Cursed Kiss (Paranormal Romance)

by Taylor, Helen Scott

Clare admired his shapely butt as he leaned into the car and decided she liked Pablo. His old-fashioned courtesy put her at ease.

  He led her through a huge entrance hall, dominated by a chandelier that dangled tiny crystal daggers above her head. They mounted a wide curved staircase, past portraits of stiff men in military uniform. The place smelled like a museum, a mix of beeswax polish, dust, and old oil paintings.

  When they reached the second floor, Pablo knocked lightly on a door. "Luka's waiting for you, Ms. Moray. He prefers not to shake hands."

  For the first time since she'd entered the house, nerves tightened her stomach. The fate of Moray Skincare rested in her hands. This meeting might be crucial. She composed herself as Pablo opened the door and then she walked through.

  Luka Vlad sat on a leather wing chair beneath the open window. The afternoon breeze gently stirred the dark bangs on his forehead. He sipped a glass of red wine cradled in his palm, and perused her with dark, hooded eyes.

  Clare's feet stopped moving and she completely lost her train of thought.

  The man before her looked like a businessman in his dark pin-striped suit with a crisp white shirt and navy tie. Despite this, he was a picture of decadent sensuality, his dark hair a little too long, the faint trace of shadows beneath his eyes that hinted of excess. A knot of something part apprehension, part desire tightened low in her belly.

  He set aside the newspaper on his lap, stood, and inclined his head. "Miss Moray, it's a pleasure to meet you."

  In an effort to recover her composure, she strode forward, hand out. When he didn't respond, she remembered Pablo's warning that Luka didn't shake hands. She halted abruptly, feeling disoriented. "Mr. Vlad, thank you for seeing me."

  He indicated a chair. "Please sit down, Miss Moray." Once she was settled, he took his seat again. "Would you like a glass of wine?" He raised his glass to the light, fingertips caressing the engraved crystal. "A fine cuvée from my own vineyards. A nose of spice and peppers, ample and round on the palate, with a black currant and licorice finish." He turned to his assistant. "A glass for the lady, Pablo, please."

  "Oh, no. I can't. I'm driving." Much as she would like some Dutch courage, she needed her wits about her. To be as successful as he was, Luka Vlad must be intelligent, astute, and almost certainly ruthless. It would be a huge mistake to underestimate him.

  "Red wine is good for you," he said, dismissing her objection with a flick of his fingers.

  Pablo presented her with a glass, giving her no option but to take it.

  "And for me, my friend."

  Pablo flourished the bottle and poured deep red liquid into Luka's glass.

  Clare gathered her thoughts and tried to focus. "As I mentioned in my e-mail, my grandmother died recently, and I took over as president of the Moray Corporation."

  "I remember reading about the fire. Such a tragedy to lose a relative unexpectedly like that. Please accept my condolences." Luka glanced into his glass and swirled the wine thoughtfully. "Monique Moray had quite a fearsome reputation. Did you find her difficult?"

  That was an odd question, and not one she expected from a stranger. Could it be that Luka had known her grandmother? "You met her, then?"

  At her question, the two men exchanged glances and tension charged the air. "A long time ago, yes," Luka said.

  If he'd met Monique, that suggested he might know about Taldom's blood. That was promising.

  "I found your Paris address in a book of my grandmother's, along with a recipe for one of our preparations. I hoped you might help me find a rare ingredient we use, something called Taldom's blood."

  The silence seemed to thicken as for long moments, Luka pinned her with his dark gaze. Eventually, he uttered a single word: "Yes."

  "You have some Taldom's blood you can sell me?"

  "I know how you can get some."

  "Great. What is it exactly? I was thinking an herb, but that's just a guess." In her excitement, Clare gulped a mouthful of wine, forgetting that she didn't want to drink.

  "To acquire Taldom's blood, you'll need to come to France with me."

  "That won't be necessary. We have enough for a couple more weeks. I need it shipped to our production facility in Holland, if that's okay."

  "You misunderstand me, Miss Moray." He put down his glass, rose from his seat, and walked closer to her.

