Dansant’s long, sinewy muscles broadened over stretching bones, and his weight went from delicious to maddening as he twisted against her, his cock jetting inside her with frantic jerks. His long black hair receded to a pale blond stubble, his jaw lengthened, and his brows shifted from a sweep of wings to a menacing arch. As his hair lightened, the luscious scent of jacqueminot from his skin darkened, changing into something deeper and spicier. His expression went from taut delight to dazed confusion, and then he was Sean, his big hands pinning her down as he shoved himself deep.

“Hi, there.” She gasped as he tangled a hand in her hair and brought her mouth to his. The kiss took what was left of her breath away, and when he lifted his head to look into her eyes, she curled an arm around his neck. “In case you were wondering, King is dead, the kid is in the hospital but okay, and we’re fine.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at their bodies. “I can see that. But how did I . . .” His expression darkened, and he lifted up. “Shit. Sorry I interrupted.”

“Oh, no.” She put the other arm around his neck. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“If you want to fuck him, Cupcake,” he said through gritted teeth, “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait another sixteen hours.”

“I was waiting for you.”

Sean cupped her face with his hand. “You think I want to share you with him? Is that what this is all about?”

“You already share a body with him,” she pointed out calmly. “What’s one more?”

He turned his head, his jaw working. “You’re not just a body to me.”

“Neither are you. Neither is he.” She sighed. “Of course, if we can’t work this out, I can call it a draw and walk away. There are plenty of one-dimensional guys out there. I’m sure you’ll meet someone else someday who will understand that you turn into a were-chef every night.”

Now he looked at her. “I was the chef. He was a bunch of fucking test tubes.” He looked at her mouth. “What does he say about this?”

“He’s worried about you,” she said, kissing his chin. “Like me.”

He made a disgusted sound. “Sure he is. He was so worried he changed while he was fucking you.”

“I asked him to do it, so you’d know.” She ran a hand over his short hair. “He also said he’d step aside if you want.” When he stared she nodded. “He knows it’s your body, Sean. You’ve got the final word here.”

“Yeah.” His expression thawed a little, and he rolled over onto his back, bringing her along to straddle him. “Between the two of us, you’re not going to get a whole lot of sleep, Cupcake.”

“I like where I am.” She worked herself down on him until their body hair tangled. “And who the hell needs sleep?”

Epilogue

“Losing Hoff in that car accident was unfortunate, Elliot,” Genaro said, “but Delaporte positively identified the remains, and brought back a DNA sample from the morgue to confirm. She’s dead, as is Gerald King. Their deaths have closed the matter.”

Kirchner wasn’t satisfied. “What about the heir to King’s estate?”

“She’s sixteen years old,” Genaro said. “Too young to be Kyndred. Once she recovers from her injuries, she’ll be shipped off to prep school and spend her summers with her uncle in Martha’s Vineyard. I doubt she even knows how to spell transgenic.”

“I don’t like it.” The geneticist looked at Delaporte. “You should have brought in Hoff the night our team disappeared in New York.”

The security chief shrugged. “Mr. Genaro wanted her taken here, in the building. I can only do what I’m told, Doctor.”

The doctor’s face darkened. “Yet somehow you still manage to screw it up.”

“Would you excuse us, please, Chief?” Genaro waited until Delaporte left the conference room before he continued. “Don Delaporte has been in charge of GenHance security for the last twenty-two years, Elliot. His loyalty to the company—to me—is unquestionable.”

“He was the last person to see Nella Hoff alive,” Kirchner said. “He permitted Bradford Lawson free access to the building, which resulted in Lawson’s theft of the transerum and the progenote. He also failed to detect or capture Andrew Riordan when he was spying on us. He’s completely incompetent.”

“I disagree.”

“That is your prerogative,” Kirchner said. “But how many more mistakes does Delaporte have to make before you see that he’s a liability?”

“I think you’re becoming paranoid, Elliot.” Genaro rose from the conference table. “Why don’t you take the rest of the week off, and spend some time with your family? Maybe that will put things in perspective for you.”

Delaporte was waiting for Genaro in the analysis lab. “Dr. Kirchner seemed upset.”

