Forever As One

by Jackie Ivie

  He seemed to relax at that. Or she was losing her mind.

  “Good.”

  “You’re a pretty odd guy, Mister Morgan.”

  “Dane.”

  “But I suppose rich people have their eccentricities, don’t they?”

  “You believe in fate, Evangeline?”

  “Vangie,” she replied. “And no. I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I believe in apple pie, and patriotism, and doing the best you can with your time on this planet. I believe in justice. And righteousness. And just plain honor and integrity. And paying your taxes. You probably don’t pay taxes, do you?”

  “I’m sure I do.”

  “See? You don’t even know.”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I’m sure I do because I’ve got estate executors for that.”

  “You’ve probably got loopholes to get out of it.”

  “You think its sheer coincidence that we met?”

  Vangie licked her lips. “Wow. Talk about a one-track mind. You want to talk fate? And coincidence? Fine. But meeting you had nothing sheer about it. We’re talking total coincidence here…except you need to toss in stupidity, too. We met because I took a job that I’m failing. They already paid me the advance. And here I was just talking about integrity.”

  “What job?”

  “I need to buy your property.”

  “Which one?”

  Vangie’s expression fell. She felt it. “Which one?” she repeated.

  “I have a lot of properties.”

  “Let me guess. You don’t even know how many, do you?”

  “I have estate executors for that, too.”

  “Figures.”

  “So…why don’t you tell me which one you wish to purchase, and I’ll consider it. And in the meantime, we’ll play chess.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He’d played chess for centuries; and more than once, for property. He wasn’t sure how adept she’d be at the game. So Dane picked up a pawn and reflected which move would buy him the most time. Time…the one thing he’d always had so much of was now the most precious commodity in the world. He had five hours. To spend moving pieces around a chessboard, in a vain attempt to keep his thoughts from the cabin down the corridor. The one fashioned when he’d had this ship built. The suite of rooms designed just for her. It was matched in all his properties. She had rooms containing a large four-poster bed, satin sheets, gold candelabra…drawers full of red lace garments…

  His hand tightened on the chess piece before he put it down. One space forward. E2 to e3. The move was against every other instinct of his heritage, and the centuries of existence since, but he automatically knew domination and annihilation weren’t going to get him what he wanted.

  Nothing would.

  So, for a poor attempt at second best, he’d try spending what time he could with her, enjoy the absolute thrill of watching and speaking and communing silently with her, but not a moment of it touching her. And never admit to why. She didn’t ask of his concern over her dexterity and which hand she favored. He wouldn’t have explained. He didn’t dare see the ring on her left hand again. He’d slam the chess board into oblivion. So, he studied the chess set and absorbed her presence with the best of intentions. His actions were probably labeled chivalry.

  He should have known it felt as dead as the era that spawned it.

  She moved her pawn d7 to d5, two spaces from his. Dane narrowed his eyes in a vain attempt to look at the board and not her. He pondered his next move, rather than the instant uptick in her heartbeat; the odd vibrations coming from her that awakened every cell in his body; the instant priming that had sent him to a cold shower. It didn’t work. He was already cold and dead. Any heat came from her and what being in her sphere did to him. It wasn’t something he controlled, either. Every portion of her seemed fashioned to gain this exact reaction in him. Pure want, absolute need, unrelenting craving.

  She was his mate! She existed…and he’d found her!

  How was it possible to be so blessed? So amazingly favored? And yet…how could the fates be so unfair at the same time by keeping her from him? How was it possible she belonged to another man? That wasn’t listed in anything Akron had described. Dane had been told if he was really lucky, or if the stars aligned just right, or if every soothsayer he’d visited proved accurate, he’d find his mate, or she’d find him. And together they’d be whole. It wouldn’t be deniable or negotiable. On either side. The world would have hope and trust and meaning again.

  Dane licked his lips. She shifted slightly, whether at annoyance over the length of time he contemplated his move, or the war of emotions and urgencies he was straining to keep in check. He didn’t dare look at her to verify anything.

