So Tempting

by Jean Brashear

  Dante would lock her away for the rest of her life if he caught her. But he wouldn't. She'd make sure of it.

  Breathlessly, she leaned forward. "Tell me more."

  * * *

  The ache in her hip didn't do much for Jace's mood. The physical therapist she'd had after her accident had been right—it always acted up whenever she got too tired. Sandpaper grated inside her eyelids; her throat still rasped from the smoke-filled club. She'd left Gabriel sleeping and gone home to her own bed in the wee hours.

  But sleep hadn't been in the picture. Every time she closed her eyes she saw him.

  Entering the station, Jace tried to shake off her shitty mood. In the cold light of morning, her reaction seemed ridiculous. Whatever she'd thought she'd seen or felt had to have been a trick of the light...special effects or a hologram or something, that's what had happened. She'd fallen under the influence of the music, the hypnotic beat, the sex you could practically taste in the air.

  The air. Something in the smoke, maybe? She'd talk to the lab boys about that. Kneading one fist against her lower back, Jace stretched outside the door to the squad room, then settled her cop face firmly in place and pushed open the door.

  Funny. It all looked just the way it had yesterday, phones beeping, metal desk drawers slamming, the smell of burnt coffee searing her nostrils. Controlled mayhem at its best.

  She loved it. This was home. This was what defined Jace Carroll. She was a cop, and a good one. But today she felt...different. Out of sync.

  She walked past Earl's desk. "Morning."

  "Hey, Jace." He stopped, getting a look at her. "What happened last night? You all right?"

  She shrugged it off, turning toward her desk. "I'm fine."

  "You look like hell, and you're limping."

  "High heels kill my back."

  "You? In heels?"

  Jace placed her hands on her hips. "What did you think I'd wear? High tops?"

  Earl's look said he wouldn't have been surprised. "So what happened? Any trouble getting inside?"

  "Nope. Went smooth as silk."

  "Find out anything?"

  She opened her mouth to answer just as Cardozo's voice drifted over her shoulder.

  "Hey, baby, Halliday tells me you do a mean bump and grind."

  Jace sighed.

  Cardozo came to rest in front of Earl's desk, grinning, gaze sharp and taunting. "The kid says you about made his eyes fall out of his head. How come you don't ever dress up like that for us?"

  Jace bared teeth, but Earl placed a restraining hand on her arm. "We're talking business here. Don't you have something better to do?"

  Cardozo scanned her up and down slowly, lingering on her breasts and hips. "I'm volunteering to take duty next time. The kid's still got a hard-on from watching you."

  Jace jerked from Earl's hold. "You—"

  "Beat it, Cardozo," Earl intervened. He stood up and escorted Jace to an interview room. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against it, arms folded patiently across his chest. "So tell me."

  Jace rubbed her arm where his iron grip had clamped, refusing to look at him. "What?"

  "I'm not the enemy, Jace."

  He was right, but she really didn't want to talk about last night. When she couldn't explain it to herself, how could she describe it to him? Walking across the room to buy time, she peered through the window as the squad room door opened and almost groaned aloud.

  Gabriel. Oh, not now. And he'd spotted her, already crossing the room, his eyes never leaving her.

  Jace twisted the blinds closed. "I didn't find anything useful. Maybe it's a wild goose chase." She'd been so eager to get on this case, but right now tracking down burglars didn't seem so bad. "It was just...weird."

  Earl merely nodded for her to continue.

  "Dark, loud music, everyone masked and dancing like—" She so did not want to go into detail "—like more of a sex club, really. Normal rules of behavior don't apply."

  "Anybody offer you anything?"

  "Besides hooking up, you mean?" Jace gave a nervous laugh. Remembering those long moments when she'd been all but paralyzed in the grip of those eyes...scorched by the feel of hands that couldn't have—

  "That what's got you rattled?"

