by Cait London
Rolf hadn’t gone to bed since he awoke last night. In his routine midnight survey of Leona’s home, he was furious to find Owen Shaw’s pickup parked in her driveway.
“She should have known I was coming. That I was the one to have her. Leona sensed me that day I came into the shop, I know she did. She caught the pulses I sent to her. I saw her reaction,” he said to his mirror’s image. “Understand me well, Leona. I’m coming for you.”
He preened just that bit, twining a black braid around his finger. He found his undisguised reflection beautiful: sharply defined features, black, compelling eyes, and flowing black hair. It was the image he had imprinted upon each of the Aisling women. He wanted them to dream of him, to fear him. Because fear always served him well.
He focused on the mirror, on the image he wanted Leona eventually to see in the flesh. “Yes, I am the one powerful enough to make the curse come true. I will have the brooch and the power. Dream of me, Leona.”
Leona awoke to the sound of her own terrified screams. The image of the Viking chieftain walking toward her slowly faded.
This time, Owen’s image had replaced the blur of the chieftain’s face, the features rugged and dark and savage. A strand of his straight black hair crossed his brows, his eyes ice-cold beneath them.
The dream shredded with the echo of her own cry, “Don’t leave me here alone!”
Don’t leave me here alone. She’d cried the same at Joel’s funeral. But memories of her husband’s tender lovemaking contrasted with Owen’s stark possession; her sated body bore the aches created by the imprint of his powerful one. Her muscles had stretched to the limit to hold him, to fight him in that ancient man-woman war of pleasure.
He’d wanted to know who had held his sister’s bag…. His sister spoke of spirit women in the specific number three, as in the Aisling-Bartel triplets.
Leona tried to slow her racing senses. She tried to reassure herself that the first lovemaking she’d had in five years hadn’t backfired. That she hadn’t been branded in a way she couldn’t forget.
Her body at war with her heart and mind, Leona’s attempt to focus and calm failed. In one lithe movement, she rose to face the dawn; dim light filtered through the plantation blinds on the guest-bedroom window.
Owen had picked her up and carried her as if nothing could stop him. But she’d known one word from her could have ended the night, if not the hunger.
Out there on that dark, hot plane of passion, she’d sensed her own savage energy-thread reach out to hunt Owen’s energy and suddenly connect.
She’d connected with Owen on a level she hadn’t known existed in herself—something long, dark, and forgotten in her mystical DNA. Something very fierce and primitive had slipped from her keeping. She hadn’t realized she was a hunter, a predator, seeking to capture Owen’s unique blend of raw male energy.
Leona rubbed her chilled body. But then, her bloodline wasn’t Aisling’s alone, was it? Part of her heritage came from a race that needed adventure, that needed a challenge, a battle, to remain satisfied. “Owen is definitely a battle.”
She trembled as flashes of their lovemaking slid through her mind. She’d surprised herself with the need to capture him. They’d made love, but never the basic missionary position. Owen had been very careful to stop from moving over her, and to ease into another position.
In the stormy darkness of her instincts, Leona knew her fear of being crushed would rise into terror; it was an emotion she kept close. But in the hot, hungry whirlwind, she’d moved over Owen.
Owen’s big hands had roamed over her body, cupping her breasts, his face rough against her skin, his breath hot and uneven…. Perfect, a little savage, just right, no easy capture…. Did Owen always take a woman so hungrily? Or had he reacted to Leona’s unique primitive hunger?
Leona’s every instinct warned that Owen was dangerous, that her hunger for him could pierce her own protective shields.
Automatically reaching for the telephone before it rang, she picked up the receiver. “Hi, Tempest. No, I don’t want to talk about last night.”
The sound of wind and waves in the background told Leona that her sister stood outside her home’s deck overlooking Lake Michigan. “I couldn’t sleep,” Tempest said. “The fact that this guy comes from Montana, where Claire lives, has got me unnerved. You have to be careful, Leona.”
