by Julie Leto
“Don’t be afraid,” he said.
She shoved her chin out defiantly. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be, my dear. You should be.”
Nineteen
“I am your slave.”
Lauren coughed, though it was more like a splutter than an innocent clearing of the throat. “Say again?”
Aiden glanced down at the parchment—er—paper, that Lauren had given him and rechecked the words he’d been instructed to recite. It was bad enough that the stage direction forced him to his knees in front of her. Then he had to declare his thrall as well?
He took a deep breath before speaking. “I am your slave,” he repeated. This time each word was clipped and curt. He was quickly losing his patience with this folly, no matter what incentives she’d laid out for him.
She pressed her lips tightly together, suppressing, he suspected, the impulse to laugh. Damnable woman.
With a frustrated growl he threw the script to the floor. “I did warn you, my lady. I pride myself on honesty and forthright speech, not pathetic drivel. You ask me to pretend I am someone I am not and deliver declarations that are anathema to me, yet you chortle at my expense?”
“You’re not trying,” she insisted.
He cursed. “Lord, you are delusional. The fact that I am allowing such tripe to pass my lips denotes the greatest effort on my part.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth, failing to cover her laughter. He had the sudden urge to break something. An actor! Ludicrous! The entire premise of her film lacked credulity. A warrior on par with the likes of Achilles and Agamemnon driven by sexual need to subjugate himself to a woman?
“This man is a toy. No real soldier would make such a declaration.”
She quelled her laughter. “He’s not real. He’s a figment of the writer’s imagination, and I’m betting this scene was written by a woman who understands women’s fantasies.”
Pouting must have been invented for lips like hers, but he would not be swayed. At least, not yet. He required more convincing than she had yet offered, though her enticements so far had been incredibly persuasive.
“The only woman whose fantasies I wish to fulfill is you,” he declared. “I suspect you need to find another fool to promenade like a lovesick peacock for all the world to see.”
She dropped to her knees and placed a soft kiss on the tip of his chin, then one on each corner of his mouth. He held tight to his resolve and remained stoically disinterested. Unless she touched his cock. The damned body part would give him away. Otherwise he’d discovered that he could be a tolerable actor when given the right incentive.
“You only have four words to master tonight,” she coaxed. “Then you’ll have the rest of the night to help my body clock adjust to the night shift. It wasn’t easy for me to convince Michael to shoot your scenes at night. He only gave in because he’s still freaked out over my accident.”
“Four inane wards,” he griped.
“You’re just not in the right frame of mind, but if you let me”—she pressed close to him so that her nipples grazed his chest through her insubstantial attire—”I can help.”
She snaked her hands around his neck, bracing her thumbs just behind his ears and pulling his face so that his lips had no other option but to crash against hers. Instantly she parted her lips and thrust her tongue inside his mouth, with no other goal than to arouse him completely. And as with every other time she’d attempted such a diversion with Aiden, she was wholly successful.
Boldly she pressed her pelvis against his, undulating so that the friction caused an immediate rise in both his body temperature and his lower regions. With her curvaceous flesh draped in little but a swath of silk secured with a golden cord, her pale curves made his mouth water and his muscles tighten. A rush of hot blood through his veins topped off a lust-induced delirium he could barely resist. Now, this was insanity he could appreciate.
On the one hand, he was quite regretful that he had refused to don the costume she’d procured. With nothing more binding him than a few straps of leather and a swatch of fabric, he could be inside her right now, feeling her hot flesh encasing his, rather than fighting over meaningless words spoken by people who did not exist.
Then the vibration of her laughter against his mouth alerted him to the instantaneous change in his attire…followed by a cool breeze around his arse and her hand wrapped tight around his sex.
“See?” she teased. “I told you I could make you love your costume.”
His brain battled between the pleasure shooting through his body as she stroked and the fact that he’d just changed into the costume with a single errant thought. Though he’d used Rogan’s magic freely on the night Lauren had freed him, he’d been reluctant to invoke the power since. Rogan’s sorcery was not to be trifled with. Like waves from a raging ocean, the sensations of the ebbing and flowing magic chilled him to the bone.
Luckily, Lauren seemed intent on stoking a fire that could melt steel.
“You’re wicked,” he teased her, turning his thoughts away from their dark direction.
She smiled. “You’re only now noticing?”
Mercifully, she’d released his manhood and had turned her attentions to his bared backside. “What else can you do with the magic?”
“I do not want to know.”
She pulled back, surprised. “Why not?”
Aiden considered her question and decided to answer honestly. “The magic stirs something within me that reminds me of war.”
Her bottom lip dropped slightly. “I can’t imagine.”
“No, my lady,” he said, an unfortunate snap in his voice. “You cannot. Men under my command died at my feet, their bowels torn open by the slash of a traitor’s sword. Infantrymen I’d broken bread with but the night before spent the morning slaughtering the children of our enemy. Unlike your films and Rogan’s magic, what I saw at Culloden, what I lived, was very real.”
Silence reigned while she processed what he couldn’t believe he’d said aloud. He’d never shared with anyone a single detail regarding the great battle at Culloden. Had time and distance given him the freedom to finally speak about what weighed so heavily on his heart?
