Her Dark Knight

by Sharon Cullen

  It didn’t take an hour to get to the front. It took fifty-eight minutes. Fifty-eight minutes of torture standing in her uncomfortable heels. Fifty-eight minutes of hitting Redial and getting a busy signal. Fifty-eight minutes of shivering in the cool April night because she didn’t wear a coat. She didn’t think she needed a coat to acquire one, measly signature.

  The bouncer smiled when she finally made it to the entrance. “Twenty bucks.”

  She laughed, but when he didn’t her laugh trailed off. “Twenty bucks for what?”

  “To get in.”

  She gritted her teeth and barely managed to grab on to her runaway anger. “But I told you I have an appointment.”

  “You’re not on the list. Twenty bucks or you don’t get in.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  The man shrugged and turned his attention to the person behind her.

  “Fine.” She dug in her purse and pulled out a twenty dollar bill, slapping it into his outstretched hand. “Do I get a receipt for tax purposes?” She couldn’t help the nasty tone in her voice. She was beyond being civil to this barbarian.

  He smiled, folded the twenty into a thick roll of bills and shoved it in his pocket.

  Lainie sighed and bit back her frustration. “How do I find Mr. Chevalier?”

  “Not my problem.”

  She turned on her heel and attempted to stomp into the club but her feet were in agony and the most she managed was a graceful limp.

  Loud techno-pop music vibrated through the soles of her feet and swirling lights had her blinking a few times. The place was packed with writhing bodies bumping and grinding to the beat of the music. This was only Thursday. She couldn’t imagine what Friday and Saturday were like. Chevalier sure knew what he was doing when he opened this place.

  She made her way to the edge of the room and sidled closer to the bar. Maybe the bartender would know where to find him. She had to slip between two men who looked her up and down before dismissing her. Any other time she might have been offended, but tonight she didn’t care. She just wanted to get home and put on her comfortable sweats and make a bag of microwave popcorn.

  The bartender was all dark hair and dark eyes and a smile that would melt a woman’s heart. “What can I get you?” he yelled above the music.

  She had to practically drape herself over the bar in order for him to hear her. “I’m looking for Mr. Chevalier.”

  He barked out a laugh. “You and everyone else. What’re you drinking?”

  Lainie wanted to put her head down in defeat, but defeat wasn’t in her vocabulary. She’d been given this task and she’d accomplish it even if it killed her. As it was, she was pretty sure she was going to lose a toe or two.

  The person next to her slid off the barstool and Lainie jumped up on it, relieved to finally sit. She placed her briefcase in her lap and slid a shoe off to massage the feeling back into her foot. She nearly closed her eyes in ecstasy. “I have an appointment with Chevalier,” she told the bartender. “Do you know where he is?”

  “I don’t know anything about his appointments. There’s a two-drink minimum. What’ll you have?”

  Lainie just barely refrained from pulling her hair out. “I’ll take an ice water with lemon.”

  “Water isn’t part of the two drink minimum.” He shot her a look that said duh.

  She had a feeling drinks here were at least ten bucks a pop. She didn’t have ten dollars to spare on a watered-down drink. Especially after paying to get in.

  “Give me a water to start with while I look at the drink menu.” Liar. Apparently the bartender agreed because he shook his head, but he disappeared to get her water.

  She swiveled around to search the crowd. Someone here had to know where Chevalier was.

  One of the men she’d squeezed between pointed to the dance floor. “That’s him there.”

  “Who?”

  “Chevalier. You said you were looking for him.”

  Quickly she slipped on her shoe and slid off the stool. Throwing a “thank you” back to the stranger, she hiked the strap of her purse over her shoulder and was preparing to plow through the crowd when she spotted him. At least she thought it was him. It had to be. No one else wore such an exquisitely cut suit or commanded the attention he did. The people around him kept a respectful distance, creating a bubble of calm amid the frenzy of the dancing.

