Taken by Moonlight

Turning immediately, her eyes bypassed the thing as she searched him out. “Max! Max, where are you?”

“Drew,” the voice came again, and it took her the span of seconds to recognize that Max’s voice was coming from the thing.

She gulped, but found that her feet were glued when he took another step forward.

“Max?” Her own voice was quiet, disbelievingly so.

The blue man stopped before her. Drew blinked, and found herself looking directly at Max. He was pale, extremely so, and sweat beaded his forehead. His lip seemed curled in pain, but it was Max.

“You—you’re the…thing?”

He looked away. Drew shook her head. Stepped back. He followed.

“Drew, wait.”

“No! What the hell is going on here? What are you?”

“Drew,” his voice sounded pained, and he clutched his stomach. “Just calm down, okay?”

She released a hysterical laugh, which turned into more hysterics when she looked beyond Max to find that the man on the floor had vanished! Tears pooled in her eyes, but still she laughed.

Max was suddenly holding her. She struggled, lashing out at him as she tried to escape. He was a monster. Max was some sort of blue monster. He whispered something in another language, and pulled her closer to him. She fought him. His voice was stronger when he spoke again. Drew tried to pull back and found she couldn’t. Her legs gave out under her and his arm at her back was the only thing keeping her upright. The voice came again. This time it was soothing and gentle. She slumped against him, her mind screaming even as she slipped from conscious thought.

***

Vivienne was surprised to find her clothes had been washed and ironed. A slight, dark-spice aroma that reminded her of Conall touched her nostrils as she slipped into them. The woman who’d brought her clothing and bag had been very quiet, watching her, mostly, during her brief stay in Conall’s bedroom. Vivienne had felt red creep into her cheeks at being so scrutinized by his maid, whom she suspected the woman was, especially as the maid seemed to know exactly why she was still there. Feeling gauche, Vivienne had thanked the woman but she’d simply stood there, staring at her with raised eyebrows. It wasn’t until she told her, in very nice words, to leave, that the woman had moved, telling her blandly she’d wait outside to take her to Conall.

Dressed, and armed with her bag, Vivienne had stepped from the bedroom to find the maid waiting for her. They did not speak as Vivienne followed her down a carpeted hallway, filled with large to life-sized portraits that Conall had probably purchased from museums or art shops for a pretty penny—the burdens of the rich—and then down another hallway, this one as bland as the other was opulent, and finally down a carpeted staircase. No wonder the man had maids. It would take an army to keep this place clean.

They traversed even more hallways, and Vivienne was just beginning to think of the place as a structured maze, when the woman finally stopped and turned to her.

“Through there.” She pointed with a toned arm toward a door at the end of one of the hallways.

“Thanks,” Vivienne said. The woman didn’t reply. Lifting her brows in confusion, Vivienne ignored that slight and headed in the direction the woman pointed.

***

The sight she walked in on definitely made her pause, and gave pause to everyone in the kitchen. Vivienne immediately recognized Conall and Eli, who were standing before the huge, six-burner stove, but there were also two other men she’d never seen before. They were the ones staring at her in slack-jawed shock. Both were handsome, one dreamily so. He looked like something right out of a movie, wild blond hair that touched the tops of his shoulders, hazel-green eyes, beautiful mouth—lips like that on a man should be banned—and the tight muscle shirt he wore revealed the print of abs body-builders would kill for. The man was damned near perfect. The other wasn’t far behind, with his short-cropped military-styled black hair and gunmetal gray eyes, but his beauty was ruined—perhaps enhanced to some—by the harsh slash of his lips. Even now, they seemed to be curling downward as he stared at her.

Vivienne’s gaze snapped to Conall, who was staring at her with those intense blues in a way that shouldn’t make her want him, but she did. Even though the blond could easily win Mr. World or beat Brad Pitt, Matthew McConaughey, and God knows who else for the title of Sexiest Man Alive, she wanted Conall. Not only was he gorgeous, he exuded confidence and sex appeal, and was extremely good in bed. Not that she had anyone to compare him to, but it had been that good for her. His lips suddenly lifted in a catlike smile, and Vivienne blushed, tugging at the collar of her shirt.