Spellbound - Sylvia Day Page 0,1

“You don’t look like the curator type to me, Mr. Westin.”

“I’m here on behalf of the museum’s insurance company. Obviously a loss of this magnitude requires an investigation.”

“That’s reassuring, of course.”

Observing him through the veil of her lashes, Victoria noted the energy that betrayed his restless nature. His firm, full lips hinted at sinful delights. She liked sinful, energetic men. This one was a bit rigid for her tastes, but that could change with the right persuasion. They all succumbed eventually. It was the only part of the game that disappointed her—the surrender.

“You seem remarkably at ease,” Westin murmured, “for a woman who’s just lost a priceless piece of jewelry.”

Victoria’s toes curled. His voice was so deep and slightly husky, like he just rolled out of bed. It was scrumptious, like the rest of him. He was so broad shouldered, yet lean, every movement he made a graceful ripple of honed muscle.

“Fretting won’t accomplish anything,” she said with a careless shrug. “Besides, you are here to find the necklace and you look . . . capable. What is there to worry about?”

“That I won’t recover it. Your trust in my abilities is flattering, Ms. St. John, and not misplaced. I’m very good at what I do. However, sometimes things are not what they seem.”

It was a warning, plain and simple.

Thoughtful, she stood and walked to the wall of windows behind her desk. Despite having her back to him, Victoria felt the heat of his gaze caressing the length of her. She fingered the pearls that graced her neck and stared out over the city skyline. “If need be, I’ll simply acquire another. Everything can be purchased for a price, Mr. Westin.”

“Not everything.”

Intrigued, Victoria turned, surprised to find him approaching. He took a position next to her, his gaze on the view, but his attention fully focused on her. She felt the shimmer of his power sweep over her, searching for her weaknesses.

Unable to resist the danger, she rubbed her shoulder against him and inhaled the rich, masculine scent of his skin—a mixture of thousand-dollar cologne and pure Max Westin. Her breathing became shallow, her heart rate picked up. Losing her perspective, Victoria moved away. It had been a long time since she’d indulged in a powerful man. Too long. The other Hunters had been crafty and seductive. Westin had that and pure magical muscle.

“Max,” she called softly, hurrying their familiarity by using his first name.

“Hmm?”

She looked over her shoulder. He was following her. Stalking her. Reminding her that he was the predator here.

Oh, he could be fun. If he wanted to play.

“Have dinner with me.”

“My place,” he agreed.

She moved to the wet bar and retrieved two glass bottles of milk, a deliberate choice that showed her cognizance. Certainly he knew how she worked. But did he know why?

Did Westin know that with Darius’s dying breath he had transferred his magic to her, making her far more powerful than the average Familiar? Did Westin know that she’d been loved by her warlock, and that it was that love which gave her the ability to make her own choices now?

Before Darius’s gift, she had been like other Familiars. The High Council assigned the pairings between her kind and their magical counterparts, regardless of their wishes. Some Familiars were unhappy with their partners. She had been lucky the first time, finding a love for Darius that transcended time. Now, because of that love, she was too powerful to be taken against her will. In the two centuries since she’d lost him, no other warlock had succeeded in collaring her. Westin would fare no better. She had loved once, and deeply. There would never be another warlock for her.

Swaying her hips and offering a seductive smile, she returned to him. “How about my place?”

“No.” He took the bottle from her outstretched hand, his fingers deliberately curling over hers and staying there. Pinning her in place. “Victoria.”

Her name, just one word, but spoken with such possession she could almost feel the collar around her neck. Hunters did not keep Familiars, they caught them and passed them on to lesser warlocks. She would never allow herself to be distributed in that manner again.

So they stood, touching, sizing each other up. She tilted her head and allowed her interest to show, not that she could hide it with her ni**les hard and obvious beneath her green silk shirt. Her chest rose and fell with near panting breaths, her blood heating from both his proximity and his darkly