“Not ... yet.”
She knew where this was going and she couldn’t do it. Lann was a keeper, but he didn’t keep. She knew it from the gossip snippets, but also from intuition. She got up abruptly. “It’s getting late.”
“Of course.”
He immediately pushed back his chair. His compliance both surprised and disappointed her, and the latter sentiment scared her. But Lann acted oblivious to her turmoil. He took her hand and led her down the dimly lit hallway past the garden that was dark now, except for two spotlights that cast the trees and shrubs in a veil of green light. Every part of her body was aware of his strong fingers folded around hers. Her nerve endings came alive, making her skin tingle with an electric crackle. Even if she wanted nothing more than to escape the disturbing sensations, pulling away would only demonstrate that she was affected, so she did nothing but to experience it in silence.
At the library, he stopped, took a key from his pocket and unlocked the door.
“What are you doing?” she said.
“I want to show you my library.”
“I’ve had the tour.”
“But not by me.”
He ushered her inside until she stood in the center of the room. During the day, the broad windows let in plenty of natural light, but now they were dark, and the dim ceiling spots cast the wood in a warm glow that washed over her with the welcome scent of the ink and leather. Lann flicked on the overhead light, and, as always, she looked at the spines with the embossed gold titles in awe.
He led her to the back of the room where the most fragile books were displayed in a glass cabinet, and surprised her by unlocking the door with a cylinder key from his keychain.
“Would you like to touch them?” he said very softly, close to her ear.
She put a bit of distance between them and dared to glance at him. “You’d let me?”
He opened a drawer under the cabinet and pulled out a box of white gloves.
“Here.” He handed her a pair.
She started to pull them on, but her hands were shaking and she battled to fit her fingers in the holes. Suddenly, his hands were on hers, finishing the task with sure, strong movements.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, trying to appear casual.
“Old verses about magic. One of my favorites.”
He moved behind her. His chest brushed up her back. The heat from his body penetrated her clothes. His arm came around her and then he took her hand and placed her palm on the page, his big hand covering her gloved one.
Her heart and breath started to do funny things. She should have only wanted to lift the book from the padded interior, to turn the pages, to hear the crackling of the paper, but all she could focus on was the tall Russian who manipulated her hand, working her fingers to gently turn the pages. Her body felt hot, her mind fuzzy.
“Why the interest in old books?” she said in an attempt to steer her thoughts away from this touch.
He gripped her chin and tilted her face up to him. “Do you always talk your way out of situations you feel uncomfortable in?”
Her eyes widened at his arrogance. And at the truth of his observation. She opened her mouth but found no words of defiance.
Thankfully, Lann let her off the hook by dropping the subject. For a while, they looked at the books in silence, Lann waiting patiently until she had had her fill.
When she returned the gloves, he left them in a basket on the side, and said, “Come. I want to show you something.”
“There’s more?”
She followed him to a narrow staircase in the corner. At the bottom, he turned to give her a smile, a gesture that almost seemed encouraging.
“What’s up there?”
“My den.”
She couldn’t help but be curious. He led the way to the top level where a landing broad enough to walk on ran around the shelves. There was a door in the corner. As she waited for Lann to unlock it, she felt like Alice in Wonderland, about to pass through a secret door. It was so low even Kat had to bend. It made her expect something small, maybe a tiny storeroom with more books, but it was a big, comfortable room with a slanted ceiling and a skylight through which she could see the stars. The walls were covered with wooden panels and lined with shelves full of books. It was fitted with an oversized desk, a leather sofa and a wrought iron four-poster bed. The carpet was a rich burgundy color and the bed linen deep shades of red. Cushions were scattered everywhere, even on the floor. It looked like the perfect place to read. A den, just as he had said.
She smiled. “This is cozy.”
“It’s the vault. It’s fireproof, so this is where I keep the most precious books.”
She looked at the skylight. “Even with that?”
“It’s fitted with a metal shutter that closes automatically in case of a fire.”
Her eyes flittered to the bed. “You sleep here?”
