by Monica Burns
It had been a long time since he'd been with a woman, and even then it hadn't felt this good. Another sigh whispered out of her, and he could smell the sensual bite of her desire. The soft murmur of voices slowly thrummed its way through his senses. It reminded him of a buzzing insect and he tried to block the sound from his head. The voices came closer and he groaned with frustration as he lifted his head.
The moment he broke off the kiss, his body objected with a vehement tug on his cock. Emma protested softly, but grew still when he rested his fingers against her lips. The moment she heard the voices, her eyes widened and her cheeks grew pink with embarrassment. Flustered, she adjusted her robe and averted her face from his. The muted conversation outside the bedroom door continued down the hall and he allowed himself to breathe again.
Emma took a quick step away from him as if he might burn her. The way she sidestepped made him wince. He'd asked her to trust him, and yet he couldn't keep his hands off her. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and bent to retrieve the cipher from where it had landed on the floor when they'd kissed. Without looking at him, she laid the note on the table.
He was reminded of how vulnerable she'd looked earlier. He flexed his hand into a tight fist. Merda, he was a bastard. She was under his protection, and he'd been acting like he could do whatever he wanted with her. If Rinaldo Souter were here, the old man would have dropped him to the floor in the blink of an eye just for his lack of control. Never mind the other disciplines he'd broken tonight. The thought made the awkwardness of the moment all the more uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.
"I'm not going to lie to you, Emma. I want to know what's in this cipher." He pointed to the paper on the table. "It might be the key to finding the Tyet of Isis."
"So just like that I'm supposed to hand over my father's message to you? Whatever's in this message was meant for me," she snapped.
"And if it's the location of the artifact?"
"Then I'll find it."
"Do you really think the visitor you had tonight is going to let you live long enough to find it?" he rasped.
His words made her grow pale, and he didn't like the regret coiling through him as he watched the conflicted emotions flashing across her face. She closed her eyes and the tremor flying through her said she was beginning to grasp the reality of her situation.
"Trust me, Emma. We can help each other. I don't know what the Tyet of Isis is, but I have the resources to help us find it."
With a sigh of surrender, she looked at him. "All right. You win."
"No, Emma. We both win." Deus, that vulnerability of hers was back. He fought not to reach for her. "How long will it take you to translate the cipher?"
"I don't . . . know," she stammered. She avoided his gaze and pressed her hand to her cheek. "I'm not even sure I can."
This time the self-doubt in her voice made him take a small step toward her before he halted in his tracks. He needed to remember that the best way to keep from touching her was to keep his distance. In the back of his head, a small voice chuckled with glee. Discipline allowed him to ignore the sound.
"I don't believe that," he said quietly.
Her head jerked up and she met his gaze warily. "Why?"
"Because you're stubborn." Her distrust waned as she sent him a skeptical look. "You don't give up easily."
"No. I never have known when to call it quits," she said in a wry tone as she stared down at the coded sheet of paper.
"Sleep on it. You've been through a lot tonight."
Her only response was a slow nod of her head. Not willing to push her any further, he turned and walked toward the bedroom door.
"Ares, I . . . I'm going to need my purse with my bank card and ID. And some clothes until I go home." There it was again, that forlorn, lost look of vulnerability of hers. He swallowed hard.
"I've already taken care of it. Your things will be here in the morning." When she nodded again, he bolted for the door.
"Ares." His hand on the doorknob, he turned his head to look at her. She bit her lip for a second before meeting his gaze. "I don't think I said thank you. That is, thank you for saving my life tonight."
"You're welcome." His grip would have crushed the doorknob if it had been made of something less than metal. If he didn't get the hell out of here, he'd be more than sorry. He jerked his head toward the bed. "Now get some sleep."
He didn't wait for her answer, but tugged open the door and escaped out into the hall. The moment he heard the doorknob click into place, he released a breath of relief. The sensation didn't last. One hand rubbing the back of his neck, he headed toward his bedroom. Tomorrow he had a lot of explaining to do. If he didn't, that stubborn nature of hers would have her fleeing his protection the minute opportunity presented itself. The worst part was not knowing what her reaction was going to be. He suppressed a groan of disgust. There was one thing he knew for sure. He had a serious problem on his hands, and her name was Emma Zale.
Chapter 8
STOMACH growling, Emma rolled over in bed and stared at the clock. Six o'clock. Daylight edged the sides of the heavy drapes as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Twelve hours ago, she'd been at home mourning Charlie. It seemed longer than that.
Now she was in a downtown fortress with a group of people who had abilities much more powerful than her own. Powerful and dangerous. Sinfully so. For the first time in weeks, her sleep had been free of nightmares, but not dreams. Those she'd had in spades. Vivid, erotic fantasies about a man she barely knew. She shuddered as she remembered what she'd been dreaming of just before waking. Ares. Images of him sliding into her, filling her until she screamed out his name as she climaxed. She drew in a sharp breath at the thought.
