Standing in the Shadows m&f-2

by Shannon McKenna

  Lydia's smile was calculated and cold. "Have a lovely time this evening, Erin. Ah, youth is wasted on the young. Just wasted."

  Erin fled the table and hurried out of the restaurant, gasping for fresh air. These people were awful. How could she ever have tolerated their falseness, their manipulative games? What had changed in her? She wanted to take a bath after lunch with those four.

  She hailed a cab, gave the driver directions, and stared miserably out the window, pressing her hand against the sharp ache in her belly. It ate at her like acid, how bad Connor must feel: his anger and confusion and hurt. And his fear. His fear for her was very real to him. How well grounded it might be in outside reality she could not say, but that didn't make it any less painful for him. Or for her.

  It felt so cruel, so incredibly wrong, to turn away from him. But she had to break out of his hold on her. She needed some air, some distance, so she could figure out where she stood. What was real.

  Connor's charisma was so powerful, he warped her reality into any shape he pleased. He was so intelligent and intense, his force of will so overwhelming. She couldn't think straight when he was near her. He swept her away every time, no matter how hard she tried to resist.

  Her heart and her body and her love would always betray her.

  The taxi pulled up at the curbside of a beautiful turn-of-the-century mansion on Heydon Terrace. The wrought iron gates yawned opened for her unbidden as she paid the cabbie. It was time to get jerked around by Mueller and his piles of money. Oh, goodie. She would have laughed, but she didn't dare shake up her unsteady stomach.

  Tamara Julian was waiting for her in the palatial foyer. Erin greeted her with wary politeness after that odd episode at Silver Fork, but Tamara was warm and friendly.

  "I'm so glad we got in touch with you in time," Tamara said. "Mr. Mueller is so anxious to meet you. Come with me, please. I have to show you something before I present you."

  Present her, indeed. Good grief. As if she were being taken before royalty. She muffled silent, half-hysterical laughter behind her hand as she followed Tamara through the big, lavish rooms, up a sweeping flight of stairs, and down a corridor into a plush bedroom full of freshly cut flowers. Their odor was heavy and sickeningly sweet.

  Tamara opened up a safe in the wall, and pulled out a flat black velvet case. She handed it to Erin. "Take a look at this," she said.

  Erin opened the box, and let out a sigh of awe.

  It was a golden torque, La Tene period, but far more sumptuous than any she had seen. And it was the same style as the jewelry excavated from the ancient burial mounds that she had studied in Wrothburn.

  There were dragons with garnet eyes where the ends of the torque met, their claws raised in challenge. Their serpentine tails formed a lavish, swirling pattern that extended down over the wearer's chest. The piece was exquisite. It shimmered and glowed like trapped sunlight against the black velvet.

  "This is Mr. Mueller's latest acquisition," Tamara said. "He's been negotiating for it for months. This is the reason he had to rush off to Hong Kong the other day."

  "It's incredible," she breathed. "Perfect. Would you show me the provenance information?"

  Tamara smiled. "I could, but I won't. Not tonight, Erin. This is not for you to study. Put it on."

  "God, no!" She held out the box, appalled. "That's ridiculous!"

  Tamara gently pushed it back. "Why do you think I brought you up here? Mr. Mueller has a very special request of you today. He wants you to wear the dragon torque when you meet with him."

  She looked down at her simple navy suit, her high-necked white silk blouse. "But I… I can't. I—I—"

  "I understand perfectly," Tamara said briskly. "You need something different as a backdrop. Mr. Mueller and I anticipated this problem. We've arranged for several different gowns to be delivered this afternoon. Size eight, right?" Erin nodded. "Thought so," Tamara went on. "They're all stunning, and believe me, I'm fussy. We'll find something you'll like."

  "Oh, no. It's not that," she protested. "But it's not—"

  "Proper?" Tamara's laugh rang out, full and rich and beautiful. She kissed Erin's cheek. "That's priceless. I love it. You are a work in progress, Erin Riggs, but you'll be a masterpiece before you're through."

  Erin shook her head. "I can't."

  "Why?" Tamara demanded.

