He was so handsome, and he terrified her in a way she'd never felt before.
Erihn stood in the archway leading into the living room, watching Fayne. He resembled a statue, sitting Indian-style in the middle of a pile of pillows. Leaping flames showed his chiseled profile to perfection, as if he were carved from a block of marble.
She swallowed. She wasn't afraid of him physically, but she was certainly afraid of him emotionally. With his gentle words and soothing actions of a few hours ago, he'd reached into her soul and claimed a piece for himself. She knew there was danger in spending more time with this man. If she dared to do so, what sort of damage could he inflict upon her heart?
When she'd awoken a few minutes earlier, at first, she hadn't known where she was. Slowly, bits and pieces of the last few hours had filtered through her mind. Weary, she'd wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and slip into the welcoming arms of Morpheus once again, but her empty stomach hadn't let her. Now she stood frozen in the doorway, torn between wanting to speak and running away.
"I thought you might be down for the count this evening." His voice was a quiet rumble.
She said the first thing that popped into her head. "I'm hungry." She cringed and caught the tender inner flesh of her lip between her teeth.
A faint smile curved his mouth, and he rose from his comfortable position. Moving toward her, his bare feet soundless on the carpeting, she couldn't help but be awed by his grace. Here was a man completely in tune with his body, his animal nature, and his surroundings. Her breath caught as he stopped at the base of the steps into the living room and looked up at her with those mysterious violet eyes. He held out his hand.
"Join me for a late dinner?"
Erihn was torn. On one hand, she was terrified to step into the light that was Fayne. At the same time, she was terrified not to. His hand didn't waver and he waited patiently, his eyes hooded and his expression neutral.
It was his lack of expression that made her decision. That he even wanted to be near her after the madness he'd witnessed was a miracle. For the first time in her life, here was a kind and generous man holding his hand out to her. Was she a fool not to take it?
Mustering her courage, Erihn raised her hand and slipped it into his. As his warm fingers curled around hers, Erihn had the sinking feeling nothing would ever be the same again.
Fayne released the breath he'd been holding as he slipped into the kitchen. The wood of the kitchen floor was cool beneath his feet. In a house this size with the electricity out, it got cold rather quickly. Since the electricity went out quite a bit in the wintertime, Jennifer did have a small generator in the basement, but he doubted Erihn knew of its existence.
You shouldn't take advantage of the poor girl like that.
He brushed the thought away. Erihn would be none the wiser and this was the perfect time to convince her to stay with him. He'd known she'd try and run when she found out he was staying here, and it had taken a lot of convincing for Jennifer to even allow him to remain at the house with her. They were so protective of her, as if she were damaged china. Little did they know that the heart of a warrior beat beneath her skin.
He opened the refrigerator and picked up the platter of steaks and piled a small container of butter and a bag of crusty rolls on top. He picked up the plate of leftover cheese and sausage, then hooked a finger around a bottle of wine. Shutting the door, he headed toward the living room. He paused in the doorway to watch Erihn unobtrusively.
She sat on a large pillow, her eyes closed as she finger-combed her hair. Firelight flickered over the long dark strands, turning it into a river of red and gold. There was simplicity to her movements, a timelessness that drew him.
As he stepped into the room, her movements halted. Her eyes opened as she watched him approach her gaze wary, uncertain.
"How do you like your steak?" He set his bounty on the raised hearth.
"Rare."
Fayne grinned. "My kind of woman." He reached for the wire grill he'd located earlier in the garage. He propped it over the flames and, with its long legs, it crouched there like a spider. He grabbed the plate and neatly flipped the steaks onto the grill.
"It's cold in here." Erihn sounded worried.
"I wouldn't worry. We have enough wood for a good long spell." He picked up the fireplace poker and dug around for the wrapped potatoes he'd buried earlier in the glowing embers. "I brought in enough wood to last through the night."
"We're lucky to have this much wood available."
