“I like creature comforts,” he replied, unloading his burdens on the way to the kitchen.
“How many bedrooms?” she asked when he returned.
“One. I don’t like visitors.”
With a raised eyebrow, she asked a question.
“You are the only woman I’ve ever brought here.”
She thought of Bianca.
“The only one, Stella.” He studied her, waiting for another reaction as she studied his, looking for signs of deceit. She saw none in his blue eyes or chiseled features. When all she mustered was a smile she couldn’t hide, he took a gun from the small of his back and handed it to her.
“I’m going back to the Jeep. Don’t shoot me when I return.”
“Is that an order or request?” she asked, palming the warm metal.
“I’m immortal . . . but I still feel pain.” The sadness in his eyes reached her, causing her chest to ache, but he left before she had a chance to respond.
At a window, she followed his walk to the back of the house and heard the hum of a generator kick in. Then she watched him disappear into the trees.
Confused, she decided not to think about her personal mercenary and concentrated on putting the supplies away. Already well stocked, she added more canned goods to the pantry and filled the freezer with meat. But her thoughts strayed back to the ferry ride.
Roman didn’t want her. Good, because she didn’t want him either.
“Yeah, right,” she mumbled, snatched up her duffel, and then jogged upstairs to claim the only bed. A massive, sun-bleached, weather beaten hunk of a bed that seemed to be carved out of one huge tree, greeted her. The posts were twisted and nearly touched the ceiling. On one side of the headboard, two stags fought, horns locked in eternal combat while a doe awaited the victor. On the other, a buck mounted the doe. On the footboard, the doe with her newborn and the stag nearby guarding his family. The sideboards depicted other animals; fox, lynx, bears, copulating.
This bed was made for one thing and it wasn’t a stretch picturing her body splayed in the center with Roman attending her every need.
She lugged her duffel back downstairs and tossed the bag next to the sofa.
Roman entered, carrying the rest of the items from the Jeep.
“I’m not sleeping in that bed.” She pounced.
He dropped the bags on the floor. “Suit yourself,” he said, and slammed the door behind him. From another window, she watched him enter the garage and exit with a different bag slung over his shoulder.
Stella ran onto the porch. “Where are you going?” she demanded when he walked past.
He didn’t spare her a glance as he trekked back into the trees. Furious, she stomped back into the house, slammed the door and locked it. Thirty minutes later, she returned to the porch, staring into the trees, searching for him.
With nothing else to do, she stored the rest of the supplies and started dinner. Porterhouse steaks, instant mashed potatoes, and canned corn sounded good. She held off on cooking the meat until she heard his footsteps on the porch. He stopped short when he caught sight of the small dining table set with candles.
“I made dinner.” That was as much of an apology he was going to get, she decided.
“Smell’s good.” He approached cautiously. “Didn’t know you knew how to cook.”
She wasn’t insulted. Working in a diner meant you knew how to serve food, not cook a meal. “You’re filthy.” Dirt clung to his sweaty clothes and hair. Mud caked his shoes and he smelled like a man that had a very hard day in the sun.
“What were you doing?” she asked.
“Laying traps.”
“Traps?”
“Pits, dead falls and snares. Come, I’ll show you.” Roman led her into the woods. Together, they counted the footsteps from the porch and through the trees to a small opening. Two pits about twenty feet apart were well covered and hidden from the casual eye. He pulled back the brush covering one. Carefully, she leaned in a bit. Roman grabbed her arm. Sharp spikes lined the bottom. He pointed out the trigger for the dead fall. “Don’t come out here without me. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
She nodded. “I won’t.” She wasn’t immortal. And her very mortal body wouldn’t survive the fall. But something was wrong. “Is this for Daniel or the beast?”
“Both.”
“H-how do y-y-you know they’ll come here?”
“The beast has tasted my blood. And Daniel . . . I put nothing past him.” His gaze turned flinty and his jaw clenched.
