‘‘Well, he’s my—’’ What was he? Ann didn’t know, but she blundered on. ‘‘He’s my mate, and I tell you, don’t lay a hand on him again.’’
Konstantine cocked his head and examined her. ‘‘Your mate, is he? How do you know that?’’
She shrugged, a large, helpless roll of her shoulders. ‘‘I simply knew the first time I saw him that he . . . was the one.’’
‘‘That he gave you no choice—you forgive?’’
‘‘I think . . . that it was inevitable.’’
Konstantine’s gaze moved beyond her to Zorana, who sat, her fingers woven together. ‘‘I am glad for that.’’ His gaze returned to Jasha. ‘‘But I am sorely displeased with you. What were you thinking?’’
‘‘I wasn’t thinking. I was angry. I wanted her. And she . . . ran.’’ Jasha glanced up at Ann, and what she saw in his face frightened and thrilled her.
He still wanted her. If she ran, he would still give chase.
Konstantine continued. ‘‘So you, like a beast with no brain or heart, pursued her and raped her.’’
‘‘No!’’ Ann took Jasha’s hand. ‘‘I . . . he made me . . . different. I didn’t know before, but after . . . I . . .’’
Again Konstantine’s gaze shifted to Zorana.
Their eyes met.
Ann caught a glimpse of red glow in his.
As if suddenly attacked by shyness, Zorana’s gaze dropped, and a half smile tilted her lips.
Something had passed between them. A memory of a time long ago.
Jasha kept Ann’s hand in his, and took Konstantine’s with his other. ‘‘Papa, I deserve to be slapped, and I thank you for your care of Ann. But honestly, if I had it all to do over again, I would do exactly the same . . . as long as, in the end, I could have Ann.’’
‘‘All right.’’ Konstantine shoved at Jasha’s shoulder, then shook his finger in his face. ‘‘But you are not an animal. Remember that. Instinct can be your friend—and your enemy. Use your brain, boy, and don’t let your erkek point the way.’’
As Jasha came to Ann, everyone was smiling, not at them, but about them. Taking her hand, he led her outdoors.
She went willingly, wanting out of this house stuffed with so much kind interest she was afraid she would suffocate.
Jasha walked to the stone bench under the broadleaved maple, sat down, and patted the place beside him.
She sat down and stared straight forward, shoulders hunched, hands gripping the edge of the cool stone.
‘‘So, I’m your mate, am I?’’
‘‘I suppose.’’ She’d thought if she left the house, she’d be less embarrassed. Instead her face flamed hotter. ‘‘But I don’t even know what that means.’’
‘‘I do.’’
He was going to say she loved him, and that was true, but she didn’t need him to smirk about it. ‘‘It’s not what you think.’’
‘‘But it is. Who better to know than me?’’ Taking her chin, he turned it toward him. ‘‘Ann, ruyshka, I want to marry you.’’
Stunned, she stared into his golden eyes for the briefest second. Then she came off the cool stone in a fiery red wrath. ‘‘How dare you? I know I’m an orphan who was thrown away in a Dumpster—’’
‘‘The Dumpster. You never said anything about the Dumpster!’’
She hadn’t said anything about a lot of things. ‘‘I know I’m nothing more than your secretary—’’
‘‘Administrative assistant.’’
‘‘And I’m too tall and my hair’s brown and my boobs aren’t very big. But at least they’re real, and so am I, and I won’t let you make fun of me!’’
He stared at her as she stood over him, fists clenched at her side, vibrating with indignation.
‘‘I am not making fun of you.’’
‘‘Maybe not. But you’re not telling the truth, either. ’’ Not telling the truth about loving her, she meant.
‘‘I like brown hair. I like tall women. They’re easy to dance with.’’ He stood up, right against her, and wrapped his hands around her waist. ‘‘I like you. You’re wonderful to make love to. I admire you. You don’t have any relatives, but you’ve collected friends around you and made your own family, and they adore you.’’
‘‘Pfft!’’
