by J. C. Wilder
Anyway, it was his own fault he’d ended up in such an undignified position. The damn fool wouldn’t have a huge knot on his head if he’d stayed in bed where he should have been at five a.m. She’d kept his house under surveillance for two weeks in order to learn his schedule, the patterns of his life. On this very night, the one she’d decided to make entry to his house, what did this foolish man decide to do? Get up early. He’d not done that before, not even once. Consequently, she’d had to conk him over the head to prevent him from interrupting her work.
“Men. Just goes to show you can’t trust a damn one of them,” she muttered.
A faint moan came from Miles and he stirred ever-so slightly, signaling that it was time to vacate the premises. She carefully rewrapped the book in its velvet shroud before tucking it into the carved box and securing the lid.
Whatever she ultimately decided to do with this artifact, she wasn’t about to leave it behind. In the current unholy war being waged between the preternaturals and the rogue Mikhail, Miles had sided with the vampire, and in their hands this book would only lead to the destruction of more lives.
She rose and tucked the box into the bottom of her small leather backpack. On top of the box she placed the other items of value she’d opted to liberate from the unconscious man, taking care that nothing would get damaged in transit.
Slipping on the pack, she turned off the desk lamp, her acute werewolf senses kicking in as her night vision took over. Stepping over Miles, Elena made her exit, her pack filled with the Paul Revere silver teapot she’d been engaged to procure, and the future of the preternatural world on her shoulders. In her possession, she might be able to use the knowledge the diary contained to resurrect a life.
Her own.
Chapter Two
New Orleans, Louisiana
Early May
Sinjin didn’t know her name nor where she was from, as they’d never spoken. All he knew was that she drank Pinot Grigio or Noir, had a passion for Cajun food and the most beautiful legs he’d ever seen.
For the past week, his mystery woman had come into the Chat Noir around the same time every evening. She’d be carrying a backpack full of books and she’d take the last table on the left near the windows. She’d order either wine or coffee, and she’d pore over her books and make copious notes while she ate her dirty rice or shrimp étouffée. He’d never seen her speak to anyone other than her server and when the few brave men who dared to approach her did attempt to speak to her, she’d freeze them with a cool look and a polite shake of her dark head.
She was elegant, beautiful and remote. And he wanted her.
Sinjin didn’t even realize he was watching for her until Julius, his head bartender, interrupted his musing.
“Are you waiting for someone, boss?” he asked.
Sinjin picked up the bar towel and wiped down the already spotless bar. “Nae. Why do ye ask?”
“You keep looking at the door, then back to your watch.” Julius opened the cooler and retrieved a case of beer, allowing the door to swing shut behind him. “I just thought you were looking for someone.” He carried the case into the other public room of the Chat Noir that functioned as a nightclub.
Was he waiting for his mystery woman? Sinjin rinsed out the cloth and tossed it in the laundry bin. There wasn’t much else to do, it was a slow night at the Chat due to an unseasonable cold spell that kept people in their homes. Only the tourists were haunting Bourbon Street in this weather. Was his mystery woman a tourist?
There was no doubt in his mind that he’d grown enamored of her from afar. He’d noticed her the first time she’d come to the Chat. She’d arrived at precisely eleven in the evening and she’d been dressed all in black. That in itself wasn’t unusual for his clientele, but her outfit had been concealing rather than revealing. Black turtleneck, long black skirt and black boots, her only adornment a simple gold necklace. A gold clip had tamed her dark hair and her dark eyes shadowed behind black-framed glasses.
Ever since the first night she’d come in, claim the corner table as her own, unpack her backpack and make herself at home. After she’d worked for several hours, her toes tapping to the hot jazz playing in the club, she’d pack up, leave a generous tip and vanish into the night. According to his waitress Tracey, the woman rarely indulged in idle conversation. She was polite, well spoken and did not encourage interaction other than ordering.
Maybe she was shy?
