This Man and Woman

by Ivie, Jackie

  She concentrated on their conversation, heard in a muted fashion because of the continual high-pitched drone.

  “I cannot take full credit, I’m afraid.”

  “You don’t work for the VA League?”

  “Oui. As a sub-contractor.”

  French? The man spoke French with just the hint of accent. It teased her ear and her memory. But that was ridiculous. The fop she’d stolen the sword from didn’t remotely resemble this man.

  Did he?

  “Five and a half million dollars is always appreciated.”

  “It was nothing.” He shrugged, lifting muscular shoulders his jacket defined and shadowed for anyone watching.

  No. It couldn’t be him. The decadent French fellow hadn’t been this muscular; he’d had a silly mustache and pointed goatee, and a head full of white-cast curls. They’d cascaded past his shoulders.

  “Really now—”

  “Little more than the cost of a sword.” The man interrupted her employer, and then he turned his gaze back to her. And then he winked.

  Takaiya’s eyes widened. Any ability to breathe ceased. Move. Think. Her mind was in tandem with the paralysis. Oh…no! No. A thousand times no.

  “You look exactly as I imagined, Cherie.”

  His mouth didn’t seem to move, but her ears heard it, so it must have been voiced. Or she was losing her mind.

  “And we have unfinished business, you and I.”

  “I—.” Sound didn’t accompany the word, so Takaiya swallowed and tried again. “I…it’s—. Um. I—”

  “It’s a matter of honor. True?”

  He definitely said that aloud, lifting his brows with the final word as if daring her to deny it. He was also closer, taking her elbow with a thumb and forefinger, portraying an escort. The spot where he touched immediately sparked. Tingled. Shocked. Takaiya dropped her gaze to the floor between them, her heart doing antics of motion that should be raising the bodice of her gown. If she looked at anyone, they’d see more than anyone ever saw. She’d never had such a reaction before. Could such a thing be…fear?

  She nodded. She automatically knew it wouldn’t matter what she answered. He’d come for a reason. Her. She didn’t have many weapons on her, none that would kill, and she didn’t dare try anything. Not in a room full of observers, and in a floor-length, tight gown. If she could get him into the open grounds three floors down…

  “Will you excuse us, Ambassador?” he asked.

  “You won’t be long?”

  “Miss Silva?”

  He gave the entire decision to her. Takaiya lifted her eyes to his, lingering for the longest moment on his chin before accomplishing it. The buzzing sound intensified the moment their gazes locked. Fascinating. The man was that. And intriguing. Just matching gazes with him set her pulse into flight, her breath alongside it, and caused the most embarrassing tremble to score her. An aura of intensity enfolded her, generating what felt like an electrical field. She could feel the roots of her hair reacting to it.

  “Don’t wait for me.” Her voice and her words sounded in her head. She felt rather than saw her employer bow in acknowledgement.

  “Very good. I’ll see you back at the embassy upon your return.”

  “My return.”

  That was also her voice echoing the word, although she hadn’t given the order. She wasn’t capable of doing much beyond sinking into the depths of her escort’s amber eyes.

  Without any sensation of movement, they’d somehow reached a balcony. One, that looked out at a myriad of lights set in the grounds below them. Three stories down. Takaiya sensed movement, then arms about her…her feet left the solidness of floor. And then they were above it. Without physical means.

  “Who are you?” She whispered the question.

  “The real question, my cherie, is…what am I?”

  His answer and the warmth in his voice took away her breath. And then he launched them right out into thin air.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He’d found her!

  She was his mate. The one being that would make him whole. After centuries of wasted time! If he possessed a soul, it was singing. Flying. Soaring on wings of exultation. The feeling was so immense he had to restrain it, locking down every muscle in his frame. He knew she felt it. It was in the small breaths she took and the way she sucked in her lower lip. He longed to wrap his arms and legs about her, pull her into him, and absorb her essence. Be at one with her. Completely. Totally. Fully.

  He was actually terrified of what might happen if he didn’t get a leash on himself. The vastness of sensation threatened to overtake and consume him. He might hurt her. Frighten her. Horrify her. He’d never felt anything like this before. And he wanted more. Craved it. Thirsted for it. Would do anything for it.

  Akron had not only orchestrated Jean-Pierre’s debut into the spotlight this evening, he’d loaned him a VAL limo complete with Elliot, their most professional driver. It was apparent in the man’s dress, speech, and demeanor. Without notification, one of the cars moved out of the line-up the moment Jean-Pierre landed on the front step plateau, startling the group of valets with the suddenness of his appearance. He ignored them. He had to. His entire being was focused on suppression. He had Takaiya cradled in his arms now, while both of hers draped over his shoulders as if they belonged there. She’d also lost at least one of her hair picks, dropping masses of hair onto one shoulder and from there, onto his arm.

  The stretch limo slid to a halt before him, all black shine. No other color muted it. Jean-Pierre heard the murmurs of appreciation from those surrounding him, and then the driver door opened, revealing a black tuxedo-clad driver wearing a silk top hat. His move to the back door blended with the elegance of the ensemble – the epitome of class and refinement. No one said a word. They didn’t have to. He entered in a flourish, Takaiya still in his arms. The door shut. Elliot regained his seat in front.

