Daughters of Eve Collection (Books 1, 2 & 3)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  “So what do we do now?” Frustration ran keen that she couldn't take more control of her immediate destiny. The Knights had too many aces in the hole, had too much access to technology and resources that they'd systematically denied her. Although who was she kidding? Even if she had it, she wouldn't know what to do with it. Hacking into satellites, breaking into private databases, commandeering street cameras—she wouldn't know the first place to start to do any of that. Tracking devices, bank account freezing, hunting.

  She was no good at any of it.

  Alexandra's voice, so many years ago, sounding the alarm over RFID chipping and facial recognition, echoed through her mind. They'd all known they were on limited time before finding a new way to outsmart the system. The noose had grown tighter and tighter around their collective throats.

  Ruminating, she studied Christian and Rhett. They'd both put their lives at risk to save her, were even now plotting ways to keep her out of the Templar's reach. But what would their reaction be if she blurted out that she was a daughter of Eve? It would be impossible for them to believe. A far out tale that might bring her sanity into question. There was nothing about her that suggested she was any different than any other woman and in truth, there wasn't except for her lineage, her immortality, and her ability to heal at a faster rate than most people. She had no special magic to prove herself, nothing but a mark on her wrist that could be explained away as a scar or a tattoo.

  Simply waltzing them into the Garden of Eden was against the rules. She recalled a scroll, passed down through the centuries, that could validate her existence. Could prove she was who she said she was. Except, if she was correct, that scroll and the box it was contained in should be located in the vault below the Vatican. The very people who had the proof to save her were the same ones trying to kill her.

  “What's on your mind, Evelyn?” Rhett asked.

  Yanked out of her reverie, she made eye contact with him. He was looking at her in that incisive way again, as if he sensed there was more here that she wasn't telling him.

  “I'm just concerned, that's all. Wouldn't you be? It seems like everywhere we go they're right on our tail.” It was the truth, it just wasn't the whole truth.

  Rhett didn't look like he believed her. His expression seemed slightly accusing.

  “I told her that we might have to move hotels,” Christian said, interrupting the stare down. He stepped past Rhett for the cooler, snagged his own bottle of water and reduced it to half in three long swallows.

  “Will that really help anything, though?” she asked. “They seem relentless, ruthless, not to be put off just because they've lost track for a second.”

  Evelyn knew that was the truth of it. As long as they breathed, she and her sisters would never be rid of the threat. Rubbing her brow, she paced through the living area.

  “It just depends how close we think they're getting. It'd be better if we knew who 'they' were, or what we're dealing with here.” Rhett finished off the water at the same time as Christian and both men tossed the empty bottles in the trash.

  There was that edge to his voice again. Hinting. Luring. Suggesting that he knew she had more information. Grouchy and bitter at being forced to hold her tongue, she avoided eye contact.

  “I'll take first shift downstairs,” Christian, said, glancing at his watch.

  “Thanks for your help, Christian.” As irritable as she was, she didn't forget her manners.

  “I'll relieve you at two-thirty,” Rhett said on his way to the balcony doors. There, he double checked the lock and yanked the sheers over the panes.

  Christian made his quiet goodbyes and departed.

  ***

  On her way to the door to engage the second bolt and the chain, Evelyn turned her mind from the Templars with determination. Instead, she mentally went over the lessons of the day in explicit detail. Once she'd gotten somewhat comfortable with the weapon, she'd managed to hit her target better than ninety percent of the time. Not bad for someone who loathed pulling the trigger. Rhett had remained patient if commanding and lavished praise on her for a job well done.

  “Thanks, I was coming to do that,” Rhett said somewhere behind her.

  “Better to be safe than sorry.” She squeezed past him and went into the kitchenette for something to drink. Food wasn't an option until she felt more settled and her stomach worked out of the knots the tension had tied it into. Opening the cooler, she stared at bottles of juice, tea, soda and water.