  Clare raised her eyebrows in question. He grazed his hand through the air, nearly touching her arm, but not quite. The movement disturbed the tiny hairs on her skin, tickling.

  His dark irises reflected the light like mirrors, giving nothing away. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Luka Vlad had the shutters down.

  "Perhaps you'd better explain," Clare said.

  "In return for what you seek, I require you to do something for me in France."

  A little burst of warning shot through Clare. She didn't like the sound of this at all. "What do you want me to do?"

  His dark gaze scanned her face for a second longer, then he turned and walked across to stare out of the window. "I'll explain when we arrive at my château."

  Warily, she tensed against the chair. This man was playing games with her. Unfortunately he held all the cards right now. "I'm sorry, I don't have time."

  He turned, his expression unreadable. "Then I can't supply what you need."

  Clare rubbed her palms on the arms of her chair, her thoughts churning. She knew when guys were coming on to her and she was not getting that vibe from Vlad, although she could be wrong. She really had no option but to play along. "If I agree to come with you, how long before I get back to New York?"

  He pressed his lips together. "Two weeks."

  "Two weeks!" Clare had expected him to say a day or two. "What on earth do you want me to do that will take that long?"

  Luka avoided her gaze and snapped his fingers at Pablo, who brought him another glass of wine.

  Maybe she was wrong about his interest in her. A vision of a huge bed covered in silk sheets slipped into her mind, with Luka Vlad reclining in the center. A shiver passed through her that was not entirely unpleasant. Although she'd never used sex to get her way in business and wasn't about to start now.

  Luka's lips twisted in a sardonic smile. "I assure you I'm not proposing anything inappropriate, Miss Moray. That doesn't interest me."

  Unwelcome heat crept into her cheeks, and she berated herself for her reaction. She should be reassured by his words, not embarrassed by his disinterest.

  "Before I say yes, I want some idea of what I'll be doing for you."

  "You'll stay at my château in the beautiful Loire Valley. Consider it a holiday of sorts."

  Clare rose to her feet. She wasn't going to be fobbed off like that. "Just be up front and tell me what it is you want."

  He narrowed his eyes on her and seemed to come to a decision. "Okay. I need you to spend time in my library doing research. I promise you won't come to any harm."

  "Research? About what?"

  "You'll find out when we get to France."

  Clare's breath rushed out in frustration. Why couldn't he just tell her? Why all the secrecy? "I guess if I want the Taldom's blood, I don't have much choice, do I?"

  "No."

  For a moment, she doubted her sanity. Was Moray Skincare really worth the risk of going to France with two strangers?

  Definitely.

  Moray meant everything to her. It gave her the independence she'd only dreamed of in the past, and it wasn't only her future that hung in the balance. A lot of people would lose their jobs if Moray went under.

  "Okay. You have a deal."

  Luka's eyes sparkled, and his lips slid into a beautiful smile that gave her a twinge deep inside her chest. What had she let herself in for?

  Chapter Two

  Luka relaxed in his helicopter and observed Clare's perfect profile from behind the safety of his dark glasses. Her lips had the smooth plumpness of red grapes. He popped a grape in his mouth, rolled it across his tongue, and imagi
ned pressing his lips to hers, sharing the piquant flavor.

  Dangerous thoughts, forbidden thoughts. Sucking in a breath, he averted his gaze. Why torture himself fantasizing about something he could never have?

  Pablo had taken the seat opposite him and watched their beautiful companion with interest. No doubt he was planning how to get in her pants, but Luka had promised she'd be safe and he meant it.

  Clare sat as far away as possible. After removing the red jacket of her pants suit, she'd folded it on the seat beside her, forming a barrier between herself and them.

  She didn't trust them, and it reassured him that she was not dangerous. He had sampled her psychic energy at Beddington House and found it untainted, but his judgment was flawed when it came to Moray women. Monique had entranced him once. Her beauty had blinded him to the black rot in her heart until too late.

