chapter Sixteen
I made a quick stop home on my lunch hour.
Sometime during the day, a cleaning crew had stopped by and the house smelled of furniture polish and lemon-scented cleaner. It was just like Beau to send in a crew to take care of things. A small part of me was disappointed that the Russell clan was no longer staked out here, but maybe I didn’t matter anymore.
I didn’t have time to dwell on my hurt, though. I grabbed a change of “date” clothes and returned to work, dreading my date with Jason that evening. Giselle had scheduled it at a fancy French bistro.
The afternoon dragged by. The only thing to break it up was a quick meeting with Giselle; apparently Garth the naga wanted to see me again, despite the fact that I’d ditched him.
Giselle was thrilled and scheduled it for the next night. “Leave all your nights free,” she crowed. “Business is going to be better than ever.”
I managed to keep a polite smile on my face.
My dark mood blackened further when I went into the bathroom to change clothes and noticed the scent of strawberries mixed with roses, which immediately made me think of Beau. On a hunch, I opened the wastebasket and peered inside. Sure enough, a bouquet of beautiful red roses and a pretty container of chocolate-covered strawberries had been thrown in the trash. I picked the card out of the garbage and saw my name on it.
Damn Giselle. I’d have liked to have seen my present before she’d thrown it away.
I changed into a light gray sweater dress with opaque tights for my date with Jason. I’d found one of Beau’s love bites on my calf, and the sight of it had made me blush (and get hot at the same time), but my skirt hadn’t been quite long enough to hide it, so I’d had to change clothes before my date. The new ensemble itched, but it covered me from ear to toe, and that was important.
Giselle had seen the love bite, as well. She’d not been amused.
Jason was all boyish charm that evening, and I could tell he was out to impress me. He bought expensive wine, he told funny anecdotes about banking, and he encouraged me to talk. He was one of those touchy-feely types, too. He’d reach across the table and touch my hand, and I imagine any other woman would have been dazzled at the display of affection.
It annoyed the hell out of me. I pulled my hand away every time he reached out to touch it. For once the blushing virgin act did me a favor.
“Shall we go dancing?” he suggested as he handed the waiter his credit card and I toyed with my cherries jubilee. “There’s a great salsa club downtown that I can get us into.”
Salsa dancing? Shoot me now. “I have two left feet,” I admitted.
His white smile flashed again. “So modest. I thought all women liked dancing,” he teased.
The thought of dancing with Jason made my stomach lurch. Maybe it was because I’d be so close to him that his cologne would smother me. “Perhaps we’d better end the evening. I’m not feeling so well.” It wasn’t a lie; His heavy, musky cologne had become choking after ten minutes.
He looked crestfallen. “Is it me, Bathsheba? Have I done something to offend you?”
Great, now I felt like a monster. “It’s not you,” I said, forcing myself to reach across the table and grasp his hand to reassure him, because I knew he’d appreciate the gesture. “I’m just … not in a great place tonight.”
Or tomorrow. Or ever again.
He gave me an understanding look, and his hand squeezed mine. “I totally understand.” He accepted the bill from the waiter and signed his name without looking at the tab, then added several large bills—more than I’d spent at the grocery store in the past month—as a tip. “I recognize when my date’s too distracted to concentrate on dinner.”
Maybe it was the three glasses of wine or the soft, understanding tone of his voice, but I smiled at him. “You can see right through me.”
Frankly, I was just relieved our date was coming to an end. I couldn’t wait to get away from him. I let him tuck me into his nice, bland, champagne-colored Lexus and him drive me back to the office.
At least, I thought we were going back to the office. When we pulled up to a huge electronic gate with the initials JTC wrought into the ironwork, I gave him a suspicious look. “Why are we going to your place?”
“It’s entirely innocent, I assure you,” he said. “I thought you might like a coffee and maybe watch a movie. The evening is still early.”
He had a point, and I forced myself to calm the unease that skittered through me. If he dropped me off too quickly, Giselle’s radar would be on alert. “All right. Though I’m not really in the mood for coffee.”
Jason grinned. “Wine, then. Giselle told me you’re a fan of reds.”
I forced a tight smile. “Great.” I really hated Giselle sometimes.
