Chapter 1

1

“She’s here.”

“She’s early.”

“Better early than late and risk getting scented out.”

“You want me around when you answer the door?”

“No, we need her relaxed. She can’t think this is anything but what we told her.”

“I hope it works.”

“It has to.”

* * * *

Though she hadn’t been nervous when she pulled into the quarter-mile long driveway, now that she stood on the doorstep of the imposing Napa Valley house with its immaculate garden and faced an ornate knocker the size of her head, Claire Pavaro wondered if she shouldn’t have made some polite excuse and refused the invitation. It wouldn’t have been amiss. Her grandfather’s funeral had been less than a week earlier, his deterioration long and painful. She was still in mourning, still an emotional wasteland from losing her last remaining family.

But the card that arrived in the mail had been crisp and elegant, the note surprising.

My sincerest condolences for your loss. Though I hadn’t seen Antonio in some time, he had a profound effect on me and my life. I have a few mementos I’m sure he would have liked you to have. I would greatly appreciate it if you would arrange a visit, so that I might pass them along to their true owner.

Claire hadn’t recognized the signature but called anyway, too curious not to. Instead of Celeste Rieke, she’d spoken to the woman’s personal assistant, a man whose smooth baritone had nearly made Claire forget why she’d rung. He’d repeated his employer’s well wishes, assuring Claire the visit was important for both of them—and so it was set.

The only problem was her subsequent research found no connection between this Celeste and her grandfather. The woman was a mystery. The solitary mention in a Google search suggested a Garbo complex. Claire’s curiosity was still piqued, but with the lack of information came wariness. That was Grandfather’s most important lesson, after all.

Knowledge is your greatest weapon.

With a sigh, she ran her fingertips along the smooth, warm edge of the ring on her left hand. Grandfather’s last gift to her. The design was simple—a Celtic triquetra with an inscription too tiny for her to read. Though the silver band it was mounted on was new, the rest of it was old, dating back at least as far as Grandfather’s early twenties. She’d seen him wear the medallion as a necklace in pictures. She hoped wherever he was, he couldn’t see her right now, about to walk into a stranger’s house with only a name and a promise at her disposal.

She was about to knock a second time when the lock turned on the other side of the door. As it swung open, Claire put her polite smile firmly in place, only to freeze the instant she met the eyes of the man who’d answered.

She’d been wrong. She had more than a couple incidentals to wield. She had foreknowledge. This unnamed man wasn’t a total stranger.

She’d been dreaming of him off and on for the past two weeks.

His features were finely carved, almost delicate—a sharp blade of a nose, a shallow dimple beneath the high arch of his left cheekbone. Though his skin was dark, his eyes were the palest of amber, haunting and piercing at the same time. They were framed by the thickest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. He regarded her in silent inquiry as she tried not to stare.

At least she wasn’t openly checking out his trim body. Courtesy of her graphic fantasies, she already knew what it looked like under his crisp white shirt and tailored black pants. She knew how many ridges she’d be able to count on his abdomen, that his bellybutton was an innie, that his cock was uncut.

Her assumption had been the dreams were merely erotic releases, regardless of their intensity. Everybody had them, so it made sense to believe hers were the product of a fertile imagination and fierce hormones. The living, breathing, gorgeous proof they were more than that now stood in front of her, prompting questions about how it could be possible for the Pavaro magic to manifest in her when she’d always been taught it followed the male lineage alone.

“Can I help you?” he said.

Her brain stuttered. His voice was more molten in real life than it had been on the phone. Heat crawled its way down her neck, along her spine, seeping out along her limbs to melt them into near uselessness.

“Claire Pavaro,” she blurted. “I have an appointment with Ms. Rieke.”

For a split second, his pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. Just as quickly, the reactions disappeared, his smile warming to the point where she wondered if she’d imagined them. “Ah, that’s right. We spoke on the phone.” He held out his hand. “Seth Lancour. I’m Celeste’s personal assistant.”

The naughty voice in the back of her head had more than one idea about what duties she’d demand from Seth if he were her personal assistant, but she managed to slap a muzzle on it before it got her into real trouble. “I know I’m early.” She slipped her hand into his. “It’s a chronic condition.”

A twinkle appeared in his pale eyes. “I hear they have treatments for that these days.”

She laughed in spite of her discomfort. “I’d probably be too early for that too.”

“Come in.” Sweeping an arm toward the foyer, he stepped aside to give her room. “I’ll let Celeste know you’ve arrived.”

The house was as imposing on the inside as it was on the out. The entryway was larger than her San Bruno studio apartment, its ivory marble floor polished so bright she had the overwhelming urge to take off her shoes and sock-skate across its gleaming surface. A staircase swept from its center, the second-floor overlook looking down upon the rooms that branched off to the rest of the house. Seth pushed open double doors to the left to reveal a sitting room done in muted grays and yellows.