“No, I don’t sleep here. Sometimes I read here, until late, but that’s what the sofa is for. The bed is for fucking.”
Her insides scrambled like broken eggs. Her body flushed. He had stepped up to her, standing close to her now. If she took a deep breath, her breasts would touch his chest. She shook her head, making her curls tumble over her shoulders. “Why are you showing me this?”
“Why do you think?” he said softly.
She stood very still, aware of the silence stretching between them, until he lifted his hand, and with one finger gently traced the curve of her breast.
Kat took a step back. “I have to go.”
He tilted his head. “But do you want to?”
“Yes,” she said, battling to find her voice.
“I don’t think you do.”
“How would you know?” She failed miserably at sounding annoyed. Instead, her sentence broke off on a needy croak.
“Your breathing is shallower.” He took her hand in his. “Your palms are sweaty.” His eyes lowered to the hardened tips of her breasts. “And there are other signs.”
She gasped in horror, because he was right. “Shock provokes the same symptoms.”
“Whether it’s shock or need, the pleasure I’d give you would be no less intense.”
She turned on her heel and hurried down the stairs to the exit, eager to escape into the dark, cool night. She ran into the garden until she stood in front of the statue of Saint Teresa.
Lann followed her outside, but he did so in his own sweet time, leaving her alone for at least a minute to calm down, or maybe to sweat it out. When he stopped short of her, she took a step back.
He frowned at her. “I never force, Katherine.”
His proximity was disturbing. “I’m going home, Lann.”
He seemed to consider it for a while. “Give me one good reason why you won’t stay.”
“For starters, you’re too old for me.”
He smiled. “I’m only thirty.”
“And I’m serious about my studies. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I don’t have time for relationships or casual flings.”
He nodded. “We can work around that.”
“No,” she said firmly, “we won’t work around anything. Thank you for dinner. I’m leaving now.”
“Alright,” he said, “I’ll tell my driver to take you home.”
The fact that he gave in so easily should have had her sighing with relief. Instead, it scared her.
Chapter Two
From the breakfast nook in the kitchen of their tenth floor apartment, Kat had a view over Las Condes. The skyscrapers glowed in the first light of the day. The aroma of her favorite Juan Valdez coffee filled the small space. When her roommate, Diana, placed a mug in front of her, she pulled it close and inhaled. Smiling with appreciation, she sipped the strong brew.
Diana leaned against the counter, her own mug cupped in her hands. “Feeling better now that you’ve had your first mouthful of caffeine?”
“Don’t make me regret that I told you,” Kat said, stealing a glance at her friend.
“Can we not talk about it anymore?”
“If it was me, honey, I’d be drinking my coffee with him right now, preferably in his bed.”
“Diana!”
“What?” The petite blonde cocked her shoulder. “It’s the twenty-first century, Kat. It’s not like you’re a virgin.”
“Mac is a mistake I’m not repeating.” Kat turned to the window. She saw Diana’s reflection in the glass, her brow furrowing.
“Don’t measure all men by Mac’s standards,” Diana said. “He’s an ass.”
Kat sighed. She had broken up with her first and only boyfriend just over twelve months ago. They had shared an apartment for two years, and all she had gotten out of the fairytale she thought it would be, was picking up after him and paying off his debt.
“Not all men are the ten seconds type,” Diana continued.
“Don’t make me regret telling you that, either. You’re seriously risking my trust.”
“I wouldn’t be a friend if I wasn’t honest. You should take the mysterious Russian up on the offer. A chance to sleep with the world’s hottest man doesn’t come along twice.”
“He didn’t offer in so many words.”
Diana lifted an eyebrow. “He showed you a bed, and told you it’s for fucking, and asked you to stay, and you’re saying he didn’t offer in so many words? Shit, Kat, a man can’t make it any clearer than that.”
“It could have been a misunderstanding.”
