The Darkest Touch dh-3

by Jaci Burton

  “Again, such as?”

  “Boating, obviously. Diving, of course. The acquisition of antiquities. Hunting.”

  “Really? What do you hunt?”

  He looked down and smiled into his glass. “Large game.”

  “Sounds interesting, and dangerous.”

  He looked up at her, his expression serious. “It can be deadly.”

  Somehow she got the idea he was talking about something other than deer hunting. She’d like to know more.

  But it wasn’t her business to know more about Dalton. All she had to do was use his boat and his money.

  “Must be nice to be able to do whatever you want.”

  “It is. Maybe if you find Atlantis, you’ll be in the same position.”

  She clasped both hands around the chilled glass. “It’s a dream of mine to be that successful.”

  “It means that much to you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Freedom. Prestige. The ability to hunt for treasure without worrying about how to fund it. Obviously you’ve never had to worry about money, so you don’t understand what it’s like not to have it.”

  “You grew up poor?”

  She shrugged. “Not exactly poor, but not rolling in the dough, either.”

  “I couldn’t find any information on one Isabelle Smith, archaeologist. So maybe you should tell me about yourself.”

  She figured he’d check her background, even wondered if he’d accept this venture without knowing much about her. “My mother was an archaeologist. I learned everything I know from her.”

  “Was? Is she retired?”

  “Dead.”

  He reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. She became ill suddenly and passed away.”

  “Any siblings?”

  She paused for a second, remembering the practiced speech. “None. My father died before I was born, so it was always just my mom and me. When my mother died, I inherited the family business, so to speak. Now I’m all alone.”

  Dalton stared at Isabelle, trying to mask his disbelief. She’d just lied to him about having no other family. First using a fake last name, then denying that she had a sister.

  “It must be tough to do this by yourself, with no support. No husband or boyfriend, I assume?”

  Her lips lifted. “No. I don’t have time for that.”

  “Everyone has time for that.”

  Dimitri set plates of food down in front of them.

  “Fresh seafood and pasta? How did you know those were my favorites?”

  “They’re my favorites,” he said, picking up his fork.

  He watched her eat. She wasn’t tentative, digging into her food with gusto. Good girl. A woman on the hunt needed energy, and he was glad she wasn’t hesitant about eating in front of him.

  Her appetite extended beyond food, too. She had a hunger for knowledge and discovery that intrigued him. She didn’t seem shy, and she liked to talk. At least about archaeology. Throughout dinner she discussed her work at length, especially her research into the possibility of the existence of underwater temples in the sea, and what it could mean to find them. He sensed true enthusiasm in her words, though he wondered about her motivation.

  He pushed his plate away and took a swallow of the Chardonnay Dimitri had provided during their meal. “And what will you do with your find should you, in fact, discover the underwater temples?”

  Isabelle leaned back and picked up her wineglass, swirling the liquid around. “I’ll be famous.”

  “And wealthy beyond your imaginings.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does that excite you?”

  She looked up from the liquid in her glass and stared directly at him. “Yes. Does that make me shallow?”

  He shrugged. “Most people are motivated by monetary gain. Who wouldn’t want to be rich?” He looked around him. “It buys a lot.”

  She grinned. “Does it buy happiness, as people often say?”

  “Are you needing to buy some happiness, Isabelle?”

  Her smile died. “Are you also a psychologist, Dalton?”

  “Hardly. I just know what money can and can’t buy.”

  “Easily stated from one who already has it. Should I feel sorry for the misunderstood billionaire now?”

  He snorted. “I hardly think so. Should I feel sorry for the penniless archaeologist?”

  She tilted her glass in his direction. “Touché.”

  “Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it.”

  “And some things we get that we would have never asked for.”

  “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “You won’t find a mystery where I’m concerned, Dalton. What you see is what you get, and I’m perfectly satisfied with my life.”

  “Are you?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I’m doing exactly what I want to do. And if I get rich doing it, even better. If I don’t, it’s nothing I’m not already used to. It’s always about the adventure. The prize is simply a bonus at the end.” She pushed back from the table. “I’d love a tour of the yacht.”

  He stood, realizing that was all he was going to get from her, at least for now, which left him with more questions than answers. But he knew better than to push. “I’d be happy to show you around.”

  The yacht was multilevel. The top deck contained his suite with a private office, as well as a VIP suite where he’d had Isabelle’s things taken. He liked that their rooms were adjoining. It would give him an opportunity to lurk nearby, see if she made any calls or contact with anyone else.