“He is. He cannot reconstruct Nella Hoff’s experiments. Apparently she removed some of her notes, or destroyed them.” The chairman watched the simulation looping on the terminal screen. “He’s decided that you are to blame for his lack of progress.”

Delaporte nodded, unperturbed. “The doctor doesn’t accept failure well.”

“Neither do I, Don.” Genaro regarded him. “We’ve been together a long time. I would consider it a personal as well as a professional loss if I had to terminate you.”

“Then I’ll make it my business never to give you a reason to, sir,” Delaporte said.

Several weeks after that meeting, Delaporte drove up to his cabin in the mountains to spend the weekend hunting. He invited Genaro to go with him, but the chairman had a prior commitment, and refused. The security chief spent the next two days tramping happily through the cold, un-welcoming woods and bringing down two bucks, which he skinned and butchered himself. He then invited a woman friend from a nearby town to stop in for a late dinner and a friendly romp in his sheets. He enjoyed the sex as much as the fresh venison.

On the drive back to Atlanta, Delaporte easily shook off the men who had been tailing him for the better part of a month before he stopped at a public rest area, and walked out to the picnic area to eat the lunch he’d packed for himself. After he finished his meal, he took the phone taped to the underside of the table and carried it with him into the woods, where he found a spot where he could watch the road while placing the call.

“I was followed up into the mountains, my lord,” he told his master. “I was able to elude them briefly, but I will be unable to report on a regular basis until the surveillance stops.” He listened to the instructions he was given, and memorized an address and phone number. After that he made his only request. “May I speak with her?”

“Hello, Don,” Nella said a short time later. “How are things in the States?”

“Lonely,” he said simply.

“I’ve been writing letters to you. I can’t send them, so I’m boxing them.” There was a hitch in her voice as she said, “I expect the next time we meet, I’ll have quite a stack.”

“Every night I think of you,” he told his lover. “I remember how you smell. The sounds you make.”

“How long will it be before I see you again?”

He saw a familiar car pull into the rest area parking lot. “Maybe years. Don’t wait, baby. Enjoy yourself. And stay safe.”

“You, too, love. Bye.”

Delaporte switched off the phone, removed the battery and the sim card, and wiped it down before dropping it inside a hollow tree. The battery he dropped on his walk out of the woods. The sim card he mangled slowly inside his pocket; he wouldn’t discard it until he reached home and could drop it in a container of acid he kept in his garage.

The men following him made a pretense of using the vending machines as they watched him make his way back to his car. He dumped his trash and stowed his cooler in his trunk before getting back onto the road.

He eyed in his rearview mirror the men hurrying back to their car to follow him, and allowed himself to feel a small amount of satisfaction. “Amateur cocksuckers.”

Taske found his driver working out behind the garage, waxing the limo in the shade of one of the estate’s massive oak trees. “Findley, can you spare a moment?”

“Yes, sir.” The driver put down his buffing rag and came around the car to join Taske and his new employee.

“This is Neville Morehouse,” he said. “Neville, James Findley.” He waited until the two men shook hands. “Morehouse will be taking over as house manager, as Mrs. Wallace and Mr. Rodriguez have decided to relocate to Miami.”

Findley didn’t comment on the sudden departures of the housekeeper and gardener. “If I may be of assistance during the transition, Mr. Morehouse, or at any time, please let me know.”

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Findley.” Morehouse’s smile was faint but genuine. “Perhaps you could assist me this afternoon in picking up my belongings from the club.”

“An excellent idea,” Taske said. “Well, gentlemen, I have several dozen calls to return. Morehouse, I will see you tomorrow morning at six a.m. Findley.” He nodded and limped back toward the big house.

Once Taske was back in his home office, he checked over the documents he had brought back from New York before placing them in his safe. Along with favors called in from many of his associates in New York, Taske had once more employed his newest vendor in the forgery business, who had successfully seen to every document he had required to take over Gerald King’s estate and assume guardianship of young Taire.

Rowan had insisted on remaining behind in New York to look after the girl during her recovery and make arrangements to reside in the city permanently.

“I know you don’t think it’s safe for me to stay,” she had argued, “but this is going to work. If it doesn’t, I will personally pack up everyone and relocate them myself.”