‘‘Do you think I haven’t noticed the way they talk about you? They’re always pointing out your good qualities. And I know damned good and well if Celia realized what had happened between us in the woods, my dad would have had to stand in line to knock me ass over teakettle.’’ Jasha brought her close so that his body warmed her, and he tilted her head to rest against his shoulder. ‘‘Ann, why is it so hard to believe I want to marry you?’’
Because he didn’t know who—or what—she truly was. He didn’t know what happened to people who cared for her. For all that he was a demon, he didn’t realize that she was the worst kind of murderer—the kind who watched people die for her, and did nothing more than cry about it.
And yes, he could embrace her and seduce her until she melted against him. But she knew exactly why he wanted to marry her—because of Zorana’s prophecy. Because he thought he should, or because he thought to bind her more closely to him and his family. She wanted to be loved, but she damned well wouldn’t be used.
‘‘I love you,’’ he said.
She’d heard him use that impatient tone of voice before—with his fiancée when she’d thrown one of her tantrums.
She removed first one of his arms from around her, then the other. ‘‘I liked it better when you didn’t tell me lies.’’
‘‘What makes you think I’m lying to you?’’ He did incredulous very well.
‘‘You’ll do anything for the sake of your family,’’ she said bitterly. ‘‘But do you really think I’m so dumb that I’ll believe a man who discovers he loves me after I found the icon that would save his family? Come on, Jasha. What if some other woman had found it? Would you still love me, or would you oh so suitably fall in love with her, instead?’’
‘‘My father expects us to marry, yes. My family expects it. But I know what I know. We’ve come through fear and pain and struggle together, and because of all that, in only a few days we’ve grown closer than most people do in a lifetime. We trust each other, Ann. What’s more important than that?’’
‘‘Love.’’
‘‘I said I loved you.’’
‘‘And I said I didn’t believe you. That tepid admiration you feel for me is not love.’’
‘‘My dear Ann’’—Jasha spoke through clenched teeth—‘‘I would like to point out that you wouldn’t recognize love if it dragged you off into the forest, which at this moment seems like the only way to get through to you.’’
She turned her back on him. ‘‘You’re right. I wouldn’t recognize love. But I know it’s not synonymous with convenience.’’
‘‘All right, Ann.’’ His voice was crisp and businesslike. ‘‘I thought we had established more confidence in each other than this. I realize now I’m going to have to work harder to make you believe that I would never let you down.’’
She couldn’t stand to see him angry. And she didn’t understand herself. All her life she’d told herself she would be practical about marriage. She’d promised herself she’d be happy to be part of a family. Now she was rejecting him not because he turned into a wolf, and not because of the responsibilities of being the icon finder, but because he didn’t truly love her? Why wouldn’t she take what he offered?
Because she wanted to know she was more to him than his other women.
‘‘I grew up begging for scraps of affection from nuns, from other people’s parents, and I deserve better than that. I’m not going to take the icon away, but I don’t care what your mother’s prophecy said.’’ She faced him. Faced his irritation and his impatience with a lift of her chin. ‘‘I’m not going to be the wife you have to marry to save your family.’’
‘‘All right. You’re not going t
o believe me. Do you believe this?’’ He caught her wrists, yanked her toward him, and kissed her.
His passion was like a blast from the furnace of hell, a mixture of sex and fury. She shouldn’t respond; right now, she didn’t even like him. But it seemed liking him had nothing to do with the blistering sensations he roused in her, the ones that made her fight to free her hands, then wrap them around his shoulders and yield to him.
By the time he lifted his head, she was clinging, weak-kneed, and reckless. She would have gone anywhere with him, done anything for him. . . .
‘‘Jasha!’’ Firebird yelled from the porch. ‘‘Ann!’’
Jasha lifted Ann’s chin, and red rimmed his golden eyes. ‘‘Remember that kiss when you’re telling yourself you’re not interested in my kind of love.’’
‘‘Jasha!’’ Firebird yelled again. ‘‘Ann!’’
He glanced toward his sister. ‘‘We’ll finish this discussion later,’’ he said to Ann.
‘‘Why bother?’’ Ann muttered as she followed him toward the house.
