by Fiona Brand
"Never." For the first time Blade allowed himself to put into words the stark truth that had confused, irked and tormented him for years. "I was looking for you. If I couldn't find you, I wasn't going to have anyone."
Chapter 17
"So this is Anna Tarrant."
Ray shook the hand of the woman who had been the cause of all the ruckus. She was small and very attractive, with a mouth to go to war over, and the kind of mesmerising eyes that made him want to keep on looking.
He caught the hard edge of Lombard's gaze and backed off fast. No sense in buying into any more trouble; he'd already seen enough this week to last him. The past few days he'd been hip deep in politicians and slick lawyers, all trying to save de Rocheford's ass. It was a lost cause, but that didn't stop the legal vultures from feeding off the carcass for as long as they could, although he didn't know where de Rocheford stood with the money any longer. Technically he now owned very little.
Anna placed her briefcase on the interview desk and began removing the small items of her past. An officer catalogued each item and bagged it. Blade hovered protectively as the interview proceeded and she told her story in simple chronological order, ending with de Rocheford's last attempt to kill her.
"I escaped," she finished baldly.
Ray sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. This was the part he knew he wasn't going to like. "How?"
"Seber came into the room they'd locked me in. I got away, then climbed down the cliff to the beach. There was a boat with a motor. I came ashore at a beach with a boat ramp, a little further up the coast. I called Blade. He came and got me."
Ray sighed at Anna's simplistic series of statements. He had no doubt that each one contained its own version of the truth. "Have you got anything you want to add to that explanation?"
"No."
Blade's arm settled about her shoulders. "My fiancée's safe," he said softly. "Surely that's the most important thing."
Ray met Blade's bland gaze and didn't push any further. He knew what Blade had done; knew and respected his reasons, even if he couldn't condone any of it. He decided that Anna's simple series of statements was all he ever wanted to know about what had happened at the de Rocheford estate – on the record or off.
He ended the official interview and began outlining the prosecution proceedings. "Seber is a practical man: he talked. And once he started talking, he didn't stop. The man is certifiably weird. Not only did he impersonate a police officer, he kept police-style records on all his clients and anyone else who attracted his attention in the course of his 'duties.' We've got Seber and de Rocheford on one count of murder – the lawyer, Emerson Stevens. Seber also implicated de Rocheford in the kidnapping and attempted murder of Miss Tarrant."
Ray shook his head in incredulity at Seber's cold-blooded efficiency. "He taped all his conversations with his clients, just in case something went wrong."
"Henry killed my mother, too," Anna said flatly.
Ray was caught in the net of her gaze again. He frowned. There was something about her eyes, aside from that luminous grey colour. For a moment there he'd got the distinct impression she had looked … not through him, but into him.
She lifted her brows, and he realised he'd been staring. Incredibly, he felt his cheeks heat. "Have you, uh, got any evidence to support that statement?"
"Henry told me he gave her sleeping pills when she was already on some other medication," she said in a low voice. "She simply never woke up. Seber may be able to confirm the allegation. I think he was listening at the door when Henry told me about giving her the pills."
Ray was hardly surprised. "We're already investigating that angle," he admitted, and suppressed a grin. He would go talk to Seber again; he could hardly wait. The man was like Father Christmas; his goody sack was solving half the crimes in the city.
He rose from his chair and shook hands with both Anna and Blade. "With what we've got from Seber, we shouldn't have any problems getting convictions. He collected evidence by the book."
Ray strolled to the door, grasped the handle, but didn't open it immediately. He stared at the wood grain as if it were utterly fascinating. "Seber also nailed a number of petty criminals. One of them was the manager of Joe's Bar and Grill. Apparently he was running a brothel out of the restaurant. A couple of the girls confirmed everything."
His ears went pink at exactly how much they'd confirmed. The one with the husky voice … what was her name? Nita. She had sunk Rafferty's boat with detailed accounts of every transaction, practically since the dawn of time. The woman should have been an accountant. "We went to pick Rafferty up, but unfortunately, we haven't been able to book him yet. Apparently he's been falsifying employment records and evading taxes. The tax investigators got there first and gave him a heart attack. He's in hospital and probably wishes he were dead, but the poor bastard's not critical."
Epilogue
Anna Lombard strode through the crowd thronging the newly opened casino in a grey, glittering sheath that looked more like moonlight and mist than the delicately beaded moire silk that it was.
Addie Carson paused to admire the sleek young woman with the swath of silky, coppery hair tumbling past her waist. She nudged her sister in the ribs. "Sadie, get a load of that dress. Don't you think she looks like something out of a fairy tale?"
Sadie turned, wondering what Addie had seen that was so fascinating it had drawn her away from a sure streak on her favourite slot machine. "Yep." She squinted. "Filled out some. Not surprising, with that big stud hovering over her, watching her every move. I've seen him feed her himself if he doesn't think she's eaten enough."
