Sex had never been this good. He was either the best thing that had ever happened to her or a heartbreak waiting to pounce.
#
Resting in Rick's arms, Caro took a deep breath of his citrus spice scent. Everything about the moment felt right. That really was kind of scary.
He stroked her hair with his palm and sighed. "This is better than lunch."
Caro chuckled and ran her fingertips idly over his bare chest. "I agree."
"Mmm." He kissed her temple. "I'm not complaining, but why now, today? Because of what I said to Banning?"
"Because of what it means."
Caro hesitated. He was giving off sated, content vibes, but there was something shadowy under them. Still, she'd started this. She would finish it.
"I care about you, Rick. I could...more than care. But I can't go there, can't risk it, with someone who sees Griffin as a ghoul ally and serial murderer. I can't."
"I get that." He ran his knuckles gently down the side of her face, and the tenderness in the gesture made her throat tight. "Just so you know," he continued, "I'm moving past the care stage, too."
Elated and relieved, Caro traced the line of his collarbone with one finger. "This has all happened so fast, in only a week, and that's a little scary."
"A little, yeah."
"The thing is, Rick, I know Griff's out there somewhere. He has to be. I can't even let myself think he could be dead. But his luck can't last forever. If he's captured or killed, when that happens, I need to be with someone who'll truly understand how I feel. Not someone who'll condemn him out of hand. I couldn't bear that. I'd rather be alone."
"Of course you would." He tightened the arm around her.
"Banning interviewed my parents a few days ago. Dad said she would come see me, but I'd forgotten."
"You've had a lot going on."
They lay in silence, savoring each other's warmth for a while.
"That day I was lost at the mall," Caro said, "and Mom came to get me?"
She waited for him to nod, his stubbled jaw brushing her forehead, before she continued. "I was a wreck, scared and angry and upset. Griff had a heavy bag hanging in the basement. I went down to pound it, though I couldn't hit it very hard. I'm not sure how long that went on before he spoke from behind me. I hadn't heard him come in. 'If you're going to throw a punch,' he said, 'hit like you mean it. I'll show you.'"
"That's when he started teaching you to fight."
"Yes. He was fifteen, and he kept it up until he went to college. Whenever he was home, we sparred. Most mages never see a ghoul, but he said someone who was extra vulnerable needed to be extra prepared."
Sighing, Caro traced little patterns on the warm, smooth skin of Rick's shoulder. "We drilled on what to do if ghouls ever attacked a car I was riding in. He yelled at me, timed me, pressured me, and when I cried, he said I'd better learn to hold it together because cracking up would doom me."
"Harsh." Rick frowned. "True, but harsh."
"I know he hated riding me like that. I could feel it from him."
"But he wanted you to nail it."
"He did. The cane-to-kali sticks transformation was his idea. We practiced it over and over. Last night it paid off." Despite her satisfaction, she couldn't keep a note of wistfulness from her voice.
"You wish you could tell him," Rick said softly. He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "I understand."
"I was afraid to hope you might."
Idly stroking her back, he said, "I told you my opinion might surprise you."
"People have said that before and been a long way from giving him the benefit of any doubt."
"There might be a way to change their minds, Sunshine. The ones on the fence might take a more favorable view if they saw him the way you do."
If only. "My dad says we have no credibility. We're Griffin's family, after all. Of course we love him."
"You also know him better than anyone."
"True." Caro sighed. "But Mom and Dad are pretty firmly set against that idea, and when I think of the publicity nightmare that would erupt if any of us said anything, I can't argue."
Rick said nothing, but his emotional walls rose.
Caro stroked his jaw. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You're suddenly very quiet for nothing." Suspicion niggled at the back of her mind, and Caro frowned. "Rick, did you want to write a story about Griffin?"
"Not if you and your parents don't want it written." His voice sounded calm, but she caught a vague undercurrent of something he'd locked down.
Her throat tightened. "Is that why you're here? With me? Why you know so much about Griffin?" Oh, God, no. Please, no.
