by Nia K. Foxx
“It’s quite ghastly, I agree.” Pierre stepped beside her, his voice seeming to catch in his throat. “This way,” he encouraged after several seconds of quiet contemplation. Fatima followed him, watching as he tugged on the black knit cap he wore.
She wondered its significance because Mike had worn one like it in Michigan, as did Luc. Did it denote some sort of caste? She shook her head. The sort of thing didn’t exist in modern day France. Neither do fully functioning castles, she reminded herself, unless they were part of a tour package for foreigners.
“Please make yourself comfortable. Dinner will be in a couple of hours. Perhaps you would like to freshen up or have a nap after your long journey?”
His offer sounded like heaven. She hadn’t had a chance to fully recoup from her Michigan trip before flying across the world. Pierre showed her all of the surprising modern amenities her room had to offer before closing the heavy wooden door as he left. The interior was massive and she took in the beauty of the space from its high ceilings and fireplace to the four-poster bed that would have taken up her entire bedroom back home. As an interesting contrast to the dark wood tones the room was decorated in deep blues and yellows, her favorite color combination.
Could Lorn have known? She dismissed the thought just as quickly as it had come. A gentle knock on the door caused her heart rate to go into overdrive. Self-consciously she touched her neat ponytail, trying to calm her erratic pulse.
“Come in,” she called, bracing herself for the devastating image of Lorn De LaRue. Instead Luc the driver, weighed down with a couple of her suitcases, staggered inside.
“Where would you like these?”
“Um…anywhere,” she whispered, upset with herself for feeling disappointed.
“Don’t bother with unpacking. My sister will take care of it for you,” he continued as he strutted back into the hall for another batch of cases.
Fatima’s gaze was drawn to his firm backside, molded perfectly in jeans.
Nice, she thought before turning to grab one of the bags containing her summer wear. She was dying for a shower and change of clothes.
“Is there anything else?” he asked as he arranged the last of her cases near the wide bed.
“No, thank you,” she replied, pulling out a cotton shirt and skirt. When she realized he made no move to leave she looked up.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else?” he asked slowly, enunciating each word.
Images of her in his arms, his lips trailing kisses down her neck, bombarded Fatima. She gasped aloud at the vivid pictures.
Boy, am I jetlagged, she thought.
“Luc!” Pierre seemed to appear out of nowhere. “I believe you have other duties to attend to instead of loitering around here.”
The young man looked annoyed before nodding in her direction. “Perhaps another time,” he added before turning away.
The door was drawn closed in his wake, but not before she heard Pierre launch into a language she couldn’t identify.
Dismissing the entire exchange, Fatima made her way to the luxurious adjoining bathroom, determined not to be distracted by thoughts of Lorn or his horde of cap-adorned employees. She was there to do a job. One she was certain wouldn’t require an entire year of her time, because anyone in their right mind knew gargoyles didn’t exist.
***
A very real, Lorn De LaRue made a conscious effort to stay out of the castle where he knew Fatima was being safely ensconced. His mistake was in staying on the property; obviously he hadn’t traveled far enough away to be immune from her effects. He was aware the moment she arrived. Her scent wafted to him on a gentle breeze, beckoning him. Instantly his body reacted, and memories of her in his arms flooded his brain. He tuned his sensitive hearing to her room wanting to connect with her in some way. A primal groan escaped at the sound of her voice. Why did she affect him in such a way? His cock stirred. He listened after Pierre left while she moved silently about her room. When Luc arrived Lorn could almost see the male flirting with her. He cursed silently as he remembered the amorous appetite of the young elf. At the pubescent age of one hundred, Luc was still sowing his wild oats in whatever willing female he happened across. He realized Fatima must have presented a tempting package with her smooth ebony skin, full lips and exotic eyes.
He growled his displeasure as Pierre scolded his youngest son in lyrical Elvish.
“She’s off limits, you know this.”
“What’s the big deal?” Luc pouted. “Lorn has shared with me before.”
“Not this time,.”
“Perhaps we should let the lady decide. I caught her checking out my ass. She was obviously interested.”
Lorn’s initial growl changed to a full-fledged challenge he was certain both elves heard even at his distance. The following silence was answer enough. Luc wasn’t so smitten as to accept a gargoyle’s challenge – especially if the gargoyle was Lorn.
Lorn redirected his focus back to Fatima’s bedroom again as she quietly padded to the adjoining bath. He heard the gentle thud when her clothes hit the tiled floor. It was soon followed by the spray of the shower. He could picture her naked, upturned dark nipples coated to a glistening sheen by the water, begging to be kissed and suckled. He willed his body under control with effort which left him visibly shaken. He couldn’t remember a woman ever having the same effect on him. He only knew he had to have her and soon.
***
Fatima drifted from the edge of sleep into wakefulness as a knock sounded on the heavy wooden door.
“Yes?” she called, pulling herself into a sitting position.
