Into the Spotlight Read Online Free PDF Page B

replace them. His cock pulsed with desire all its own. By the time the show ended, he ordered and downed another two glasses of blood-flavored brandy, fighting the visceral need to descend into the darkness and take what he wanted.
    She will come to me.
    She will come for me.
    His fangs nicked at his tongue, a reminder that he needed to find control before he fell on her the moment she approached his table.
    It took forever for her to make an appearance, the dim lighting turned up with the show’s final curtain. She wore a red dress that glided provocatively over her curves. She walked toward him at a slow, hip-swaying gait that pushed more vital blood away from his brain. Behind her, the salt-and-pepper guard shadowed her steps. But Malcolm dismissed him, rising and holding his hand out to the goddess in her shimmering heels.
    “My lady.” He waited for her arrival and captured the hand she extended, turning it over to brush a kiss to her knuckles. The scent of wild orchids, vanilla and something utterly feminine tingled in his nostrils. Heat pounded in his temples.
    Desire transforming into a need to possess. A need to be away from intrusive eyes. “Would you care to share a supper with me in a more a private setting?” The politeness of the inquiry belied the heat pumping through his body. The thumping of her heart—or maybe it was his—tripled in cadence.
    Jeannie’s eyelashes descended, shielding her verdant green eyes, but the corner of her mouth quirked into a half smile, quick and forbidden. “If it would please you, Mr. Reynolds.”
    “Oh. It would absolutely please me.” Malcolm turned and tugged her lightly to his side, holding fast to the hand he’d captured when she’d arrived. He angled their passage from the table to put himself directly between Jeannie and her escort.
    The man pushed away from the wall and colorless eyes flickered to the dancer and back to Malcolm.
    “We will be dining in my suite.” The you’re-not-invited lingered in the air, a punctuation of unspoken emotion.
    The man ignored Malcolm, focusing on Jeannie. His slender, lean appearance likely disguised a far more dangerous ferocity. Malcolm didn’t allow himself to be swayed by appearances.
    “I will go up with you.”
    “You weren’t invited.” Malcolm’s back stiffened. He might be an attorney this century, but it was hardly his only profession. Bar brawler could easily be added to his list of accomplishments.
    “I will escort her.”
    “No.”
    “Please.” Jeannie’s single word punctured the violence burning in his veins. He wanted privacy—that meant her escort had to go. But her fingers squeezing his hand were ice-cold. “Stan can escort us upstairs and then remain in the hallway. All right?”
    Stan bowed his head once. “That will be sufficient.”
    Malcolm frowned. The escort’s ready agreement rang alarm bells. He inhaled a deep breath, scenting both. The clean, sweet scent of vanilla and honeysuckle that was Jeannie filled his lungs. Stan had no scent.
    None.
    Wariness encouraged Malcolm to tuck Jeannie against his side, away from the man. Few things had no scent. No scent. No color to his eyes. No expression. No inflection.
    The trio remained silent on the short passage from the lounge through the terraced lobby with its waterfalls, dancing lights, loud music and boisterous conversations playing out under the watchful gaze of a silent Sphinx.
    The elevator ride to the twenty-eighth floor passed in tense quiet. His showgirl’s heart raced, thundering inside her chest like a filly exploding out of the gate at Pimlico. Warnings tingled along Malcolm’s senses. What game was being played? She couldn’t be a willing trap by the Overseers. Maybe she was an emissary. Was she truly in need, as his senses screamed? Or was his desire overwhelming his reason?
    The elevator chimed a soft welcome to the private floor. Key access was required to ascend above the thirteenth floor, allowing guests private security