  Pawn, d2 to d4.

  He took a move that blocked her and opened access for his queen and bishop. She immediately moved the pawn in front of her rook two spaces forward – a7 to a5. She needed to take more time with her moves! She needed to evaluate and slow things; give him time to control the massive urge to lunge across the table at her, enfold her, gain access to her innermost areas, her most feminine secrets…her perfection.

  “Sex and Sunburn,” she spoke, interrupting the silence.

  “What?” The word was strangled.

  “That’s the property I want to buy.”

  Dane picked up his bishop with a hand that shook and slammed it down on space 5b, threatening her queen. He’d also used too much force. The square his bishop occupied cracked right through the center of the marble. She sucked in a breath, as if reading his thoughts. Her heart thumped harder, and faster, drugging his ears with the sound.

  Damn.

  He lifted his head and glared at the ceiling. This was harder than he’d expected, a hundred times more wondrous, and a thousand times more painful. He reached for the edges of the table and bit his fingers into it, shredding wood.

  “So…are you interested in selling?”

  Dane lowered his chin, ignoring the game. He looked right at her and fought the reaction hammering through him, to center right at his loins. He narrowed his eyes.

  “You ever hear of mates?” His voice was choked. Rough.

  “Check…mates?”

  “No. Real mates.”

  “Of course. Socks…have mates. Left. Right.”

  “Not socks. People. Male to female. Female to male. Or sometimes male to male. Female to female. Whatever. Those kinds of mates.”

  “I’ve heard of it.”

  “You don’t believe in it, either?”

  “Maybe. Here. This was my move.” She lifted the pawn she’d placed on 6c, blocking his bishop.

  “How about soul mates?” he asked.

  She blew a heavy breath that lifted stray hairs on her forehead. Or his eyes and ears were deceiving him. Her heart rate sped up another notch. Her voice warbled for the slightest moment when she answered, too.

  “If…you’re playing the lead in a romance play, I’ll believe it. Otherwise. No.”

  “You don’t believe there’s one being on this planet fated to be with you, mated with you, melding with you? And only you. Forever?”

  She gulped. He heard it. His entire body reacted with a lurch toward her. He squelched it. And then she answered with a nonchalance that triggered more reaction.

  “Nope. It’s illogical. And wasteful. Think about it. If you have a right sock and a left goes missing in the wash, then all you have to do is stick another left sock with it. Simple solution. Right?”

  Dane growled. She jumped slightly and lifted wide eyes to his. This wasn’t working. He needed to woo her, not scare her. The table edge piece broke into his palm, but a knock on one side of his double door covered it.

  “Yes?” He turned his head toward the portal. It was Sven.

  “Beg pardon, Dane. You’re wanted.”

  “Handle it.”

  “Can’t. It’s Akron. Specifically for you. Only you.”

  Dane pushed back from the tab
le, taking the piece of wood with him. Her question stopped him.

  “You’ll be back?”

  “Hell couldn’t prevent it, Frja.”

  “You want to make another move first? Or leave me in suspense?”

  He leaned over, picked up a pawn, and moved it forward one space. He didn’t care which one. It wasn’t important.

  “That’s not a good move. I’m going to take your bishop.”

  “Take it.”

  “With a pawn?”

  “What does it matter?”

  He met her eyes, trying to project everything he felt with the one look. Her heartbeat got faster and louder, her eyes larger and deeper, and then Sven cleared his throat. Dane was at the door in two steps, and hoped she hadn’t watched.

  Akron had better have something important to say. Damned important. More important than important. Dane shoved the handle on the communication room down with such force the chrome warped.

  “Ah. Dane. There you are. Finally.”

  The huge television in his cabin was projecting a view of desk and the back of a laptop monitor. And a lot of shadow. As usual. A chair was positioned before it. He ignored it and glared at the screen.

  “What do you want?”

  “Interrupting something?”

  “Yeah. Chess.”

  “In that case, it’s obviously a rescue. I have an assignment for you. Hand-picked.”

