by Shara Lanel
Oh, get your mind out of the gutter! Research, as in background for creating her authentic characters and settings. For example, Shara recently participated in her local Citizens' Police Academy, and had a blast shooting things, meeting sexy SWAT guys, and riding around in cop cars during high-speed chases. All in the name of research for her books, of course.
Shara lives in Richmond, Virginia—the setting for Enlightened Love—with her husband, son, and ancient cocker spaniel. When she's not writing, she's killing chile plants, setting fires in her oven, and avoiding housework at all costs.
Visit her on the web at www.sharalanel.com, and she loves to hear from her readers at [email protected]
Cursed By Desire
Trista Ann Michaels
Chapter One
“I’ve inherited a what?”
Jordan Taylor stared at the attorney as though he’d lost his mind. She knew her grandfather and, if he’d owned a manor house smack dab in the middle of England, he would have told her. Wouldn’t he?
“You’ve inherited Blackthorn Manor. A 50,000-square-foot manor house resembling a small castle, in the town of Dursley, England.”
“Wow, Jordan! Your very own castle. What are you going to do with it?”
Jordan glanced at her best friend, Nina. Her red curls bounced as she leaned forward in her seat, the excitement evident in her green eyes. Nina had always had a fascination with castles and Jordan was sure her friend was already mentally booking them on a plane to England.
“Unfortunately, or fortunately, however you choose to look at it, Miss Taylor must live in the castle for six months before she can inherit anything.”
“Excuse me?” Jordan croaked. She had absolutely no desire to move to England for six months.
The attorney, Mr. Scarsdale, adjusted his glasses on his nose and passed the will to her across the desk. “As you can see, your grandfather left you everything, but only if you remain in the castle for six months.”
She skimmed the pages, looking for any hint as to why he would do this. “I don’t understand. What’s so important about this house?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t answer that, Miss Jordan.”
“I can’t go to England for six months. What about work?”
Nina rolled her eyes. “You’re a romance writer, Jordan. As long as you have the Internet, you can live anywhere.”
Jordan jerked her head up. “This place does have the Internet, right?”
“It has phones and electricity, I’m assuming it has Internet access, as well.”
“Jordan, if it doesn’t, we’ll stick a satellite on the roof and get the Direct-Duo system. You’ll be fine.”
She glared at her friend in aggravation. “You just want to go to England and stay in a castle.”
“Of course.” Nina shrugged her shoulder with an impish grin. “You really didn’t think I was going to let you go all alone, did you?”
Jordan brushed her blonde hair back from her face in indecision. She just didn’t understand what her grandfather had been thinking—and when did he even buy the thing? Her grandfather had always loved England, and went there several times before he became too sick to travel, but she had no idea that he’d bought a house there. No. Not a house. A castle. A castle that was now hers.
“Your grandfather left orders that your travel expenses and, of course, Nina’s, would be paid out of the estate. A limo will pick you up at the airport and take you to the house. There are several cars that come with the property, but the caretaker preferred not to drive to London, hence the limo. Your grandfather also left strict instructions that the caretakers be allowed to stay. They have a life estate of sorts.”
“How many are there?” Jordan asked.
“Two. A Rene Bordeaux, the butler, and a Kimberly Weston, the cook and maid. They’ve been taking care of the place for quite some time, from what I understand.”
“Oh.” Nina wiggled her eyebrows. “A French butler.”
“Nina, really. He’s probably older than dirt.”
Nina giggled and Jordan shook her head at her impish friend. Sometimes, it was hard to believe the woman was a killer author’s agent.
“I have an idea,” Nina started, suddenly becoming all business. “Jordan and I will go to lunch and talk this over. We’ll meet you back here, around two?”
“Two is fine.”
The attorney stood and held open the door for them to leave. More than likely he was relieved to see them go. But Nina was right. She needed to talk this through.
* * * *
“So what’s so hard about this, Jordan?” Nina asked, as the waiter refilled her tea glass. “You’re the only one left to inherit. Do you really want all your grandfather’s money and possessions going to strangers, because you couldn’t bring yourself to get on a plane?”