Her hand shook as she slid her palm over his cheek. “Rogan’s magic is real, Aiden. It’s what brought you to me.”
“It’s evil.”
“Only in the wrong hands. You’ve possessed the magic for days now, and you haven’t turned into Rogan. He can’t change who you are.”
“You don’t know that,” he insisted. “With each day that passes, I feel a burning fire building within me. A rage and resentment that, if unleashed, could harm you.”
“But you haven’t harmed me,” she argued.
“Because when you touch me…” The hunger in his voice completed his thought. When she touched him, the memories faded and the burgeoning anger receded to a simmer he could control. But for how long?
She smiled sensually and slid her fingers into his hair. “Then I’ll have to touch you more often, won’t I?”
But a squeal from a box near the door waylaid her from fulfilling her delicious promise.
“Hold that thought,” she instructed, crossing the room quickly and pressing a button on the base of the device. “Yes, Gino? Let them through.”
Aiden closed his eyes and despite his increased ire, concentrated on restoring his waistcoat, breeches and shirt.
“And how am I supposed to explain eighteenth century clothing?” she asked, stalking across the room and scooping up one of the many fashion magazines she kept on her coffee table and shoving one into his hands. He thumbed through, found a look that wasn’t entirely foreign—slim slacks and a shirt that buttoned down the front—and invoked the magic so that he wore exactly the same combination. A bubble of tar-like darkness stirred in his belly, but she kissed him long and hard until the sensation subsided.
With a twinkle in her eye, she broke away. “I think I’m going to like keeping the magic in line.”
She turned toward the entryway, but as he had no idea who was coming up to the house in the dead of night, he changed her clothing as well.
She glanced down at the sufficiently modest frock and skewered him with a deadly look.
“You want a kiss for this? Not exactly Roberto Cavalli, are you?”
“Who?”
“My favorite…never mind. Look, why don’t you stick to soldiering and allow me to choose my own wardrobe?”
She flipped through the magazine, pointed at a snug jacket worn over equally revealing pants and tapped her finger impatiently.
“Who calls on you at this late hour?” he demanded, crossing his arms and ignoring her request.
“Helen,” she replied curtly.
He supposed he need not cover her completely for another woman. Unimpressed by her choice, he grabbed her hand, yanked her to him and kissed her soundly while he conjured the sleepwear she’d worn after her shower—loose-fitting drawstring pants and a cropped T-shirt. He’d found the combination casual, but sensual in a way that could, in his opinion, withstand public consumption.
She smacked her lips and spun around. “Once I get you trained, you’re going to save me a bundle in haute couture.”
Her laughter followed her into the hallway, but Aiden remained behind. His mood had instantly turned sour, and not because of the magic. If Helen, who’d planted the idea of Aiden’s becoming an actor into Lauren’s mind, could tend to her business without his involvement, his night would not be a total loss.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel and realized he had just shy of five hours of solid form left. He certainly did not want to waste such precious moments exchanging small talk with a woman who had absolutely no idea who he really was. She’d assumed—and Lauren had not corrected her—that he was simply some attractive lover Lauren had taken into her bed. Aiden saw no reason to challenge her assumption, particularly since she wasn’t entirely mistaken, though the breadth of his true identity, he guessed, she’d never truly believe.
Lauren’s recovery had progressed nicely. Three days at the hospital followed by four in relative seclusion at home had restored her to her former strength and vigor, as well as given Aiden time to adjust to this new century. She’d told him what she could about technological advances, from air-conditioning to computers, and had, the night before, taken him on a drive through Los Angeles, a city that fed on the night just as he did. He had not yet processed all he’d seen and experienced, but the more he learned, the closer he came to determining his next move.
Though he tried to deny the truth, he had begun to realize how the curse yoked him tighter with each dawn. In the daylight he returned to his prison within the sword, and each sunset it was harder to throw off the resilient ugliness that seeped into his soul. To Lauren he must appear entirely insatiable, with the sexual appetite of a starving man, but in reality he was simply attempting to hold on to what was left of his humanity.
In the shadow hours, he wondered if any of his brothers had suffered this same fate. He tortured himself with the possibility that Rogan himself had beaten death and still existed in this world. And if that were the case, Aiden had no choice but to find him and destroy him. The years had not lessened his rage—they’d fed it to all-consuming proportions.
But to achieve his revenge, Lauren had to free him entirely, and while her mind was preoccupied with her recovery and with her film, she was not motivated to do more than enjoy his company when darkness fell. If he took this role in her film, he’d be one step closer to freedom from the sword. Yet the longer he toyed with Rogan’s magic, the more lost to the darkness he feared he’d become.
With no other choices, he’d decided to do as she asked. However, giving in easily to her request would not elicit the unequivocal gratitude he might require from her. He’d never known a woman who needed him less. He had to balance the scales. He had no idea what sacrifices she’d have to endure to gain his release from the sword and the curse.
