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couldn’t quite decipher what he might be thinking.
    “And what else did this psychic say?”
    Erika again debated what to tell him. But the lopsided, not altogether kind, slant of his lips made her stop. He just thought she was nuts. And he didn’t appear to like her any better for her nuttiness.
    “Forget it.” She raised a hand in a gesture of defeat. “I just wanted to be sure your head was all right.”
    She started to leave, when his voice stopped her. “Thanks.”
    Erika didn’t bother to turn around. She simply nodded, unsure if he could see it or not. And not really caring. He had a way of making her feel like a blathering idiot. Not a fun feeling when combined with her very irritating, and clearly irrational, attraction to the man.
    She headed down the stairs, determined to let Philippe’s prediction go—and to be nothing but polite in the presence of her upstairs neighbor, who she was beginning not only to want to shag, but to hate too. Talk about a doomed relationship.
    Philippe had been so wrong.
    She entered her apartment, shoving the door open with more force than necessary. And shutting it with the same needless force, although the slam did give her a small measure of satisfaction.
    Sinking onto the gold sofa, she tugged off the plastic wrap protecting the marshmallow treats and picked the biggest of the bunch. She bit into it, forcing herself to focus on the crunch and the sweetness rather than her anger. But the attempt didn’t last long.
    “He is so…infuriating,” she muttered around the cookie.
    She took another bite, chewing with frustration.
    “He doesn’t know what he just sent away.”
    And she was pretty sure she wasn’t talking about her cooking.

Chapter 5
    V ittorio didn’t move, listening to Erika’s footfalls on the stairs. Then the jiggle of the old doorknob, then the slam of the door closing.
    He’d angered her again, and he tried to find relief in that fact. But he couldn’t dredge up even the smallest hint of anything akin to relief. Instead, he felt like shit.
    He even wanted to tell himself she was likely a little crazy after the random announcement that her psychic had described someone in her future who fit his description. But a vampire finding someone nuts because they believed a psychic seemed more than a little paradoxical.
    And then add that she made him cookies—or something that kind of looked like cookies. She made him something —and no one had done that in a long time. Not since he was a small boy, and Cook had made his favorite biscuits sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. Oh yeah, he felt like shit all right.
    Lord, he hadn’t thought of his childhood in years, decades. The last two hundred years had obliterated the good memories of his past. Which brought him to why he was here. And why he had to create a barrier between himself and the sweet, beautiful woman downstairs.
    He closed his door, a softer, more regretful mimic of Erika’s door-slamming. He’d been stupid to even give her the very small hint of remorse that he had. Luckily, his “thank you” had done little to repair the damage his rudeness had done. Of course, standing here shrouded in darkness when he could be surrounded by her light didn’t feel particularly lucky. Not in the least.
    But he couldn’t risk Erika’s safety because he wanted her. That would be far crueler than his churlish behavior. And maybe, maybe, if he was wrong about being responsible for hurting people in his past, he could try to have some kind of relationship with her.
    Even giving himself that much permission caused his body to react. His senses sharpening, his body aching.
    “Damn it,” he muttered to himself, frustrated with how easily he could lose control of himself when it came to her.
    He was the king of control, having spent many years now controlling his appetites, his emotions, and thus his world. Or so he’d thought. But now he wasn’t so sure. His control seemed to be sliding away—until he