Sean should arrive within the next couple of hours. There were a lot of blanks waiting to be filled in. What had he missed? What had been happening at home over the last two years?
Home was a fortress located in the mountains of North Carolina. The sprawling compound provided each member of ART their own private residence. Meals were often eaten together in the main lodge when assignments permitted. Sunday was “family day”. A special lunch was followed by an afternoon of outdoor fun and games--, a day to rest, regroup, and spend time with family and friends. Elsa, their on-site chef, was nothing short of an artisan in the kitchen. She refused to worry about fat and calories for “Sunday Meal” but no one complained. It was so worth the extra work-out Monday morning.
State-of-the-art security systems kept their compound hidden from prying eyes and would-be trespassers.
Home held painful memories for Royce now. Time has a way of healing, and good memories were starting to overshadow bad ones. Time had done nothing, however, to help ease his loneliness, emptiness, or guilt. After this mission, he might go home for a break, maybe.
Royce threw away the toothbrush and razor then cleaned up any remaining evidence of his visit. Luckily, he still retained possession of his wallet, and it contained plenty of cash. He pulled out two fifty-dollar bills and tucked them under the toothbrush holder. Royce secured his towel a little tighter and cautiously opened the bathroom door. Surely a girl who looked like that had an occasional overnight guest. Hopefully one who had left behind a change of clothes?
Becki yawned and stretched her tired limbs not bothering to open her eyes. Since she had been so rudely awakened too early by Kurt this morning, she planned to spend most of the day lazing on her couch and catching up on sleep. Unfortunately, her sleep had been filled with dreams--, some good, some not-so-good. The dream she was having right now, however, was downright mouthwatering.
Adonis stood in her living room, wearing nothing but a small white towel. “Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up,” she mumbled, wishing she could touch him.
“Ummm,” she mumbled appreciatively. God, his abs were no measly six-pack; they were a full twelve. And he smelled like… her favorite shaving gel?
Wrinkling her nose, she brushed the tangled mass of hair out of her face, and sat up.
Brown, Royce thought as her eyes suddenly opened wide. Before he could even attempt to explain, she launched herself toward him; a bundle of fury tangled in blankets, limbs flying. Before he could manage to wrap his arms around her, she succeeded in connecting a hard right hook to his chin.
His head snapped back, a move more aimed at self-preservation than in actual response to her punch. He tightened his arms, the blankets effectively trapping her in a soft cocoon.
“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” Royce soothed.
“I’m sure that is what all murdering psychopaths say right before they torture and murder their victims! Let go of me!” Becki demanded, as she struggled to break free. Royce tightened his hold slightly not wanting to risk injury to her or himself.
Damn her knuckles hurt. She had already succeeded in landing one good punch. If she could get away from him and make it as far as the front porch, her nosey neighbor would call the police. Barring that possibility, she would run to her bedroom and introduce him to the Glock Uncle Kurt had given her last year.
Seriously? This pervert had come into her house wearing only a towel? It was a small towel, at that! If he thought she was going to be easy prey, he had another think coming. She was tempted to show him just how accurate she could be with that Glock, and the more he pissed her off, the more likely it was to become reality.
“Asshole,” she said, stepping down hard on his foot, “let me go, dammit.” Jerking her body right and then left, she yelled, “You dumb pervert. Get. The. Hell. Out of my house!” She annunciated each word, as if he were slow to understand in addition to being hard-of-hearing.
Royce grunted, Damn it, that hurt. Now he was getting pissed. She needed to be taught a lesson in how to deal with “criminals”. This approach would likely get her killed if he were indeed a criminal. She probably planned to free herself and then pull a gun on him. What she didn’t know, was that he could disarm her before the weapon even cleared its hiding spot. He felt her body shift and knew she was preparing for a head-butt.
“You freaking idiot! I said--”
“Enough!” Royce interrupted as he tightened and then slightly loosened his hold; squeezing her in an effort to get her attention. “I just said I’m not going to hurt you,” he reminded the squirming woman, his tone much less soothing than it had been earlier. He might smell like a girl, but he would be damned if he would let himself be beaten-up by one.
“Go to hell! You crazy son-of-a-bitch, I said let me gooo!” she demanded, raising her knee to take him down, just like Landon had taught her.
Royce shifted, blocking her move. So that’s how it was going to be. Ok, if she wanted to play dirty, he could play dirty; no one threatened the family jewels. Bad temper suddenly overrode normally good judgment, causing him to softly goad, “Or what?”
Becki careened her head to look at him. Did he really just say, what she thought he said? That stupid son-of-a-bitch was just about to be schooled.
Royce saw Armageddon in her eyes.
Becki drew a deep breath preparing for an all-out, blood-curdling scream, sure to bring Mr. McGregor running. Her neighbor might be nosey, but he loved Becki. He especially loved the chocolate chip cookies she dropped over to him from time to time, and he always kept a .45 caliber pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants. Perhaps the fact that he was the retired Chief of Police had something to do with it.
