by Daisy Banks
“Yes, Mr. Johansson,” Richard said. “We’ll be done here by mid-afternoon tomorrow for certain.”
“Thank you, Mr. Astle. It is a pleasure to find your timing will be so impeccable.”
“Just like I said.” Sian held his glance for a few seconds. “You don’t mind us celebrating Tanya’s leaving, do you?”
He shook his head and pressed a kiss to Sian’s cheek. “No, of course not.”
“That is very kind of you, Mr. Johansson,” Tanya said as she rose from her seat. “But I do need to get back to town tonight. Tomorrow I have to drive up to Shropshire, and I still have to pack.” She turned to Richard who had risen, too, and offered him a kiss. She reached across to give Jerry a peck on the cheek as well before coming over to give Sian a hug. “Thanks so much. I’ll post about how I’m doing down on the farm. It’ll all be on my Facebook page.” She kissed Sian’s cheek. “Bye,” she said. “Oh, Lord, here I go again.” She brushed at her eyes.
Sian handed over a tissue. “Travel safe.”
The others called their good-byes, too, as Tanya headed to the door.
“I didn’t mean to break up the party,” Magnus said.
“No, don’t worry about it. We’ve all got to either drive back to the city or the hotel tonight.” Richard set down his glass.
“I see.”
“Yes. The band are schlepping back and forth from London, but that’s their choice. Like most of the crew I’m staying at a local hotel.”
Sian slipped her arm around him and squeezed his hip. “So, I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning about seven, okay?
Jerry nodded, rising from the leather sofa. “Have a good evening.”
“Bye, see you tomorrow,” Richard called from the doorway.
Sian turned in toward him to accept his embrace and a kiss.
He studied her face. Her eyes shone with an animated spark showing how involved she’d been with making something happen. He swallowed before he hugged her against him. “I have a surprise for you. An Italian meal ready in about half an hour, we can eat in here. You can watch TV and…” He thought for a second. “Cabbage out?”
Sian giggled. “Veg out is what you mean.”
“Yes.”
She hugged him close and planted a kiss on his lips. “I am so proud of you.”
“Why?”
“Because you came in to say hello.”
“Hmm. I’ll go to get dinner ready. You’ve time to shower and change into something more comfortable if you wish.”
“Thank you, Magnus. You are so thoughtful.”
He turned away to head downstairs. Indeed, tonight he was thoughtful. She’d no idea how much.
As he set the wine in a cooler of ice and laid out the antipasti on a tray, he considered the magnitude of what he’d asked of Sian. More than ever, tonight’s brief meeting with her colleagues and her air of satisfaction in the day told him her loss to this world would be a sadness. He’d no doubt she didn’t recognize it at present, but she would at some time in the future. Should he make the point to her now? A part of his soul shriveled at the thought, for she may agree. Fresh from today’s triumphs, she might very well decide she wished to return to the life she’d enjoyed before they met.
He folded two napkins, watching the little clock on the stove as he waited for the bread rolls to warm.
The notion of her loss stung him, twisted his heart until he could scarce think straight. The oven timer pinged, breaking his thoughts. He bent to take the tray of rolls from the oven and set them to cool.
Some might call it cowardice but his fear took control. Tonight, he’d say nothing to her about returning to her work, to her world. Instead, he’d relish her rare beauty of body and spirit, and give her the gift he’d bought for her.
Shall I keep her chained to me with diamonds?
He loaded up the tray, made his way out of the kitchen, and up the stairs to the den. A sense of guilt rolled through him. After a day or two, a week at most, he’d remind her she could, if she wished, return to work in the city. Not with Gorsewell, though, not with Gorsewell Productions.
Chapter 12
Sian rubbed a dollop of scented lotion into her arm and studied the raw purple scar with its slashed edges. The wound had sealed. She hoped the thin scar would grow less colorful in time. She slathered on some more lotion before teasing the comb through her wet hair. The day had left her tired in a good way, not wired or tense, but content with how the shoot had gone. Truth be told, she’d enjoyed seeing things come together, even troubleshooting had been pleasant. Overall, the day’s results proved more than satisfactory.