‘‘Come in here. Quick!’’ Firebird disappeared inside.
Jasha looked back at Ann.
One thought swept through their minds.
Konstantine.
They both raced toward the house.
Inside, everyone stood in the living room, staring at Rurik.
Rurik held the phone, a mixture of awe and disquiet on his face as he spoke sternly into the receiver.
Firebird grabbed their arms and squeezed. ‘‘He got a call from the site in Scotland, and he’s gone all air force captain on them.’’
Ann didn’t understand the tension that held the family so taut with anticipation.
As soon as Rurik hung up, Jasha asked, ‘‘What is it?’’
Rurik looked at Jasha as if he didn’t recognize him. ‘‘The tomb . . . my team excavated far enough to see the gleam of gold. There are traps, but also, they think there’s a huge cache of treasure.’’
‘‘Way to go!’’ Jasha stuck out his hand, and again they did the elaborate handshake.
‘‘I instructed them to wait for me to return before they try to spring the traps and go for the gold. But one thing’s clear—we’ve found the tomb I was looking for, the tomb of a great Celtic conqueror.’’ Rurik’s voice became quiet, slow, and dark. ‘‘A tomb that dates back a thousand years.’’
‘‘A thousand years.’’ Now Ann understood. ‘‘Definitely not a coincidence.’’
‘‘Exactly.’’ Rurik’s brown eyes grew still and deep and satisfied. ‘‘This guy knew the first Konstantine Varinski.’’
Chapter 29
Alimo picked Jasha and Ann up at the airport and drove them through the summer heat, past the miles of grapes, past the other wineries, and down the long, treelined drive to the tall French-style château that housed Wilder Wines.
It was afternoon and the height of the tourist season, and Jasha noted with satisfaction that the parking lot was full of cars and buses. Tourists lined up for the tasting tours, while on the shady, well-tended grounds, other tourists sat at picnic tables indulging in the decadent premade lunches and glasses of wine.
His family might be going to hell—literally—and his romance might be faltering, but by God, the business was booming.
The château’s main floor held the tasting room, the deli and sales counter, storage for the vintages they were selling, and a packing and shipping center. In the basement, the tour guides explained how wine was made, and displayed the great stainless steel tanks awaiting this year’s pressing. The top two floors housed the winery offices, so the limo deposited Jasha and Ann at the back door. Together they took the elevator up to the plush reception area, two professionals in suits and her with a briefcase. A briefcase that held the first icon.
They didn’t talk.
At first, Jasha hadn’t noticed they weren’t speaking. He’d been too busy congratulating his brother for his clever combination of intuition and research. He’d helped Rurik get plane tickets, driven him down to Seattle, and dropped him off at the airport. Then he’d come home and sat in the living room with the rest of the family, wondering what Rurik would find. Some pure, historical data?
That would be a disappointment to them, of course, but a huge boon to Rurik’s career, and would bring him more grant money for more excavation.
But Rurik hoped to find information on how to break the deal with the devil. Or even . . . discover another icon.
All that evening, Ann had talked; she’d asked questions; she’d expressed awe and wonder. In the morning, as they prepared to return to California, Jasha noticed stiffness, but put it down to a slow resumption of her business persona.
It was only gradually he had noticed—she wasn’t speaking to him.
And why not? Hadn’t he proposed to her? Hadn’t he told her he loved her?
He supposed she’d been indignant because he hadn’t gone down on one knee, offered her roses and jewels and a life on a cushion. But he’d done that with Meghan and she hadn’t been impressed, or at least not impressed enough to marry him.
Thank God.
Besides, Ann was an eminently sensible woman. She surely understood that in this case, his family required his whole attention.
You’ll do anything for the sake of your family.
He should have done more than show her how easily he could seduce her. That sure as hell hadn’t been his smartest move. But when Ann, gentle, kind, sensible Ann, squared her stubborn chin and told him his love wasn’t enough, she drove every battle tactic from his head and he wanted to show her exactly what he did feel.
Unfortunately, she seemed to think his lust for her was no different from his lust for other women.
