“The car looks dirty,” Amaury admonished.

Carl had an annoyed look on his face. Perfect. Two pissed-off vampires together in one car. The night couldn’t possibly get any better than that.

“I know. That useless construction crew blocked the entrance to the garage, so I had to keep the car parked outside. I wouldn’t be surprised to find scratches on the paint.”

“Yeah, sucks.” His comment wasn’t meant for Carl, but for himself. Where the hell was that woman hiding? Why kiss him like that, with such passion as if she meant it, when all she wanted was to kill him? Even hours after her kiss, he could still taste her, and it drove him insane.

“Did you preview any homes tonight?” Carl asked.

As Samson’s personal broker, Amaury took care of all of Scanguards’ real estate investments, as well as Samson’s properties.

Amaury shook his head. “Something came up.”

Yes, his dick.

Which, by the way, was still up. Just thinking about the little blonde devil kept him in a permanent state of readiness.

“I didn’t get a chance. But there are a few houses that just came on the market. Some of them might work for Samson and Delilah. I’ll check them out tomorrow night. With the baby coming, they’ll definitely need more space now.”

He reached into his jacket pocket. In anticipation of previewing homes he’d taken his lockbox key with him. It would give him access to vacant homes for sale without making it necessary for the listing agent to be present. A neat system, especially since he could only view homes at night. And luckily, the medieval myth that a vampire needed to be invited into a home was simply untrue, otherwise being a real estate agent wouldn’t be the smartest career choice for a vampire.

In silence, they rode to the private airport several miles south of San Francisco. Scanguards had its own planes, specially equipped to transport vampires during daytime hours. Taking commercial planes was too risky.

Carl parked at the edge of the tarmac, killed the engine and looked at his watch. “They should land in a few minutes.”

Amaury drummed his fingers on his thighs. He wasn’t in the mood to meet his old friends anymore, since it took him away from his search for the human woman who had so thoroughly kissed him. It irked him that so far he’d been unable to find her anywhere. As soon as he could, he would resume his search. He didn’t have much to go by—only her scent—but she would not escape him.

The roaring sound overhead announced the descent of the private jet. Minutes later it came to a complete stop at the other end of the landing strip. Carl drove the car up to the plane as the doors opened.

Gabriel was the first to step out. Always with a flair for the dramatic, he emerged clad in black jeans, dress shirt, and leather coat. Coupled with his large scar, he represented authority and confidence. And as New York’s number one, he wielded considerable power within the company. Only Samson was more powerful.

Amaury was on equal footing with Gabriel. In the past, their internal power struggles had caused some strife. However, ever since Amaury had moved to California, their fights had subsided, and their friendship had taken priority.

Amaury jumped out of the car to greet his old friend. They clasped each other’s right arms. “Good to see you.”

“It’s been a long time,” Gabriel replied.

“Not long enough,” a female voice came from the steps.

Amaury looked into her direction. Yvette, as sexy and ravishing as ever, glided down the stairs. Leather pants and a tight pink top accentuated her alluring curves. Her short black hair was styled back, away from her flawless face. Women would kill for a face like hers.

“Still sore?” Amaury forced himself to grin. He wasn’t going to allow her to get to him.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Amaury.”

She stepped down with her long and sexy legs, the same ones he remembered all too well being wrapped around his waist a long time ago. Amaury shook the image off and focused his eyes back on the present.

Yvette stopped next to her boss, maybe a little closer than their work relationship would suggest was necessary. “You’re not that memorable.”

He knew he was, but he’d gain no satisfaction from trying to prove it to her. It was better to let sleeping lions—or lionesses—sleep before her claws came out.

Gabriel turned to the jet’s door. “Quinn, Zane, what the hell is keeping you? We’ve gotta beat sunrise.”

“Coming!” came the answer. A second later, Zane appeared in the opening, two bags in hand. “Luggage. Hey, Amaury, can you give me a hand?”