by Jordan Dane
The stillness they now shared held a sensual quality, like the intimacy of watching a sleeping lover. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking on his part.
Sitting in a chair, he stared at Raven from across the room, his elbows on the armrests with hands steepled under his chin. Curled up on an angular sofa not meant for the human body, she slept with her head propped against her balled-up coat. After she'd fallen asleep, he'd covered her in his leather jacket. In that instant, he discovered the innocence of a child in her serene face. Since he'd first met her, her expressions had ranged the gamut from fierce determination, to anger, annoyance, and teasing humor. And he'd instigated most of those emotions. But seeing such innocence had been a charming surprise.
Innocence. So rare in his world. With a quiet sigh, he let the stillness wash over him once again, a welcome respite from his life. Even though this lull felt like the eerie calm before the storm, the tragedy that had brought them together lingered heavy in the air. It stirred so much in him. The suffering and uncertainty in the eyes of Tony's wife were familiar.
But he would take what he could get, relishing the simplicity of early morning and the promise of hope. In this room, time mercifully stalled, giving Tony precious minutes to find his way back to the living. Time became an infinite chasm, one without a beginning or an end.
For the last several hours, he had watched Raven, dealing with the traumatic shooting of her partner, giving comfort to the man's wife, and making phone calls to the station house to keep the investigation into Tony's assault moving forward. A long line of police officers, including the chief himself, had come and gone through the ordeal. Seeing her with each of them, Christian sensed her connection. She was clearly part of a much larger family—a community that cared deeply for its own.
And despite her personal feelings to the contrary, she found the courage to push through the pain, something he understood and respected. Catching her in those fragile moments, he supposed she might have believed she was alone with her fear and outrage. But he had been with her, supporting her with his presence. A silent vigil. It had been a privilege to see her through the eyes and hearts of others.
No doubt, Detective Raven Mackenzie was a woman filled with compassion and courage. And this made it impossible for him to hate her as a cop. He felt the years of resentment in the pit of his stomach, embroiled amidst the violent images of his family tragedy. Enduring a lifetime of hate was exhausting. He'd grown bone-weary of the burden.
Barely able to keep his eyes open, Christian rested his mind, counting what few blessings they had. For now, Raven's partner and friend was alive but in critical condition. Every precious minute of life was a positive sign, but no guarantee he'd pull through. The man's wife sat with him in ICU, and Christian had arranged for the Dunhill jet to pick up Tony's parents from San Antonio. They'd be landing soon. And with their arrival, time would rush forward, drawing them into its undercurrent. Finally taking Raven's lead, he let his thoughts drift, relaxing their grip on him. As he did, the room dissolved to inky black when he shut his eyes, listening to the measured rhythm of Raven's breaths.
Only a minute lapsed before the hospital intercom system jolted him awake, a muffled voice through the waiting room doors. Opening his eyes, he found Raven staring back. Her puzzled look softened to a warm welcome.
"You didn't have to wait, Christian." Under protest from the crinkling sofa, she sat upright, stretching her arms and straightening her mussed hair with a quick finger comb. "But I'm glad you did. Good morning."
Her voice was husky with sleep. The sound of it stirred him.
"Good morning. Can I get you some coffee?" he offered. His voice barely above a whisper, he sat forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees. "And you should eat something before things get too hectic."
"When are Tony's parents getting here?" She looked at her watch.
"They should be touching down any minute. The hangar will call when they've landed."
"Not sure I ever thanked you enough for that. His parents don't fly much. They would've gotten lost at a big airport like Midway or O'Hare on a normal day." She smiled, the emotion only fleeting. Her face darkened with the reminder of why they were sitting outside the ICU. "But today is anything but normal."
"Before they get here, we should talk."
He knew he had no right to express an opinion about police matters, but during the last few hours, he'd been plagued with worry for Raven's safety. She narrowed her eyes at him, opening her mouth to speak, but he interjected, "I overheard your conversation about Tony's assailants being mercenaries."
