THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

pissing contest, and in this case, he didn’t want to leave the security guard with a permanently cowed guard dog.
    “So, Douglas,” Delano said, reading the name from the nametag on the guard’s his uniform, “you must be a friend of Eli Grayson’s.” He fished a laminated card out of his wallet and proffered it.
    The guard accepted the ID from Delano, leaned closer to his computer and hit a button, then toggled the cursor. Within a few seconds, he apparently found what he was looking for and handed the card back. “Sorry about that, Dr. Bowen, but I’ve got a job to do.”
    “Don’t apologize. I’d have bent Eli’s ear if you didn’t challenge me.” The dog sat back on his haunches, the motion drawing Delano’s gaze. At the eye contact, the dog pinned his ears back, narrowed his eyes and growled. Delano looked away. “Has Eli told you what to expect?”
    The guard’s expression remained placid. “Pretty much anything, up to and maybe exceeding what I might expect to see in a combat situation.”
    Well, that about summed it up. “Glad to have you on the team, Doug.”
    On the 27th floor, Delano emerged from the elevator to a similar scene — security guard behind a desk with monitors. But this one was sans dog, thank God, and Delano had already met him earlier tonight. After checking in briefly, he strode to a second elevator and rode to the 29th floor.
    The first elevator went no higher than the 27th floor, and the second started at 27 and went straight to 29. The 28th floor, where Delano’s lab resided, could only be reached via the stairwell, and only from the 29th floor. Which was one of the reasons he’d bought this building. Couldn’t be careful enough.
    The suite was in near darkness when Delano entered, but he had no difficulty picking out Eli’s form reclining on the couch. Damn. He should have known Eli wouldn’t sleep until he was safely in before sunup. He should have called. Or come home sooner.
    Delano keyed in the alarm code, then turned to his friend. “I see you’ve got security under control.”
    Eli stood, stifling a yawn. “The basics. More to do tomorrow.”
    “Today, you mean. Go to bed, Eli.”
    He scratched his chest. “Don’t mind if I do.”
    “And don’t set the alarm too early.”
    “Did you round up lots of Nosferatu? Nosferati? Oh, hell, vamps?”
    Delano laughed. “More than enough for our clinic.” He glanced around. “How’s Ainsley? Gone to bed, I take it?”
    “I think so.” Eli rolled his shoulders, and cricked his neck, first one way, then the other. “She was restless, roamed around a while, but I haven’t seen her since we shared a nightcap an hour or so ago.”
    Delano raised an eyebrow. Eli never drank alcohol. Ever.
    “Okay, she had a nightcap. I had a coffee.”
    “A decaf, I hope.”
    “Decaf?” Eli yawned, which ruined the offended look he was trying to project. “It was an espresso, thank you very much. But don’t worry. It won’t keep me up. ’Night, boss.”
    “Goodnight, Eli.”
    As soon as Eli moved off, Delano headed for his own windowless rooms in the center of the penthouse. Five steps from the door of his suite, he halted.
    Someone was in there.
    A light burned inside, casting a dim glow into the corridor, but that’s not what alerted him. Eli always left a small lamp burning for him. But he could feel a presence. He stood stock-still, and listened. There it was! Someone breathing. Quiet and regular. He flared his nostrils and caught the scent of sandalwood and vanilla.
    Ainsley.
    His heart leapt. Oh, hell. Had she crawled into his bed to await him, her imagination fired by the look that passed between them in his study earlier tonight?
    Feeling disembodied, almost as though he were watching himself from above, he pushed the door to his bedroom open. It swung inward silently on well-oiled hinges, and there she was. Not in his bed, thank God, but in his chair. Specifically, the antique French wingback chair beside his bed. And she was sleeping soundly, bathed in yellow light from the 40-watt bulb in the bedside lamp.
    A fierce pang, as sweet as it was painful, pierced his chest. God, she was beautiful. She slept slumped to one side, her head resting against the chair’s upholstered wing, hair swept to one side to keep it out of her face. Her cheeks bore the faintest of flushes, and her mouth had a softness about it he’d never seen while she was awake.
    Unable to help himself, he drifted closer until he stood