Aeromancist, The Beginning (SECOND EDITION): Prequel (7 Forbidden Arts Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I’d rather talk about you,” she said. “Your life seems much more interesting.”

  His lips quirked. “Please. I insist.”

  She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “What do you want to know?”

  He rubbed a thumb over his lips, dragging her attention to the action as he contemplated his answer. “What is your best feature?”

  “My best feature?” She played with her fork. What kind of a question was that?

  “Indulge me,” he said in a husky voice.

  She cleared her throat. “I have a lot of determination and—”

  “I meant physical.”

  Lann Dréan was definitely unsettling, but she had no intention of giving him the pleasure of the knowledge. “I like my hair.”

  A slow smile stretched his lips as his eyes caressed her face. “I wouldn’t know what to choose. Every part of you is perfect.”

  The compliment caught her off guard. She was pretty enough, but she was far from perfect. This wasn’t the direction their conversation should be taking.

  She took a sip of her wine, hiding her discomfort behind the action. “I love this wine. It’s really good. What is it?”

  He dragged a finger along the rim of the glass, much like he’d done with the glass of Scotch in his office. “Carmenere,” he said without breaking eye contact. “It’s my favorite. What’s yours?”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “What is this? Twenty questions?”

  A frown flickered across his brow. “Is that a game?”

  “Yes.” She searched his face. “Is this?”

  All amusement vanished from his eyes. They filled with calculated intent. “No.”

  She swallowed. Determined to bring the conversation back to safer ground, she said, “I love coffee, ice cream, and poetry.” She took another big mouthful of wine. “There. Now you know all the boring facts about me.”

  “You’re far from boring, Katherine.”

  “Do you like coffee and ice cream?”

  He simply smiled.

  No, he liked Scotch, priceless books, and having a renovated monastery as a home all to himself.

  “Point proven,” she said, returning his smile.

  When Lann lifted the bottle of wine to refill her glass, she noticed her glass was already empty. She shook her head and reached for her glass of water instead. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough.”

  “Are you in a relationship, Katherine?”

  The question took the wind out of her sails, almost making her choke on the sip of water she’d taken. It wasn’t the question itself as much as his directness. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just wondering if I’m keeping you away from a boyfriend.”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I had a boyfriend.”

  Approval flashed in his eyes. “Good.”

  Lann wasn’t in a relationship. It had been all over one of the pony newspapers this morning. There was speculation about the reason for the wealthy foreigner’s celibacy, but if the heat in his golden eyes was anything to go by, it had nothing to do with the fact that he wasn’t interested in women.

  Before she could stop herself, she blurted out, “Are you bisexual?” The minute the question was out, she regretted it. She had to have appeared either curious or interested, and neither was the impression she was aiming for. Her cheeks heating a little, she said, “You don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”

  “I see you’ve read the article.” His smile was tight. “No, I like women very much.”

  “I shouldn’t have pried.”

  “On the contrary. Feel free to ask me anything.”

  She knew where this was going and she couldn’t do it. Lann was a keeper, but he didn’t keep. Another fact she’d learned thanks to the gossip snippets.

  “It’s getting late,” she said, pushing back her chair.

  He immediately got to his feet. “Of course.”

  His compliance both surprised and disappointed her, and the latter sentiment scared her. Oblivious to her turmoil, he took her hand and led her down the dimly lit hallway past the garden that was dark now, except for two spotlights that cast the trees and shrubs in a veil of green light.

  Every part of her was aware of his strong fingers that were folded around hers. Her nerve endings came alive, making her skin tingle with an electric crackle. Even if she wanted nothing more than to escape the disturbing sensations, pulling away would only demonstrate that she was affected, so she did nothing but experience the effect he had on her in silence.

  At the library, he stopped, took a key from his pocket, and unlocked the door.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “I want to show you my library.”

  “But I’ve had the tour.”

  “Not by me,” he said, ushering her inside.

  During the day, the broad windows let in plenty of natural light, but now they were dark, and the dim ceiling spots cast the wood in a warm glow that washed over her together with the magical scent of ink and leather. Lann flicked on the light, and, as always, she looked at the spines with the embossed gold titles in awe.

  Taking her elbow, he led her to the back of the room where the most fragile books were displayed in a glass cabinet, and surprised her by unlocking the door with a cylinder key from his keychain.

  “Would you like to touch them?” he asked in a soft voice close to her ear.

  She put a bit of distance between them and dared to glance at him. “You’d let me?”

  He opened a drawer under the cabinet and pulled out a box of white gloves.

  “Here.” He handed her a pair.

  She tried to pull them on, but his disturbing effect was taking its toll and her hands were shaking, making it difficult to fit her fingers. Taking her hands in his, he finished the task with the utmost gentleness.

  For a moment, she was too shaken to speak. When she finally found her voice again, she only managed a breathless, “Thank you.”

  His eyes sparked with warmth, that strange golden color almost glowing as he held her gaze a fraction too long. “You’re welcome.”

  She cleared her throat and quickly turned back to the books. “Which titles are these?”

  “Old verses about magic, some of my favorites.” He placed her palm on the page, his big hand covering her gloved one.

