Awaken the Senses

by Nalini Singh

  “Perhaps someone would remember your parents?”

  Understanding his line of thought, she said, “It’s a long shot but what can it hurt? We could ask them.” She pointed to a threesome of elderly men sitting at a table outside a coffee shop. “They look like they’ve been there forever.”

  “It’s worth a try. If they can’t help, we could perhaps consult the town office.”

  Getting out, they crossed the empty street and made their way to the shop. It touched her that Alexandre accepted the hand she slipped into his without a word. In fact, his hand tightened firmly over hers.

  When they’d almost reached the men, one of them squinted a pair of washed-out blue eyes and said, “Well, ain’t that a sight? Haven’t see anyone as pretty as you since Mary Little Dove moved away.”

  Charlotte froze. Disbelieving, she whispered, “You knew my mother?” Surely it couldn’t be this easy?

  He chuckled. “Little Charlotte Ashton, I’ll be damned!” Slapping his thigh, he put his cards down on the table. “Didn’t think we’d see you again after Mary sold up and headed out of town.”

  Obviously, the man thought she’d been living with her mother. She decided not to correct him. “That was…”

  He scratched his head. “That would’ve been right after your father’s death, now wouldn’t it?”

  One of the other men nodded. “Sad business, cut down in the prime of his life. Always liked David. Good man.”

  The father she’d never had a chance to know was suddenly a vivid picture in her mind. “Mama didn’t keep in touch with anyone in this town, did she?” It felt strange to say Mama and know that somewhere out there, she did have someone whom she could call that.

  “That’s the God’s truth. Heartbroken, she was. Just packed up and left and that’s the last we heard of her.” He smiled in memory. “Sure was a pretty little thing. All in all, though, I reckon it was a good thing she went back to her people—she needed some looking after.”

  The three elderly men started reminiscing about other things, already lost in their own world. Alexandre pulled her away. “You should eat something before we leave.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order.

  “Do I look that bad?”

  He led her into the shop. “You look lovely but you’re neglecting yourself. I can’t allow that.”

  The second they walked in, the waitress headed over. “You can pick your table—the lunch rush just finished,” she said. “What can I get you?”

  Charlotte let Alexandre order for her, her mind still abuzz with everything they’d learned. When the food arrived, she ate to placate Alexandre, but she couldn’t have said what it was that she’d consumed.

  An hour later, they left the town. “Heartbroken,” Charlotte said softly. “Just over her husband or over losing her children, too?”

  “You said she loved you,” Alexandre’s deep voice wrapped around her, making her feel safe and protected.

  “I can remember her scent as she cuddled me, I can remember warmth. Yes, she loved us.” Sighing, she laid her head against the backrest. “I hate Spencer. I hate him for whatever he did.”

  Her hands clenched into fists. “I know he gave us a good life and an expensive education, but if he stole my mother from me, then the price was too high.”

  Alexandre didn’t attempt to pacify her, his hands capable as he drove the car. Somehow, she knew he not only understood her anger, he also supported her.

  “I want to go see Spencer as soon as possible.”

  “Of course.” Alexandre accelerated down the flat road, the land so empty that you could see for miles in every direction. “I’ll inform the charter pilot of our change in plans. We can be in San Francisco by this evening.”

  Charlotte nodded, trusting him to get things done. The man had a presence that screamed capability. “No wonder people went crazy living here,” she muttered. “I like land and space and sky, but this—it’s magnificent and frightening at the same time.”

  “There’s nothing to hide under,” Alexandre added. “This is a place of truth.”

  Having found her own truth after so long, Charlotte couldn’t disagree.

  Alexandre waited until they were in the air before broaching a subject that had been preying on him for hours. “Charlotte, I want to talk to you about something very important.”

  “What?” Her eyes were clear and unhaunted when she turned to face him, her hair haloed by the light coming in through the window beside her.

  He paused for a second to assess her condition. Though what they’d discovered was shocking, it was clear that the truth was erasing the pain she’d lived with for a lifetime. He decided that she was fully capable of hearing what he had to say.

  “Ma petite, did you read the things I wrote to you?”

  She blushed. “You know I did.”

  The memory of her response to his confessions heated his blood. “Do you think me a man who shares those thoughts with everyone?”

  “No, of course not.” Her puzzlement at his line of questioning was obvious.

  “Then please explain to me why you’ve never considered marriage between us.” Despite his attempt at calm, anger sparked off his every word.

  “I—I…y-you…” She slapped her hands down on the seat. “I’m too emotionally distraught to talk about this right now.”

  “Chicken,” he taunted, confident of her strength.

  Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t consider it because I know your track record. You date gorgeous, elegant and sophisticated creatures and none of those relationships last longer than a few months.

  “Not one of them succeeded in convincing you that a woman can be true to her man. I can’t compete with them so how could I be expected to win commitment from you?”

  He was amazed at her. “You are the loveliest woman I’ve ever known,” he said. “Not only your face but your inner resources. The beauty you create with your hands, your loyalty and courage, your determination—mon Dieu, Charlotte, you don’t have to compete with any other woman. You’re in a category of your own.”