As he led her back to the cabin, she was certain he left something out.
They entered the house and Roman immediately veered toward the kitchen. “I’m starved.”
“Hey! Shower first,” she ordered and pointed toward the bathroom.
Roman cocked his head to the side and a quirky smile replaced his scowl. “You sound like a harping wife.”
Her hand dropped to her side. “N-n-no, I-I’m sorry. I-I-didn’t m-mean—”
“I like it.”
Too stunned to smile, she blinked. He walked away before she formed a reply.
Her eyes betrayed her. No matter how much she ordered them not to look at him, they continued to willfully stray. Damp hair curled around his ears and dangled into his eyes. A two-day shadow covered his cheeks and jaw, like stubbly grass on a recently plowed field.
Her fingers ached to thread his hair and pull him closer just as her palms itched for the abrasive feel of his growing beard. Too busy devouring two porterhouse steaks, a heaping pile of potatoes, and corn, he didn’t see her longing. When he drained his beer, she got up and brought him another one. Raised eyebrows questioned her, she glanced away.
“Thank you for dinner and the beer.”
Cheeks hot, she started cleaning the kitchen and made room when he joined her. They worked well together. Within minutes the kitchen was clean and orderly. Roman grabbed another beer and went onto the porch. She hesitated, but gave in to the need to be near him. Leaning against a pole, he stared at the quarter moon hanging over the lake.
“Do you come up here often?” she asked, studying his profile.
“No . . . I need too, though. Solitude gives me clarity.”
“So, you like being alone. I must have turned your safe, predictable life upside down.” Her voice broke with a shaky laugh. “Sorry for intruding. As soon as this is over, I’ll be out of your way.”
The half empty beer in his hand shattered. Before she could react, he picked up the large pieces, kicked the rest off the porch and stalked back into the house.
She followed, but he wouldn’t look at her while he checked the windows and locked the door. When he walked up the stairs to the bedroom and that bed, he didn’t look back.
Coffee. The smell peeled her eyes open. Stella stumbled to the kitchen, poured her a shot and drank it black. After a sleepless night on a hard, unforgiving sofa, a shot of caffeinated adrenalin helped.
However, the coffee maker wasn’t one of those automated ones. An old-fashioned percolator, the coffee didn’t magically make itself. Roman was up and around somewhere.
Quick fingers combed through her hair and pulled at her pajamas, which did nothing to relieve the wrinkles or her bad case of bed head. She needn’t have worried about her appearance. Roman was gone.
By noon, she paced the house and the porch. Worry ate at her nerves.
He could be dead. “Yeah, OK, whatever,” she scolded herself. He’s supposed to be guarding her. Where was he?
Irritated, she picked the smallest sword hanging on the wall and walked outside. After struggling for an hour she finally had one of Roman’s wooden combatants ready to defend itself.
The first swipe felt silly and awkward, but by the twentieth, she’d raised a sweat. She had no idea what she was doing, but hitting something, pretending to kill something, gave her a rush. Is this how he felt when he fought? Exhilarated, blood surged through her arteries and pounded through her veins. Her nipples tighten and desire
coiled low in her groin. She was alive and ready to slay anything that dared to stand in her way.
Then she remembered that two men were dead by her hands. Horrified, she threw her sword down and plopped onto the porch. She wouldn’t go there, couldn’t. Comparing how vital Roman made her feel and this was wrong. Her stomach rolled because, of course, her mind had already made the comparison. Stella groaned and buried her face in her hands. A few weeks ago she was a pacifist. Now, she had a sword in her hand, hacking at a pretend man wishing he were real.
“Want to try again?” Roman crouched in front of her. Filthy, sweaty, bare-chested and irresistibly handsome, handle first, he extended her blade and waited for her answer.
“How long were you watching me?”
“Long enough to see your potential.”
Wow. She had potential as a killer. Her life kept taking unexpected turns. She flicked some dirt from his shoulders. “Still digging?”