Jason smoothly steered up the long, winding driveway and I tried not to let my jaw drop as we parked. Jason owned a veritable palace. Versailles, American style. Built as an old-fashioned plantation house, it had twenty-four windows along the front, and that was just the porch area. His house probably had well over a dozen rooms, each one grander than the last. The outside was rather spectacular, as well. Pretty columns supported the arching roof, and ivy wrapped around the columns.
Holy crap. Jason had money money. “When you said you were in banking, I thought you meant loans,” I said.
He nodded at the servant who opened my car door, letting me out. “I do loans,” he said agreeably.
“No,” I corrected. “I thought you were the paper-pusher. The monkey who writes down the info. You’re the freaking monkey with the money!” I gestured at the house. “Holy crap.”
He gave a boisterous laugh and came around to my side of the car, tucking my hand in his arm in an old-fashioned manner. “You’re still wrong, though.”
I let him lead me in. Holy crap, was that a crystal chandelier? “I’m wrong about what?”
“Not a monkey,” he said affably. “A cougar.” His eyes gleamed green at me, sizing me up in blatant fashion.
A shapeshifter joke, maybe, but it still freaked me out. “Figure of speech,” I said faintly. “I was kidding.”
He grinned. “I like it when you tease me.”
Oh, boy. I gave him an awkward smile.
Jason led me into the den, his hand moving to the small of my back. A massive plasma TV covered one wall of the study, and lines of DVDs trimmed the walls instead of books. Speakers were mounted in every corner of the arched ceiling. The man liked his toys.
Suddenly he turned me around and pulled my body up against his. “ ’Sheba,” he breathed. His fingernails dug into me, pricking through my clothing and breaking the skin. “I’ve been thinking about how sexy you look all night.”
I could feel a drop of blood slide down my wrist and I twisted my hands, trying to shove him away. “Jason, let go! Your claws—”
He released me immediately. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathing hard as he stared at me. “I don’t know what came over me.” He reached into a pocket and offered me a handkerchief.
Well, don’t let it come over you again. I dabbed at my wrist. The blood was just a trickle, and it dried up within moments. I thanked him for the handkerchief, then hesitated. Should I throw it away?
Jason extended a hand and gave me a rueful smile. “Here, let me take care of that for you.”
I handed it to him.
He turned his back and his shoulders hunched, and he didn’t move for a moment. I leaned to the side, trying to see what he was doing. Was he … sniffing the bloody handkerchief?
My weirdo radar went off.
Jason moved across the room and tossed the handkerchief in the trash, and I wondered if I’d imagined the whole thing. He reapproached me, stalking me like I was his prey. I took a step backward, my body pressing against the wall. My breath disappeared in a gasp as he pulled me against him. His arms anchored my body against his and he bent to my neck, pushing my collar down and feverishly laving kisses on my skin.
“Jason!” My hands pushed his shoulders—the man was impossible to budge. “What are you doing?”
His hands slid down to my ass. “Let me wipe him from your mind, Sheba,” he breathed against my neck, his tongue sliding over my skin. “You’re so beautiful, and sexy—”
I squirmed, trying to get away, and managed to slide out of his grasp. “Jason, what the hell?”
He stiffened, staring at me in shock. His eyes flicked to the weird cat gleam, then back again. “Your neck …” His nostrils flared.
Shit. I’d forgotten all about Beau’s rampaging marks all over my skin. Not that I’d expected to be mauled by my current date. I straightened my high collar and gave him an insulted look. “There’s nothing wrong with my neck.”
“I thought you were a virgin.” There was a dangerous note in his voice.
My face turned bright red. “I’m a virgin, not a nun.” I was counting on his not trying to check the virginity thing for himself.
Jason stared at me with hot eyes for a moment longer, then shook himself. “Forgive me. I was … overcome.”
“I should leave.”
“No,” he said, and the look in his eyes became soft and pleading. “Please. We’ll just talk. I promise. I’m sorry.”
I wavered, flustered. “I … I suppose.”
Smiling with relief, Jason showed me to a plush leather chair in the entertainment room. As I sank into the seat, he said, “I need to make a couple of calls. Can you give me a moment?”
He was leaving me here? When I didn’t want to be here anyway? I tried to hide my annoyance and exhaustion. “Look, Jason, we can do this some other time—”
He put his hands on my shoulders, and my eyes watered at the heavy smell of his cologne. “No, please, ’Sheba.”
