As they had done in Lance’s office, her luminescent grey eyes widened and her eyebrows arched upwards before she blinked and the look of surprise swiftly disappeared from her face. “Again, not the way to ask people for information.”
“Okay, how about this?” He canted his head toward her lab coat. “I like the color of your coat. You don’t seem like a yellow woman. Did you choose it?”
She rolled her eyes, and for a moment he didn’t think she was going to answer. “It was a Secret Santa gift. I wear it because I know it’s the last thing the giver expected me to do.”
Hmm, maybe there was a chink in the armor she’d surrounded herself in after all.
In an abrupt motion, she shoved herself away from her desk, swiveled the chair, and stood. “I think it’s time I introduced you to the rest of the team.”
Nope, no chink. While he wanted to press her, dig a little deeper into her psyche to see if he could discover what she was trying to hide—because his instincts were never wrong—it would be impossible. She didn’t trust him, and the likelihood of her giving away anything to him wouldn’t happen today.
Contrary to what she thought, he knew how to make people relax so they talked to him. Told him things they never intended to tell. He fostered the ability in the military—she’d been right about that. The way men rotated out in the field, you had to develop trust quickly. More importantly, he’d used it more than once in Afghanistan to weed out information on where the enemy was hiding. The guys in his troop used to call him Prince Charming, and it had annoyed the hell out of him.
“You are worse than a teenage girl mooning about her crush. That’s the third time this morning you’ve been daydreaming while I’ve been trying to get on with my workday. I have a lot to do, and I don’t need to have a liability like you hanging around my neck. Let’s go, Mr. Arthur. The sooner I introduce you to the staff, the sooner I can get back to what I do best.”
He had no opportunity to respond as she picked up her lab coat and marched out of her office.
He marched alongside her.
“Where are we going?” he asked. “And I already invited you to call me Derek. Wouldn’t that be better than calling me Mr. Arthur? It might seem unusual to be so formal with your apprentice, don’t you think?”
A glimmer of indecision crossed her features. How difficult was it to call him by his first name? “Fine, Derek. As to where we’re going, we’re heading to the place everyone meets at ten a.m. on a weekday.”
He quirked his eyebrow. “And that is?”
“Why, the canteen, of course. It’s morning teatime.” Her lips stretched into a genuine smile, and the sight hit him fair and square in the gut.
Now that was a smile. Hell, he’d barely classify the grimaces she’d given him so far in the smile category. Now, her grey eyes sparkled, bringing out silver depths he hadn’t seen before, like mercury swirling in a glass vial. Her glossy red lips invited him to lean forward to taste. Take a bite. Fissions of desire sparked through him. The fluorescent lights above his head flickered before blazing to life again.
What the fuck?
Lights around him always blew when he was angry, frustrated, or annoyed, never when he’d been slammed with lust. Granted, the desire still licking through his veins went way beyond any he’d experienced with other women.
The possibility of causing electrical surges because he was turned on was not good. Not good at all.
• • •
For the next fifteen minutes, in the small but posh twentieth-floor canteen—all plush carpet, marble, and mahogany, just like the rest of the building—Sasha introduced him to some of Chevalier’s administrative staff. One of the groups he didn’t meet, but hoped to, was Sasha’s fellow gem cutters. Apparently, they had a different break time.
Interesting that she hadn’t waited for their break so he could meet them. After all, they handled the gems. Their access put them at the top of his people-to-question list.
After the initial introductions, she’d moved away, ostensibly to get herself a cup of tea. He spied Sasha standing in the corner, holding herself apart from everyone. It appeared as though she didn’t want to get close to her fellow workers. According to her employee records, she’d been working for Chevalier for six months, definitely enough time to form friendships. Even the couple of men in the room didn’t approach her. They nodded a hello when she introduced him, but that was it. She made no attempt to strike up a conversation with them nor they with her.
What had happened to make her so aloof with everyone?
The thought of her hurt or traumatized surged his protective instinct to the fore. He ignored the urge to . . . what? Comfort her? Protect her?
“You’re a bit old to be an apprentice, aren’t you?”
Derek turned to the woman behind him. “Sherry, right?”
Sherry batted her eyes, preening. “Yes, you’ve got a good memory.”
Oh, no. He didn’t need anyone flirting with him, especially as he would be investigating each and every employee.
He angled slightly away from her. “To answer your question. You’re never too old to learn a new trade. Besides, I was in the British army for several years. Once I got out, I decided I needed to work with something less . . . destructive.” But still in an honorable business.
“Ooooh. You were in the military? How scary.” She leaned forward and whispered, not very quietly, “Did you have to kill anyone?”
An innocent question. His gut clenched in pain, and he remembered his first kill. You never forgot the first time you snatched life away from someone. The empty look in the teenager’s eyes as he lay on the sandy ground, bleeding out, death’s bony clutches stealing away his every breath would never leave him.
A bazooka rested in the dirt beside the kid in that memory. Derek had taken him out before he’d managed to discharge the weapon. The metallic stench of blood and death had filled his nostrils, and he’d swallowed down the bitter, acidic burn of bile. He wasn’t going to throw up in front of his platoon. He’d walked away numb that he had taken the life of another human being. But in order to save those around him, he’d had to take that shot.