The door opened quietly on well-oiled hinges, admitting a slender woman with blond hair hanging loosely to her waist. She regarded Fatima with curious blue eyes. Pierre’s daughter, Fatima assumed, taking in the shy beauty.
“Dinner will be served shortly,” she announced.
“Thank you,” Fatima answered, pushing wild curls from her face. She hadn’t bothered to blow dry her hair after the shower, and the result was thick curly ringlets swarming to take over.
“If you’d like I can wait for you,” the girl offered.
“Yes, please,” she agreed, hurrying from the bed to the bathroom where she could repair the damage of a couple hours of comfortable sleep.
“I’m Sara,” the girl volunteered from the bedroom while Fatima secured her hair once more in a neat ponytail.
“Fatima,” she answered, taking a wet cloth to her face. She hadn’t meant to sleep so deeply, but evidently her fatigued body needed the break. She gave herself a quick once over. Her makeup free face wasn’t exactly glamorous but it would have to do. She took in the white T-shirt hugging her upper body. The word ‘Adorable,’ pronounced in hot pink glitter, matched the knee length, breezy skirt she wore.
“Ready,” she declared as she rejoined the waiting young woman.
Sara nodded, causing unhampered corn silk curls to fall slightly forward. Fatima resisted the urge to tuck the shiny strands behind her ears to keep it from her face when Sara made no move of her own to do so. Maybe the caps were for men only.
“You’re Pierre’s daughter?” Fatima asked as she followed the woman down the long corridor then stairs she’d taken earlier.
“Yes. I’m the youngest of seven,” she supplied in her nearly flawless English. “My brother Luc is just a few years older.”
“Seven, wow.” She couldn’t suppress the envy in her voice. “I’m sure you all kept your parents busy.”
Sara giggled, her innocent laughter reminding Fatima of a child. “An understatement indeed.”
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling, but six, I couldn’t imagine.”
“I liken us to a dysfunctional Brady Bunch minus the step-parents and Alice.” Obviously her brother Mike wasn’t the only of Pierre’s children to spend some time state side. She led, Fatima down another corridor on the lower level where they passed a formal dining room.
“You’l
l be eating outside,” Sara answered her unasked question. “It has the best view of the garden. Here we are,” she announced after a few more turns.
Fatima stepped through the double doors onto the granite tiles.
“I trust you slept well?” Lorn asked, seeming to appear from the shadows.
“Yes, thank you” Fatima turned, plastering a smile on her face yet silently cursing her pulse’s erratic beats.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He took another step forward, leaving little room between them.
She gasped at the sight of him; again his dark hair was secured by his signature band. He wore a gray shirt with the first few buttons undone and white linen pants which hung perfectly off narrow hips.
“Have the food brought out please,” he gently directed at the young woman although his gaze never wavered from Fatima.
“You have a lovely home,” Fatima complimented, resisting the urge to put distance between them.
“Perhaps after dinner I can give you the full tour?”
“Yes, I’m particularly eager to see your vaults.”
“Of course. Shall we sit?” He finally stepped aside to reveal an intimate circular table. Two candles glowed from round crystal containers.
Fatima could feel his eyes on her as she preceded him to the table.
He stopped to pull her chair out and leaned to whisper in her ear. “You are more beautiful than I remembered.”
“Thank you,” she managed. “But I’m not here because of my looks,” she reminded him.
“Of course not,” he agreed, taking his own seat.
“And while we’re on the subject, I feel I should remind you of our agreement.”
“I am well aware of our previous conversation.”
“Good.” She took a deep breath if only her body could remember to not respond like a hormone crazed teen merely at the sight of him all would well.
Chapter Four
Thirty minutes into her tour, Fatima felt thoroughly lost. They’d briefly met the small army it took to run the place. She seriously entertained the thought of making up nametags for everyone until she got them straight. As she noted earlier with Pierre and Luc, all of Lorn’s employees, with the exception of a couple of women, wore the same knit caps. Her earlier suspicion of some medieval caste system came back to mind. Would he insist she wear one of the drab hats as a member of his staff? Better to wait until he broached the topic before lodging her formal complaint.
“Do you hand out maps to visitors?” she half joked as he showed her a library any university would applaud.
“I don’t get many visitors and lately I’ve been doing more traveling. This is the first time I’ve been here in over a year.”
“Well may I be the first to request a personal tour guide for the first couple of weeks at least.”
“I’d be more than happy to accompany you until you get you get the lay of the land,” he offered.
No, thank you. The lease amount of time she spent in his presence the better she would feel.
“Where exactly are your vaults,” she continued, ignoring his suggestion.
“Everything you’ll need is in the east wing.”
East wing. How many people could use the term in reference to their homes?
“How long have you had this place?”
“It’s been in my family for generations,” he answered easily. No need telling her he personally picked the location and laid the first stones for its foundation. “I have made several modernizing upgrades but for the most part she is as she was over six hundred years ago.”
