hers. The kiss they'd shared the night before had been unexpected, sweet and tentative. This kiss was something else entirely. Their lips melded together, faces pressed close, hands reaching out, holding tight. This kiss was starved and urgent, greedy with mutual need. Hunter cupped his palm around the back of Corinne's head to drag her deeper into his embrace. Every beat of his heart sent fire shooting through his veins. His fangs throbbed, erupting out of his gums to their full length and filling his mouth. His cock pulsed against the delicious softness of her body, igniting something primal in him, something animal and not entirely within his control.

He didn't think his desire could ratchet any higher, but then he felt the slick prodding of Corinne's tongue as it skated maddeningly along his upper lip. He groaned something unintelligible, incapable of words when his body was on the verge of snapping its tethers. He parted his lips on a rasped breath and nearly lost his mind when the tip of Corinne's tongue darted inside.

They kissed for a long few moments, his entire body tense and rock-hard while Corinne seemed to go even more pliable in his arms, melting into his embrace. He felt the soft crush of her breasts against his chest, and curious, he reached down to rub his palm over the thin fabric of her sweater. He cupped one of the small mounds, marveling at how erotic it felt to caress her and hear her tremulous gasps of pleasure in response.

He couldn't get close enough now. He needed more of this ... more of her. Pulse raging, desire roaring through him with an intensity that nearly overwhelmed him, Hunter rolled her onto her back beneath him. He covered her with his body, his mouth fastened to hers in a demanding kiss, the pounding force of his arousal making his hips grind against her pelvis.

Although he'd never tasted sexual release, the need for it now drove into him with razorsharp talons. He felt Corinne writhe beneath him, heard her moan as he slid his hands up the length of her arms. The need to possess her, to claim her, slammed into him with every throbbing beat of his pulse.

It took him a moment to realize Corinne was still moaning, not with the same fierce hunger that throbbed in him but with something that sounded disturbingly like fear. He had her hands pinned above her head, his fingers clamped around her delicate wrists like shackles. She was writhing beneath him still, and through the dull haze of his selfish need, he suddenly understood that she was struggling, squirming to get free from the unyielding press of his body.

Her moan broke like a whimper, then a breathless sob.

Appalled at himself, Hunter rolled away from her at once. "I'm sorry," he blurted, feeling worse than stupid as she scrambled up from the floor, her arms crossed over herself like a shield.

"Corinne, I didn't mean to ... I'm sorry."

She slid him a withered glance. "You don't have to apologize. I shouldn't have let you. I should have known I couldn't do this," she said, sucking in a hitching breath. "I'm not ready for this, Hunter. Maybe I'm crazy to think I ever could be."

When she turned away from him, he struggled to drag himself back to his senses. "Is it because of Nathan?"

Her head snapped back to him. Her expression was aghast, eyes wide with alarm. Her voice was hardly audible. "What did you say?"

"Nathan," he replied. "That's the name you called out in your sleep, just before you woke from your nightmare. Is he the reason you're not ready? Is it because your heart belongs to another male?"

She wasn't breathing. She stared at him unmoving for what seemed like forever. "You don't know what you're talking about," she answered at last, the words clipped with finality. "I didn't call out anyone's name in my sleep. You must have imagined it."

He hadn't, but he refrained from pushing her any further. Their moment together was shattered, over in that very instant. Although his pulse was still thrumming, his sex still rampant and aching for release, he could see that she wanted nothing to do with him now. Her silence lengthened, her face shuttering as she backed away from him, wary now. The look in her eyes seemed to accuse him somehow, as though she'd suddenly remembered he was a stranger to her ... maybe even an enemy.

He felt awkward, embarrassed, confused. Things that were foreign to him until now, because of this woman. Because of his care for her, and the cornered look that she gave him as she put even more space between them.

Mira's vision came back to him like a slap across the face. Corinne's pleading. Her tears. Her begging for him to spare the life of the male she couldn't bear to lose. And now Hunter was sure he knew that male's name.

Nathan.

He didn't know why the knowledge should set his teeth on edge, but it did. He clamped his jaws together so hard his molars ached.

"Hunter," Corinne began, breaking off to inhale a shaky breath. "What happened between us just now - "

"It will not happen again," he finished for her.

When lust and pride bit into him with twin spurs, he mentally tamped the useless emotions down. He grasped for the rigid discipline that had always served him so well - a discipline that seemed intent on eluding him when he met the look of wounded confusion that swam in Corinne Bishop's lovely eyes.

"The sun will be setting soon," he told her. "We'll leave as soon as it does."

She flinched, worry edging her expression now.

"Where to?"

"A safe house has been arranged. You'll stay there while I resume my mission for the Order."

He turned, and left her standing behind him in the room alone.

"Mr. Masters, I certainly do appreciate the generosity you've shown my campaign in recent months. This check - " The senator arched a well-groomed brow as he glanced once more at the sizable corporate donation. "Well, sir, quite frankly, a contribution of this magnitude is humbling. It's unprecedented, really."

Dragos steepled his fingers under his chin and smiled from his plush guest chair on the other side of the upwardly mobile politician's desk. "God bless democracy, and the United States Supreme Court."

"Indeed." The senator chuckled somewhat uncomfortably, his Adam's apple straining against the starched white collar of his tuxedo shirt and crisp black bowtie. His flawlessly styled golden blond hair was combed back loosely from his handsome face, the dusting of gray on either side of his temples giving the thirty-something senator an air of wisdom and distinction. Dragos wondered if he'd earned those distinguished-looking stripes at a pricey salon, then decided he didn't care. It was the senator's politics - and his elite Ivy League connections - that interested Dragos the most.