  “Just tell me the name’s Harper. That’s all I need. Harper.”

  “Now…that’s. Just. Odd.” Every word was broken into its own sentence, distinct and separate.

  “What?”

  “I’m surprised. I’m never surprised, Dane…what is your last name this time? Monroe?”

  “Morgan.”

  “Ah yes. The Captain Morgan rum guy. It was Monroe last time, wasn’t it? Hard to keep them straight.”

  “I change my name every fifty years so I can reacquire all my properties. And get new IDs that pass inspection. You know this. The firm handles all the transactions. Can you just give me the guy’s name?”

  “You already called it. Harper.”

  Sweet!

  A feeling resembling adrenaline filled him. Dane hadn’t felt this sort of elation since his very first battle. It electrified and stunned, and lifted him two inches from the floor before he conquered it and settled back. He had to clear his throat to answer.

  “Point me in the right direction. I’ll have his head to you within an hour.”

  “It’s not a man.”

  “It’s not?”

  “I’m relieved to see all is right in my world, Dane. Thank you.”

  “What are you talking of?”

  “Clairvoyance. For just a bit there, I actually thought you’d gained powers to match mine. Glad to see I’m wrong.”

  “Just give me the hit. I’ve got things to do.”

  “That’s right. I’m keeping you from an important chess match. Your mark is Evangeline Harper. Twenty-six. She disappeared from your club last night. Don’t suppose you’ve seen her?”

  “I’m playing chess with her.”

  “Sounds too easy. This is why I chose you, actually. Proximity. Just make certain the body’s not connected to us.”

  “I’m not killing her. Cancel the hit.”

  “You don’t cancel hits with the VAL, Dane. We don’t give refunds and we don’t miss. Handle the assignment or I’ll send someone else.”

  “You can’t. She’s my mate.”

  Silence answered that. And then laughter.

  “What’s so damned funny?”

  “You. This. Of all the associates, I’d never put you with an Ivy-league educated woman. Never.”

  “Thanks.” Dane’s voice was sarcastic.

  “No offense, bud. It’s just…you’re barbarian to your fingertips, and she—. Well, she doesn’t have much of a record to her name. Never steps off the path of civility and righteous behavior. Not even a parking ticket. She probably sings in a church choir. But, we don’t pick our mates, do we? No worries. Just take a picture of her looking dead before you change her. I’ll need proof of the hit.”

  “I can’t change her. Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s married to someone else.”

  Akron burst out laughing again. Dane watched the screen without expression.

  “Now, I really have heard everything. This explains your interest in Mister Harper’s health, too. Tell you what. I’ll do some research. You get me a photo of your mate’s death. And try to keep the authorities out of it. Got it?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  “Hmm. This is interesting.”

  “What?”

  “Here’s a bit of information on a Roderick Dee Harper. Hartford, Connecticut. Deceased. Apparently he died from lingering aftereffects of a shooting. Drive-by. Senseless urban violence. No arrests. No massive insurance pay-out. That’s got to hurt the finances. No wonder she’s working for these folks. Services were last fall. And look. Here’s the listing for a bereaved spouse. What do you know? It’s Evangeline Harper, age twenty-five.”

  “What?” Dane jumped forward, his eyes glued to the screen, while the rest of him felt like fireworks were getting lit on very short fuses, ready to explode.

  “You’ve got access to the internet. You could look this up. It’s a matter of public record. Free. Easily available. Accessible to anyone. I’m not even breaking any laws here. Is this her picture?”

  The entire screen filled with a newspaper photo, as grainy as the one from the paper earlier. But still his Evangeline.

  “She’s a widow!” The words were shouted. Joy-filled.

  The photo disappeared.

  “I want her death photo by sunrise, Dane.”

  “Whatever,” he answered. He was already at the door and flipping the handle.

  “Ah…the young.”

  And with that parting word, the screen went black.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Now, why had he moved that pawn and not his bishop?