  Their cabins were obscenely spacious, with king-size beds, plasma TV’s, Jacuzzi tubs, and marble vanities.

  “Wow. I can’t believe how big these rooms are,” Isabelle said when he showed her to her room.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable in here.”

  “Fifteen people would be comfortable in here.”

  He laughed. “Come on. I’ll show you below.”

  Belowdecks were the hands’ quarters, the galley, and the engine room, as well as storage and equipment. All the action was on the top deck, but he wanted Isabelle to know where everything was located so she’d feel comfortable, like a partner in this venture.

  He wanted her to trust him.

  They moved back to the top deck, and Dalton led her to her room. “I’ll give you some time to unpack. Maybe we can meet for a drink later and go over the plan for tomorrow morning? I’d like to get an early start on the dive.”

  “Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.”

  She stepped inside and closed the door. Dalton went to his room and moved to the monitor, hesitating for a second. He was no voyeur, but he had to keep tabs on Isabelle’s activities. Setting up her room with audio and video surveillance didn’t sit well with him, but he’d had no choice. If she made contact with anyone, if she exhibited any signs of demon behavior, he had to know. Which meant he had to watch.

  She didn’t unpack right away, just wandered around the room, touching things. Rather lovingly, as a matter of fact, using just her fingertips. She traced each piece of furniture, each surface of the room, as if she were in awe of every object. Then she went to the French doors and opened them, breathing in the sea air. She leaned against the door and stared out to sea for about five minutes, not moving at all.

  Dalton stopped breathing, mesmerized by the picture she presented. He zoomed in on her, unable to resist seeing her up close.

  Maybe he was a voyeur after all.

  The setting sun bathed her face, casting her features in a dusky orange glow. Her hair was down, cascading in soft waves over her bare shoulders. Her skin looked like luminescent pearls, making him want to reach out and smooth his hand down the curve of her arm.

  When she breathed deeply, her breasts pressed against the fabric of her dress, outlining their fullness. He flexed his fingers, wanting to touch, to slide his thumb over her nip
ples, then reach for the straps at her shoulders and draw them down to bare her.

  His cock tightened, and he closed his eyes, visualizing himself stepping into the room, into the doorway before her. He’d brush her hair away from her shoulder, press his lips there, then straighten and meet her gaze.

  She’d nod, and he’d lean in, bracing his hand against the doorway next to her head. Her lips would part, an invitation to take what she offered.

  And he wanted. Oh, how he wanted. .

  He pushed back, stunned at the trail of his thoughts.

  He didn’t think about women. He thought about work. Always about his job. He was a demon hunter, and that was his life, his reason for existence. He wasn’t gifted with a normal life, a chance for relationships. . for love. That was for others, not for him.

  He’d led an angelic life, a perfect existence. But he’d made one really bad mistake, and his penance had led him to find Lou and the Realm of Light. He’d done the only thing he could do-dedicated his life to fighting the Sons of Darkness and the demons under their control. Maybe someday he’d find forgiveness, get a second chance.

  He knew better. He was never again going to be what he once was. And always, always, the darkness would live inside him.

  Darkness and light, at war within. He looked at Isabelle, and sensed the same thing. Is that why he was so drawn to her, why he’d felt that instant rush when they touched?

  He stood, dragging a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the effects of his daydream. He stared at the monitor. Isabelle was still framed there, staring off to sea.

  Goddamn, he wanted.

  No.

  He knew why he was here. And it had never bothered him before. So what was it about Isabelle that struck him, made his gut tighten in unfamiliar ways?

  He shook his head and forced himself to focus, leaning toward the monitor again. Isabelle pushed off from the doorway and moved to her luggage, finally unpacking her clothes and putting them away. She had another suitcase with a laptop, some loose papers, a binder, and a small box.

  The box caught his eye right away, because it was padlocked. She picked it up, looked at it for a few minutes, then sat on the bed with it still in her hands.

  “What have you got in there, Isabelle?” he whispered. “Show me.”

  As if in response to his plea, she fished into her pocket and pulled out a key, unlocking the box.

  Inside was a book. Isabelle put the box to the side and opened the book, reverently turning pages until she found a section, reading, then lingering on that page. She caressed the yellowed pages, moving her hands over them with such love and tenderness, Dalton could feel it.

  Too bad this video equipment didn’t have a feature allowing him to pan in close enough to read what was written in that book.

