by Lyn Horner
BEGUILING DELILAH
Romancing the Guardians, Book Six
By
Lyn Horner
Available in digital format
Soon in print
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, organizations and events portrayed in this publication are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locals is purely coincidental.
Beguiling Delilah (Romancing the Guardians, Book Six)
Copyright © 2017 by Lyn Horner
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Cover graphics by Kim Killion, The Killion Group Inc.
Edited by Cissy Patterson
Author contact information: [email protected]
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLES BY LYN HORNER
DEDICATION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TEMPTING ADAM
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PRAISE FOR LYN HORNER’S NOVELS
Titles by Lyn Horner
Rescuing Lara
Romancing the Guardians, Book One
Decoding Michaela
Romancing the Guardians, Book Two
Capturing Gabriel
Romancing the Guardians, Book Three
Touching Charlotte
Romancing the Guardians, Book Four
Profiling Nathan
Romancing the Guardians, Book Five
Beguiling Delilah
Romancing the Guardians, Book Six
Romancing the Guardians Series: Part One
Books One thru Four
White Witch
Texas Devlins, Book One (novella)
Darlin’ Irish
Texas Devlins, Book Two
Dashing Irish
Texas Devlins, Book Three
Dearest Irish
Texas Devlins, Book Four
Texas Devlins 4 Book Bundle
The Perfect Gift
A Texas Devlins Christmas (novella)
Six Cats In My Kitchen
Photo illustrated memoir
**Anthologies Lyn is in**
Rawhide ’n Roses
2015 Rone Awards Finalist
Silver Belles and Stetsons
Western Romance Christmas Anthology
The Posse
Western Historical Anthology
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all the talented self-published authors
who go unheralded for their hard work and dedication to their craft.
As one of you, I know the joy and pain of putting your all into a book
only to see it languish on the virtual shelves.
Prologue
Dear Reader,
Beguiling Delilah (Romancing the Guardians #6) takes you on a life-and-death race across France and through the canyons of Utah and Arizona. The hero, Leon Tseda, is one of my favorite characters from the series. He’s no spring chicken, and neither is Delilah Moreau, the French Guardian Leon vows to save from her enemies, but they’re not too old for a second chance at love. Their journey is fraught with danger, excitement and steamy, mature romance.
In case you missed any of the earlier books in this epic series, here is a quick overview. First, there are seven Guardians, each sworn to protect a precious scroll containing a secret prophecy handed down from ancient Irish seers. Not to be revealed until mankind is ready to listen, the prophesies are in danger of being seized by vicious “Hellhounds” who want to use them for their own evil ends.
Rescuing Lara, winner in the 2015 Paranormal Romance Guild Reviewers Choice Awards, stars Lara Spenser, a psychic heroine who’s running for her life, and Connor O’Shea, a hunky ex-Special Forces biker Lara hires as her bodyguard. Irish folklore, an ancient prophesy, murderous villains, and steamy romance make this a wild ride.
Decoding Michaela features a heroine who can read minds. Michaela Peterson is stunned by news that her revered leader, the High Guardian, has been murdered. She’s attracted to Dev Medina, the handsome messenger, but fears he may be out to steal the scroll she guards. Can Dev win her trust and unlock her heart before the Hellhounds capture her?
Capturing Gabriel is set in the mountains of Colombia. When Gabriel Valdez is tracked down by a feisty Navajo beauty intent on convincing him to go to the United States with her, he instead takes her prisoner. Josie Tseda doesn’t count on falling for him. Gabriel doesn’t intend to trust her with his secrets or his love, but the heart has a mind of its own.
Touching Charlotte Introduces Charlotte Dixon, an empathic Guardian, and Tristan Jameson, an ex-NYC cop burdened by hidden pain. He needs healing and love, but how can a man romance a woman who can’t stand to be touched? Getting past Charlotte’s barriers while protecting her from Hellhounds proves his ultimate challenge.
Profiling Nathan is a chilling murder mystery/sexy romance. Guardian and ex-con Nathan Maguire just wants to make a living inking tattoos in Tampa, Florida, but when FBI profiler Talia Werner walks into his shop, she turns his life upside down. To save her pretty neck, he must help catch a serial killer. His deadly psychic gift may come in handy.
“Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.” ―Eskimo Proverb
CHAPTER ONE
“Sir, stop! You cannot go in there!” the young, red-haired receptionist cried in heavily accented English. Jumping up from her desk, she rushed to intercept Leon Tseda as he approached an imposing door that led to the inner office. She didn’t get there in time to stop him.
Ignoring her, he turned the gilded doorknob, opened the door and stepped across the threshold. He stopped there to take in the impressive room. He could fit his Navajo hogan and half of his modern house inside it.