“Nina, you know I hate to fly. And besides, what if Josh wants to come back?”
“Jordan, please, we can only hope that prick doesn’t want to come back. The man cheated on you. Not once, sweetie, but twice. Do you really want to go down that road again? You’re better off without him.”
Jordan sighed and glanced around the crowded Mexican restaurant. She hadn’t been here since her and Nina’s last “business discussion.” Nina had been great, and had done wonders for her writing career. She was not only the best agent she’d ever had, but also the best friend. She might seem flighty at times, but the woman was a genius when it came to negotiating contracts.
Nina had also been her rock when she’d caught Josh cheating on her for the second time. It was a good thing she already had her next two books finished, because she certainly hadn’t been in the mood to write. Every time she tried, she killed her hero—and not quick deaths either, but slow, painful ones.
“I think this trip to England will be the best thing for you. It’ll get you out of here. You’ll have new scenery to admire, and maybe a few nights in this castle will be just the thing to inspire you to write that historical I’ve been after you to get started on. They’re all the rage now, you know.”
“I know. But I don’t have a historical voice, Nina. My heroines keep saying things that are way too modern. I just can’t seem to get the dialogue down. For me, saying things like…” Jordan raised her hand and fanned at her face. “—‘I would be delighted to accompany you, my lord.’ Or, ‘The garden is so divine this evening!’ It’s just unnatural. Please, I would rather eat liver,” she added, rolling her eyes.
Nina laughed. “Okay, so you don’t write historical—you write futuristic. Then you can say whatever comes to mind. It’s your own world that you created yourself.”
Jordan grinned at her friend. “What would I do without you, Nina?”
Nina shrugged. “Why, wither up and die, of course.”
This time it was Jordan’s turn to laugh.
“Now, back to this England thing. I think you should go.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Jordan sat back and allowed the waiter to place her order on the table. The enchiladas looked incredible. She inhaled the scent of refried beans and spiced meat covered in melted cheese. Picking up her fork, she prepared to dig in. “You’re coming with me, right?”
“Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I clear my schedule. Shouldn’t be more than a week, two at the most.”
“Great.” Jordan held her full fork up, saluting her friend. “Here’s to England.”
“To England and a new life.”
Chapter Two
“Welcome to Blackthorn Manor, madam.”
Jordan stepped out of the limo and stared at the four-story monstrosity before her with something between shock and admiration. It was huge and utterly breathtaking. Vines clung to the stone walls, weaving across the front, adding charm and color to the cold, beige rock. The Tudor-style windows were open, letting in the spring breeze and the scent of jasmine that clung to the air.
She glanced toward the front stairs that led to the massive oak door. Standing at the top, just
outside the arched doorway, were two people who could only be the housekeeper and butler.
The woman’s gray dress came almost to her knees. Her white apron was splattered with flour, and Jordan grinned when she saw her unconsciously wipe at it. The man was dressed in a dark suit, the back of the jacket slightly longer than the front, his tie more like an old-fashioned cravat. He stood regally, his gloved hands clasped before him, his gray hair not moving in spite of the breeze.
Must use a lot of hairspray, she thought, with an inward chuckle.
With hand extended, she made her way up the steps. “You must be Rene and Kimberly.”
“Yes, madam,” Rene replied regally. He bent at the waist, bowing slightly, while the woman to his left curtsied. She appeared younger than the butler, probably in her mid-forties or thereabouts. Her dark brown hair held just a hint of gray and the blue of her eyes sparkled with hidden secrets bursting to be released. Jordan couldn’t help but smile at her.
“Please, call me Jordan. Madam makes me feel ancient.”
Kimberly grinned, but Rene pursed his lips in disapproval. “That would not be proper, madam. Perhaps Miss Taylor would be more preferable?”
“Miss Jordan would be even more preferable,” Jordan said with a slight grin. He was certainly a proper old thing.
