Captive Heart

by Anna Windsor

  “For you, I think the Carpetbagger will do, with the lobster and white truffle mac and cheese for an extra treat.” After Jack selected a wine, Andy said, “The Carpetbagger is a big filet stuffed with oysters. There’s spinach and mashed potatoes—and the sauce is made from Guinness and brown sugar. Like I said before, food shouldn’t be boring.”

  Andy handed her menu to the waiter.

  “And I’m betting you picked a dish named carpetbagger on purpose.” Jack handed his menu over and tried to gauge her reaction. He was sort of glad to note she seemed surprised.

  “There’s the whole Civil War and North-South meaning,” she said, trying to work it out. “Oh. But in general carpetbagger refers to an opportunist who shows up on the scene, loots, plunders, degrades the local culture, then splits when times get tough.”

  Jack tried to keep it light, but he needed to know where he stood. “Is that how you see me?”

  She didn’t give a flip answer or blow him off. Probably a good thing. Her eyebrows came together like she was sorting her thoughts, getting them in order, instead of trying to make stuff up on the spot. “I did at first. And now I’ve started to think you wanted me to. That you wanted all of us to see you as a carpetbagger so nobody expected you to be loyal, or put down roots, or finish what you started.”

  Her words felt like a fast slap, so sharp and on target that Jack’s skin stung. “That’s harsh.” He swallowed, trying to shake off the stun-gun effect of that much honesty. “But there’s probably some truth to it.”

  Andy put both of her hands on the table and laced her fingers together. The force of her gaze made Jack brace for a tough question or observation.

  “A friend of mine told me you have wind in your heart,” she said. “Is that the truth, or is that an image you’re trying to uphold?”

  Tough. Yep. “I heard that phrase about wind in the heart at Motherhouse Greece. It wasn’t flattering.”

  What to do here? Defend? Lie? Explain?

  Or just … answer?

  “There’s truth to that, too,” he admitted. “Both things. The wind in the heart—and the image I keep.”

  Please don’t ask me why.

  She didn’t, which gave him enough space to keep breathing and thinking and functioning. Jack wasn’t sure he’d ever been out with a woman who had such a spot-on sense of when to lunge in for the kill and when to back off. Andy might be dangerous in a lot more ways than he had realized.

  The wine and fondue arrived, and Jack got a few more minutes of reprieve as they sampled the rich, warm cheese. “This stuff spoils me for other dips and fondues,” Andy said. “Definitely not boring, and it’s hard to find any better.”

  “It’s great.” Jack took another bite. He didn’t go to nice restaurants often, and he’d never really slowed down long enough to wonder why.

  “I like the wine choice. Mount Veeder cabernet. Strong but not overpowering.” Andy raised her glass, and the wine looked almost purple in her glass as she sipped it. “How are you feeling?”

  Jack knew she meant physically, his body after getting shot. A lot easier to answer than questions about character or emotions. “Almost like new, which is damned surprising. That healing thing you do, it’s pretty powerful, but I can’t figure out why it worked on me.”

  She took another sip of wine. “We can do a little healing on non-Sibyls.”

  “The Mothers told me it didn’t work well on people with no elemental talent—and they were pretty clear that I don’t have any of that—but you’ve helped me twice, with the shooting and, before that, with my hearing.”

  Andy seemed surprised, then perplexed. Something else crossed her face then, a mix of confusion and shock, quickly covered by embarrassment. Maybe she’d just figured out why she’d been able to help him out with her healing talents—and she didn’t like what she realized? But whatever it was, she didn’t seem ready to share it. Instead, she said, “I guess water Sibyls are more able to help the nontalented. I’m still not good at healing. I need to learn a lot more, and I really need more practice.”

  Jack tasted his own glass of wine and enjoyed it. Strong, like she said, but not too strong. “You don’t have time to do everything on your list. It’s not possible.”

  Her smile looked a little sad. “Hardly ever.”

  “If you’re a Mother, why do you fight?” He set his glass back down and waited, because this was one of the things he’d found most difficult to understand.

