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Leaning over the counter, I tucked the money into his pocket behind the cigarettes and called on my glamour. It shimmered over me like a magical paint job. My curly black hair straightened and turned dirt-blond, my chin sprouted a wispy stubble, and my body seemed to shorten and thicken.
I helped myself to a box of chocolate truffles. “Á bientôt, mon ami. It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”
* * *
The print shop was fifteen minutes away on a narrow cobblestone street in Old Montreal.
And it was closed on Sundays.
I glared at the carved wood “Fermé” sign. I could break into the shop, but all the invitations would have been sent out by now. I’d have to return tomorrow.
I headed back to the Latin Quarter, resigned to holing up another night in my rented apartment.
At dusk, I gulped down a bloody steak. Outside, the party-loving Montrealais were out in force. They packed the restaurants and bars of Rue St. Denis and overflowed into nearby streets, including the one beneath my third floor window.
I stared out at them, edgy and hungry despite the steak. Itching to go out hunting. But the Tremblay vampires would be out, too, prowling among the humans.
I turned from the window and reached for the truffles. The scent had teased my nostrils all afternoon, rich and dark and sweet. I opened the box and froze, staring at the truffles like they were tiny hand grenades.
I’d grabbed a box of Zoe’s favorite candy.
Chocolate and alcohol are the only human foods a pureblood vampire can tolerate. During the casino negotiations, we’d usually taken a break around midnight for chocolate and a glass of blood-wine.
And each night, Zoe ate the same thing—a dark chocolate salted caramel truffle. Slowly, with an intent expression that had made me want to drag her onto the conference table and do dirty things to her.
It was the only time she’d let on there was a real person behind that unsmiling exterior.
After a few days, she’d started playing up to me when no one was looking. Running her tongue over her lips. Making little hums of satisfaction. Licking the chocolate and caramel from her fingertips.
Things had progressed from there. We’d managed to steal away from our respective security and spend an hour alone at a hole-in-the-wall pub. The time flew by, the two of us absorbed in each other.
Zoe had told me she envied my being the third son. “No pressure,” she’d said.
“There’s pressure,” I said. “Maybe not what you get as Victorine’s only spawn, but it’s there. People are always watching, waiting for me and my brothers to fuck up. Especially me. I’m the ‘face’ of the Kral Syndicate.”
She’d tilted her head. Her silky black hair slid forward over one shoulder. “Would you walk away from it if you could?”
“Nah. I don’t mind being the face. What sucks is people believing that’s all I am—the jet-setting playboyface. I’m a damn good negotiator. The nuts and bolts of business bore the hell out of me, but I like the challenge of putting a deal together.”
She nodded. “So few people bother to look beneath the surface. And youarea damn good negotiator. I report to Victorine each night, and I can tell she’s impressed, even though she’d never admit it.”
Our eyes met—and I feltseen, like Zoe had looked beneath the cocky, fun-loving surface to see the real Rafe, the one who was doing a kickass job at keeping things calm and moving forward at the negotiation table.
Panic flickered across her face. “I’d better go.” She pushed back her chair and come to her feet.
“Wait.” I threw some cash on the table and rose as well. “I’m leaving in a few days. I want a real date with you.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
I moved closer, fingered a lock of her hair. “Please.”
In the low lighting, her hazel eyes gleamed gold. She moistened her lips, and my stomach tightened. She was going to refuse.
But she’d said, “All right. Your hotel. Tomorrow at midnight. But just us. No bodyguards.”
“I’m in the penthouse.”
“I know,” she said.