“I am very careful. That’s why I’ve decided not to see him again. At least not in a—”
“Bed?” Tempest supplied in a humorous tone. “I can feel it run through you, that liquid soft sense of being a woman, and very…feline. You’ve found something you want—or your body wants—and you’re going to go after it or rather, him. I don’t think I tapped into anything personal. I know you wouldn’t,” she teased.
Leona wasn’t in the mood for teasing. She’d crossed a very important line. She’d made love with a man she’d known for only a few hours, and their lovemaking hadn’t been ordinary. She’d given Owen something of herself, and she’d taken as well. “I don’t intend to come that close to him again. His sister said something about ‘spirit women,’ and she said ‘three spirit women.’ She just could be an extrasensory, too.”
That light, teasing energy flowing from Tempest stilled. “Then he might have it.”
“Because his sister is intuitive, or has some ability, doesn’t mean Owen is. It can skip generations or siblings. I didn’t feel anything like that from him.”
“No, you were too busy feeling. Sixth senses can be overridden by body responses, you know that. And you were all primed when he walked into Timeless. Admit it. Seduction is also a form of beguilement and gives power to the one who takes it. To seduce and challenge can be an addiction. The fact that you are unusually cautious and that you nailed this guy on the first night after you met him, tells me something is just not usual. And you’re afraid of him, aren’t you? Of what he could mean to you?”
Was it true? That her body’s need of Owen had blocked her usual psychic awareness of another extrasensory? His sister definitely had ability, but did Owen? Was her connection to Owen only physical? Or was it more?
Before Leona could deny Tempest’s suggestions, a male grumble sounded in the background. Marcus Greystone, her protective husband, was checking on his wife. A sensual warmth drifted lightly around Leona, and she knew that Marcus was caressing his wife. His low whisper caused Leona to smile. Marcus’s hunger for his wife wasn’t always shielded. “It’s damn early, Tempest. Come back to bed, honey.”
“Um…not now Marcus, I’m on the line with Leona.”
“Good early morning, sister-in-law,” Marcus stated loudly for Leona to hear. She understood the teasing tone; Marcus had plans for his wife that did not include Leona. There was a murmur as Tempest muffled the telephone, but Leona sensed an intense discussion.
She was right. Marcus took the phone, his tone changed to that of the no-nonsense businessman who ran the complex Greystone Investments. “I think I should come and check this Owen Shaw guy out,” he stated firmly. “It’s not like you to forget a dangerous situation, not only to you, but to your family, Leona. If he’s from Montana, this guy could be after you. With the recent attack on Claire, in Montana, it’s too much of a coincidence.”
While Leona appreciated her brother-in-law’s concern, she wasn’t ready for a takeover. As a top CEO used to running a business, Marcus sometimes wanted to handle the triplets’ lives, too. A financial empire builder, Marcus hadn’t had a real family, and now he considered every Aisling-Bartel, including Greer, to be under his personal protection. He meant well, but sometimes had to be gently put in his place. This was usually something Leona enjoyed immensely, but not at the moment. “Thank you for the lecture, Marcus, but I’ve already decided not to see him again.”
They’d clashed before and she knew that Marcus wasn’t paying attention to her hands-off signal. “You do that. Keep me posted. It’s a day’s drive down there from here, but I can fly our plane in faster. Let me kn
ow if you need me.”
Leona was still adjusting to her two brothers-in-law, both ready to assume protection of her. Both were of Viking ancestry and definitely macho. “Thanks. But I can handle it. I’m safe.”
“Sure. That’s what they all say. That’s what Tempest said before she was attacked, before we bonded. See? I’m getting used to this psychic stuff. Bonding with Neil and me has made Claire and Tempest psychically stronger, but you’re not there yet, kiddo. I know—you’re an adult, a capable, independent woman with one big fat attitude, yada yada. In short, you want me to butt out. But you’re alone, and I’m here for you—if you need me. Good talking with you, but my wife and I are going back to bed now.”
“You didn’t marry me, Marcus. You’re not taking me over,” Leona warned softly.