  “And what category is that?” she asked, her voice softer than the wind.

  “The category occupied by my future wife, the mother of my children and my lover for life.” He wasn’t going to dance around this. The possessive tyrant in him had had enough subtlety. It was time to claim what was his.

  The minute he’d written the first word of that letter to her, he’d known that he’d fallen. And fallen hard. Whatever he’d tried to convince himself, that letter had been an invitation to much more than simple pleasure—it had been the key to his heart.

  Only for his petite Charlotte could he have ripped himself open like that. And only this woman’s reaction could’ve made the decision to bare his soul the most wonderful experience of his life.

  He had every faith that she’d stick by him for life—Charlotte wasn’t a woman who gave up on anything. Their visit to Kendall had only strengthened his belief. She was no more like his Maman and Celeste than he was like his father. Alexandre would never cheat his wife and children out of the love that was their right. And there was only one woman he could imagine in the position of his wife. Now, he just had to get her to agree to be his. Life without her was not something he even wanted to contemplate.

  “Alexandre—are you proposing?” Big eyes became even bigger.

  He glanced at the inside of the plane. “Forgive me, chérie, I’d intended to do this far more romantically, but this is the moment.

  “I want you to be mine, Charlotte Ashton. I want you to take my name, sleep in my bed, spread your warmth into my home and love me for the rest of my life.

  “I want you to give me daughters with your heart and sons with your spirit. But most of all, I want you to let me love you until the day I die.”

  Trembling, she reached out and touched his lips with her fingers. He kissed them gently, his heartbeat frozen as he waited for her response.

  “Are you sure you want to marry
me with everything that’s going on in my life?”

  “Ah, Charlotte, don’t you know by now that I want you to be mine, no matter what?” He spoke against those fingers, before reaching up to clasp that hand in his. “I’m dying here, ma petite.”

  “Even before I knew you, I loved you.” Her heart blazed in her eyes. “I promise you that my loyalty will never change. You don’t ever have to worry that I’ll be fickle or unfaithful.”

  He adored her for understanding so much about the shadows that haunted him. “Oui, Charlotte. I know this.”

  Her smile was so bright, it shattered his heart. “I can’t believe I’m going to marry you.”

  “You’re not allowed to change your mind.”

  “Never.”

  Feeling emotion choke his throat, Alexandre raised the arm of her seat and pulled her across into his embrace. She came, wrapping her arms tight around him, her face buried against his neck.

  “I want to go away somewhere private with you and just love you,” she whispered.

  “But you have to find out the truth from Spencer,” he completed, dropping a kiss on the raw silk of her hair. “I understand. We have a lifetime to love.” The primitive in him sighed in contentment.

  She was his.

  Fourteen

  They reached San Francisco just after six-thirty. By the time they’d found a hotel and checked in, it was almost eight. Charlotte was beginning to feel exhaustion seep into her bones, but was determined to seek out Spencer.

  “Will he be at his office?” Alexandre queried, as they sat side by side on the sofa in their suite.

  She frowned. “He works late.”

  “Perhaps you should wait till tomorrow.”

  “I want to get this over and done with.”

  “I know.” He enfolded her in his arms. “But right now, you’re tired and shocked. Your uncle seems like the kind of man who’d take advantage of that—unless you’ve changed your mind and would like me to accompany you to his office?”

  She could hear his desire to be there for her in his voice. “No, I have to face him by myself. I can’t explain it, I just have to. But you’re right about him taking advantage of any weakness.”

  “Good. I’ll drive you to Ashton-Lattimer tomorrow morning and wait nearby while you speak with him.”

  “I want to catch him early,” she said, “before his staff comes in—Walker once said that he’s usually in his office by eight. It’s going to be bad enough as it is. I don’t want to create a spectacle.”

  “I understand. We’ll aim to reach there by eight.” His hand stroked over her hair. “You’re very tired.”

  “But not sleepy,” she murmured, raising her head.

  Dark eyes gleamed. “Non?”

  “Non.” A smile bloomed in her heart at the way he looked at her, as if she were all he’d ever wanted. “I could do with a bath, though.”

  “Am I invited?” He spoke against her lips.

  She kissed him. “Oui, of course…if you order room service.” Her teasing got her thoroughly kissed.

  And then, it got her thoroughly loved.

  The next morning, Charlotte said goodbye to Alexandre at the ground floor of Ashton-Lattimer and headed to the elevator. He’d accepted her desire to face Spencer alone, but had refused to stay at the hotel. They’d compromised by having him wait at a nearby coffee shop, from where he could see her when she exited the building.

  A short elevator ride later, she was standing in the outer part of Spencer’s office. Stationed to the left of the door that led to his inner sanctum was a desk she assumed belonged to his secretary. It was an elegant curve against the wall, its surface pristine. However, on closer inspection, she saw that the back, hidden from the public, was buried in papers, cups, stationery and other miscellaneous items.

  For some reason, it gave her courage that Spencer’s secretary wasn’t a perfect robot. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and shoved open the closed door to his office. Surprise was her friend with the manipulative man who’d stolen her mother from her.