  "I'm not rattled." No way she'd admit she'd freaked out. "It wasn't easy to make connections, that's all." She rolled her eyes. "At least not the conversational kind." Earl grinned and she grinned back, feeling better. "People weren't there to chat. Halliday connected with a couple of girls, but they didn't know anything. It's my sense that it may take being around for a while to get someone knowledgeable to approach me, so I'll go back and try again." This time she'd be prepared for the impact of it.

  "We're not loaded with overtime money. You really think it's worth a shot?"

  She ignored the flutter of nerves, the dark pull of memory. "I can't be sure, but my gut tells me more's going on than just a party." Understatement of the year.

  "I'll talk to the captain." He shambled toward the door. "Let me see your report when it's done." Jace nodded and followed him.

  Gabriel stood outside, waiting. "I need a minute with Detective Carroll, Earl."

  "Sure, no problem." Earl left.

  Gabriel moved closer. "How are you?"

  Jace backed away. "Fine."

  "You don't look fine. Why didn't you stay?"

  She couldn't help bristling. "It's not unusual for either of us to go home to sleep."

  "Yeah, but something was different, and you look like hell. What happened?"

  "Nothing, I tell you."

  All gentleness fled from his voice. "This is me, Jace. I saw how you were when you came to me. I know you better than anyone."

  She fell back on fury to push him away. "You don't know me, you just fuck me, Gabriel. Don't confuse the two."

  Insult skipped over his features, quickly shuttered.

  "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for." He deserved better, but she wasn't ready to talk about last night to anyone, even Gabriel. Or—when she thought about her reaction to that man—especially Gabriel.

  He grasped her shoulders. "Talk to me, Jace. You were rattled like I've never seen you, and I want to know what upset you."

  For a moment, the temptation to lean on him was almost unbearable. Grasping at the frayed edges of her restraint, she pulled away. Just as in his courtroom demeanor, Gabriel was a bulldog with his teeth into a bone he wouldn't let go. If she were to escape more questioning, she had to sidetrack him somehow. She seized upon her brother. "I—I just thought I saw Jimmy there last night."

  "And?"

  "I'm worried about him."

  "You can't change people, Jace. He'll do what he'll do."

  She didn't like his dismissive tone. "So, what, I just forget I saw him? He might be in trouble."

  "He's a big boy. He makes his own choices."

  "He's not hopeless."

  "Don't you think you've given him enough? You have to let him go or he'll drag you down with him."

  "I just..." He was too pragmatic, too strong and self-assured. He couldn't begin to understand someone like her brother. "Forget it."

  His eyes narrowed for a moment as if he wanted to challenge her, but finally he backed off. "You didn't talk to him?"

  "I lost him in the crowd."

  "Don't tell me you're planning to go back."

  "I have to see what the captain says." But she'd have to go for Jimmy's sake, even if not for the job.

  And despite every ounce of logic telling her to stay away, a small ripple of anticipation shot through the adventurer inside her.

  "Jace?"

  She blinked to attention. She had to get a grip on this somehow. "Yeah?"

  "Come here." Gabriel's hands closed around her waist, and he drew her closer.

  Pinpricks of discomfort danced on her skin. She pulled back. "Earl's waiting for me. I'd better go."

  He exhaled. "Then I'll see you tonight."

  Her stomach clenchi
ng, she shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. "I—I've got reports to write. And I promised Myra—" She opened the door. "I'll call you, okay?"

  "Sure, Jace. You do that." He walked past her without another word.

  * * *

  "Explain to me how this happened."

  The young man stood before the Priestess, head high in defiance of her disapproval. "She received only the Elixir, Priestess." With a little addition, but the girl shouldn't have died. The dosage was supposed to be right this time.

  "The reports say the girl was raped."

  "You know that's not true. She was honored to be chosen."

  "You're very certain of yourself."

  His gaze ranged over her lush body, wondering what she thought behind the ever-present black feathered mask. An elect few were sometimes chosen for private rituals with her. He had never been selected as one of them. It was said that the Priestess knew extraordinary sexual techniques learned from the Magos, but that was not his interest.

  He would rule in her stead one day. All would admire him. So much power at his fingertips, once they understood.