“Get used to it,” he replied in a teasing tone. “I’m family now. I hold the rank of a certified Aisling Protector. More than likely my ancestor was one of your ancestor’s men and pledged to protect the bloodline. According to the family’s dreams, all the men in Thorgood’s Vikings had gray eyes—except Borg. Neil has gray eyes…I have them. The equation isn’t exact science, but neither are the dreams you women have. This means I have rights. You may have to move over and let big brother handle things, Leona Fiona.”
“That will be the day.”
After Tempest’s giggling good-bye, Leona stood with her arms crossed, her breasts sensitized, and her body aching for more of Owen. But her family had a good point: Owen was from Montana, he could be dangerous, and she was evidently very susceptible. It was better not to see him again, before she became any more entangled. On the other hand, maybe it was just a one-night stand for him, and she wouldn’t have to face that problem. Some men just needed to “score,” then they were finished. If that was the case with Owen, she had nothing to worry about.
With that thought, Leona braced herself for the long workday ahead. She repeated her affirmation: She had nothing to worry about.
Except her own need of him.
When Leona parked in the alley behind her shop later that morning, Owen was sitting on her back porch, drinking from a Styrofoam cup.
Bracing herself, she got out of her car. Hitching her tote up on her shoulder, she walked toward him. Though she tried to appear unaffected, her senses had spiked, taking in everything about Owen: He’d shaved and changed clothes. His suit jacket hung on the handrail. It went well with his blue pin-striped shirt, open at the collar and fitting tightly to his broad shoulders. The tie draped around his neck was maroon and navy, colors that accentuated his dark coloring. When he stood, she noticed his neatly tailored slacks ended in polished dress shoes. Obviously expensive, his suit wasn’t off the rack. In contrast to yesterday’s Western family man, Owen looked sleek, hard, and set to do business.
His eyes hadn’t left her, quickly taking in her violet blouse and dark purple slacks, her serviceable black pumps. His gaze skimmed the brooch on her blouse, then he crushed the cup in his hands, tossing it into the Dumpster with a look of distaste.
“Chai—not very good,” he explained. He picked up a sleek metal laptop case and came down the steps to meet her. “How are you?”
He studied her face and she was certain he must be seeing the well-sated, smirking sexy woman her mirror had revealed. The morning’s Cheshire-cat look had seemed foreign to Leona’s usual businesswoman facade. After a second glance, she had attempted to cover the shadows beneath her eyes with extra concealer. It wasn’t easy, not with a scarf over her mirror. She didn’t want her resemblance to Aisling to appear, not after her night with Owen. “I’m just peachy. You?”
“Let’s just say it’s been a long night.”
Leona understood that remark to mean she’d worn him out. She didn’t appreciate the reference because it was probably true. That slight red mark on his throat was from her teeth, an uncomfortable reminder that in Owen’s arms, she’d shed control. Uneasy with her emotions and the potential danger to her family, she moved past Owen and up the steps. Once she was safely on the back porch, she turned to look down at him. “I don’t want to see you again.”
“We have to talk.”
Leona wasn’t in the mood for a replay. Even now, as they stood close, she didn’t exactly trust herself. Her instincts told her to leap upon him, take that hard mouth, slide her hand into the open shirt collar to stroke that powerful chest and lower. From there, if Owen reacted as he had last night, they would need to find somewhere private—and quickly.
But Owen had wanted to know too much about her family, and she would protect them with her life. “Last night is over.”
The morning sunlight shone in his hair in blue-black shades, that one strand crossing his forehead. His expression hardened, the lines around his mouth deepening, as he glanced at her brooch. “You wore that yesterday. Any special significance?”
Only that it was a replica of the real Viking brooch, a very important physical connection to her family. “It just happened to be lying there when I got dressed.”
Owen’s silver eyes narrowed as if he didn’t believe her answer. He checked his wristwatch and inhaled impatiently. “I’ve got a business meeting in half an hour, and we need to talk more.”
“I see. Business should always come first.” How could she possibly want more of him? But she did, and that he had other “business” irritated, an illogical, emotional, and unsettling contrast to how she should be feeling.