Book cases lined the side wall to his right. Against the left wall stood an antique-looking table between a pair of upholstered chairs. Tucked in the far corner was a bar with glasses and bottles of liquor on shelves above it. Across from him, stretched a wall of windows curtained with gauzy white material.
With her back to the windows, a woman – Delilah Moreau, Leon assumed – sat typing on a computer at a big shiny desk with elaborately carved legs. Two more chairs stood at angles facing the desk.
Ms. Moreau looked up at his entrance and frowned. Her hair was black as midnight, like his own had once been. Cut short, it hugged her head like a shiny silk cap, framing her face with feathery points that made him think of a raven’s wings. She spoke sharply in French, a tongue he did not know.
Pushing past him, the receptionist replied rapidly to her boss in the same language, wringing her hands. “He speaks only English,” she added in that language, shooting him a resentful glance.
&n
bsp; “I also speak Spanish and Navajo,” he mildly corrected.
Ms. Moreau rose and stepped around her fancy desk. She wore a black dress with elbow-length sleeves that clung to her slim figure. Approaching him, her footsteps made barely a whisper of sound on the thick beige carpet. She halted a few feet away and crossed her arms, reddish-brown eyes snapping, reminding him of a spirited sorrel pony he’d once owned.
Tall for a woman, she was only an inch or two shorter than his five-foot-ten. Her short hair showed off high cheekbones, an up-tilted nose and those big fiery eyes. Her face was unmarked by age lines. He knew her to be in her forties but she could easily have been a decade younger. Patches of angry color stained her cheeks as he looked her over.
“Esme informs me she asked you to make an appointment to see me, but you refused. Instead, you come barging into my office unannounced. What is the meaning of this, sir?” she demanded in barely accented English. Then she pressed her lips into a tight line. They were painted the same bright red as her fingernails.
“I apologize for my rudeness, Miss Moreau, but this cannot wait. I am Leon Tseda. I have come to bring you to America for a conclave. You know of what I speak.”
Her eyes widened and her pale olive complexion lost its heated glow. She dropped her arms to her sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I am certainly not going to America or anywhere else with you. Now, please leave.”
Leon sighed. Turning to young Esme, he said, “I must speak with Ms. Moreau alone. Leave us, please.”
The redhead darted an uncertain glance at her boss.
“How dare you give orders to my employee?” the Moreau woman barked. “Get out of here before I call security.”
“Call them if you want to,” Leon said curtly, tired of her snooty attitude. “But know this, Malcolm Flewellen is dead.”
She gave a wordless cry and staggered, almost collapsing. Leon rushed forward to grab her arms and steady her, cursing himself for delivering the news so heartlessly. She stared at him, eyes huge and face paper-white with shock.
“Get water for her,” he told Esme.
The girl nodded and rushed to the bar, which had a sink and faucet. She ran water into a glass and brought it to him. He touched it to Miss Moreau’s quivering red lips.
Delilah opened her mouth and took a sip, hardly knowing what she did. Stunned, she continued to stare at the copper-skinned stranger who had just dropped a bombshell on her head. Malcolm dead? No, he couldn’t be. She refused to believe it.
Fighting to collect her wits, she pushed the glass aside and shook off the man’s restraining hand. “It’s alright, Esme. You can go,” she said, her voice sounding weak and thready to her own ears.
“Are you certain, Madame?” The girl eyed the strange looking American fearfully.
“Oui, I will be fine.”
As Esme walked out and closed the door, Delilah studied her uninvited guest. From his strong but weathered features, the fine lines fanning out from his wide-set obsidian eyes, and the deeper creases framing his chiseled mouth, she guessed him to be in his fifties. The steel-gray braids hanging over his shoulders and halfway down his chest gave further proof of his age.
Taken together with his coloring, the braids also suggested he was Native American. He’d said he spoke Spanish and Navajo. She assumed he must belong to that tribe. His yellow-brown buckskin jacket was creased and stained in a couple places and showed years of wear at the cuffs. Beneath the coat, he wore a red-and-black plaid shirt and faded blue jeans.
She hugged her midriff and cleared her throat. “How do you know Malcolm is dead? How do I know you are not lying?”
His eyes, as dark as obsidian, held her gaze unswervingly. “I know because his niece Lara told me. He was killed in an accident after someone tampered with his car. Lara was with him when it happened and was also hurt. She walks with a limp now and has a scar on her face. Here.” He ran a fingertip down his right cheek.
Delilah frowned, still skeptical. “Who are you that Lara would confide in you?”