“As you wish.”
She turned to stare at the massive, oak double doors leading into the entryway. “Wow,” she sighed, still not sure where to begin. There was so much house.
“If you would like, Miss Jordan, I’ll help you pick out a room and get you settled. I know you must be terribly exhausted from your trip. You can take a nap before dinner.”
Jordan smiled at Kimberly, a little relieved. “That would be wonderful.” She was tired.
She’d left New York around five this morning. Of course to be able to leave at that ungodly hour, she had to be there an hour prior; then, of course, there was the hour drive to the airport. Now that she thought about it, she probably hadn’t gotten more than two hours sleep.
“If you’ll permit me to make a suggestion. There’s a room toward the back on the second floor. It’s the original master suite and has a terrace that overlooks the gardens, which are in full bloom right now.”
“Kimberly,” Rene said, a slight hint of warning to his tone.
Jordan glanced at him questioningly.
“It would be the perfect room for her, Rene. After all, she is the new mistress of the house.”
With that said, Kimberly ushered her into the great hall. The heels of Jordan’s shoes tapped against the Italian tile as she stepped further into the room. A massive split staircase, circling into opposite directions halfway up, dominated the hall. Mahogany was everywhere, from the antique furnishings to the wainscoting that covered the lower portion of the wall.
A large, round table took up the floor, with flowers overflowing the crystal vase in the center. Walking over, Jordan leaned forward to sniff their sweet fragrance. She loved flowers of any kind.
“Those are from the garden,” Kimberly said with pride.
“They’re lovely.”
“The original owner of the house, Drake Montgomery, Viscount Blackthorn, designed the gardens. They’ve been added to over the years, but they’ve never strayed from the original design.”
Drake Montgomery. Now there’s a hero’s name if I’ve ever heard one. Images of dark hair and deep blue eyes flashed through her mind, sending a slight tingle along her flesh. Yep, definitely hero material.
“Follow me and I’ll show you the room.”
Jordan turned and followed Kimberly up the staircase, her shoes silent on the red carpet that lined the steps.
*
Drake Montgomery moved to stand next to Rene, his butler of almost 400 years now. If Rene and Kimberly hadn’t walked into his suite at the time that woman spouted off the spell, he would have spent the last four centuries in solitude. In some ways, he was glad they were here. He didn’t have to live this nightmare alone. But in other ways, he felt guilty—they didn’t deserve this.
“She’s everything her grandfather said she was,” Rene whispered quietly.
“Yes, she’s quite lovely.”
Drake watched the sway of her ass as she moved up the stairs and fought down a stirring of lust. Her long, blond hair hung down her back, curling ever so slightly on the ends. The short bangs that she kept in the front gave her an almost childish look, but there was certainly nothing childish about her figure. The woman had the body of Venus, the voice of an angel, and those blue eyes of hers set his heart racing with thoughts of long nights staring into them.
It’d been a long time since he’d felt anything close to attraction. Of course, living as he did, who did he have to be attracted to? He had all the modern conveniences, thanks to previous owners, but no real companionship. Until Jordan’s grandfather, Charles Taylor.
Charles had listened to his story with interest and they’d talked for hours about how he could get out of this mess. Charles had even hired an expert to try and reverse the spell, but to no avail. Drake had remained stuck in limbo.
He had to give the old man credit. Even after his death, he was still trying to free Drake. Jordan was apparently his last ditch effort. Drake and Rene had received Charles’s letter just a couple of days ago, informing them of Jordan’s arrival and why she was there. He was convinced she would be the one to soften his heart.
If my Jordan can’t do it, no one can, were his exact words.
“I’m sorry Kimberly put her in your suite of rooms, my lord. I’ll see what I can do about getting her moved,” Rene said, pulling him away from his thoughts.
“No. That’s quite all right. It might actually make things a little more interesting.”
Rene gave him his best disapproving look. “It’s the interesting things that got you in this mess, if I recall.”
“Trust me, Rene,” Drake drawled in amusement.