Her reflection smiled back as she stroked moisturizer into her skin, and after she rinsed her mouth with mouthwash, she looked again. For the most part, she’d always been dispassionate about her looks, but tonight she wondered how many wrinkles she might have to get before Magnus did as she wanted.
She hoped he wouldn’t leave it too long. She’d rather not be a gray wolf.
She swiped on a little lip-gloss and spritzed on a dash of her favorite perfume. Weird, but Magnus wasn’t like an ordinary wolf. His thick pelt was honey and apricot with darker shades that enhanced his features. He stunned her. He was so amazing. His gold-flecked eyes could suck her soul from her body. When he held her gaze in wolf-form, she got lost in his eyes. Each time he had looked at her, she had told herself to look away. The connection was much worse on their second full moon together and she’d needed all her will to force her gaze from his.
What decided the color of a werewolf? Might it be genetic? Magnus had dark hair as a man so it couldn’t be hair color. She twirled a curl with her finger. What color wolf might she become? She shook her head. Tonight her mind had hit strangeness, indeed. Shoving her feet into her slippers, she wrapped herself in a big fluffy robe before heading down to the room Magnus had filled with all kinds of boy’s toys and gadgets over the years.
Tonight it would be good to “veg out” as he’d said. She chuckled again. Cabbage out? That might be a new one to use. She opened the door and smiled at the view.
He always managed to give her just what she needed.
A log in the hearth had taken. Yellow flames flickered with a comforting glow. Several lamps were lit, and a candelabrum stood on the low table by the long sofa. She met his gaze. A rise of pleasure warmed her at his expression.
“Wine?” He came to hug her and placed a kiss on her cheek.
“Please. What’s all the food on the tray?”
“Antipasti. Parma ham, Bresola, olives, artichokes, sun dried tomato, a little cheese, some olive oil, and rolls. I hope you like the idea.”
“Yes.” She accepted the glass and took a sip of chilled white wine. “You’ve been planning this evening for some time.”
“I thought after all your efforts today you’d need some relaxation and a treat.” He slid his arm around her.
A fresh appreciation of his care for her pricked her conscience. Her doubts regarding the past held no substance.
“Come and sit down. You must be exhausted. Relax for a while before we eat.”
She curled up on the sofa with her feet tucked under her. Leaning across to the small table he’d placed nearby, she set her glass down.
“Would you like to watch TV?” He sat beside her.
“Not now, tell me about your day?” She nodded toward the tray he’d prepared. “Did you spend the day in the kitchen?”
Magnus laughed.
Few people would understand what a precious sound his laughter was to her, or how the laugh lines around his eyes didn’t truly reflect age or experience. “You look so happy,” she whispered, reaching out to touch his cheek with her forefinger.
“I am happy. You make me so. No, I didn’t spend the day in the kitchen. I went out to visit my tailor.”
“Again?”
&
nbsp; “Yes, but I also went shopping for something else. Wait a moment and I will show you.” He crossed to where he’d slung his coat earlier. He picked the garment up and rummaged through the pockets until he drew out something small with ribbons. “Here it is.”
The dainty, silver-wrapped parcel in his hand set alarm bells ringing in her head. Small and pretty, she’d lay her life that whatever the gift wrapping hid was expensive. Very.
“I wanted to give you something to show you how much you mean to me. I didn’t find the right thing to do that, but this is a small token of my—”
“Don’t, Magnus.”
He shook his head. “It is a small gift. Please, accept it.” He pressed the box into her palm and closed his larger one over hers.
She blinked. “You don’t need to give me things,” she whispered, lost in his dark gaze. “I’m not here because of—”
“Please, indulge me. Permit me the pleasure of offering you the trinkets I wish to give you.”