  Hyper aware of Rhett and his presence, she felt him close the distance. The kitchenette was so small that he seemed to obliterate the entire space. She couldn't really see past him and certainly couldn't get past unless he let her.

  “You all right?” he asked, reaching past her to grab an apple. He snapped off a bite and crunched it between his teeth.

  The light bump of their bodies sent a jolt through her. She closed the cooler door, forgetting to snag a drink.

  “Of course, why wouldn't I be?”

  “Because you won't look me in the eye. If I've learned anything about women in my time on earth, it's that a woman is not telling you something when she can't even look at your face.”

  She scoffed. The toes of her dusty shoes became intensely interesting. “I'm just trying to decide if I want to get some sleep now or wait another hour. If I go too early, I'll be up in the middle of the night.”

  Rhett cracked off another bite of apple. He stood so close she could smell the sweet scent mingling with his masculine one.

  “You know what I think already. Get the rest while you can.”

  “Yes, because we never know when the—those men might find us.” Evelyn cursed her wayward tongue. Rhett made her forget herself.

  Rhett's few seconds of silence assured her that he'd caught on to her slip. “That's right. I've got things out here. Why don't you go sleep.”

  Because I can't get past without touching you, you ox. Evelyn curtailed the mental rant. It wasn't his fault she was so aware of him.

  Well, actually...yes. Yes it was.

  When she glanced up, she found him studying her in that way that unnerved her.

  “What?”

  “Just trying to figure you out, Miss Grant.”

  “Why was I Evelyn earlier and now I'm Miss Grant again?” she demanded, suddenly irritated. The rakish smile he flashed annoyed her.

  “Are you saying you prefer me calling you Evelyn?” he asked in a far too silky tone.

  “I am not.”

  “Then why are you bristling?”

  “I'm not bristling. You're just being brutish--” Unprepared for the way he snagged her around the waist with one arm, she whuffed a breath when he brought her flush against him.

  Without looking, he set the half finished apple on the counter and stared down at her.

  Evelyn couldn't accurately describe his expression; searching, scrutinizing, calculating. None of the above. All of the above.

  “If I was being brutish, Miss Grant, you'd know it. Why don't you just say what you mean? You've stopped or stalled yourself several times.”

  “Does it annoy you?” Breathless, she planted a hand against his chest. She wasn't sure if it was to push him away or to feel the solid muscle under the shirt and vest.

  “Not half as much as it makes me curious over what you're not saying.” He let the suggestion sit between them, a blatant invitation for her to clear the air.

  “I just want to know why sometimes you call me Evelyn, and other times you call me Miss Grant.”

  “There's a lot of things I want to know that I'm not getting the answers for.” He arched a brow pointedly.

  Had he guessed she was keeping secrets, or did he mean generally, in regard to the men who'd abducted her? Even as her spine stiffened she saw his eyes narrow. Rhett was trained to pick up on the smallest cues, she reminded herself. He probably knew the whole time that she'd been keeping vital information back.

  And yet there they stood, staring into each others eyes
in a way that had nothing to do with his being an agent or her being a victim of a brutal assault. Tension thick enough to cut filled the space between them.

  Bringing his other hand up, he covered hers over his chest. Trapping it there. Beneath her palm, she felt the steady thud of his heartbeat.

  Get ahold of yourself, Evelyn. This won't work. It can't. In a day or two, once the girls are safe, he'll be out of your life forever.

  The pep talk didn't work well when he bent his head, watching her eyes the whole time, and kissed her. A brush of lips, warm and apple scented. Almost like he was testing her resolve, or asking permission. Maybe he wanted to see if she could resist him.

  She couldn't. Ignoring the inner warning bells, she opened her mouth under him.

  That was all the invitation he needed. Plundering her with suggestive strokes of his tongue, he deepened the kiss until she was dizzy. Under her hand, she felt his heart rate speed up. Her own raced, making the blood rush in her ears.

  With a low sound that reminded her of a growl, he broke the kiss apart.

