by Jordan Dane
She knew he felt the pull of attraction. The hunger in his eyes was undeniable. Yet the awkwardness of the moment left few options.
"If I let you up, are you gonna behave?"
It was the last thing she wanted, so she milked the moment.
"You bust into my house, in the dead of night, and you're worried about my behavior?" She challenged those eyes, then set her jaw. "You let me up, and I might have to kick your ass all over again."
"Feeling a little cocky, are we?" He shifted his weight, nearly driving her insane.
"As a matter of fact"—she snickered—"nothing little about it, if my memory of the male anatomy serves."
The low rumble of his laughter coerced a broad grin to her lips. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sound.
Slowly, he released his grip, letting her go. Sitting back on his haunches, then rising, he held out his hand to help her up. She gripped his strong fingers, feeling weightless as he lifted her from the floor. In the dark, she groped for the light switch, then flipped it on. Turning back, she tilted her chin and furrowed her brow, assessing the damage.
"I think I did bust your lip."
Dressed in black military garb, Christian dominated her small living room with his athletic build. He towered over her, broad shoulders narrowing to slender hips and long legs. Only good timing and her surprise attack had brought him down, and then for only a brief moment. Still, she'd connected her blows. Blood from the cut on his lip painted his chin. She'd left her mark. With her reminder, he dabbed at his wound with a finger, drawing his tongue over the spot.
"You realize this was a very dumb idea. You could've gotten yourself killed." She crossed her arms, standing defiantly.
"I had to take the chance." His eyes held no apology. "I didn't bring a weapon. If I had, you would've been dead."
Her smile quickly faded. The truth of his words chilled her.
"And the men out there? I would've taken them out first. No one would have been able to help you, Raven."
He was dead right. And he had been only one man. Tony had seen a small band of mercenaries with state-of-the-art weapons. The conspicuous squad cars and the police patrolling the grounds outside her house would have deterred the common criminal. But there was nothing common about this situation. Using her quiet neighborhood to stand her ground suddenly seemed foolish. So many innocent people were at risk. Reality hit her square in the face.
"But this is not your fight, Christian. Why should you take this on?"
"Whoever this guy is, he's sent a very clear message for me to seek the truth, and punctuated it with a dead body. And for whatever reason, he's drawn you into it, and Tony." He stepped closer, the intimacy of his voice commanding her senses. "I am involved, even more than you. This is my fight. I've made it mine."
"And what about Fiona? I'm not so sure she'd want you aligning yourself with the police on this one." Her eyes drifted to the Dunhill files strewn on the floor. The autopsy photos and other evidence carelessly spread over her rug.
At first, he met her eyes, a stern resolve in his tone.
"I have to trust my instincts. I honestly don't know anything about this. But I want to believe her." Then his voice wavered and he couldn't hold her stare. Christian had his doubts.
Maybe together they could sort through this mess. She had the old case file here. Pooling their resources, they might make some headway. Raven considered the option he offered. But with a glance down at her knuckles and a roll of her aching shoulder, she had things to do. She had to trust her instincts, too.
"I'm gonna accept your offer, for now. How could I refuse such a persuasive invitation?" she teased, wincing as she lightly touched a finger to his bruised lower lip. "The Dunhill Estate is so fortified, the bastard would have to be a fool to launch an attack against it."
In response to her sympathetic touch, Christian torqued his jaw, making sure it worked. If he had a bruised ego, it wasn't showing.
"Let's get cleaned up. I gotta pack a few things, call off my police protection, and talk to some folks." With a sly glance over her shoulder, she smirked. "You always go to so much trouble to get a woman to come home with you?"
Christian's smile broadened to a devilish grin. "It's usually not this difficult. . . No."
With a shake of her head, she laughed and tugged at his arm, leading him to her bathroom. "I don't doubt it, Delacorte. I don't doubt that at all."
In the hours before dawn, the Dunhill Estate glowed on the horizon, its security lights serving as a beacon. Before her, the ribbon of asphalt emerged from the darkness only as far as her headlights reached, winding through the shadowy terrain. Raven gripped her steering wheel and followed the red taillights ahead. She knew Christian's plan made sense. Yet the idea of spending so much one-on-one time with him sent her stomach reeling. The thrill of expectancy and the uncertainty of cold feet vied for position. It would have been more comforting if she'd ridden with him, so they could talk. But she'd been determined to have her independence and drive her own car.
The massive stone wall with its wrought-iron gate loomed ahead. Several men in uniform bounded from the shadows, weapons drawn, surrounding both vehicles. In the lead, Christian spoke to a guard, then waved a hand back to her. The other men peered through the headlights into her vehicle, without a change in their stern expressions. With a curt nod, the guard standing closest to Christian's SUV waved her onto the property. He commanded the others to stand down and resume their duties.
Part of her felt secure behind these gates, yet another part felt trapped and alone. She wondered if Christian ever felt that way.