Just then Blade Lombard glided through the crowd and laid a possessive hand on the small of his wife's back. He looked big and handsome and wild, his black stallion's mane of hair as glossy as midnight satin under the lights. He turned his head, and the barbaric gleam of the jewel at his ear caught the lights, making him look even more untamed. Against him, his wife looked willowy, and utterly feminine.
The contrast, the way they looked together, made something catch in the sisters' throats. The glance the couple shared was so private, as if there were no one else in the room but the two of them. Both sisters were transfixed by the odd notion that, for a brief moment, they had been allowed a glimpse into something beyond the norm, a moment that was intensely personal – and more spellbinding.
"Oh my," Addie said wistfully.
"Quiet," Sadie muttered, her mind focusing on another subject entirely: Blade Lombard's tight rear end. "I'm concentratin'."
Addie's breath hitched in her throat. "Did you see that?" she muttered. "She squeezed his…"
"Butt."
"Sadie!"
"I'm a modern woman," Sadie grumped. "I know what I saw, and I know what it's called. Just wish I'd had access to one like that."
Addie sighed. "Makes you feel like you missed something on the way, doesn't it?" An image of her beloved but long ago deceased husband lying at home on the couch, television remote practically sutured to one hand, passed very briefly through her mind. Her Harvey had had his moments, enough of them that she could still blush remembering, but still…
Sadie began fussing with the fit of her dress. "Reckon I'll go check on those Fa'alau boys, see how they're going with the security. Tony's been asking my advice on account of this is a lot different from working at a video parlour."
Addie snorted. "If Blade thinks they can handle the job, then they probably don't need your help."
Sadie adjusted her pearls and made a beeline for the entrance to the main gaming floor and the two burly men with the remote, watchful eyes. She eyed the fit of Tony's tux approvingly, completely ignoring his son, Mike. Yessir, he looked dangerous, like a hit man from a movie she'd seen once.
His gaze connected with hers, and he smiled, the special, soft smile that made her heart thump in her chest. Sadie smiled back at him, almost tripping on the hem of her long gown. It had cost her a small fortune, and
the result had been worth it, but she would still kill to be back in her jeans.
She had been going to talk about security. Not that Tony was likely to be taken in by any of the smooth characters cruising the tables. Just one look at his dark eyes was enough to give her little shivers up and down her spine. He might have grey in his hair and a limp, but he was one fine figure of a man.
The hell with security. They'd been smiling at each other long enough. She was going to ask him for a date.
*
Blade tucked his wife in close against his side. "How do you feel?" he murmured, bending to nuzzle her hair. The light, flowery scent of her made his pulse jump. With a sense of amused inevitability, he felt his sex stir.
Anna smiled, her grey eyes losing their mystery and gaining a teasing sparkle that made him even hungrier to have her alone.
"You keep asking me that. I'm fine."
"I have a vested interest in my wife," he murmured as he guided her toward a small club that adjoined the main casino floor. There was a band playing slow dance music, and he wanted to hold his wife in his arms. "And my new business partner."
With de Rocheford and Seber both serving substantial prison terms, and Anna's identity and inheritance restored, her life had changed dramatically. She was now a businesswoman, and she'd taken to it like the proverbial duck to water – her talent for reading people giving her a definite edge. Anna was also a partner in the horse stud, and had a family share in Lombards. Blade hadn't needed to do either of the last two things, because Anna's income was already substantial, but he had wanted to give her the security of being closely bound to both him and his family.
She still had the occasional bad dream, but they just about had those beaten. Blade's remedy was simple and basic; he warmed her up inside and out. The strategy had worked so well, he'd wondered about the last couple of wake up calls; Anna hadn't felt the least bit cold.
Her hand slid across his belly as they strolled onto the dance floor, fingers lightly massaging. Blade's chest expanded on a sharp intake of air as he pulled her into his arms, but he let her play, because she damn well needed to play. When he'd found out why she'd run so hard and for so long from Henry, he'd nearly gone crazy. The bastard was lucky he'd been locked up. Anna had gradually emerged from the shell she'd used to protect herself. Like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, she'd expanded on that serious, haunted personality that had grabbed him so deep and hard, and spread wings that glittered and scintillated and grabbed him even tighter.
He'd done some research into the Montague family and their women. They were avowed to have powers. Dangerous powers.
Didn't he know it. His ghost lady was a damn tease. Jack danced past, with Milly held as closely as they could manage with her pregnancy. Milly was wearing a glowing smile and a fire-engine-red dress that cheerfully flaunted the curve of her belly. The entire Lombard family was here tonight, and most of them were dancing. Gray and Sam had a corner to themselves, and Cullen and Rachel had staked out their own piece of territory. Blade's parents were doing a stately turn on the floor, and his sister, Roma, had an amiable Carter in tow, his expression long-suffering as she drove him crazy with questions about exactly what it was he did on his undercover missions.
Anna lifted both arms around Blade's neck, snuggling against his chest so they didn't so much dance as sway together. Idly, she began to stroke his nape with a rhythmic, flexing motion.
"Keep doing that," he muttered, "and you're likely to get tossed over my shoulder."
"Finally." She slipped one hand down his chest, round the hard, sensitive point or his nipple beneath his dress shirt and rubbed.