"Mac enjoys chopping wood. He says it gives him a chance to flex his muscles and it drives Jennifer crazy." He replaced the poker, then picked up the roasting fork and prodded at the sizzling steaks before turning to smile at her. "We have enough food and wood for days, and wonderfully stimulating company to keep us amused."
He was surprised when a faint smile touched her lips. She'd left her hair loose so it tumbled over her shoulders, obscuring her scarred cheek. He'd been wrong about her. She wasn't a little brown wren at all. She was lovely.
She cleared her throat. "So, how did you meet Jennifer?"
Fayne couldn't prevent the laugh from escaping him. "That's a rather uneventful tale." He settled himself into the cozy nest of pillows, still within reach of the steaks. His knee brushed Erihn's and, while she tensed, he was pleased to note she didn't move away. The sooner she got used to him being close to her, the better off she'd be.
"Jennifer and I met many years ago in a small shop in London. We were both in pursuit of a rare piece of crystal. While I didn't find the crystal I sought, I did find one of the greatest friends I'll ever have in my life."
"And Mac?" She selected a chunk of cheese and popped it into her mouth.
"Mac is another story altogether that I'm not sure I'd want to tell in mixed company," He grinned ruefully and reached for the bottle of wine.
Erihn looked at him, her brow raised. "You realize, of course, I write romance novels and nothing can shock me?"
He doubted that very much. She might write steamy novels, but she was still an innocent about men and the art of making love. He picked up one of the wineglasses he'd brought out earlier. "You realize I'll take that as a challenge." He poured a glass of wine and offered it to her with a flourish.
Her eyes widened, but she didn't respond. He could've sworn he saw the light of mischief ignite before she took the glass and averted her gaze. He smothered a grin as she murmured her thanks.
"Mac and I have known each other for many years." He filled his own glass.
"How many?" she asked.
"Hundreds."
"What?"
Fayne looked up and caught her startled glance. She doesn't know the truth...
"Figure of speech," he lied smoothly. "We've known each other so long it sometimes seems like forever." He grabbed the fork and deftly turned the steaks over.
"How old are you?" she asked, selecting a dinner roll.
He knew better than to answer that truthfully. "How old do you think I am?" He set the fork down and picked up his glass, turning his attention to her.
He watched as she applied the knife to the roll. She'd sliced it so neatly he wondered if she'd smuggled a T-square into the room while he wasn't watching. Methodically, she applied a layer of butter on one half. Starting from the center, she smoothed it completely to the edge, continuing until the surface was flawless.
Erihn stopped fiddling with the butter and raised her eyes to his, her dark gaze sweeping over his face as she considered. "Maybe late twenties at the most."
Fayne wasn't about to tell her she was off by several hundred years. "Close enough."
Satisfied, she nodded and returned her attention to the roll. "So what do you do for a living?"
Neatly, she nibbled on one edge, each bite tiny, precise. Fayne grew hard as he watched her lick butter from her lips.
He cleared his throat. "Antiques and textiles." He shifted as his zipper dug into his erection.
"Fabrics?" She p
opped the rest of the roll into her mouth; her eyes half-closed as if in ecstasy. A thin layer of butter coated her mouth and he stifled a groan. What he wouldn't give to be able to lick it off those untutored lips.
He cleared his throat again. "I import fabrics for American retailers among other things." He watched as she picked up the other half of the roll and began buttering it. Once again, she smoothed butter over the shorn top, taking time to adjust here and add more there. She held it out, inspected it, frowned, then began smoothing again.
"Are you going to eat that or take a picture?" he asked, amused.
Erihn looked up and smiled. She turned her roll so he could see it better. "Is it not perfect?"
"I wasn't aware one should strive for perfection in their food. Is it too perfect to eat?"
"Of course I'm going to eat it, silly. I just wanted it to be perfect," she explained patiently as if he were a dull-witted child.
