Master of the Night Read Online Free PDF

deliciously curved hip and sauntered away through the cocktail party crowd.
    Reece’s eyes narrowed, scarcely aware of Gavel’s complaints about his new custom-made titanium driver. Her strapless gown was the same fuck-me crimson as her lipstick, in brilliant contrast to the cream of her slender shoulders. The dress clung to her tight, narrow waist and heart-shaped rump before ending at mid-thigh, displaying long, sleekly muscled legs. She wore her shimmering blond hair piled on top of her head like a crown, baring a tempting length of nape. He imagined pressing a kiss there.
    He’d always been a neck man.
    Then someone stepped in front of her, and she was gone.
    â€œExcuse 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.
    Â 
    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