by I. T. Lucas
"A predator doesn't appreciate an easy catch," Brian had told him. "Let her work for it, and she will crave you more."
Dishonest? To an extent.
Manipulative? For sure.
Did it feel right? Not at all.
When he arrived at the lobby of Bridget's building, he stopped by the guard. "Could you please tell Doctor Bridget that Turner is here?"
It was quite ironic that after all the effort he'd gone to, he still didn't know basic things like her last name.
The security guard exchanged a few words with her before ending the call. "Doctor Bridget said to wait for her. She will be down shortly."
"Thank you."
Not a good sign. Turner wanted to see Bridget's personal space. A lot could be learned about a person from their living environment. But apparently, she didn't trust him enough to invite him to her apartment.
Though why would she fear it, puzzled him. She knew he needed her and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize his chances. Besides, from what Kian had told him at the very start, immortals were physically stronger than humans, which meant that Bridget had nothing to fear from a human male, even a well-trained one.
As he had done the other time, Turner waited by the lobby's front window, looking out. A reflection provided him with a good enough view of the guard station and whoever they buzzed in or out.
That was how he got his first glimpse of Bridget as she strode through the glass door the guard had opened for her. If he thought she was a ten before, he was mistaken. She was off the charts.
With her red hair spilling in soft curls around her shoulders, her curves encased in a clingy dress that had large black and red print on a white background, and her small feet in a pair of red spiky shoes that made her legs seem to go forever, Bridget looked like a goddess.
Taking a deep breath, he turned around and walked toward her. "You look stunning." He leaned and kissed her cheek, kicking things off by breaking Brian's rules of engagement before even saying hello.
If Bridget was surprised by the kiss, she didn't show it. As a redhead, she probably blushed easily, but his little show of intimacy apparently didn't leave an impression.
She took a step back and gave him a thorough once over. "You certainly clean up nicely. I like your new style.”
"How do you know it's new? Maybe I dress like this for all my dates.”
"Do you?"
"No."
She smiled, looking satisfied. "I'm glad you made an effort for me. It evens the playing field. I felt like a fool for buying a new dress for our date."
Her admission reduced the weight of the brick in his gut. But the difference was that she was being honest, and her motives were straightforward, while he was trying to manipulate her into approving his request to attempt transition.
"It's a very pretty dress, but it would have done nothing for any other woman." He glanced down at her feet. "Sexy shoes."
For some reason, that comment brought a flush to Bridget's cheeks. "They are not new. I’ve got compliments on them before."
There was a story there that Turner was not interested in hearing. The thought of another man complimenting those red shoes bothered him.
It shouldn't have.
Turner wasn't a jealous man. To feel jealousy, he first needed to care for a woman, to feel possessive of her, which of course he didn't.
With a hand on the small of her back, he led Bridget toward the exit, where the valet was holding his car idling. "We have a reservation for six-thirty. I hope you like Italian. If you don't, we can eat somewhere else."
"I love Italian. Give me a creamy pasta and a salad and I'm happy."
He chuckled. "You're easy to please."
She cast him a sidelong glance. "I am. I have simple needs."
"For some reason, I doubt it."
The glass doors slid open, letting in a gust of warm air that blew through Bridget's hair, making it form a halo around her face.
Stunning woman.
The valet opened the door to his black Tesla—the one possession Brian had happily approved of. Turner's apartment, although luxurious, had gotten a head shake and a comment about its lack of personality.
The guy had forbidden Turner to bring Bridget over until that was fixed, which was probably going to cost him another small fortune.
Turner didn't care. He could afford it, and getting Bridget to approve his transition was worth every expense.
Chapter 16: Bridget
"I like your car," Bridget said as Turner eased his Tesla into traffic. "It's slick and energy efficient."
"I think so too. Though I have to admit I didn't buy it because it's electric. I liked the huge display on the console."
"I hope you don't watch movies on it while driving."
"I could. It's the new self-driving model."
"It isn't legal yet."
Nevertheless, Kian was building a fleet of them for the local clan. It was a clever solution to keeping the new location secret even from its own residents. At a certain distance from the village, as they called the place, the cars would automatically turn the windows opaque and take over the drive, bringing the vehicles home.
"As long as I sit in the driver seat with my hands on the wheel it's fine. But I don't watch movies. It's a waste of time."
"What do you watch?'"
"Mostly I read reports. And sometimes I watch surveillance recordings."
Figured. She had a feeling Turner was all work and no play. Glancing at his profile, Bridget tried to assess his mood. As someone who was used to relying on her sense of smell to discern people's emotions, she was having a hard time with him, forced to depend on her underdeveloped ability to decipher facial expressions.
Turner was an anomaly. She had never met a human or an immortal whose scent didn't at least hint at their feelings.
