“Of course I wasn’t.” He sounded seriously rattled now. “I know a great deal more about the Guardians than you do.”
Of course he did. He was an immortal and she was only a human. He’d had eternity to discover everything about the Guardians. But that didn’t necessarily mean he had.
She took another few steps until she was standing by the side of his desk. Until she could, if she wanted, reach out and spear her fingers through his gloriously tangled hair.
Hair that she had tangled earlier that day.
“I’m not disputing that.” She resisted the urge to press her thighs together in a futile attempt to dampen down the lust. She couldn’t let sex dictate every single move between them, no matter how enticing the notion. “But I know next to nothing about them and I’d like to learn.”
The silence vibrated between them as Gabe glowered at her as if she had asked for something outrageous. She stared back, refusing to break eye contact or utter another word. She’d told him what she wanted. It was up to him to respond.
Finally he muttered something under his breath. What was that language? She dearly wanted to know but now wasn’t the time to distract him with a tangent.
“Fine.” He sounded like he didn’t care one way or the other. “But you’re wasting your time. Their clauses are ironclad.”
Despite his negative attitude, anticipation sizzled through her blood. No matter how pessimistic Gabe was of discovering something she could use to her advantage, she just knew she would. She had to.
—
AURORA HAD JUST finished a late lunch of exotic fruits as Gabe strolled into the kitchen. He’d showered, his hair still damp, and he looked completely edible.
Without meaning to she licked her lips and tried not to drool. The legends might have got a lot wrong when it came to the angels but they’d certainly been right about the heavenly beauty. Only when he deposited a slender, faintly glimmering laptop on the table in front of her did she even realize he’d been holding something.
“I’ve reconfigured the language options. You need to imprint your DNA so it recognizes your commands.”
Her DNA? Why would a laptop need that kind of information? “How does it work?” There was no keyboard so far as she could see. “Does it connect directly to my brain or something?” She was joking, but Gabe shot her an assessing glance.
“The DNA imprint is a security feature.” He turned back to the laptop, and the screen suddenly blazed into rainbow-bright life. “I can access it psychically but I doubt you’ll be able to, despite your”—he paused, as if weighing up his words—“probable telepathic abilities.”
For a second she wondered why he assumed she was telepathic, and then remembered how he’d probed her mind when they’d first met. How staggered he’d been by the mental barrier she hadn’t even known she possessed. The protective barrier that, she guessed, was a natural part of her mother’s heritage to repel unwanted telepathic intrusion.
“Yes, I am telepathic. So’s my mother.” She hesitated for a moment then decided to share a little more. “All of my mother’s people are telepathic.” When Aurora had been growing up, her mother had loved telling her stories about her home. How people communicated telepathically as easily as they spoke aloud and how strange her mum found it that on Earth nobody did. Aurora and her mother had shared a telepathic link but Aurora had never discovered anyone else whose mind she could reach. Not that she’d exactly gone around trying. “But it’s not something I, you know, tell everyone about.” But she had the strongest urge to tell Gabe. To explain so he would understand why she had so desperately wanted to breach dimensions. “You see, the thing is—”
“You descended from witches. That’s okay, I won’t burn you at the stake.” He flashed her a sardonic smile as if he actually meant it. She was so distracted by both his smile and the fact he appeared to find nothing odd in his remark that she forgot to correct him. “Place your thumbprint here.” He indicated an indentation in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. “You can gain access to the cosmic web”—his lips twitched with amusement—“with this.” He placed a small crystal globe in front of her. “This is our version of the mouse.” Finally he touched the bottom of the frame and a wafer-thin keyboard slid out.
“This is amazing.” She ran her finger over the crystalline keyboard. “How’s it all powered? Do you have your own generator?” He had lights, air-conditioning, hot running water. Where did he get his power source?
“Solar, hydro and wind.”
Of course. She should have guessed.
“Environmentalists would love to get their hands on your technology.” Because Gabe’s version of harnessing the elements was light-years in advance of anything she’d come across before.
He stood back, folded his arms and frowned down at her, as if she’d just struck a nerve. “It’s not my technology. It was ancient knowledge here before I ever discovered Earth. And it’s a damn sight better than the so-called discoveries and advances made in your Age.”
Ancient knowledge? Before he had discovered Earth? She stared up at him, a dozen questions ricocheting through her mind.
He was referring to lost civilizations. Great, unknowable cultures that had existed before his time.
“How—”
“I’m not discussing it.”
She snapped her jaw shut. She wouldn’t get mad at his high-handed manner because he’d already given her the means to discover anything she wanted. It was also likely the dark-haired woman and their child had lived during that ancient time. Did she really want to remind Gabe of that—of them?
Unsure of how she did feel about that, she pushed the thought aside and stood up.
“Okay.” She could tell by the swift narrowing of his eyes that he’d expected more argument from her. For some reason that cheered her up and she managed a breezy smile. “Mind if I use your shower?”
“Go ahead.” As she moved past him and tried not to breathe in his seductive scent, he reached out and tugged gently on her hair. “You don’t have to ask, Aurora.” His tone was odd, as though her question had somehow bothered him. “This is your home, now.”