  Close range, she stared at his face, drawn to the longing he exuded that was like a silent clarion call. Reaching up, she brushed her fingers across the texture of his whiskers, curious and unable to help herself. Prickly and rough, they rasped against her skin and left a tingle in the wake. His eyes darkened when she dared to initiate the touch.

  Evelyn lost interest in being confrontational and irritated. He seemed to sense it, drawing his hand through her hair to cup the nape of her neck.

  The next kiss started out hot, and grew hotter by the second. There was something desperate and needy about it, a sensation she derived from them both, like they knew they were on limited time. And there were a thousand reasons to just let go. Give in to the desire and the passion. The most prominent one was that they might be parted tomorrow and Evelyn knew she would regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't have this memory to take with her when they split. She didn't just need to take a part of him with her, she wanted to. This was different than every other interaction she'd had with any man and it seared her to the core.

  Pulling her harder against him, he drove his tongue into her mouth with hungry swipes. Molding her to the strength of his frame, Rhett seemed to want to burn the memory of her against his body. She reveled in the hard plane of his stomach and the breadth of his chest. Sweeping her into his arms, he kissed her all the way into the bedroom—not hers, but his—and laid her on the covers. Coming over her like a dark shadow in the gloom, he pressed her into the mattress, made of rough groans and determined hands and a grinding pelvis that quickly drove her wild. It escalated from there to the impatient tug and yank of clothing, stripping each other until it was only her skin and his.

  Every stroke of his hips and hands were commanding, possessive, and the look in his eyes when he made her his melted the barriers around her heart that she'd spent a lifetime building. Her nails marked his back and his teeth scored her throat, leaving blush-bruises that would disappear by morning. She wasn't so sure that the furrows she left on him would do the same. They felt deeper, like the imprint of his passion on her soul. It was more than sex, more than a release.

  And she knew that he felt it, too.

  By the way he stared into her eyes, touched her cheek, kissed her with the same rhythm of his hips. Stroke for stroke, branding himself inside her. It unraveled like a whiplash and she buried his name in his neck, panting and breathless, while he shuddered and held her like something precious and sacred.

  No words could make it more beautiful and so they remained silent, touching with gentleness instead of ardor, until she fell asleep tangled with him in an endless splay of limbs and heat.

  ***

  Rain. It drug her up from the abyss with its gentle pressure pattering in her ears. Fluttering her lashes open, she saw the designs on the ceiling. Night still had a grip on the city beyond her windows; her gut told her that as much as the gloom wrapping itself through her bedroom. As clarity returned, she realized it wasn't rain but the steady hiss of water from the shower. Too groggy to figure out if it was Rhett or Christian—was Christian even back yet?--she sat up in bed.

  Her body ached in all the right places in all the right ways. Evelyn couldn't remember feeling so sated and content. Pushing at the wild mane of her hair with a hand, she slid her legs over the edge of the mattress.

  She smelled like him.

  So did the sheets.

  Struck by a sudden fit of ridiculous excitement, she got to her feet. It felt like the universe had cracked itself open and exposed a whole other world for her to explore. The men she'd chosen to spend time with on this earth all had their good qualities, but not one of them left her like this: blush cheeked, buzzing with pleasure, like a lost puzzle piece had finally found its place. Evelyn had always been practical where men were concerned, only staying in relationships long enough to enjoy the company but never long enough to threaten her safety.

  After a while, people were bound to ask questions when they aged and you didn't.

  Realistically, she knew she shouldn't lead herself on. Shouldn't lead him on. But she was too caught up in all the things that felt right, engaging in a moment of self indulgence.

  The sight of their clothes strewn everywhere had an air of reckless abandon that appealed to her. It also reminded her that she needed to get dressed.

  From her suitcase, she found a pair of jeans and a black shirt with capped sleeves to wear. Out of habit, she pulled shoes and socks on and stuffed the pockets with her usual items. Money, identification, credit cards.

  Even if she decided to go back to bed at some point, she wouldn't sleep naked in Rhett's room while he was gone on duty. Paranoia assured that she stayed as prepared as she could be.

