Embraced by Blood

by Laurie London

  Lord help her.

  He traversed the rest of the way with ease and set her on the base of the steps. As he stepped away, she immediately missed the warmth from his body

  “Here, let me take those from you.” She reached for her muddy boots.

  “I’ll clean them up.”

  She started to protest but he interrupted.

  “Remember, I’m an expert in cleaning mud off boots, clothing, whatever. They’ll be as good as new before we set out again at nightfall. Speaking of clothes,” he said, eyeing her pants, “you can take a shower and I’ll wash those, too.”

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the emotion on her face. Her eyes stung as she recalled how he’d always taken care of seemingly insignificant things for her. Changing the oil in her car while she slept because he noticed it was overdue, making sure her cell phone was charged, fixing her coffee the way she liked it, even though it was a little high maintenance.

  They climbed several steps and passed through an archway onto the large covered porch. Lined with stone pillars, it stretched from one end of the home to the other. Noting the infrared heaters in the ceiling and a single Adirondack chair, she wondered how often he came out here and played his guitar. Did he still tinker with that tune he was always working on?

  An empty glass sat on the armrest, no doubt filled at one time with a finger of Maker’s Mark and two ice cubes. He dropped her mud-covered boots before helping Kip to his feet.

  The young man staggered, but Alfonso held tight.

  God, the kid looked terrible.

  “Kip, how you doing?” she asked.

  He stared blankly at his hands and didn’t answer.

  “You didn’t tell me why you moved out here,” she said to Alfonso as he unlocked the front door.

  He pointed toward the water. “The property reminded me of where I grew up. If you take a look at the coastline, it has the same rugged, undeveloped look as my family’s home overlooking the Cantabrian Sea.”

  “How long have you owned it?”

  “Couple of years, I guess.”

  So he’d had this while they were together. Why had he never mentioned it?

  Stacks of lumber and boxes of tiles were piled against the exterior walls, along with a wide array of power tools. “So you’re building the whole thing yourself? I knew you enjoyed working with your hands, but I had no idea you were so talented.”

  He laughed. “If I did it myself, I’d never have it done on time. No, I’m just doing the jobs I enjoy—tiling, painting, some of the finish carpentry. If I’m lucky, I’ll have it done and furnished before the year’s out. I’m getting pretty close and don’t have a lot left to do. Come on. Let’s get Kip situated.”

  He pushed open the heavy double doors and held them open for her. “Careful, I’m not done with the tile work in the entryway.”

  She stepped in and could hardly believe what she was seeing. The grand foyer opened all the way up to the roof, with a mammoth carved-wood chandelier hanging down over a floor tiled in an ornate mosaic pattern of azure blues and Spanish reds. On either side of where she stood, a galley ran the length of the house, much like the deck outside, with arched doorways leading to various rooms. The walls were made of some sort of stone that looked as if it had come from a medieval castle. She followed Alfonso to the right. On the floor between each window, brightly colored, whimsical landscape paintings waited to be hung.

  “Oh my God, Mackenzie did those.”

  He looked pleased that she recognized them. “I know they’re not really in keeping with the feel of this place, being that they’re a modern take of the Cantabrian landscape, but when I saw her work, I had to commission some pieces.”

  “They’re perfect. They add a lighthearted spirit to the place. Has she been here to see what they look like?”

  “No, you’re actually my first guests.”

  A thrill rippled through her at the thought of being his first guest, the first woman invited into his dream home.

  After getting Kip set up in a guest bedroom with its own private bath, she and Alfonso returned to the foyer.

  “Will he be okay?”

  “Yeah, what he needs most right now is sleep. We’ll take him up to Region at nightfall.”

  She recalled what Alfonso had said earlier about having the house done on time. He’d made it sound like he had a deadline. “What’s the rush getting the house finished? The end of the year is only a few weeks away.”

  He pulled off his cap, tucked it into a pocket and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how long I’m staying. I’m thinking it’s time to be moving on soon.”

  A hollow, empty sensation gnawed inside her belly, reminding her of how she’d felt after that horrible phone call last year when he’d said he had fallen out of love with her.

  Okay, this is silly. He’s got some redeeming qualities, but clearly, commitment is not one of them.

  She seriously needed some sense knocked into her. He hadn’t even been back in her life for twelve hours yet and now she was sad to learn he was moving away. She examined the intricate tile work beneath her foot. “But why start a huge project if you didn’t think you’d stay to enjoy it?”

  “At one point, I thought I would be staying. At least I hoped I would. I…I wanted to make some changes in my life and thought building this house would help. Mackenzie talked me into sticking around for a while. You know—see the baby, try to patch things up with my brother, things like that. It was stupid really, thinking I could build a house like this, put the past behind me, lead a normal life.”

  She didn’t understand. Hadn’t he received a full pardon from the Council with an invitation to join the Agency as a Guardian? He had a future here, if he wanted it. “Why did you change your mind?”

  He shrugged. “I got realistic.”

