by Autumn Dawn
“Ha! I knew it.” She whacked her closed fist against her thigh, vindicated. “She’s up to her old tricks again.”
Fallon edged discreetly away, earning a bemused frown from Andrea and a smirk from Mathin. “And those would be?”
“Matchmaking,” she all but spat. “The woman is determined to run my life. If she’d had her way I would have been married at seventeen and pregnant with my fifth child by now.” She looked away in disgust. “The only thing that’s kept her from setting me up before was a few thousand miles. Why was I stupid enough to change that?”
“I can sympathize,” Fallon murmured from the far side of the room. “My mother is much the same. However, as you gave your word and I’m still in need of a caretaker, this changes nothing.”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “You said yourself it was a mistake.”
“Actually, I was referring to something else entirely. This arrangement will work well enough. I do have one request, though.” He glanced at the vivid curtains and winced. “If you could pack away your grandmother’s decorations while she is gone I would appreciate it. She seems to have been busy since last I was here.” He looked her over speculatively. “You don’t have an affinity for bright colors, do you?”
She smirked. “It is pretty awful, isn’t it? But—”
Visibly relieved, he nodded at Mathin. “He’ll be glad to assist you in any way you require. Just take him shopping with you and he’ll see to your purchases.” He grinned at Mathin’s scowl. “Mathin adores shopping.” When the scowl turned positively lethal he added, “He’ll also be available to answer any questions you may have, since I don’t plan to be home much. This is somewhat of a vacation for him, so he might as well make himself useful. Do you drive a stick?”
Distracted from her list of objections, Andrea nodded.
“Good. Take your pick of the cars in the garage for work or pleasure. Mathin knows where the keys are.” And with that, he was gone.
“Wait!” Andrea ran to stop him, but Fallon was quick. “Where’d he go?” She took a step into the hall, looking determined.
To distract her, Mathin asked, “Where would you like to start?”
She turned and scowled at him. “I didn’t agree to stay, in case you didn’t notice. I was lured here under false premises. Tricked. Why should I stay?”
His gaze became very serious. Measuring. “Because you gave your word?”
She stilled. Stared at the floor. For a long moment she examined the tile, looking mutinous.
Finally, she glared at Mathin. “Fine, I’ll stay, but let’s get something straight. I’m not into you. You lay a finger on me and I’ll bite it off.”
He relaxed, leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. She was staying. “I understand ‘no’ very well.” His eyes dropped to the rapid flutter in her throat. “And ‘yes’ even better. Care to wager you’ll be saying, ‘yes, Mathin,” very soon?” His voice dropped an octave over the ‘yes, Mathin,’ making it sound breathy and eager.
“Give it up!” she muttered.
He came off the wall. “You want it?”
She made a growling sound in her throat and turned her head to survey the hall, ignoring him. After a moment, she mumbled, “I guess I ought to start with the sitting room.”
He regretted that last push. Granted, her pheromones were keeping his testosterone hiked, but he could work a little harder not to alarm her.
As penance, he helped her dismantle the garish decorations in sitting room. As long as she was close, he didn’t care what he was doing. Just being near her, close enough to breathe her in, was worth any amount of housekeeping.
Andrea felt a grim satisfaction as she yanked off her grandmother’s slipcovers and pulled down drapes. In a way she couldn’t help feeling some sympathy for her grandmother’s attempts to hide the starkly masculine leather beneath, but at least that was tasteful, and Andrea felt more comfortable with the simple lines than with her grandmother’s flowered flounces. It was the only comfort she found in the situation, though.
Much to her surprise, Mathin actually helped—and silently, too. After his macho display earlier, she would have pegged him as too “manly” to ever do anything as mundane as housework. Yet there he was, standing on a chair as he took down curtains for her, letting in the light.
It was hard not to notice how the back of his thighs flexed as he reached over his head for the rod. Her eyes traveled up, unwilling fascinated by the play of muscle along his back and shoulders. No wonder the man was so confident. Everywhere he went woman no doubt spoiled him. And who could blame them? Just look at the way the light haloed his body, outlined those long legs and that perfect rear end.