  He was speaking to a curvaceous blonde wrapped in a tight silver dress that stopped about two inches below her butt. One hand was on her shoulder, the other in the air as if he’d been in the act of pointing something out to her when his gaze locked with Lainie’s.

  Something inside her stilled even as her heart accelerated and her stomach churned.

  His mouth snapped shut and his arm dropped to his side. The blonde leaned close and spoke in his ear. He didn’t respond, just continued to stare at Lainie.

  Lainie’s breath caught in her throat and something very close to anxiety squeezed her insides. Her hands began to sweat and she had this incredible urge to turn around and walk out. The crowd moved again and blocked her view. The feeling left and she shook her head. Weird.

  She pushed her way through the densely packed crowd, hoping Chevalier wouldn’t disappear again when suddenly a large form blocked her way.

  “Hey there.”

  His eyes were bloodshot and his breath reeked of beer. One hand held a half-full beer glass, the other settled heavily on her shoulder.

  “Hey.” She stepped to the side, searching the crowd for Chevalier.

  He stepped with her. “Wanna dance?”

  Suddenly furious at the stupid man, the stupid bouncer and her stupid shoes, she shoved her briefcase between them. “Do I look like I want to dance? I’m here on business. If you’ll excuse me.” She stepped to the side again but he matched her step for step.

  “You’re cute.”

  “And you’re drunk.”

  He laughed. “Hell, yeah. Dance with me.” Suddenly his arm was around her waist, dragging her up against him. He pinched her butt and she gasped at the sudden pain.

  “Please let go.” She kept her voice calm and tried not to show fear. She was in a nightclub filled with hundreds of people. She was safe. But suddenly she didn’t feel safe.

  The man leered at her. “I knew you’d have a fine ass underneath that ugly skirt.”

  Ugly skirt? She struggled to pull away but his fingers dug into her shoulders.

  “I said let go.” She pushed against him, using her briefcase as a shield and weapon, but it didn’t budge him.

  “Aww, come on. Just one dance. I wanna see if your tits are as nice as your ass.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She lifted her foot and smashed her heel into his arch, glad for once she had no feeling left in her feet. He grunted and his jovial expression fled on the heels of his anger.

  “Bitch.” He hauled her closer. The corner of her briefcase dug into her ribs, causing her to cry out.

  Suddenly he was yanked backward. His eyes widened and his beer went flying. Lainie ducked, avoiding the glass and spray of beer. Dancers scurried out of the way, forming a hushed circle. Chevalier held the drunk by the collar.

  “Do you know this gentleman?” The full force of Chevalier’s angry gaze landed on her.

  She shook her head.

  He shoved the man toward a muscular guy with Security emblazoned across his chest. “Find him a ride home. He’s not allowed to return. Ever.”

  The man was carted away, sputtering outraged apologies.

  Chevalier eyed the quiet crowd. He didn’t need words to convey what his look told them. Such behavior wasn’t tolerated here and anyone with thoughts of misbehaving should leave now. The crowd broke up, no one willing to stare Chevalier down.

  His frosty gaze landed on her. He snagged her wrist in a bruising hold. “Come with me.”

  He didn’t have to force his way through the crowd like she had earlier. People parted for him. Some tried to talk to him, but one look at his
face and they snapped their mouths shut.

  Lainie jogged to keep up. Her feet weren’t appreciative of the exercise. What the hell was going on? He acted as if she were the one who caused the scene.

  He motioned to someone before pushing open a door with a sign that read Authorized Personnel Only on the front and quickly ushered her into an office. After the noise of the music and the loud conversations, the quiet was disconcerting.

  Lainie breathed deep to calm her racing heart. A large glass-and-chrome desk with a very comfortable-looking black, leather chair dominated the room. Tall picture windows looked out over the line of people waiting to get in. Wonderful. He’d probably seen her waiting in line.

  Finally she met his penetrating gaze, which was filled with a fury she’d rarely witnessed in a man before.