Royce knew he had crossed the line. His head was beginning to pound again, thanks to her right hook. His foot was bruised, he had barely spoiled her attempt to crush his manhood, and he was not in the mood to have his ear drums assaulted, so he stopped her the only way he possibly could.
As he covered her mouth with his, she stopped screaming, clamped her mouth shut and stood deathly still. Who would have imagined? He slid one hand to the nape of her neck, tilting her head, deciding to enjoy this unexpected turn of events. His lips tugged and pulled, his tongue gently traced the seam of her lips, begging for entry. She gasped, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes, her body still firmly trapped against him. For a moment, a heartbeat, neither moved; and then suddenly she was kissing him. Groaning, Royce shifted to bring her body more fully in contact with his.
Becki pressed closer, practically trying to crawl inside his skin. As his hands roamed the small of her back and below, she arched into him wishing her hands were not trapped in the mess of blankets still entangling her body.
“What am I doing?” she moaned, dropping her head to rest on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath.
Royce loosened his arms slightly, unwilling to let her get too far away. Not only did he enjoy holding her close, but his towel had slipped, and that cold shower was now a distant memory.
“Who are you?” Becki finally managed to ask as she looked into the deepest emerald green eyes she had ever seen. Suddenly becoming aware that she was still wrapped in his muscular arms, Becki tried to take a step back. Royce responded immediately by tightening his grip on her.
She tried to step away once more only to be wrapped even more closely in his strong arms.
“Ok, hot-shot, you’re starting to tick me off,” she said managing to free her hands. Becki pushed against his chest with both hands, “It’s time for you to let me go”.
“I can’t do that,” he replied.
“Now,” she reiterated, pushing against him as she tried to wiggle out of his arms.
“Uh, my towel slipped so unless you want--”
“What towel-- Oh my God,” Becki said, wrenching herself out of his arms and throwing the blankets at him all in the same fluid motion. “Stay right there, I’ll get you some clothes.”
As she hurried aw
ay, his gaze lingered on the strip of skin left bare by a tank top that ended just below her breasts and short-shorts that would be illegal in most countries. As he watched, she stopped, wrinkled her brow, and scratched her head as if puzzled. Suddenly she spun around and stalked back across the room, not stopping until she was directly in front of him.
Tilting her head to one side and squinting up at him, she got directly to the point. “What did you say you were doing in my house again, naked?” she asked.
Becki wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of her favorite shaving cream. She leaned closer to him, and sniffed. “Did you use my twenty five dollar can of shaving gel?” she said incredulously, poking him hard with a finger in the center of his chest.
Royce raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, “If you will get me something to wear, I’ll explain,” he negotiated.
She looked at him as if he had three heads, folded her arms, and began taping her foot; clearly indicating that she was not going anywhere.
“I’m a friend of Ryker’s--” he began.
“Ryker? My landlord Ryker?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, “we’ve been friends for years. I’m going to be in town for a couple of weeks and I usually stay here when I’m in the area.”
His stomach clinched as he lied to her, but there was no other explanation he could offer, at least not an explanation that was reasonable.
“Well you are not staying here this time. It’s occupied,” she said with a glare.
“So noted; I’m sorry I frightened you,” he apologized, then offered a bribe, “I’ll buy you a new can of shaving cream if you find some clothes for me.”
She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. However, she had stopped tapping her foot which Royce decided to view as progress.
“Two cans,” he quickly upped the ante. “Two cans of shaving cream for a shirt and pair of shorts,” he bargained flashing his dimples.
“Deal,” she agreed, before turning to rush from the room. She had better find those clothes…quickly. When he flashed that smile, her first impulse had been to tackle him to the floor and have her wicked way with him.
He fleetingly wished he could spend some time with her, get to know her a little better (maybe even a lot better). You might as well stop right there buddy. Royce shook his head at the foolishness of wishing. Time was one thing he did not have. The mission was already two years behind schedule, so there was literally no more time to spare. He had a job to do, a team to lead, and a coin to find. He also needed to figure out the Witches’ agenda; they always had an agenda. He didn’t know what they were up to, or why they were meddling in the recovery operation, but he was damn sure going to find out. Glancing at his watch, he wondered what the hell could be keeping Sean.
Becki moved quickly from her bedroom, through the living room, continuing out the patio door onto her deck. She paused momentarily to fling shorts and a T shirt in Royce’s general direction as she passed through the living room.
Royce heard Becki re-enter the living room and looked up to see clothes sail through the air toward him.
“Thank you,” he called to the rapidly retreating figure. “Chicken,” he murmured, chuckling to himself. It really was a shame he had to move on so quickly.
Outside, Becki paced from one end of her deck to the other and back again. Biting the nail on her index finger, she relived the last few minutes. Did she just make out with a perfect stranger? Perfect was right. Oh my.
“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered rubbing her forehead. Was it too much to ask for the ground to open up and swallow her right now.
“Coffee?” Adonis asked, handing her a steaming cup with all the essentials.
Looking at the perfectly tipped swirl of whipped cream floating on the top, she asked, “How did you…”
“The creamer and whipped cream were sitting next to each other in the fridge. I just heated the coffee that was cooling in the pot,” he said as he moved to sit in one of the chairs surrounding the patio table.