The simple explanation for Turner's neutral and unchanging scent was that he had none, but Bridget refused to believe that. He wasn't as cold and as emotionless as he appeared to be, or even as he convinced himself he was.
If the eyes were indeed windows to a person's soul, Turner had one. It was hidden behind the barriers he had erected around it, but it was there. Bridget had caught the occasional glimpse.
Except, she might have seen what she wanted to, her reasoning clouded by her attraction to him. On the other hand, Bridget was too much of a realist to fall victim to wishful thinking.
The opposite was true.
Perhaps it was due to her medical training, but she always searched for the flaws, the hidden symptoms of disease. What looked good on the outside was quite often rotten on the inside, and not just in the medical sense.
People hid all kinds of nastiness behind charming smiles and polite words, which her sense of smell was no good at detecting because they truly believed in the façades they were showing the world.
And it wasn't only about the big offenses, like cheating and lying and manipulation.
The small things added up.
Like the irritated mother, who was hurling insults at her kids without even realizing the damage her careless venting was causing. The woman could've been the most charming coworker and friend, but ugly to the most important people in her life.
"Is the restaurant far?" she asked to break the silence.
"We are almost there."
"Have you eaten there before?"
He shook his head. "No. A friend recommended it."
"What is it called?"
"Valentina's."
"I think I've heard of it."
"Good things, I hope."
"Frankly, I don't remember."
"We are going to find out soon enough."
For some reason, Bridget got the sense that Turner was uncomfortable about the whole situation. The clues were subtle, and she wasn't good at reading them, but he'd been acting differently than he had at her clinic.
Not that he'd been charming or easy-going before, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he had seeme
d more comfortable in his own skin.
He wasn't now.
Turner's jaw muscles were tight, and he hadn't looked at her throughout the drive even while talking to her.
He was either unaccustomed to going on dates or uncomfortable in his new clothes, which looked as if a stylist had picked them out for him. Turner wasn't the type who cared about things like that. A man as confident as him didn't need to make himself more appealing by flaunting expensive taste in apparel.
Not for her sake.
Bridget couldn't care less about status symbols. Besides, she was way more interested in what was under the clothing than in their price tag.
A few minutes later, Turner pulled up in front of a one-story brick building.
The food smell hit Bridget's nose as soon as the valet opened the passenger door for her.
As Turner joined her on the sidewalk, she took another sniff. "You have chosen wisely. I hope the food tastes as good as it smells."
Turner inhaled deeply. "I can't smell anything."
Bridget leaned into him. "I have an exceptional sense of smell." She sniffed again. "And you smell amazing. What is the name of the cologne are you wearing?"
"Tom Ford. I don't remember which one." He put his hand on the small of her back, leading her inside.
"Good evening." The hostess smiled.
"Turner. Reservation for two," he told her.
The girl checked her ledger. "Here you are." She marked it off and grabbed two menus. "Your table is ready."
"It's a nice place," Bridget said after they'd been seated. The Italian restaurants she liked were casual and noisy, but not this one. With its dim lights and elegantly set tables, it was more romantic in nature. Perfect for a date.
No wonder it was Turner's first time in the place.
Did the guy date at all?
Perhaps he only prowled for hookups just like her and the other immortals. Except, their situations were not the same. Immortals couldn't have relationships with humans without risking exposure and were limited to one-night stands, as they had been once called, or hookups as they were called today.
Turner had a choice.
If a man his age had consistently chosen to avoid relationships, he most likely was incapable of having them.
"Would you like some wine to start with?" the waiter asked.
"Sure. What do you have?"
He handed her a wine menu, and she chose a glass of chardonnay.
"You can bring us the bottle," Turner said.
Bridget waited for the waiter to depart. "I just thought I should mention that I can't get drunk from wine."
"That's interesting. Is it a trait shared with the rest of your family?"
"It is."
"Because you are all part Scots? Perhaps I should order you a whiskey."
She chuckled. "It's not because of the Scottish blood. It's because of the other one. But whiskey in large quantities can get me tipsy."
As Turner lifted his hand to call the waiter, Bridget tugged it back down. "I don't like the taste." She leaned across the table and whispered, "I'll tell you a secret. You don't need to get me drunk to have your way with me."
Turner's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, but he recovered quickly. "I wouldn't dream of presuming."
What a pity. The guy was a gentleman, which meant that she needed to back off and stay away from sexual innuendos or he would think her a slut.
Human males had such annoying double standards.
Maybe it was for the best. After all, hookups were easy to come by, but interesting men with brilliant minds—not so much.
Chapter 17: Turner
"Have you ever been married?" Bridget asked.
All during dinner the conversation had revolved around the plan Turner had hatched. It was a safe topic for him. Planning and strategizing, he could talk about with such ease that he had even managed to implement some of the strategies Brian had suggested.
He'd listen attentively, he'd looked Bridget in the eyes, and he had even smiled from time to time.