  "Lower your eyes." Her voice lashed like a whip.

  "Yes, Priestess." Beneath his own mask, he burned.

  It was not his time yet.

  But that day would come.

  Meanwhile, he would be more careful. The girl's death was...regrettable. The new compound was not yet perfected. The base potion was unstable. He'd been promised that the mixture wouldn't be fatal the next time.

  But he got hard remembering the girl's face glowing with ecstasy, her body writhing with an animal hunger so powerful even seven of them could not satisfy her. He'd wanted to transfuse that unleashed power straight into his own body, to suck her dry of every ounce and feed on it himself. It had been like an electric shock to be inside her.

  He could barely keep from touching himself now to gain release, so powerful was the memory, so instantly arousing.

  "Come here," the Priestess ordered, something new in her tone.

  He looked up but could tell nothing behind her mask. He crossed the ten feet between them. Now he could see her pupils dark and huge as she looked first at his face, then down to his groin. She licked her scarlet lips, leaving them slightly parted. "On your knees, Keeper." Scarlet nails opened a slit in the gathers of her robe. The scent of her arousal curled into his nostrils.

  This, her carnal appetite, would be her undoing. Smiling to himself, he sank to the floor.

  GREECE

  Nineteen years ago

  Dante roared down the long driveway, the growl of the motorcycle engine suiting the melody of anger and grief battling for his heart.

  Papa was dead. Had been gone for days and no one had told him. Dante had forever missed his chance to say goodbye. To make things right.

  Deep inside his chest, the ache for revenge clawed. He knew who had made the decision to rob him of the opportunity to connect, one last time, with the man whose blood he bore.

  His brother. Who hated him.

  He only knew now because Papa's lawyer had called him to the reading of the will. It meant, he guessed, that Papa hadn't forgotten him after all.

  But the only thing he truly wanted, to be recognized as his father's son, he would never have. To be part of his father's daily life, to share the small moments with him, the normal ones.

  He'd never be tucked in bed at night and know his father and his mother were in the next room, guardians of his sleep. Or relish the simple pleasure of a father's visit to his school, of walking down the street, small hand in his father's larger one.

  Or, now that he was a man of nineteen, to take his place at his father's side. To join his father's company, Prince Laboratories, and make him proud.

  All those pleasures his brother had enjoyed all his life. Dante would never experience them, never have the slightest passing acquaintance with that joy, forever out of his reach.

  As he parked the bike outside his father's mansion, he stilled the urge to turn around and ride away, to seek comfort in the arms of his Caterina, so sweet and kind. To sit on the porch and comfort Mama, who'd been inconsolable at the news.

  A mere glance at the sturdy stone exterior pierced his heart with grief. His father would not be waiting inside. Their goodbye, when he'd been given the amulet, had been the last words they would ever exchange.

  Instead, his brother, his enemy, would be waiting.

  He climbed the stairs with reluctance. Inside he would find the proof of what he wanted so badly to deny. His father would not come to visit again, would not stroke his hair or laugh with pride. Never speak to him again of the secrets of their shared blood, the blood of the Light Walkers, healers and warriors who fought battles to save lives. He had these dreams he had expected Papa to explain.

  But Papa had never visited. Never spoken to him again. The child within rose up to cry out, to beg for another chance. He should have been able to find a way to change all this.

  The butler opened the study door, and he reluctantly strode past. That boy was long gone, as dead as the father.

  From a chair in front of the desk, Markos rose. Triumph and malice glowed from his eyes. His brother, too, had matured. He was a man now, his frame filled out. His victory complete.

  Dante tore his gaze away, taking in the sight of the stranger sitting behind his father's desk. He nodded a curt greeting and took his own seat at his brother's side.

  The older man cleared his throat, his eyes dark and assessing. "Shall we proceed?"

  Cut and dried, then. It would be better that way. He would grieve in his own manner. In his own time.

  With a sideways glance he saw the muscle jumping in his brother's jaw, the fingers of one hand gripping the arm of the chair until the knuckles stood out like bleached bones.

