His mouth touched hers in a chaste kiss, his lips warm and surprisingly soft. Emma opened her mouth, wanting more, wanting to taste him. Her tongue slid along the seam of his lips, and Duncan’s fingers dug into her hip, pulling her flush against his body as he lifted his other hand and threaded his fingers through her hair.

His body was hard, her breasts crushed against his chest as she tilted her head back, opening her mouth in invitation. Duncan responded with a low growl, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, twisting around her tongue, sending shivers of desire racing through her body. She lifted up onto her toes, wanting more, curling her arms around his neck with a hungry moan.

Duncan’s arms tightened around her, and she felt the unmistakable press of an erection against her belly, a long, thick column of hard flesh that made liquid heat swell between her legs. Sudden images of Duncan naked, gleaming with sweat, his arms corded with muscle as he rose above her, his hips pumping—

Duncan broke the kiss with a groan, his breath hot against her neck as he held her close, his hands flexing against her back.

“Emma,” he gasped warningly, breathing hard.

Emma heard him, but she didn’t answer, couldn’t find the breath to answer. He was trying to protect her, she knew. Trying to be sensible, to be sensitive. But Emma didn’t want sensible. She wanted to lose herself in the heat and passion that was buried beneath that cool, Duncan exterior. Wanted to warm herself at the fire that he kept so carefully banked and hidden from view.

“Emma,” he repeated, more softly this time.

She sighed regretfully, knowing he was right. He eased away from her enough that their bodies were no longer touching.

“I apologize,” he said. “This isn’t the time or place.”

“Will there be one?”

Duncan’s brown eyes heated, glowing with that same bronze fire before he brushed her ear with his lips. “There will be a time, Emmaline,” he whispered. “And when the time comes, the place will no longer matter.”

He straightened and kissed her lips one more time, a gentle touch there and gone.

“Sleep well,” he said. “And if you need anything, call. I have people on staff around the clock.”

“Okay,” she said, already missing him. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

Duncan’s arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close, his head dipping until she felt his lips on her neck. She gasped at the hard scrape of his teeth—his fangs!—against her skin. He breathed deeply, as if inhaling her scent, then lifted his head with a growl.

“Don’t be late.”

And then he was gone, leaving the door rattling in its frame.

Emma stood in the dim light of her foyer, heart thumping as she raised shaking fingers to her neck, feeling the heat of her skin where his lips had touched her. She hugged herself, wondering what it would be like to make love to a vampire, to feel the scrape of his fangs against her tongue or . . . she shivered remembering the brush of his mouth against her neck. And she knew it wasn’t fear making her shiver.

She chided her overactive imagination. She was overloaded emotionally, that’s all this was. She was drained and exhausted, and Duncan had been there to hold her when she needed it. He’d been so kind, the perfect gentleman, and she’d all but assaulted him when he’d tried to help her, to comfort her. And, okay, he’d been interested, but only because she’d thrown herself at him, rubbing herself against him . . . She nearly groaned aloud, remembering the feel of his cock against her belly, the heat in his eyes.

She squeezed her suddenly aching breasts, rubbing the flat of her palms over her nipples, gasping with pleasure as she sank to the stairs. She was in so much trouble.

Chapter Sixteen

Duncan stormed into his office, furious with himself, with the entire situation. He hadn’t wanted to leave Emma alone, despite her insistence. But he certainly hadn’t helped matters when he’d all but attacked her. It had taken all his considerable will power to break away from her seductive warmth. What he’d wanted to do was to push her against the wall, shove that tight skirt up to her waist, and take her right where she stood. She’d been ready for him, her breasts swollen, her nipples so hard he’d felt them against his chest despite the layers of clothing between them. And her scent! God, the sweet scent of her had driven him mad with desire.

Thankfully, he’d come to his senses in time. By all that was holy, the woman was in mourning, emotionally vulnerable, her feelings raw and wide open. Only an animal would take advantage of her in that state.

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and yanked his tie loose, disgusted. Despite all of that, he still wished she’d come home with him. He was worried about her. Whoever had killed Lacey would be desperate to make certain no one ever found out about it, and they’d be nervous once word got around that Victor had left town. At least that was the story Duncan and his people had put out about the late vampire lord, that he’d been called away without warning.