The old oaks lining the drive stood like sentinels, more ominous under the sweeping headlights than she remembered from her first visit. The imposing presence of the Dunhill mansion intimidated her, emerging even larger as she approached. Its size alone made her feel small and unimportant. With eyes on the grand front entry up ahead, she reminded herself to breathe. On her first visit, she'd been a cop with a job to do. It had been a distraction. But this time, she'd have her Cubs cap in hand, staying for a while.
"I hope they give out maps at the door. 'Cause I can guarantee I'm gonna get lost in there," she whispered, the blue dash lights casting shadows on her hands and clothing. "And what the hell am I going to do with a butler or a maid? How do you live like this, Delacorte?"
Humor didn't ease her worry. It only reminded her just how different her life was from Christian's. He'd practically grown up here, accustomed to such wealth and self-indulgence.
"Tony was right. I must come from a long line of Raven lunatics."
She chalked it up to raw nerves, being a fish out of water. She wasn't sure what to expect from a man who'd been a total stranger just a short time ago. Correct that—a suspect. For cry in' out loud, the man had been a suspect. She rolled her eyes, chastising herself again. Doubts played serious havoc with her judgment.
As Christian approached the circular drive leading to the front steps, he didn't slow his speed. It threw her. He bypassed the main house and drove around a bend. His taillights disappeared. Where was he going? She knitted her brow and blindly followed his lead. As she made the turn to the right, a quaint cottage lay just ahead. Subtle landscape lighting gave it a gentle radiance, illuminating the encircling trees. Its charm reminded her of a Disney flick.
She pulled in behind him and turned off the ignition to her car. "So this is where you hang your hat, Delacorte. Very nice." She nodded her approval, craning her neck toward the windshield for a better view.
Then it hit her.
The pretentious mansion with its many, many rooms was one thing. But this?
"I'm going to be staying here with you, in this small, intimate cottage. Oh, my Gawd!"
The minute he opened his car door and turned to see her face, he realized something had changed in her resolve. For the first time since he'd met her, Raven looked unsettled, off her game.
But then again, he knew exactly how she felt.
&n
bsp; His home had always been his oasis. A refuge. Despite his joking with her about bringing women home, he'd never brought one here. Tensing his jaw, he wondered why his mind drifted to something so personal. This is business, Delacorte! Yet with Raven, it felt like anything but—
The evidence box hoisted to his shoulder, he turned the key to the front entry, then quickly entered a pass code into the security system to his right. With a sideways glance, he watched her walk past him and stop, setting her overnight bag beside her feet.
"I called ahead, had the housekeeper change the sheets and stock the kitchen. You take the bedroom." He set the evidence box in the study, then took a deep breath before heading back to her. Stepping back into the living room, he found her still standing near the entry. Her eyes absorbed every detail of her limited accommodations, without uttering a word since she'd crossed his threshold. He hadn't known her for very long. Even so, he knew Raven being speechless would be highly improbable.
He took a risk, hoping to break the ice.
"I assure you I can control my manly urges. You're safe here." Hand to his chest, he waited for a smile from her.
None came.
Instead, she slowly stepped into the living room. Her eyes darted to the room just beyond. His bedroom. Its double doors were open, its lamps lit and welcoming. And from what she could tell, the housekeeper had even left a chocolate mint on the pillow. Still, she avoided the bedroom with a vengeance. Tension dominated the space between them. He felt the need to defend his decision.
"An outsider's assumption is that you'd be staying in the mansion. And the smaller place makes it easier to defend. Is this arrangement a problem?"
She hesitated for only an instant. "No, not at all. It's just that I don't want to take your bedroom. Let me— I'll sleep on the couch."
It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but at least she was talking.
"No way. If it'll make you feel any better, I can barricade the doors once you're inside, block it with this console table . . . maybe that chair."
She crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously, her defiance back. "The barricade would only work from the inside, Delacorte."
"Yeah, well. Just seeing if you were paying attention."
Her expression finally softened. He'd even coerced a soft chuckle from her. It gave him the courage to speak freely.
"Look. If it makes you feel any better, this is as awkward for me as it is for you. Contrary to what you might believe, I've never brought a woman here. Not here. This is my home. And I want to welcome you to it. Please relax. I want you to feel safe, especially from me."
Raven smiled. And as she stepped slowly toward him, he found himself holding his breath.
"On occasion, truth has come from those lips. And I do trust you, Christian. I keep asking myself why, but I do trust you," she teased, placing her hands on his chest, a finger circling a button.
He swallowed, hard. Already, his body reacted to her familiarity. With her standing so close, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, to feel her body next to his. But this was all about building trust between them. If anything more were to follow, it had to start on a foundation of trust. She'd have to make the first move. Having her here would be the combination punch of ecstasy and pure torture that only a woman inflicted upon a man. And he had the bruises to prove it.
With his past in question and his future an even bigger mystery, his truce with her would be difficult enough. He wasn't sure he had the strength to endure the sweet torment of Raven Mackenzie.
She cleared out of his bedroom long enough for him to move some toiletries to the guest bath, retrieve a change of clothes for the morning, and take a quick shower. As she wandered into the library, she heard the shower start. Perusing his book collection would not keep her from imagining his firm body under a hot stream of water, but it would have to do.