A flash of the gilded ribbons shone in the firelight. “When you put it like that. What is it? I’ve not had a trinket since my Gran sent me a pack of building block pieces.”
He laughed as he moved his hand from hers. “Open it. I’m afraid I have to say my gift doesn’t have the intellectual charm or challenge of building blocks.”
Careful not to tug, she eased the ribbons away so she could open the silver paper. Inside she found a leather box, embossed with the jeweler’s name, obvious. Her stomach flipped. Lifting her gaze to his, she gave a small shake of her head.
She opened the lid of the box and caught her breath. Diamonds and emeralds sparkled in the candlelight. A moment of disbelief hit. This bracelet screamed class. She flashed a glance to him.
He smiled, but not in any expectant way. He didn’t appear to anticipate her shock, awe, or anything. “Put it on. Please?”
“It’s so beautiful. It’s not the kind of thing I’d normally wear with a bath robe,” she whispered, taking the bracelet from the velvet inner. Exquisite, flawless, utterly gorgeous, and too damned expensive for her to even think about, she slipped the cool links over her wrist like a bangle, having no need to open the catch. The gems were smooth as she stroked over them.
“May I see?” He lifted her wrist so he could tweak at the safety chain. “Wear it for a day or two. If it seems too loose I can take it back so they can adjust it.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s perfect.”
“Sian, look at me?”
The depth of his gray gaze sucked her in.
“These are pretty stones, rocks if you will. They have an intrinsic value because of what they are. They are nothing in comparison to you. I want you to remember that.”
His words swept her away, as so often he did. She lifted her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Make love to me, Magnus. Now, please.”
He laid her back against the sofa and opened her robe. “No gem could ever sparkle like you in firelight.”
A heady rush of desire swept though her, instant arousal from his lightest touch. She groaned as he kissed down her throat. Time meant nothing as he touched her, licked and sucked her nipples until they tingled, heating to firm beads. She burned like the hearth, smoking white-hot. Her aching need drove her to touch him. She clasped his shoulders beneath his shirt and smoothed her palms over his muscles. His caresses pushed her on to gain more contact and she reached around his waist to open the button and zip on his jeans.
His groan sounded as she stroked the length of his erection.
The demand for him inside ramped up to another level. She moved her hand from him, and clasping his ass, shoved the jeans down until she felt his skin against her open thighs.
He kicked the jeans off. She shifted her body to nestle tight against his, eager for all he could give her. “Now, Magnus.”
He parted her thighs shamelessly wide. She arched up to him. Tantalizing her responses, he filled her, inch by inch. His gaze never left hers until he lay lodged as deep as he’d ever been inside her.
“Oh, God.”
“I want to show you how much I need you.”
The words fired her passion. She hooked her thighs high round his waist. “Yes.”
The initial sweet rhythm between them became a gallop. One swift breath after another, she kept pace with him.
She rubbed her nipples against his chest, and clinging tight cried out, “Magnus!”
A blistering flash.
Delight.
“Yes. Give me all of you.”
Strung out like the stars in the cosmos, she didn’t breathe.
He tilted her head back, clasping her hair in his fingers. “You’re mine.”
Eyes closed, she inhaled his scent, relishing his weight above her, not yet willing to move to separate them. His embrace cocooned her from everything else.
A log in the hearth hissed.
She opened her eyes, astonished to find she still lay with him on the long sofa in the den, the firelight shadow dancing on the ceiling. Never before had it felt this right. Tilting her cheek against his, she met his gaze as he lifted his head. “Magnus,” she whispered, doubtful words were enough.
“You are my woman, forever, for all time. I will cease to be whole without you.”
Inching away, she shifted position, relaxing her legs around his waist. She struggled to hold back tears of completion. Caressing his hair, his shoulders and back, she shifted again as he withdrew, and gathered him into her embrace. She cradled him until he pressed a kiss to her cheek and moved from her arms. He stood, dragged on his jeans, and adjusted his clothing. The soulful expression in his gaze melted her. They had no need for more words. She wrapped the robe around herself, certain tonight the bond between them had deepened to become more solid.