  “Home, Sir?”

  “Oui.”

  Elliot’s voice came clearly through the intercom. Jean-Pierre’s was croaked.

  “VAL Headquarters?”

  “Non. My home. Hudson Bay Estates.”

  “Very good.”

  Takaiya didn’t say anything to his exchange, although she’d set her lower lip free. Jean-Pierre didn’t know if that was a good sign or not. She was ensconced on his lap, side-ways to him, her right arm draped across his shoulder while her left hand rested atop a spot that should be hammering with his heartbeat, if he possessed one. She gave no sign of acquiescence, nor did she demonstrate defiance. And she’d moved her gaze back to his, gifting him with more of the black wall she hid behind. He’d been right about the eye color. They were definitely dark. Bottomless and deep and soul-consuming. If she allowed it. He’d seen glimpses of it when he’d been projecting his power toward her earlier. But right now, in the interior lighting, her eyes were cold and black as obsidian. Unreadable.

  “May I…hold you?” Jean-Pierre cleared his throat to ask it, but still sounded like he chewed on gravel.

  One side of her lip quirked up. Jean-Pierre jerked. He caught it the moment it happened, but not soon enough. The instant loss of any expression on her face was his proof.

  “Please?” He tried again.

  She blinked.

  “You wish me to beg?” he asked next.

  “You are already holding me,” she replied finally, without one inflection to the words.

  “But I did not receive permission to do so.”

  “Is that important?”

  “Please?”

  He’d beg. It sounded in his voice. And if he didn’t get the words he needed from her, he realized how low he was willing to go. He’d resort to using his vampiric power again to hypnotize and sway. Although she’d demonstrated resistance to it, it had worked. She was here. With him. And in his arms.

  She smiled enough to dent a dimple in one cheek, sucked in her lip again, and nodded. And then she ducked her head away, hiding behind an ebony veil of hair, while
the slightest infusion of fluid made a blush bloom on the cheek he could see!

  Mon Dieu!

  Jean-Pierre’s entire body revolted against the stricture he’d placed on it. It felt like every dead cell sparked to life, cursing him with fire-like sensations he’d never experienced. It was too heady to withstand; too vast to deny. He tipped his head back, concentrating on the diamond-tucked leather above them, while forcing his lips to hold in lengthening canines. He should have been given directions on what would be happening when he finally was gifted with his mate. Or, at least warned.

  “What…is it?”

  He didn’t answer at first. He couldn’t. If she saw him in this state, he didn’t know what might happen. Jean-Pierre closed his eyes, pulled in breath from those she was taking and held his, glorying for a moment in the palpitations of her heart. If he still possessed one, it was perfectly in rhythm.

  “J…P?”

  “Jean-Pierre,” he replied.

  Something started to work, whether it was her hesitant voice saying the moniker he’d just assumed, or the time spent from looking at her. He couldn’t say, and didn’t particularly care. It was enough that he’d controlled the urge to take her. For the moment, at least. Jean-Pierre licked his lips, noting his fangs were back to normal. And then she slid the hand from his chest up to his throat and used it on his cheek to guide his gaze back to hers.

  “Very well…Jean-Pierre. I agreed.”

  Her breath touched his nose and the top of his upper lip where his false mustache should be defending such an assault. Ah…that’s right. He’d been instructed to leave it for the evening. That and the accompanying goatee he affected. He should have balked, rather than suffer a full dose of her power on skin that hadn’t been this vulnerable in centuries.

  He licked his lips. Trembled. “That you did,” he agreed.

  “Was…it wrong?”

  She pulled his head closer to hers, while at the same time arching up against him, punishing him with the feel of unrestrained breasts against his chest, while her lips hovered the barest fraction from his.

  He was going insane! At any moment he’d be seizing her and burying his teeth, and forcing their joining. There wasn’t a strong enough hold to stay it! She didn’t know how close she was to—

  Her lips touched his, shooting a rush of fire through him, cancelling out any control he’d attempted. Jean-Pierre wrapped her against him, enfolding her within his arms as he returned her kiss. A cut opened, and at the first taste something erupted deep within him, granting him the most beautiful sense of freedom. Elevation and light. Divinity and awe. His entire frame vibrated to it, experiencing joy such as he’d tried to pen for years. He knew now he’d done love a disservice. His attempts at describing it were amateurish and vague, ill-conceived and distorted.

  But he hadn’t known. He couldn’t have guessed! The reality was indescribable, annulling every bit of anger and pain and evil he’d ever experienced.

  She drew away from the kiss first, moving her hand back to his chest in order to prop herself, her almond-shaped eyes wide, containing the softest, warmest, and deepest brown shade imaginable. If he hadn’t already been in love, gazing into her eyes would’ve done it.

  “Oh…my.”

  She whispered it, breaking the last word into at least two syllables. To this, he had no answer. He didn’t know if his mouth would form words, and here he’d called himself a poet. The intercom sounded to life.

  “We’ve arrived. Hudson Bay Estates. Looks like I’ll need a code, Sir.”

  “Code?”