“Was there something you wanted?”
Andrea looked up, straight into a pair of knowing dark eyes. Unable to think of a likely excuse, she blurted, “Um...I was wondering where you got your accent. I don’t recognize it.” Nice save, Andrea, she congratulated herself.
He glanced at his backside, then slanted her an amused look from under his lashes. “Did you think my country was written on my pockets?”
Unable to look at him, she glanced around the room, her cheeks on fire. Desperate to save face, she continued on, “So where is it? Denmark? Holland?”
“A bit farther than that.” He dropped the curtain he was holding to the floor, replaced the rod and stepped down from the chair. He moved toward her, smiling at the way her eyes widened and her breath quickened as he approached. “If you like, I could take you there.”
Andrea laughed awkwardly. She didn’t know him well, but she’d swear he was dead serious. “Why would you want to do that?”
She didn’t see him move, but suddenly he held one of her braids in his hand. His attention fixed on the silky skein, he gently looped it around his finger. His eyes closed as he drew the sable tip across his lips. She could feel his warm breath on her cheek.
She made a small sound, protest or invitation. His eyes opened, and he allowed the braid to slip between his fingers, setting her free.
It was only after he’d left the room that Andrea discovered he hadn’t answered her. Suddenly she realized she stood there, watching an empty doorway with vision gone hazy. A sharp jerk of her head brought the world back into proper focus. Angry with herself, she flopped into a chair and gave the discarded pile of slipcovers at her feet a good kick. Tricky male.
It would help if he weren’t so confident.
She wanted to yell at her grandmother. Things had been going so well before she’d gotten slammed by the Matchmaking Diva. She should be in Chicago right now, hunting for her dream job. Instead she was sequestered in the frozen north, and it might be weeks before her grandma showed back up. Meanwhile, she had to deal with Mathin’s attempts to romance his way into her pants.
The thought of Mr. Confidence soured her mood enough to get her up and cleaning again. He probably slept with every woman who caught his eye. She yanked off a slipcover. She had higher standards than that.
Safe. Steady. Dependable. The words rang like a mantra in her head. There had to be a million guys out there with those qualities. There was no need to compromise with a man who’d break her heart when he inevitably got tired of her. Men like him didn’t settle for ordinary girls of no special beauty. Why would they when they could turn heads everywhere they went?
He was probably a model. She could see him getting love-struck fan mail.
Not that she cared, she told herself. He could do whatever he wanted as long as she wasn’t around to see it happen. She wouldn’t be here that long, and his vacation might even be up in a matter of days.
Maybe Zoë could pick up some applications for her so she could start job hunting. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to wow Fallon with her cooking. Surely he’d be willing to write a letter of recommendation for her resume?
It couldn’t hurt to be listed as a private chef—a well-paid private chef. Her grandmother had mentioned the generous salary she’d receive
d—a lavish sum that had gone a long way toward soothing Andrea’s sensibilities. Would Fallon pay her the same?
He’d better, she decided, sending a dark look toward the door. Especially if she had to put up with his friend in the interim.
As if conjured by her thoughts, Mathin appeared in the doorway with a steaming plate. “I thought you might be hungry.”
“Thank you.” Surprised by his thoughtfulness and intrigued by the tempting scent of curry, she followed him back to the kitchen. Another plate sat at the breakfast bar. Mathin set down the one he carried and moved around behind her. She twisted around to look at him suspiciously.
“It’s traditional to give thanks in this way,” he said, forestalling her questions. “We always say a blessing before meals.”
“I wouldn’t have taken you for a religious man,” she said skeptically.
His answering silence was that of a man who had nothing to prove.
Chastened, Andrea grudgingly obeyed his gesture and turned around to allow him to place his hands on her shoulders. His hands were very warm.