Fayne frowned. "Why does it have to be perfect?" He reached over and grabbed a roll. Tearing it in half, he dipped a piece into the melting container of butter. Raising it to his mouth, he said, "This is pretty much the same thing and I made it in half the time."
"What does time have to do with it? Being in a hurry isn't always a virtue."
Fayne caught her gaze, raising the bread to his lips. "I don't hurry through everything." He flicked out his tongue to lick a smudge of butter off the side of his roll before taking a bite. He enjoyed the way she stared at his mouth as a blush stained her cheeks.
She glanced away. "I enjoy perfection."
Fayne swallowed. "Perfection can be tedious."
She frowned. "How so?"
"What's the attraction to perfection?"
"There's great beauty in symmetry."
"In buildings, perhaps. Food, possibly. People, never."
"How so?" She fiddled with her roll; her agitated movements betrayed her discontent with the subject.
"People aren't supposed to be perfect, that's the beauty of being human. Making mistakes, eating too much cheesecake, having flaws and bad hair. There is perfection in imperfection."
She frowned again.
Fayne abandoned his roll in favor of rescuing their dinner from the fire. "In order for people to be interesting, they have to live their lives. Where's the challenge in always making the right decisions, never making a mistake and never taking the road less traveled? What fun is that?" He offered her a plate filled with grilled steak and a baked potato. "That's called copping out."
"When you make the right decisions and you strive for perfection, your life can be easier."
"Who said that life is supposed to be easy?" Fayne picked up his steak knife and sliced into the steaming meat. "The only thing in life that should be perfect is steak, rare." He popped the meat into his mouth and growled, "Perfection."
Erihn bent her head over her plate and applied herself to her dinner. He watched from the corner of his eye as she cut small bites, each one evenly square. They ate in companionable silence, then several minutes later she spoke.
"But don't all men want the perfect woman?" Erihn's tone was perplexed.
Fayne shook his head. "I don't think so. I've had many so-called perfect women only to find they were gloss on the outside and empty on the inside. Where's the beauty in that? I want a woman who has substance and soul. I also don't want a woman to be perfect for me; I want her to be perfect for herself. "
Her gaze was distant as she reached for her scarred cheek. Nimble fingers traced the narrow ridge before her expression turned hard. She dropped her hand away from her face. Silent now, she turned her attention to back to her steak, her expression unsettled.
"Perfection is elusive, Erihn," he offered softly. "If that is what you seek, you'll find naught but emptiness and disappointment stretching before you." Fayne resisted the temptation to take her in his arms and kiss the lost look off her face.
She looked at him, confusion written on every line of her face. If she only knew that her dreams were reflected in her eyes. He was filled with a sudden urge to be the one to turn some of those dreams into reality.
The lights flickered. Bright light from the two floor lamps banished the darkness, leaving them exposed. Unease crept into her gaze and she abandoned her food with a clatter of silverware. Jerkily, she rose to her feet.
"I fear I'm not as hungry as I first thought. I'll just take these into the kitchen and bid you good night."
"Don't worry about it, I'll clean up."
Fayne caught a faint sheen of tears in her eyes. He couldn't let her go like this. He rose from the pillows to follow her across the room. Her back was stiff as if she were afraid he was going to strike out at her. She paused at the bottom of the main stairs, turning to face him. Gone were the tears and before him stood the woman who showed only a mask to the world around her.
Slowly, so as to give her time to move away, he raised his hand, tracing the scar down her cheek, along her jaw, ending as he brushed her bottom lip. "You see this scar as a lack of perfection. I see it as a mark of great strength, a badge of courage. Whether you realize it or not, Erihn, you are a warrior."
Shock, then disbelief, colored her features as she gaped at him. Doubt warred with fear in her eyes before she turned away and ran up the stairs, her feet making very little sound as she made her escape.
The rain delayed him.