  Her heart and breath did funny things. She should’ve only wanted to lift the book from the padded interior, to turn the pages, and to hear the crackling of the paper, but all she could focus on was the tall Russian who manipulated her hand, working her fingers to turn the pages. Her body turned hot and her mind fuzzy.

  “Why the interest in old books?” she asked in an attempt to hold a normal conversation or maybe to pretend how he was touching her had no effect.

  Gripping her chin, he turned her face toward him. “Do you always talk your way out of uncomfortable situations?”

  Her eyes widened at his arrogance as well as the accuracy of his observation. She opened her mouth to tell him she wasn’t uncomfortable, but she couldn’t utter the lie.

  Thankfully, he let her off the hook by dropping the subject.

  For a while, they looked at the books in silence, Lann waiting patiently until she’d had her fill.

  When she returned the gloves, he left them in a basket marked with for washing on the side, and said, “Come. I want to show you something.”

  “There’s more?”

  She followed him to a narrow staircase in the corner. At the bottom, he turned to give her a smile, a gesture that almost seemed encouraging.

  “What’s up there?” she asked.

  “My den.”

  She couldn’t help but be curious. He led the way to the top level where a landing broad enough to walk on ran around the shelves. A door was hidden in the corner. As she waited for Lann to unlock it, she had the feeling of being Alice in Wonderland, about to pass through a secret door.

  It was so low even she had to bend to pass through it
. It made her expect something small, maybe a tiny storeroom with more books, but it was a big, comfortable room with a slanted ceiling and a skylight framing the dark sky that was sprinkled with sparkling stars. The walls were covered with wooden panels and lined with shelves full of books. It was fitted with an oversized desk, a leather sofa, and a four-poster bed. The carpet was white like a cloud and the bed linen light shades of blue. Cushions were scattered everywhere, even on the floor. It looked like the perfect place to read—a den, just as he’d said.

  She smiled. “This is cozy.”

  “It’s the vault. It’s fireproof. This is where I keep the most precious books.”

  She looked at the skylight. “Even with that?”

  “It’s fitted with a metal shutter that closes automatically when smoke is detected.”

  Her gaze flittered to the bed. “You sleep here?”

  “No. Sometimes I read here, until late, but that’s what the sofa is for. The bed is for sex.”

  Her insides scrambled. Her body flushed. He stepped up, standing very close to her now. If she took a deep breath, her breasts would brush against his chest.

  She shook her head, making her curls tumble over her shoulders. “Why are you showing me this?”

  “Why do you think?” he asked softly.

  She stood very still as silence stretched between them. Lifting a hand, he traced the curve of her breast with a finger.

  Desire and fear knotted together, making a confusing mass of both her body and mind. She stepped back, escaping the touch. “I have to go.”

  He tilted his head. “Maybe, but do you want to?”

  She’d never been propositioned so directly. The social rules of dating didn’t seem to apply to Lann. “Yes,” she said, putting assertiveness into her tone.

  “I don’t think you do.”

  Surprise made place for indignation. “How would you know?”

  “Your breathing is shallower.” He took her hand in his, tracing the lines of her palm with a thumb. “Your palms are sweaty.” His eyes lowered to her breasts. “There are other signs also.”

  She gasped in horror, because he was right. “It’s nothing but a reaction to your boldness.”

  “Whatever the reason for your reaction, the pleasure I’d give you won’t be any less intense.”

  He was dangerous, much more than the media gave him credit for. A man like Lann would chew her up and spit her out. She was no match for him.

  Turning on her heel, she hurried down the stairs to the exit, eager to escape into the dark night. She ran into the garden until she stood face to face with the statue of Saint Teresa, dragging in the cool air to calm herself. Shame for how she ran off heated her face. A more experienced woman would’ve jumped on the opportunity. In her case, sex and emotions were inseparable. She always felt too much too soon.

  He followed her outside in his own sweet time, leaving her alone for at least a minute to calm down or maybe to sweat it out. When he stopped short of her, she took a step back.

  He frowned. “I never force, Katherine.”

  His proximity made her heart thump louder in her chest. “I’m going home.”

  He considered her answer for a while before saying, “Give me one good reason why you won’t stay.”

  Oh, she had plenty. “For starters, I’m serious about my studies. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I don’t have time for casual flings.”

  He nodded. “We can work around that.”

  “We won’t work around anything.” She wasn’t getting her heart broken again, and that was a sure outcome if she took him up on his offer. It was too easy to fall for a man who could make a woman’s knees weak with a mere look. “Thank you for dinner. I’m leaving now.”

  “All right,” he said. “Would you like me to drive you or do you feel safer with my driver?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “Your driver.” She didn’t even care that she sounded like a coward.

  He nodded. “I’ll tell my driver to take you home.”

  The fact that he gave in so easily should have had her sighing with relief. Instead it scared her.

  Chapter 3

  From the breakfast nook in the kitchen of their tenth-floor apartment, Kat had a view over Las Condes. The skyscrapers glowed in the first light of the day as the aroma of her favorite Juan Valdez coffee filled the small space. When her roommate, Diana, placed a mug in front of her, she pulled it close and inhaled. Smiling with appreciation, she sipped the strong brew.