"No." Rick pressed his lips to her temple. "What I said to Banning about your brother is public record, as I told you last night. I'm here because I want to be with you. No story is more important than that, Caroline. Nothing is."
Too fast for her to read, emotion rippled through the magic between them–doubt or regret or surprise, maybe all three. Whatever it was, it stirred her unease. All of this truly had happened very quickly.
As though it were planned.
She sat up. "I think you should go."
"Don't say that." He sat up and caught her shoulders. Resting his forehead against hers, he said, "I swear you can trust me, Caroline. On my life, I swear it. Please, Sunshine."
In the magic around them, reinforced by the physical contact, his sincerity vibrated. Whatever else he'd thought, he was telling her the truth.
"Okay," she replied, but the moment's sweetness had soured.
Open to his emotions, waiting for his response, she said, "My parents want to have us over to dinner tomorrow night so they can thank you for saving me from the ghouls."
Again, there was a little blip of unreadable emotion, but he answered her in a casual voice. "You pretty much saved yourself."
"It was a joint effort, but you did most of the work. What about dinner, Rick, tomorrow at seven?"
"I'd like that," he said. He tugged her back down into his arms, but he felt tense now, not relaxed and warm.
After a moment, he sighed. "Unfortunately, I have things to do this afternoon. We should go get some lunch."
"I have some projects to start, too." She did, so why did she feel as though he were rejecting her?
Had he wanted to write a story more than he was willing to admit?
Chapter Twelve
The strain persisted through lunch. Half an hour after leaving Caro, Rick slammed the door of his apartment behind him. Shit, fuck, and damn.
He had nothing to give Stan. The meeting with Jim had killed any prospect of doing a story on Griffin Dare, and Caro's statements to Banning had made that even more definite. Rick couldn't even write a feature. She didn't want one, and he couldn't–wouldn't–go behind her back to do it.
There were some lines a decent man did not cross.
He glanced around his apartment. The furniture was nice enough. He'd splurged on the brown leather couch because Mom and Jenny had nagged him into it. An author on the USA Today list, even the extended one, they'd claimed, should have a nice place to kick back and think.
He'd replaced his yard sale furniture with that couch, two upholstered, green armchairs, and a coffee table. Even an area rug in tan and gold stripes on the dark green wall-to-wall that came with the place. But forking over the cash had been tough.
Even though his book sales were strong enough that the advance on his last contract had staggered him, he hadn't shaken the lifetime habit of saving for a rainy day.
Caroline had never had to worry about that. Never would have to. But she was with him anyway.
Rick flopped onto the sofa. If Caro ever realized how far apart his world and hers truly were, he was screwed. Because he'd told her the truth, even though he'd realized it only as the words came out. She mattered more than the story. More than anything.
Tomorrow he was meeting her parents. Stuart and Lara Dare probably already
knew their daughter was out of his league. A stockbroker like Jerkwad Jerald was probably more the type they envisioned for her.
But he couldn't let that matter. Doing the right thing mattered. Caroline mattered.
Fuck. He might as well get this over with.
Rick pulled out his phone and called Stan. The editor's lined, weathered face appeared on the screen. "Rick! Hey, boy. Got that story ready to file?"
"There isn't going to be a story, Stan. I struck out." Damn, but saying that hurt.
I'm sorry, Dad. I'll find some other way. I swear it.
"What? Whaddaya mean, you 'struck out'? That's a hell of a story, and it would give you the investigation you've wanted for years."
True, but Rick shrugged. "I'm involved with Caroline Dare. I can't write a story about her, and without her cooperation–which she isn't giving–I have no story anyway. Besides, I'm pretty sure there's nothing to be uncovered on the Dare family. I'm done, Stan. Sorry to cost you that prestigious scoop."
"Well, hell, Rick." Stan scowled out of the screen. "Never thought you'd let some girl lead you around by the dick. A rich society girl, to boot."