“Unbelievable. If only these walls could talk.”
Lorn blanched at her comment. He didn’t need a recanting of its history; it was all permanently etched in his memory. His own mother had roamed these very halls for a year after its completion before the fateful night.
They passed through a metal security door camouflaged behind a heavy oak one. Lorn rattled off the six-digit code for her benefit as he punched it into the keypad.
“To the left is the room housing all texts we have collected over the years. To the right are a series of sterile research rooms where you can perform your carbon dating and biological research. Which would you like to see first?”
Fatima swallowed to remove the lump forming in her throat. “I’d like to see the texts.”
Lorn nodded, leading her through another secured door, this one responding to hand scans from a panel. “To minimize any foreign contamination, you must always scrub up and wear one of the sterile gowns over your clothing.” He indicated both a sink and metal wardrobe where several long-sleeved lab coats hung.
For a hoax he’d gone all out. Sterilized and properly adorned, they entered another adjoining room which closely resembled a library in spite of its metallic walls and shelves. One wall was completely covered with aged books in an assortment of bindings, each shelf depicting its own numerical value.
“These,” Lorn began, indicating the wall unit,” are divided by year and language of origin.”
“Language?” She looked at him in surprise. “Exactly how many languages are we talking?”
“About ten,” he answered nonchalantly. “Four, of which should present no problem for you. The others I will aid you with.”
“How did you know I spoke four other languages?” She turned on him, temporarily forgetting the gold mine in front of her.
“There’s little about your background I don’t know,” he answered matter-of-factly.
It stood to reason anyone who’d invested so much money in security and acquiring her services had investigated every aspect of her life. He probably knew things about her she didn’t know herself.
“You said these were family texts. How could that be in ten different languages?”
“My ancestors were collectors, and went to great lengths to acquire materials,” Lorn supplied. “Have you seen enough for this evening?” he asked after she’d skimmed several items on the shelves.
“Yes. I mean I’d like to see the biological facility too, but I can wait until the morning.”
“Good.” He helped her dispose of her robe, making sure to turn out each light. “Breakfast is served after seven. I’ll make sure someone calls up before.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m curious about something.”
“Hmm?” She was already making mental notes of things she would need to do the following day. Hoax or not he had some intriguing looking journals she couldn’t wait to get her hands on.
“Why did you remain a virgin for so long?”
Whatever she’d expected it wasn’t for him to spring a question like that on her.
“How… how do you know?” she stammered angry at herself for letting her guard down,
“It was pure conjecture until now, but thanks for the confirmation.”
The smug smile on his face made her want to scream.
“You couldn’t have possibly guessed something so personal from a background check.”
He shrugged. “You’d be surprised what can be uncovered, but in your case there was no skeletons to be found; No teenage rebellion; no embarrassing college moments caught for posterity. Although I attribute the latter to you having been far younger than the average college student.”
When she would have walked away he secured her arm in his grasp.
“But you’re all woman now, so why the wait?”
“I… I don’t see how it’s any of your business,”
“You’re intelligent, beautiful, with a body made for sex – hot, long sex,” he added.
Fatima gasped, when he pressed her against the door separating them from the lab.
“Were you always surrounded by men more eager to plow through books instead of your lush body, or have you been waiting for someone like me?”
“I’m not waiting for anyone, least of all you. There are things more important than sex.”
“That may be true, but most are not as much fun.”
&nb
sp; “I’ll take your word for it.,” she said, trying not to be affected by his close proximity. Mere inches separated them and she could feel the heat generated by his body.
“So what are you waiting for?” The hand holding her arm dropped to mold her hip.
“I’m not going to discuss my personal choices with you.”
“Good, talking isn’t exactly what I had in mind anyway.”
Before she could make a move to stop him, he dipped down to brush his lips against hers. Fatima’s gasp allowed him to easily slip his tongue between her teeth. A slow burn began to bubble in her at his tongue play. She tried to resist the urge to kiss him back but found herself wanting every stroke until it became an unquenchable need. A rumbling sound escaped from somewhere within him as he gathered her close. Her feet barely touched the floor. He trailed heated kisses down her neck, nipping gently on her skin. The feel of his questing mouth was her undoing. Forgotten were all of her previous misgivings and protests.
The need to touch and taste her consumed him. Lorn responded to her like a man deprived of his heart’s desire, lifting her more until her shirt-clad breasts were level with his seeking mouth.
“Wrap your legs around me,” he demanded. At her hesitation he latched onto a sensitized nipple visible through her shirt. His teeth gently plucked it before suckling it into his mouth entirely.
Fatima arched her back against the sensation and complied.
Impatient with the barrier between his mouth and the sweet taste of her skin, he pushed her shirt up enough to reveal a light blue satin bra. The contrast of the material against her dark silky skin sent another rush of blood to his already engorged penis. He wanted more than anything to take her against the door and push into her warm sheath.