Becki sipped her coffee, and wondered if she had hit the “man lottery”. He looked like a model sitting at the table, actually drinking her coffee. Uncle Kurt’s “Divers Do It Better” T-shirt had certainly never looked so fine.
She abruptly sat her coffee down on the table. “I’ll go put your clothes in the washing machine,” she mumbled.
Before she could make her escape, Royce snagged her wrist. “I already did. Now, why don’t you sit down and relax with me for a few minutes.”
He softly caressed her wrist, running his thumb over the pulse-point. Standing, Royce pulled out the chair for Becki, right next to his.
Dropping into the chair next to him, she hoped he had set the washing machine on speed cycle. This man positively oozed trouble. Then again, she thought with a smile tugging at her lips, a little trouble never hurt anyone.
“You are beautiful when you do that,” Royce murmured, staring intently at her lips.
Unsure how to respond to that, Becki blurted, “Do you have a name?” Her face immediately flamed in embarrassment.
“I do,” he said with a smile. “Royce St. John,” he introduced himself, extending his hand toward her in greeting. Lifting one sexy eyebrow he prompted, “And you are?”
“Becki Stephens,” she responded, placing her hand in his.
“Nice to meet you, Becki Stephens,” Royce said as he gently closed his fingers around hers.
“Nice to meet you, Royce St. John,” Becki said softly finding it difficult to breathe.
A slight lean forward would put him close enough to steal another kiss. His brain argued it was a really bad idea. However, his body did not seem to be in agreement. He tugged gently, pulling her toward him, lowering his head ever-so-slowly. His eyes remained firmly focused on hers.
“Uh, where are you from, and what do you do?” Becki asked in a rush, pulling away at the last moment to wrap both hands firmly around her coffee mug.
Royce picked up his own coffee before answering, “I own a home security business near Asheville.”
His stomach clinched again, protesting the lie he was forced to tell. He sat his coffee back down on the table without having taken a drink.
“Home Security” served as a cover for his team, which currently consisted of seven members, each possessing their own unique set of skills. ART (Artifact Recovery Team) had been formed by the Secret Council centuries ago, specifically to recover “artifacts” that had either been stolen, or simply gone missing. The majority of these items could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.
The Secret Council was just that-- a secret council-- keeping even bigger secrets. They were also the keepers of potentially harmful “artifacts”. However, with the amount of corruption and ongoing power struggles among the immortal communities, these “artifacts” were proving difficult to keep under wraps.
Royce’s team had been charged with recovering a collection of coins. The collection had been spelled by Merlin centuries ago. Each coin had been created for a specific purpose. If used improperly or by the wrong people, the world as we know it could altered. The coins had fallen into circulation upon the gruesome demise of the original thief, a rogue warlock who had originally been a trusted advisor to Merlin.
“Home security,” Becki repeated, the proverbial light-bulb turning on. “That’s how you know Ryker. I knew he was in some sort of security business.”
“Yes, Ryker and I have known each other most of our lives,” Royce confirmed. “Like I said, I didn’t realize the house was occupied. I’m sorry I barged in on you.”
“I fell in love with this place the first time I drove by it. My Uncle Kurt knew Ryker’s dad, so he hooked me up. Ryker said he only used this place as a beach-vacation house, and that since he was going to be gone for a while, it would help him out if I just stayed here.”
“I’ll bet he did,” Royce responded drearily.
Becki laughed, understanding what he failed to put into wor
ds. Ryker was quite a ladies’ man. Sexy as hell, and he knew it.
“Becki!” Kurt yelled as he ran around the corner of her house.
She jumped out of her chair and rushed toward him. His face was red, he was breathing hard, and he was ringing wet. He looked ready to collapse. Oh my God, was he having a heart attack?
“Royce!” Becki screamed. “Call 911. Something is wrong!”
Seeing that she was about to panic, Kurt shook his head and held one finger in the air signaling her to give him a minute. He was bent over at the waist resting his hands on his thighs, while attempting to draw gulps of precious air into his oxygen starved lungs. Ok, so he wasn’t in as great of shape as he had thought he was. That five mile sprint had been a bitch. Kurt had run three miles before flagging down a passing motorist. The sweet elderly woman had just dropped him off about two miles north of Becki’s house.
Glancing toward the deck in search of the crate, he noticed that Becki was not alone. Kurt stared intently at the man now standing with a comforting arm around his niece. He moved quickly toward the couple.
Becki, sensing that something was still not right, walked toward Kurt. “Are you--”
Before Becki could finish, Kurt grabbed her and shoved her roughly behind him. Shielding her with his body, he addressed the stranger, “Who are you?” Kurt’s mind raced. Was he one of them?
Royce stood rigidly assessing this intruder who dared to touch Becki in such a familiar way. Royce tried to determine whether the intruder was friend or foe, as rage poured through his system. He clinched his fists and fought the urge to knock the other man’s teeth out.
Becki squeezed between them shouting, “What in the world is wrong with you Kurt? This is my friend Royce.”
Treasure Tides (The Coins) Page 4