“You like to make things difficult, don’t you?” A muscle moved in Owen’s cheek, and his lips tightened. His impatience showed clearly as he explained, “I’m doing a lot of things these days, including meeting key people and getting acquainted in business circles. I’m renovating the farm, and that takes time. But I need to set up contacts and networking, too. There’s a breakfast this morning for the local businessmen’s association, and I want to sit in. I really don’t know how I’m going to handle everything just now. A lot depends on Janice. She might do well if we got into thoroughbreds here. We could handle a few at the farm. Racing could come later, I don’t know. Everything is on hold until I see how she does.”
“I fully understand your concern for your sister. But you’re not obligated to me. I don’t need explanations.” Did Owen feel as though he had bonded with her? Or was Leona alone in the sense that their energy had mated, just as their bodies had joined?
His eyes searched hers. “I just want you to know where I stand.”
Owen’s tone carried bitterness as he glanced at another shop owner, unlocking a back door to the shop near Leona’s. He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin, his stance reflecting his pride. Those straight black lashes shadowed his eyes, the planes of his face harsh, skin gleaming against his high cheekbones. “We grew up dirt-poor. I learned the hard way that appearances, associations, and money count. And I’ve got to provide for my sister’s care. Private nurses and caretakers are expensive.”
Those gray eyes shifted back to her. “My sister wants to meet you. Janice believes you are her special ‘spirit woman.’ I think you can help her. Will you?”
Leona held her breath. An invitation to meet family wasn’t the clean break she’d wanted. “What makes you think that I can help her?”
“Does the name Greer Aisling and the Bartel triplets mean anything to you?” Owen asked, coming up the steps once more and handing her a folded paper. The computer printout was a twenty-two-year-old event that Leona knew well—the photo of her mother and the triplets took her back to that horrible time. The headline screamed at her: WORLD-FAMOUS PSYCHIC SUES ESP CLINIC AND OTHERS.
Leona trembled as she scanned the too-familiar story, but the words had already been burned into her memory:
Greer Aisling, a world-famous psychic, residing in an undisclosed location on the northwest Pacific coast has filed kidnapping and other charges against the Blair Institute for Parapsychology. Aisling, a widow, had been called into work with a Canadian police force to find a missing boy. Her triplets, aged ten year
s old, had been left in the Aisling estate under the care of their long-term guardian and housekeeper.
Reportedly, Ms. Aisling had refused the institute’s efforts to test the home-schooled children. On the suspected charge of abuse and without the mother’s knowledge and consent, the triplets had been extracted from their home. They were placed in the care of the Blair Institute Child Studies Program for testing.
The children are back now in the care of their mother who has already filed several lawsuits and promises more. Observers note that the triplets seem to be well cared for and strangely gifted.
The article said nothing about the electrodes, the probing examinations, the responses to tests, the way the triplets were isolated from each other and strapped down…
“That’s interesting,” Leona managed, as images of her and her sisters’ trauma flipped through her mind, each one horrible—each one reminding her that she had been unable to save her sisters.
“Terrible thing to happen to a child,” Owen said softly.
“Yes, I suppose.” Grateful that her voice revealed none of the terror she’d momentarily relived, Leona shrugged.
If he only knew how terrible. Leona’s hand trembled as she quickly handed the printout back to Owen. If she could, she’d get rid of the past as easily. Her family had been well researched. Anyone wanting to harm them could find information easily. Why was Owen so interested in her family, and in her?
On the defensive immediately, ready to protect her family and herself, Leona fought for a bland expression. She had to hide the stark emotions chilling her now.
Owen’s sister had spoken of three spirit women, and he’d linked that to the Aisling-Bartel triplets—and researched their lives. Why?
She’d just taken a lover who might be dangerous to her family, and to herself. She’d let her guard down for one night with Owen.
Her senses prickled as if she’d been probed, someone noting her every expression, picking at the slightest nuances in her body language, her tone. If Owen were an extrasensory, he was standing too close, within her field of energies.
