by Meg Ripley
He was the great-grandson of a man who had done well for himself in the California Gold Rush. His grandfather and his father had both invested that wealth wisely, and he’d done a decent job of building onto their successes, though she rather guessed he was being modest in his own contribution. Still, he sounded…unsatisfied, if she had to put a word to it. There was no pride in his tone, nor any enthusiasm over the Hunter empire.
“You aren’t pleased with your accomplishments?”
They’d wandered into a private dining room and he’d been in the middle of pulling a chair out for her, but he froze, as if the question was demanding every ounce of his concentration.
“Pleased, yes. With any sense of accomplishment, no,” he admitted as he resumed what he’d been doing.
He sat down across from her then, and she stared at him, this time focusing on the aura that surrounded him, trying to use it to make sense of the man who lived in the lap of luxury and yet wasn’t content.
His phone rang right then and he pulled it out from a pocket inside his jacket. “Make yourself comfortable, Claire, and I’ll be right back,” he said after glancing at the caller’s information. Then he leaned in, catching her unprepared by pressing his full lips against hers.
He was fire and ice, darkness and light. No, not light exactly, but something more buoyant than the heavy cloyingness of darkness. His kiss made every nerve ending in her body come alive with a yearning unlike anything she’d ever known. It didn’t create the vivid confusion in her head that made physical contact unpleasant, if not impossible. And yet it shook her in a way that terrified her. It terrified her because the last thing she wanted to do was run from it; she wanted more of it.
She’d been so busy covering up the exposed flesh of her body when she’d dressed for the evening that it hadn’t even crossed her mind he would kiss her. Long gloves extended three quarters of the way up her arms, and though the dress was sleeveless, leaving her shoulders exposed, she’d wrapped a silk shawl around them. But her lips were completely defenseless.
He released her after no more than a second or two, pulling back as if he’d been scorched by their fire, too, and he was gone through the room’s door seconds later. Claire continued to sit there for several minutes afterwards, desperately trying to block out what she’d just experienced.
If she was smart, she’d get up and leave, and never look back. Whatever it was about Noah Hunter that made him different also made him dangerous; she didn’t have room for danger in her life.
It was only the appearance of something much darker that drew her from her inner chaos. She turned to find the source and found him easily: a man with an aura so black it sent a shiver of fear down her spine.
He stood there for a moment and she did her best to hide what she was feeling, plastering a look of what she hoped was indifference on her face. He stared back at her, unmoving, as if he were a predator contemplating its prey. And then he started toward her and she tried not to slink back in her chair, though the moment she felt the cold press of wood against her back, she knew she’d failed.
He stopped no more than three feet from her and she rose from her chair. She wasn’t certain her legs would support her, but the gross disparity in their height seemed to put her at a disadvantage. The urge to run was overwhelming, but she stood her ground.
“Good evening,” she spoke first, not waiting for him to take the upper hand in the conversation.
He introduced himself as Damon Cross, though the name meant nothing to her. Should it have?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cross. I’m Claire Thomas. Surely, Noah will be back in just a moment, but I really must excuse myself.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said in a tone that was pleasant but still didn’t sit well with her. He proffered his hand at the same time with a bold gleam in his eyes, as if he was daring her to take it.
Could he know? Certainly not; she’d never even met the man before. How could he know anything about her, never mind her most guarded secret?
She forced her arm outward and clasped his hand, grateful for the fabric between them and yet wondering if she should push past her fear. If there was any chance at all he could be a threat, shouldn’t she know all she could about him?
Just as she was about to slip the glove off her hand, Noah appeared, almost wedging his body between Claire and the stranger. She should object to the high-handed way he was interfering, but she wasn’t going to say a word.
“It’s good to see you again, Damon. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?” Noah asked with an edge in his voice that was unmistakeable.
“I wasn’t aware I needed an excuse to stop by, Noah, but since you asked, I was just hoping to find out what happened to you tonight. As I’m sure you can imagine, there are an awful lot of disappointed people right now. The host fails to show up to his own event?”
“I had other plans. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” Noah motioned to the door.
“Yes, I can see that. Good evening, Miss.” He nodded politely in her direction and then left, leaving her wondering who exactly he was and what he was to Noah.
Before she could pose any one of the questions buzzing in her head, a man appeared through the door where Mr. Cross had just left, pushing a cart laden with trays of food that would have smelled delicious if her stomach hadn’t been in knots at the moment. Still, she bit her tongue until the man had arranged the various trays on the table and left.
“So, what was your most amazing find?” Noah asked her with seeming nonchalance as if nothing had interrupted their prior conversation. He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one.
It wouldn’t have worked to distract her except she didn’t even need to think about her answer, which probably explained why it came to her despite the tumult going on in her head. She’d been part of the discovery and research on a multitude of amazing finds, but the most recent find was the most incredible.