And that was a timely reminder for Duncan, too. Instead of seducing vulnerable young women, he should be taking up his duties as representative of vampire interests in the capital. Those duties included figuring out what Victor had been up to, but there was more to it than that. He had to become part of the Washington social and diplomatic circuit. He grimaced with distaste at the thought, but there was no alternative. Before he took that up, however, he had to make arrangements for Emma’s safety.

Miguel strolled through the doorway, having delayed downstairs to double check the daytime guard deployment. The routine here was still new enough that it didn’t hurt to be sure everyone knew their assignments.

“Set a guard on Emma Duquet,” Duncan told his lieutenant without preamble. “Day and night. I don’t want one of Victor’s former clients getting nervous and going after her.”

“Yes, my lord.” Miguel made a quick call on his cell and it was done. They’d let go the security company Victor had employed, and replaced it with the men and women Miguel had trained personally for this job. Duncan trusted these humans with his life—quite literally until they got the basement vault constructed and functional.

“How’s Alaric progressing downstairs?” Duncan asked.

“Excellent, my lord, but, as he keeps telling me, he has to rebuild this ancient and rotting foundation before he can add anything to it.” He grinned. “The old man loves a challenge.”

Duncan pulled off his jacket, throwing it on a chair as he settled behind the desk of his new second floor office—an office which looked very much like the library downstairs, and for a good reason. While it had been necessary for Duncan to move away from the library—for security reasons, if nothing else—he’d liked the ambience of the old room—the books, the furniture, even the wainscoting. So Alaric’s crew had moved everything up here. It was quite remarkable, really. Every book, shelf, table and lamp had been moved. Now if they could just provide him with a decent place to sleep. And a gym.

“How are we doing on the videos from Leesburg?” Duncan asked. He refused to refer to the house itself anymore. He wouldn’t rest until it burned to the ground.

“There’s still no video of Lacey Cray, my lord. Not there, and not on any of the ones we discovered here, even though she’s in Victor’s files and, according to Ms. Duquet, was a regular at Victor’s parties.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t delete her from his files altogether.”

“He probably would have eventually. He expected to be around a lot longer than he was.”

Duncan nodded in satisfaction. That much at least had gone right. Victor was gone, and Duncan had been the one to destroy him.

“There’s still plenty of incriminating video, my lord,” Miguel said. “Enough to destroy more than one political career, even if the men involved could prove it was consensual. Victor hedged his bets, and I’m sure he made sure they knew about it.”

“Except there are no faces on the video. All we have are Victor’s files, and even those don’t name names.”

“Phoebe’s working on that. We can probably get some IDs by combining what we do have—the video and Victor’s paper files—with what Brendan and Erik and their friends know. They talked to some of the men involved, after all. We can at least identify those.”

“What about the women?”

“It’s more complicated with them. The men are public figures for the most part. The women . . . who knows?”

“Emma can help with that tomorrow night. Even if she doesn’t know the names, she may be able to tell us possible workplaces, or even other people to check with.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“And it’s time I introduced myself to those powerful circles of Victor’s, too. Something casual where I can talk to people.” Duncan thought for a moment. “Check Victor’s calendar. See if there’s anything already scheduled. If so, have someone contact the organizers. Give them the line we agreed on, Victor’s been called away and I’m the new ambassador.”

Duncan didn’t like to use the pretentious title, but apparently he’d have to get used to it. “In the meantime,” he continued, “contact every senator and congressman from Virginia, Maryland and Delaware. Let them know I’m taking over and I’d like to meet with them. See if they have any events coming up and get us invited. Fundraisers, especially. Make sure they know we’re good for a donation. Maybe Emma can help with that, too. She works in a congressman’s office, after all. She knows how all of this works.”

He thought for a moment while Miguel took feverish notes.

“Put California’s senators on the list, too,” he added. “I voted there last election, and Raphael’s a big contributor. Which reminds me, we need to establish a legal residence for me outside the District, so I can vote in my own territory.”

“Victor owned a house in Annapolis,” Miguel offered. “I can send some people to check it out. If nothing else, you can use the address.”