Mathin intoned a blessing in his low, rough voice and moved around the island to take his own seat. He said nothing as he picked up the silver chopsticks beside his plate and began to eat.
Disconcerted to find chopsticks at her own place setting instead of more familiar utensils, Andrea nevertheless chose to use them instead of seeking out a fork. By the stony look on Mathin’s face she’d offended him with her religious remark; she didn’t want to make it worse by scorning his selection of silverware.
The first bite of curried chicken and vegetables took her by surprise, and she opened her eyes wide at the sublime combination of coconut and heat. “This is really good!” she said, astonished. “I’ve never had anything like it.”
“Glad to have pleased you,” he answered without infliction.
She chewed her bottom lip. Okay, religion seemed to be a touchy subject with him. Who would have thought a flirt like him would put much stock in it? Still, wars had been fought for less, so she attempted to make peace. “It was thoughtful of you to cook for me. After all, it’s supposed to be my job.”
He gifted her with one oblique stare and returned to his meal.
She didn’t like being rebuffed, but it occurred to her that it was one way to get him to stop flirting with her. Maybe it was for the best.
She took another bite, hoping to break down the flavors so she could try to replicate them later. A little sweet, savory. Pleasantly salty. He sure could cook; too bad it was the only thing praiseworthy about him.
CHAPTER 3
“Here.”
Fallon handed Mathin a small packet. Inside were several sets of nose filters; the best defense a male Haunt had against a charmer, short of walking around changed. Only in his other form could a Haunt be unmoved by the pheromone, for a changed Haunt had no sex drive. “I went back to get some today. Jayems and Keilor were most amused to hear of my dilemma.” They’d had an interesting time dealing with Jasmine when she was still an unmated charmer. Fortunately, she’d married Keilor soon after she’d stumbled onto the Dark Lands, putting them out of misery. While still alluring, she was nowhere near the menace she’d been.
“And how is your fearless leader?” Mathin asked dryly, pocketing the packet. No doubt Fallon had already inserted the unobtrusive device, even though Andrea was nowhere in sight. Nor was she likely to invade Fallon’s private study.
Not that it looked much like a study, save for the laptop computer on the desk and the rows of books. No, with the numerous sheer red curtains and golden accents, it appeared to be fitted for more pleasurable pursuits. The impression was only reinforced by the red velvet chaise lounge between the diamond paned windows and the statue of twined lovers in the corner.
It was a vivid reminder that although Fallon might appear stuffy due to the distractions of this visit, he was still a sensualist at heart.
The ‘your’ did not go unnoticed by Fallon. “Still unwilling to admit formal allegiance, are we? It’s fortunate that Jayems takes your actions as fealty enough.” He settled back in his chair and inclined his head, watching Mathin with wry amusement. “You might be a lord, Mathin, and unarguably one of our finest warriors—”
Mathin raised a brow. “One of?”
Ignoring the interruption Fallon continued, “But even you have to admit that Jayems is the Lord of First Rank sometime.”
“Have I challenged him?” Mathin countered. So long as he did not he would happily go his way, never having to admit to anything. It had never been his way to make commitments, no matter what he felt in his heart. Any fool could give mere words. Actions were his way.
“Are you planning to give a filter to every male who comes calling, then?” he asked, returning to the original topic. He ran a finger over the bird’s eye maple that formed the top of Fallon’s desk and the matching bookcases. “They will not enjoy the loss of scent and taste.” He grimaced, remembering the weeks he’d spent escorting Jasmine through the swamps, unable to taste a single thing. “Better for them to remain in Haunt the entire time.”
“And frighten Andrea senseless?” Fallon half-grinned, picturing it. “Or are you hoping she’ll run to you for protection?” When Mathin didn’t answer right away, he cocked a curious brow, “What is this? Has time spent away from her cleared your head? Or are you still planning on claiming her?”
A muscle in Mathin’s jaw ticked. “I might have spoken too soon.”
Concerned for his friend, Fallon leaned forward and asked quietly, “Did something happen while I was gone?”