“A shrine, actually, from a European society that dates back to the Iron Age. It was special because it was so unique—unique in its location, at least. We’ve found similar shrines in places like Hakone and Nara, Japan, but never in Europe.”
“What made this shrine different than other ones in Europe?”
“It was a shrine to dragons.” She smiled, remembering the day six months prior she’d been able to confirm definitively what they’d found. It was unlike anything that had ever been discovered in Europe before.
So wrapped up in the memory, it took her a moment to recognize the minuscule changes in Noah. His shoulders seemed to tense, and his eyes appeared to be intensely focused on some spot on the wall behind her head. And then it was gone. His hands were relaxed on the table like they’d been before and his eyes were locked on hers with the same heat in them that had been doing crazy things to her insides all evening.
“That’s strange, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Yes, very strange,” she replied, wondering if perhaps she’d imagined the tension in him. “It has certainly sparked a great deal of interest in the field archaeology community. I think there will be at least four or five new expeditions this year, trying to determine whether there were other societies nearby who might have worshipped the same beings.”
No, she hadn’t imagined it. The tension had spiked briefly, but it had been there, lurking beneath the surface all evening. His hands weren’t relaxed; they were carefully placed to appear that way. She could see the tautness in the muscles of his forearms and the rigid set of his jaw.
She’d tried to ignore it because she knew what it was. He wasn’t tense…he was restrained, holding himself back. And with a shiver of equal amounts excitement and fear, she knew what it was he wanted.
He wanted her.
She needed to leave, to escape before he realized just how badly she wanted him, too. This couldn’t happen. It could never happen. And she’d been foolish to agree to this evening knowing she would end up right here, with no choice but to run awa
y from what she so desperately wanted.
She moved to stand, ready to make a quick excuse and leave. But she’d barely gotten to her feet and he was right there in front of her. Then there was no longer any space between them. He’d wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, his body so warm she could feel his heat through the fabric of their clothes.
In the next breath, his lips descended on hers and his hands settled on her hips to pull her even closer. The steely length of him pressed against her abdomen, making her gasp and inadvertently parting her lips, which gave his tongue the entrance it sought. As he delved inside, two fires blazed through her body, not just hers, but his as well, with an intensity that made her legs shake.
This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. It never happened like this. Physical contact had always been painful for Claire, not pleasurable. It filled her head with confusion and contradiction. It didn’t drive her higher and make her yearn for more.
She wrapped her arms around his neck to keep herself up, but the movement rubbed her body against him and he groaned low in his throat. The sound sent a violent shockwave of arousal straight to her core. She could actually see it—the desire he was feeling for her—and right or wrong, knowing what she was doing to him drove her crazy.
She needed to touch him. She didn’t dare take off her gloves, but she couldn’t resist grazing over the flexing muscles of his shoulders and back as his grip on her tightened.
“Claire, no.” His voice was a strangled whisper a hair’s breadth from her lips. He’d released her hips and had her wrists in his hand. “God, this is a bad idea,” he spoke her own thoughts aloud, but he didn’t release her.
Whatever he fought to keep in check threatened to spill out, to overwhelm him. She knew it. She could feel it. If she was smart, she’d yank her hands away and take off running, just like she’d planned, but she didn’t. She stared back at him, listening to the heavy sound of his breathing and watching fire dance in his eyes.
And then she did the most foolish thing she’d ever done. She leaned forward, closing the sliver of distance between her lips and his, and she kissed him, letting his desire wash over her as her own blazed hot in her veins.
He let go of her wrists, and in one, swift tug, he released the halter-style tie to her dress. The bodice slipped between them a split second before his hands followed its descent, cupping her breasts firmly and making her moan quietly in pleasure.
He groaned or growled, she wasn’t sure which, and he deepened the kiss as his hands moved to her shoulders, his grip tight. He took a step forward, and then another, forcing her backward with him. Another step, this one backing her up against the wall. It didn’t hurt, or at least, she was too wrapped up in the fire to notice, but all of a sudden, he stopped.
His hands dropped to clenched fists at his sides. He was breathing even heavier, and her eyes were drawn to the rise and fall of his chiseled chest.
“Claire,” he said in a ragged whisper, though she wasn’t sure if it was a plea or a warning. She didn’t care which one. She reached for him, needing to feel his heat against her skin, to taste his lips. He swooped in with a kiss that would no doubt leave her lips bruised come morning, but left her with tremors of excitement right now. But he withdrew swiftly with a strangled groan and took a step back. And then another.
“Go home,” he spoke between clenched teeth. Then he turned and strode out of the room so fast it was as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.
Now what? she wondered, half-surprised she was capable of even that much coherent thought. But though every inch of her was still boiling over with liquid fire, she came back to herself quickly in his absence, a sudden crash that left her something akin to shell-shocked.
