by Meg Ripley
Jealousy? That wasn’t characteristic of his over a woman he’d known for great lengths of time, never mind one he’d only met a few short hours ago—and who very well might turn out to be a ruthless enemy.
He shot the man a quelling look, and was mildly appeased when he nodded to Freya and made a quick escape inside.
“Hello, Freya,” he forced the words past lips that would rather explore her body than speak.
“An enemy of yours?” she asked teasingly and nodded in the direction of the man who’d just left.
“No. The restaurant’s proprietor, actually,” he said, and that was all he intended to say on the subject.
“Yikes. I’d say that had to be one nasty argument over the lobster salad. What did he do? Poison it?”
“I’m certain he did no such thing,” he bantered back, enjoying her company already despite the desire that bordered on painful.
She moved toward the door then, and he took advantage of the opportunity to touch her, to place his hand against her bare lower back and turn her away from the door. She looked up at him perplexed.
“The private entrance is around the side,” he said, and though she smiled back, he could see the worried look in her eyes as her thoughts turned inward. She was worrying over the bill, and he held back a chuckle. He had more money than he could spend in a dozen millennia; there was no way he was going to let her pay for dinner.
He escorted her around to the side entrance where a private dining room awaited them, but not five minutes into the first course, he knew it had been a mistake. At least in the crowded dining area there would have been distractions, things other than the woman across from him to focus his attention on, but not here.
Here, she filled up all his senses. He watched her as she talked, fascinated by the perfect shape of her cupid bow lips, and he couldn’t avoid noticing the way her pupils had dilated and the pulse in the delicate column of her neck had sped up. He breathed her in; the food’s aroma paled in comparison.
The scent of her arousal was driving him fucking wild. Presented with proof that she wanted him, too, there was no way he was going to make it through dinner. He wanted to see her naked on the table. He wanted to taste every inch of her body. And he wanted to drive every hard inch of his cock deep inside her and hear her scream out in ecstasy.
He was in the midst of contemplating how she’d react if he swiped the table clear and lifted her up on top of it when her phone rang from inside her purse. She apologized and rummaged through the bag in search of the ringing intrusion.
Seconds later, he knew the night was about to come to an abrupt end. Though she held the phone close to her ear, he could hear the conversation perfectly clear. There had been a break-in at her apartment, the woman on the other end of the line explained. The police had been called and were there now, and damn it, that meant there was a good chance the thieves had absconded with Sonya’s medallion.
But were they thieves at all, or had the creatures who had killed Sonya followed her medallion to Freya’s apartment?
“Cat! Is Cat alright?” she asked in a loud whisper as she pushed back from the table and sprang to her feet. The woman reassured her that her feline friend was just fine, but it did little to stem the urgency in her movements.
“I’ll drive you home, Freya,” he offered as soon as she’d hung up the phone.
“That’s really not necessary. I’ll call a cab,” she said, typing the digits into her phone, and he got the impression she wasn’t trying to be polite. She genuinely didn’t want him to accompany her and he wondered why. Had he misread her attraction to him? No. The proof still radiated from every pore of her body. It was something else then, though he recognized he was far too wrapped up in her to consider it logically at the moment.
She let him guide her out the private door they’d come in not long before, and then she took him by surprise, leaning up on her toes and pressing her soft lips against his.
He nearly lost it, the taste of her lips making him hungry for more; the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest. And when she fitted herself closer against him and her abdomen pressed against his throbbing cock, he resisted the overwhelming urge to push her up against the wall and fuck her senseless.
He clenched his fists at his sides, digging into his palms so deep, he drew blood. But when the tip of her tongue slid along the seam of his lips, he knew he was in trouble.
The fire in his core blazed hotter than it ever had before. He needed to take her. Now.
He needed to find some way to cool the blaze, and it was the only thing he could think of. But at the same time, if he buried himself in her and couldn’t control the fire’s spread, what kind of danger was he putting her in?
“Miss? Did you call for a cab?” a man spoke from the car that had pulled up behind them.
She pulled away and darted for the cab without a word, as if she knew if she stayed there a second longer, she’d be in danger.
He stood there long after the cab had pulled away, trying to get himself under control. He knew two things for certain at that moment: he wanted Freya Cullen more than he’d ever wanted a woman, and she was absolutely, without a doubt, a bad idea. There was just something about her that wasn’t like any human he’d ever known, something that appealed to him on too many levels, and for the first time in his existence, he had no idea how to control it.
It wasn’t until several minutes had passed that he trusted himself to move and not pursue her, and as he strode toward his car, he realized that an evening cut short wasn’t the only problem that had arisen from the break-in at her apartment. How was he going to track down the medallion? And how the hell had that thought evaded him until now? The answer to the last question came easily.
Freya.
Yes, she was most definitely a bad idea.