"This is police business, Christian. We're not sure if it's connected—"
Before she finished her thought, he called her on it. "Bullshit! It's connected, all right. The break-in at your place, Tony's attack, and maybe even something tied to your father. It's not just about my past. Whoever killed Mickey is gunning for you now. And if mercenaries are involved, you'd need a small army to defend yourself."
"When Chief Markham was here earlier, he authorized twenty-four-hour police protection for Tony and me. I'll be okay. All this comes with the territory of being a cop, Christian."
He stood abruptly, pacing the floor and pointing in her direction.
"Bullshit on that, too, Raven. According to the motto, your job is to protect and serve, not make yourself a target for some lunatic killer. I'll only buy that argument if they start issuing uniforms with bright red-and-white targets across the chest."
Hearing how he must sound, he wanted to stop from making an ass of himself. But it was too late. He'd gone way past that now. His voice raised, he continued his tirade.
"And for every cop pulled off duty to protect you, Tony, and his family, that's one less cop to find this SOB."
Rising from the sofa, she tossed aside his jacket and confronted him. With her brow furrowed, she stood her ground, hands on her hips. He knew the woman would not make this easy.
"And what do you propose I do about that? Believe me, I hate the fact that I've been assigned protection. I refused it, but the chief insisted, pulling rank on me." Her eyes bore the weight of her emotion, second only to her pale skin flushed with anger. Punctuating her outburst, she crossed her arms. "But the bastard that attacked Tony is gonna pay for what he did. I got plenty of cops willing to do whatever it takes to find this guy. There won't be a place he can hide. I'm gonna see to that."
"Let me help you," he insisted, aroused by her fire. The woman was fearless.
"Help me? You're not officially off the suspect list, for crying out loud. I'm not sure I can trust you. Are you forgetting about your own secret agenda?" With her chin jutting forward, she amassed the attitude, standing close enough for him to smell her warm skin. "Or must I remind you, Captain Cryptic?"
He watched her nostrils flare; her breast heaved in maddening swells. The heat from her skin seduced him. Raven orchestrated his body's reaction with the precision of a symphony conductor. Bellowing with the resonance of a bass drum, his heart pounded his rib cage, the sensation intoxicating.
For only an instant, she lowered her lids and gazed at his lips. With innocence gone, a desirable woman stood before him. Her eyes held him spellbound. She seemed to understand his intention even before he fully grasped it himself.
An impulse struck him like a blindsided sucker punch.
Without his usual deliberation, Christian merely reacted, following his instincts. Standing so close to Raven, he felt her pull like a force of gravity. His hands reached for her, taking on a life of their own. He had no will to stop. One arm found the small of her back, drawing her toward him. His right hand caressed her cheek, his fingertips stroking her velvet softness.
At first, her dark eyes brimmed with shock at his bold move. Tension made her body taut. But just as suddenly, she collapsed into his arms, reeling with his impulsive intimacy. In his embrace, her body nestled warm against him, fitting into place as if he were made to hold her. With a faint tremble to her lips, sh
e beckoned him with her surrender, her eyes enticing him once more. And the sweet fragrance of her skin filled him with the courage to take the next step.
"I want you . . ." His voice trailed off. Overwhelmed by his urge, he gave her every opportunity to stop before it was too late.
"Entirely too much dialogue, Delacorte." Her voice sultry, she closed the gap between them. "Kiss me, damn it!"
Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. With a touch, the softness of her delicate skin sent shock waves firing through his body. He pressed for more. Gently parting her lips, his tongue took liberties, finding her just as eager. The sensual barrage jolted his senses, short-circuiting his brain with gratification. Skin flushed with heat, he grew rigid, his body straining against his pants. Fleeting control gave way to insatiable appetite as his hands eagerly explored soft mounds of flesh. And she responded in kind, equaling his growing desire. She tugged at his shirttail and slipped her hands next to his raging skin.
God! He never knew it could be like this!