  “Who the hell are you?” he growled.

  “If you’re angry about that scene, I’m not the one who caused it. The man you served drinks to until he was too drunk to know better did.”

  His eyes were such a light gray they were almost silver. “Ronald says you claim to have an appointment with me. Who are you and who sent you?”

  Ronald must be the bouncer who wouldn’t let her in until she paid. She yanked her wrist free of Chevalier’s tight hold while one very strange thought whispered through her mind. He had an accent. French if she wasn’t mistaken and it was sexy as hell. And he’s overbearing as hell. “I don’t claim anything. I do have an appointment with you. Giselle Blanche sent me.”

  His nostrils flared. She didn’t think it was possible but he seemed even more menacing. “How do you know Giselle Blanche?”

  “I work for her.” Unfortunately. But she didn’t say that because she had no idea what his relationship was to Giselle and she was here on business.

  “You work for Etienne Lucheux?” he asked.

  “Mr. Lucheux owns the company, yes.” She’d never actually met Mr. Lucheux because she reported directly to Giselle.

  “Why did he send you here?” He still didn’t sound convinced she was telling the truth and why did he think Lucheux sent her when she’d told him Giselle had?

  “I have papers you need to sign.”

  Those silver eyes turned hard as granite. “Show me the papers.”

  She put her briefcase on his desk and extracted the envelope with shaking hands, biting her tongue to stop herself from telling him where he could put the damn papers. He snatched them out of her grasp. What an arrogant ass!

  While he leafed through them, a harsh line drawn between lowered brows, she fumed. And yet, despite her anger, she had to admit he was good-looking. Almost breathtakingly handsome with his full head of black hair, a little on the long side but not too much. And those gray eyes that went from dark to light and back again. She almost had the feeling they’d met before but that was impossible. She would have remembered meeting someone like Christien Chevalier.

  The muscles in his jaw tightened and he tossed the papers on the desk. They missed and landed on the chair, one sliding to the floor.

  “They’re fake. Now why don’t you tell me why you are here?”

  Stunned she stared at the lone page on the floor. When she glanced through them while waiting in line she’d thought something was weird, but fake?

  “All I know is I was supposed to bring them to you. I was told we had an appointment and all you had to do was sign them and I’d be done.”

  “I assure you, Miss…” He raised a brow in inquiry.

  “Alexander. Lainie Alexander.”

  “Lainie.” Her name sounded foreign and exotic coming from him.

  “It’s short for Madelaine.” She didn’t know why she was telling him this. It wasn’t any of his business what her name was.

  His perusal of her sharpened until she felt like a bug pinned beneath a microscope.

  “Madelaine.”

  If Lainie sounded foreign and exotic, Madelaine sounded downright sinful when whispered in that way. Suddenly images of a large bed with navy curtains and soft sheets invaded her mind. She suppressed a shudder of longing that came from nowhere.

  “The papers,” she said, more to remind herself than him.

  Those granite eyes never left her face. His thoughtful expression made her more nervous than his angry expression did.

  “I only make appointments Monday through Wednesday. I would never make an appointment on a Thursday night. Those papers are a ruse.”

  Confused and a little frightened, she ran a hand through her hair, forgetting the French twist she’d worked so hard to create. Of course the bobby pins fell out and half her hair tumbled down her back. Great. Wonderful.

  She didn’t care anymore.

  “Look, Mr. Chevalier—”

  “Christien.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My name is Christien.”

  She breathed through clenched teeth. One minute he was seething in fury and the next he was asking her to call him by his given name.

  “Christien. I didn’t make the appointment, my boss did. I have no idea why she would create this…ruse.” What an odd word to use. “If there was an ulterior motive she kept it from me.”

  “Madelaine—”

  “Don’t call me that.” Her visceral reaction startled her. She’d never particularly liked her name, believing it too different from the Lindsays and Nicoles and Megans in her class, but she’d never disliked someone using it as much as she disliked him using it.

