Therese glanced over her shoulder. “Is it okay for me to put my bag down?”

“You can do anything you want here.” He smiled. “Think of it as your own place.”

She bent to the side and set her purse on the floor next to the footboard. Then she looked at her feet. “Oh, God, did I track in? I’ve got snow and salt—”

“Fritz loves every opportunity to clean up. Trust me.”

“Fritz?”

“He’s the Brotherhood’s butler. He takes care of this house.”

“You’re connected to the Brotherhood?” She tried to keep her expression as un-fangirl as she could. But the Brotherhood? “The Black Dagger Brotherhood?”

Although come on, like there was another?

Trez crossed his arms over his huge chest and eased his shoulder onto the wall. Crossing his ankles, he gave her a remote look.

“Sorry.” She smiled. “I don’t mean to intrude.”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. I’m just… I’m not sure what to say.”

“Well, people like me don’t usually cross paths with the likes of them.” Therese indicated the heavens above. “And I am so grateful that the Scribe Virgin provided them unto the race. They have saved so many lives.”

“This is very true.”

Therese turned back to the fire. “That’s beautiful. The flames, I mean. They’re also very warm.”

She shed her puffy, thigh-length parka, peeling the light weight from her torso and letting it fall to the carpet. Then she kicked off her boots. She was relieved not to find any track marks or salt stains on the treads, no matter what he said about some butler taking care of his house.

“I just want to make sure I don’t hurt this nice rug,” she murmured.

Turning away from him, she padded across to the hearth. The logs were burning low and slow, and as she thought about the nature of heat, she reached up to the twist she had redone in the restaurant’s bathroom before she had gone out to Trez’s car. The pins came out so smoothly that it was as if they wanted to work with her, and when she felt a release of tension at her temples and down on the back of her neck, she sighed. The weight of her hair tumbled, tumbled, tumbled down over her shoulders, reaching to just above her waist. She had been thinking of getting it all cut off, and going with something chin-length and easy.

Now, she was glad she had resisted the impulse.

Still with her back to him, she pulled out the tails of her work shirt and began to unbutton things from the top down. When she had released all the fastenings, she split the two halves and let the cotton fall from her torso.

The gasp from over where Trez was standing gave her the confidence to keep going. Her slacks were easy to take off, and as she kicked them to the side, she wondered how far she was willing to go. Then again, with only her underwear left? It wasn’t like there was much more to remove.

And given the dark spices that emanated from behind her?

She didn’t exactly suck at stripping.

Her bra had a back clasp so she torqued her hands between her shoulder blades and unclipped it. As the binding released, her breasts felt instantly fuller and heavy in a sexual way, her nipples teased as she shucked the plain, serviceable undergarment.

Therese was about to turn around when she looked down at a buzzkill and a half: She was pretty much naked… except for black socks she’d bought at Target. Yeah, because nothing said sexy-sexy like a female in her panties and her ankle-highs.

She had to laugh as she took them off with her toes, one… then the other.

After which, she looked over her bare shoulder and—

Trez’s body was anything but relaxed as he leaned against that wall. His thighs were twitching underneath the fine wool of his slacks, and his pecs were spasming under his silk button-down. But it was what was doing behind his fly that she really was impressed by—

The knocking down below on the front door was loud, echoing up the open staircase.

With a squeak, she slapped her palms over her breasts even though there was no chance of anyone seeing her. “Oh, my God, tell me you do not have a roommate.”

Trez had already straightened, and she was slightly alarmed when he produced a handgun from somewhere. “You stay here. No matter what you hear, do not come down until I get you.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to pipe down with the he-man stuff. But then she decided the situation probably didn’t require an untrained, mostly naked female added to the mix.

But hey, at least she had one shoot-out already under her belt.

As she wondered exactly what her life had turned into, Therese nodded. “Be careful.”

Trez didn’t respond to that. He was already rounding the corner and descending the stairs with that gun front and center… and an expression like he was used to killing on his face.

As she heard him close the door at the bottom of the staircase and lock it, she wondered exactly how he was connected to the Brotherhood. She had a feeling it wasn’t just friends or drinking buddies.

He hadn’t been frightened in the slightest.

So clearly, he was well familiar with conflict of the deadly variety.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Trez made sure the door to the upstairs was locked before he moved on the intruder. He wasn’t risking his female’s life for anything, and that included even his own. Getting out his phone, he dialed V’s number.

One ring. Two rings…

As he waited for an answer, there was another series of knocking—and he was aware this was all his fault: His car was right there in the frickin’ driveway. Whoever the fuck it was knew someone was in here, and if they were looking for him—if this was a disgruntled pimp, a pissed-off dealer, or some Mob-connected guy with a hard-on about something that had happened at the club—then he’d led them right to this door.

And that was sloppy.

He couldn’t use that BMW anymore if his female was around—

As his call went into voice mail, someone clicked in on his other line. Taking the phone from his ear, he frowned. Accepted the call.

“Fritz?” he said.

The doggen’s cheerful voice came through in two places: in his ear, and on the other side of the door.

“Greetings, sire! Please excuse the interruption, I was endeavoring to get to your rental prior to your arrival. But I had to go to two places for the proper meat.”

Trez blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Meat, sire.” There was a pause. “Forgive me, but might I enter the premises with your victuals?”

Shaking himself, Trez took two steps forward and opened the front door. There, on the other side, was the ancient butler holding four paper bags by the handles. That wrinkled face beamed.

“You’re looking well, sire! And I shall not take long.”

Fritz brushed by and headed for the kitchen, undisturbed in the slightest by the fact that Trez had a gun in his hand and had been considering the idea of shooting through the door.

Shaking his head, Trez reflected that there were benefits to staff who had been with the Brothers a long time. Short of an H-bomb going off in the living room, little bothered them.

Trez lamely closed the door. “You didn’t have to do this.”

It was as close as he could get to what he really wanted to say.