  So far she hadn’t said a word, just continued to read. The strange thing was, she wasn’t turning pages. Whatever interested her was on a single page.

  But then she sniffed. Again. And wiped her hand across her face.

  She was crying.

  What the hell was she reading that would move her to tears?

  She tilted her head back, scrunched her face into a frown, then opened her eyes, letting him see that it wasn’t grief that had made her cry.

  It was pure and utter fury.

  “Damn you, Mother!”

  She threw the book across the room. It hit the wall with a hard thunk. Isabelle stared at it for a few seconds, then headed into the bathroom.

  Dalton sat back, stunned.

  What the hell was in that book?

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ryder hid his amusement throughout dinner and the several bottles of wine Angelique had coaxed him into drinking.

  He had an uncanny tolerance for alcohol. It didn’t affect him. She didn’t know that, of course, and he didn’t share the information, especially since it was obvious she was trying to get him drunk.

  For what reason, though? He didn’t suppose it was so she could have her way with him.

  The mental visual made him tighten. Her on top, him buried to the hilt inside her, holding on to her hips as she rocked against him.

  Shit. Where was he going with this train of thought besides nowhere? He tried not to think of Angie in a sexual way, though it was damn hard not to, especially since the two of them were alone.

  Think demons. Not sex.

  Yeah, right. With his dick in charge, demons weren’t going to be high on the list. Especially when a sweet-smelling, beautiful woman was plying him with liquor.

  A woman who wanted something.

  She’d even been nice.

  He preferred the contentious Angie over this stranger who’d smiled benignly through dinner, making innocuous conversation. The game had been fun for a while. He’d listened to her chatter on and on about everything and nothing, but after a couple hours and a lot of wine, they’d gotten nowhere. He thought maybe if she had more to drink, she’d start talking.

  She hadn’t. Not about a worthwhile topic, anyway. And he’d just about reached his tolerance level of bullshit.

  “And so when I did two years in the Mojave, it was really hard to leave. .”

  She continued to drone on about digs she’d been on, discoveries she’d made, museums she’d donated her finds to. Things he already knew about from the background research he’d done on her. He probably knew more about her than she did.

  And all the while she talked, they drank. And she kept refilling both their glasses.

  He noticed she hadn’t yet started slurring her words. Maybe she was an adrenaline junkie and the high levels of it in her bloodstream burned off the alcohol.

  “There was this statue we uncovered once in Egypt-”

  “Angie.”

  “Yes?”

  “What exactly is your point?”

  She tilted her head. “Of my story?”

  “No, of tonight. Of this. The four bottles of wine and inane conversation.”

  Frowning. “You find my conversation inane?”

  “Yes.”

  She sat back. “Well. That’s rather insulting.”

  “You’re not at all offended. You have an agenda. What is it?”

  “I do not.”

  “Yeah, you do. You’re trying to get me drunk.”

  She sniffed. “I would do no such thing.”

  “For the record, I don’t get drunk. Ever. The wine was great, though I prefer an ice cold beer or hard whiskey, straight up.”

  “Oh. I’m sure I saw a bottle of-”

  “Don’t bother. I’ve had enough.”

  “Fine, then.” She stood, but he grasped her wrist, tugging her back to the sofa.

  “Not of talking. I’ve had enough to drink. You wanna talk, we’ll talk. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  She leaned back, picked at one of her fingernails. “I just thought we’d been running on edge since we met up again and it was time to unwind a little.”

  “I don’t unwind, either.”

  She looked up. “Ever?”

  “Ever. I’m on a mission. It’s not in your best interests for me to be too relaxed.”

  “We had some downtime together in the cave in Australia, if you recall.”

  “That wasn’t exactly downtime. We were trapped, and I was plotting our rescue the entire time.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right. We talked. And you kissed me.”

  She just had to bring that up again. He’d tried like hell to forget that moment when she’d teased him and he took the bait. But the taste of her mouth still lingered in his memory. He wasn’t likely to ever forget it. Just as he wouldn’t forget her betrayal. “A lot of things happened in Australia. Do you really want to dredge all that up?”

  She shrugged. “I have nothing to hide.”

  “Good. Then tell me where the black diamond is.”

  “Except that.”

  “Then we really don’t have anything to talk about.”

  He stood, but this time she grabbed
his arm.

  “Wait.”

  He looked down at her. “I’m not in the mood to play games, Angie.”

  “I’m sorry. Sit down. I really do want to talk.”