No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1)

by Stasia Morineaux

  I’ll just eat my dinner, watch another brain-dead movie, like last night, and then go to sleep. And hopefully not have any horrible dreams.

  I held my phone in my hand. Gideon had been smart to take my old one from me. I wanted so badly to call any of my friends. But to be honest, I was one of those people—like so many nowadays—that couldn’t remember a single phone number. A little too reliant on technology.

  Should I call him? Call Gideon? His phone number was programmed into my phone already. Would he be pissed? Did I care? I felt an unusual twinge in my chest. I would care. I would mind if he was mad at me. Why? What the hell was that about?

  So.

  TV then. No. That just wouldn’t work tonight. I was much too fidgety, and aggravated to boot.

  Where the hell was Gideon?

  A walk. I’d take a walk. I couldn’t really be expected to just sit around and wait, right? I’d kind of already done that all day, mostly. As far as he knew.

  And if I just so happened to decide upon the deeply desperate need for some cappuccino while I was out, well, I knew of a place where they served up a pretty rocking cup of it.

  I don’t know what I’d been hoping for. Well, yes, actually I did. Aside from some wonderfully hot and tasty coffee on a chilly, damp night, I’d really wanted to confront Gideon for leaving me hanging all day. Maybe to even see Liam. I think definitely to see Liam would’ve been particularly nice.

  Neither of them was there…or maybe they were. I couldn’t tell. Gideon’s private room was locked. The door was shut. Bolted. And the damask curtain pulled across it. I couldn’t hear anything on the other side.

  So, I sat in a different room, towards the back, which had a clear view of the hall that lead to the room, drinking my giant bowl of cappuccino, flipping through a book—the title of which I could not even tell you—I wasn’t even reading.

  Perhaps I could just show up at Liam’s, except I didn’t know if he would be there, or if he would hate to see me.

  I hated this. I hated feeling helpless, lost, and without purpose.

  ~ Chapter Twelve ~

  “I feel like I should hate you…but that doesn’t feel quite right either. It’s confusing…feels contradictory,” I say to Gideon. He’s sitting at the pub table, across from me. Cool as usual. Reserved. I can’t read him. My heart is hammering riotously in my chest. My eyes are locked on his face. I want to look away, but I can’t. It’s uncomfortable. And it’s unnerving to me just how much I don’t want to look away. The room is dripping with tension.

  “Because of the circumstances?” He asks me.

  Oh, how I love how his lips wrap around words. How his jaw always has a shadow. How his brow is creasing between his eyes, looking so intent. I nod. What are we even talking about?

  “Understandable,” he responds.

  “Is it?” I ask. I’m perched on the edge of my chair.

  Gideon leans forward suddenly, placing his hand on the back of my head, pulling me closer to him over the small table, gently, but emphatically. His eyes are smoldering, his mouth set…and so close.

  “Liam cannot be with you,” he breathes against my cheek. I’ve never seen him this angry. He’s shaking with it.

  And I just want to move my head ever so slightly to my right, so that my mouth can finally meet his. His skin smells so good. I lightly breathe in his scent from his cheek, my eyes close.

  “But can you?” I ask, barely. The words only just scarcely breathed out past my lips. His fingers in my hair tensing, tightening, steering my head ever so slightly until his mouth hovers just over mine. His mouth. Just ever so slightly grazing against mine before jerking away from me.

  Clear across the table away.

  Then clear across the room and out the front door away.

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  Shock.

  I awoke in shock.

  Frozen in place.

  Wide awake.

  Still feeling the oh-so-faint touch of Gideon’s mouth against mine. Holy crow! My entire body was shaking from such a trifling touch…and it wasn’t even real.

  I shoved the blankets off of me. Kicked them to the foot of the bed. Too warm.

  And my phone was ringing.

  And my lips were tingling.

  I picked up my phone and waited a couple of seconds for my sleep hazed eyes to focus.

  10:00 am?

  I never sleep so late!

