Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  "Wait a minute. I thought you said it was the women in your family who were psychic.

  "Gifted male children are born occasionally, but it's rare—at least in my family—and the men aren't able to pass it on to their children. That's why we've always tracked our lineage through the female line. I have a theory that passing on the Gifts has as much to do with psychic bonds formed between a mother and the baby 1 in her womb as it does with genetics, but—" she waved a hand dismissively "that's another subject."

  "You said there were two empaths in your family." Dear Lord. Was he actually taking her idea seriously? Deep inside, something uneasy quivered, like a guitar string plucking itself.

  "Um...Pia wouldn't be much help, I'm afraid."

  He found a note of grim humor. "Pia doesn't function well?"

  "She talks to aliens. Looks like you're stuck with me."

  He wanted to be. The knowledge hit him like one of his spells, unstoppable, unreasonable and almost as debilitating. He clenched his jaw.

  Was he falling for her? Was he.. .in love?

  His head went light and dizzy, like a helium balloon trying to escape its tether. His fingers tingled as if he'd been hyperventilating, and his heart pounded. And he looked at her sitting so close, her skin dusky gold in the lamplight, her eyes worried and trying not to be. He saw the shape of her beneath the sheet and smelled the musky scent of sex, and he wanted, badly, to make love to her all over again.

  But she would be sore, and one thing was certain in the midst of his vast confusion: he wasn't going to hurt her.

  Not any more than he had to, at least.

  "Drew? You have the oddest look on your face. Did you think of something important?

  It wasn't so hard, after all, to smile. "Oh, yes," he said, and brushed a kiss across her forehead. His head didn't hurt. Whatever she'd done when she called him back from limbo, the effect seemed to be lingering. Maybe sex really was a cure, albeit a temporary one.

  Besides, some risks were worth taking. "But you can't do what I'm thinking of. Not tonight, at least. I'm going to draw a bath for you," he said, and touched her cheek, her throat, her shoulder, because she was here and he could touch her, and that was a delight all by itself. One he needed to savor while he could. "And then I 'm going to wash your back. Among other things.

  Chapter 15

  Drew seemed suddenly possessed of a great need to take care of her. He wouldn't even let her walk into the bathroom when the bath was ready, but scooped her up in his arms and carried her there. He also, she thought, had a need to play, to push everything else aside for a time and just be lovers. New lovers, who had just discovered each other and the delights of sharing their bodies. She understood. Until yesterday he hadn't believed real psychics existed; now he was supposed to accept that he was one. It was a huge mental leap. They would have to return to the subject of his attacks, but she could give him a little time to adjust.

  At least, that's what she told herself. But it might have been simply that Drew, in a playful mood, was irresistible.

  He'd filled the tub with warm water and bubbles, and he climbed into it with her. He lathered her back, as he'd said he would, and massaged it, too. And other places... Her body, she learned, had sweet spots she'd never known about. Toes, for example. Shoulders. Who would have thought the scrape of a whiskery cheek on a soapy shoulder would make her shudder? By the time they got out of the tub, her entire body was one big, throbbing erogenous zone.

  They took an inordinately long time drying each other, but when they reached the bed, he seemed to want to cuddle under the covers. And that was all. When she pointed out that his body had a different program in mind, he informed her that she was too sore.

  "Since it's my body we're talking about now," she said, sliding a hand down his chest, "I don't think you have the final say on how sore I am. How would you know?"

  "I'm psychic," he answered promptly, and stopped her hand short of its destination.

  She laughed and said there were ways to avoid making her sore that would do wonders to help them relax. She couldn't help noticing that he was a bit.. .tense.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said with an admirably straight face. "You'll have to show me."

  She did, but her demonstration didn't get very far before he insisted on applying the lesson to her, and she would have mentioned her suspicions that he'd had previous instruction along these lines if she had been able to form complete sentences at that point. When they were through, they were both extremely relaxed.

  His shields didn't flicker once. She wished she knew what that meant.