Sinjin pulled the plugs on the sinks as he began the process of closing down the restaurant bar, his movements methodical and mindless. He’d done this so many times it was rote. After he straightened the coffee area, and replenished the filters. Against his will he glanced at the open doors that led out to Bourbon Street.
No mystery woman.
He glanced at his watch. It was ten after eleven. Maybe she wasn’t coming tonight? He wiped down the front of the espresso machine, trying to ignore the curiously empty pit in his stomach.
He scowled and dropped the dishtowel in the sink. Why was he getting so tangled over the appearance of one woman? Women were plentiful at the Chat. Tall ones, short ones, thin ones, fat ones, anything a man could want for a long night’s entertainment.
He dropped into a crouch to root for packages of napkins and coffee stirrers. In the nightclub he heard the unmistakable sounds of the band beginning their second set, much to the delight of a small but enthusiastic crowd.
It had been several weeks since he’d last had a woman. The Chat had been wildly busy and along with the house he’d just bought and was renovating, he’d been too occupied to consider entertaining women in his bed.
Could that be what was wrong with him? It was simply an overabundance of testosterone that could be easily taken care of. He broke open a paper-wrapped package of napkins to restock the holder. An evening of romping in bed with a beautiful blonde and her bountiful D cups would straighten him right out. Then he could quit obsessing over a strange woman with skin like cream and hair as dark as night.
Maybe then he would quit wondering what she’d taste like. Dark temptation? Sheer innocence? Would she laugh in bed or was she one of those serious ones who turned out the lights and jumped under the covers lest he see any inch of pale flesh that wasn’t completely taut and toned? Maybe she…
Disgusted with the direction his thoughts had taken, he crumpled the brown paper and tossed it into the trash. He turned to grab another package as a flash of black near the doorway caught his eye. His muscles tightened when he recognized her.
His mystery woman had arrived.
She stood by Tracey, towering over the petite, redheaded waitress by several inches. She was dressed in slim black pants and a black turtleneck with some sort of shawl the color of pink roses draped over her head and shoulders. Her black bag was in place as were her glasses.
A low throb of excitement ignited in his gut and he released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. Tracey ushered the woman to her usual spot in the corner of the restaurant. The woman gave the waitress a bright smile and said something that caused Tracey to nod in response before turning away to approach him.
“I have an order,” Tracey said. “Do you want me to get it from the club since you’re closing up?”
“Nae, I’ll get it.” Sinjin closed the box of coffee stirrers and tucked it under the bar. “I’m not done closing.”
Her brow arched. “Uh-huh.” Tracey’s smile was slow. “I need a glass of the Pinot Grigio for the lady.”
“Coming right up.” Sinjin selected a wineglass from the overhead rack, not sure he liked the glint in her eye.
“She’s becoming quite a regular.”
“Who?” he asked, deliberately being obtuse. He uncorked the bottle and filled the glass.
“You know who as well as I do.” Tracey slid off the stool. “Oh my, I forgot to put her food order in.” She fluttered her lashes and she gave him a teasing smile. “You’ll just have to take her drink to her.”
Sinjin c
huckled as his saucy waitress slipped into the kitchen. Tracey was popular with the clients as well as the staff. Her big heart and wicked sense of humor made her a fun working companion. She loved nothing more than to dabble in other people’s love lives. If this worked out, he would have to thank her later.
He picked up the glass and walked toward his mystery woman. She sat at her table, head down as she read the open book in front of her. Even white teeth dug into her lower lip and he wondered what she was reading to cause her to bite her lip like that.
Slender fingers toyed with an errant curl as her other hand lightly tapped an ink pen against her notebook. Her low-heeled sandal hung from a red-painted toe as she wiggled her foot to the beat of an old Miles Davis song. She’d removed the shawl to drape it over the chair next to her. Beneath her turtleneck, he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra. Heat coiled in his gut. Her nipples were clearly outlined by the thin fabric and he was struck by a desire to pull her from the chair and taste them.