  Ahead stood a grand, uncarpeted staircase that curved up to the right. She could almost hear the swish of seventeenth-century silk skirts brushing against the stairs. To the left of the staircase, a long hallway led to more rooms.

  She examined the exquisite tile work in greater detail. Although she’d never been to the part of Spain where he’d grown up, she imagined this was authentic to the region. “It looks like you’re almost done with this.”

  “I’m ripping it out.”

  “Oh my God, why?”

  “Not happy with the color.”

  “What are you talking about? It’s lovely.”

  “I’m trying to recreate my parents’ country estate. Although I imported these tiles from the same centuries-old tile maker in Spain that my parents used, it’s still not right. And it’s the third batch I’ve tried.”

  “Maybe this is as close as you’re going to get. It might be impossible to create what exists in your memory. The composition of the clay wouldn’t be the same after all these years, and the color dyes would be different too. You might be able to get close, but it won’t be exactly the same.”

  “No, it must be perfect.”

  “Why?”

  He didn’t answer her right away, just looked at the floor in all directions with a critical eye. “Because I’ll know it’s not right,” he finally said. “And so will Dom. If he ever sees it.”

  As she tried to see things the way he saw them, it suddenly became clear. Alfonso was trying to prove something to his brother. If things were perfect with the house, Alfonso hoped that Dom would see that he did treasure what they had with their parents, and that his brother might forgive him. Although she didn’t know the details, she knew Dom blamed Alfonso for their death.

  “And you think that’s the key to reconciling with him?” she asked quietly.

  He shrugged.

  “He’s not like that, you know. He’s not hung up on details like you seem to be. He’s much more ‘big picture’ than that. You have to be to effectively run a field office. He’ll see your efforts with this house for what they are. An honor to your parents’ memory.”


  He huffed out a loud breath and headed through the first arched doorway to the left of the stairs. She followed him into a sparsely furnished room with a fireplace.

  “You don’t know my brother like I know him.” He tossed his duffel onto a cordovan leather sofa next to a pillow and folded blanket.

  In this huge house, he chose to sleep here? Why? “I know your brother well enough and I think he’d be impressed by all of this. I certainly am.”

  His laugh was cold. “He lost his faith in me long ago. I was foolish to think it could be restored.”

  “Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone, that he doesn’t want to have a relationship with you again. After he found out that you were my contact within the Alliance and that I had been sworn to secrecy by the highest levels of the Council, I was afraid he’d not be able to forgive me. But he did. Yeah, he was pissed off at me for a while, but he got over it. Although he should’ve been thrilled that Pavlos was dead and that Mackenzie was safe, he almost went into a mourning period when he thought you had died in the fire. No one saw him in the field office for days.”

  Alfonso looked unimpressed.

  “Have you talked at all?” she asked quietly.

  His jaw muscles worked back and forth. “If you knew your brother was responsible for the death of your parents, would you still want him in your life?” He brushed past her and headed back around to the staircase.

  “When he found out you’d survived that fire and were in the regen clinic, he had Mackenzie check with your doctors for a progress report.”

  Alfonso stopped, one foot on the bottom stair. “She told me that, but…”

  “But you didn’t believe it.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “He cares about you, Alfonso, but whether either of you can admit that verbally is another thing. Both of you are cut from the same stubborn mold. Everything you’ve done—” She swept her arm wide. “Sacrificing a normal life and your own happiness in order to destroy the Alliance from the inside is pretty amazing. You deserve to be happy now, and if building this house does it, then I think that’s wonderful.”

  Before she knew what she intended, she slipped her hand into his and gave it an encouraging squeeze. An electric energy passed between them, stretching outward to the top of her head and down to her toes, making her heart race. Without warning, he pulled her into his arms.

  She expected his kiss to be more of a peck, but he shoved her against the wall of the stairs and his mouth came down over hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. With even more ferocity than she’d felt back at the club, he pried her lips open in an almost bruising fashion. It was raw and laced with pent-up emotion, not just a superficial game to be played out for others.

  Stay calm, she told herself. He’d come to his senses in a moment and realize this was a terrible mistake. She braced herself, expecting him to abruptly release her as the realization dawned on him.

  But he didn’t.

  The feel and smell of him diluted any further rational thought.

  She slipped her hands up his chest, over the muscular definition of his pectorals, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hand cradled her jaw as it often did when he kissed her, caressing the tender skin below her ear with his thumb. It was as if he were keeping her under his influence until he decided to let her go. She couldn’t help but moan softly.

  The amount of control he had over her body was an aphrodisiac, which was ironic considering she hated being told what to do. His iron-hard erection pressed against her hips, separated from her by only a few millimeters of fabric. She ached to feel him inside her; she needed to feel it.

  “Lily, we can’t,” he said, his lips now against her throat, but it was more like an admonishment to himself. She was the one pinned against the wall; he was the one in control.

  “Yes, we can,” she heard herself say. Positioning one foot on the step above them, she gripped his ass and pulled him closer.