He felt such a connection to this woman. Far more powerful than his physical hunger for her, he savored the deepening bond between them. Blocking out all other sensation, he wanted to focus on every inspired nuance of her, to give her pleasure. The room faded into nothingness. The sound of her throaty sighs and the arousing scent of her skin dominated him.
Only Raven mattered. Only she touched something within him—something he thought he'd lost. Only she made him forget.
And damn it!
Only he would get a phone call during a time like this.
The vibration of his cell phone nudged him back to reality. He would've ignored it, but with the phone hooked to his belt, its pulsating signal reached out and touched her too. She jumped. And with that, he'd been disappointed to learn that the tingling he felt in the pit of his stomach had not been entirely prompted by the alluring woman standing before him.
"Is that your cell phone, or are you just happy to see me?" Breathlessly, she teased him, hunger and frustration still vivid in her eyes. Her breasts swelled against his chest as she clung to him, nearly driving him crazy.
"Oh, I'm definitely happy to see you." His breathing rapid, Christian leaned his forehead against hers, his hands still cradling her body. "And I'd like to see much more of you, believe me."
"Forget the visual aids; I'm a tactile girl."
"Hold that thought." Reluctantly, he turned to one side, pulling from her embrace. Flipping the cell phone, he put the receiver to his ear. "Yeah, Delacorte here."
"I'd like to hold more than just a thought, Christian," she muttered.
As he talked on the phone, she nuzzled against his back. Raven wrapped her arms across his belly and burrowed her warm hands under his shirt. His taut muscles reacted to her touch, making the phone call a challenge.
He turned toward her, slipping the phone back to his belt. "It's the hangar. The jet has touched down. Tony's parents are gonna be here within the half hour." His finger brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
Raven cupped a hand to his cheek, with a warm palm pressed against his chest. Even through his shirt, her touch aroused him beyond reason. And the suggestive timbre of her voice soothed him like warm honey in July.
"Look, I don't want you worrying about me." Her eyes softened to a rich mocha, a kaleidoscope of raw sensuality. Bathed in her light, he couldn't keep his hands from her. Every touch felt like redemption.
But reality struck home when she added, "The coward that attacked Tony and skulked into my house won't be able to get past the police protection. I'm gonna be okay." With a sly smile, she spoke softly. "Besides, I think the real danger is what just happened between us. They don't make an asbestos suit for that kind of combustion."
She ran her thumb across his lower lip, teasing his memory, attempting to distract him from worry. For a moment, he just stared at her, unsure if she was joking. Despite a clear sense of foreboding, he let a lazy smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Somehow, the woman found a way to yank him from the doldrums.
And once again, he let impulse rule the day.
"I want you to stay with me, at the Dunhill Estate. I've got the manpower to protect you. And your brothers in blue can focus on finding the man that hurt Tony. I'm sure whoever did this is behind Mickey Blair's murder, too."
"I think you're right, at least about a connection to the Blair case. But you've gotta let me do my job, Christian, on my terms. I can't just run and hide."
In his arms, she gazed up at him. He wanted nothing more than to take her home with him, to make love to this beautiful woman. But Raven was a cop. And something in his past had drawn a killer to her door. Seeing the audacity of this cold-blooded butcher, he knew that twenty-four-hour police protection wouldn't be enough. For her sake, he had to get to the bottom of it all, without destroying Fiona in the process.
As if sensing his conflict, she grew somber. Compassion filled her eyes.
"I'm not sure you trust me enough to confide your role in all of this. I have no doubt that the case is linked to your past. Let me help you find the truth. I gotta believe that together we can do this, but you're gonna have to reach out to me. I won't betray your faith," she vowed. "Promise me you'll think about it."
If only it were that easy—to believe in Raven. She made that part effortless. But the life of someone else teetered on the brink, someone he loved as much as his own mother. Even though he didn't understand why she'd left the country, it didn't matter. Fiona was depending on him. And he wouldn't let her down. Not even if it meant keeping secrets from Raven.
