The name alone would have made Elizabeth turn in the direction of her grasping hand, but the speed of Josh’s spin to meet the man interested her far more. She stepped aside to get a better view, and almost dropped her glass.
He walked toward her, his black hair flowing loose over his shoulders. Alone of the men present, he wore no dinner jacket, just a black shirt that might have been velvet or crushed silk, with a matching tie that looked more like a cravat. He moved with all the grace and threat of a panther.
All this she absorbed in the first instant before his beauty blinded her, as it had always done. Yet it never even entered her head to doubt her own sanity, or to wonder whether her recognition was faulty. His mask had fallen.
He gazed only at her. She took a step toward him without meaning to, and he smiled, the rare, full smile that haunted her dreams. Shock overwhelmed the emotions struggling for release.
Then joy broke through like a tide, propelling her forward and into his arms, her face already raised for his kiss. Amber flames danced in his black eyes, burning her with the force of his desire. His mouth no longer smiled as it covered hers.
Elizabeth, he said silently. Elizabeth.
Saloman.
Chapter Four
It was an instant, a very small instant of bliss. The powerful arms she’d never thought to feel again closed close around her, while his mouth, his incredible, wonderful mouth, moved over hers with tenderness, accepting all her need and all the uncomplicated happiness of her kiss.
But it wasn’t uncomplicated. And they weren’t alone. A fact that Saloman, clearly, had never lost sight of for a moment. Even as she gasped into his mouth, trying to force herself to draw back, to ask questions that had only half formed in her brain, he was already releasing her. Her stunned lips felt cold, her body rebellious as his arms fell away. Although the tips of his fingers trailed over her naked back and lingered, so that she stood in the circle of his arm, being inexorably turned as if to be shown off to friends.
She shivered, desperately reaching for what dignity or even sense she could muster. They were being watched by several people with varying degrees of surprise, interest, and disapproval.
As if from very far away, Josh’s voice said, “I didn’t realize you two were acquainted.”
“Neither did I!” Elizabeth hoped she didn’t sound as hysterical as she felt.
“We met in Eastern Europe,” Saloman said, and God, yes, his voice still sounded the same. A little more modern in its intonation, perhaps, but it still reached right inside her, turning her outside in. “I expect Elizabeth remembers the Hungarian form of my name.”
“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth agreed, fighting the urge to laugh.
“What would that be?” Jerri asked eagerly.
“You couldn’t pronounce it,” Saloman said blandly.
Elizabeth, who, incredibly enough, was still clutching her champagne glass, hoped she’d spilled some of its contents over his mocking, arrogant person. Lifting it to her lips with fingers she prayed didn’t shake too visibly, she took a sizable gulp and tried to think.
What the hell was he doing here? And why was he posing as Adam Simon? Shit, what had he done with the real businessman? Was he after Dante?
No, you blind, blithering fool! He’s after Josh! Josh, whom you came here to protect, remember? To warn him against this very vampire? Well, Silk, now’s your moment!
Instinctively, she moved nearer to Josh, an act that Saloman acknowledged with a bland smile.
Dante, listening to the servant murmuring in his ear, nodded once and called, “Dinner is served, everyone! Let’s go to the dining room and eat!”
In the general happy exodus from the drawing room, Elizabeth found and gripped Josh’s hand. “Don’t trust Adam Simon,” she implored. He glanced at her, frowning, but there were too many people around them. “Just don’t,” she warned. “I’ll explain later.”
And what else should she do? Warn Dante that he was entertaining a vampire? Tell him this wasn’t Adam Simon but a dangerous impostor? Although the senator did seem more open to paranormal possibilities than she’d expected, her mind boggled at his likely response to being informed his favored houseguest wasn’t his troublesome business rival after all but a vampire. Not just any old vampire, either, but the most Ancient and powerful left in the world, the prince to whom all other vampires knelt, cringing.
Perhaps she should just stick to the impostor element. Explain that she’d met Adam Simon and this wasn’t him? Except she’d already denied knowing him to Josh.