“Well, looks like you’re off the hook,” Lauren announced, strolling into the room with Helen on her arm, and behind them the man who’d pressed his lips against Lauren’s when she had been knocked unconscious by the electric shock. From what Aiden had heard from the hospital staff, the man had saved Lauren by breathing into her lungs when she could not, but Aiden could not forget how he’d touched his mouth to hers with a passion that defied simple lifesaving techniques.
When they reached the center of the room, Lauren waved her hand lazily at the man.
“Helen apparently has found a replacement for you,” Lauren announced.
The man smirked.
Aiden crossed the room in measured strides.
“An impossible feat,” he said, assessing the man boldly.
Helen slid in front of Lauren and slapped Aiden twice on the chest—the first time to garner his attention; the second with a whistle of appreciation.
“Yes, well,” she said, unhanding him after catching his disapproving eye. “We heard you weren’t exactly anxious to take to the screen, big guy, so I found someone who can’t wait to be with Lauren. On the screen.”
Aiden saw the challenge in Helen’s gaze and decided not to rise to her bait.
“You could have hired this man from the start,” Aiden assessed, folding his arms across his chest.
Helen arched a brow. “I needed convincing that he was the right man for the role. And trust me,” she said, conspiratorially quiet, “he’ll do the job just right. You, on the other hand,” she said loudly, her voice switching from secretive to sugary, “seem much better suited to looking after Lauren in a more private capacity.”
The way she could warp a few simple words into a sensual suggestion unnerved him. In his century, this Helen woman would have been either a courtesan or the mother of queens. Manipulation and cleverness brightened her eyes like jewels, though Lauren seemed so used to her friend’s maneuvering, she yawned.
“So you wish me to relinquish my role as Lauren’s on-screen lover, when my employment was initially your idea?” he asked.
She shrugged lazily. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind—or haven’t you heard?”
Aiden’s frown deepened when he noticed that the man who’d accompanied Helen into the house stood transfixed, unable to rip his gaze away from Lauren. His eyes gleamed with the kind of hunger that Aiden knew all too well. He arrested the man’s attention with a pointed question.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“This is—” Lauren started, but Aiden cut her off with a potent glare.
The man jumped as if startled, then tore his stare from Lauren and held out his hand, “David Drake.”
Their greeting was a crash and pump of male assessment. While the man had features that would have looked stunning on a woman, David Drake also possessed a decent, steady grip.
“Lauren’s new lover,” Helen announced. “Or Athena’s, at any rate.”
Lauren’s eyes flashed as she looked David over from head to toe in a manner completely unbefitting a woman.
“Then let’s do it. Got the camera?”
Helen produced a small electronic device, which she aimed at Lauren and David before Aiden could open his mouth to protest. Helen pushed Aiden out of the way, and Lauren launched herself into David’s arms. After a split second of surprise, the man relaxed and he melted into Lauren as if their bodies had been meant to meld together.
Then the bastard dropped to his knees, wrapped his arms around her legs and pressed his cheek to her thigh. “I am your slave.”
Aiden’s hand instantly shot to his waist, but he was without scabbard—without sword.
Lauren’s hand snaked down, fingering through Drake’s hair and around his jaw until she grasped his chin tightly and tugged him upward. He took his time rising, making love to every inch of her body with his eyes, lingering at her breasts, then staring into her sapphire blue irises with a mixture of devotion and power. Aiden fumed, suddenly feeling as
if he had stumbled into a private rendezvous between lovers. He took a step forward, but Helen, who’d sidled up beside him, grabbed him by the elbow and held him in place.
“You had your chance, hotshot. I think they’re fabulous together, don’t you?”
Watching their kiss pushed Aiden beyond control. Before any of them could act, Aiden broke them apart and sliced the conjured sword perilously close to the usurper’s traitorous neck.
“Aiden, no!” Lauren screamed.
“Where did that come from?” Helen asked.
Aiden did not reply.
“Take it easy, there, fella,” David pleaded, his voice tremulous. “We’re just acting.”
“You will not touch her. Ever. Again,” Aiden insisted, his teeth so tight his jaw ached.
“Aiden, let him go this instant or I’ll…”
Without moving an inch except to turn his head and lock gazes with Lauren, Aiden spoke. “You’ll what, my lady?”
Her mouth gaped, but no words emerged. With a stare meant to convey the full depth of his displeasure, he focused on her until she closed her mouth. During their exchange David Drake, who clearly was not a fool, had backed away.
From behind he heard applause. He turned to find Helen slapping her hands together and grinning from ear to ear.
“Now, that’s machismo,” she assessed. “And quick-reflexes. didn’t even see the sword when we came in.”
“That’s…what?” Aiden lowered the weapon, perplexed. He glanced back at Lauren and caught her sniggering behind her hand.
Drake stood with his arms crossed cockily over his chest. “Machismo. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of it. You practically ooze with it.”
Lauren’s hand on his arm dispelled his increasing ire. Aiden Forsyth liked a good laugh as well as any man, but he certainly did not appreciate being the butt of the joke. “This was—”
Helen clapped him on the shoulder. “Acting. When I called earlier, Lauren told me you were having a bit of trouble drawing on the right emotions. So we set up this little scenario. Of course, I didn’t expect you to nearly slice David in half.”