"I promise," he whispered, kissing her cheek. The beautiful homicide detective had given him a great deal to think about.
She'd read the same line countless times. Once again, Fiona set down the book on her lap, a restless feeling burning just beneath the surface of her skin. Despite the comforter over her legs and the warmth from the heavily brocaded chair, she shuddered, her skin prickling with a distant anxiety. Her eyes drifted toward the large picture window, draped in muted gold. Sunlight filtered through the opaque sheers, daubing ribbons of light across the massive pastel rug at her feet. Even imagining the heat from the sun, she couldn't shake an uneasy feeling.
The fire in the hearth popped and hissed in warning, making her jump with its prompting. A faint gasp whispered through her lips. In this remote area of the world, far from her past life, she should have felt more secure. Despite her best efforts to ignore it, fear refused to be conquered.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside the library. Staring at the lavishly carved wooden doors at the entrance to the room, she waited and held her breath. And with certainty, she knew. Her time was up.
She stood and filled her lungs, resigning herself to the inevitable. Brushing off her dark gray slacks and straightening her black cashmere sweater, she raised her chin and pulled back her shoulders, swallowing the lump in her throat.
Armande stood by the door, softly clearing his throat. "Pardon me, madam, but you have a very insistent visitor." The manservant tightened his lips. "As I was instructed, I gave no indication you were staying here at the chateau, but the man insists upon seeing you. What would you have me do, Madam Dunhill?"
Clenching her jaw, Fiona turned and walked toward the window to pull back the sheer fabric. Her eyes lowered to the circular drive below.
As she expected, fate had come to Versailles.
CHAPTER 10
"You look lovely, Fiona. I'd nearly forgotten—"
His voice resonated through the formal parlor with its twenty-foot ceiling, the sound of his footsteps intruding upon his feigned cordiality. He'd entered the grand salon with a confident swagger, breezing toward her, dapper and dashing in his elegant navy suit. But as he neared, a reserve swept over him and now rested in his eyes of blue-violet. She hadn't seen eyes that color before or since. Truly, the man was one of a kind.
"Well, let's just say it's been a very long time." Nicholas Charboneau held out his hand, beckoning
for hers. She lowered her eyes to the soft skin of his palm, resisting the memory of how that hand had once given her such pleasure.
"A lifetime, Nicky."
That name. She hadn't spoken his name aloud for decades.
Fiona hoped he hadn't seen the slight tremble as she gripped his hand. His eyes firmly entrenched in hers, Nicky held her fingers and brushed a thumb across the back of her hand. A suggestive move. To counter her weakness, a show of strength would be in order. She refused to dissolve under the pressure of his mesmerizing blue eyes.
"I thought I covered my tracks fairly well—no flight plans, a private airstrip at a friend's personal residence, paying off the French government to turn a blind eye. How did you find me, Nicky?"
Keeping her hand in his, she was determined not to give in to his obvious show of intimidation by pulling away. Fiona forced a smile. The best she could do.
"The first rule in the art of bribery, my dear. Never trust anyone who'd accept a bribe in the first place. A rather amazing paradox, really." He lowered his chin and tilted his head, unrelenting in his gaze. "Actually, I cheated. You'll find a tracking beacon on your plane, just inside one of the wheel wells."
With a haunting smile she knew well, he eventually released his grip on her. And in the wake of his touch, she didn't know which felt worse. The warmth of his skin lingered in contradiction, her fondest and worst memory.
"Otherwise, I'd say yours was a grand scheme. It would have worked on your standard fare of pursuers." His deep voice grew thick with intimacy.
He stood close enough for her skin to tingle at the sound of its familiarity. She turned her back on him, unable to steady her breathing. But as she stepped away, she caught a glimpse of him in the massive beveled mirror above the mantel of the marbled hearth. For a split second, a guileless younger man appeared in the reflection. Past and present stared her in the face. The image disturbed her. She flinched and shut her eyes for a moment. Fighting for control, she allowed sarcasm to imply a strength she did not possess.