"I'm honored that you and TerraGlobal have demonstrated such faith in my campaign's objectives," he said, adopting an earnest look that probably scored Boston's charming, mosteligible bachelor everything he'd ever asked for in his privileged young life. "You have my personal assurance that all the money you've contributed will be put to prudent, good use."

"I have no doubt, Senator Clarence."

"Please," he said, sliding the check into the top drawer of his desk and locking it. "You must call me Robert. Ah, hell, call me Bobby - all my friends do."

Dragos returned the polished smile. "Bobby it is."

"I want you to know, Mr. Masters, that I share your commitment to the real issues that are impacting our great nation. I've promised to do my part in Washington to help bring us back to where we deserve to be - where we need to be, as the greatest country in the world. And I want you to know that my fight is only beginning now that I have the honor of holding this office at such a crucial time in our history. I'm here because I mean to make a difference."

"Of course," Dragos intoned, patiently sitting through the red-white-and-blue highlights of a stump speech he'd heard more than once while Bobby Clarence was on the campaign trail.

"You and I share many of the same interests. Not the least of which being your dedication to antiterror initiatives. I admire your zero-tolerance stance on those who would engage in such deplorable activity. I commend you on being willing to draw a hard line when it comes to matters of national security."

Bobby Clarence leaned forward across his desk, eyes narrowed with practiced intensity.

"Between you and me, Drake - if I may?" Dragos gestured for him to continue, smiling to himself as he granted permission for the human to address him by one of his many aliases.

"Between you and me and these four walls, I wouldn't be opposed to bringing back public executions when it comes to any and all terrorist scumbags, especially the ones sprouting up like weeds from our own American soil. Hang the bastards by their balls and turn a pack of starving dogs on their entrails, I say. Unfortunately, my handlers would probably tell me that doesn't make a great campaign slogan."

He broke into a gregarious laugh, humor that Dragos shared, though not for precisely the same reasons. Dragos's chuckle was one of private amusement and the almost giddy anticipation of the moment he would pull the strings that would result in his ultimate triumph over the Order. The speakerphone on the senator's desk buzzed with an incoming call. He politely excused himself, then lifted the receiver to his ear and pressed the button. "Yes, Tavia? Mmhmm. All right, that's fine. Ah, damn. Is it that time already? Please phone the chairman's office and apologize for me, will you? Tell him I'm in my last meeting of the day and he'll have to go on ahead of us to the benefit. We'll join up with him and the others as soon as possible. Yes, I know how he hates last-minute changes of plans, but I'm afraid he's just going to have to deal with it." Bobby Clarence sent a good-old-boy wink in Dragos's direction. "Tell him I'm delayed on account of a Homeland Security matter. That ought to give him something to chew on until we get there."

The senator wrapped up the call from his aide and offered Dragos an apologetic shrug.

"No one told me that getting elected would be the easy part of this whole gig. Staying on top of my schedule is something else, especially around this time of the year. I tell you, I've spent more time in a damned tuxedo the past month than I have in the trenches where I belong."

"You're a man in demand," Dragos replied, sensing that the exasperation over fat-cat parties and frou-frou social functions was just part of the golden boy's public facade. It had certainly played well in the elections, and that was all that mattered to Dragos, since he was betting a good deal of cash on the fact that the shiny bright star from Cambridge would get him face-to-face with humankind's true power brokers.

"You have appointments to keep, and I shouldn't delay you any longer," Dragos announced, rising from the guest chair despite the senator's rush to assure him he had all the time in the world to talk with him. "Thank you for agreeing to see me on short notice and so late in the day, besides."

Senator Clarence came around the desk and helped Dragos shrug back into his cashmere coat. He reached out and took Dragos's hand in a friendly clasp. "It's been my pleasure talking with you today, Drake. I welcome the opportunity to do it again, anytime."

He walked with Dragos to the door and opened it for him. Standing on the other side, her hand raised before her as though she was only a second away from knocking, was a very tall, very attractive young woman dressed in a charcoal gray business pantsuit and high-collared, ivory blouse. Her thick, caramel-brown hair was fastened in a long ponytail at her nape, not a single strand out of place. All combined, it was a look that might have been offputting on a less beautiful woman, but not here.

"Ah! Tavia," Bobby Clarence blurted as Dragos came to a halt right in front of her, struck by the sight of the young woman mere inches from his face. She took an abrupt step back, her intelligent gaze snapping from Dragos's intrigued smile to her employer's smooth grin. The senator placed his hand on Dragos's shoulder. "Drake, have you met my personal aide, Tavia Fairchild?"

"A pleasure," he purred, dipping his head in greeting.

"Mr. Masters," she replied, accepting his offered hand and giving it a brief but firmly professional shake. "We haven't had the opportunity to meet, but I recognize your name from various correspondence of the senator's."

"Tavia's memory for names and faces is uncanny," boasted her proud boss. "She's my secret weapon, always keeping me on time and in the know. Or at least, trying to."

"I have no doubt," Dragos replied, hardly able to take his eyes off the woman. Dark lashes shuttered her spring-leaf green gaze almost anxiously in the instant before her attention flicked away from him, leaving him to wonder if on some instinctual level the female sensed he was more than he appeared beneath his conservative suit and cashmere coat. Dragos remained fascinated by her, enthralled really, as she turned to the senator and handed him a small gift-wrapped box festooned with a red ribbon and a cheery sprig of fresh holly. "For the chairman's wife. It's an antique brooch I found at a shop on Newbury Street last weekend. I figured since she collects cameos - "