"Life is full of surprises," Rick shot back, refusing to rise to the bait.
Apparently realizing he wouldn't budge, Stan stopped grousing. They discussed Rick's next column, and he signed off. Stan was right that Rick needed the reward for this story. But Stan couldn't know, as Rick did, the damage that story could do. The Dares didn't deserve to be grist for the gossip mill.
At least he still had Caroline, who might turn out to be the biggest prize of all.
#
Rick couldn't have said what he'd expected of dinner at the Dares' impressive, Tudor-style house, but it had gone freakishly well so far. From praise for his article about Caro's weaving and his help with her demonstration, the conversation had segued into movies and mage politics. Surely that wouldn't last, though, not with a guy Caro had brought home to dinner. They had to plan to grill him sometime.
He glanced across the table at her contented expression. Yesterday's constraint had dissipated except for a little tension around her eyes.
They'd eaten in the dining room, on antique mahogany furniture. The plates were blue stoneware and sat beside plain glass water tumblers and wine goblets although china and crystal gleamed in the breakfront. He gathered this was how they usually ate. They'd paid him the compliment of not, as Southerners liked to say, "making company" of him.
"That was terrific." Rick carefully laid his knife and fork diagonally across his plate, the handles at four o'clock. He might not have been raised in elegance, but his mom had insisted on manners, manners, and more manners despite his uncle's derision.
"I'm glad you liked it. Pork roast is one of Stuart's favorites." Lara Dare's blue eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Eyes like those, deep blue and keen with intelligence, looked out of every file photo of her son. "Anyone ready for dessert?"
"I am." Stuart grinned at his wife. "But you knew that."
Caro slid from her seat. "I'll help you, Mom."
Rick spared a moment to wonder how she was going to do that before he realized she would know her way around this kitchen. She'd grown up here, after all, and she didn't use her cane here.
Stuart leaned back in his chair. Despite his friendly smile, his gray eyes were alert. Here came the grilling.
"I enjoy your Max Grant books a great deal," Stuart said.
Not bad for an opening feint. "Thank you, sir. They're doing pretty well."
"That's what my bookseller says, but Caro tells us you supplement your writing income with freelance work."
"Some, yes, and a variety of odd jobs." If they were going to look down on him for that, best to know right away. "I like having a financial cushion. I tend bar at The Ramblers Roadhouse when they need help. If my friend who has a construction business turns up short-handed, I give him a hand."
"Which friend would that be?" Stuart asked.
"Bill Donner of Donner Custom Homes."
"They do beautiful work. What's your specialty?"
Rick grinned, trying for humor despite the not very flattering answer he had to give. "Driving nails. I'm not one for the detail work, though I can mud and sand a wall with the best of them."
"Useful skills," Stuart said. "I cut my share of two-by-fours when I was in school."
The Dares were old money. That was what came of breeding seven centuries of mages, all of them industrious, many of them heroic, and most of them hugely successful. Why had Stuart Dare worked while he was in school?
Rick was trying to find a tactful way to ask when Lara pushed through the swinging kitchen door. She carried a tray with four crystal dishes of something pale and fluffy. Behind her, Caro held a smaller tray bearing four mugs of what smelled like coffee.
"You've conveniently forgotten your building skills, though," Lara teased.
"I can saw, place, and nail where I'm told to," Stuart replied comfortably, "but that's where my home repair skills end."
Setting out the crystal dishes, Lara rolled her eyes. "So you claim." But she patted his shoulder as she set down his dessert.
To Rick, she added, "I hope you like lemon syllabub. The recipe came down from Stuart's family."
"I've never had it," Rick said, "but it looks great."
It tasted even better, creamy and sweet with tartness from the lemon. He nodded at his hostess. "This is amazing."
Lara thanked him. The group finished their desserts in silence, but it had the comfortable quality that came from people enjoying their food and company.
When everyone had finished, Rick asked, "Can I help clear the table?"
"Thanks, but that's my job," Stuart said. "We have a system."
