by Jackie Ivie
And the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen wanted to talk about mates? Not just mates, Vangie…but soul mates? Maybe when she was a girl she’d believed in true love and soul mates, but now? Not anymore. Real life gave her a reality check. Evangeline Harper and Dane Morgan? Those names didn’t belong in the same sentence. And…soul mates? No way. But…wow. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true?
Double wow.
Vangie sighed heavily and went back to checking out his cabinets. It was better than her imagination at the moment. She was a business woman conducting a negotiation. She wasn’t a siren attempting to seduce a man. Or maybe it was better phrased as an innocent maid being seduced by a god from Mount Olympus?
Dream on, Vangie. Just keep on dreaming…
Next to the wine cabinet was a bookcase. Shoulder-high, with a thick glass front that latched with a little wrought-iron loop. Vangie pulled one door open and lifted out a binder. It was old, looked to be bound with embossed leather, and a bit dusty. She propped it on her hip, lifted the front open, and scanned the pages inside. She might be mistaken, but this looked like a full set of stories that compiled the POSTHUMOUS PAPER OF THE PICKWICK CLUB. Her breath caught at the next page and her eyes went wide. It was a signature. Charles Dickens. 1836. No way. If what she was looking at was true, this collection later became the novel THE PICKWICK PAPERS. And Dane Morgan owned a complete signed first edition?
No way again.
Her hand trembled as she replaced the binder and selected another. This one was even more spectacular. She was looking at a beautifully bound book titled THE MODERN PROMETHEOUS. It didn’t have an author listing, but she knew what it was - FRANKENSTEIN. She’d heard of the first printing, but never thought to actually see one. As for actually holding it? It wasn’t possible! But here it was. In her arms. It really did have a forward written by Percy Blysshe Shelley. This book had been printed in 1818 with a print run of 505 copies. And on the second page, there was an inscription in extremely poor handwriting.
To one handsome Dane. Mary Shelly, 1839.
Vangie’s jaw dropped. Her entire body shook, causing a loose page to fall from somewhere within the pages. She had to set the book reverently atop the bookcase before retrieving the page, and if she’d in any way damaged this, she’d never forgive herself.
It wasn’t a page from the book. It was a drawing. Four figures in Regency dress were seated around a table, playing cards. They were easily identified by someone who’d studied literature and spent time getting tested on it. There was Mary Shelley. Her husband, Percy. The poet, Lord Byron. And Dane.
No frickin’ way.
Her mind stalled. Her pulse hammered. She couldn’t be seeing this correctly. If Dane had a drawing depicting him with the Shelleys and Lord Byron, it couldn’t have been him. What was she thinking? He probably didn’t even read. Sex and sunburn sounded like his creed, not just the name of his bar.
It was obvious he’d inherited a fortune. It must include lots of priceless items. Dane was probably a normal first name for his family. He had forebears who’d known the value of the printed word and then they kept their books in museum condition. And handsomeness was another obvious legacy. It was in his DNA.
“We have to talk.”
Vangie jerked, dropped the picture, and then tried to spin. The carpet height combined with her new heels tripped her. She’d have fallen if Dane hadn’t reached out and pulled her right to him, breast to abdomen, hard arms about her back, his mouth just above her forehead.
“I see you found my Byron sketch.”
The words rumbled through where she was pressed to him. Byron sketch?
“I thought I’d lost it.”
“What?”
Her mind wasn’t working. It had something to do with how he’d lifted her without a bit of argument on her part, fitting her breasts right against some very hard pecs, while his mouth hovered somewhere at her temple, touching and then sending a riot of goose bumps with every pulse beat against his lips.
“My sketch. Forget it. It doesn’t matter, anyway.”
“It was in the…book.”
“Oh.”
“How can you own…something so rare?”
His lips slid, trailing what felt like a kiss to the side of an eye…to her ear. Vangie might as well be melting. Nothing on her was giving him the slightest fight.
“Don’t ask me. I can’t answer that yet.”
“You need…to put me down.”
“What? Why?”
He moved his head, matched his forehead to hers and locked gazes. She’d heard of this kind of contact, seen it in movies, but never experienced it. Her heart almost hurt as it lurched, feeling like it closed off her throat.
“Dane…I—”
He grinned, putting little lines about his eyes. She gulped.
“You just called me Dane.”
“You…really need to put me down.”
“Why?”
“Because…uh. Oh! We’re playing chess. And this is against the rules.”
He pulled back, granting her a little space to haul in a breath, while this time his grin exposed teeth; long, sharp, fang-like teeth. Evangeline’s eyes widened.
“You forgot my heritage, Baby.”
“Uh…”
“Viking.”
He lifted his brows, creating little creases in his forehead. As if that was supposed to make his argument feasible or do something other than draw her eye there before she moved inexorably back to locking gazes with him.
“You heard me. And believe me. It’s all true. We take what we want.”
“Take?” Want? He couldn’t possibly mean that like it sounded.
“I just found out you’re not married.”
He was sending out too much sensory stimulation for that statement to do other than confuse her. “What?”
“You’re widowed. And that means you’re mine. All mine.”