  Diana leaned against the counter, her own mug cupped in her hands. “Feeling better now that you’ve had your first mouthful of caffeine?”

  “Don’t make me regret that I told you,” Kat said, stealing a glance at her friend.

  “You’d never hold out on telling me that the big, bad, wealthy Lann Dréan hit on you.”

  “Can we not talk about it anymore?”

  “If it was me, honey, I’d be drinking my coffee with him right now, preferably in his bed.”

  Kat groaned.

  “What?” The petite blonde cocked her shoulder. “It’s not like you’re a virgin.”

  “Mac was a mistake I’m not repeating.” Kat turned to the window. In the reflection of the glass, Diana’s brow furrowed.

  “Don’t measure all men by Mac’s standards,” Diana said. “He’s an ass.”

  Kat sighed. She’d broken up with her boyfriend just over six months ago. They’d shared an apartment for two years, and all she’d gotten out of the fairytale she’d thought it would be, had been a broken heart. While she’d envisioned a wedding ring and sipping their morning coffee together in bed for the rest of their lives, he’d been making plans to cross South America on a motorbike and write articles for a motorsport site.

  “Not all men are the ten seconds type,” Diana continued.

  Actually, Mac was quite good in the sack. Diana was only trying to make her feel better. She couldn’t help but defend her ex. “It only happened once and he’d been away for four months.”

  “To Asia,” Diana said with meaning. “Don’t tell me he didn’t cheat on you at least once.”

  Fine. Mac had the libido of a horse, and Kat had to admit the photos of him partying with the pretty Phuketian girls had made her a little jealous. Especially the one of him in the turquoise ocean with the laughing girl sitting on his shoulders.

  “You don’t know that,” Kat said. “Besides, I trusted him.”

  She meant it. They had an honest relationship and if Mac said nothing had happened, she had no reason not to believe him. He broke her heart when he chose his dream over her, but he wasn’t a cheater.

  “You should take the mysterious Russian up on the offer. A chance to sleep with the world’s hottest man doesn’t come along twice.”

  She’d played the scene over in her mind so many times, she’d started to wonder if she hadn’t imagined things that weren’t there. “He didn’t offer in so many words.”

  Diana lifted an eyebrow. “He showed you a bed, told you it was for sex, and asked you to stay, and you’re saying he didn’t offer in so many words? Shit, Kat, a man can’t make it any clearer than that.”

  “It could’ve been a misunderstanding.”

  “Yeah. Just keep on believing that if it makes you feel safer.” When Kat didn’t answer, she said, “Look, I can see you’re all hot, wet, and bothered.” She ignored Kat’s snort. “Why don’t we go out for lunch? There’s a cute new pasta place in Bella Vista I’d like to try.”

  “I’ve got to work on my thesis today. I need to type up my notes from yesterday.”

  “One hour isn’t going to—”

  The doorbell interrupted Diana’s attempt at twisting Kat’s arm. Kat glanced at the wall clock. It was barely eight. They were both still in their pajamas, but Diana was already rushing to the entrance.

  A short while later, she reentered with a basket wrapped in cellophane. “For you.” She held it to Kat.

  “For me?”

  “That’s what
the deliveryman said.” Kat didn’t budge, so Diana left the gift on the table and clutched her hands behind her back. “Come on, don’t keep me in suspense. Open it.”

  Her scalp pricked and her gut clenched in warning even as excitement coursed through her. She hesitated, afraid that the basket was from the man who’d taken her rejection so casually last night. Finally her curiosity won out. She untied the ribbon, and pulled away the cellophane and blue tissue paper to expose a selection of the finest Colombian and Costa Rican coffees.

  Diana leaned over her shoulder. “Wow. How weird. That must be a first.”

  Even if she knew the answer, the knowledge making her feel like she needed to open the window to breathe, she said, “Who sends a woman coffee?”

  “Him.” Diana brought her hand from behind her back.

  Kat snatched the white envelope from Diana’s fingers. “You read it?”

  “He wants you to have dinner with him tonight.” Diana jumped up and down. “He’s giving you a second chance!”

  Kat stared at the textured paper. Her name was written in a beautiful cursive script, and in the corner were the embossed initials, LD. Her hand trembled as she removed the gold-trimmed card. Her heart fluttered as she skimmed over the note.

  It was a dinner invitation, just as Diana had said. He’d quoted The Flower Song, an Egyptian love poem from before 1539BC, one she was familiar with because of her thesis subject. The poem was intense, a declaration that the author would rather see and hear his lover than eat or drink. He ended the message with his own line.

  I’d gladly starve for one more chance to watch you eat.

  “Come on, Kat,” Diana said, “you have to admit, it’s very romantic.”

  “He only wants to get into my panties.”

  Diana threw her arms in the air. “So?”

  Kat pushed the basket aside and got to her feet. “I’m going for a shower.”

  “Mind if I try one of these?” Diana lifted a hessian bag and sniffed it.

  “For all I care, you can fertilize our plants with it,” Kat said, walking from the room while repeating a mantra in her head.

  I’m not going to sleep with Lann.

  It was a sure way of getting hurt.