Ivan Daniels parked his car in front of the Vail Lodge. It was well after 2 A.M. and the air held the clear, cold quality that only mountain air could contain. He gritted his teeth as he thought about the lost hours spent in Silverthorne. No matter now, he'd finally arrived in Vail Valley, and soon he'd have his long-awaited talk with Erihn Spencer about her immoral romance novels. As soon as they had their talk, Erihn would understand why she had to write the book he sought.
The book that would bring his beloved Mary back to him.
Ivan sighed at the thought of his missing wife. They'd been happy together for almost ten years until she'd read that abominable Velvet Lover book. Then everything had gone horribly awry. Now, he had the chance to change that and bring his wife back to where she belonged, in his arms.
Until then, he'd make himself at home and, after a good night's sleep, he'd set out to find Erihn and make her see the light.
Smoothing his thinning hair back into place, he reached for the door lock.
* * *
Chapter 4
When did Jennifer get a cat?
Disoriented, Erihn opened her eyes. Something large and warm lay along her back, and it purred.
Definitely a cat.
Erihn stirred and the purring paused. The animal wiggled against her as if it were annoyed at being disturbed before it stilled and the purring resumed. It certainly was nice waking up to something other than an alarm clock and an empty bed. She rubbed her eyes, wincing at how gritty and tired they felt. Between the storms, her little episode on the stairs, and Fayne's softly spoken words, she'd tossed and turned most of the night. Only when dawn lit the eastern sky did she manage to drift off to sleep.
Erihn glanced at the blinking numbers on the face of the digital clock, and was relieved to see the electricity was still on. A sound suspiciously like a snore came from the purring bundle, then a twitch. Cautiously, Erihn turned her head to get a look at her nocturnal guest. Over her shoulder, all she could see was one reddish- brown paw stuck straight up in the air.
One huge reddish-brown paw.
No housecat could ever be that size. Adrenaline hit her system and her heartbeat accelerated. Could a wild animal have gotten into the house? She inched away from the sleeping creature until she clung to the edge of the bed. She slipped her feet over the edge and slid until her knees made contact with the floor. Only then did she turn so she could see her nighttime visitor.
A massive cougar lay on its back in the middle of the snowy white linens, its face covered by a delicate lace pillow while its tail hung off the foot of the bed. The thick coat looked luxurious and soft as sil
k in the late morning light. Another snore sounded and the cat twitched, thick ridges of muscle rippling beneath the lush fur. Its front paw quivered as if it were stalking prey as it slept.
It was possibly one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen in her life. Of course, she would have preferred to see the cat in its natural habitat, not her bed. She glanced at the door leading into the hallway, then back at the sleeping animal, trying to determine if she could make it out of the room before it woke up.
Then it rolled over.
Erihn held her breath as it rolled toward her, its head popping out from under the pillow. Liquid gold eyes stared at her, pinning her with their intensity. She was afraid to move, to breathe. She was paralyzed with fear and an equal measure of awe.
The cat stretched out a paw, gently placing it atop her hand where she clutched the bedclothes. She tensed, waiting for razor sharp claws to dig into her vulnerable skin.
The paw flexed and the rough pads caressed her hand. Her breath caught as its head dropped, its nose brushed her wrist, the whiskers tickling her. The cat removed its paw and its tongue came out and slurped the back of her hand. It was warm and rough. The cat nudged her hand as if asking to be petted.
Tentative, Erihn turned her hand over and touched the thick fur of its muzzle. It felt like silk beneath her fingers. Gently, she ruffled the fur below the chin. Its head immediately came up and its eyes closed in ecstasy as it strained closer for more of the same.
Erihn chuckled. "Aren't you just a big baby?" She scratched under the chin and worked around to scratch the back of the neck and the base of the ears. As she reached the warm fur under its left ear, claws extended and snagged the linens as the cat growled in complete submission.
She stopped. "Hey, now, Jennifer will kill me if we destroy the sheets."
Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 3 Page 6