He was silent for a moment and then admitted, “She said I did not strike her as a religious man when I wished to bless the meal.” He grew furious again just thinking of it. On his world men were measured by their strength of will and by their honor. For believers, that also meant a test of allegiance to the Deity.
Besides all of this, he was a man of rank who’d earned his place. It was considered a great honor for a man such as himself to share a blessing with a woman, especially one of no special status. Another man might have become enraged at her slight, but he had endured it in silence. Still, even though he had never been a stickler for tradition and the privileges of rank, coming from her the insult stung.
Fallon blinked. Then he chuckled. “No, she wouldn’t, would she?”
Mathin’s scowl grew darker. One knuckle began to rap on the wood.
“Wait!” Fallon raised a hand and tilted his head, signaling patience. “Hear me out. Religious men are not warriors in her culture. She would not recognize a man who boldly acts on his desires as spiritual. The words don’t even exist together, according to this culture.” His gaze grew sly. “Not that our religion encourages sex before marriage, either. But she wouldn’t know that, would she? Not with you as an example.”
“As if you’re any better,” Mathin retorted, but accepted Fallon’s point. She had not intended to insult him, and that was what mattered. Perhaps he could forgive her.
“Not that I’m encouraging you,” Fallon said quickly. “One charmer in the Dark Lands is more than we need.”
“Is that disappointment I hear talking?” Mathin teased. “As I recall you pursued Jasmine right beside the rest of us.”
A wave of Fallon’s hand dismissed the notion as ridiculous. “I was no more in love with her than you were, you randy stag; but it was obvious Keilor was hopelessly smitten. At the time he was just too stubborn to admit it. I just helped to hurry things along by pretending to chase her.”
The look Mathin gave him was patently unconvinced. “Is that something I’m going to have to worry about?”
“Are you in love?”
“Of course not!” Mathin exclaimed, horrified. Lust was one thing, as was the desire to commit, but love was definitely not a wise thing.
Fallon’s grin was piratical. “Then why are you worried?”
The sitting room looked very different when Andrea finished with it. Tired and dusty
, but triumphant, she stood near the door with hands on hips and surveyed the room in the late afternoon light. The tall windows sparkled from their cleaning and there wasn’t a flowered print in sight. Brown leather overstuffed furniture, trimmed in brass, had emerged from the fluff. Once free of knickknacks, the end tables had proven to be topped with black and white marble and hand-carved of dark wood. Crystal lamps sat upon them, glinting with the polishing she’d given them. Add a fireplace and the room would be perfect. The overall effect was a touch stark, but she was confident that the reintroduction of a few feminine touches would soften and blend the rough edges. The next time she went to town she’d have to see about purchasing a few decorative pillows and a nice throw for the couch.
Her attention went to the bare parquet flooring, and she added an oriental rug to her mental shopping list. The pattern was very pretty, but rugs did add a nice tactile touch under the feet. An arrangement of silk flowers here and there and a few houseplants and the room would go a long way toward being comfortable.
Satisfied, she left the sitting room and headed upstairs, intent on cleaning up. At the top of the curving staircase, though, she paused, looking at the first door. Should she take a peek inside? After all, she hadn’t really explored up here in the short time she’d been here and her duties did extend to cleaning these rooms now and then, didn’t they?
Of course the fact that she knew it to be Mathin’s room had nothing to do with it.
Whatever she’d expected to find as the door swung silently open, it was not the plain, almost austere room within. If her grandmother had ever been here, it didn’t show, for there wasn’t an ounce of decoration anywhere. The only point of interest in the entire room was lying on the fawn colored suede comforter.
Drawn closer by curiosity, she left the door ajar and went to investigate. The object turned out to be a black belt with a holster for a gun and a dagger. The blued gun she left alone, but the obsidian metal of the dagger drew her attention. She traced the leather bindings of the hilt, fascinated by their texture, and carefully unsheathed the knife. It came free with a soft hiss.