5

It must be the matchmaking. If Matilda thought there was a man there, she’d strand her in Antarctica with him. Andrea wished she could get her on the phone now and vent. She felt certain she’d feel far more romantically inclined if she were lazing half-naked on a tropical beach. Where was the logic?

“Such harsh words from such a pretty lady,” came a man’s husky voice.

Andrea froze in the middle of a tirade against her grandmother and a vow to hate her new employer on sight. Oh, please, no, she thought without turning around. It had to be him.

“At least I assume the lady is exceptional; the view from behind is certainly promising,” he continued in that deeply masculine drawl.

“Excuse me?” she asked, hardly believing her ears. Since men were not in the habit of saying those kinds of things to her, she couldn’t help feeling defensive. What kind of jerk was this Fallon? She pivoted, but the retort she’d planned died, forgotten.

Gleaming black hair fell to his lean hips, framing a face so sensual it stole her breath. He was muscular, but not bulky, and his t-shirt did nothing to hide sculpted biceps and powerful shoulders. His long legs were clad in black denim, and he wore it well. A sudden fever made her face hot as she dragged her eyes up until she met his wicked black eyes. Eyes that snapped with knowing confidence.

White teeth flashed in a wicked grin as he returned her inspection, very slowly. “As I thought…very promising.” He moved closer.

Thrown off stride by her intense reaction to him, she moved back. And came up against the fridge. “I…” Get a hold of yourself, girl. She licked lips made dry by nerves. Maybe she could salvage this. “Are you Fallon?”

“No.” He planted his hands on either side of her. “I am Mathin. And you are mine.”

***

He’d known who she was when he’d entered the kitchen to inspect Fallon’s new housekeeper. Seconds after he’d entered the room and her unique scent reached him, he’d also known what she was. A charmer. An unholy, irresistible temptation for a man of his race. She was a wildcard mutation among humans with a pheromone capable of inflaming the male Haunt, of beguiling his senses until his very will became her own.

Once humans had known his kind; known and hated them. They’d hunted down the Haunt, using the charmers to seduce their warriors. Once a man was in her power, no one, father or mother or beloved child, was safe. He would betray them all at one soft word from her poisoned lips.

Women such as this had been used for generations to purge the world of his race until only a remnant remained; a remnant that had finally fled to another world to escape extinction. A woman like this could be the death of him.

At the moment he didn’t care, wasn’t more than vaguely cognizant of those important details. Desire roared through his body, carried in by the scent of her unique pheromone.

Proof enough of her danger.

His blatant statement of ownership didn’t impress the girl. She ducked out of his arms and dashed behind the counter, glowering at him. “Guess again, pal,” she warned from the safety of the other side.

He smiled. He could see the rapid pulse at her throat, the way her chest rose and fell with her breathing. His keen sense of smell told him it was more than fear she was feeling. He moved closer, drawn by her scent. It was making him weak, intoxicated. A part of him wanted to resist. He took a deep breath, but that was no help at all. “It would help if you didn’t want me, too,” he chided.

She inched back, putting more counter between them. Her voice shook. “I’m warning you, buster! Come any closer and you’ll regret it.”

She eyed him like cornered prey, but there was something in her posture that was a little too soft, almost inviting.

Mathin planted one hand in the center of the island and vaulted over it, landing gracefully on the other side. “What are you afraid of, sweetheart?” he asked softly. He let his eyes speak of his arousal, but made no further move toward her.

She watched him warily, but her eyes kept skittering away. She tried an unsuccessful smile. Was she trying to defuse the situation? “Do you usually accost women before breakfast, or is this an exception?”

Mathin leaned lazily against the counter, showing her with his body that he wasn’t about to pounce. Yet. “Normally the women accost me, and more often than not wish to become my breakfast. Or dinner, depending on the hour.” When she snorted, he added casually, “So did you, before you thought to fear me.”

“Get over yourself!” she protested, blushing furiously. “What do you think you are—some kind of rock star? For your information, I have a boyfriend.”

Undaunted, his dark eyes swept her body again. “And what does this boy have to do with us?” he inquired, his faint smile absolutely possessive. “Children have no place in this discussion.”

She gave him a withering look. “What I meant was, I have a man.”

“You do now.”

Her fists tightened, and she looked like she wanted to hit him. Since it was not the direction he’d prefer to move this, he mellowed a little, said quietly, “You’re not used to pursuit.”

She gripped the counter, seeking an anchor, perhaps. “I don’t flirt; that’s true. I don’t like games.”

He studied her for a long moment. Didn’t she? Inexperienced or shy, was she? It was good to know; it would require a more subtle approach. It had been a long time since he’d had to dust off that set of skills, but he knew that hunt, too.

Pretending courtesy, he stepped back and said, rather formally, “I apologize for distressing you.” Especially if it will get me what I want, he thought, calculating what it would take to seduce her.