Stifling a curse, he walked past her toward the waitress stand. He couldn’t walk up to her with a raging erection. Even if he was wearing the small bar apron, his jeans and the square of white cotton wouldn’t hide what was happening below his waist.
With great effort, he managed to chill his heated blood by mentally reviewing his dry goods order for the morning. Nothing could calm him faster than a contemplation of cake flour and baking soda.
When his body was under control, he approached her. “Yer wine,” he said. Watch her have the voice of a teenybopper. No one with this exterior package could be graced with a sexy voice as well.
Her head popped up and a pair of eyes the color of midnight behind her glasses impaled him. Deep and rich, they reminded him of the velvet night sky in his beloved Highlands.
“Thank you very much.” She flashed him a quick, impersonal smile. “This is much appreciated.”
No, she definitely did not have the voice of a child. Low and sexy, her voice was that of a siren. It spoke of many nights in smoke-filled clubs listening to jazz to be followed with long hours on wrinkled sheets, limbs entwined, voice straining as she took her pleasure.
Heat pooled in his groin as his cock strained against the fly of his jeans. Sinjin loved nothing more than a seduction and the blinding rush brought on by sexual temptation. The quest to discover what a woman desired sexually was one that he relished. And when he did, how he set about ruining her for other men…
“Can I have my wine now?”
He blinked, the cloud of desire fading as he looked into her quizzical gaze. He’d been ruminating about getting her into bed while holding her wine hostage. Now that was smooth.
He set the glass in front of her. “Can I get ye anything else?”
“No, thank you. I have everything I need.” She dropped her head and returned her attention to her book, effectively dismissing him.
Sinjin gritted his teeth as he stalked to the bar. In his entire life he couldn’t remember anyone ever dismissing him as she had. Never. It wasn’t that women always found him irresistible, but they certainly didn’t blow him off like that. He assumed his usual position behind the bar. Well, that was that.
Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, he recorked the bottle of wine and returned it to the cooler.
“Did you make any headway?”
He turned to see Tracey, an organic green salad in her hand and an expectant smile on her face. “Don’t ask,” he muttered.
Her eyes widened. “You struck out?” She glanced over her shoulder at the object of their conversation. “She must be made of stone.”
He couldn’t prevent the grin that crossed his face. That was Tracey, loyal to the last. He glanced at the woman as his waitress delivered her salad. Her smile was brief but it lit her whole face and once again he felt an almost physical pull.
She might be made of stone, but water could breach her hardened exterior. It would just take time.
Vivian raised her head from the book she’d been studying. It was getting late and she was wearing down. The music was fabulous, the wine divine, but it was time to call it a night and head back to her hotel before she fell asleep on the table.
She slid the bookmark in between the pages and closed the book. Doing research for Erihn, her romance writer friend, was more interesting than she’d thought it would be. Who’d have thought she’d enjoy reading about voodoo, vodoun and witchcraft?
She opened her backpack and slid the book inside along with her notepad and pens. Erihn could do her own research, but she’d thought she was doing Vivian a favor in giving her something to keep busy. Ever since Mel’s death, all of the girls were watching her as if she were some sort of lab experiment gone awry. Vivian knew the last few months her behavior had been somewhat frantic, jumping from place to place and activity to activity. But she’d been desperate to find balance in a world gone awry.
The last few months she’d spent isolated in a variety of unfamiliar cities, exploring them and hoping, in turn, they’d help her rediscover herself. Right now she wasn’t sure if any of it had succeeded. She’d enjoyed soaking up the atmosphere in each of the cities she’d visited, but she didn’t know any more about what she wanted from life than she’d known the day she’d stood by Mel’s coffin saying her final good-bye.