Scooting her way out of bed, she crossed the lush carpet to the bathroom. She didn't know what had prompted her erotic fantasies--well, she did--but she knew it was best to avoid that kind of temptation. But she couldn't help thinking how pleasurable it would be. She winced. That was definitely not a path she wanted to tread. She shut off the water faucet and stared at herself in the mirror. God, she'd never realized how good a night free of nightmares could make one look. The dark shadows under her eyes had eased to pale imitations, and she no longer looked exhausted. Maybe her fantasies had been good for her.
Her stomach diverted her attention as it growled again. Food. She needed to find something to eat. The last thing she remembered eating was a sandwich at the church-sponsored luncheon after everyone had returned from the cemetery. Determined to find something to satisfy her hunger, she reached for her robe and headed toward the door. As she pushed her arms into the plush sleeves of the robe, the memory of how Ares had magically parted it with nothing but his thoughts made her skin flush with heat.
The man could have charmed his way right into her bed last night if he'd wanted. The only reason he hadn't was because of people walking down the hall. Given the abrupt way he'd left the room, she couldn't tell whether he was more worried about someone interrupting them or someone finding them together. It didn't matter. She'd been relieved he'd left her alone.
Liar. Frustrated, she made a sharp noise of disgust and shoved a hand through her tousled hair. The man had been a key figure in the dreams she remembered. Hell, his face was the first image that had slipped through her head when she'd woken up a few minutes ago. Frustration made her jerk the door open, and she stepped out into the darkened hallway.
The lack of light made her hesitate. She wasn't crazy about the idea of walking around a dark penthouse where the occupants carried swords as casually as one might a pair of sunglasses. Yet, even in the near darkness of the hall, she felt safe.
It wasn't so much a feeling as it was a knowing. The sensation wasn't just odd, it confirmed her insanity. She shook her head in disgust. Somewhere between the moment Ares had stepped into her office last night and this very minute, she'd lost her mind. Her stomach twisted painfully. Well, even insane people needed to eat. There had to be a kitchen arou
nd here someplace.
Cautiously, she made her way down the hall toward the foyer and the elevator doors. Beneath her bare feet, the entryway's hardwood floor was smooth and warm. Overhead a recessed light illuminated the floor, while casting soft shadows on the glossy wood-paneled elevator doors. She stared at the elevator and the buttons on the wall panel for a long moment.
The urge to leave wasn't as strong now as it had been last night. Was that because she felt safe here? With a glance down at her night robe, she grimaced. Even if she did want to leave, it wasn't like she'd get far dressed in nothing but underwear and a robe. She turned away from the elevator and moved into the living room. Beige and chocolate colors warmed the entire living space, and it had an understated elegance that only a great deal of money could buy, just like her bedroom.
Whatever Ares and his friends did for a living, they were making a nice paycheck. She sucked in a quick breath. Christ, were they drug dealers? In the next heartbeat, she relaxed. No. Ares and the others gave her the impression they preferred to stay way below the radar. And a drug dealer using telekinesis wouldn't go unnoticed for more than a day or two, even in Cook County. While the unique mix of Italian and Latin they used could make one think crime syndicate, those swords just didn't fit. Truthfully, she didn't want to know how they earned their living.
As her gaze swept across the living room and into the large, open dining area, she noted the built-in wine racks and china cabinetry discreetly concealing a kitchen. Her stomach rumbled its demand, and she obeyed its summons and entered the room. Her first impression was that she'd been transported to a warm, open and inviting kitchen in a lush Tuscan villa.
Golden brown marble served as counters for the room, and the same stone covered the top of the large island in the center of the kitchen. Tile patterned with grapes and vines wound its way around the room between the countertop and the bottom of the cabinets. The huge gas stove looked like something only professionals might use, and the big steel refrigerator was something out of a gourmet chef's cooking show. The large island in the middle of the room had a wet bar and overhead copper pans hung from one of those hook racks. She wasn't a cook by any means, but even she had to admit that it would be fun to whip up a meal here.
"Hungry?"
Ares's deep voice made her jump and she whirled around to face him. Oh God, it wasn't her imagination on overload. He was just as she remembered him. Her stomach lurched as her gaze took in his appearance. She was in serious trouble, because this guy was definitely the sexiest man she'd ever seen. He'd discarded his black SWAT-like apparel for a T-shirt and boxer shorts that gave him a wickedly scruffy look.
Well-toned muscles in his arms reminded her how strong those arms could be. The way the T-shirt clung to his chest reminded her how sculpted he was underneath, bandage and all, and she found herself craving another look at his bare chest. She swallowed hard as she briefly looked down at his sinewy legs and strong feet. Despite the dangerous edge to him, there was a sleepy look about him that boldly announced he'd just gotten out of bed.
