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replied. “I’ll have Nachari calibrate it to include your palm later this week.”
    Tiffany shivered, but she didn’t reply. When they entered through a long hall, passed an elaborate butler’s pantry, and stepped into a stunningly designed modern kitchen, her jaw dropped open, and she simply gaped. “Holy… shit. All of this for a male who doesn’t even eat?”
    Ramsey watched as her eyes swept around the room, taking in the double gourmet ovens and side-by-side refrigerators, the smooth granite counters and the glimmering stainless-steel appliances, as she appraised the intricate hand-painted mosaics and the light travertine floors. Everything was modern lines, sleek design, and contemporary elegance. “Housekeepers and gardeners, pool hands and window-washers all eat food, or at least accept a drink,” he commented wryly. “So do human servants and occasional human guests. We don’t live alone in this valley, Miss Matthews.”
    Tiffany just shook her head in what looked like bewilderment.
    “You hungry?”
    She clenched her eyes shut and grimaced. No doubt, she was thinking about the prospect of blood, letting her imagination get the best of her. She blinked several times, turned her attention to a built-in wall cooler, stocked heavily with rare bottles of wine, and frowned. “Do you drink… other things ?”
    “Occasionally,” Ramsey said, glancing at the cooler door. “Would you like some wine?”
    She shook her head. “No.” And then she remembered her manners. “Thank you.” Her eyes met the floor, and she waited to follow him further into the house.
    Ramsey sighed, feeling very much like the predator he was, as he strolled further into the luxurious domicile. “This is the living room,” he said brusquely. “Well, one of them.”
    As Tiffany walked tentatively across the gigantic space, Ramsey couldn’t help but appraise her shapely legs and absolutely perfect derriere, though he wished she were wearing one of those killer pair of stilettos. Sue him —she was a truly beautiful woman. When she got to the floor-to-ceiling glass panels that flanked the entire northeastern wall, she stepped forward to check out the view. “Do you own stock in Windex?” She placed a perfect, deliberate fingerprint on the glass. She eyed the door to the outdoor patio circumspectly and then stepped away, apparently thinking better of it. “Is there a barbeque outside? For the occasional human guest?”
    Ramsey shook his head. “Nope. Waterfall, fire-pit, eight-man hot tub, but no barbeque.”
    Tiffany sighed. She walked further into the room, gazed up at the fireplace that reached all the way to the vaulted ceiling, and then gaped at the eighty-five-inch-screen TV that might have been missed if she hadn’t stared straight at it. The furniture was ultra-modern, all clean lines and linear angles, tasteful… expensive. “Bachelor pad,” she commented absently.
    Ramsey pointed to an adjoining room, connected to this one by a wet bar and a decorative art-niche, with three consecutive arches. There was an exquisite pool table and four more flat-screen TVs anchored tastefully to the hand-textured walls in the parlor. “What gave it away?”
    Tiffany shrugged, apparently still hiding inside her defensive shell. She peered down the hall toward the dual master suites, then turned toward the lavish staircase and grimaced. She didn’t have to say a word; what she was thinking was obvious: Where will I sleep ?
    Ramsey took a deep breath and dove in with both feet. “My master is on the main floor at the end of this hall, to the left. The second master is across the hall on the right. I haven’t decided yet whether or not I’m willing to let you out of my sight, even for a moment.” It was the truth, and there was no delicate way to put it, at least not that Ramsey knew of. “But I’ll show you both rooms, just in case.” He pointed to a perpendicular corridor that shot off to the right, about five or six feet