“Yeah. Just keep on believing that if it makes you feel safer.” When Kat didn’t answer, she said, “Look, I can see you’re all hot, wet and bothered.” She ignored Kat’s snort. “Why don’t we go out for lunch? There’s a cute new pasta place in Bella Vista I’d like to try.”
Kat shook her head. “I’ve got to work on my thesis today. Need to type up my notes from yesterday.”
Before Diana could attempt to twist her arm, the doorbell rang. Kat glanced at the wall clock. It was barely eight. They were both still in their pajamas.
“I’m not getting that,” Kat said, but Diana was already rushing to the entrance.
A short while later she reentered with a basket wrapped in cellophane. “For you.” She held it to Kat.
“For me?”
“That’s what the deliveryman said.” Kat didn’t budge, so Diana left the gift on the table and clutched her hands behind her back. “Come on, don’t keep me in suspense. Open it.”
Despite her gut sending warning pricks that made her skin break out into goose bumps, she untied the ribbon. Her curiosity was her worst weakness. That weakness triumphed as she pulled away the cellophane and blue tissue paper to expose a selection of the finest Colombian and Costa Rican coffees.
Diana leaned over her shoulder. “Wow. How weird. That must be a first.”
Even if she knew the answer, the knowledge making her feel like she needed to open the window to breathe, she said, “Who would send me coffee?”
“Him.” Diana brought her hand from behind her back.
Kat snatched the white envelope from Diana’s fingers. “You read it?”
“He wants you to have dinner with him tonight. He’s giving you a second chance!” Diana jumped up and down.
Kat stared at the textured paper. Her name was written in a beautiful cursive script, and in the corner were the embossed initials ‘LD’. Her hand trembled as she removed the gold-trimmed card. Her heart fluttered even more as her eyes skimmed over the note. It was a dinner invitation, just as Diana had said. He had quoted ‘The Flower Song’, an Egyptian love poem from before 1539BC, one she was familiar with because of her thesis subject. The poem was intense, a declaration that the author would rather see and hear his lover than eat or drink. He ended the message with his own line.
I would love to watch you eat and drink at my table.
“Come on, Kat,” Diana said, “you have to admit, it’s very romantic.”
“He only wants to get into my panties, Diana.”
“So?” Diana turned her palms to the ceiling.
Kat pushed the basket aside and got to her feet. “I’m going for a shower.”
“Mind if I try one of these?” Diana lifted a hessian bag and sniffed it.
“For all I care, you can fertilize our plants with it,” Kat said, walking from the room while repeating a mantra in her head. She wasn’t going to sleep with Lann. She wasn’t going to sleep with Lann. It was a sure way of getting hurt.
After her shower, Kat dressed in an off-shoulder dress–purple, her favorite color. The cotton was soft and cool. It was comfortable to study in. She took a seat in the lounge by the desk and opened her notes. Normally she itched to work on the new material she had gathered, but today she battled to stay focused. Her thoughts kept on wandering back to Lann.
Diana stepped from her bedroom, looking fresh and feminine in a yellow sundress and white sandals. Her camera bag was slung over her shoulder. Diana was making a name for herself as a freelance photographer specializing in portraits.
“I’m off. Shall I pick up dinner?”
Kat glared at her. She understood the subtle suggestion in that question. “Yes, please do. I will definitely eat in tonight.”
Shaking her head disapprovingly, Diana said, “Suit yourself, but–”
Her sentence was interrupted by the doorbell. The two women stared at each other, and even as Kat pushed her chair back, Diana was already sprinting for the door.
“Don’t you dare get that,” Kat called after her.
She came to an abrupt halt behind Diana who had flung the door open, facing a deliveryman carrying a small white polystyrene insulation box.
“Delivery for Miss White,” he said.
“Take it back,” Kat said over Diana’s shoulder.
The man frowned, but Diana held out her hands. “Thank you.” Her smile was like syrup. “I’ll take it.”
The man didn’t present a receipt note to be signed. He simply nodded and left. Diana kicked the door shut and walked to the lounge where she deposited the box on the coffee table.