The image of him in bed made her body grow hot. She had no doubt he could easily tempt a woman into sin, and for once she was ready to be tempted. Was she hungry? Yes, but in this case, she wasn't sure if she'd be the guest or the dessert. The thought made her draw in a quick breath, and his gaze narrowed at her. She quickly gathered her wits and nodded her head.
"Hungry?" She dragged in a breath. "Yes. I haven't eaten since late yesterday afternoon."
"Christus," he exclaimed with a scowl. His large hands grabbed her by the shoulders so he could guide her to one of the stools tucked under the island's countertop. The heat of his touch was short-lived. "Sit down. I'll fix you something. French toast sound good?"
"Yes, thank you," she said in a voice she managed to keep relatively neutral. The thought of French toast made her stomach rumble loudly.
A wicked grin tilted his mouth as he moved toward the large refrigerator. In less than a minute, he'd pulled out a bowl and cracked several eggs into it. His touch light, he whisked the eggs together then added milk and sugar to the mixture. She watched him turn and pull out two bottles from the cabinet. Without measuring, he poured a small stream of vanilla into the eggs then followed it with several drops of the other liquid.
"What's that?" She leaned forward, trying to read the yellow label on the small container. With a wag of his finger, he put the two bottles back in the cupboard. When he faced her again, he grinned.
"Secret ingredient."
"In other words, you're not going to tell me."
"Correct." Mischief gleamed in his dark blue eyes as he whipped the egg mixture some more.
"Fine. Don't tell me." She sniffed with amused exasperation.
He just chuckled at her comment. As she watched him work, a comforting sensation engulfed her. The tension from last night had ebbed away, but she wasn't sure what was responsible for her relaxed state. Perhaps it was the warmth of the kitchen's decor and its sunny Tuscan charm, but she knew better. For some odd reason, being here with him was why she felt safe.
The man might be dangerously devastating to her senses, but something deep inside her said he wouldn't let anything happen to her. The grill sizzled as he dropped butter onto a flat, square skillet. Dipping a slice of bread into the egg mixture, he let it soak for a good fifteen seconds before he placed it on the griddle.
"Why don't you get us something to eat on," he said as he continued to load the grill pan with soaked bread. "Plates and glasses are in the cabinet behind you. Silverware in the drawer below."
Plates and glasses on the counter, she pulled silverware out of the drawer and proceeded to set a place for them both. "Napkins?"
"Pantry--far end of the counter. Syrup's in there, too."
He threw her a quick glance over his shoulder and bobbed his head toward a large double door cabinet as he flipped a piece of toast. With their place settings complete, she pulled out another plate for him to use as a serving dish. She set the plate on the counter next to the stove.
"For the toast," she murmured.
The smile he flashed her sent her heart slamming into her chest. God, she was crazy to be anywhere near this guy. He was dangerous to every sensible thought she'd ever possessed. Swallowing hard, she stepped away from him.
"What do you want to drink?" she asked as she tried to breathe properly.
"I think there's some OJ in the frig." His gaze flitted over her briefly before he slipped a hot piece of toast onto the plate she'd set on the counter for him. "You okay?"
"Sure. Just hungry."
"Good, because it's ready."
By the time she'd returned to the kitchen island with the orange juice, he'd already dished out three pieces of toast on both their plates. He pulled out a stool for her at the corner of the island, and waited for her to take a seat before he sat down catty-corner from her. As she poured herself a glass of juice, he added butter and syrup to his toast. She followed his example and took a bite. It tasted delicious, but the flavor was richer, smoother than any other French toast she'd had before.
Elbows on the countertop, he watched her reaction over his folded hands. Her gaze met his and he arched his eyebrows. "Well?"
"It's delicious, but I can't tell what the secret ingredient is."
"Most people can't."
Exasperated by his cryptic remark, she watched him pick up his fork and start to eat his breakfast. All right. Two could play at that game. She popped another syrup-covered bite of toast into her mouth. God, it really was good. Whatever the secret ingredient was, she'd tasted it before, she knew it. But the flavor was so subtle she couldn't place it. She took a sip of her orange juice and found herself meeting his amused gaze over the glass rim.
"What?" she asked as her glass tapped lightly against the marble.
"You really are obstinate as a mule," he said with a quiet laugh. "You want to know what the secret ingredient is, but you're not willing to ask me."
"I
'll figure it out eventually."
She popped another bite of toast into her mouth, the flavor melting over her tongue. The minute the man left the room, she was going to be checking out the bottles in that damn cabinet.
"Tell me when you do." His mouth twitched with amusement. Damn the man. She glared at him.
"Oh, all right, what is it," she snapped with exasperation.
The cabinet door behind him opened without any visible aid, and the bottle he'd used earlier sailed through the air to land gently on the countertop in front of her. God, the ease with which he did stuff like that amazed her. She picked up the bottle to read the label. Chocolate extract. It explained the decadent flavor teasing her tongue every time she took a bite of the toast he'd prepared. He took another bite of his breakfast as she set the bottle back on the marble top.
