She'd donned the slacks and tailored blouse of a business manager, along with a pair of stilettos that hinted at the smoldering sexuality of the woman beneath the clothes. Of course, the vivid eyes and lush mouth, beautiful hair twisted up and piled on her head, would do that if she wore sackcloth. Though the gremlins were still quiet, he sensed a new tension simmering in her muscles when she came out of her room. Now that she'd resolved to do it, she wasn't entirely sure she'd made the right decision.

Though he'd been prepared to test her with a few more objections, that knowledge made him change direction. He knew how formidable she could be, but he wondered if she realized that when he looked at her, he saw the delicacy of her wrists, the thin fragility of her skin, how her eyes held so much. She was a tough lady, but she'd been raped, violated down to her soul, her very identity threatened, and really hadn't been given any time to deal with that. She needed to believe in herself, in her own strength, to handle this. That small but powerful thought—Please don't make me beg—was the key to what could break her.

He rose from the couch. “You look beautiful.”

It surprised a smile out of her. Her gaze passed over him, lingering indecently at his groin, passing over his thighs and then back up over his chest. “Stay close. I wouldn't want any of these ladies to get any ideas.”

“I'll be right behind you. Keeping my eye on every round, soft inch of your ass.” When she narrowed her eyes at him in mock reproach, he attempted a sexy, reassuring smile. He wasn't much on flirtation, but it felt right, and the increased warmth he sensed in her manner told him it might have helped. She moved to the door, but he got there first, putting his hand on her wrist to stop her. “I think that's my job, right?”

As her blue-green eyes flickered up to his, he dared to slide his knuckles along the small of her back, just above her waistband. He indulged the male desire simmering through him, the compulsion to touch and reassure at once. “I'll stay close to your mind; don't worry. Just keep it open to me and everything will be fine, like you said.”

She nodded, her glossy lips pressing together, making him think of all sorts of moist, heated places. She apparently received that thought, or maybe it matched her own generous reservoir of lust, because when she preceded him out the door, she let her hand drift across his groin, giving his tormented cock a cruel caress.

That was okay, though. He was beginning to understand what things helped steady her, even if it unbalanced him, made him have to work extra hard to sharpen his senses and be on guard for her the way he needed to be. If an attack threatened, he wouldn't be distracted.

Though it had been less than a week, it still seemed surreal, how things above had remained essentially unaffected. As she'd said, it was afternoon, so the club wasn't yet open. Gideon was impressed by the efficiency with which the starting shift worked, methodically checking and cleaning playrooms, inspecting and sterilizing equipment. Fresh flowers were being placed in the appropriate playrooms and in the small bud vases on every table in the public areas. The dance floor was being waxed. Despite the din from the waxing machine, the evening DJ was doing sound checks for his equipment. Bartenders checked their alcohol stores and kitchen staff took stock of limes and lemons, as well as prepared the gourmet appetizers and desserts they provided as part of the club's amenities.

James had done his job well. The club staff had been told Mistress Anwyn had taken a few days' leave to deal with some business, the unspoken message being it was nothing out of the ordinary. She was greeted and approached as if she'd never been gone.

However, Anwyn was intimately involved in her club, so Gideon quickly realized they weren't going to make it back downstairs in their agreed thirty minutes. Each area had questions and requests for her to wade through.

She handled it with easy grace, though, falling into a rhythm that seemed to soothe her mind. So, while he wouldn't say he relaxed, as he stayed close to her, inside and out, he hoped this brief eye of calm would help prove to her the storm was in fact moving, that it would eventually pass over her. He wanted to believe that as much as she did.

After an hour of talking to various staff members, Anwyn turned to locate Gideon. She'd touched him with her mind constantly, felt his responding mental caress, and been pleased with that intimate form of communication, no words, just a feeling passed across a bridge. But now she wanted to see him.

He was leaning a hip against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, while she discussed a supplier issue with Carlyle, the first-shift bartender. It was an intriguing combination, to experience his tenderness, his sexy warmth toward her, all in her mind, while on the outside he looked unapproachable and tough, a walking bad attitude. If Madelyn or any of the other Dommes had arrived yet, their jaws would have dropped. No one had tried to talk to him.