“As I said, my name is Leon Tseda. I am Navajo. Lara and her protector, Conn, came to my homeland to escape those who killed her uncle. My daughter brought them to my hogan. Since then, more Guardians and their mates have come to stay, seeking refuge from the evil ones who want to capture them and steal the scrolls they guard.”
A cold chill raced down Delilah’s spine. He knew far too much about the ultra-secret circle to which she belonged. Either he spoke the truth or he had somehow learned of the Guardians’ existence, and he was the one attempting to capture them. She scowled, determined not to fall into a trap.
“You tell a fantastic story of matters I know nothing about. I think you are making it all up.”
One corner of his mouth crooked upward. “Lara thought you would need proof. She gave me something to show you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out an object. When he held it out for her to see, she gasped. It was the Celtic knot pendant Malcolm had given Lara at her initiation as his apprentice.
“She also told me to say she knows you and Malcolm were once lovers.”
“Mon Dieu!” She wobbled back a step. “How could she know such a thing?”
“Malcolm told her not long before he died. He wanted her to understand why you did not like coming to the conclaves. It hurt too much to see him after he broke with you.”
Delilah couldn’t speak. Sick with grief and humiliated by his knowledge of her affair with the High Guardian – the former High Guardian – she clutched her stomach and crossed unsteadily to her desk, sinking onto one of the side chairs.
“I can’t believe he is really gone,” she muttered in a ragged voice. Overcome with emotion, she covered her face and sobbed brokenly. She stiffened when a hand gently came to rest on her shoulder. Looking up through a veil of tears, she found the Navajo standing beside her.
“I am sorry for bringing you such bad news.” His obsidian eyes and sad smile conveyed sympathy. “I, too, lost someone I loved. Perhaps we can comfort each other.”
Mouth dropping open, she stared at him in shock. Was he suggesting what it sounded like? Anger roared through her like a flash fire. Shoving his hand away, she sprang to her feet. “How dare you? I want none of your so-called comfort,” she sneered.
He blinked and stared at her, dark brows shooting up in astonishment then dropping into a scowl over the knife-sharp bridge of his nose. “You think I speak of comforting you with my body?” He clenched his square jaw and shook his head. “No, that is not so. I only meant we might speak of those we loved, perhaps while you show me around your city. Nothing more.”
Delilah eyed him doubtfully for a moment then crossed her arms. “Regardless of that, for now you need to leave. I have work to do.”
The Navajo’s unblinking gaze never wavered. “I have nowhere to go and we must talk. I will wait outside.” He turned toward the door.
“Why don’t you go to your hotel?” she said to his retreating back. “Leave your mobile number with Esme and I will phone you later.”
Turning, he said, “My daughter made a reservation for me, but I do not know where the hotel is. And I have no cell phone, if that’s what you mean.”
She swore in French and shook her head. “You traveled to a foreign city without a communications device in this day and age? Unbelievable!” Throwing up her hands, she said, “I presume you took a shuttle here from the airport. Tell me the name of your hotel and I will phone for a taxi.”
Tseda shook his head, muttering a tight-lipped, unintelligible word – a Navajo swear word? – while extracting a crumpled piece of paper from his coat pocket. Flattening it out, he attempted to pronounce the hotel name, mangling it badly.
“Give it to me.” She held out her hand impatiently as he strolled across the room to hand her the paper. The address scrawled beneath the hotel’s address made Delilah grimace. “This place is not in a good part of the city.”
He shrugged. “It is all I can affor
d.”
She sighed in disgust. “Fine, wait outside. I will finish here and . . . think what to do. As you say, we need to talk.”
With a stiff nod, he left, quietly closing the door behind him. Two hours later, Delilah still hadn’t completed the report she was working on. Every time she tried to focus on the facts and figures in front of her, the news of Malcolm Flewellen’s death splintered her thoughts, engulfing her in a fresh wave of sorrow. She stared at the computer screen, seeing nothing while tears rolled down her cheeks, dripping onto the bodice of her dress.
Blotting her eyes with a tissue, she glanced at her slim gold wristwatch. It was late afternoon. She might as well give up for the day since she wasn’t accomplishing anything. She repaired her makeup then buzzed Esme.
“S’il vous plaît, phone Monsieur Villard and tell him I have been delayed with his report. I will contact him tomorrow.” The girl assented, and Delilah retrieved her cape-style black coat and handbag, both chosen to compliment the sleek Dior sheath she wore. Marching from her office, she found Leon Tseda sitting in the reception area with a dark blue duffle bag on the floor at his feet. Head bent, he paged through a financial magazine written in French that she was certain he couldn’t possibly read, much less understand. When he looked up, seeing her, he laid aside the magazine and rose.