  Erin closed her eyes against Tamara's probing gaze and tried to breathe deeply. She was too stressed and confused to come up with the cutting retort that she needed to fend the woman off. All she could think of was Connor's certain reaction to Mueller's request. His outraged pride.

  "Don't you like playing dress-up, Erin?" Tamara's tone was lightly teasing. "It's just a harmless game. Mr. McCloud is nowhere in sight, and we're certainly not going to tell on you."

  The taunt stung. "I do not need permission from anyone," Erin snapped. "I'm just uncomfortable with the idea. That's all."

  Tamara's face fell. "I see. I was hoping you might indulge him. Mr. Mueller's health has been very fragile lately, and he's been reclusive and quite lonely. He's allowing himself to be fanciful, and that's rare for him. It gave him such a lift, to plan this surprise for you. He sees it as a gift, you see. To honor you. A way of thanking you for all your hard work."

  Erin held the velvet box out to Tamara, almost desperately. "But I… it's so inappropriate. I don't even know—"

  "Mr. Mueller just wants to share his delight in the torque with someone who appreciates it as much as he does," Tamara coaxed. "He's fascinated with you. He has been for months. And you should learn to make the most of your looks anyway. I can help you with that. You have such incredible potential. That hair, that skin, those eyes."

  "Thanks, but I don't need a fashion consultant," Erin said tightly.

  "No, you don't," Tamara agreed. "You look perfectly fine. You're a very pretty girl. But if you wanted, you could cause car accidents when you walked down the sidewalk."

  Erin recoiled. "Good Lord! Why on earth would I want to do that?"

  Tamara laughed at her. "Power, Erin. It's useful. Believe me."

  Erin shook her head. "I don't need that kind of power," she said quietly. "I don't want it. It's not my style."

  "We all need it." Tamara's voice was hard. "What a shame. McCloud has you under his thumb. Now you don't even have the nerve to try on a five-thousand-dollar evening gown, just for fun. Some lessons in female power might do you good."

  Erin bristled. "Don't you dare try to manipulate me."

  Tamara tilted her head to the side and contemplated her next tactic. "I just want to play," she wheedled. "Try on the gowns, Erin. They're beautiful, and so are you. Let me show you how exciting it is to be truly glamorous. It's a kind of magic. And it's fun. Just look at this beautiful thing. I don't even want to tell you how much money he spent for it. And it's perfect for your looks. As if it were made just for you."

  Erin stared down at the inherent tension and violence in the torque's stunning design. The two dragons were locked in a state of mortal challenge. Their garnet eyes glowed red with rage. The design tricked the eye into the illusion that the twisting serpentine tails were flipping and writhing. The thing practically hummed in her hands.

  She'd always privately considered this style of jewelry to be the most beautiful and evocative that existed. Sensual and savage, the designs echoed with the blood and dust and noise of ancient history. She loved Celtic artifacts exactly because they were a tangible point of contact with that mysterious culture. They made her dream, set her imagination on fire. They called to her across the ages.

  A high-ranking Celtic noblewoman had worn this torque around her neck well over two thousand years ago. She had lived her everyday life in it, waking and eating and breathing and loving. If Erin put on that torque, history would fold over on itself. She could reach back in time and almost touch that woman. The torque had made her real.

  It was utterly seductive. She was so tempted, her hands shook.

  "Mr. M
ueller did this to please and flatter you, Erin," Tamara said softly. "Humor him. And indulge yourself. McCloud will never know, because it's all… between… us."

  Erin broke eye contact. She was on the brink of tears again, for God's sake. What a wreck. Tamara was right. The very thought of Connor's anger made her weepy and unsure of herself.

  This indulgence would be her own secret. And maybe it would serve as a liberation. She was her own woman, who made her own choices. Her passion for ancient history was all hers. It had nothing to do with Connor. He would never understand it.

  But Claude Mueller might. "All right," she said.

  She was instantly sorry. She knew the moment the words left her mouth that she had made a big mistake, but it was too late. Tamara was thrilled, smiling, leading her by the hand into another bedroom, the bed of which was covered with boxes and bags. "I'll show you the lingerie and the shoes, first," Tamara said.

  "Lingerie?" she echoed faintly.