  My mind was still too deep in that dream to answer the call. If I spoke, I knew my voice would shake…if it came out at all. Whoever it was could wait. Even if it was Gideon. Especially if it was Gideon. Like anyone else had this new number. And I most definitely did not want to talk to Liam so close after waking from that dream, if it just so happened to be him ringing me up.

  Gideon?

  Gideon’s lips on mine?

  What was that about? Better question…Why did I feel so yummy? Absolutely honey-coated deliciously pleased ruffled and fevered?

  By the time I’d showered, dressed, and done my day’s primping— okay some extra primping may have occurred—I’d missed three calls from Gideon.

  I spied his name lit up in vibrant blue on the little screen, and my heart did a little jump, a cross between apprehension and thrill.

  My fingers were shaking as I entered my lock code to retrieve the voicemail.

  Tonight at 6:00 pm. His recorded voice told me. That slightly growly-deep voice. At Elysium. A dinner meeting in our room. Nothing else. He didn’t say anything. I don’t know what I’d expected. It was my dream, not his.

  How was I going to sit across from him after that dream?

  And with Liam there too?

  It seemed silly to do it, to care so much about what I would look like for the meeting tonight, but I did.

  For Liam?

  For Gideon?

  I realized it was only a dream. Gideon would never do that. Not even that little amount of nearly nothing. But still…

  I was pleased I had taken the time—and broken the rules—and gathered a good amount of my favorite clothes before being hastened out of Long Beach. I slid hangars across the closet rod, searching for just the right look. And found it. It was an astounding design created by Gigi, a sexy McQueen/Westwood influenced mash-up. It was a one-of-a-kind she’d designed just for me a few months back. A frothy skirt of delicately ruffled chiffon in ombre shades of gray, short in the front and tapered longer in the back, was topped with a variegated pewter and black lace and chiffon corseted bodice that reached down in long wisps gently over my hips, causing the skirt to flair out and lure the eyes in just the perfect way. A pewter and jet bead drop choker would ride across my collarbone and dip towards the bit of cleavage created by the corset.

  I checked my reflection out at all angles offered by the full length mirror attached to the inside of the closet door. This, I believe, would evoke just the right reaction. I hoped.

  It displayed confidence, independence, and best of all, enticement. Hopefully they would both be disarmed. Liam, so that maybe he’d be unable to resist talking to me. Gideon, so that…well, I wasn’t so sure after that dream, but at the least so he would soften towards me, and perhaps go easier on me, be less gruff. Or so I could finally coax some solid information out of him. Or…I really don’t know.

  Why was there a tickling in my brain now when it came to Gideon? All because of that stupid dream?

  I checked my reflection one last time.

  Wow! I still had to say that this Coimhdeacht thing did have at least one upside to it.

  I was going to have to come up with some story for looking this amazing, for wearing something this kapow, to what really did after all boil down to a mere work dinner.

  This was classic glamour. My eyes were smoky. My lips were pale, but still had a blush to them. My hair, which was doing its wonderful new, loosely-curly thing that I’d always dreamed of, was pinned back haphazardly here and there with jeweled clips of gunmetal and Swarovski crystals. My knee high, black suede
boots brought my height up to a leggy five foot eleven. I looked as if I’d slipped right off the cover of Vogue or Harper’s.

  Gideon wouldn’t be able to resist.

  I mean…Liam wouldn’t be able to resist.

  So, now for a story.

  Ah ha!

  I was going to a club afterwards, dancing. That was quite plausible. And actually now that I was so dolled up, it in fact, did sound fun. No one had told me I couldn’t. I needed a club though. I racked my brain trying to remember one that Gigi had mentioned not all that long ago, after returning from a trip here to Seattle. I tapped my fingernail against my bottom lip, pulled it away quickly, not wanting to mess up my gloss.

  Was it Myth? Fable? Those didn’t sound right, but it was something along those lines. I pulled my phone from my purse when I recalled it. It was Allegory. I Googled the address and saved it in my phone. Cool. Story set. Drinks and dancing…because after what I’d been through I deserved it.