Turning to Caro, Lara asked, "Wasn't there something you wanted to show Rick?"
"Yes, Mom." Caro pushed back her chair. "Rick, would you come with me?"
Both Stuart and Lara were watching Rick closely. Whatever this was, it was important to them.
He might've been tempted to think they had Griffin stashed in a secret room, but Caro's vehement denial yesterday had convinced him that was crazy. She made her way through the house easily and led him up the stairs and down a corridor. Several doors opened off the hallway, their white panels pristine. He spotted a bathroom and a couple of bedrooms as they walked.
A Persian runner in maroon and gold muffled their footsteps. On the pale tan walls, school portraits of Caro and Griffin progressed from childhood to high school graduation. Every day, Griffin's parents walked down this hall and saw his face. What was that like for them?
"You didn't tell your folks about our discussion yesterday," he commented. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been nearly so friendly.
"I didn't see any point." Caro stopped beside the only closed door. Laying her hand on his shoulder, she said, "You understand our position, right?"
"I do. I want your trust more than I care about any story."
She seemed to relax fully at last, the tension ebbing from her shoulders and the corners of her eyes. "I want yours, too," she replied, "so I'm going to show you something only a handful of people have seen."
She kissed him quickly, then slid her hand down his arm to twine their fingers together. Holding his hand, Caro opened the door.
The green plaid bedspread and dark green drapes proclaimed this was guy territory. So did the football trophy on the bookshelf under the casement window. A basketball sat in the far corner.
"This was Griffin's room," he said slowly.
"It is," Caro corrected, "for when he comes home someday. We have to believe he will. I have to, anyway."
Rick squeezed her hand. "I hope you're right, Sunshine."
"We kept his things just as he left them. Would you like to see?"
"I'm honored that you would offer me the chance, and yes, I would." Even if he weren't a writer, the mystery surrounding her brother would tantalize him.
Only half a dozen shirts hung in the closet, thr
ee chambray work shirts, one spattered with yellow and orange paint, and two Oxford cloth button-downs. Behind them hung a blue letter jacket with black sleeves. Rick touched it gently.
He didn't need magical senses to feel the love and loss and desperate hope swirling through this room. No wonder the Dares had such heavy magical screens to protect their privacy.
"Why are you showing me this, Sunshine? Why did your parents allow it?"
"I told them you were important to me and that you were willing to give Griff the benefit of the doubt. And I wanted to show you more of a reason to."
Caro walked around the bed to the bookcase. Crouching, she ran her finger along the spines of the books on the first shelf. With her ability to sense color by touch, she could probably make out the titles.
"Come look at these," she said.
He joined her, squatting to read the spines. "Henderson's Ghoul Venom and Toxicity. Barton's Lethal Order: The Politics of Ghoul Nests. Lane's Ghoul Physiology. Olsen's Ghoul Anatomy for Combatants." There were a dozen more on ghoul physiology, history, and life. "When did Griffin start studying ghouls?"
"After his first session at the Collegium, when he was thirteen. He wanted to know everything about them."
"The better to destroy them," Rick murmured.
"Exactly. So when people say he made a deal with them or sold out to them or whatever, I just want to scream. There is no chance at all that he did any such thing. Whatever else triggered his actions that day, it could not have been a deal with the ghouls."
That made too much sense. Rick rubbed her shoulder, letting her feel the honesty in what he was about to say. "I believe you, Sunshine."
"I'm so glad." She drew his head down for a kiss.
Savoring it, reveling in the trust and passion she gave him, Rick figured he'd made the right choice, both in letting the story go and in not telling her about it. Her trust in him was still fragile.
If she ever knew why he'd sought her out, that could kill any chance they had for a future.
#
What a lovely feeling this was, drifting awake spooned back against the warm, solid body of a trusted lover. Caro sighed, and Rick's arm around her waist tightened. The low hum of his magical energy meant he still slept.
Sentinel: A Light Mage Wars Novella (The Light Mage Wars) Page 12