  Clare ignored him, her attention fixed out the window, first on the English countryside, then the choppy waters of the English Channel. Now, as they approached his château, she stared out at the lush green beauty of the Loire Valley. She appeared outwardly calm, but her nervous gestures gave her away. She fidgeted with her earrings and her clothes, sliding her palm down her throat and across the front of her blouse.

  Luka imagined his own hand taking that journey, the delicate pulse at her throat beating beneath his fingertips, the fullness of her breasts straining the silky top.

  The temptation of having such an alluring woman stay in his home would be difficult to resist, but if he gave in to his desire to touch her, he would endanger her life.

  She smoothed the fabric of her pants and touched the knot of silky dark hair behind her head. Luka turned and stared at the unbroken perfection of the empty blue sky. Clare would not torture him physically as her grandmother had done, but her presence alone would be an exquisite torment.

  ***

  By the time the helicopter set down on the large, level lawn to the side of Château Montgatine, Clare was more than ready to get out. She'd felt her two traveling companions watching her during the flight. Her nerves were stretched tight after being cooped up with them for so long.

  Despite the tension keeping her on edge, she had to admire the château. She'd seen photographs of French châteaux before, but none had been as beautiful as Luka Vlad's place. This was a fairy-tale castle with white stone walls and towers topped by slate roofs. If one chose to be a recluse, this was the place to do it.

  "Welcome to my home," Luka said, an unguarded smile of pleasure on his face. He seemed more relaxed than he had in England.

  Luka took her bag from the pilot and indicated she should precede him. "The château was built in the sixteenth century by King François the first for his mistress." He pointed to a small tower set apart from the main building. "That is a dovecote the king had built for his lady."

  White birds fluttered in and out of the numerous holes in the brickwork. "What a lovely gift, a symbol of peace," Clare said.

  Luka laughed wryly. "I'm afraid not. The young birds hatched in the dovecote were destined for the kitchen. They were a delicacy."

  Clare winced. She hoped baby dove wasn't on the menu tonight.

  "I hope you'll be comfortable here." Luka raised his arm in an expansive gesture. "Please feel free to explore the gardens whenever you want."

  They entered the château and Luka introduced her to an elderly housekeeper called Madame Rousseau, who showed Clare to her room.

  As they ambled up the wide stone staircase to the second floor, they managed to communicate with hand signals. Clare discovered the best way to keep the old woman happy was to nod vigorously and say oui every time she pointed at a painting or stopped by a window.

  Finally, Clare coaxed the motherly woman out of her room and leaned back against the door, relieved to be alone. The bold paintings of large crimson flowers seemed to jump off the wall panels. The cover on the bed blazed with gold thread. This wasn't a room for sleep, it was a room designed to stimulate the senses.

  As soon as she thought of stimulating senses, an image of Luka's lean body and sultry dark eyes came to mind. She shoved the thought away. He might be attractive, but he was definitely strange. And she didn't know exactly why he'd brought her here yet. He couldn't simply want her to do research for him. It must be more than that.

  When she'd freshened up, she wandered across to the window and pushed back the shutters. Formal gardens around the house gave way to acres of grass sloping down to a river. In the distance, rows of vines glowed green against the sandy soil.

  Clare breathed in the warm evening air. The fragrance struck her as quintessentially French, a mixture of sun-warmed foliage, the sweetness of ripening fruit, and earthiness. It resonated with her soul. Sad it had taken twenty-six years for her to visit her mother's homeland. Clare had spent her childhood across the Channel in England but never made it to France. By the time she was ten, her father's condition was so bad she couldn't leave him alone for longer than a few hours.

  After doing a quick calculation on the time difference, she fetched her mobile phone from her purse and called Edward to get an update on the Faceglo production problems. His voice mail cut in. She stabbed the Off button and frowned. It was the third time she'd tried. Where was he?

  A light tap sounded on the door. Clare paced across and opened it to find Pablo there. A slow grin spread across his face. "You have settled in?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  "May I come in?"

  Clare was a little surprised by his request, but stepped aside and let him amble past. He moved around the room, running his fingers along the furniture thoughtfully. "This is a nice room, a good view. Do you not agree?"