He nodded. “We need an advantage.” Steely determination glinted in his blue eyes.
An advantage she could help with by not being a liability. Fear melted away, replaced by an iron core seated deep within her that she never realized was there . . . until now. “Yes.” She nodded. “I do want to try again.” She took her weapon from him.
“Good.” He stood and held out his hand. “It’s not as hard as it looks.” Roman pulled her to her feet and guided her to a clearing. A branch became his weapon of choice.
He taught her how to stand, “Feet apart, weight balanced equally,” then gave her free reign to strike. Tepid first strokes evolved into forceful blows that Roman blocked and deflected with ease. Then, as she was about to give up, he tossed his branch aside and crooked a finger at her.
“Come.”
Mouth dry, she obeyed and stopped inches away. Hands on her shoulder, he turned her around and molded her body to his. Then took her hand and guided her and the sword. The heat of him scorched her back, made her think the impossible was maybe possible. More than possible as their bodies moved together. Back pressed close to his chest and abs, bottom tucked against his groin, his free hand splayed across her stomach, guiding her through the steps. Together, they danced.
A war raged within her.
He lied.
By omission.
It’s still a lie.
For a good reason.
He had a fiancée.
Had, past tense.
His brother’s a killer . . . and so is he.
And E.J., Thane, Quin, possibly Hector—no, not Hector—they were all killers.
And so are you.
And they were protecting her, not because they had to, because they wanted to. Roman didn’t have to protect her. The hardness against her bottom kept stroking as they moved suggested interest. Maybe he even loved her?
“You’re distracted.” He took the sword from her. His eyes smoldered and the heat radiating from his body wasn’t from exertion.
“Roman I—”
“That’s enough for today. Go shower, I’ll sharpen this for you.” He stomped away. A fine sheen of sweat clung to the tight sculpted muscles on his back and his tense shoulders. This isn’t how she wanted things between them.
Stella ran into the house. She ignored the little voice inside her head still questioning her. For the first time in a long time she knew what she wanted and knew what she was going to do.
CHAPTER 31
How had things gone so far off track? Thane wondered sitting in Roman’s chair in the downtown office. As Roman often did, Thane stared out the window to the traffic snaking below and the river meandering along. Behind him E.J., Avery and Quin waited.
Gracie’s voice came over the speakerphone. “Brayden is on line two.”
Thane pressed the button. “Hello.”
“What the fuck is going on there?” Brayden’s voice echoed in the room.
“Exactly what Quin put in the email is exactly what’s going on,” Thane answered.
On the other side of the Atlantic something crashed and shattered.
“We need you home.” Thane waited for Brayden’s reply.
“Has anyone heard from Ty?” Brayden asked with a calmer note in his voice.
Thane shot Quin a glance. He shook his head no.
“As of a week ago, no.”
“I’m going to Egypt.” There was a pause as Brayden waited for Thane to contradict him. “All of you have each other. Ty’s out there alone,” Brayden continued.
Ty wasn’t family. Not a drop of his blood linked him to Roman, but he was still a brother. Brayden’s best friend since middle school, Ty was closer to Brayden than anyone in the house. If anyone could find Ty, Brayden would.
“Understood. Make sure you stay in touch. We don’t want to lose you too.”
“Tell Roman—”
“You’re on a mission. He’ll understand,” Thane interjected. “No need to get sloppy.”
The levity was lost on Brayden. “Thanks.” The line went dead.
Thane studied the three men lounging in the office. Thirty-six hours ago, Roman walked out of RockGate without a word to anyone. The message was clear. He didn’t trust them. Twenty hours ago, Stella Walker disappeared from Detective Lever’s home minutes before the detective’s home was nearly demolished.
‘Huge wild animal’. Her exact words. No good deed goes unpunished. Lever was now on suspension from the police department.
