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head.
    “You’re really... a vampire?”
    She swallowed between the words. He heard it. He almost felt it; which was amazing enough to make his eyes intensify, while hers widened.
    “Oh yes,” he finally answered.
    “You’re not going to hurt me, are you?”
    He couldn’t help it. He grinned. And she fainted.

 
    CHAPTER FIVE
    This wasn’t her hotel room. This wasn’t even her hotel.
    Sydney blinked on the gloomy image of high walls, lofty ceilings with molded plaster, an ornate window treatment – which didn’t do much to assist whatever the flickering light source was, and the impression of vast space. She groaned.
    “Good. You awaken from a faint quickly. I’ve brought spirits.”
    Sydney turned her head. It was the vampire man. And how was it possible that he looked even better than before? He should probably fasten his coat. Or put a shirt on. Or find loose-fitting pants. Or maybe shave his head. Gain some acne. Grow a beard. Hell, do anything other than be the most gorgeous thing ever, even while looking slightly mussed and a little uncertain. And he was making the view extraordinary, since he was crouched at her side, holding a tray with all sorts of cut-glass decanters with one hand, while the other fussed with a shot glass. One hand, Sydney. As if that tray weighed nothing. Well, what did she know? To him, it probably did.
    He looked up at her, putting a slight crease in his forehead. Her heart reacted with a thump that almost hurt. She had to look away for a moment before the blush betrayed her. He might be a monster. As if they existed. He might be insane. Psychopathic. Delusional. But damn! None of that curbed the effect he seemed to have on her. Again. Still.
    “You were out four minutes, eleven seconds.”
    “Really?”
    “Not bad, actually. I’ve seen longer. You probably need reviving. You have a preference?”
    He started shifting bottles.
    “To what?”
    “Most ladies require smelling salts after a swoon. Or at the least, a shot of something strong. I’m a bit out of touch. What do ladies drink nowadays? This flavored vodka stuff? Or... tequila? Perhaps whiskey?”
    “You have liquor?”
    “No. Not me. I purloined this selection from the staff quarters.”
    “You purloined it?”
    “I wouldn’t claim most of these concoctions. They don’t even stock dark rum.”
    “Dark rum? Ugh.” She pantomimed a shudder.
    “You’re no taste for dark rum? That’s... distressing. I was hoping for a bit of—um. I’ll save it for later.”
    “Where am I?”
    “On a couch.”
    “Where? Exactly?” Sydney asked.
    “Oh. My home. First floor. Morning room. Or you could call it the withdrawing room.”
    “Withdrawing room?”
    “That’s what it used to be called. Now, I believe the term has been shortened to drawing room. I modeled it after those in English baronial estates. Women used a room such as this when they retreated after dinner, leaving the men to drink their port. This room also catches the morning sunrise. So you can call it the morning room if you like.”
    “Are the windows shuttered?”
    “Of course.”
    “Wonderful. Guess that’s out, then.”
    “What?”
    “I’m talking to myself, okay?”
    “Why? I’m here.”
    Sydney sat. He’d been a little off. It wasn’t just a couch. It was a Victorian-era settee, covered in dark-colored velvet material with a tuck and button design, that was then affixed to an ornate curved-back, wooden frame. In perfect, mint condition. The armrests were even rolled and tucked. This piece belonged in a museum with a ‘Do Not Touch’ sign on it. And she was sitting on it. She hoped she hadn’t drooled.
    “Look. Uh... Devereaux. That is your name, isn’t it?”
    He nodded. Dang! The guy was stirring. Everything about him seemed to pull at her. Everything. She had to dart her eyes away and selected a matching Victorian era cabinet behind his left shoulder that probably stood ten feet. That piece of furniture supported candelabra with a