From the little she knew of him, his life focused on violence. He trained like a warrior, a result of his traumatic childhood. And armed men surrounded his home. All of it had comprised violence or his fear of it.
Yet in this library, in his home, his struggle for serenity was so apparent. Classical music and literature, books of poetry abounded, leaving her all the more confused by this enigmatic man. Her fingers lightly trailed along the book spines, maintained with great care, on polished cherrywood bookshelves. This had to be his favorite room. It was hers, too. She pictured him reading by a crackling fire or working at the computer on his desk. And yes, he'd fight the urge to gaze out the window at the picturesque grounds with only the measured beat of a clock to keep him company. The image was so vivid, lonely and comforting at the same time.
Christian was definitely a man of contradictions.
"I left towels for you on the bed." His low voice melded into her mind like an afterthought. "Sleep in tomorrow morning if you'd like."
She turned to find him standing barefoot by the study door. His dark waves still damp from the shower, he was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. A pale blue towel draped his neck. As she stepped closer, the faint scent of herbs mixed with the unique essence of his skin, teasing her senses. The color of the towel tinted his green eyes to a familiar deep azure, making it nearly impossible for her to walk by him.
But the cop in her took over, reminding her she was here for a reason. A killer was free. The bastard had nearly killed Tony and had invaded her home, forcing her from it. Damn! Reality bites.
"Good night, Christian."
"Sleep well."
She resisted the urge to touch him as she walked by, clenching her fingers into a fist. But one urge she couldn't fight was the impulse to fill her lungs with his scent. Why did he have to smell so good?
It was a very long walk across the living room. Before she closed the bedroom doors, she looked for him one last time. He stood at the threshold of the library, his arms folded across his ample chest. And those eyes held her just as sure as if she were in his arms. Her breath wavered, catching in her throat.
Normally, a polite smile from her would have severed the connection between them, allowing her to carry on. But her attraction for him had been undeniable from the start. Now, the hunger was impossible to ignore. After shutting the doors behind her, she leaned against them and closed her eyes to capture the memory. Her whisper broke the spell.
"You've crossed the line, woman. You've leapt over it and thumbed your nose. There's no going back now."
CHAPTER 13
Nicholas disapproved of the music selection off his home stereo system. This morning, the classical piece felt far too grim for his mood. But it was better than the alternative. Dead silence gave him too much time to think.
His fork scraped the gold-trimmed china as he cut into his last bite of pastry. The noise resounded hollowly across the formal dining room, competing with the crackle of a small fire in the hearth and the faint strains of an orchestra. The emptiness reminded him of the solitary nature of his life. His gaze dropped to the newsprint, scanning the morning headlines for any distraction. Nothing piqued his interest.
He poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back in his chair. His gaze drifted to the crystal chandelier overhead. He found the rainbow prisms quite mesmerizing in this light. Then the crass noise of his cell phone drew him from his self-pity. He recognized the number.
"Good morning, sweet Mantis." He welcomed the intrusion. "Where are you, my dear?"
"I find myself a mere three blocks from the gates of hell. But rest assured, Nicky, I'm never so far from civilization that I cannot find a Starbucks."
A smile spread over his face as he pictured his bodyguard. Her propensity for understatement and dry wit was always a source of amusement. He had ordered her to follow Logan McBride, keeping track of his whereabouts. As he read the morning paper, catching up on the news of the world, Jasmine had called to bid him tidings from its seedy underbelly.
"Leave it to you to find the light at the end of the tunnel to be a mocha frappuccino. What word from our l
ittle zoo menagerie?"
"Our vicious hyena is curled in his lair, but as you expected, he did make another reconnaissance run early this morning ... and he wasn't alone this time. I think he had planned an unexpected party. Needless to say, he was not pleased to find the nest of the Raven abandoned."
"Abandoned? How so?"
"My resources were divided at the time. The uniforms were noticeably absent. But I will find out where the bird has flown if you order it."
He sipped his coffee, pondering his next move. "Yes, I'm curious. See what you can find out. But first, locate a suitable replacement and get some rest. I have a feeling our beast will soon be more frenzied in his hunt. What is your opinion, Mantis?"
"A very astute observation. I would agree. Should I put him out of his misery? You only have to give the command."
"This is developing into an interesting standoff. The timing could prove to be most. . . entertaining."
He stood, brushing off his dark gray suit with his linen napkin. Walking to a window, he gazed upon the drab day, a true reflection of his disposition.
"My contacts abroad have informed me that my recent trip to Paris had some effect. And if I had to guess, I'd say guilt will soon be winging her home."
Silence. It took Jasmine a moment to respond.
"Are you okay, Nicky?" The beautiful woman was most perceptive. "I can end it now; just give the word."
He considered her words, then responded, failing miserably to keep the melancholy from his voice.
"There is still time, Mantis. I'm not ready for such finality. As you've said before, it shall not be difficult to lay the blame at the feet of the dearly departed hyena."
"Not so dearly departed from my perspective. But I shall respect your wishes. I will see you shortly."