He wasn’t coming back; she was certain of it. She’d felt his restraint snapping little by little, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t certain he could get a hold on it, and so he’d left. She should be relieved; what had been happening between them had scared her as much as it aroused her, and she needed time to think, to figure out what was going on.
It had never been like that; she’d long since refrained from any form of physical contact because of the turmoil it caused within her. The aura she saw around every person was a curse, but one she’d learned to live with. But physical contact was always worse.
When she touched someone, or when someone touched her, it was as if she could see them more deeply. And what she saw became a part of her, a part she didn’t want, that had no place in her…and a part she would carry around forever, nevertheless.
But with Noah, there had been nothing she didn’t want, nothing but the constant shower of their united desire.
Realizing she was still standing there alone, she forced the strangeness of the past hour to the back of her mind, fixed her dress, gathered her purse from the table and left the building on shaking legs. She should have called for a cab, but she didn’t. The odd connection between her and Noah now severed, she wanted to leave, to run…and the idea of standing around waiting for a taxi service made her skin crawl.
So, she walked, letting her mind wander where it willed. She was tired, but no amount of rest or sleep could remedy her fatigue. She was tired of being different, of seeing things she didn’t want to see, of feeling things she had no business feeling. And right now, more potent than ever, she was tired of never understanding it.
It hadn’t always been this way. When she was young, she had been just like any other girl, thrilled with the opportunity to explore new places and meet new people, despite the recent tragedy in her life. But that was a long time ago, a very long time since her life had changed irrevocably, though she couldn’t even say for sure when it had changed.
She’d thought nothing of it when she started to see people differently. It was just a faint haze at first, and she’d been convinced she needed glasses—not that she would have admitted it to her uncle at the time.
It wasn’t significant until it grew more vivid and she began to recognize the haze that hovered over one person was different from the haze over the person standing next to them. And before long, it got much, much worse. The haze was no longer a haze, but an aura that surrounded every person, good and bad, frightening in its clarity.
But it was the day her uncle had innocently brushed her hand that had forced her to bring her secret into the light. She couldn’t keep it hidden from him because it was too much for a child to bear. Because in that innocent brush, it was like seeing her uncle for the first time, his hopes and dreams, even his secrets, everything that made him who he was; she saw it as clear as if someone had painted a picture of his soul.
“Good evening again, Miss Thomas,” a voice spoke in the same moment an icy chill shivered down her spine, putting an abrupt end to her trip down memory lane. She didn’t need to turn to see who it was; no person she’d ever met possessed the same, dark, indistinct aura this man had.
“Good evening, Mr. Cross,” she replied without turning around. She considered slowing her steps to be polite, but she was already struggling against the urge to launch into a flat-out run.
“I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you on your recent publication in the European Journal of Archaeology. Your work is astounding, truly.”
“Thank you,” she replied uneasily, finding it strange that the man was somehow familiar with her work. That, and it was unusual for someone outside the field to keep up with the latest archaeology journals.
“I’m an avid collector,” he explained without her asking, making her wonder just how much of what she was thinking was clear on her face. Nevertheless, it at least offered an explanation to why he had read her article, “Dragon Worship in an Iron Age, European Society.”
“What is it you collect?” She didn’t want to be interested; she still wanted to get away from the man as quickly as possible, but her professional curiosity was ever-present.
“A little of this and a little of that,” he answered noncommittally. “The magnum opus
of the collection is probably the eighth century stone idol of Kuzuryū, or the small remnant of the Creag Bruadar.”
Creag Bruadar. She’d heard that name, but where? It was Celtic in origin, for sure, but what was it?
“I happen to have both of those valuable treasures, as well as several others not far from here. I own the White Mesa Nature and Animal Preserve, and I’d be honored if you’d be willing to take a look,” he offered. “Some of my pieces have never seen the inside of a university or museum.”
Though the enthusiastic professional in her screamed at her to agree, she hesitated, not for a moment forgetting the man’s dark aura. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Cross, but it’s late and I really should be getting back to my hotel.”
“Yes, of course. But you’ll stop by tomorrow, won’t you?”
“I’ll certainly see what I can do,” she offered, not intending to come within fifty yards of the White Mesa Preserve tomorrow—or any other day.
“Excellent. Good evening, Claire,” he said in parting, and left back the way he came, taking the cold that had surrounded her with him.
She waved down a cab, having run into enough perplexing characters for one evening, and did her best to make her mind go blank all the way back to the hotel.
But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t keep the evening with Noah from replaying in her mind.
She wanted him, with an intensity that scared her almost as much as their strange connection—yes, that’s what it was. A connection of some kind. Was he cursed just like she was? No, she didn’t know how she could be so sure, but it wasn’t that. But then, what was it?
By the time she’d arrived back at the hotel and had readied herself for bed, she worried that any more replaying the same night over and over again in her mind was going to drive her to insanity. There were no answers, no more now than there ever had been. She should be used to that.