  "Of course." Tamara rolled her eyes. "You can't show panty lines under these gowns. And I ordered stockings to match, of course."

  A half hour later, Tamara closed the cold weight of the golden dragon torque around Erin's neck and turned her around to face the mirror. "Look at yourself. If Connor McCloud could see you now, he would kneel and beg for mercy."

  Guilt and pain stabbed through her. "Please, don't."

  "Trouble in paradise?" Tamara asked. She laughed and held up her hand at the look in Erin's eyes. "Sorry. Forgive me for asking. Curiosity is one of my little vices. Don't hate me for it. I don't mean any harm."

  "You don't know me well enough to speak to me like that."

  "No, but I would like to." Tamara flashed her a quirky, disarming smile. "I find you very interesting, Erin Riggs. Now take a look at yourself. Are you a knockout, or are you a knockout?"

  Erin turned to the mirror, and stopped breathing for a moment.

  It wasn't that she looked all that different. She was still herself, but a glowing golden haze hovered around her. Her eyes seemed bigger, more deeply colored, more shadowy. Her lips were fuller and redder, her skin glowed with earthy golden tints. Even her hair seemed glossier.

  The dress that Tamara had helped her choose was a simple gown of gleaming bronze bias-cut silk with a sheer chiffon overdress. It was tight in the bodice, fluttering out in a deep, voluptuously flared skirt. The plunging neckline was designed to show off both the torque and her cleavage. The dress was off the shoulder, so no bra could be worn, but the bodice was reinforced, and snug enough to hike up her full bosom, offering it up to the eye like a gift.

  The dragon torque was cold against her skin, but she felt its strange, ancient energy pulsating against her skin. Her hair flowed around her, unbound. Tamara had brushed out her French twist and run her fingers through Erin's waist-length hair with a murmur of approval. "This doesn't need any help. You're done."

  Erin stared at herself in the mirror. She felt vulnerable and exposed, with her femininity, her sexuality, showcased for an unknown man's enjoyment. The heavy, sensual gold torque seemed to exaggerate her looks. Maybe it was enchanted, and she was under a glamorous spell. Certainly she'd never looked like this in her entire life.

  She'd been a fool to fall for this, but she'd agreed. It would be silly to be difficult about it now. Now that she thought about it, that had been her exact reasoning when she'd gone to bed with her first lover. She'd forced herself to endure what had happened out of politeness, out of fear of looking silly, of being rude and childish and undignified. She had to learn to accept the consequences of her decisions without whining—that was what it meant to be grown-up, but oh, God, sometimes she felt like she'd been grown-up since the day she was born.

  "Are you all right, Erin?" Tamara asked gently.

  Erin started to say that she was fine. The impulse petered away into silence. She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, they were swimming with tears.

  Tamara was ready with a tissue. She carefully blotted Erin's tears without smearing her makeup, and rested a cool hand on Erin's shoulder. "At least you look fabulous," she offered. "That's a powerful weapon to carry into battle, no matter what problems you might have."

  Erin let out a soggy laugh. They smiled at each other. Tamara embraced her briefly. "Are you ready to go? Do you need a minute?"

  Erin straightened her shoulders. "I'm ready."

  She wobbled on the spike heels until she found her stride. Five different sizes of designer shoes had been delivered along with the dresses. A staggering extravagance for a rich man's whim.

  Tamara led her down the corridor, past the stairs and into another wing. She flung open the door into a huge, airy salon with floor to ceiling windows, many of them open. Diaphanous white curtains billowed in the breeze. The room was lit up with slanting golden beams of sunset light. Erin was dazzled by the sensation of light and vaulted space as she followed Tamara in.

  And of cold. The room was oddly chilly. As if it were refrigerated.

  A slender man of medium height stood with his back to (hem, gazing out the window. He turned slowly as they entered. The gesture looked staged, like an ad for European luxury cars. She brushed the thought away as silly and unworthy.

  Claude Mueller smiled. He was an attractive olive-skinned man, his dark hair cut severely short, and receding over his temples. His smile was dimpled and charming, and his eyes were electric blue, striking against his tanned skin. He wore a casually elegant dove gray linen suit.

  "Mr. Mueller. At last, the elusive Ms. Riggs," Tamara announced.