  All Dante could think of was the last time he'd been in this room, when his father had talked of rescuing this brother, of making him whole. Though he'd doubted such could be accomplished, Dante had allowed himself to hope Papa would succeed, would give them another chance to be true brothers as he had always craved.

  So intent was he on recapturing the beloved sound of his father's voice that he didn't register the lawyer's words until his brother had leapt to his feet, chair crashing to the floor.

  "He cannot do that! I am his son, his heir. He cannot let the bastard—"

  Fists clenched, Markos whirled, his face purple with rage. "If you think for a moment that you'll ever take the helm of Prince, you're a fool. I'll see you dead first." His fist plowed into Dante's belly.

  Air exploded from Dante's chest. He hit the floor with a thud. His brother was on him before he could rise. Itching for long-overdue revenge, he welcomed the fight. They clashed with fists and teeth and kicks until four burly men pulled them apart.

  Chests heaving, they glared and struggled to rejoin battle. Dante still didn't understand what had happened, but he strained against his captors, relishing the chance to wade in with fists doubled and smash his brother into pulp.

  "Stop!" the lawyer ordered. He cast a nervous glance at Markos as if waiting for the explosion to ignite again.

  Dante had to discover what he'd missed. "Say it again."

  But the lawyer never got the chance. His brother spoke first. "It seems that our father decided to play a little practical joke." His eyes were bright and hard with menace.

  "What do you mean?"

  The lawyer cleared his throat. "He left the house and the bulk of his estate to his legal son, though he left you a small bequest." He cast another glance at Markos, whose frame was as rigid as his fists. "But the ownership of Prince Laboratories is not to be decided yet. You and your...brother are both to take positions there, to learn the business from the ground up. Each of you has the opportunity to wind up at the helm, and the matter will not be decided until five years have passed."

  Dante frowned, trying to absorb it all. "I have a chance?"

  "Don't get your hopes up. It will never happen. No o
ne knows you there. They will be loyal to me," his brother said. Then he turned to the lawyer. "What of the amulet?"

  Instinctively Dante covered the amulet that never left his throat.

  His brother's gaze narrowed. Quicker than a cat, he leaped, tearing open Dante's shirt. He hissed, and his hand darted toward the necklace, poised to rip it from his neck.

  A murky ripple...the stench of corrupted flesh...

  His brother would use this for evil. Papa had failed.

  All those years alone...for what?

  Markos didn't have the advantage of surprise this time. Dante was now as tall as Markos and very near the same breadth, but he had not led his brother's pampered life. He grabbed Markos's wrist and squeezed until drops of sweat broke out on his brother's forehead.

  "It is mine. You cannot have it."

  "You are nothing," his brother spat. "You have no power. I will crush you."

  "Enough!" roared the lawyer.

  At his nod, the servants separated the two again. Markos held fast to the amulet until Dante feared the thong would break. He tightened his fingers, using a special pressure to break Markos's grasp.

  His brother fell back with a roar of pain. "Damn you, you will pay for this. The Eye of the Magos will be mine—"

  "It will not," the lawyer shouted over him. "Your father's will states that all gifts before death will remain the property of the recipient."

  Dante relaxed only slightly. He could see the hatred flashing in his brother's eyes and knew this would not be the end of it.

  "The hour is late," the lawyer said. "There is a bed made up for you in the east wing," he said to Dante.

  "I do not wish to stay."

  "But you must. There are other papers that will arrive in the morning related to the company, along with executives who will answer your questions and ready you to begin. If you wish to succeed your father, you will remain. Before you go, however, your father left something else for both of you." He produced two small carved wooden boxes and hand one to each of them.

  Dante opened his, and inside was a heavy silver ring with an intricate design, a dolphin surrounded by spirals, one of the symbols of Thera, ancient name of Papa's home island of Santorini. A glance to his right told him his brother had received one, as well, but the design featured a bull's head in the center, another of the traditional symbols.