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full complement of lit candles atop it. Well. That explained the flickering light source. She looked back at him; narrowed her eyes to absorb the impact; started speaking.
    “Look. Devereaux. I think we got off on the wrong foot. We weren’t even properly introduced. My name is Sydney Ross.”
    “No LLC?” he enquired.
    She smiled. She couldn’t help it. “That stands for Limited Liability Company. I’m a contractor. For a film studio in California. That’s why I’m here, actually.”
    “Oh... is it now?”
    “You heard my employee... um...?” What the hell was his name? And why was it so hard to focus?
    “Stan,” he supplied.
    “Oh yeah. Stan. Are you using some sort of mind control on me again?”
    His eyebrows rose. Her heart decided to move to her throat and pound away from there. That was going to make speech difficult.
    “Well?”
    She was right. Her voice was croaked. And it pained to make the sound.
    “I’m not using vampiric powers on you. Not right now. And... I’ll try not to use them again. Fair?”
    It was her turn to lift her eyebrows. She watched his eyes dart away this time. As if she affected him. It wasn’t possible. The most handsome thing in existence? No way. Not Sydney Ross. That would never happen. But buggers! It was thrilling to just think it!
    “You’ll try not to?”
    She prompted it after long moments when he just crouched there. Looking at something on the settee behind her. Or maybe the wall. Completely immobile. Demonstrating not one hint of expended energy from holding up what looked like fifty pounds of tray. Statue-like. Nothing flexed. Nothing trembled. He didn’t even look to be breathing.
    Impossible. Unless he really was a vampire. Come on, Sydney. Get a grip here.
    He moved his eyes back to her, snagging and then holding hers. Damn! His gaze was hypnotic. Dark. Intense. Powerful. Her pulse ramped into a higher tempo and sound, making it difficult to hear his words. But at least her heart had relocated from her throat.
    “I can’t promise I won’t use them again. I’m not that noble.”
    Well. At least he was honest. Or he looked honest as he said that. And what were they talking about anyway? His promise about non-use of a concept that didn’t exist? This was insane. What was option three again, Syd? Oh yeah. Embrace the impossible. Embrace him?
    Oh shit. Her body gave an instantaneous lurch, sliding her thighs along the velvet. Toward him. That prompted a tingling she was going to ignore. She started talking to disguise it. She didn’t even care what she said.
    “Okay. Fine. We’ll move on, then. I’m on assignment here. I came to New Orleans to scout locales for a possible series... and while this home of yours is amazing and probably perfect if we make it look a bit dusty, I can’t imagine what price range you’re talking.”
    “Devereaux Castillion.”
    “What?”
    “It’s an introduction. My full name.”
    “Oh. French. And Spanish?”
    His jaw tightened and he flushed. Or something. It was hard to tell with the lack of light. Whatever it was, the view just got more amazing. Stirring. Endearing. As if he was troubled. Unsure. Thank goodness for the candlelight. That was one point in her favor. It muted some of his impact. Oh what was she thinking? Any light on him was too much.
    “My father was a plantation owner from the old country. Spain. The Castillion plantation was large. Sugar cane. In Santo Domingo. My mother was... uh... she was one of the non-hired help. Of mixed blood. Mostly French.”
    “You’re... Creole, then?”
    “Does it matter?”
    “Of course not. Look, all I’m here for is the house. Doesn’t really matter who owns it, their history, or their ancestry. As long as they’re legally entitled and mentally competent to sign a lease, that’s the bottom line. Got it?”
    “No. You’re here because I brought you here.”
    Sydney tilted her head. Hard to argue that. “True,” she finally remarked.
    “And the real reason