  In the living room, she pulled the mass of her hair back into a ponytail and glanced at the glowing numbers of the mantel clock: 2:05 a.m.

  Christian was due back in less than half an hour. Stifling a yawn, resisting the urge to interrupt Rhett in the shower, she decided to get a drink while she waited.

  The front bathroom sat between her bedroom and the kitchenette. She had to pass it to get to the cooler. Rhett had left the door cracked, doubtless to allow him to hear in case anyone tried to get in. It was just a glance she spared in that direction on her way by. The mirror spanning the sink bounced his reflection back at her; the glass doors, etched halfway up in designs and hieroglyphics, kept his modesty while exposing his torso. Even through the vague curl of steam, she could see him so clearly she might as well have been standing right in the bathroom instead of out in the hallway.

  But it wasn't the broad span of his back that stopped her, or the way the muscles flexed under the tawny stretch of his skin. It was a strange discoloration, like bruises, as if he'd suffered a major injury. She knew she hadn't done that much damage with her nails.

  Drawn closer to the door with concern, she squinted, too curious about what he'd suffered not to investigate.

  His skin seemed to be peeling back, and Evelyn wondered if he'd been burned. But no, it wasn't quite the same thing. The bruising, this close, started to take shape.

  ...the shape of an iron cross tattooed between his shoulder blades.

  With a gasp of utter shock, she bumped into the wall behind her.

  No. It couldn't be.

  Rhett Nichols could not be a Templar. He was a government agent--

  Silly fool. He's been playing you all along. They probably don't have your sisters but are hoping you'll lead the knights right to them.

  In seconds her mind connected all the dots; they'd covered up the anomaly with make up or a skin-like patch of some kind, maybe realizing she might get a glimpse of his back. Now it was peeling away from the direct power of the shower spray and maybe a little help from her fingernails.

  The betrayal felt like a sledgehammer to the gut and shock kept her pinned to the wall as if she'd been nailed there. He'd lied to her, deceived her. All those looks and ki
sses and--

  Oh god.

  Seducer.

  Liar.

  The bile rose up the back of her throat, thick enough to choke her. Christian, Dracht, Dragar. They were all Templar Knights.

  Thoughts of Christian and the knowledge Rhett wouldn't be long in the shower drove her into motion. She had money and her identification in her pockets but there was no time to grab extra clothes or a suitcase. Instead she went for a weapon.

  How fitting he'd taught her to use it so recently.

  From the holster he'd left on the table, she took the remaining gun. The other was probably in the bathroom with him for safety precautions. With shaking hands, she checked the clip like he'd taught her. Seeing the gleam of bullets, she jammed it back into the weapon and tucked it under the back of her shirt in her pants. She couldn't just run around Port Said with a gun in her hand.

  Wheezing, distressed, she glanced at the clock.

  2:17

  She had to get out of there. As it was, she might run into Christian on the way down the stairs. What would she say? What excuse could she give? Creeping toward the door, she disengaged the locks and the chain as quick and quiet as she was able to.

  “Evelyn, is that you?” Rhett called out from the bathroom. His voice echoed eerily off the walls in there, resonating.

  Maybe he'd turned around by then and had seen her pass by the door in the mirror. She didn't wait to find out but slipped out into the hall and broke for the stairs at a dead run. In her mind she determined how long it might take Rhett to really understand what was going on, get dressed, and come after her. Rushing headlong, she took the flight at a dangerous pace, circling down, down, down.

  Hitting the door, she fled into the market without looking back. So many people. Didn't anyone ever sleep?

  “Evelyn!” Her name snapped her gaze up to the balcony of their suite.

  Rhett stood there, even then yanking a shirt over his head; he'd already managed to get jeans on. The man was quick.

  Fear galvanized her into action; without a word, she charged through the crowd. She made hasty pardons when she elicited angry curses from the natives. Panic made her breath shallow. People stared at her, jostled her. Pushed at her.