“Now I’ll be late for my shoot.” She picked up the note and handed it to Kat. “Hurry up, or I’ll get into trouble. I’m shooting a particularly impatient model today.”
Kat gave her an exasperated look, but she did open the envelope. After reading, she handed it to Diana.
Diana’s eyes moved over the card. “Wow. Shit. That’s such a lovely poem. Are you going to call him? I thought he never gave out his number, according to the tabloids.”
Kat released the breath she was holding. “Of course I’m not calling him.”
“Don’t you want to see what it is?”
Kat stared at the box. She lifted the lid slowly to reveal frosty vapors, and a portion-size delicate pink cake.
Diana swore. “Is that ... ice cream?”
Kat felt herself heat in a pleasant way, despite her resignation to remain indifferent.
“He sure as hell isn’t average.” Diana sighed. “I’m envious. Can I call him if you’re not going to?”
“No,” Kat bit out. “I’m not having dinner with him. And neither are you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not a dinner invitation. It’s an invitation to have my heart broken.”
Diana batted her eyelids. “I’ll gladly take him up on the offer.”
“You’re beyond saving.” Kat took the cake and made her way to the kitchen. “Go to work,” she called over her shoulder. “You’re late.”
Alone in the flat, the ice cream melting in the kitchen, Kat pulled her notes closer and tried hard to focus on what she was going to write. It wasn’t easy, though, with her stomach in a knot and her mind racing in a different direction. Just as she finally managed to concentrate on a full sentence, the sound of the doorbell made her jerk so hard that she knocked her knee against the table.
For a full ten seconds she sa
t very still, and when the buzz wasn’t repeated, she got up quietly and tiptoed to the door. Looking through the peephole, she saw no one. After another cautious second, she dared to open the door on a crack. The hallway was empty, but a small box wrapped in blue rice paper sat on the doormat.
For crying out loud! Kat snatched it up and shut the door. She left it on the table in the entrance, adamant to ignore it, and went back to her work. But it was as if the box had a magnetic pull that interfered with her brain waves. Damn it. She stomped to the entrance, grabbed the gift and pulled off the wrapping. It was a silver box. The lid fit snugly and she had to wiggle it before it lifted. The inside was lined in blue silk, and in its folds lay a silver hairclip. Kat held it up to the light. It was shaped like a butterfly, its wings encrusted with red stones—rubies maybe. It was a piece of art. The craftsmanship stole her breath. She replaced it carefully in its box.
From a drawer in the desk she took a padded envelope on which she scribbled Lann’s address. After sealing the box inside, she called a courier company and paced the lounge until they arrived. When she closed the door on the deliveryman, she blew out a heavy breath. That should do it. Lann would definitely get the message now. Only then did she dare open the card. This time, there was no poem, only one line written in Lann’s immaculate handwriting.
You said your hair, but there is no answer to that question, because all of you is perfect. Come to me.
Kat bit her nail. She had to admit, the lure was strong. Of course, she wanted him. After all, she was only a woman. But she had worked too hard for what she had achieved to be distracted. No, that was an excuse. Truth was, she was frightened. A man like Lann was too easy to fall for.
The next call came after lunch. Not hesitating this time, she rushed to the entrance, determined to tell whoever with whatever in his hands to take it right back where it came from, but when she opened the door, there was another parcel waiting on the step, this time covered in blue cloth and tied with a string, a white card tucked underneath.
She picked it up with shaky hands and carried it to the lounge. By the feel of it, it was a book. Kat pulled off the string and cloth. She was right. But it wasn’t just any book. It was one from his library, a priceless, handwritten copy of tales of Celtic daemons. It had to date back to 1500, or before. Kat flopped down on the sofa. It belonged in a museum, not in in her flat. For a while, she only sat with her hands on her thighs, her palms sweaty. Slowly coming out of her haze, she reached for the white envelope, bulky this time, and withdrew a card and one, white glove. Puzzled, her eyes went to the familiar handwriting.
Aeromancist: The Beginning Page 3