Evidently it had worked, because she was comfortable venturing into personal stuff he was less comfortable talking about.
"No."
"How about any long-term relationships?"
Turner put his coffee cup down and leaned back in his chair. Normally, he would have steered the conversation away from the topic, but he had a feeling Bridget would just keep pushing. If he wanted her to believe that he was serious about her, sharing some personal information was unavoidable.
"The longest I've been in a relationship was a month. We met in college when we were both twenty. She got pregnant, and we had a son, Douglas. I see him once or twice a year. His mother is married to a decent fellow who is much more of a father to my son than I ever was. My contribution has been mostly financial." He picked up his cup. "Between the questions I answered in the clinic and this, you know everything there is to know about me."
"I doubt that."
If she thought ill of him for not being a real father to Douglas, she didn't show it.
Turner took a sip of coffee, then put his cup back down. "As far as personal stuff, this is it."
"I have a son too. His name is Julian, and he is a medical doctor like me. He is about to be done with his first year of residency."
Talking about her son, Bridget had tried to mimic Turner's factual delivery of facts, but her love and pride were evident in the smile that brightened her eyes.
"What about his father?"
She chuckled. "A sperm donor."
"That was brave of you. Did you do it in a clinic?"
She laughed. "No, I did it the natural way. But the result was the same."
He frowned. "Does your son keep in touch with his father?"
"Julian doesn't even know who he is, and if I have another child, he or she wouldn't know either. That's the way it is for all of us." She leaned closer and whispered, "The immortal genes transfer only through the mother, which means we are all the product of immortal mothers and human sperm donors."
"Why only human men?"
"Because the entire clan population descends from one goddess. Genetically, we are too close even when generations apart."
"Is that why you are still single?"
She nodded. "It's a lonely life. That's why we are so desperate to find Dormants who are not related to us, like Andrew and his sister."
Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. He'd been wondering why Kian's sister was actively searching for Dormants. He'd assumed they wanted to increase their numbers and enlarge their gene pool, but it seemed their situation was much more desperate than that.
Bridget looked sad, which was not helping his cause. He needed to fix that.
Brian had said something about compliments putting a woman in a cooperative mood. "Looking at you it is difficult to believe that you have a grown son."
She smiled. "It's a problem. When I visited him in college and later in medical school, we had to pretend that I was his sister."
Turner chuckled. "I bet you got a lot of attention from his friends. Must've been awkward." Or not. There had been nothing to prevent her from enjoying the young men.
Bridget waved a hand. "I'm an expert at looking snobbish and aloof and scaring off unwanted attention."
"I think it's a defense mechanism most beautiful women eventually develop."
"Thank you." Bridget grinned. "For calling me beautiful in a roundabout way."
"You're welcome." He wanted to ask her if she'd ever been tempted by any of her son's friends. For some reason, the thought of her with some young buck made him uncomfortable.
"How about travel?" Thankfully, Bridget jumped to the next item on her agenda of finding as much as she could about him. "What’s the most interesting place you have visited?"
"There were so many. Even when I was still serving in the military, I've got to see some interesting places, but I can't talk about it."
She arched one red brow. "Really? Who am
I going to tell? The secrets of whatever mission you were on could not be as critical as mine and my family's."
"Nevertheless, I was sworn to secrecy."
She nodded. "I can understand that. So tell me about the things you saw after you were released or retired or dismissed. I don't know how it works in the military."
"All could have applied, but I resigned. As to the most fascinating place, I would say the ancient ruins of Tiwanaku and PumaPunku in western Bolivia."
Bridget's eyes sparkled with excitement. "I've read about them, and I always wanted to visit and see the ruins for myself. Tell me about them."
An unexpected warmth washed over Turner. He'd never met anyone who was interested in the unsolved mysteries of the world.
Unwittingly, Bridget had opened a floodgate, and the information just poured out of him. "No one knows how they shaped the massive stones they used. There are no chisel marks, and yet they are remarkably precise. Or how they managed to bring those stones from quarries that were miles away when they supposedly hadn't invented the wheel yet. The place is 13,000 feet above sea level and is far away from any lakes, and yet it is built like a port city with docks and quays and harbors."
"They estimate that the city was built around 15000 B.C. This coupled with the heavy salt deposits in the soil makes me think that it was built by some postdiluvian civilization after the ocean had risen to that high altitude. That would also help solve the mystery of how they transported those huge stones. It's easier to ferry over water."
"My thoughts exactly." Bridget leaned closer. "I even asked you-know-who about it. She is only about five thousand years old, but I thought maybe they had legends about distant people on another continent."
Turner's heart did an excited flip. "And?"
"She said that they had several legends about the great deluge and other interesting things, which I'm sure you'll find fascinating, but she didn't remember anything about a civilization on another continent. She'd been very young when her people perished, and before it happened she'd been interested in chasing her future husband more than in studying history."