Shit, what she really needed to do was talk to Saloman, warn him off Josh. After all, he’d promised to spare Konrad because she’d asked.
Because she’d asked . . . Her heart beat even faster, drowning the talk around her. Was it possible he hadn’t come here for Josh after all, but for her?
She arrived at the table still in a daze of speculation and anxiety, blindly following Josh. Gradually she became aware that there were little name cards at every place, and that Josh was making straight for the top end of the table as if he already knew where to go. Dante stood at the head of the table, smiling benignly while his guests seated themselves. On his left sat Jerri Cusack, and, almost inevitably, Josh halted at the seat beside her. Glancing at the table Elizabeth saw Josh’s name beside Jerri’s, then hers—and on her left, Adam Simon’s.
Her heart somersaulted.
It will never be over. That was what he’d said to her on their last night together. Was this his way of proving it? Or had he come simply for Josh? Either way, how was she to get through the agony of sitting so close to him in public?
Use it, she told herself fiercely as she sat down. Take the opportunity and tell him he can’t have Josh.
She tried not to watch him sauntering up the room, nodding to the waiter, who directed him to his place, just as if he were used to servants pandering to his every whim. He probably had been in the past, whatever his life was like now. Did he have an army of vampire servants to do his bidding? Oh, shite, were they here?
“How fortunate,” Saloman murmured, dropping into the velvetupholstered chair beside hers.
Was it? How the hell could she talk to him, ask him useful questions, with Josh listening in to every word? The obvious answer came to her almost like a cartoon lightbulb switching on in her head.
It was hard to concentrate through the laughter and several conversations going on around her, but she managed to gaze into her gently steaming soup bowl as if debating the recipe with herself and calm herself enough to initiate a connection. It wasn’t hard to think of him when he sat right next to her, his black silk–clad arm almost touching her elbow.
Saloman, she sent to him.
The word bounced harmlessly back to her. Silence greeted her and she knew she hadn’t reached him. Because he’d blocked her, damn him. What the hell did that mean? That he wasn’t yet ready to say anything that no one else should hear?
“Hi, you must be Elizabeth!”
She almost jumped as the voice cut through her abortive attempt at telepathy. She looked up into the smiling face of an attractive, darkhaired young woman leaning in front of Saloman to shake her hand.
“I’m Nicola Devon.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Elizabeth said faintly, rousing herself to shake hands with civility, and Nicola sat down on Saloman’s other side. Across the table sat the United States consul to Edinburgh and his wife, the antiquarians, and a couple of glamorous women she hadn’t yet met.
Dante sat down and everyone began to eat. With a feeling of numb helplessness, Elizabeth picked up her spoon.
“So you’re Josh’s Scottish cousin!” Jerri flung at her without warning. The woman was smiling, her teeth white and perfect between full, sculpted lips, but her gaze didn’t seem to be on Elizabeth. Instead, it switched continually between Josh and Saloman. “Wow, what’s it like to live in this amazing country all the time?”
“Wet,” Elizabeth said vaguely, which won an unexpecte
d ripple of laughter, not least from Nicola on Saloman’s other side.
“You’ve got that right,” Nicola said fervently. “I’ve found myself deliberately choosing work in warmer countries. What is it you do, Elizabeth?”
“Research,” Elizabeth replied; then, realizing she was sounding rather monosyllabic, she added, “I’ve had a junior, temporary post at St. Andrews University while I finished my PhD, but it’s about to expire.”
“How is the thesis?” Saloman inquired. He raised the spoon to his mouth. Elizabeth tried not to stare. He seemed to be eating the soup, but she wondered what he’d do with the main course.
“Under consideration,” she managed.
“What’s it on?” Nicola asked.
“Historical superstitions,” Saloman answered for her. He glanced at her, one eyebrow twitching upward to acknowledge the shared joke none of the others would understand. “With special reference to my country.” Where reality had blown her theory sky-high, and yet she’d still held it together.