  “Because I need my time on the streets, my time in a group to learn and understand and grow. One day I’ll spend all my time at the Motherhouse, but not until I’m a lot older.”

  Jack thought about how long Sibyls lived and felt inadequate for a moment. Thirty years from now, Andy would still be lithe and beautiful, still fill out that incredible green dress like nobody’s business—but he’d be an old guy.

  Stay in today. You’re thinking like you’ll get to keep her forever.

  Which is exactly what I want.

  The thought was so sudden, so certain, Jack almost dropped his wineglass.

  Andy was talking about mug shots. Something about not seeing too many faces similar to the one she had been hunting. “Most of them are too young. I think I’m going to start on the upper echelon of all the local crime families. The bosses. Though I can’t imagine somebody high up agreeing to turn himself into a Frankenstein monster.”

  Reverting to work talk was exactly what Jack needed to keep his sanity, so he went with it. “Unless the boss wasn’t given a choice, or he didn’t have an option due to other factors.”

  “Good point. I’ll have Dio and Camille and the OCU search specialists poke around to see if any of the heavyweight players had bad injuries, or maybe got sick or something.” Andy’s wine was disappearing faster than Jack’s. “I know we don’t have reports of any of them going missing—well, any of them that haven’t shown up in pieces already. I think this was probably voluntary, even if the guy probably didn’t understand what the outcome might be. His family and his people aren’t looking for him, so it may be part of some plan.”

  Jack enjoyed more wine and more time looking at her. He liked the alertness and interest in her voice when she worked on her thoughts about cases. “You think any of this is related to the stuff dying in Central Park?”

  “Not directly, but Camille thinks she knows which beings might be responsible for the die-offs. The Host. Well, their actual name is the Sluagh.” She pronounced it “Slooa.” “They’re from around Ireland and Scotland, maybe Wales—all the old Celtic territory.”

  “What are they?”

  “Something like the Keres, an ancient race who made a treaty with the Sibyls to survive. Mythical, and not totally friendly. They likely blended with humans at some point to give rise to fire Sibyls in the first place. Some people say they’re a type of Fae, and other records call them fallen angels. In Irish fairy tales, they’re the Unseelie Court, or the Unblessed.”

  Jack downed the rest of his wine, reminding himself not to get too grim or serious—but shit. “Evil faeries. That’s just great. What the hell are they doing in New York City?”

  “We don’t even have a guess about that. They’ve never been known to come out of hiding and leave the British Islands. The Irish Mothers are going to attempt to contact the Sluagh still in Ireland to see if they can figure out why this is happening, but we don’t think the Host pose a threat unless we engage them.”

  “Or unless you have what they want. They have to want something to come all this way.” Jack went back to the dip, finishing off the silky cheese faster than he should have.

  “They’re watching the sorcerers, best we can tell. I can’t figure what Griffen and his bunch have that could possibly be important to them.” Andy glanced around, and Jack figured she was checking for the waiter to get them some refills.

  He looked around, too, but no luck. The guy had made himself scarce. “Some stolen artifact? Or maybe Griffen’s behind Frank and the supermobsters?
Or both?”

  “His group allied with the Rakshasa, but I don’t think humans could come up with the technology to manufacture Rakshasa demon blood.” Andy still had a bite of cheese dip on her plate, and she ate it with a floret of broccoli that came with the appetizer tray. “He’s probably helping whoever’s doing it, though, because we can’t find any traces of where the supermobsters are hiding.”

  “What paranormal group would have the technology to manufacture Rakshasa blood? The Host?”

  “Possible.” She leaned back in her chair, leaving both hands on the table. “But that doesn’t feel right. Not that I should be surprised, since none of this feels right anyway. The whole Rakshasa connection just doesn’t make any sense.”

  A small knot of tension formed in Jack’s gut, fighting with his cheese dip as he got to some questions that bothered him on deeper levels. “What about your connection to the Seneca crime family? Come up with anything on that front?”

