Stacey gaped after the man as he headed into the small plane with the box she’d given him. She still stared as he exited empty-handed and clomped down the stairs.

“Are you going to stand there all night, or are we leaving?” he barked. “And where is the pilot?”

“The pilot is coming, sweetcheeks.” A nickname he’d earned because of the way it made a tiny muscle jump high on his cheek. She popped open the trunk and leaned over. On purpose of course. “Give me a moment to grab a new outfit before you stow my bags.”

She unzipped her case and shoved her hand inside, fingers brushing silken fabric. She tugged a dress free, the loose texture and bright color a perfect foil for her hair and the climate they would be visiting.

Straightening, she noted him right behind her, his expression carved in granite, looking so serious, and yet, he couldn’t hide the spark of red in the depths of his eyes. His inhuman eyes.

The red spark was part of his heritage as a whampyr, a creature only recently discovered when a bunch of them came to town with an honest-to-goodness necromancer. Lucky Reba had snared that fine catch.

What exactly was a whampyr? No one knew for sure, and Gaston, their master, wasn’t telling. Stacey and the others only knew the basics. Some kind of shapeshifter, with a body that resembled that of a gargoyle crossed with a bat. For their diet, they drank blood, and yet, according to Gaston the necromancer, they weren’t vampires. And that was all he’d say.

A secret. Stacey liked secrets, which was why this mission to the Caribbean excited her.

It took only a moment for Stacey to yank the dress over her body. It fell in pleats that showcased her shape. “Hand me my shoes.” She pointed to them lying on the ground, having fallen during her shift.

“Get them yourself.”

Someone was ornery in the morning. Was it because the sun hurt his skin? He kept himself pretty well covered, wearing a pair of linen slacks, a long-sleeve shirt, and a jacket. But no tie. He also sported a short-trimmed beard.

Friction for the thighs. How thoughtful.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting in person before. My name is Stacey Smithson.”

“I don’t really care.”

“What an odd name to give you.”

He glared so she laughed.

“While you might say you’re not interested, I know better, sweetcheeks. You’ve been eye-balling me for a while.” Just like she’d eyed him.

“If you saw me looking, it was only to ensure you didn’t turn rabid and attack me. Your kind isn’t known for being too stable.”

Her smile widened. “You say the most darling things. I will say I am most excited you’ve been chosen to come along as my bodyguard on this trip.”

“As if anything could guard you from your own insanity.”

“True.” How well he knew her already. “But I will enjoy watching you try. You’re an intriguing creature, Jean Francois Belanger. I look forward to finding out how you came to work for Gaston Charlemagne.”

“I might not be employed by him for long. Given his recent orders, I am thinking of updating my resume.” Said utterly straight-faced.

But she could tell he was having fun. Just look at the muscle jumping in his cheek. “You should apply to work for the pride. We have great dental benefits.”

“I’d rather shoot myself first.”

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine. I can see we’ll have so much fun together.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Challenge accepted.” She pointed at her suitcases. “Stow those bags aboard and we’ll get ready to leave.”

He didn’t immediately grab them. On the contrary, he crossed his arms over his impressive chest and declared, “I am not your manservant. Do it yourself.”

“Me?” Her eyes widened. “You can’t seriously expect a lady to carry her own bags?”

“Lady?” He snorted. “You were just stark naked on a runway.”

“An unfortunate side effect of shifting.”

“Shifting to chase after a car.”

“Someone was shooting at us. A lady sometimes has to do dirty things to protect herself since the male on the scene didn’t act.”

“Are you saying it’s my fault you turned into a kitty?” While his voice never changed pitch, she heard the incredulity.

“Most definitely your fault. Had you gone after the shooter like a proper man, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. I really have to wonder why Gaston chose you as his second-in-command. Your security skills leave much to be desired.”

“Nothing wrong with my skills.” He almost growled the words.

“If you say so, sweetcheeks. You can show me those skills later so I can be the judge.” She patted his face before walking past him. Hands empty of course.

“I think you forgot something.”

She whirled with a gasp. “How could I be so remiss?” She smiled at him as she sauntered to the car, hips swinging, drawing his gaze.

A predator always knew how to lull its prey.

Walking past him, she leaned over the passenger side of the convertible and grabbed her purse. “Mustn’t forget this,” she said as she walked back toward the plane. As she passed him, she tucked the fiver she’d grabbed from her purse into the breast pocket of his dark jacket. “That’s for your troubles.”

Then she kept going, feeling the laser heat of his stare. A grin split her lips.

This trip is going to be so much fun. How much longer before sweetcheeks exploded?