  Afterward, they cuddled. She lay along his side, her head on his shoulder, one of her legs twined with his. He'd turned the light out, and the night hung heavy and dark against her open eyes. By all rights, she should have been dozing. She was sleepy, sated, limp. But she wasn't sure how many more such nights she would have. She wasn't sure if she would have any more at all.

  He thought she triggered the attacks. And she couldn't say for sure he was wrong.

  When she moved her hand over his chest this time, her impulse was only to touch, to connect. "Drew, why did you come with me on this trip if you thought I was triggering the attacks?

  "Because I'm an idiot." He turned his head and brushed a kiss across the top of her head. "Because I wanted to be with you.

  That made her glad of the darkness. She didn't want him to see how easily he brought tears to her eyes. "We have to talk about your attacks.

  "I like your word for them better than mine. It does feel as if I'm under attack." He began playing with her hair, his fingers teasing out the tangles he'd put in it earlier.

  "It's being blocked that causes the problems. We need to know what caused you to block everything off so completely."

  "You do realize I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about, don't you?"

  "Back to Psychic Studies 101. Or maybe we're up to 201 now." She needed a moment to gather her thoughts, which were trying to drift toward sleep. The feel of his hand gently sifting through her hair was delicious, but it didn't help her stay awake. "Everyone, even the non-Gifted, is shielded to some degree. People grow shields as naturally and unconsciously as they grow skin, and for the same reason. Protection." A yawn interrupted her.

  "Then shields are necessary."

  "Yes, but they can be a problem, too, for empaths. Because they're so sensitive to others' emotions, empaths sometimes develop really thick, strong shields. Like yours. It's almost unheard of for a shield to be so complete a Fire-Gifted can't touch the person's aura, however."

  His voice held a lazy smile. "You can touch me anywhere else you like."

  "Thank you, but you're missing the point." On purpose, she thought. Frustration chased away some of the sleepiness. "For an empath, going through life completely blocked is sort of like sleep deprivation. It makes the mind do strange things.

  "What kind of things?"

  She rubbed her thumb absently over a rough place on her fingernail. "Well, it varies. A lot. I mentioned my cousin Pia? She can't process everything she picks up when she's open, so she spends most of her time shielded, which is almost like being blocked. As a result, she's a little confused."

  "I don't talk to aliens." There was a hint of humor in his voice. "What other problems do, ah, blocked empaths have?

  She didn't want to tell him. She really didn't, not now. She picked at her fingernail. "Oh, all sorts of things."

  "The way you're dodging answering, the problems must be pretty serious."

  "The point is, the treatment is the same regardless of the symptoms. You have to learn to control your shields."

  "What kind of symptoms are we talking about? Crazy spells like mine?"

  "You're not crazy."

  "Rose."

  She sighed. "Okay, worst case.. .a few become psychopaths. They like to hurt others, maybe because of an unconscious need to feel something from outside themselves. Pain is easy to pick up
, you see. Even the non-Gifted are sensitive to it to some degree. But that isn't the way you're headed," she added quickly, laying one hand on his leg. "That only happens when the empath becomes blocked while still very young, probably as a baby. He never develops right.

  "I'm glad you don't think I'm psychopathic," he said dryly. "I tend to agree with you. My crazy spells don't make me want to hurt anyone. What else aren't you telling me?"

  "Some blocked empaths...a few...become catatonic."

  He was silent for several heartbeats. "That fits.

  She propped herself up on her elbow and tried without success to make out his expression in the darkness. "Drew, think back. It would help if you could remember a time before you were completely blocked. Did you sometimes know what people were feeling when no one else seemed to?"

  He shifted uneasily. ' T had a pretty normal childhood. I don't remember anything like that.

  He didn't want to remember. She gritted her teeth and tried coming at it from another angle. ' Til bet people consider your mother unusually kind and intuitive about others.

  "What does that have to do with anything?