Magnus stroked his fingers through her disheveled damp hair. “Would you care to eat now?”
She nodded, suddenly ravenous, and took a sip of wine from her glass. “Please.”
He filled a plate for her and passed it with a napkin and fork. The bracelet glinted in the firelight. She wondered if she’d ever get used to wearing it. He sat beside her with his own plate. “Do you truly think the film shoot will be complete by tomorrow evening?” he asked.
“I think things went so well today that if they go as well tomorrow, everything will be wrapped up by lunch time.”
“Amazing.”
She popped an olive in her mouth, nodded, then swallowed. “Yes, it’s the way things can be when everything gels.”
“You have organized it down to the last detail, so I’m not surprised it has been a great success.”
“I know, it’s one of the reasons I did so much preparation,” she said and smiled. “Everyone knows exactly what’s expected of them so it makes it easy. I think you’ll love the film. I’ll see if I can snaffle a copy for us tomorrow. I’m certain they’ll be able to burn a disc for me. We could watch it tomorrow evening if you like.”
“Really? It’s so easy?”
“Of course it will be a raw, unedited copy, but you’ll be able to see what all the fuss was about.”
“I’d like a copy as a keepsake for us.”
“You would?”
“Yes, so we have a record of what lay behind our first meeting.”
“Then, I’ll make sure Richard doesn’t leave the house until I have a copy in my hand.”
Chapter 13
Franklyn sat in the warmth of his hired car with his phone in his hand. Sian twinkled back from the screen, eyes sparkling full of excitement, her glossy red lips open as she laughed. The image didn’t please him half as much as it once had. Today, it only added to his sense of self-loathing.
For three hours, he’d tried to gather the courage to hit the number to call her. He’d paced the grounds at Darnwell where the very air seemed to press in
on him, crushing his hopes to doubts. The closer he got to calling her, the worse the sensation became. The place carried some kind of energy to thwart him. Since when did anyone or anything intimidate Franklyn Gorsewell? The sour taste of his visit wouldn’t go away.
The longer he’d stayed on the grounds of the house, the more his anger robbed him of everything but the need to get out of there. He had, and after speeding out of the gates, thundering along the country lanes, he had pulled onto the motorway. Two junctions farther, he parked in a lay-by on the way into London. He battled with his thoughts on the morning. The sheer foulness of the place clung about him like a wet Mackintosh. An overwhelming sense of defeat rolled over him again. He must get a grip. Make some decisions and soon.
He’d sell the apartment any way. Once it was tarted up, he’d sell the place.
The prospect of returning to the scene of the attack rolled in a bitter wave each time he thought of home. His hotel was impersonal and untainted. No one knew him. There was something to be said for that.
Sian taunted him again from the phone.
He could send a text.
Coward. A text just meant he didn’t have to hear the dismissal in her voice.
He found Sian’s number and a fresh image, one from two years gone.
Oh, God.
He’d insisted some guy at the party take the picture of them together. Sian, the muse. Sian, the perfect nymph in a gauzy pale robe she’d worn for the fancy dress party they’d attended at some TV celeb’s house. She had her hand on his arm, her other hand caressed the laurel wreath he’d worn. Her smile for him still held the same impact. The nymph and Zeus. She had danced with him most of the night.
The ache for her soured his gut and set his senses reeling.
Careful to avoid any challenge, or offer her anything but a handover meeting, he set up a message for her. He stared at the words. Surely, Sian couldn’t read any motive but business into that.
She had told him she would leave the company after the shoot. He hadn’t believed her and he still didn’t. With him in hospital, she’d stepped in and taken over immediately, but she’d not kept him in the loop. The doctors had said it would take him months to recover. They were wrong.