  And you could never tell, maybe Liam would want to go.

  I arrived at Elysium early, and turned many heads as I walked through the front half of the coffee house. It gave me a giddy feeling of self assuredness beyond anything I’d ever had. I felt something unwinding and surging at the same time. An exhilarating feel of audacity swept over me and a feeling of… restoration. A quickening of self. A side effect of being Coimhdeacht?

  I made my way to Gideon’s room.

  Gideon’s room. An echo of a whisper in my mind.

  A small thrill shot through me. Oh stop!

  I paused at the curtained doorway. The richly colored damask draperies were pulled to either side, the door wide open, the room unexpectedly soundless—except for the familiar crackle of the fire.

  I made an attempt at settling my rapidly racing heart, to appear unflustered, serene. I took a deep tranquilizing breath and moved smoothly into the room.

  No one was there. Empty. That figures, wasted gliding.

  I was too nervous to sit and wait, feeling the need for movement, but I didn’t want to be caught pacing either—figuring I’d drop down a few notches on the composure scale if I were. I stood by the window pretending to be watching the rain instead, which I kind of was, but mostly I was just posed, sort of—like you’ve never done it. First glimpse mattered.

  I only had to wait a few minutes. And I swear, I felt them coming up the hall before I heard or saw them. A chill ran up my spine, a delicious chill. I kept my back to the door until I heard Gideon’s resonant voice.

  “Iliana.” He sounded on the surprised side.

  I casually turned my head to look back over my shoulder—very red carpet. Points in my corner. The looks, on both Gideon’s and Liam’s faces, were worth every effort I’d put into preparing for the evening. After giving them my cat-that-ate-the-canary smile I drifted over to the sofa. I lightly bit my lip, trailing my hand along the back of the sofa. I’d seen some famous actress do it in an old ‘30s film I’d watched late last night, or maybe it had been early this morning actually.

  “I thought perhaps you had decided to skip out on tonight,” Gideon said, more composed now, his voice bridled.

  “Now why would I do that?” I said warmly, meeting his eyes, challenging. I loved this feeling, this shift, this sensation of…sway that was coursing through me. I looked at Liam. He looked away quickly. So, we were still on that page. I wasn’t going to let that change how good I was feeling. Maybe later, but not right now.

  “Besides, I was early.” My gaze was back to Gideon, drinking him in. Well, his eyes anyway. I wasn’t about to let my sight dip down any further.

  “I came looking for you. We’re upstairs tonight.” He pulled his eyes from me. Pulled them—now that was definitely satisfying. He made his way to the stairs.

  As I was passing Liam, who was still standing rooted in the doorway, he finally spoke. “You look beautiful,” he murmured. I paused, waiting a heartbeat or two before turning to him. But, oh, the expression on his face when I did made my heart flutter. I let the moment drag out as long as possible, not wanting Gideon to notice. Not wanting him to interrupt, or see.

  “Thank you.” I wanted so much at that moment to touch him, to let go this pretense of going out after, and tell him it was for him.

  “Kind of much for one of these meetings though,” he added, with a touch of condescension edging his voice.

  I noticed that Gideon had stopped and was listening to us, watching, waiting.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’m going out afterwards then,” I tossed out at him casually as I moved forward toward Gideon and the stairs, “or I’d feel really foolish.” I smiled at Gideon. “This way?” I gestured at the flight of steps.

  He nodded as I took the first step. He placed his hand on the small of my back, again, guiding me as he had at the apartment. Something about the simple gesture provoked the memory of the dream, and I fought to contain a shiver, hoped he hadn’t noticed. I remembered suddenly the feel of his mouth. I had to run my hand along the banister to keep myself steady as my legs felt abruptly on the weak and wobbly side.

