Jane Van Kamp’s thick British accent held a hint of teasing. “My ‘mad crush’?” Drake Halston muttered, his eyebrow shooting up. “Didn’t realize I had one.” He was English as well, but his intonation was much more subtle because he’d been in the States longer than Jane. By nearly two centuries, to be exact. “Please,” his assistant scoffed good-naturedly as she left her desk, positioned against the far wall of his enormous office. “I know it typically takes more than a mental fantasy to make you hard, but the mere thought of Shana White does the trick every time. She sends your cock and your barely beating heart into a complete tizzy. In the decades I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you so hot for, or infatuated with, any other woman.” Feigning disinterest at the mention of the woman who was supposed to be the object of his secret desire—a vampire lusting after a human was an obvious recipe for disaster, after all—he continued his work at his own desk. Though he added, “I’m always hot for you, Jane.”