“Derek?” A hand landed on his arm.
The red haze of war faded, and the chatter around the canteen came crashing into his consciousness. Instead of a sandy street in Afghanistan, he stood in the classy room of one of London’s finest buildings. The hand still gripped the navy wool sleeve of his suit coat, the fingernails bare of color but neatly trimmed. A large ruby and diamond ring glittered on the ring finger of her right hand. He dragged his gaze away from the shiny gems to encounter grey eyes.
Sasha.
For the first time since they’d met, concern darkened her irises. “Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
He became aware that the people he’d just met were observing him with undisguised interest. Sherry’s mouth hung open in an O of shock.
He cleared his throat and mustered up something that resembled a smile.
“Yes, Sherry, I did kill someone. It’s war. It’s what you do. Wars have been happening for centuries. Fortunately, I survived my tours. A few of my friends didn’t.” He shook Sasha’s hand from where she still clung to his arm. With a precision his captain would’ve been proud of, he strode out of the canteen.
Derek turned left when he hit the hallway, no destination in mind, only the strong need to find an open space where he could breathe.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Pausing, he glanced up and tracked the darkened light bays overhead.
Fuck.
Three long fluorescent light fixtures, useless.
“What’s going on, Derek?”
The last thing he needed was to explain himself to Sasha. Couldn’t the woman give him five minutes alone? Couldn’t she respect his privacy? She’d been in that damn room when Sherry had asked him about war. She’d seen how he’d reacted.
Pop!
He needed to get out of here. Now.
“Nothing’s going on. I just need—” He took a moment to calm his erratic emotions. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Surprisingly, the exit sign for the stairwell still glowed. Going down twenty flights of stairs was bound to give him the chance to reclaim his composure. Experiencing a rare PTSD episode on the first day of his assignment was not the impression he wanted to convey. The Chevaliers had to believe he was capable of handling this job, or he’d lose his business. This was his Hail Mary.
Chapter 4
The grey of London’s drizzly sky was giving way to the dark of night, the glow of the city’s lights bouncing off the low clouds, creating an almost pink haze outside her office window.
With a weary sigh, Sasha did her best to concentrate on the stone—an emerald of flawless clarity and color—she painstakingly worked to cut perfectly in order to display the glittering facets of its nature still half-hidden under the raw rock. Only she couldn’t keep her attention on the job at hand. She was hyper-focused on the man sharing her office, despite the fact he hadn’t moved or made a sound in hours. Leaning back from the stone, she arched her back and rubbed her eyes.
Two weeks of Derek shadowing her had been weirdly pleasant. They’d settled into a surprisingly easy routine. She’d expected him to be a royal pain in her arse. Instead, he’d quietly worked on his computer at a temporary desk Lance had ordered, only interrupting her with questions or when he needed access to review the security of the vaults or to visit the junior gem cutters in some of the other locations.
The bonus was that she knew exactly where his search and security efforts were trained. Deliberately, she’d lain low all week. She wanted to lull Derek into a false sense of well-being and trust where she was concerned, no late-night office wanderings that might trigger the new security protocols she’d observed Derek implementing. No trivial conversations or asking him questions about what he was doing unless he brought up an issue himself.
Problem was, Derek was being nice. Like this morning when he’d brought her coffee from the fancy shop he discovered she liked. Sasha held back a scowl. Dang chivalrous man. Why couldn’t he be an annoying jerk? She didn’t mind stealing from the dwarves, but she didn’t need to like the huntsman they’d set on her.
She hadn’t even questioned him about the strange electrical surge that had blown several lights that first day he arrived.
The same kind of surge that had affected the streetlamp the night they kissed? No way could those separate instances be coincidence. She’d lived too long to believe in that kind of chance. Did Derek Arthur possess some kind of unharnessed power?
He was a mystery she needed to solve. Fast. He stood in her way. She would get that Immortality Stone, and understanding the man whose job it was to prevent her could be key to her success.
Whatever Sherry had asked him in the canteen had caused a visceral reaction in him. It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d suffered a PTSD attack.
Sasha gave herself a shake and returned to her task. She knew Derek had been a warrior. Still was, based on his chosen profession. She’d had a soft spot for warriors once, had even loved one desperately, though she’d hidden her love from him. She’d recognized that it was inappropriate for the daughter of a wizard to love a king, a married king at that and one who obsessed over his wife.
Blowing out a breath, she shoved back from her desk and stood. How could heartbreak still have the ability to grip her chest like a vice fifteen hundred years later?
Damn her heart for still loving him. Damn the magic that had resulted in her immortality. And double damn the seven men who remained in her way. Men who now presented false faces to the world—as dwarves rather than the Knights they’d once been.
The irony of her situation—having to steal from the very men responsible for her plight in order to end said plight—was not lost on Sasha. Fate had a warped sense of humor, it seemed.
“Everything okay?”
Sasha shook herself. “Of course. Why?”