“That’s…just. It’s ridiculous. That’s what. This is the twenty-first century, Dane.”
“I know. All this technology just makes it easier.”
“To do what?”
“Viking things. Locate. Pillage. Plunder. Create havoc. Ravish. Satisfy.”
“Oh…” Wow. She didn’t know why she tried to answer. Her voice was missing.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of love at first sight, either?”
“Love?”
He nodded.
“At first sight?”
He nodded again and then tipped his chin down, favoring her with a soul-stealing look that carried fire-starting emissions. The heat seared all the way to her toes and back, before settling along everywhere they were pressed together.
“With…me?”
“Oh yeah.”
“You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. Pardon the pun.”
“Why can’t I believe any of this?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Maybe because…uh. You! You’re a babe magnet that looks about…twelve. It would be cradle robbing.”
“Twenty-four. Maybe twenty-five. Physically. And what has age to do with love anyway?”
“You—. I mean. You—.” Cohesive thought and common sense both evaded her. As did the ability to form words of argument.
“Yes?” His right eyebrow went up. It wasn’t helpful.
“You probably have women crawling all over you. Men, too. Twenty-four, seven. And everything in between.”
“There’s only one woman in my world, Frja. One.”
Her heart stuttered. She could feel it. “But…we just met.”
“Untrue. It’s been hours…and I’ve already waited centuries for you. Centuries.”
“Dane, I—”
“What does all this matter? Don’t you feel anything for me?”
Every cell that made up her body reacted to him, worse than before. Every word he said just added a skim of cream to the milk.
“This is too fast.”
“Dar
ling, it’s been an eternity of want, a millennia of loneliness, and a full evening of frustration and rampant need. It’s not going fast enough in my opinion.”
“Come on, Dane. See sense.”
“Speak some.”
“I came to talk about your property. That’s all I need to—”
“You can have it. Anything you want. It’s yours.”
“What?”
“Anything I have. It’s yours. I promise.”
“This is so wrong. On so many levels.”
“You’re my mate, Evangeline. I recognized you the moment I saw you. I swear it. You don’t understand how long I have waited for you. Longed for you. Loved you. It’s been an eternity of time. And now you are here. With me. And you’re not married as I’d thought. There’s nothing wrong in there that I can spot.”
“Oh…wow.”
The words were moaned. Even to her ears it sounded like a plea. Was it possible? Evangeline Harper, the woman who’d been fully slated as an old widow was going to have her fantasy? Her very own one-night stand?
“Does that mean yes? Please say it means yes. It does! Say it does. Come on, Love. Say it. Please?”
“I don’t…carry protection.” The words were whispered.
“Protection? You have no need of such a thing! I will protect you! No harm shall ever come to you. Ever. They’d have to go through me first.”
His chest tightened, pushing pecs into her breasts, while everything on her supplanted to make room. He was pure male. Dominant. Primal. Angered. And fully ready to defend, guard, and protect.
“I…mean protection.” Her voice dropped on the word, and if he made her say it, she was going to die of embarrassment.
“I don’t follow.”
Figures.
Vangie pulled in a breath from the space he gave her, shut her eyes, and still couldn’t suppress the blush. “Rubbers, Dane. You know…prophylactics. Why isn’t this as easy as they show in those stupid videos? I’ve never had a-a-a one-night stand. But I know I’m supposed to ask these things.”
He snorted. Her eyes opened although she kept them narrowed. After saying the most embarrassing statement of her life, he laughed?
“It’s not funny.”
“Ah… Frja. You are adorable! You call this a one-night stand? I have not been succinct! There is no boundary to us! You do not understand, and if I had the talent for rendering, I’ve forsaken it. You are the epitome of my reason. The eternity to my forever. The treasure to my search. The universe to my scope. The height to my elevation. The amazement to my wonder. The air to my world. The quintessence of—”
“How old are you again?”
“You see? I’ve no talent for speech, even when I try. I do better with action.”
“If we do this, Dane, I’m not just having sex with you. I’m having sex with everyone you’ve had sex with. And that’s probably an astronomical number.”
“What do you mean if?” he asked.
CHAPTER SIX
Madmen came in all shapes and sizes. And ages. And looks. The one she faced was a prime example; all brute strength, amazing handsomeness, and demonstrating a pretty extensive vocabulary, too. He still had to be mad. She was Evangeline Harper. Staid. Uptight. Somber. Dispassionate. All business. Critical and Logical.
“I’m serious, Dane.”
“Do I not appear serious, as well? I must be rustier than I thought.”
“How many women are we talking?”
“What else did you say? We are having sex? Oh no, my sweet. It will not be sex. That I guarantee. We will be making love...for hours. Or what is left of the night, anyway.”
“That many women, huh? Any men?”
He rolled his eyes. “There is no amount, Frja. There is just you. Only. Don’t you listen to one thing I say?”
“You’re telling me you’ve been celibate? Is that it? And you actually expect me to believe it?”
One side of his lip lifted, revealing sharp teeth again. Fangs. That was ridiculous, too. She flicked a glance there and then back to eyes that were sparkling with what looked like moisture atop them. But that was even more ridiculous.