Chapter 5
A police officer was waiting for her when Freya started down the hall to her apartment. Her superintendent, Mrs. Abernathy, was there, too, with a sympathetic expression on her kind face and Cat in her frail arms.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” she said. “I don’t know how they got in the building. I didn’t hear a thing, though I suppose that isn’t surprising, is it? I don’t hear too well these days. But Mrs. Holden—in the apartment below you—she called to tell me there was an awful ruckus going on above her.”
The kind, old woman continued to enlighten her of all that transpired over the past half hour. If it were any other tenant that had called her, she would have looked into it herself, but Mrs. Holden wasn’t prone to complaining. Not once, in fact, in the whole twelve years she’d been there, so Mrs. Abernathy called the police right away.
Eventually, the officer cleared his throat and interrupted, and she couldn’t blame the man—Mrs. Abernathy had been known to talk incessantly on more than one occasion. She hurried through his questions, anxious to assess the damage inside. The officer filled her in on what information they had—that it appeared the assailant had come in through an unlocked balcony window, and hers was the only apartment in the building that had been damaged.
She thought nothing of it at first, just a random act of thievery, until he recommended that she stay elsewhere for the night—just to feel more at ease. The thing was, she had nowhere else to go. Freya couldn’t remember having anyone, no friend or family member had shown up at her door in the past three months and the people at work were casual acquaintances at best.
So, she would stay there. She could waste her money on a hotel room, but she refused to be driven from her home. It was the only thing that she knew with any certainty had been there before her memory had vanished. At least, she presumed it had been since she had seven months remaining on a twelve-month lease.
She thanked the officer for the suggestion and told him she’d be just fine. He seemed hesitant, but left a moment later with a parting reminder to lock her doors and windows.
And then she stepped into her apartment.
There were broken di
shes strewn all over the floors; every drawer and cupboard had been emptied, the contents tossed randomly throughout every room. Lamps had been knocked over, curtains had been ripped off the walls and her television was lying face down on the carpet. The only place of refuge she’d known was in shambles. Someone had broken into the only home she could remember and destroyed it.
She waited for the well of emotion to spring forth—anger, sadness, a sense of violation that came with her privacy being invaded. She could feel them in the pit of her stomach, but there they stayed, and instead what she felt more than anything was a calmness, a clear understanding of what needed to be done.
She stepped carefully through the chaos of broken china and glass, and surveyed her surroundings, looking for what was missing.
Nothing.
She’d made it through the kitchen and the living room, but she couldn’t think of a single thing that was missing. It was all there, if in a few more pieces than before. Into the bedroom, she checked the jewelry box that had been sitting on the chest of drawers. It was on the floor, the contents strewn on the carpet, but the few pieces of jewelry that had been there before were still there now.
Only one other possibility sprung to mind, and she opened the closet, tossing out the few items that remained in the small space. She crouched down and crawled to the back where she’d discovered a hidden box behind a false wall when she’d rummaged through the apartment three months ago. The false wall was still neatly closed, so she pushed on it gently, disengaging the simple magnetic strip that held it in place, and found the box there. It looked as if it hadn’t been touched, and when she opened it, they were still there—the medallion she’d hidden and the necklace that had been nestled there already.
She was quickly coming to suspect that since nothing else had been taken, the intruders hadn’t found what they’d been looking for. The expensive-looking necklace had been tucked away in its hiding place for the past three months without incident, so it seemed an unlikely target.
That left only one logical conclusion: the intruders had been after the medallion. It was what worried her when she’d realized she’d taken it with her from the hotel, and it seemed her worry had been well-founded.
Returning the box to its hiding spot, she closed the false wall and got to work, cleaning up all the broken, ripped and torn contents of her apartment, all the while contemplating what to do next. She could chuck the medallion off the Grand Canyon and be done with it, but if they suspected she still had it, they’d be back. She could somehow arrange a meeting to hand it over, but something in the back of her mind told her she couldn’t allow it to fall into the wrong hands.
By two-thirty in the morning, she was no closer to an answer than when she’d started, but she had cleaned up all the mess, a stack of garbage bags at the front door filled with all the items that couldn’t be salvaged. At least cleaning days would be easier, she thought wryly, glancing around at the near-bare cupboards and empty shelves.
She padded down the hallway to her bedroom, exhausted and desperate for a few hours’ sleep before the workday began. The intruders had been kind enough to leave her mattress, though it had been ripped and torn in so many places that the metal springs protruded from both sides of it here and there. She was so tired, though, she figured she could fall asleep just about anywhere at the moment.
She laid down on the lumpy mattress, careful not to flop back too hard against the rogue springs, but it wasn’t the mess in her apartment or the medallion at the forefront of her mind when she closed her eyes.
It was Grant.
An image of him had sprung to mind, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit—a suit that she’d imagined tearing off him at least a dozen times during their brief dinner. She’d been loath to leave him, so much that she’d almost accepted his offer to drive her to her apartment. Part of her hadn’t cared about the break-in, or the medallion, or the fact that she’d had no intention of welcoming him into the privacy of her home. She’d resisted the temptation, though, and wasn’t sure now if she was grateful or if she regretted it. She wouldn’t be lying in bed alone then, her body throbbing with unsated desire if she’d sacrificed her silly privacy.