“Fascinating,” Nicola said. “Have you met Bill and Gerald over there? They’re into that kind of thing.”
“But they prefer objects to go with their stories,” Saloman pointed out.
Objects like you? She hurled the thought at him without looking, and this time he chose to catch it. She felt his presence slip into her mind like a warm, familiar drink.
Oh, I think I might be a little too strong for their palates, he returned, faintly amused, and when she sneaked a glance at him, he smiled and added, Of course, they wouldn’t be too strong for mine.
Elizabeth almost choked on her soup, and Saloman, his smile widening, took another delicate spoonful. Elizabeth had to drag her gaze away. She remembered only too well the feel of those firm, knowing lips on her skin, caressing her throat and breasts, lingering to tease and torture her sensitive nipples. . . .
Her whole body flushed at the memory, from her cheeks to her thighs and all points between. Worse, she was sure he’d sense her heat and use it, whether for his own amusement or to advance whatever plan had brought him here.
She laid down her spoon. Why did you come, Saloman?
He appeared to consider, while the waiters smoothly removed soup bowls and the second course was brought in. She found herself answering Josh, making automatic contributions to the general conversation while the larger part of her focused and strained for Saloman’s answer.
To take what is mine, he said at last.
It could have meant anything. It shouldn’t have brought the surge of desire and pleasure shooting to her core. She wouldn’t allow it, of course, but the idea that he had come to claim her, despite all her objections, was insidious, intoxicating. Trying to quash it, she reached for the more likely meaning. Josh.
You can’t have Josh. I won’t let you harm him.
Can’t I? He sounded merely amused. Why not? Is he your lover?
Of course not!
No need to sound so indignant. I didn’t accuse you of adultery. Then he’s just one of the lucky few you happen to feel responsible for? Like the unspeakable Konrad. At this rate, I shall run out of other descendants and be forced to consume you. Again.
She gasped. Flame licked through her, burning.
“Are you all right?” Josh asked in quick concern.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” Elizabeth murmured. “I just swallowed the wrong way.”
“So, Elizabeth, you live in St. Andrews?” Dante said jovially. “Love that town. Great golf. Do you play?”
“No,” Elizabeth said apologetically. “Though over the years I’ve learned to avoid flying golf balls.”
From the corner of her eye, as she spoke, she could just make out Saloman’s long, pale fingers curled around the stem of his crystal wineglass. It was full of bloodred wine. He lifted it out of her line of vision, drinking as she tried to concentrate on the spate of golf stories that sprang up.
Saloman’s glass reappeared on the table, still held in his long fingers, but this time his forearm just touched hers. The tiny hairs on her naked arm seemed to stand up to meet him. Electricity sparked, as it always did to his touch, and yet she couldn’t withdraw her arm without making it too obvious.
There came an inevitable burst of laughter at Josh’s golfing story. Elizabeth, who’d barely heard a word, forced herself to smile. Saloman shifted in his seat and suddenly his thigh was against hers too.
Oh, God, don’t do this to me, Saloman. . . .
She shifted her arm, at least, away from his touch and turned to see him pronging a small piece of fish with his fork. Beyond him, the friendly Nicola laid down her glass. Behind the perfect grooming, she looked thoughtful and intelligent, with tiny yet deeply etched lines of character, or perhaps humor, at the corners of her eyes and mouth.
“What is it you do, Nicola?” Elizabeth asked, covering her desperation for distraction. Saloman’s thigh, firm and muscular, moved against hers in an obvious caress.
“Advertising,” Nicola said. “Which is how I know Adam here. My company’s doing some work for him.”
Involuntarily, Elizabeth’s gaze flew back to Saloman, in time to see him lower his fork with the fish still attached. He seemed to be hacking up the rather delicious sole without eating it.
This doesn’t make sense. Why does she think you’re Adam Simon? Where is he? How long have you been—
Meet me outside later. I’ll call you.
Saloman . . .