He snorted.
Startled, Ann glanced at him.
The elevator doors opened, and Ann walked out ahead of him.
He stood still and watched.
She moved like a Spanish dancer, sinewy and graceful.
Yesterday, his father had tried to slap some control into him, but all Jasha wanted to do was bound after her and take her down. He wanted to roll on the floor with her, kiss her until she released that deeply passionate nature she hid so well, then undress her and . . .
Take her for granted? Hell, when she was around, he had trouble keeping his mind on business at all, much less on the business of survival.
Was that love?
Yes, but not the kind that made him turn his back on all he’d loved before. Instead, it was the kind of love that made him bring Ann into the middle of his pack, where she would be safest, and keep her there.
‘‘Mr. Wilder! Miss Smith! We didn’t know you were coming!’’ The pretty young receptionist got to her feet so quickly Jasha suspected she’d been reading a book in her desk drawer.
‘‘Surprise,’’ he answered.
Ann placed her hand over Nicole’s as it hovered over the phone. ‘‘Let’s keep it a surprise.’’
They headed down the hallway, past the windows of the conference room where wine salesmen and wine buyers met. Shawn, their lead salesman, stood talking to the buyer for Austin Liquor, showing him Wilder Wines’s gold medals. Shawn indicated them as they walked past. He had no qualms about using his good-looking boss and his long-legged assistant as a symbol of Wilder Wines. When they married, Shawn would view it as an advertising triumph.
When they married . . .
Ann was trying to keep their professional life on a businesslike basis.
In the normal course of events, Jasha would completely approve. Office romances were the death of a business relationship. And when it came to business relationships, there were none he treasured as much as the one he had with Miss Ann Smith.
Or at least . . . he had.
Now he just damned well wanted her to fling herself at him like she’d done on that rock in the forest. Or leap up to defend him as she’d done when his father gave him hell. Or at least stop retreating every time he advanced.
He needed to think ahead, stay one step ahead of Ann in the way she thought and the moves she would make. If he was canny, he could keep her so occupied with business that she didn’t notice he’d taken over her life.
Celia Kim, Jasha’s production manager, walked out of the copy room, her head down as she flipped through charts. She dodged them with a scowl, then did a double take. Her face blossomed into a warm smile. ‘‘You’re back! Did you, er, get everything cleared up?’’ She looked meaningfully between Jasha and Ann.
As code went, that was the worst Jasha had ever heard.
‘‘Everything’s fine,’’ Ann said in a clipped tone.
‘‘Very cleared up.’’ He smiled charmingly, presenting his usual competent façade . . . and a little more. ‘‘I enjoyed having Ann at my home. In fact, I took her up to meet my parents.’’
‘‘Really?’’ Celia drawled the word, imbuing it with every meaning.
Ann frowned with austere displeasure.
‘‘Yes,’’ he said. ‘‘We’re going to be working long hours for the next few weeks until they’re cleared up some more.’’
Celia simpered like a girl. ‘‘I’m so glad!’’
Ann kept walking toward their office suite.
‘‘Although it’s a little icy today,’’ he said in an undertone to Celia.
‘‘I’m surprised,’’ she answered. ‘‘She’s always adored you.’’
‘‘Passion has caught her by surprise.’’
Celia glanced between him and Ann. ‘‘In a good way, I hope.’’
‘‘A very good way.’’ Actually, he’d used passion to push Ann into a corner, and he hoped he could find a way to save her pride before more trouble loomed on their horizon.
As Ann reached their office, Celia hurried forward and called, ‘‘I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.’’
Ann tried the knob. It was locked. She looked back inquiringly.
Celia mouthed to him, ‘‘Jordan and Sophia.’’
The head vintner and one of the women from receiving.
Jasha flushed with a surprising rage. ‘‘Really?’’ In the suite where Ann labored in the outer office and guarded his privacy, where they had spent long hours in his inner office talking and working? ‘‘I don’t think so.’’ He strode to the door, unlocked it, and caught the two lovers in an embrace that left nothing to the imagination.
Scent of Darkness Page 22