  Gideon accompanied me into a room that was to the west of the landing. Whereas the meeting room downstairs was typical coffee house décor, even if perhaps leaning more towards the more costly end of vintage comfort, this private room was sumptuous in its interior decoration. The walls were painted a lushly aged, deep burgundy red, the art and mirrors were framed in burnished gold and antiqued bronze—and the walls were thick with them in varied sizes—the chairs arranged away from the dining table in conversational clusters were upholstered in velveteens and leathers of brown, bronze, black, and claret. The wood of the dining table and its chairs was gleaming and of a type which I was not familiar. I almost would guess mahogany, but that wasn’t quite it. It was polished to a nearly glass surface and gleamed reddish-brown, with a figuring of darker brown, as well as intense orange, irregular traces weaving through the wood,. It was as it was on fire from within. It was immense and heavy, beautifully carved, and looked as though it had been pulled right out of a medieval castle. It could easily seat eight to ten people.

  Currently there were four people arranged around the massive and beautiful slab of timber. All sets of eyes were turned to me. Mine turned to Gideon. Who were these individuals? No one had mentioned anyone else being a part of this. I suppose there would have to be more than the two of them, but neither one had mentioned it. This kind of threw a twist into the works. My lips were just parting to ask who they were, when Gideon offered up the information.

  “Iliana,” he began, as he moved towards the table. I followed. “These will be your colleagues, in addition to Liam. I’d like you to meet Erin…Halah…Nicklaus…and Michael.”

  Being disorientated, and seemingly mute from surprise, I simply greeted them with a little wave of my hand and a smile. They responded in like. Now I was feeling a little nervous, or the previous sedated nervousness had returned full bore, whichever, it was now settled in my stomach and didn’t feel so great.

  Gideon moved down the length of the table, stopping near the end, pulling a chair out. Presumably for me. Again the gentleman. He took his place to my left, after I had settled into mine. Liam was seated across from me.

  Erin was sitting to Liam’s left, and moving around the table clockwise, were Halah, then Nicklaus, and Michael came last, parked to my right.

  Seven in all.

  That was a whole lot of death at one table.

  A server stepped into the room, placing various dishes in front of us all. She was a pretty girl with shoulder length, red curly hair. According to her name tag, her name was Janice.

  Halah and Erin were chatting to each other amiably. Michael was on his phone, texting or something. Was one of the members of death’s little assemblage Googling or Twittering? A small notebook held Nicklaus’s rapt attention.

  And I had Liam’s; he was watching me, guardedly.

  Gideon was observing everyone.

  So, I decided to
do so as well. Halah was beautiful with long, dark shining loose curls, pale skin and dark eyes. Erin was delicate, with exquisite bone structure and lustrous long golden hair, pale eyes, and golden skinned. Nicklaus looked as though he could be related…except the delicate part, he was anything but, he exuded strength and power with every gesture and move. And Michael…oh my. He was good looking, extremely. Nearly black hair on the shaggy, spiky, unruly side. Seriously rich mahogany eyes—that matched the color of the table exactly—set in a wonderfully structured face. They were each one incredibly striking.

  Beyond beautiful. They all shared that something other feel.

  Janice had completed her task and now there was an assortment of delicious smelling food arranged along the length of the table from which to choose. A platter of roasted chicken sat at the far end, one filled with roast beef was nearest to mine. In between were dishes of rosemary roasted baby potatoes, glazed carrots, and freshly baked, still warm rolls. The smell of it all mingled, creating a cloud of delectability that set my just rediscovered hunger on edge. I hadn’t eaten since morning, and though my appetite was enlivened, I wasn’t very confident of being able to swallow a bite, with Gideon on one side, Liam across from me, and the unknown purpose of this meeting hovering directly over my head.

  “Would you care for roast?” Gideon asked me, slices of medium rare roast balanced on a serving fork.

  “Yes, please,” I answered, watching as he lay the pieces of meat on my plate, though having no idea whatsoever how I was going to consume any of it. There was something intimate in his serving me food; I knew all too well I shouldn’t be feeling that way given his station within this group, and the fact that this was a group…of death.

  He filled my glass with a Syrah, which I was finding myself very thankful for.