Why did I find his stupid nickname for me so irritating?
“I promise I won’t be long,” he continued. “And then we can get to know each other better.” His eyes were pleading, and his thumb brushed against my shoulder as if he could convince me the more he touched me. “I want you to stay.”
He seemed to want it rather desperately.
How long it would take for him to tattle to Giselle if I left? “Sure,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “But I can’t stay too late. I have work early …”
He winked at me in a way that screamed total cheese. “I won’t keep you out too late, I promise. Let me have one of the servants bring you some wine while I make my calls.”
Servants? How very posh of him.
Jason disappeared, leaving me alone and sucking in clean, fresh air. What was it about him that seemed so overpowering and choking? His cologne was heavy, but I’d smelled stronger. Maybe he just wasn’t Beau, and so I rejected him. Beau always smelled clean and musky and delicious, never overpowering.
I shook away those thoughts and moved to examine the DVD collection. Lots of war movies, black and white movies, and foreign with subtitles.
Sheesh. Give me Revenge of the Nerds over Casablanca any day.
I picked through his movies for several long minutes, bored and checking my watch. He’d been gone for a while now.
“Miss?” There was a small knock at the door. A maid appeared with a tray holding a wine bottle and two expensive-looking glasses. She seemed nervous, and was small and thin, with limp brown hair and an oversized gray uniform. “The master sent me in to see to your needs.”
The “master”? Jason clearly had issues.
I pulled out my cell phone. “What’s the address here?” When she recited it, I typed it in, texting Ryder: COME GET ME NOW.
The maid looked at the tray uncertainly when I was done. “The master instructed me to bring this.”
I gestured to a nearby end table. “Just put it there. Thank you.”
She set the tray down, but the weight was balanced wrong, and as soon as she released it the whole thing toppled over, wine spilling into the pale silk Persian carpet.
We both sucked in a breath at the same time. I quickly reached for the bottle, placing it on the table. The damage was done—a deep red stain the size of a basketball had already soaked into the carpet. “Do you have any towels nearby? We can catch the worst of this before it sets in.”
No response. I turned and looked at the maid.
Her eyes were wide with fear, her pupils dilated. She wrung her hands, silent tears dripped down her cheeks, and shudders wracked her form.
Oh, Lord. “It’s just a little wine,” I said with a reassuring smile. “Towels?”
She fell to her knees and began to sob as if she’d been given a death sentence.
Either she was a total drama queen, or she was frightened out of her mind. Frowning, I went out into the hallway, looking for other servants. “Hello? Is anybody there? Jason?”
Another woman in gray appeared from another doorway. She looked at me with hunched shoulders, as if she expected to be backhanded instead of greeted.
What was wrong with these people?
“Can I help you, miss?” she said in a soft voice.
I nodded and pointed at the door. “Can you come in here for a second?”
She followed me like a timid little mouse. When she saw the other woman, prostrate and sobbing with fear, and the wine stain on the rug, she turned on her heel and ran.
“Are you running to get towels?” I called, unease niggling inside me. “Hello?”
I could hear her feet slamming up the stairs and a door shutting behind her.
All right, that was it. I didn’t care that Ryder wasn’t here yet—I’d wait outside. I took a pen and a grocery receipt out of my purse and wrote a note to Jason.
Can’t stay tonight. Sorry about the wine I spilled. I’ll pay for the cleaning service. Can we catch up some other time?
I signed it and handed the note to the maid. “Look, I’m going to take full responsibility for the wine, all right? I was reaching for the bottle and knocked it over—that’s the story we’re going to use.” I gave her a friendly smile.
Her tears dried a little, and her breathing calmed from those awful, gasping sobs. “Yes, ma’am.”
Something really weird was going on, and I wasn’t going to stick around to find out what. I gave her an encouraging smile and grabbed my things, then headed out of the house. Jason was creeping me out big time.
The mansion’s driveway was long and cobbled, and it snaked through the woodsy area surrounding his estate. Given that it was rather dark outside and my nerves were shot, it wasn’t the most relaxing walk. I kept hearing noises in the woods, and I walked even faster.
