Unfortunately, Regan wasn’t anxious to have anyone lay claim to her. Especially not an arrogant, overprotective vampire who had the social skills of a bad-tempered cobra.
“Regan…”
His soft words were cut short as Regan slapped her hand over his mouth, shifting so she could glare at him with an unexpected annoyance.
“No.”
So much for the tender, intimate cuddling he’d envisioned.
Peeling her fingers from his lips, Jagr regarded her beautiful face surrounded by the tangle of golden curls. A smug pride stabbed through his heart at the lingering heat that darkened her eyes, and the flush of pleasure she couldn’t disguise. She might never admit she’d found satisfaction in his touch, but it was etched on her face.
“Isn’t it a little late for no?”
“I mean, I don’t want to Dr. Phil what just happened.”
His brows lifted in amusement. “Do I strike you as a Dr. Phil kind of vampire?”
With a sudden motion, she jerked the black sheet over her slender body.
“I just don’t want to discuss it.”
Jagr wryly resisted the urge to press the issue. He might not understand the mysterious workings of the female mind, but he did know his stubborn Were. If she decided she didn’t want to discuss what they’d just shared, then there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.
“Whatever makes you happy, little one.” Dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Jagr slid from the bed and pulled on a silk robe Tane had left draped over a nearby chair. “Do you have Culligan’s safe?”
Regan pressed herself to a seated position, ridiculously keeping the sheet wrapped around her. As if he hadn’t kissed every delectable inch of her body.
“It’s in my bags. Why?”
“For the moment it’s the only connection we have to Culligan.”
Returning to the living room, Jagr gathered Regan’s precious bags along with his own satchel, then returning to the bedroom he tossed the bags on the bed and searched until he discovered the small safe tucked among her clothes.
Regan frowned. “You think we might have overlooked something?”
Jagr turned the safe in his hands, running his fingers over the smooth metal. “Imps are notoriously paranoid when it comes to their treasures. There has to be at least one hidden compartment we haven’t found.”
“So you’re what? Going to try and play Rubik’s Cube with it?”
“I prefer a more straightforward approach.” With one smooth motion, Jagr ripped off the bottom of the safe.
“You’re a very destructive demon,” she muttered, glancing toward the shattered glass spread across the floor before returning her attention to the smashed safe.
He wisely hid his smile. He’d managed to slip past her fierce defenses, to stir her most intimate yearnings. Now she was desperate to push him away.
“But effective.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Reaching into the gaping hole, Jagr pulled out a thick envelope and tossed it into her lap.
“I think I’ve made my point.”
She rolled her eyes, ripping open the envelope. “Fake IDs…credit cards…” She paused as she unfolded a piece of paper. “Ah, now this is interesting.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a message…”
The Clemens Tea Shop. Saturday. Midnight.
Her head lifted, her eyes wide. “Culligan left St. Louis on Saturday.”
“I remember seeing a sign for the place. It’s a restaurant west of town.”
“This might explain what brought Culligan to Hannibal.”
“It’s worth investigating,” Jagr slowly agreed.
“Yes, it is.” She scooted toward the edge of the bed. “And that’s exactly what I intend to do.”
His brows drew together. “Now?”
“Of course now.”
“Regan, we can’t be certain we weren’t followed.”
“For God’s sakes, your Jason Bourne wannabe friend has half of Missouri wired like the Pentagon. If there was anything out there, he would already have vaporized them with his ray gun.”
His scowl deepened. He couldn’t deny that Tane had gone above and beyond the usual defenses. Or that he would have easily discovered any stray cur in the area.
He couldn’t even argue the necessity of discovering who had sent the message to Culligan.
But his every instinct screamed to keep her safely tucked in the lair where nothing could reach her.
Almost as if sensing the refusal that trembled on his lips, Regan scooted off the bed, grabbing one of the bags and scurrying toward the bathroom. Jagr had only a brief glimpse of her tasty backside before the door shut behind her and he heard the sound of the shower kick on.
Left alone in the bedroom, Jagr wrenched off the robe and tugged on a pair of jeans and black sweater he pulled from his satchel. A lesser vampire might be offended by her desperate desire to pretend she hadn’t just given him her innocence. Or her embarrassing haste to chase after shadows rather than linger alone with him in the secluded lair.
Thankfully he wasn’t a lesser vampire.
Just one who was suddenly in the mood to finish destroying the p**n -chic pictures that lined the walls.
Braiding his hair, Jagr tied it off with a leather cord and tugged on his heavy boots. His weapons followed. The two daggers he slid into the sheaths in his boots, and the handgun he shoved into his waistband at the small of his back. The silver bullets would come in handy if they ran across a cur.
Then, desperate to ignore the tantalizing scent of soap and sweet jasmine filling the air, he returned to the kitchen and drained a bottle of the blood left in the refrigerator. He didn’t particularly need to feed, but he didn’t want to risk his hunger stirring while they were on the hunt.
Even if Regan were willing to donate a vein, he wasn’t a masochist. The aggravating woman was a threat to more than just his sanity.
There was a very real danger Regan could be his true mate.
Cursing a fate that seemed determined to torture him, Jagr stiffened when she appeared in the doorway, her damp hair pulled into a ponytail, her slender curves covered in a pair of low-riding jeans and a too-tight knit top.
Heat, raw and primitive, flared through him. Damn. When he returned to Chicago, he intended to kick Styx’s ass.
The ancient vampire had a great deal to answer for.
Thankfully unaware of his dark thoughts, Regan studied him with a guarded expression.
“Shouldn’t you get rid of the mess in the bedroom?”