A Hunger Like No Other by Kresley Cole Page B

her. The thought of him handling her underclothes, deliberately choosing them for her, made her blush for the thousandth time since she’d met him. She must have wasted a gallon of blood blushing because of him.
    He’d also picked out long pants and a turtleneck and a sweater and a jacket. Did he want her to be buried in clothes?
    At that moment, he appeared again. She leapt backward, clearing the length of the mattress to stand at the headboard.Even with her keen hearing, she hadn’t heard a hint of his approach.
    He raised his eyebrows at the quick movement. “That frightened of me?”
    She clutched her towel. I’m that frightened of my own shadow, much less an overgrown Lykae! But his voice hadn’t been cruel, and she gathered the courage to study him from beneath her lashes. His eyes were that warm golden color and he was wearing new clothes. He looked like a mid-thirties millionaire. Or more aptly, a physique-model playing one.
    The bastard was a remarkably handsome man. And he obviously knew it, which nettled. “You’ve attacked me twice. You’ve given me no reason not to be frightened.”
    He was getting irritated again. “That was before I gave you my word that I would no’ hurt you.” Then, seeming to get his temper under control, he said, “Everything is ready. I have a rented car waiting and I’ve settled the bill for this room.”
    She could just imagine that bill. Even though he’d annihilated the antique bedside table in this room, it wouldn’t add up to the cost of her stay. “But I’ve been here for weeks. I can pay for my own—”
    â€œYou did pay. Now, come down from the bed.”
    When he held out his hand to her, she crossed to the opposite side and stepped down, feeling dizzy and fearing the worst—the utter abuse of her credit card. “And I suppose I paid for your new clothes?” she dared to ask with the bed between them. Emma knew fine things—all Valkyrie did—since they’d inherited Freya’s acquisitiveness—and the cut of his clothes reeked of money.
    He wore a dark leather car coat that was hand-stitched and flat-front trousers, camel in color and lean in fit. Under the opened jacket, a black thin cashmere shirt molded tohim like a second skin. Between the edges of his coat, she could see the rigid outlines of his chest. His clothing said, I’m rich, and I might be a little dangerous.
    Women would adore him.
    â€œAye. The man downstairs has many resources and our card has no limits.” His tone dared her to say something.
    Our card? Her Centurion AmEx with instructions that some purchases might seem off and that the owner would be traveling, so do not hinder in any way. A safeguard had now turned into a financial weapon in his hands.
    Like all in the coven, she had a yearly allowance for clothes and entertainment and it was very generous, but she’d been saving up, thinking of buying something major that would be all her own—an antique or her own horse or anything that she wouldn’t have to share with her aunts. No longer.
    Among her other trials with him, the Lykae appeared determined to break her bank.
    *  *  *
    â€œYou didn’t leave me any way to cover my ears,” she said, glancing down, avoiding his eyes as usual.
    Her comment made him scowl again at her clothing. She wanted to hide something he found attractive, and yet her garments were so revealing to others? Her black trews scarcely came up over her hipbones and hugged the curves of her arse. Her red shirt, though high-collared, had strange, asymmetrical seams that drew the eye to the swell of her breasts. When she moved, flashes of her flat midriff came into view. He’d chosen those clothes to cover her—not advertise her. He’d buy her new ones at the first opportunity, spending lavishly of the vampire’s money. He intended to find out how much he could