I’ll knock ’em dead in those slacks the next time David and I have a court date.

I sort price tags, adding up the purchases. “Good thing I brought a credit card.”

Good thing I have a job.

Lance is gathering the discarded outfits and says offhandedly, “No need to worry about that. It’s been taken care of.”

My turn to raise an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”

“It means I own the Armani license here in Palm Springs. An investment. I’ve never had the opportunity to take advantage of it before. Adele prefers more earthy styles. With you, on the other hand, I can.”

“Am I dreaming? You own an Armani store?”

A nod. “You can keep everything if you’d like. I wish you would.”

“Okay. What’s the catch? There’s got to be a catch.”

He’s close again, nuzzling his lips against my neck. “No catch. You want to show your appreciation? Be grateful. Very grateful. I can think of a hundred ways to take advantage of grateful.”

I take his face in my hands, press my body against his. “So can I. Do we have time?”

“I’m the boss, remember?” He scoops me up. “We have all the time in the world.”

Thirty minutes later, we’re heading downstairs, bodies glowing, skin flushed with the afterglow of sex.

Adele and Stephen rise from a couch in the living room when they see us approach. Stephen is tall, angular, with sharp cheekbones and dark, close-cropped hair. He’s a walking advertisement for Armani—cotton slacks, tonal striped shirt, twill dress blazer—right down to the Metro Shield sunglasses tucked into the open neck of his shirt. Must get a great employee discount. He grins as Lance makes the introductions.

Adele is right, Stephen says. You are beautiful.

Stephen is also vampire.

It doesn’t surprise me that Stephen is vampire. Why should it? We’re well integrated into the human community. I take his outstretched hand. Thank you. For the compliment and for taking the time to bring the clothes.

Anything for the boss’s lady.

Lance folds the garment bags over the back of a chair. “You can return these,” he says. “I think Anna should take them all, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She is a model of restraint.”

Restraint? I think about what we were just doing in the bedroom and wink at him before turning to Stephen. “Will you be at the party tonight?”

He looks over my head to Lance as if surprised that I know about it. Surprised and—I can’t quite interpret the other emotion I see in his expression. My feeling is that he’s not entirely pleased with the idea.

He recovers quickly, smoothing any lack of enthusiasm from his face. “Yes.” A glance at his watch. “And now I need to get back to the store. Come into the dining room. I have a selection of shoes for you to try.”

We leave Adele and Lance in the living room discussing household matters. As soon as the two of us are out of earshot, I ask, So what was that look?

He feigns ignorance with a shrug. He’s busy sorting shoe boxes. What look?

He pulls out a pair of strappy Jimmy Choos and holds them up for my consideration.

I nod, take them from his hand and slip them on. They’ll be perfect with the gown.

But I’m not that easily distracted. The look you gave Lance when he said I would be going with him to the party. You seemed surprised that he’d ask me. Is there a reason I shouldn’t go?

Stephen pauses two beats too long before answering. Of course not. It’s just that Lance—Rick—has never brought a date to one of our soirees before. It’s . . . interesting.

A date? It’s not like I’m the local prom queen. I’m one of their own. I throw Stephen a sharp-eyed look of curiosity. Why wouldn’t he bring me?

He’s guarding his thoughts, not letting anything but his words through. Finally he says, Do you like the sandals?

Yes.

He slips them from my feet and replaces them with a simple open-toed Blahnik pump. I turn my ankle to the right and left, as if examining the shoe, when in reality, I’m trying to probe his mind. I don’t know how long he’s been a vampire, but it’s obviously long enough to know how to block an intrusion.

I take the shoe off and hand it to him. “I’ll take this pair, too. I think that’s all I’ll need for the weekend.”

His features soften. With relief? He stands and begins the process of putting the extra shoe boxes into an oversized canvas tote bag.

I move to his side and hand him boxes. How long have you been vampire?

Five years. And you?

Not quite one.

He turns and looks at me, eyes wide. Really? You seem—I don’t know—much older.

If I was a mortal woman, I’d be insulted by that.

He holds up a hand, smiles. No offense meant. You give off a serious old-soul vibe.

He’s just about finished repacking the boxes. How do you know . . . I almost say Lance, then realize I should probably be calling him Rick. It’s how he’s known here. I start again. How do you know Rick?

Stephen hoists the bag to his shoulder. We have mutual friends. The vampire community in Palm Springs is small but closely knit. He throws me an ironic smile. Incestuously so.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out the meaning in that remark. You have the same sire?

You’ll have all your questions answered tonight. It should be an interesting evening.

It’s the second time he’s used that word. This time, there’s no mistaking it. The subtle inflection he puts on the word “interesting” doesn’t necessarily reflect a sense of anticipation or eagerness. I’m not sure whether Stephen is looking forward to tonight or dreading it.

Before I can ask anything else, he’s moved into the living room. Lance is gathering up the garment bags. He leans over and kisses the top on my head when we join them. “I’ll walk out with Stephen. See you in a minute.”

Stephen says his good-byes to Adele, and he and Lance move toward the door.

Adele is clearing away the coffee service when she stops suddenly and looks up at me. “Do you care about Rick?”

It’s asked with fierceness I recognize and appreciate. A fierceness that hardens her mouth and tenses her shoulders.

The same fierceness I’d use if I were concerned about the well-being of one I love. It prompts an honest answer. “Yes.”

Her shoulders relax, she resumes cleaning up. “Do me a favor tonight, will you?”

“All right.”

“Watch out for him.”

“Watch out for Lance? That’s a strange thing to say.”

She picks up the tray. Her eyes are bright with concern that she’s trying to mask with a smile. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said anything. Ignore me.”

“But you did. Adele, is there something I should be on the lookout for? Someone?”

She busies herself folding napkins, rearranging cups and spoons on the tray. She’s not looking at me. “It’s probably nothing. And besides, you’re smart. I can tell. If there’s something wrong, you’ll figure it out.”

Lance is closing the front door. I look up to watch him approach and when I turn around, Adele has made her escape into the kitchen.

Lance spends the afternoon giving me a grand tour of the house. Three floors of art, books, antique furniture and family history. A simple, pleasurable, uncomplicated exercise. I don’t recognize Lance in much of it, but it’s like visiting a museum. You don’t have to have a personal connection to what’s on exhibit to appreciate interesting things that represent the past.

Adele doesn’t join us.

While we explore, I watch Lance and listen to his thoughts. There’s no anxiousness in his manner, no nervousness about the party. He is neither alarmed nor disturbed at the prospect of attending. If anything, he is looking forward to it. He doesn’t hide the fact that he’s glad I will be accompanying him. I begin to feel that either Adele and Stephen are misguided in their concern or that my suspicious nature made me misconstrue what could be innocent remarks. Stephen because I’m a stranger being introduced into what is obviously a close-knit “family.” Adele because she is afraid I’ll hurt Rick. Asking me to watch out for him might have been another way to ask me not to hurt him.