“I’m saying the woman I’ve waited an eternity for is here…in my arms, and in my life. The one woman who can grant me perfection. Bring life back to my essence. Make me whole again! I’m talking ecstasy! Fulfillment. Bliss. I cannot continue! All I know is that if I don’t get you into my bed, and shortly, then I’m going to be ruining a very expensive chess set over on that table. I don’t know what you’re hearing, but this is what I’m saying.”
He maneuvered her chin up, so her view was paneled ceiling, while what could only be his mouth touched against her jaw started the most delicious shivers to reach out and enwrap her. Vangie panted for breath as he lightly sucked, sliding his mouth along her jaw line. To the sensitive skin right below an ear. She tilted her head, allowing him access.
Pain flashed through her throat, followed by fire, and then the most amazing sensation of pleasure took its place. Owning her. Claiming her. Sucking her into a vortex that seemed to gain speed before her eyes. She told herself she was seeing things. It was impossible. Completely outside the realm of reality. As if they were spinning in place. It didn’t help. She slammed her eyes shut on a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that meshed into a blur and the next moment got the sensation of cool air about her shoulders and neck. As if her jacket had developed a mind of its own and left her. The release of her skirt buttons wasn’t far behind.
“Dane?”
“Darling.”
The murmured endearment made her heart stutter. As well as the motion of his mouth at her neck, alternately sucking and licking and sending ecstasy that seemed to increase in volume and content with every passing second.
“You…must stop. I mean we. We…must stop.”
“Command me something easier to accomplish. Like…existing. Command me to cease that.”
“Dane.”
“I know. I sound mad. But you don’t understand, and despite all my years and wasted effort, I’ve yet to develop enough talent with words to explain it. I’ve got just this one chance…for what’s left of the night. To convince you. That’s all the fates have decreed, blast them, anyway!”
“Convince me…of what?”
“My love.”
The word was whispered and yet sought out every corner of the space. It carried reverence and something else. A sob of sound. Her heart palpitated as his entire frame began shaking. She rolled a breath through her lips that was supposed to portend an argument, but instead it sounded needy and grasping and desirous. And nothing at all like her.
“You see what I am up against? And you ask me to stop? Pray ask something I can grant.”
Vangie slit an eye open. They weren’t in his study. Or whatever that cabin was called. The sight of more paneling met her eye, lit by a myriad of candles, and then a huge four-poster bed. And if she turned her head to check, she knew she’d see red satin sheet. The sensation of cool fabric met her back, chilling for the barest moment before turning warm. Heated. Slick. Against naked skin.
Hers.
“How did we get here?”
“I have a great gift of dexterity, my love.”
“Where are my clothes?”
She was pulling on the sheets trying to cover herself, and he was there at every move to stop her, showing off his dexterity, and then he lowered his head, took her lips, and turned it to complete exposure. Vangie writhed on the sheets, her legs wrapping about his denim covered lower limbs, while her hands delved beneath his shirt, sliding along the muscled smoothness of his belly. Chest. Back to his waistband. Again. Her palms created a friction of sparks wherever they touched. And then he moved, getting to his hands and knees, separating from her kiss as he crawled back off the mattress, taking the top covers with him.
“Don’t leave me!”
“Are you crazed? I’d as soon hammer a stake through my own heart.”
“Then give me ba
ck some cover.”
“I cannot do that, my Evangeline. I wish to see. I want to worship. Adore. You are beautiful, you know that? So beautiful. So warm! So sweet. Your smell! Your…taste! I cannot explain how it feels.”
“Dane—.”
“Pray, do not stop me. I’m on a roll. Oh! I’ve a glib tongue when it matters. At least, that’s what Percy used to accuse. And trust me, my love. Right here and right now – it matters. More than I can describe.”
“Percy?”
He yanked the t-shirt off, displaying glorious muscle that wasn’t as tanned as the rest of him. That was odd. Sun worshipping surfer dudes usually wore nothing but swim trunks. Tan lines like his had to be a complete faux pas on the beach. But then he cancelled out every errant thought by putting his hands on his hips, lowering his jaw, and sending a look at her that made her jerk visibly.
“Oh…wow.” Her sigh carried every bit of feminine appreciation. There wasn’t any way to hide it.
“What?”
He reached upward, putting definition to all that muscle, as if preening for her. And if she hadn’t already thought him the best looking man on the planet, she was blind.
“What? Come on, Dane. You’re stunning. And you know it.”
“It’s all for you, Baby. All. Forever. Yours.”
He flipped the top button of his denims open and pulled until the zipper trailed apart. Her mouth dropped open. He had the most cut lower abdomen she’d ever seen, too. Even on an Olympic swimmer.
“How did you get so…ripped?”
“You like?”
“Dane.”
He grinned and lifted his jaw. “You have a way of chastising with just the mention of my name. I adore it, too. Never change. Okay?”
“Are you going to answer the question?”
“Oh. Yes. I look this way because I didn’t spend my growing years on my ass playing video games as they do now. Things were a bit different. And I was the active sort.”