A strange pain lanced through her heart at his words. This would never be her home and they both knew it. And yet Gabe, in his own way, was trying to make her feel less alienated.
“Right.” She couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t trust herself to look at him, in case he saw . . . something he shouldn’t in her eyes. She focused on the door. He would see nothing in her eyes because there was nothing to see. “Thanks.”
With that, she made her escape.
Chapter Twenty-one
FOR a moment Gabe remained rooted to the spot, staring at the door that Aurora had disappeared through. Had he just told her this was her home? His sanctuary?
Sure, he had faced the inevitable fact she would remain here for the rest of her life but that still didn’t make this her home.
“Shit.” He glared around the kitchen before focusing on the laptop. It hadn’t occurred to him what Aurora might actually do with her time, but if she wanted to investigate the Guardians then at least that would keep her occupied.
Unsure why he felt so damned put out by what had just happened, he turned and followed her upstairs. She’d just reached the second-floor landing and he caught a seductive glimpse of shapely thigh and enticing pussy.
She needed clothes. He’d have a permanent hard-on if all she wore was a succession of his shirts. And since when had his shirts been so damn sexy on a woman in any case?
Since no other woman had ever worn his shirts since Eleni, he ignored the question and stamped up the stairs. Aurora had already vanished into the bathroom and he stared at the blue shirt she had worn yesterday, now crumpled on the floor next to the bed.
With a muttered curse he grabbed at it and saw a delicate golden chain tangled in the material. He tossed it onto the bed and his shirt down the laundry chute.
He was supposed to be hunting down abductors
, but Aurora couldn’t continue using his shirts. Gods, the simple necessity of clothing her hadn’t even crossed his mind. He didn’t have time right now to seek out enchanting outfits or enticing lingerie, no matter how much the image appealed.
There was only one thing he could do. He’d have to teleport to her house and bring back her personal belongings.
—
DESPITE HIS GLAMOUR that rendered him invisible to human eyes, the dogs sensed him the second he arrived in Aurora’s kitchen. He ruffled their fur and telepathically commanded them to ignore him. From the sound of things he wasn’t alone in the house, and the last thing he needed was inquisitive mortals investigating the dogs’ mournful whines.
The silver-framed picture Aurora appeared so attached to was where he’d left it on the workbench. He picked it up, gave the ethereal flower another dubious glance before sliding it into the black rucksack he occasionally used on missions. As he turned to leave the kitchen a man entered, his blue eyes instantly reminding Gabe of Aurora. But they were shadowed with fatigue and he slumped down onto one of the kitchen chairs, propped his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands, as if his brain hurt.
He was obviously Aurora’s father, and just as obviously sick with worry as to what had happened to her. A laptop was on the table and Gabe sent a subliminal message to the man. Log on to your email account. Gabe left the kitchen without a backward glance and strode toward the stairs.
When Aurora sent her message, her father could stop worrying. She was safe, and Gabe intended to ensure she remained that way.
Upstairs he glanced at the first room, instantly dismissing it as not the one he sought. A woman lay on the double bed, her hand across her eyes, and as he turned to try the next room she gave a muffled sob.
She’d have a lot more to cry over if her daughter had been taken by the Guardians. He pushed open the second door. This was more like it. Within seconds he’d filled the rucksack with the contents of the chest of drawers by the wall, plus all the feminine bits and pieces that were strewn across various surfaces. He had no idea where Aurora was going to keep all this stuff. He’d probably have to commission another piece of furniture for her.
He pulled open the closet door and piled her clothes, including the hangers, over his arm. Mission accomplished. He backed up, turned around and saw the woman standing in the doorway, staring directly at him.
For a split second his heart jolted. He could see where Aurora got her hair and freckles. It was like he’d been given a glimpse of her thirty years into the future. Instead of teleporting right away he shifted his focus to examine her aura. If Aurora was descended from an immortal—which seemed a possible answer after her remark that all her mother’s people possessed her telepathic abilities—there should be a residual element in her mother’s aura.
A shiver inched along his spine. This woman’s aura glowed, but it was shredded as though giant claws had ripped through the ethereal fabric of her existence. But despite its ruined state it was glaringly obvious she didn’t possess even a trickle of immortal blood.
And then he realized she was still staring at him. Not through him; at him.
Not possible. Humans, even those who possessed a modicum of psychic ability, couldn’t see through an immortal’s glamour. But he’d known Aurora’s abilities weren’t usual. Obviously neither were her mother’s. He should have gone for a level-two glamour just to be on the safe side.
“What are you?” Her voice was hushed, and he realized she didn’t possess the soft Irish brogue Aurora did.
Reason dictated he teleport immediately. He owed this woman nothing. Yet the strange glitter in her dark eyes unnerved him and the question reverberated in his own brain. What are you?
Where have you taken my child?
Her voice, strong and sure, split through his skull and his muscles tensed in shocked disbelief. Even the foremost telepathic races in the universe wouldn’t dare to take such a liberty without invitation. Only other immortals of similar status had that right.