“Begging your pardon, sir, but trusting you is a bit of a stretch these days.”
Drake chuckled. “I want out of this mess just as badly as you, old man.”
“Then might I suggest a different strategy?” Seeing Drake’s raised eyebrow, he continued. “Perhaps someone from the area?”
“And how would I explain never being able to meet her anywhere but here?”
“Good point, my lord.”
Kimberly came rushing down the stairs, her cheeks flushed pink in excitement. She came to a stop before Drake and curtsied. “Isn’t she lovely, my lord?”
“Yes, Rene and I were just discussing her loveliness.”
“Among other things,” Rene said dryly.
“She’s taking a nap before dinner. Poor thing was exhausted. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll start dinner. It’s so nice to be able to cook for guests again. It’s been so long since her grandfather was here.”
Drake gazed toward the top of the stairs, his brow drawn together in thought. Suddenly his lips spread in a grin. “I have an idea.”
“I don’t think I like the way you said that.”
Drake frowned at his butler. Sometimes the man could forget his place. “You don’t have to like it, Rene. Just carry it out.”
Rene nodded, realizing he’d overstepped his bounds. “Of course, my lord.”
* * * *
Jordan sighed, sinking further into the most comfortable mattress she’d ever laid on. Kimberly had told her it was a down mattress, and she loved down. As soon as her maid left the room, Jordan stripped down to her satin panties and climbed under the nine hundred-count sheets. She could get used to this.
Sleeping in nothing but her underwear was a normal thing for her. She couldn’t stand clothing binding her while she tried to sleep. She wanted freedom of movement. With a yawn, she studied the masculine bedroom with its shades of navy blue and beige.
The dark mahogany furniture shone with a fresh layer of wax, and she scrunched her nose at the smell. The pictures on the wall were of sailing ships
, old pirate vessels. They were all very beautiful, with their sails full, the waves crashing against their bows, but they just weren’t her. This room definitely needed a woman’s touch.
Closing her eyes, she sank slowly into darkness. The scent of jasmine assaulted her nose and comforting warmth surrounded her. She breathed deep, letting the breath flow out on a soft sigh. Was she dreaming? She must be—she felt so at peace, so content.
Soft fingers feathered up her arm, and she opened her eyes to stare into a pair of the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
They were beautiful and so was the man they were attached to. Black hair hung around his shoulders in unruly waves and surrounded a face that was pure, chiseled perfection. His noble nose topped off full lips that were the kind you just wanted to kiss all day. The kind that would feel incredible against your skin.
She had to be dreaming. No real man could look that fine. It was dark, and candles cast flickering shadows against the soft gold walls. The curtains fluttered in the warm evening breeze, sending hints of jasmine and roses across the room. “Who…?” she began, her voice sounding odd in the quiet darkness.
“I’m Drake, my lady,” he whispered.
A breeze parted his white linen shirt, exposing a chest wide and hard with muscle. A chest that was obviously accustomed to hard work. His skin was tanned by the sun, his waist and hips the perfect accompaniment to his upper physique.
Drake? As in Drake Montgomery? She must have been thinking about him before she fell asleep and this is what her subconscious dreamed up. Damn, my subconscious did an excellent job. Bravo.
His fingers pulled back the covers and slid up the outside of her thigh. They were warm and soft against her flesh, and she trembled with desire. His gaze skimmed appreciatively over her body, igniting a flame between her legs that begged to be quenched. She murmured sleepily, “You keep looking at me like that and, dream or not, you’ll find yourself well and thoroughly fucked.”
Drake grinned, his eyes flashing mischief. “All in due time, my lady. And just to clarify, you’re the one who will be well and thoroughly … fucked.”
Her breath hitched at the image of being taken by this hunk of a man. Dreams were wonderful things. She could be whoever she wanted to be, say whatever she wanted to say. His lips blazed a trail up the inside of her thigh, and she sighed at the feel of his moist kisses against her hot skin. His hands removed her underwear, tugging them down her legs with infinite slowness.