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secrets, her long lashes locking up every emotion behind them. Thomas swallowed hard and looked away. He had to bring himself under control. He reached deep into his reserve of famous charm and began telling whimsical stories to amuse her, to engage her. Alexandria tried hard to listen to his conversation, but it was difficult to concentrate on his anecdotes about the making of his brilliant career, his many social obligations, and the wearying string of women constantly pursuing him for his money. She was growing increasingly uneasy, so much so that her hands were beginning to tremble. For a moment she felt a shiver of terror, as if icy fingers had wrapped around her throat. The illusion was so real, she actually raised a hand to her neck to check.

"Surely you'll have one small glass of wine. It's an excellent vintage," Thomas insisted, lifting the bottle and drawing her attention back to him.

"No, thank you, I seldom drink." It was the third time she'd told him, and she resisted asking him if he had a problem with his hearing. She was not about to cloud her mind with alcohol when this interview meant so much. And she never drank when she was driving, and never around Joshua. He saw more than enough boozing in the halls and on the sidewalks outside their rooming house.

Alexandria flashed a smile to take the sting out of her refusal. As the waiter cleared away the plates, she very decisively reached for her portfolio.

Ivan sighed audibly. Usually women were fawning over him at this stage. But Alexandria seemed immune to his charm, out of his reach. Still, she intrigued him, and he had to have her. He knew this job was important to her, and he would use that if he had to. He could tell there was fire in her, locked behind her easy smile and cool sapphire eyes, and he was looking forward to enjoying some hot, steamy sex with her.

But the moment Thomas saw her sketches, he forgot about satisfying his ego and his lust. Alexandria had captured the images in his mind better than his own words had done. Excitement caught at him, and he nearly drooled over her exceptional drawings. She was exactly what he needed for his newest game. It was a hot concept, frightening and difficult, and it would blow away the competition. Her fresh, inventive approach was precisely what he needed.

"They're just quick sketches," Alexandria said softly, "without the animation, but I hope you get the idea." She forgot she didn't like Thomas Ivan very much as she watched the appreciative way he looked at her work.

"You have such a gift for detail. Such imagination. Such technique. And, looking at these, I feel as if you've read my mind. You actually capture the feeling of flight here," he said, pointing. He was impressed that she had caught such a stomach-churning sensation with her illustrations alone. What might she do with his vast array of computers and design programs?

Thomas studied one scene, feeling as if it were really happening. It was as if she had taken a photograph of a vampire caught in a brutal battle. It was so real, it was frightening. Her drawings, capturing his story line and the images in his mind so perfectly, so completely instantly created the bond between them that had been eluding him all evening.

Alexandria was suddenly aware of the brush of Thomas Ivan's fingers against hers, aware of the strength in his arms, the width of his shoulders, the handsome angularity of his features. Her heart jumped hopefully. Was she actually responding to someone physically? It was amazing what having a passion in common could generate. She watched with pride as he openly admired her renderings of the creatures of his imagination.

But suddenly a cold draft streamed through the restaurant, bringing with it the taint of evil. It crawled over Alexandria's skin like worms through a body. Revulsion welled up, and she sat back in her chair, pale and trembling. She looked around carefully. No one else seemed to notice the thickening air, the stench of evil. Laughter and the low murmur of conversation surrounded her. Its normalcy should have reassured her, but the trembling only increased. She could feel sweat beading on her forehead, running down the valley between her breasts. Her heart was thumping.

Thomas Ivan was far too busy going through her sketches to notice her uneasiness. He continued to murmur his approval, his head down, his