Vivian picked up her new shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. Earlier in the day, she’d gone on a mini-shopping spree in the Quarter, adding the soft cashmere wrap to her meager stash of accessories. When she’d decided to go on this trip, she’d planned it with minimalism in mind. Several outfits, very little jewelry, her journal, cell phone and some books were all that she traveled with. Luckily she’d had sense to bring her credit cards, as they’d come in handy today. Until now she’d paid cash for pretty much everything, but her afternoon purchases would have completely exhausted her cash reserve.
She zipped her pack shut and dropped it on the floor beside her feet. All she had to do was settle her tab and she could be on her way. She glanced around the room for her waitress, but the only other person in attendance was the scowling bartender behind the bar.
She rose from her seat and swung her pack onto her back. He’d been smiling when she’d arrived. What had happened to paint that horrible scowl on such a handsome face? He really was quite good-looking. He was big, and impressively tall. A white T-shirt strained over his well-defined chest, showcasing his musculature. His profile was proud and chiseled with a high forehead, squared chin and masculine cheekbones. Even his irritated expression couldn’t detract from his dark good looks.
Tall, dark and good-looking were her usual type—tall, dark and surly was not.
“Excuse me,” she said to him.
The bartender turned and she received the full force of his green-eyed gaze. She shivered and drew the shawl tighter around her shoulders as a spark of sexual awareness ignited in her gut. This, she did not need right now.
“I would like to settle my bill please.”
“Aye. I’ll find Tracey for ye.”
“Thank you.” Vivian climbed onto a barstool as he came out from behind the bar, turning into what she assumed was the kitchen. She couldn’t resist sneaking a peek at his backside as he walked away.
Broad shoulders tapered to a perfect vee at his narrow waist, drawing her gaze down to his delicious, jean-clad backside. Surly he may be, but he had a grade A prime butt. Her fingers itched to grab that firm flesh and squeeze.
Okay, so maybe tall dark and surly was a nice package that warranted a second look. Or a touch…or a bite…
She exhaled noisily as she loosened the shawl. Was it suddenly warm in here? Maybe she should’ve skipped that last glass of wine. No, wine never made her this warm before. Could it be that menopause had finally caught up to her?
Hopefully that was the problem as the last thing she needed on her journey of rediscovery was yet another meaningless affair. True, it had been a long time since she’d taken a man into her bed, almost six months. Since losing h
er virginity, this was the longest dry spell she’d ever had.
The bartender returned with a slip of paper in his hand. A man who looked like him probably had women dripping off him at every turn. The last thing she needed was another good-time boy. He might have a face that could tempt a saint, but she wasn’t breaking her streak of celibacy for a one-night stand with a cocktail-slinging Lothario, even if he was built for a long, hard ride. She swallowed. She was here to find herself, not carve another notch on her bedpost, no matter how tempting he was.
“Here ye are.” He laid the slip on the bar before her.
“Thank you.” She fumbled for her waist pack, silently cursing suddenly thick fingers.
“What brings ye to our fair city?”
“I came here to find myself.” What the devil made her say that? Inwardly she groaned and pulled out a pair of twenties, and forced a merry laugh. “I mean—”
“Were ye lost?”
Vivian raised her head, her gaze meeting his and a curious sense of homecoming swept through her. Why did she suddenly feel as if she could tell this man anything and he’d understand her? She shook that thought away. What foolishness was this?
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Did ye wake up one morning to realize that ye was absent from yer own life?” He braced his muscular forearms on the bar and leaned toward her. “Or was it insidious? A piece of ye slipping away bit by bit until only a shadow remained in yer place?”
Her throat tightened. How could this stranger know what was going on inside her? His green eyes were kind, as if he too knew exactly what she was going through.
She cleared her throat. “I looked around one day and realized that I’d become a stranger in my own life. I was going through the motions, but no longer participating in my existence. I came here to reclaim my life and hopefully a piece of myself in the process.”
Feeling raw and not believing she’d just spoken so boldly and truthfully to a complete stranger, she slipped from the stool, wanting only the freedom of the New Orleans night to hide her pain. As she neared the door, she heard him speak.