I punched the release for the gate and slipped out before it had even finished opening, then trotted down the street a ways so I could watch the oncoming cars.
Of all fortuitous, lucky things, a large truck slowed next to me. Ryder. Thank God.
I peeked inside to double-check that it was her, but the door opened and Beau slid out of the passenger seat. A squeak of protest erupted from my throat, and I stared inside the cab. Ramsey was driving.
“Where’s Ryder?”
“We were at the office and I told her I’d take care of this. Hop in.”
“How do I know this isn’t all some hilarious plan to kidnap me again and take me back to the Love Lodge?”
Beau’s grin was feral. “You don’t.”
I scowled and glanced back at Jason’s mansion on the hill. Creepy overbearing cougar in the mansion? Or too-sexy-for-my-own-good cougar I was trying to break up with? There was really no question, but I pulled my phone out to text Ryder and noticed that she’d sent a message a few minutes ago.
Don’t be mad. Beau is very determined to see you.
No shit, Sherlock.
“Why were you at Midnight Liaisons?” I asked.
“Marie had promised to pull some records on the Anderson wolves for me, to see if we could match up all their addresses.”
I softened, seeing the worry on his brow. “Still can’t find Savannah?”
He shook his head, then gestured at the truck. “You going to get in?”
I slid inside the cab. Beau got in beside me, shut the door, then pulled me into his lap.
While this was slightly better than being squeezed against Ramsey’s glowering hulk, it was still awkward. “Beau,” I said, trying to slide off, “I can’t sit in your lap.”
He gave me a teasing look but refused to let me go. “Remember that last conversation we had, where you said you didn’t want me in your life?”
“I remember,” I said, trying not to look him straight in the eye so I could hold onto my resolve.
He shrugged, and my eyes were drawn back to those wide shoulders like some starving nympho. I couldn’t have him in my life. I couldn’t.
“I don’t accept that,” he said.
I shook my head to clear it. “Accept what?”
“Your rejection of me,” he said, taking my hand. His hand was so warm and comforting. “I’ve decided not to take no for an answer.”
I shivered at the thrill his words gave me. I forced sarcasm to my voice. “Do you think I can just give you a nice little kiss and pretend that I haven’t dumped you twice?”
“That sounds real good to me.” Then his mouth was on mine, his hand moving around behind my neck to hold me against him.
Me and my big mouth.
Him and his delicious, sinful mouth. His lips were soft, warm, delicious. He knew what he was after, and like a single-minded general, he came, he saw, and he conquered. After the first stroke of his tongue into my mouth, I was lost. His tongue swept through my mouth, possessing and playful, and I met it with my own. No one tasted as good as Beau.
I was so not over him; I wanted him despite everything. My hand curled into his shirt, and I slid my thigh over his.
Ramsey cleared his throat, and I crash-landed back down to earth. Beau’s mouth stretched into a faint smile.
I punched him in the shoulder. “Stop doing that to me.”
He put his hands up as if surrendering, and his eyes locked on me. “Who were you with?”
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “None of your damn business.”
His eyes flashed in the darkness, the were-cougar version of having a temper tantrum. “You reek of cologne.”
Yeah, well, so did my date. “Beau, stop it.”
“Did he kiss you?” Was that a note of strain in Beau’s voice?
I shot him an angry look to cover my lie. “Some guys are polite enough to not maul a girl on a date.”
Not Jason, but I’m sure there were some guys out there like that.
Silence. Then a smug “Good.”
It irritated and thrilled me at the same time. Thrilled that he was being possessive when it came to me … irritated that he was being such an ass about it. Damn it. My heart broke a little. I couldn’t have this. I couldn’t have him. “I can’t do this, Beau.”
“Don’t,” he said softly.
“I can’t be with you. I’m sorry.” My eyes burned with tears.
A few minutes passed in awkward silence, then Beau spoke again. “I need your help, Bathsheba. You’ve met a lot of Alliance members at your job, right?”
It seemed an odd question. “I guess so.”
“And all applications are done in person, correct?”
“Giselle uses in-person interviews, yes. Some of the customers are several hundred years old and slow to catch on to new technology.” Vampires were notoriously bad with computers and couldn’t type worth beans. “Why?”
“Because I need help identifying a few bodies.”