  "You say you had a normal childhood. Young empaths born to non-Gifted parents don't, generally. I'm guessing that your mother is mildly empathic and instinctively helped shield you when you were very small, so that you learned how to shield from her. She probably wouldn't know about her Gift," Rose added. "But I'll bet she's known for being good with people."

  "She is," he said reluctantly.

  Rose smiled and teased her fingers through his hair. "Such pretty curls. I'll bet you were an adorable little boy."

  "Hardly." He sounded appalled.

  "So what kind of little boy were you?"

  "Quite ordinary. I pestered my sister, fought with my brother and climbed trees I'd been forbidden to climb. Fell out of one once, too. When I was twelve I wanted a motorcycle desperately, but my mother wouldn't hear of it. She.. .went through a period when she was overprotective."

  Not surprising, if she was empathic. "Are you close to her?"

  He shrugged. "When I was small, I was. A lot of things changed after the kidnapping.

  After the... Her mouth went dry. She had to swallow twice before she had enough saliva to speak, and even then her voice came out funny. "Drew, what kidnapping?"

  "I thought you knew." There was surprise in his voice. "With your tabloid-reading aunt around...they managed to keep it all out of the papers until after I recovered, though, so while it made a splash it was a brief one. And it's ancient history now.

  Her throat was tight. "Tell me."

  "I was kidnapped when I was eleven. Held for ransom.

  "That's the headline. I'd like the story."

  "I don't remember most of it." His voice was flat. "What I do remember, I prefer not to."

  Slowly she lowered herself, finding the curve of his shoulder again. He put his arm around her, but his muscles were stiff and unwelcoming now. No wonder, she thought. An empathic child in the hands of people willing—possibly intending—to kill him.. .his sanity had probably depended on being able to block out his captors completely. "Were you held captive for long?

  "About three months."

  Three months. Dear God. A lot of things changed after the kidnapping, he'd said. He didn't remember most of it. Didn't want to remember. "That's when you became blocked."

  "Perhaps." His voice was cool, neutral. And very tired. "If it's all the same to you, I think we'd better get some sleep now. You said we're booked for a nine-thirty flight in the morning."

  She wanted to push, force him to give up the answers she needed—the answers he needed, too, if only he could be made to realize it. But she heard the deep weariness behind the crisp syllables, and she couldn't do it. "All right." She twisted so she could leave one last, soft kiss on his mouth. "Good night, then."

  His arm tightened around her briefly. Then he sighed, and the terrible tension began to drain out of his body. Within minutes he seemed to be asleep.

  Rose lay awake for a dark, endless time, held close in her lover's arms. Thinking. Trying to plan. Wondering exactly when he was going to leave her—and trying not to imagine what had been done to a young boy all those years ago.

  * * *

  The rag, the rag in his mouth, they'd jammed it down too far. He couldn't breathe, couldn't—Oh, please, no! God, no—

  Drew's eyes flew open. He was gasping for breath. The nightmare fell away in pieces, breaking up more with each ragged breath, until all that was left was the need to get away. To be alone.

  Beside him, Rose slept peacefully, one of her legs between his. He glanced at the clock. Almost six.

  He eased away, careful not to wake her, and went to the chair near the window. There he sat with his head in his hands. For the first time in twenty-one years, he tried to remember.

  But it was no use. The pieces were too small. His mind slid around them as if it were greased, unable to pluck one and fit it to another. He'd been tied up. He'd been cold. Those pieces he'd always had, and a single image—a window, high on a dingy wall. A grid over that window, and outside only another wall, brick, of some adjacent building. Drew knew he'd been found in an abandoned warehouse because he'd been told that afterward. He'd been told about other things, too. Afterward.

  The window undoubtedly belonged to the warehouse, but he couldn't conjure any scrap of memory to say this was so. No more than he could claim any memory of the other things he'd been told.

  One piece, though—one small piece—that was new he managed to hold on to, as much from sheer surprise as from any effort of will. He'd counted then, too.

