“That’s where it belongs,” he said. “Not a closet. Keep it close for quick reference.”

“Get out,” I said, pointing.

Long coat drifting about his shoe tops, he moved to the door, his every motion holding a confident seductive grace. “Put your hair up,” he said as he sauntered through the archway. A grin came over him, showing me his teeth. “I like your neck. Page twelve, third paragraph down.” He licked his lips, hiding the flash of fang even as I saw it.

“Out!” I shouted, taking two steps and slamming the door.

Fuming, I turned to what he had laid out on my bed, glad I’d made it that afternoon. A faint tingling at my neck drew my hand up, and I pressed my palm into it, willing it away. I stared at my pillow, then hesitantly pulled the book out. Rynn Cormel had written it? Cripes, the man had single-handedly run the country during the Turn, and he had enough time to write a vampire sex manual, too?

The scent of lilac rose as I opened it at the dog-eared page. I was prepared for anything, having been through the book twice and finding myself more appalled than turned on, but it was only about the use of necklaces to send messages to your lover. Apparently the more you covered your neck, the more you were inviting him or her to rip it open. The gothic metallic lace that was so popular lately was like walking around in a teddy. Going completely bare at the neck was almost as bad—a delicious claim of vampiric virginity and a complete and utter turn-on.

“Huh,” I muttered, closing the book and dropping it on my new bedside table. Maybe a reread was in order. My gaze went to the outfit Kisten had chosen for me. It looked frumpy, but I’d try it on, and when Ivy told him I looked like I was forty, he could wait another ten minutes while I changed back.

Motions quick, I took off my boots and tossed them thumping aside. I had forgotten that the gray slacks were lined with silk, and they made a pleasant sensation slipping over my legs. I chose a black halter top—without Kisten’s help—and put the long shirt on over it. It didn’t do a thing to show off my curves, and I turned to my mirror, frowning.

I froze at my reflection, shocked. “Damn,” I whispered. I had looked good before in my black dress and boots. But in this? In this I looked … sophisticated. Remembering page twelve, I fumbled for my longest gold chain and looped it over my head. “Double damn,” I breathed, shifting to see myself from a different angle.

My curves were gone, hidden behind the simple straight lines, but the subdued statement of the modest slacks, silk shirt, and gold chain screamed confidence and casual wealth. Now my pale skin was softly alabaster instead of sickly white, and my athletic build appeared sleek. It was a new look for me. I didn’t know I could do high-class wealthy.