Tossing and turning, she drifted off slowly, taking Grant with her and pulling him into her dreams. And there he stayed all night, his hands and his mouth driving her wild while she sampled every inch of his body with her lips.
****
She grabbed her purse from the table in the staff room at the end of the day, a day that had been no different than any other in the past few months, despite the upheaval of the night before.
She hadn’t heard from Grant, which meant he’d likely found himself a new amusement by now. She was disappointed, more so than she should have been over a man she’d known for less than twenty-four hours, and knew from the start that he wasn’t the kind of man to stick around. And that had been fine with her; in fact, it was precisely what had given her the freedom to pursue a carefree night with the devastatingly hot man. But after their evening had been cut short—and she’d spent the entire night submersed in erotic fantasies of him—she couldn’t help but be irritated by the abrupt end.
She pushed him from her mind for the umpteenth time that day, and walked back through the museum on her way out. She still found it strange that she could call up the name of every artifact there, some of them thousands of years old, but her own history was an absolute blank.
She slipped out the back door and paused for a moment, breathing in the night air as the click of the door’s lock sounded behind her. She started through the staff parking lot—empty aside from the security guard’s vehicle parked at the far end—but her step slowed a moment later when she heard footsteps coming up quickly from around the side of the building. Her first thought was Grant, but that was likely wishful thinking. It was probably just a passerby.
She continued toward the back of the lot, toward the street that would lead her to the residential area a few blocks away. A man strode out from beside the building and he continued in her direction, each of his long strides covering the distance of two of hers. She picked up her pace as a shiver ran down her spine, which was ridiculous, of course. This was Las Vegas; there were plenty of people wandering around late at night.
“I bet you didn’t expect to see me again, did you Freya?” the man asked, striding ahead of her and stepping into her path.
She came to an abrupt halt, looking at the man but not recognizing him. Did she know him from before? By the sinister look in his eyes, she got the immediate impression that if she had known him, she would rather not have. He was attractive, with jet black hair, deep green eyes, and a long, thin scar across his cheekbone that only seemed to add to his appeal.
She looked more intently, thinking that if she did know him, something about him would come to mind. Like the artifacts at the museum; though she couldn’t remember how she knew them, their names and origins would pop into her mind, seemingly out of nowhere. But looking at the man, there was nothing.
“I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else,” she replied, and moved to step around him.
He smiled as he stepped in front of her once more. “Is that so?”
He looked to the left and then the right of her as he spoke, and she realized then that several men had appeared on either side of her, though she had no idea where they’d come from.
“Why don’t we just see for ourselves,” he said and two men stepped closer.
All of her focus was on the man directly in front of her. She could only see them out the corners of her eyes, but she could feel them. She could feel the nearly imperceptible vibrations of their steps. She could sense the heat of their bodies warming her skin the closer they came. Her heart pounded so loud she could hear her blood whoosh past her ears, and her knees shook so hard she could barely keep herself upright.
And then a burly hand clasped around her arm, and all of it slipped away.
She stopped shakin
g and her heart beat a serene, steady rhythm in her chest. She was calm and her mind was clear. There was no fear, no panic; there was nothing but clarity.
Her hand closed over the fingers that dug painfully into her flesh. She twisted and shoved in one smooth motion, snapping the man’s wrist and forcing him several steps back as he hollered in pain.
The next man didn’t even get close. She kicked out at him with lightning speed, making precise contact in the vulnerable center beneath his rib cage. He stumbled back and grasped futilely at his chest; he couldn’t breathe, and her blow to his solar plexus would limit his air supply for several minutes.
Two men approached from behind to take their comrades’ places, but she was ready. She reached back and fastened her hand around one’s wrist, and jerked him hard. He went soaring into the other assailant, knocking them both off their feet.
She was aware of the ringleader’s eyes on her the whole time. He watched on in amused silence, always staying a step outside the fray. “Do you still think I have you confused with someone else, Freya?” he asked, and that made her pause for just a second too long.
The giant of a man who had snuck around behind her clasped her wrists in his meaty hands and jerked her arms backward. She was trapped, and the panic threatened to rise anew.
She tested his grip, but it was too strong. She tugged harder, but he didn’t budge.
The ringleader took a step forward, his evil smile growing wider. “The tables have begun to turn, haven’t they?”
He laughed and took another cocky step forward. This was her chance. She lifted her feet off the ground, resting all of her weight on her trapped hands, and kicked out with all the strength she could muster.
He flew through the air, at least ten feet back, before landing on his back. His head thumped against the ground, making a sound that made her stomach churn. But with the ringleader out of the way, she turned her attention to the giant behind her, kicking back hard with a blow to his knee. She heard the crunch at the same time he cried out, but he didn’t release her hands; instead, he took her with him when he stumbled backward.