  Chapter 16

  The first-class section of the Concorde wasn't as luxurious as the royal jet, of course, but it was still far roomier and more comfortable than economy, which was how Rose had always flown before. There was plenty of room for Drew to spread out an assortment of files from his briefcase in lieu of the meal he'd just informed the flight attendant he didn't want.

  Rose, too, had refused the meal. After crossing two time zones yesterday, her body wasn't at all sure what time it was now, but she'd had breakfast before leaving the hotel.

  And if she were completely honest with herself, her stomach was too uneasy to welcome food. She glanced at the man beside her. "They'll have to hustle to get the meal served and the trays picked up before we land. It's strange to think we'll cross the entire Atlantic Ocean so much faster than we flew from Montebello to London."

  "The Concorde flies faster than sound." He took some papers from one of the files without looking at her. "The king's jet can't match that."

  The flight would be so short, in fact, she wasn't sure she was going to have time to pry Drew out of the mood he'd fallen into overnight. He might as well have stamped Keep Out on his forehead, she thought unhappily. Not that he'd been unpleasant. Oh, no. He was back to being considerate and charming.

  A rip-roaring fight might help. But it was going to be uphill work getting that much emotion from him this morning.

  Cocking her head, she studied the papers he was laying out like a shield in front of him. The letterhead on one page caught her attention. "I've heard of the Warren Foundation," she said. "They help refugees find homes and jobs, don't they? I can't imagine what that would have to do with your real-estate investments."

  "I'm on the foundation's board," he said curtly. "And we've a quarterly meeting coming up next month. I need to familiarize myself with the agenda.

  "Oh, yes, and you have only a month to do it in. I understand. And this?" She tapped another folder. "Are you on the board of the International Red Cross, too?

  "No, I promised to evaluate a property that was recently donated to them. The location makes it unsuitable for their use, and they need to know whether to sell it now or allow it to appreciate. If you're bored, Rose, I believe there's an in-flight movie available."

  "I was making conversation. You've heard of the practice?"

  "Sorry." Groove
s bracketed his mouth, making him look austere and tired. "I'm not good company right now. I hope you don't mind if I work for awhile."

  "Yes." "

  He blinked.

  She elaborated. "Yes, I do mind. And I don't need to be entertained. You're my lover, not my host."

  "You surprise me. I hadn't thought you the type to demand a man's attention every second at the expense of his work."

  Temper shot her eyebrows up. "Really? Well, you seem to me exactly the type to use work as an excuse when you want to avoid something scary, like feelings.

  His mouth flattened. "Of course I am. As my former fiancee could tell you, I'm a poor bet for any kind of serious relationship."

  Anger drained away as quickly as it had flared up, leaving her chilled and.. .not exactly nauseous. Or at least not in her stomach—it was more as if her whole body was queasy. Her hands curled into themselves. "One mistake does not mean you're hopeless. And she must have had problems of her own. A healthy woman doesn't try to kill herself over a man.

  "No doubt that's true. But so was what she said. I aw a cold, distant man."

  "Oh, yes, that would be why you donate your time to the Warren Foundation. Because you're so cold and uncaring. Or maybe you have ulterior motives. You serve on the board for the valuable business contacts it provides?"

  "No, but you're—"

  "And no doubt you're charging a hefty fee for evaluating that property for the Red Cross."

  "I take your point," he said dryly. "But it's possible to be a decent human being in a general sense and remain a cold bastard in personal relationships."

  "It's also possible to care very deeply and not have the faintest idea how to express it. Especially in words." Words would seem hopelessly awkward compared to the kind of understanding he instinctively craved and was cut off from.

  "Rose." He was holding a plain gold pen in his right hand and began to turn it over and over, not looking at her. "Don't expect too much of me.

  "I know you intend to tell me goodbye when we return to Montebello." The sick feeling spread when she said that aloud, but she managed to keep her voice level. "I can't blame you, since you think I trigger your attacks. But I don't like being shut out while we're still together."