She’s safe. He used the channel she had opened up, and although he was tempted to scan the outer edges of her mind he knew what he would find.
The same barriers, but likely far more powerful than those that shielded Aurora. At least he now knew who had taught her to protect her mind.
Bring her back. It was an imperious command but panic threaded through every word. And a fleeting flicker of remorse stabbed through his chest.
He would never bring her back. He couldn’t risk her safety.
“No.” He spoke aloud with finality. And returned to his island.
—
HE’D DUMPED EVERYTHING on his bed when Aurora emerged from the bathroom. Dressed in his black shirt, she had damp hair, her face was freshly scrubbed and she’d finally got rid of the remnants of those fishnet stockings. There was no reason on earth why he should find her irresistible. And yet he did.
Despite how much her presence was encroaching into his personal life.
Her eyes widened when she caught sight of her belongings. He folded his arms, not at all sure whether she’d be grateful or furious. It was disorientating, not knowing which way she’d fall. But on the other hand it was addictively intriguing.
“They’re my”—she hesitated, and stepped closer to the bed—“my things.” She sounded incredulous. “You went back and collected my things?”
“Don’t thank me. It was nothing.” He heard the sarcasm in his words but couldn’t help himself. He was an archangel, and here he was acting like a damn courier. What he couldn’t understand was why he didn’t feel more genuinely irked about it all.
He watched the blush heat her cheeks. It was clear she hadn’t expected him to bother trying to make her feel more comfortable in her new life and equally clear she had no idea how she felt about it.
“Thanks.” As gratitude went it was hardly mind-blowing, but since she appeared to be having trouble speaking he supposed it would have to suffice.
“You can hang your clothes in my closet. There’s plenty of room.” There wasn’t, but he was sure Aurora would find a way to squeeze her things inside. “It’s just temporary.” Until he sorted out the furniture issue.
“Yes.” The word rushed from her, as if she’d been holding her breath. “It’s only temporary.”
Satisfied, he relaxed and leaned back against the carved bedpost as Aurora gingerly peered inside his rucksack. The look of astonished disbelief on her face was priceless as she began to pull out all her personal bits and pieces.
He really didn’t have time to stay and chat with her—not that he wanted Aurora to chat with him in any case—but his curiosity demanded satisfaction.
“Your mother is one of the most powerful mortal telepaths I’ve ever encountered.”
The bottle of perfume she’d been holding slid through her fingers and she looked at him as if he’d just sprouted horns.
“You met my mother?” She sounded as if she couldn’t imagine anything worse. Given the circumstances he supposed he couldn’t blame her.
“Briefly. She not only saw through my glamour but she then telepathically demanded your return.” It hadn’t occurred to him before, but since Aurora also possessed that ability there should be nothing stopping Gabe and her from using a telepathic connection either.
Before he could put that theory into practice he realized she was staring at him as though he’d lost his mind. He should have kept his mouth shut. Why had he told her about her mother? Now Aurora would probably pounce on the comment and start another argument about how she had to find a way to return.
“She spoke to you telepathically?”
There she went again, veering off on strange tangents with her questions. Why was she so astonished that her mother had used telepathy? It had nothing to do with the etiquette of the situation since Aurora knew nothing of immortal etiquette. And even if she did he had the strongest suspicion it wouldn’t make that much difference to her.
“You sound s
urprised.” Shocked was closer to the truth. “You were the one who told me your mother’s family possessed that psychic trait.”
“Yes, but she’s not used it for years.” Aurora gripped the rucksack as she would a life-support system. “Are you sure she did, Gabe? You didn’t sort of probe her mind and read her thoughts by accident?”
“No, I didn’t.” Irritated by her accusation, especially since he had contemplated scanning the outer reaches of her mother’s mind, he shot her a scathing glare. “I don’t probe minds without a damn good reason and that goes for reading thoughts too.” She might descend from a long line of telepaths but it was obvious she hadn’t the first clue about how her power worked.
If he probed a mind it was never by accident and the thoughts he harvested during such a probe were read by design. While her abilities paled by comparison to his, the principles remained the same throughout every telepathic race.
Then again, Aurora didn’t come from a primarily telepathic race.
“I can’t believe she did.” Aurora’s face flushed. Was she actually saying she thought he was lying? “She stopped speaking to me that way ten years ago.”
And then he heard the underlying anguish in her voice. The sense of loss she had experienced over the last decade.
“Why?” He’d sensed no weakness in her mother’s link. If he didn’t know differently he’d be convinced she came from a species of pure telepaths. But on Earth humans had failed to explore that evolutionary option millennia ago.
He watched Aurora forcibly release her death grip on the rucksack. She put it back on the bed, folded her arms as if she was going into battle and finally looked up at him. Wariness clouded her beautiful blue eyes.
“You asked me, back in that demon’s den, what I’d been doing before you suddenly arrived on my land. You asked if I’d been trying to breach dimensions.”
He’d accused her. And she’d admitted her guilt. He didn’t want to go over it all again and couldn’t understand why she’d brought it up now. It no longer mattered. He was resigned to having her here. It wouldn’t be that bad.
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