  A low sound, almost a vibration, came from deep inside him, igniting a warm need all over her flesh. He hooked a thumb inside her waistband, slid it around to the front. The movement tickled, sending tiny goose bumps of anticipation along her arms and up her spine. For a split second, she thought he was going to unfasten her pants.

  God, how she wanted him to.

  But he pushed away from her instead and gripped the banister with white-knuckled hands. “Lily, I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  The foyer was mausoleum-silent as she followed him up the stairs, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Or hadn’t happen. Why had he stopped? He’d seemed to want it as much as she had. In fact, he was the one who’d started it.

  Her heart continued to beat madly inside her hollow chest. What had happened to make him change his mind? She’d certainly given him every indication that she wanted it to go further, so why hadn’t he? The fervent way he kissed her wasn’t something she’d imagined. Maybe he was worried she’d get the wrong idea and want to rekindle their relationship if they had sex. That she wouldn’t be able to consider it just a fun romp.

  She ran her tongue along her teeth, relieved that her fangs had retracted.

  Relationship? Yeah, right. That was the furthest thing from her mind. Sure, they were sexually compatible. Lots of people were. Just because he had the ability to give her several mind-blowing orgasms in the length of time it took to brush her teeth, didn’t mean she was going to fall for him again.

  Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m an idiot.

  Given that his home was still under construction, she was surprised when they got to the upper hallway. Several groupings of elegant swords were displayed on the burgundy walls. From the crown molding and the antique furniture to the Savonnerie carpets, the upstairs appeared to be completely decorated. Were the rooms behind these doors finished too? Something about a nearby antique table caught her attention. Running her fingers along the top as she walked by, she could tell the piece was quite old. Made of walnut, the design was trestle-style with distinctively carved legs and two iron stretcher bars.

  “It’s a Spanish refectory table,” Alfonso said without turning around, as if he knew she was admiring it.

  Although he continued down the hall, she stopped to inspect it further. “What a beautiful piece, and in such pristine condition for its age.” The thing was sturdy too, with hardly a scratch to mar the surface. “Seventeenth century?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Where did you find it?” she asked.

  “I didn’t. It’s been in my family for years.”

  He came back and towered over her, his breath ruffling the tiny hairs on her neck. He leaned in close and she felt the heat emanating off his body. At first she thought he was going to touch her again—she wanted him to. Instead, he jammed his hands into his pockets.

  “My mother found it at a monastery that had been ransacked repeatedly by marauders believed to have ties to the Spanish government. Rome decided to close it down, so she took us along to see what pieces they couldn’t take with them.”

  He stared at the table, a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled those old memories.

  “I remember Dom and I riding all the way home—three hours on an uneven road—in the back of the cart with this and several other items. And in those days, the roads through the hill country were hardly more than cart paths. Our mother was afraid the furniture would get damaged if we boys weren’t in the back keeping an eye on everything. It was one hell of a miserable ride. I remember Dom and I complaining for many nights about our sore muscles and aching arses until our father, who was sick of the whining, told us he’d give us something to really complain about if we didn’t stop.”

  He laughed then and so did she. It felt good to loosen up after being so tense.

  “And what about Catalina? Was she there too?”

  Alfonso rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “As I recall, my sister was just an infant, and thus she was spared the agony.”

&nbs
p; “Lucky her. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “The last time I saw her? Several months ago. When I was in the U.K.”

  The way he phrased it, he made it sound as if he’d only seen his sister, not that they’d actually spoken. Did Catalina harbor the same resentments toward him as Dom did? Lily didn’t recall him ever saying that, but she didn’t want to probe any further.

  At an arched doorway, he rested one hand on the ringed, wrought-iron handle.

  “Give me a minute to straighten up.” Then, without waiting for a reply, he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the wood floor as he rustled around inside. Several times, she heard a drawer or door slam shut. What on earth was he doing in there? He was tidy—she couldn’t imagine clothes lying around, if this were indeed his bedroom. She crossed her arms and waited, studying the decor as she did so.

  Several fan-shaped groupings of swords hung on the wall across from her. Lily whistled softly as he stepped out of the room. “I knew you were fond of swords and knives, but this is an amazing collection.”

  “Thank you.”

  She walked over and examined the first group, then took another few steps and examined the next one. “I’m curious, though,” she said, turning to face him.

  He raised his brow. “About what?”

  “They’re all considered to be common man’s swords, aren’t they? Made for cutting and thrusting, rather than a single purpose.”

  He smiled. “You never cease to surprise me, Lil, the things you notice. Yes, they’re all espada ropera. But why do you find this curious?”

  “I guess I’d expect you to have many other types of swords displayed, given your fondness for them.”

  “While I do own rapiers, sabers and a host of other blades, the espada roperas are particular favorites.”

  “Why do they appeal to you? With your father’s position on the Governing Council, you were hardly a common man.”

  He walked to the first grouping of swords, reached up and touched the hilt of one. As he lightly brushed his fingers over the Toledo-steel blade, she found herself wishing he were paying attention to her body like that, running his hands over her skin, admiring how she looked, remembering the beautiful history they shared.