  “Not a thing. I’ve never tangled with those guys that I’m aware of, and OCU swears they’re history, anyway. The old man pulled out and went back to the Balkans to regroup after we kicked his ass last year, and he had virtually nobody left except his sons and a handful of loyal locals.”

  “Some of whom are now genetically altered, demon-enhanced supermobsters.”

  The French onion soup arrived. Jack tasted his as Andy let out a low moan of satisfaction that got his blood boiling all over again.

  “It’s good,” he agreed, surprised he could still talk when he wanted her so badly.

  “Nothing like exciting food.”

  “And an exciting woman.”

  “You’ve got all the lines, Jack.”

  “Only with you, they’re not lines. At least, I don’t want them to be.”

  “I’m enjoying this, our teasing and playing. And those kisses before we got attacked—those felt special to me.” Andy put down her spoon and stared at it instead of looking at him, and Jack knew another moment was at hand, a moment where he could take a step toward winning her or get a head start on losing her forever.

  Don’t screw it up, Blackmore. Whatever you do, don’t screw it up.

  “I guess I’m just wanting to know where we’re headed. No bullshit and no lines. Where do I fit in your life, Jack? Somebody to warm your bed until the wind blows in your heart and you move on? The truth won’t put me off. It’ll just keep me realistic. I need that much.”

  Jack took a slow, deep breath. For a few seconds he tried to pick the best words, then tossed that idea and spoke from his heart. “I want you in my bed, but not just to keep me warm. You’re more than that.”

  Andy’s lips parted, and all Jack could think about was kissing her. He could lean across the table, or move it—or what the hell, just pitch the thing sideways.

  “How much more?” Andy asked him.

  He barely heard the words, barely kept his thoughts together enough to answer her. “Right now in my life, you feel like everything.”

  She didn’t say anything in response to that, and she looked away. A sobering thought pounded its way into Jack’s mind, and he voiced it before he considered whether or not it was a good idea. “Will I be the first since your loss?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack’s heart squeezed until he almost coughed from the pain in his chest.

  She sounded so soft. So scared.

  Right that second, he wanted to cradle her and keep everything in the world away from her—everything but him. He hadn’t wanted to be the first, but at the same time, he felt a roaring, thundering sense of triumph that he would be. Nobody else had her love, her attention. Nobody else had a claim on her, and damn it, nobody ever would.

  Don’t screw it up. Don’t … screw … it … up.

  “That’s a big step, Andy.”

  She met his gaze again. Pain and anger flashed across her face. “If you’re not comfortable taking it with me—”

  “Stop.” Jack held up both hands, then made himself put them on the table. “I know you’ll have a lot of emotions, not all of them good, but I can take it.”

  Andy’s bottom lip trembled for a moment.

  Christ, was the woman trying to kill him? He was gonna end up tossing away the table between them before this was over, he just knew it. He hated the piece of wood for separating him from her.

  Yeah, go ahead and haul her out of here over your shoulder like a caveman. She’ll really appreciate that.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I don’t mean for this to be so complicated.”

  Jack had to use every bit of his physical and mental strength to keep his seat and keep his body still. He relaxed each muscle group as quickly as he could, then once more decided to speak from the heart instead of worrying about the words. “You’re a woman with so many layers I can’t even count them. Complicated goes with the territory.”

  Andy seemed to get hold of herself, to beat back the fear and old pain threatening to stand between them. She seemed to be relaxing, too, even though he figured they were both getting tense in new ways.

  “If we take this to the next level, just be straight with me, Jack. If you start thinking about moving on, I won’t cling—but tell me.”

  She stared into his eyes and he let her. He stared back. Here it was. He had his permission. He had his invitation.

  Don’t turn over the table and act like a caveman. Don’t screw it up. Speak from the heart and choose the right words.

  “We’re taking it to the next level.” Jack put his hands over Andy’s, enjoying how small her wrists and fingers felt compared to his—and giving thanks for the way she looked now, like she wanted him to touch her, like she wanted him closer.