  Confusion colored the word, as if it was unfamiliar. Meaningless. A waste of air. Jean-Pierre frowned.

  “You have a security gate.”

  “Oh.”

  Good. He still possessed a voice. It didn’t sound like he’d just experienced something tremendous, either. Odd…

  “I need the code, Sir.”

  “1632. The year of my—”

  …birth.

  His mind kicked back in from its hiatus, stopping the word that would damn him. Jean-Pierre would thank the fates later. It was much too soon; his emotions too fresh and raw and vulnerable. He didn’t know what she’d do if she knew he was a monster. All he knew is that he feared it.

  The driver rolled up his window before the sound of a perfectly maintained gate opened, announcing their arrival. And then the car lurched forward again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Takaiya Silva was not the type of woman to melt into a man’s arms, drown in the pool of his eyes, or accept soul searing kisses. Ever. Anything romantic in her nature came from her father’s DNA, and that made it evil. She assumed the Portuguese scholar researching feudal Japan had used his fiery, passionate side to snare and wed her honorable mother. It must have been a heady, addictive combination. Reason enough to disavow anything resembling it…especially since losing his love hounded her mother to an early grave.

  Takaiya wasn’t that stupid. She hadn’t waited to cast memory of her father from her mind, heart, and life. She’d done it the day he failed to return. Nobody explained that the trembling horror of the earthquake had taken him. The Hisushu clansmen and women, living in a remote bit of mountain hillside, didn’t stop her from nursing a disdain for all things foreign. She’d been six. An orphan. A child. Yet old enough to rebuff her Western side. She’d spent the ensuing years in training and lessons, tempered by meditation and control, working steadily until anything of her father’s DNA wasn’t just suppressed. It was annihilated.

  Yet, one touch from this particular man and everything she’d disavowed rushed to the fore? She became a woman capable of jumping into his arms, fastening to his gaze, and enjoining a kiss that not only promised chasms of passion and wonder, but delivered them?

  And worse. Everything on her body craved more! To an insurmountable degree.

  The intercom sparked to life beside them again. “The house is in sight. Front entrance?”

  “Side.”

  “Very good. And…if it isn’t too much trouble, may I use the usual suite for the night?”

  “Of course. Above the stables. I had it prepared.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “You have stables?”

  Takaiya could kick herself for speaking, dragging his attention from observation of the black glass separating them from their driver back to her, but that didn’t stop it.

  “Oui.”

  “And horses?”

  He smiled, adding a sparkle to the golden glow of his eyes, drawing her closer; lamb to wolf, moth to flame. It was her hand creeping up his shirtfront again, too, sliding along the texture of pleated broadcloth, grazing the satiny bowtie, brushing against his slightly scratchy chin.

  “You like horses?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never been around them. You?”

  “All my life. They’re magnificent creatures. Easy to adore and…cherish.”

  His smile altered as he licked his lips, and the arm about her waist assisted with lifting her farther into his embrace.

  “I think I like men who like horses.”

  It was her voice speaking, but her mind hadn’t cleared any of it. Nor the proximity. She whispered the words against his mouth, catching his groan with her kiss. And this time it wasn’t just a feeling akin to electricity. She could swear sparks were flitting about the limo interior, showering her with little spikes of heat and sizzle. Everywhere. Takaiya licked and sucked at his lips as he was hers, mingling her moans with his, catching her breath in little snippets that made her giddy and light-headed. Her heart raced, her frame trembled. The slightest inkling of sensation slid through her, tapping at years of inhibition. She wanted to be closer…needed it, and her moan validated it.

  She twisted within his embrace, melding against that rock-hard abdomen…and something even harder. Foreign. It should shock. Frighten. Warn. It did neither. It added to the fog of corporeal essence surrounding her. Something tremendously wrong was happening, turning her into
a creature of submission and wanton behavior.

  The door opened, sending night air into the enclosure. Jean-Pierre lifted his head, separating their lips. Takaiya kept her eyes tightly closed. The chauffeur cleared his throat. His voice might hold embarrassment, but her ears didn’t hear it.

  “Begging pardon, Sir. We’ve arrived.”

  They’d arrived.

  Jean-Pierre didn’t answer. The chauffeur didn’t act like he expected it. One moment they sat entwined on the leather seat, and the next they were moving with speed that lifted her hair. She heard the car drive off. Doors opening and shutting. He carried her. She didn’t fight it. The feel of being in his arms sent tingling where they touched her back and beneath her knees. She didn’t doubt his strength. She’d seen it crush a man. And she wasn’t at all sure her legs would hold her. It was better to just stay cradled in his embrace, awash in a sensation of warmth and security.

  His movements changed, as if descending, but that was odd. There wasn’t any sense of steps. Everything about his movement was sure and solid…and soundless. There must be a thick carpet beneath him. They leveled off. She opened her eyes to check, blinked, and then went slack-jawed.

  The view from over his shoulder included a thick archway that sent a shadow toward them from the light they’d just left. The archway framed a double staircase, rising from both sides. Although the door was high, she couldn’t see if the steps met, or where. She’d seen pictures of that type of architecture, but it belonged to long-vacated palaces in…perhaps Germany? Austria? She couldn’t remember.