He raised an unbelieving eyebrow. “Well . . . your chair is on the floor.”
A quick glance showed the chair had toppled over, and she glared at the offending piece of furniture. She hadn’t even noticed. You’d think she’d have at least heard the clatter.
I am losing my ever-loving mind.
Thinking fast, she waved a frustrated hand toward the stone she was working on. “I’m having more trouble with this rock than I expected. I should’ve been done days ago, but I’m still chipping away at it.”
He eyed her for a couple of long seconds. Was he trying to decide if he believed her? She was losing her touch if that were the case.
“Sometimes, when a case is particularly tricky, I find it helps to focus on something totally different.”
She blinked. He was being nice again.
He waited expectantly for her response. Shit, Sasha, focus. “Like a different stone?”
He shook his head as he stood and pulled his jacket off the back of his chair. He’d toned down the formality of his look after the first day. He’d forgone the suit and tie. Instead he wore a leather jacket over a business shirt and dress slacks. A good look on him. Bad boy with smooth corners.
“No. Like dinner.”
She wanted to be irritated. She really did. Instead, a worrisome glow of pleasure ignited inside her. She held on to her usual, distant demeanor with effort. “I don’t date.”
He held up a hand. “Not a date. A way for two colleagues to relax after a long week at work.”
Temptation could be such an insidious evil. Did he think about that shared kiss? Because she sure as hell did—every night. She’d wake, her body on fire, with luscious images of where that kiss could go bombarding her. Spending more time with him would be nothing short of idiotic. “I could handle some Thai food. I know a decent place close by.”
The grin he leveled on her hit her square in the solar plexus. The man was already too damn good looking for his own ego, but that smile . . .
Hanging up her yellow lab coat, a color that reminded her of daffodils and happy memories with her father, another reason why she’d kept the Secret Santa gift, she grabbed her own jacket and her purse and followed him out to the lift while trying to get her lungs to kick back into gear.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
She should not be going to dinner with this man. She should be maintaining her distance.
As the lift doors whooshed open, he waved a hand, politely indicating she proceed him. She was sure she didn’t make a face or give away her thoughts with so much as a twitch, but as the doors closed behind him, he leveled that dark gaze on her.
“What?” he asked.
Eyes wide, she stared back and wisely kept her mouth shut.
“You had a look just now. Like you were thinking something mean about me.”
“I’m not sure I trust you in chivalry mode.” The words popped out of her mouth before she could think them through.
He placed his hand dramatically over his heart. “You wound me, m’lady.” The twitching corners of his mouth gave him away, however.
Sasha shook her head at his antics and stepped out of the lift at the ground floor. “I’m no lady. Never was. Never will be.”
He chuckled as he walked beside her to the glassed front entrance and into the chilly night air. “Could’ve fooled me, princess.”
He’d called her that the night they met. The night he kissed her. This time heat rushed through her. A glance revealed his gaze turned her way, an answering heat in the dark depths of his eyes.
Sasha jerked her gaze back forward. “Here we are.”
Thank heaven she’d suggested a place close by. That strange connection between them passed as they went about getting seated, reading over the menus, and ordering. All the while she searched for a topic that might keep that connection at bay the rest of the meal.
“So your security business is new?”
He glanced over the top of his menu. “Yeah. This Chevalier gig is g
oing to make a name for my company. If I can put them on my résumé, it’ll open doors to bigger and better contracts. I can’t blow this assignment. It’s the difference between being in business this time next year or living on the streets.”
And here she was, doing her best to thwart said security. She searched her brain for a different topic. “You mentioned the other day that you were in the military?” She winced. Too late to pull the question back now.
His expression closed up, like shutters being pulled down over windows. “Yes.”
She shifted in her seat. “How long?”
“Five years. I joined after I completed university, but I started training at eighteen in the reserves.”
She took a sip of water to cover how inexplicably curious she was about this part of his life. “Why the military?”
Idly toying with his silverware on the tabletop, Derek shrugged. “A family career. Every man in my family has joined for as long back as we can remember.”
“But you didn’t decide to go career?”
He raised his gaze, and she caught a flash of what? Surprise? Did no one ever ask him about it?
“I originally planned to go career. But in my last tour, my troop lost a lot of men. Men who trusted me. Men who were . . . friends.”
His voice stayed blank. Instinctively, she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “I knew a . . . man. A fighter. Like you.”
Derek’s gaze jerked to hers.
“He lost men as well. Too many. Good men. Brave. Many with wives and families to support. I asked him about it once.” She made a face. “I was pushier then.”
“Oh? That I find difficult to believe.”
She smiled at the wealth of sarcasm and doubt in every syllable.
Her gaze drifted to a spot over his shoulder, though she wasn’t seeing the restaurant with its red and gold décor, dark chairs, and white-linen-covered tables, the scent of curry heavy in the air. Instead, she sat beside a pond, which reflected the brilliant blues of the sky. A warm breeze, carrying the fragrance of daffodils from the field beyond, lifted tendrils of her long hair, most of which was gathered into a long braid down her back.
White Knight Page 3