It made her want to saunter over, break that exterior by putting her palm over what the denim outlined so well. Though the images she'd shown him downstairs had been a while ago, his cock had stayed decently interested, probably because the scoundrel was passing the time by watching the shift of her ass under her snug trousers, thinking about sliding a well-lubricated cock along the channel between them while she lifted her hips from the bed to facilitate the movements. He'd lingered on the curve of her throat, wanting to lick her there, take sharp nips, since he'd discovered that she was ultra sensitive in that area. And of course he'd indulged his obsession with her hair, imagining pulling the pins from it to bring it tumbling down, covering her bare breasts, but then sifting through the curtain of it to find her aroused nipples, plucking and squeezing them until she was arching and gasping, her thighs loosening to invite him in to give her a just-short-of-fainting orgasm.

She was going to take him downstairs, tie him to a spanking bench and blister his ass. Of course, he was hungry for her because she was hungry for him, one response feeding the other in a slow, pleasurable spiral. It was the one thing she definitely liked about being a vampire, how it enhanced and increased the stamina so no fantasy was out of reach. She imagined pushing him with pain and pleasure until those eyes became cobalt fire and he begged for her cunt in his rough voice, part plea and part insolent demand.

She gave him a severe glance. He almost made her laugh as he blinked those cobalt eyes in guileless innocence, when the bartender wasn't looking. The routine of the club had dispelled her initial nervousness about her defiant decision, and now she realized something remarkable. For the first time in days, she feltgood . As though it was going to be all right.

This washer place, and she'd never felt it so keenly. Daegan had said vampires were very territorial, but she liked that feeling, this roll of slow power through her. She was strong, fast, so aware of everyone around her. She'd always been a sensual creature, but now she seemed to emanate pheromones that scattered like fairy dust over everyone she encountered. Her fingers drifted across Carlyle's forearm as they spoke. She'd touched the small of the waitress's back, encountering bare skin through the corset spacings, as they spoke about drink prices and the floor coverage for the evening. Now, as she moved out of the bar area and into the security office, she even slid a kiss across James's cheek that lingered near his mouth one tantalizing moment before she drew back and thanked him for his help.

He cleared his throat gruffly. “You're welcome, Miss Naime. You look . . . you look wonderful. I mean, like you're doing very well.”

“I feel wonderful,” she said, and gave a throaty laugh that she knew would go straight to his testicles. It was a rare thing to see James off balance, and she loved it.

She looked like sex in motion on those preferred stilettos, Gideon thought darkly, as she sauntered back out of James's office, leaving the man studying her with a slight flush on his usually stoic face. Every decision and word she offered was useful, productive, but as she continued through the club, the way she studied each employee was impossible not to notice. Like a fox sizing up each chicken in the henhouse.

He didn't for one second wish to be marked by Daegan Rei, but Gideon did have a sudden wish he could speak directly to him. Vampires were oversexed, yeah, and Anwyn was already chock-full of sensuality, but he was getting a strange vibe. He didn't sense one of her seizures coming, either bloodlust or transition, but something definitely wasn't right.

Of course, could he trust his own judgment in the absence of that key indicator? Her touching every guy in range but him was starting to piss him off. She knew damn well he was aching hard for her.

No, that wasn't it. This had all the earmarks of growing bloodlust, whether or not he was getting the signal for it. What would he do if she lost control and threw someone against the wall to suck their blood? He'd focused too much on the seizures, not on the impulse control that all young vamps had.

Why in the hell had he let her come up here without letting Daegan know?

Because it was new to him, calling on someone else for help. Calling on Daegan particularly rankled his pride and those other issues he'd been wrestling with. However, he couldn't help but recall his words.

She will be as bad as the most dangerous drug addict, willing to say or do anything.

Ah hell. He might have really screwed up. Another alarm went off, big-time. He realized he was hearing onlyhis mind.

Are you all right, Anwyn?Gideon tried to reach out, and hit a rock-solid wall. Son of a bitch. She didn't have the strength to close the door between their minds yet. No way she'd learned to do it in one brief stroll through her club. What if that fucking psychotic legion in her mind had figured out how to slam the door shut, closing her off from him? Not only confusing the signals, but shutting her off from the strength and reassurance he could give her as a second mark.

Plus, he could only stabilize her mind. He wasn't connected down to her soul, to the level of her heart's blood, like a third-mark was. But they apparently had access to all of her right now, places he couldn't go.

So far the battle was only beneath the surface, though. As if all was well, she'd stopped to speak to one of the maintenance men. Pointing to a cage in need of repair by the dance floor, she drew him over to it.