In charge by default, the men all met Thane’s eyes waiting for instruction. This was his moment to lead and all he wanted was to ask Roman what he should do. When you step into a man’s shoes, you’d better be able to fill them.
“What’s next?” Perched on the arm of the silk brocade sofa, Avery’s hard voice snapped him back to the present.
What would Roman do? “We find Roman.”
“What about Daniel?” Avery demanded. His anger barely leashed.
Thane paused, uncertain of the next move. “We find Roman, we’ll find Daniel.”
“But no one knows where Roman is,” E.J. said.
Quin stood. “I do. I know exactly where Roman is.”
Tonight, she served roasted chicken, canned peas and Zatarain’s yellow rice. While everything cooked, she grabbed her duffel and headed for a shower. After digging through all the clothes, she found the single piece of lingerie she owned at the bottom of her bag. She no longer wondered why she packed the lacy black confection with matching gossamer thong.
Cathy dared her to buy the scanty item in the hopes that one day . . . maybe. Now that day was here and . . . she chickened out. After her shower, she shoved it back into her bag and dragged on a pair of sweats. By the time she entered the living room, the table was set and dinner was served.
“You were in the shower so I took a dip in the lake. I didn’t want my stench to offend.” Damp hair curled close to his skull, a clean tee clung to wet patches on his pecs and abs. Jeans covered his lower half.
“You didn’t have to.” Yet, she smiled, grateful he did.
“I still need a shower, but am I clean enough to eat?” He posed, hands on his hips, for her approval.
Her mouth watered. The rest of her flushed hot and ready for him. He was more than clean enough to eat. And that’s exactly what she wanted to do.
“Yeah, you’re good.” She sat before he had a chance to hold her chair. From the corner of her eye, she peeked at him, burned for him. Twice, she nearly spilled her drink and dropped her fork on the floor.
“Is something wrong?” he finally asked after an awkward silence.
Yes. “No.” She shook her head. “Why?”
“You seem distant.” Concern edged his deep voice.
Not distant, desperate to find a way to tell him what was in her heart. “I was thinking about . . . your family. Your brother and parents.”
He sat back heavily in his chair.
“I’m sorry.” She rushed and touched his forearm. “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I wanted to know more about you.”
>
His rough palm covered her hand. “It’s okay. I haven’t thought of them in a while. What do you want to know?”
“Whatever you want to share?” She hoped he would share everything.
His face took on a far away expression. “My father was a great man, not wealthy, but great. He was the best warrior our village ever birthed until an arrow shattered his knee. He returned home a cripple. The village shunned him until he started training the boys in combat and warfare. Soon, kings knew our name.”
“And your mother?”
“I don’t remember her. She left when we were young. I have no memories of her, but father had a mural on a wall in the gathering room. That’s how I still see her. A beautiful woman trapped on stone.” A wistful smile crossed his face. “He called her Goddess, and loved her until the day he died.”
The sadness in his voice made her ache. She reached out to touch him, but he stood and collected the dishes. He was out the kitchen and up the stairs before she joined him.
“Roman.”
He paused halfway up, but didn’t turn around.
“I-we—”
“Not now.” Tight and controlled, his tone allowed no argument. He continued on his way. A moment later, the bathroom door slammed and the shower came on.
“Not now.” She repeated. But if not now, then when? Stella paced knowing what she had to do, yet what did she know about seduction? Nothing! That’s what. Minutes ticked by and the shower continued. For how long, she could only guess. If she was going to do this, it had to be now.
Stella unzipped the duffel and sitting on top lay the lingerie, waiting for her. Clothing stripped, she shimmied into the gossamer panties and web-like nightie that barely covered her butt.
She tried to position herself on the bed, draping her body along the carnal headboard. When that didn’t feel right she slid to the edge of the bed, and tried again. Finally, she leaned against the footboard. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and nearly cried at how desperate she looked. This had to be the stupidest idea she ever had. She had to get out of here before he caught her.
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