"I met that alpha last night. I intend to see him again."

"Why?"

The urge to throw the plate at his thick head was so strong I had to clench my fingers to stop them from grabbing it. "I've told you why a hundred times. Stop thinking with your dick and start listening!"

His expression darkened. "Believe me, I'm not thinking with my dick here."

"You don't know me well enough to be thinking with anything else," I refuted. "For Christ's sake, you don't even like werewolves. Why in hell would you want to go exclusive with me?"

"If I had any choice in the matter, I would not be doing this."

I raised an eyebrow. "Well, I'm hardly forcing you into it."

"No?"

"No."

"Then why do you invade my dreams?"

"It wasn't like I was doing it purposely. I was just dreaming."

"Only they weren't just dreams, but erotic dreams."

I frowned, wondering what the hell he was getting at. "So?"

"So, you weren't just dreaming, you were connecting to my mind and sharing those dreams with me."

I blinked. We'd been having real mind sex? How cool was that? And why couldn't we share something like that while waking?

"Because neither of us are physically ready for that sort of experience."

Annoyance swept through me. "Will you keep out of my damn thoughts?"

"You shield if you want me out."

I threw up full shields and gave him a glare. It was water off a duck's back. "What do you mean, neither of us are ready to share that sort of experience?"

"Just that. Merging minds during sex is as intimate as you can get, an experience that can forever effect you."

I raised an eyebrow. "You've done it?"

He hesitated. "Once."

"With whom?"

"The whom isn't important—"

"See," I cut in, throwing up my hands. "You want me to go exclusive, and yet you're not willing to tell me a damn thing about you or your past."

"The past is not important."

Maybe it wasn't, but the mere fact he didn't trust me enough to tell me was. But if he wasn't smart enough to realize that, then what was the point of even mentioning it?

"Just leave it casual," I said softly. "And take it from there."

"I can't."

"Why not?" I asked, perplexed. "I mean, we were casual a month ago, and you did that just fine."

He finished his drink then placed it in the small holder near the chair and stood. "As I told you before." he said, turning to look out the window. "A vampire is very territorial. You've invaded my being—and that being now considers you mine. Do you know how hard it is for me to sit back and watch you with other men? I couldn't do that for weeks on end. I'd kill them, Riley. I wouldn't be able to help it."

There was no emotion in his voice, but the flicker of pain that seared my mind told me this had happened before. And that that death was at the base of him hating weres. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "What about a compromise?"

He didn't even bother looking at me. "What?"

"When you're in Melbourne to see me, I won't see anyone else. But when you're in Sydney, I'm free to see whom I wish. And the days leading up to the full moon are mine."

"What about Misha?"

"Misha is part of this mission, and until the mission is over, this agreement will not come into force. Besides, we both know Misha is not the only sinner I might have to kiss before this case is solved."

"If it was just kissing I wouldn't mind so much." He muttered, then turned around. "A deal, then."

My hormones let out a collective cheer. "And you'll accept the fact that there will be other lovers besides you?"

His dark eyes gleamed with displeasure. "As long as you stick to your promise once this mission is over, then yes."

Finally, we had an agreement we could both live with. "Want to celebrate the deal by cooking me another burger?"

A small smile touched his lips. "That I can do." And he did.

The function was being held on the eighth floor of The Haborside, a brand-new hotel complex that boasted views over the old Sydney Harbor Bridge and the Opera House. The ballroom itself was decked out in cream—walls, ceiling, and tables—as if not to compete with the magnificence of the views so visible through the windows that enclosed two sides of the room. The only glint of color to the scheme was the gold in the frames of the chandeliers., and the spray of rainbow hues across the ceiling as the light hit the heavy crystal pendants.

Of course, no one had told the guests that competing with the view wasn't an option, and the ballroom was a blaze of human color—at least when it came to the women. And I was pleased to note that most of the dresses were as short as mine. Liander had been right, as usual.

Quinn pressed a hand against my back as we followed the waiter down the stairs. Though the touch was light, it seared right down to my spine, and had need humming through my body. While I knew I couldn't afford to lose any more blood tonight, that didn't stop me from wanting him. By the same token, I didn't actually want to go to Misha feeling this way. The bastard didn't deserve it.

People glanced our way as we passed them by, some of them nodding in greeting at Quinn. He didn't even bother looking at them, much less responding. His gaze was strictly front and center, and I frowned, searching the crowd ahead of us, wondering what had caught his attention. Not that I could see much beyond the glitter of all the diamonds on show around us. It was just as well the room had lots of discreetly placed guards, because the truck-load of jewels on display would call to a thief as surely as nectar to a bee.

"What's wrong?" I asked, after a few seconds.

He glanced at me, dark eyes flat. "Thought I saw someone I knew."

"Male someone, or female someone?"

"Male. The son of a business rival."

"Anyone I'd know?"

"Unlikely, though you've undoubtedly heard of the company—Sirius Airlines."

"They just won the contract for daily flights to the European Collective's Space Station, didn't they?"

"Yes."

The dark way he said that had me glancing at him. "Beating you out of the contract, I'm gathering?"

"Yes."

"Publicly thumping him is not going to get that contract back, you know."

He gave me his vampire face. "Beating him up wouldn't do any good, because it is not the son that runs the company. I merely wish to give him a warning."

The waiter stopped at an empty table near the corner of the room. I glanced at the window, not sure I liked being so close to it. I might be disguised, but Quinn wasn't, and we still hadn't figured out who or what was behind the recent attempts on his life.

"So, what is his name and what are you warning him about?" I took the seat opposite the window. We might be only eight floors up, but if I got too close and saw the drop, my stomach would react. And I doubt that would endear me to my tablemates.

"That's not your concern," Quinn said.

His reply was almost absent, and annoyance rose. Dammit, I was getting more than a little tired of our relationship—whatever the hell that actually was—being a one-way information street. And being old and set in his ways wasn't excuse enough.

I thrust to my feet, needing to get out of there before I said something daft or we got back to the same old argument, but he grabbed me, his fingers like iron around my wrist.

"I'm sorry, Riley."

"No, you're not." I glanced down at his fingers. "Take your hand off my arm."

"Only if you sit down so we can talk."

"Right now, I have work to do. And I'm over talking to you."

"Please."

"No."

"What if I said the man I was looking for was Kellen Sinclair?"

"Telling me his name now means little." And I had to hope his Kellen wasn't my Kellen—though given the curveballs fate was throwing, I wasn't about to bet on it. "I want to be able to ask a question and have it answered civilly."