  There was no one in the room.

  Her heart plummeted. Wanting to throw something, she looked around for a chair where she could wait for him. That was when her eye fell on what looked like a jacket lying behind Spencer’s executive chair. Except…there was something wrong with it, something that sent her nerves screaming with primitive terror.

  Mouth dry, breath locked in her throat, she rounded the edge of the desk. All the air left her lungs in a harsh gasp, leaving her perilously close to fainting. But the thought of landing there snapped her back almost before the thought entered her head.

  Spencer was in his office.

  His body lay lifeless on the floor, appearing smaller and weaker than she remembered, his dominating personality extinguished. He’d fallen onto his back, his jacket parting to reveal a shirt stained dark with blood. More blood had congealed around him, turning the muted carpet almost black. Even to her untrained eye, it was chillingly clear how he’d met his end.

  Spencer Ashton had been shot through the heart.

  Shaking, she bent to touch his pulse, though she knew it was a futile effort.

  “Mr. Ashton, I have…”

  The feminine voice trailed off as Charlotte rose from behind the desk. She didn’t have the energy to be startled, caught in a slow-moving river of emotion that was as thick as treacle. “He’s dead.”

  Stunning violet eyes widened. “What?”

  “Spencer is dead. Call the police.”

  The sharply dressed blonde walked over as if she didn’t believe Charlotte, her legs long and slender beneath her severe navy suit. “Oh, my God.” Her eyes fell on the body, then flashed up to Charlotte, suspicious.

  “I’m Charlotte Ashton.” She moved away from the body, taking the other woman with her. “Spencer is…was, my uncle.”

  “I’m Kerry, Mr. Ashton’s administrative assistant.”

  “I just came to talk to him,” Charlotte found herself saying. “Only a minute before you, I walked through that door and he was already dead.”

  “I guess it could just as well have been me.” Kerry paused. “You really don’t look much like a murderer anyway.”

  Charlotte didn’t know why but both of them found that hilarious. Laughing, they hugged each other until they trembled. “I think we’re hysterical,” she said, when she was finally able to speak.

  “Let’s get out of this office.” Kerry’s voice quivered with more than a trace of shock. “We’ll call the police from my desk.”

  Avoiding looking at the body, they walked out. Aware that they shouldn’t disturb the scene any more than they already had, they left the door open.

  Once they’d made the call, they sat together in silence. Charlotte fought the urge to contact Alexandre on his cell phone—the police had asked both her and Kerry to refrain from getting in touch with anyone else until they arrived. It didn’t stop her wishing that he was by her side.

  In under half an hour, the entire floor was swarming with police officers and crime-scene technicians. When they’d first entered, Charlotte and Kerry were asked their names and then told to wait by Kerry’s secretly messy desk.

  Ten minutes later, a striking man with dark hair stopped in front of them. Accompanying him was a woman of average height, but with a suggestion of muscle about her. Neither was in uniform.

  “I’m Detective Dan Ryland and this is my partner, Detective Nicole Holbrook.” The man’s eyes seemed to bore right through them. “Which one of you found the body?”

  “Me,” Charlotte said. “I came in to talk to him and he—he was just lying there.” She’d never seen anything like that. The violence of it still had her shaking.

  “If I could talk to you alone?” Detective Ryland’s manner was efficient, but she knew he had to view her as a potential suspect.

  She followed the two detectives after sharing a speaking look with Kerry, whose shock-bleached face told her what her own must look l
ike. “Of course.”

  “Ms. Ashton, it’s almost certain that the autopsy will confirm that Spencer Ashton died sometime last night. The blood…” Detective Ryland paused, his hazel eyes astute.

  She could imagine hardened criminals confessing under the focus of that stare, but it barely penetrated her traumatized mind. “I’ve never seen anybody lose that much. I didn’t know a person had that much in them.”

  Detective Holbrook touched her hand. “You’ve had a shock. Just hold on for a little while.” Intelligent blue eyes watched her sympathetically from behind wire-frame spectacles.

  Detective Ryland flipped open a notebook. “If I could eliminate you straight away, it would simplify matters. Where were you last night and early this morning?”

  “I was in a hotel last night.” She named the hotel. “I arrived here just before eight this morning. Security downstairs was trying to call up to tell Spencer I was coming, but I didn’t wait for them.”

  “Were you alone in the hotel?”

  Relief whispered through her. Because of one special man and the hope he’d brought into her life, she’d never be alone again. “I was with my fiancé. His name is Alexandre Dupree.”

  As his name left her lips, there was a commotion near the elevator. And suddenly, Alexandre was striding toward her, determination stamped on every line of his face. The cops trying to stop him didn’t seem to know what to do against his strength of purpose.

  All at once, she knew she’d been waiting for him, aware that nothing would keep him from her side once he realized that something had happened. Without hesitation, she flowed into his arms when he reached her.

  “Are you all right?” His face was taut.

  “I’m fine.” And she was. A little shaky, still rocked by the violence she’d seen, but deep inside where it mattered, she was okay.

  “What happened? I saw all these police officers when I decided to wait for you downstairs.”