Blade's heart almost stopped, then pounded hard and fast. He broke out in a sweat, his arousal instant and cataclysmic. He had to have her, and he didn't have much time.
"That's it," he growled, soft and desperate. "There were no witches in the Montague family. They were all torturers."
He caught Anna's unrepentant face with his hands and kissed her deep and long – just as he knew she wanted him to.
A camera flashed, capturing the unruly flare of passion. It would be all over the papers tomorrow, he thought hazily, not caring, as he picked Anna up and strode to the private lift that went directly to their penthouse suite, ignoring the interested spectators scurrying aside to allow him passage.
"Hit the combination," he commanded. "My hands are busy."
The lift swished open. He stepped inside. Another camera flashed as the doors closed. Blade lowered Anna to her feet, pinned her against the wall of the lift and kissed her again.
He felt her searching for the key card in his pants pocket, an action that took an inordinately long time and necessitated movements above and beyond the call of duty.
Eventually, the lift began its smooth ascent. Seconds later, it came to an abrupt halt in mid-climb. Anna had hit the stop button. Blade knew in that moment that they weren't going to make it out of the lift any time soon.
Anna had no intention of letting Blade out of the lift for at least an hour. The Lombard family suite was full, presently hosting a clutch of Blade's nieces and nephews, and a couple of demonic young cousins, all overseen by his Aunt Sophie. The children and babies were adorable, and Sophie was charming, but there was no privacy. Anna had had enough of sharing her husband; she wanted him to herself.
"This dress is tight," he muttered, a desperate edge to his voice. "You've put on weight."
"The last of the smooth talkers," she murmured. "You really know how to make a lady feel gorgeous."
She nipped at his lobe in delicate reprisal, then grinned when he shuddered with delight.
He grasped her skirt and worked it up over her hips, then stiffened and went still. "You're wearing a suspender belt," he accused.
"I sneaked it on when you weren't looking," she murmured, rubbing her palms over his shirtfront. His chest expanded; heavy muscles tightened.
"Witch." His gaze was possessive and burning with need, but soft, so soft.
"Flatterer," she retorted, no longer worried about her wild Montague genes. Her psychic talents had been catalogued, listed, analysed and measured, as much as anyone was able to measure anything so intangible. She had decided not to share any of her dreams, though; they belonged to her and Blade, and were far too personal for a research paper.
Anna had found out she was special, but not alone. She was, in the latest jargon, an empath – meaning that she could pick up on feelings, emotions. She also had a capacity for mental telepathy, but it appeared to be at its strongest with Blade.
Her link with Blade had the experts baffled, and they had wanted to test him, too, certain that he must have a degree of the same talent, even if it was only minor. Blade had refused point blank, just as he had put his foot down about her participating in an ongoing programme of testing. In his words, Anna was his wife, not some guinea pig. If she wanted to use her powers on anyone, it was going to be on him.
The one thing that had really bothered Anna was what she'd done to Henry when she'd hit out with her mind. They had conducted tests and tried to get her to replicate the effect, but she hadn't been able to do it. She had come to the conclusion that what had happened with Henry had been an aberration, fuelled by the years of fear and grief and anguish. During the test, she simply hadn't been able to build up any fury at all; she had been too happy.
She wound her arms around Blade's neck and obligingly wriggled her hips as he peeled her dress up until it bunched at her waist. He leaned down and whispered something bluntly explicit in her ear.
A shiver swept her as she felt the edge of his teeth on the tender join of neck and shoulder. He had called her fat, a witch, and now he had told her what he was about to do to her in a string of very short words.
He lifted her and set her back against the wall of the elevator. Anna heard the rasp of his zipper, shivered as she felt the hot, beguiling stroke of his fingers, then without further preliminaries, he began pushing inside her.
; His eyes were hooded, intent, his dark golden skin stretched taut against the strong bones and exotic hollows of his face. And then there was no more time for talking. At least, nothing that could be described as a coherent word.
*
Hours later, Blade left their bed, pulled from sleep by a dream that had shaken him.
He pushed the doors to the balcony wide and stepped out. The weather was hot, balmy, a soft breeze deliciously cool against his naked skin. He stared at the narrow curve of the moon, riding low against the cityscape, the nascent glimmer of impending dawn in the east.
The power of the dream washed over him again, sending an odd, weakening tremor through him.
"Bad dream?" Anna murmured, coming up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist and hugging in against his back.
Blade turned in her grasp, pulling her close. Fierce elation thrummed through him. He wished he had her to himself closeted at home, closeted to himself; he wouldn't let her out of bed for a week. Sometimes the extent and depth of his love for Anna shook him, but never more so than now. "Uh-uh. Great dream."
Contentment filled Blade as he held his wife – and his future – close, safe, against him.
He didn't know if Anna knew it yet, but she was pregnant.
Maybe he should do some research into his own ancestors, he mused. Amongst the brigands and mercenaries, buccaneers and pirates, he wouldn't be surprised if he discovered a warlock or two.
* * * *