  He cocked his head. “Is that not your name?”

  “I prefer Lainie.”

  “Madelaine. Are you telling me you have no idea why she would send you to do her bidding?”

  Her back teeth came together. He totally ignored her polite request to call her by the name she preferred, then insinuated something when he emphasized the you. As if she weren’t good enough to deliver his papers? This man was arrogant and she wasn’t sure she liked him very much. “I have no idea, Mr. Chevalier.”

  A smile touched his sensuous mouth, gone before he allowed it full rein. She shuddered to think of the devastating impact of his smile should he ever unleash it.

  He moved to the edge of his desk and planted his butt on it. His finger tapped the edge of the desk. The silver in his eyes dulled as if his thoughts turned inward. He was thinking something, but whatever it was she wasn’t privy to it. Nor did she think she wanted to be.

  He shook his head, straightened and walked with quick, angry strides to the other side of the room. His back to her, he took deep breaths, those wide shoulders rising and falling.

  He turned around, piercing her with those steely eyes. “How long have you worked for Lucheux?”

  “Three months.” Three very long months. She’d applied for the job after finding an advertisement in the local hometown paper. To her surprise, Giselle called her right away. Two phone interviews later, they flew her to Milwaukee for a face-to-face interview. Once they met, Giselle had been condescending, standoffish and disdainful. She’d looked at Lainie as if she were looking at a bug smooshed on the sole of her shoe.

  Lainie had written off the fabulous opportunity to work for Lucheux Limited, disappointed the chance had slipped through her fingers. To her shock, she received a call from Giselle later that afternoon offering her the position as assistant to the director of Human Resources and citing a salary that still made Lainie swallow in surprise.

  Chevalier walked toward her, yanking her back to the present, the supposedly fake papers and his intimidating presence. Except walk was too ordinary a word. Stalked might be better. He stopped when they were toe-to-toe and for the first time she realized the complete power of the man. Tall, wide-shouldered and fit beneath the expensively cut dark gray suit, he exuded authority and commanded attention. He dominated the room with a strength of force she’d never encountered before. It was as if her surroundings were sucked into his aura.

  His gaze focused on the part of her hair falling over her shoulder. He picked up a lock and rubbed it between his fi
ngers, inhaling deeply, as if pulling her scent into him. Something crossed his face, an expression close to grief.

  She blinked and the glass-and-chrome desk, the leather chair, the bookcases and tinted windows, wavered, before disappearing. Suddenly she was surrounded by a darkness broken only by the moon’s light. Sadness rushed through her, pressing on her shoulders, squeezing her lungs and heart.

  A man stood in front of her. He looked like Chevalier. He had Chevalier’s stormy gray eyes and thick black hair, but he wasn’t dressed like Chevalier. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was dressed in period clothing. Like from medieval times. He touched her cheek and spoke to her in a language she didn’t understand.

  Her sadness drove into her, weakening her with its intensity. She was sad for him and for her.

  “Where did you get this?”

  Yanked back to the present by his harsh question, she took a deep breath. The room swam into focus, the desk and chair still sitting before the windows, the bookcases in their right place. And Chevalier in front of her, dressed not in medieval clothing but an expensive gray suit that matched his eyes.

  His fingers touched her necklace, then skimmed the soft skin of her neck. Heat exploded inside her and centered on his touch. He did nothing more than touch, but it felt as if she’d been branded.

  She struggled to shake off the remnants of the strange vision. Something weird was going on here. Something otherworldly and something she didn’t want anything to do with, yet her feet refused to move to the door.

  Their gazes locked, held. His was so familiar.

  “It was a gift from my mother. Years ago.”

  He lifted the silver key she’d worn almost her whole life and cradled it in his large palm.

  He muttered in what sounded like French. He cocked his head, studying her. “I make you nervous.”

  “Yes.” No reason to deny it.