  He lifted one of her hands and kissed it, letting the softness sink into his consciousness and keep him sane. “We’re taking it to the next level tonight, and I’m going to be right here.”

  Andy stood in Jack’s room on the second floor of the townhouse, taking in all the details. Spacious. A few leather chairs and a table near the fireplace, which was close to the door. A leather couch right in front of her. Big bed with a dark spread behind her. Nothing on the walls. Nothing on the dressers. They’d had “the talk” on the way here from the restaurant, about how Sibyls didn’t need contraception or conventional protection because their elemental energy defeated disease, and they chose the moment of pregnancy. That was all sane and rational. And Jack, he was downstairs checking in with the OCU so they wouldn’t be interrupted. Also sane and rational.

  Andy standing here in the middle of Jack’s private world, barefoot, the straps of her heels dangling from her fingers—that didn’t feel sane and rational at all.

  What the hell am I doing?

  She didn’t want to look at the bed. She realized she was shaking. This was wrong. It had to be wrong because it wasn’t Sal.

  Sal’s gone. Jack’s real and he’s here and he’s now.

  Handsome man. Smart and kind and understanding, despite the fact he worked not to show that softer side of himself to anybody. Damned sexy, too. And if she told herself the truth, the feelings he stirred in her—way different from what she’d shared with Sal. That relationship had been warm and peaceful and close. Safe. Yeah. Safe was a good word.

  And Jack?

  He’s got wind in his heart.…

  Behind her, the bedroom door opened and closed.

  Andy’s skin tingled. The room seemed to fill with Jack’s cedar-and-earth smell, with his male energy and the desire he radiated whenever he got close to her. She liked that sensation, and her fear doubled. Tripled.

  She tried to put the shoes down and ended up dropping them.

  Was it hot in here? She didn’t remember it being this hot. She knew she was turning red all over.

  Jack’s hands gripped her shoulders, but he didn’t turn her around. He massaged, firm yet gentle, working out the knots in her neck, then moving lower, to her bare arms, easing her hair carefully aside.

  Why can’t I stop shak
ing?

  Her dress had gotten damp, top to bottom. She made herself breathe, did what she could to keep her water energy in check. Jack came closer and the feel of his muscled chest against her back blotted out her sense of the real world.

  She leaned into him and closed her eyes. Felt his lips on her neck as he squeezed her elbows, her forearms. Kissing soft. Slow. Chills of pleasure covered her skin, and she kept shaking, only now she was pretty sure it was because she wanted Jack so badly.

  “Are you sure?” he whispered into her ear, setting off a new round of delicious shivering.

  Her breath came short and fast, but she managed a definite “Yes.”

  Invited, wanted, his palms slid from her arms to her waist, then up until he cupped her breasts. The soft fabric of her dress and the silk of her bra seemed like nothing between her skin and his powerful hands—nothing, but too much. He rubbed her nipples through the fabric and Andy moaned. Water pooled between her breasts as his hands moved again, behind her. Then her zipper opened and the damp dress slid off her shoulders and past her hips. The bra went just as fast, and he slipped it off her arms, freeing her, leaving her in nothing but her silk underwear. The fabric of his suit scrubbed against her back and legs, and she could feel his erection pressing into her.

  Definite yes. Definite.

  I need to quit shaking.

  He kissed her shoulders. The stubble on his chin tickled and burned at the same time, sliding across the moisture she couldn’t control. He cupped her breasts again, this time grabbing her nipples roughly as he bit her neck.

  Andy moaned louder, getting wetter all over, in all the wrong places and all the right ones, too. She leaned into him even harder, rubbing herself against his muscles, against the bulge in his slacks. The hot spot between her legs throbbed as he kept rolling the hard flesh of her buds between his big fingers.

  “You’re too beautiful for words.” The words came out low and jagged, and that only made Andy want him more. She pressed herself into his palms, teasing the fingers pinching her until bolts of pleasure shot all over her body.