  Vangie leaned forward, examining the board for any possible variant he’d make if she took his bishop. It didn’t make sense. His queen didn’t have access to anything without a couple of moves she’d have to be blind not to notice. Maybe he was planning to use his other bishop to set up an ambush? Or…maybe his knight?

  She stood to appraise it from another angle. The heavy chair didn’t shift. It would take effort to shove it against the carpet, and she didn’t expend any. She needed to figure out what Dane was setting up. That meant not wasting the time he’d just given her. Or…maybe he’d planned this interruption, to exactly this result - leaving her to stew over possible moves, before he blind-sided her or something.

  What was his plan? Her clear move was to take his bishop. Anyone would. It would be an easy slaughter. But that kind of move didn’t resemble her opponent at all. Dane didn’t appear to be one who did suicide moves. Not if it didn’t pay back somewhere. He looked more like the marauding type. Conquering. Taking. Holding. Caressing. Kissing. Molding his nakedness about her on satin sheets…

  Get hold of yourself Vangie!

  She wasn’t going to figure out what that man planned if she couldn’t keep her mind on the business at hand, and that meant staying away from contemplation of the physical effect of being near him, breathing the same air, sharing the same space, tingling with awareness of everything he did and said.

  “You see?”

  She said it aloud and stepped away from the table.

  “This is why I detest chess. One move can take hours to figure out. Hours. And it’s really going to take an eternity if he doesn’t come back soon. Men.”

  She turned away. Pondering potential moves was a sure recipe for a headache. Surveying the room sounded more promising and interesting. And it was. Dane had an eye for interior decorating. There were a couple of settees gracing one far wall. They looked as overstuffed as the chair. She was tired of sitting. Vangie arched her back in a stretch. The
plane ride had been cramped and her seatmate hadn’t shut up, and then she’d had to deal with the reality of Dane Morgan. No wonder she was out-of-sorts.

  He did something to her. She wasn’t a romantic, but that man excited everything in her body, starting the instant she’d locked eyes with him. He sent off solid sexual appeal with every prolonged moment in his company. Just being on the other side of the table heightened everything to the point she was ready to go completely against type, rip her suit off, and jump him. She’d never contemplated a one night stand - never even considered it. And yet…with Dane Morgan…

  Heck, it wasn’t just being considered, it was a downright fight to suppress the urge. She’d never been wanton. Loose. Passionate. Lustful. Never experienced anything approaching them, but every prolonged moment with Dane…she wasn’t just imagining, she was fully fantasizing. And now that he’d gone, leaving her to stew and ponder and evaluate - what was she supposed to do with these elevated hormones?

  Ugh.

  She was tired, and yet energized simultaneously. It was probably the result of lack of sufficient sustenance. Rest. It had nothing to do with Dane Morgan. It couldn’t. Yet, everything felt weak and wrung out. As if she’d been through an emotional experience of some kind. But that was ridiculous. She’d moved a couple of chess pieces, bandied some words, played with double entendre. Yet, still the release from the tension of his presence was physically palpable. Chilling. Deflating.

  There was nothing else for it. She could stand here weaving in place while she attempted to ignore her reactions to him…or she could occupy herself. He might have a magazine or at the very least a comic book hidden away, and he really shouldn’t leave her alone this long if he didn’t want her snooping.

  Vangie slid a hand along one of the cabinets against a wall. It looked like it contained wine bottles. Ancient wine bottles. Odd. Dane Morgan didn’t look like a wine connoisseur. He looked exactly like a spoiled, rich, extremely pretty, party boy. A chick magnet. The type that turned heads.

  As for his banter?

  Oh…please.

  How did he expect her to give him a decent game of chess? The view was hampering her thought processes, and then his words added to the sensory experience. She couldn’t concentrate. She could barely answer him logically. As if he’d really be interested in her. Everything he said and did gave her heart an uptick. But, let’s be honest here. She turned men off. Wasn’t that what Rod accused her of more than once? That’s why she still wore her ring. No reason to turn men off if they didn’t approach in the first place.