  "It's lovely. But I'll enjoy it a whole lot more when I know what I'm doing here."

  "Yes, of course. Luka will tell you soon. Actually, that's why I'm here." Pablo flicked a gold tassel hanging off a lamp. "Luka asked me to fetch you."

  "Then I guess we'd better go down."

  He held out a hand, inviting her to precede him through the door.

  "Is there somewhere I can buy a few more clothes?" she asked. "I only packed for one night's stay."

  "This is taken care of. I've sent to Paris."

  "Have you now. And how do you know my taste in clothes?" Not to mention her size.

  He tapped the side of his nose. "You will not be disappointed."

  "Okay." Clare might need more clothes, but she wasn't wild about having them chosen for her.

  As she followed Pablo downstairs, she checked her watch. Her body was still on Eastern Standard Time. She wasn't hungry, but she was eager to see Luka again and find out what she was doing here. And he'd never actually told her what Taldom's blood was.

  A few minutes later Pablo ushered Clare into the dining room. Her step faltered in wonder. It was vast, the expansive ceiling supported by rows of honey-colored beams. One wall held a huge tapestry. The rest of the room was paneled in golden wood that glowed in the flickering candlelight cast from a candelabra on the table.

  Luka sat at the head of the table. As they walked closer, she realized his eyes were closed and he appeared tired and drawn.

  A shock of recognition stabbed her chest. His pale skin and shadowed eyes were horribly familiar. Her father had looked the same at the start of his illness. If Luka were sick, that explained why he avoided publicity and people thought he was reclusive.

  Pablo hurried across to him, crouched at his side, and took his hand. "Wake up, amigo. It's dinnertime." There was something between these two men, something more than a working relationship. Clare stepped back, feeling like an intruder.

  Luka's eyelids lifted and he glanced around, disoriented. He pushed himself up in his chair and checked the clock above the fireplace. "You took your time."

  Pablo shrugged sheepishly. "I visited the kitchen on my way to fetch Clare."

  "Ah. I see." Luka rubbed his eyes, then stood politely and indicated the chair to his right. "Please, Clare, join me."

&nb
sp; "Thank you."

  Pablo pulled out the chair for her and, as she sat, Luka poured her a glass of wine. After tugging on a cord in the corner of the room, Pablo joined them.

  A few minutes later, a petite young woman with blonde hair wheeled a trolley through the door and served them with soup. Then she placed other covered dishes on the table. "Will that be all, sir?" she asked, glancing at Luka.

  Luka fixated on his wineglass as if he didn't want to look at the woman. "Yes, Lila. We won't need you again tonight."

  She shot Pablo a sultry glance. "Enjoy your dinner, sir."

  He flashed an intimate smile as she left.

  Lila and Pablo were obviously attracted to each other. But Clare suspected there was something going on between the two men as well. What complicated love lives they must have.

  If Clare were right in her guess that Luka had some kind of illness, those around him would end up being his caregivers. She recalled looking after her father during the final year of his life, and then shook away the horrible sensation of helplessness the memory brought back. To watch someone you loved dying was soul destroying. She wouldn't wish that on her worst enemy.

  Quashing the disturbing memories, she focused on the present. "You never told me what Taldom's blood is. I'm very curious. My grandmother kept it a secret."

  Luka had eaten little of his soup and appeared grateful to have a reason to set it aside. "Tell me, Clare, have you ever heard the word Taldom?"

  She was hardly in the mood for word games, but it was in her interests to keep the man happy. "I don't think so."

  Unhurriedly, he checked her wineglass, then refilled Pablo's and his own. In the candlelight, the motif on his gold signet ring resembled the Moray dragon logo.

  Clare angled her head for a better look. "What's that symbol on your ring?"

  Luka glanced down at the image. "It's from my family coat of arms." He held up his glass. "Do try the wine. This cuvée is twenty-five years old. The delicate, silky tannins and strong presence make it an ideal accompaniment to our main course."

  Luka sipped his wine and watched her over the rim of his glass as Pablo served her with roast lamb. Something was off here. She wasn't sure what, but a sense of foreboding slipped through her.