  He glided toward her, took her outstretched hand, and bowed over it. For a dreadful moment she was afraid he was going to kiss it, but he stopped short, his eyes flicking up as if he sensed her alarm.

  "Ms. Riggs," he said. "Thank you for humoring me in the matter of the torque, and the dress. I know it was a great deal to ask of you, but the result is breathtaking. Nigel and Tamara told me you were beautiful, but words are insufficient. You put the torque to shame."

  He gazed into her eyes, lifted her hand, and pressed it deliberately against his smiling lips. The contact gave her a sharp, buzzing shock. For a split second, it was as if a veil before her eyes became transparent, and the luxurious room seemed as cold and hard as an ice sculpture, leached of color and life. She tugged at her trembling hand.

  He did not release it. "Thank you, Tamara," he said, still holding Erin's gaze. "You may leave us now."

  Erin felt abandoned as the door shut behind Tamara. The woman was her last link to the warm world of the living, and now she was all alone, in a cold, beautiful tomb. What a ridiculous notion, she told herself. Absurd. She had to get a grip, but her heart raced with sickening panic. She had that falling away feeling, as if she were about to faint. God forbid. She would never recover from the embarrassment.

  She forced herself to smile, and thought about Connor.

  Thinking about him hurt, but the pain grounded her. The part of her that was bonded with him was earthy and elemental, rooted in her deepest feelings. She clung to it, and the rising swirl of panic subsided.

  "I'm glad to meet you at last," she said. "Thank you for the privilege of wearing such a beautiful thing. I'll treasure the memory."

  "The dragon torque will remember you, too. Since I began collecting artifacts, I've begun to think that they, too, have memories of where they once were. Of the people who used them. The torque is eager to lie against the bosom of a beautiful woman again. To warm itself with her vital heat, after millennia of isolation in a tomb."

  She had absolutely nothing to say to that. Her mind had gone blank. She stared stupidly into his hypnotic eyes, her mouth working.

  She finally managed to break eye contact, and groped randomly for something, anything, to say. "Um, I'm really sorry, but I haven't had time to complete my report on the pieces I examined in Silver Fork," she said. "I've had some pressing personal difficulties, so I—"

  "It's just as well," he cut in smoothly. "I ha
ve another three items for you to assess anyway. You may as well include them in the report."

  Her mind seized gratefully onto the thought of a job to do. "Do you want me to look at them now? I don't have my tape recorder, or my—"

  "No, thank you. The pieces will not be delivered until tomorrow afternoon. I'm afraid you must return, my dear. Tomorrow at five o'clock, if that is convenient for you."

  Her head jerked, like a puppet on a string. "That's fine," she said. "But… then why did you invite me here tonight?"

  He lifted his shoulders, smiling. "Tonight is not for work," he said. "Tonight is for the pleasure of getting acquainted, exploring our common ground. May I get you a drink? A glass of champagne?"

  The hypnotized marionette who had taken over her body jerked her head up and down in assent. She didn't even like champagne.

  Mueller poured the bubbling liquid into a crystal flute and handed it to her. "I wished to secure as much of your time as possible before I go back to Paris. I leave day after tomorrow. Managing a fund the size of the Quicksilver is a tyrannical undertaking. One becomes a slave to it."

  She sipped her champagne and thought of her own devastated bank account. "I wouldn't know about that," she muttered.

  His eyes flashed at the hint of irony in her voice. "Did that strike you as a tactless comment, Ms. Riggs?"

  "Not at all. And please call me Erin," she said politely.

  "Then you must call me Claude. I speak freely of money because I have reason to believe that your financial difficulties are at an end."

  "Oh." She had never met anyone who made her feel so empty-headed. She'd been tongue-tied with Connor, but there had always been millions of things she wanted to say to him. A lifetime of things.

  With Mueller, her mind felt wiped clean. As if a voracious computer virus were eating everything on the hard drive of her brain.

  "Have you given any thought to my offer regarding the Huppert?"

  That, at least, was something she was clear about. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I have," she said. "I'm afraid I have to decline."

  She watched the bubbles rise as she waited for his reaction, until curiosity compelled her to look up at him again.