But his presence had withdrawn from her mind. It would have felt like a loss if his leg hadn’t been pressing against hers, if she didn’t have the promise of a meeting with him, alone in the dark. She knew it would be a mistake to let this happen all over again, and she knew that when they met, she’d have to be strong enough to assure him of that. And yet she couldn’t prevent the surge of excitement, of pure hunger just to talk to him, just to be in his arms for one more minute.
Well, if she was honest, the hunger went well beyond a minute in his arms, but she couldn’t, she really couldn’t afford to be that honest.
As the evening wore on, it occurred to Elizabeth that she was being played. Waiting to speak to Saloman, she delayed warning either Dante or Josh. And although she couldn’t actually imagine Saloman doing anything as crazy as killing everyone in the house, she knew it wasn’t beyond his capabilities. The hunters had told her a few weeks ago about a rumor from Spain, according to which, in one of the few violent confrontations of his “reign” so far, Saloman had killed ten strong vampires in less than five minutes—before going on to drain the wily old professor who was Tsigana’s descendant. Legend said Saloman had no help in the battle, but then, legend probably said the same thing about the fight in St. Andrews. Saloman had written the book on self-propaganda. He’d taught Vlad the Impaler and no doubt his detractors too, to devastating effect.
All she could do was stay close to Josh after they left the dining room—the meal had been delicious and Elizabeth regretted being far too anxious to do it justice—and wait for Saloman’s call. The worst part came after they gathered again in the large drawing room, where Dante entertained them with an eclectic mix of rock, country, and jazz music. People inevitably split up into groups, and Josh chose to carry out his promise to the senator by seeking out Saloman and falling into some story about how Dante had saved his business interests.
Elizabeth had cringed for him, but couldn’t halt him without rudeness. Saloman listened with apparent interest, even remarking on what a “player” the senator was. Inspired, Josh told an amusing story that served to show just how powerful the senator was, since it brought in all sorts of important people, including a former president of the United States.
Relieved when Dante himself came to join them, Elizabeth happily followed the conversation to more neutral ground and ignored Saloman’s hooded gaze when she felt it burning her neck. She drifted away with Josh after that, watching Jerri and a couple of others dancing an enthusiastic Charleston.
“I had to lear
n this for my last film!” Jerri crowed, showing off her long, elegant legs.
“She can dance,” Josh allowed, and Elizabeth had to agree. In fact, she got so caught up in it that by the time she remembered to look around again, Saloman was no longer in the room.
Her nerves tightened as she waited for his voice in her mind, which would summon her. Somewhere, she hated herself for it, but she knew she had to go, to find out what was going on, since Saloman wouldn’t talk to her any other way. And the hunters had no leads on what he planned next. It would be another battle of wits and sex that she was damned if she’d let him win. And if Saloman was with her, then he couldn’t be harming Josh.
If Saloman was with her, if he had come here for her . . .
He didn’t, idiot. He had no way of knowing you’d be here.
Didn’t he? Saloman always had ways of knowing things he couldn’t possibly know.
“So, Josh.” Dante came up behind him and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder. “We’re about to go on to the smaller sitting room upstairs so I can show these fellows some of the pieces I collected in the UK. Do you want to bring down your sword?”
“Sure,” Josh agreed. “Want to come, Elizabeth?”
Before Elizabeth could agree, her phone rang. Although various phones had gone off all evening, the sound of her own seemed so mundane in this room full of film stars and foreign dignitaries—to say nothing of visiting vampires close by—that for an instant she couldn’t think where it came from. Then, hastily retrieving it from her purse, she cast Dante an apologetic smile.
“Sorry. I’ll follow you up, if that’s all right.” If it was Mihaela or one of the other hunters, she certainly didn’t want the conversation overheard by any of the “paranormal object” collectors.
Dante gave her a wave of approval on his way out. Josh patted her shoulder and winked. Elizabeth moved toward the door in their wake, acknowledging that the number on the screen was new to her. She took it anyway.
“Hello?”
“Elizabeth.”
She froze. “What the . . . ?”
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