TORCH: Underground Encounters 9

by Carlisle, Lisa

  But, not enough to ward off an attack of an out-of-control werewolf.

  Enough of that. You made it clear that you weren’t looking for anything long-term and neither is he. But, you have almost a month until the next full moon—a Supermoon. Why not enjoy it?

  The skin on the back of her neck prickled with apprehension. She hadn’t experienced a Supermoon since she’d been turned. Would it have a more powerful effect?

  As long as she took the potion, she’d be fine. She’d just spend another dreadful night in her basement.

  Nodding with resolve, she searched for ideas for dinner. Did he have any dietary restrictions? She hadn’t thought to ask him. Maybe she’d make a couple of options—chicken Marsala and eggplant parmesan. And a garden salad. After picking up some staples, she added a loaf of Italian bread to her basket. After all, it wasn’t often that she had a man over for dinner. She hadn’t gone on more than the occasional date since her divorce.

  Since the attack six months ago, even fewer. Precisely zero.

  As she walked home, a disturbing sensation prickled along her spine. She spun around and glanced the area, even scouring the sky for some odd reason. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary—cars drove in either direction down Main Street, people walked past. Some walked dogs, others headed into a nearby shop. Nothing indicating anything to concern her.

  Then why the odd feeling, like someone was watching her?

  Shit, she couldn’t add a dose of paranoia to her already toxic constitution.

  She brushed it off as she continued, concentrating on what she needed to do to prepare for dinner with Mattias.

  After entering her house, she washed the vegetables. She prepped what she could in advance, and then searched for something suitable to wear. She’d slung the siren’s dress that she wore last night over the arm of a Victorian chair in her bedroom. It mocked her with its presence, reminding her of her disastrous debut.

  She searched her closet and bureau drawers. There had to be something in there that didn’t scream conservative professor. The other options were jeans or gym clothes, which seemed far too casual. Sure, they weren’t headed out for dinner in a fancy restaurant, but she wanted to look nice for him.

  Finally, she found a black skirt that swirled above her knees and paired it with a soft cream top. She dried her hair into loose waves to frame her face and applied a bit more makeup than her usual daily wear, but less than the failed gothic seductress of last night. She covered the pale rose lipstick with a sheen of lip gloss and added an extra layer of mascara to draw attention to her dark blue eyes, which were her best feature.

  At precisely six o-clock, the doorbell rang. He’d arrived right on schedule. Was he always so prompt? She knew so little about him. Perhaps tonight that would change.

  When she opened the door, his presence filling the door frame reminded her how massive he was. He wore a button-down sage green shirt, which highlighted that color in his eyes. They weren’t brown as she’d thought, since she’d only seen him in the darkness of the club or outside at night, but a fascinating hazel. His gaze pinned hers, and strange flutters danced inside her rib cage.

  “Mattias.” Her voice came out entirely too breathy. She swallowed. “Come in.”

  He bent forward and kissed her on both cheeks in the French manner. Her cheeks warmed where his lips had touched her.

  He offered her a bottle of wine and raised a white box reading the name of a local bakery. “I brought dessert, too. Eclairs. They’re my weakness.”

  In his deep, rich French accent, it sounded even more enticing.

  “Mmm, delicious,” she murmured. Goodness, did she have to draw it out like that with a seductive edge?

  The bottle was cool in her hand, a stark contrast to the sudden heat that flushed through her. She glanced at the label. It was a Pinot Grigio that would pair well with what she’d prepared.

  “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes,” she said.

  “What can I do to help?”

  “You can open the wine and pour us a couple of glasses.”

  “On it.” He flashed a devilish smile.

  Tremors of heat traveled over her skin, pooling in her core. She glanced around her home. She’d chosen this space because she’d thought she’d feel more at home in the comfort of her familiar space. With the way her body reacted to him, acting normal might be a charade she couldn’t pull off.

  Chapter 8

  Amid the delicious scents of spices and baked bread that filled the room, Mattias detected Rachel’s feminine aroma.

  He breathed it in. “It smells delicious in here.”

  “Oh good. I wasn’t sure what you’d like. Chicken and eggplant, okay? I didn’t ask if you ate meat.”

  “You bet.”

  Her face appeared flushed, her cheeks pink and creamy against her shirt. It appeared as soft as her skin, instigating an urge to touch her. Her dark Mediterranean blue eyes flickered with excitement, while still hinting with mystery. Would he uncover any of her secrets tonight?

  He scanned the interior of Rachel’s home. She’d decorated the living room in subdued hues of tans and creams. A piano stood as the focal point in a smaller room. It had several windows that afforded a view of her garden. The setting sun cast shadows from a small Japanese maple tree that swayed over a bed of hostas and daylilies.

  “That’s an impressive piano,” he said. “Très beau.”

  “It was my parents. I ended up with it after they died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged one shoulder and dropped her gaze. “Thanks. It’s been six years now. In some ways I’m used to it; in others, I never will be.” She snapped her head up. “Do you play?” Her tone turned chipper.

  Changing the subject. He wasn’t fool enough to push a topic that hurt her. “No.”

  A beep caught their attention. “I better get that.” As she walked into the kitchen, she pointed out a dark wood, built-in china cabinet in the dining room. “Wine glasses and a bottle opener are in there.”

  The dining room was paneled in dark wood on the bottom half and painted cream on the top. Two paintings of gardens were mounted in the upper portion. A beautiful white orchid sat on a round oak table. He opened a glass door of the cabinet and pulled out a couple of glasses. Then he found the bottle opener. After pouring them a couple of glasses, he carried them into the kitchen, a bright yellow space with blue accents that reminded him of French country design.

  She placed a couple of pans on the stove top. After pulling off oven mitts, she accepted the offered glass.

  He raised his. “To our first date, take two.”

  She laughed and took a sip. Then, she appraised him. “I know I overreacted last night and I’m not sure how to explain it.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “Despite my actions, I did enjoy myself. Especially the part where we danced.”

  “Me, too.” The memory of her body pressed against his seared him with bolts of heat that shifted downward. His cock twitched with eagerness. “I’m hoping we have the chance again. Perhaps after dinner?”

  Her eyes flickered with excitement and then she broke the gaze. She pulled out a serving spoon. “I better serve this before it gets cold.”

  After they’d filled their plates and sat at a wrought iron table surrounded by her garden, they spoke on innocuous topics while they ate.

  Then, he turned the conversation to her.

  “This is the fourth time I’ve seen you, and I still don’t know much about you.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “Whatever you’d like to tell me.”

  She brought the glass to her lips. Close enough to caress, but she didn’t sip. Like she was shielding herself. She lowered the glass and then pursed her lips as if deciding what to reveal. He sensed he had to be careful and not push her.

  “I told you that I’m an assistant professor. With my parents gone, my closest living relative is my younger sister, Kelly. N
ot sure what else there is to tell.”

  He scrambled, looking for the right question. One that tugged at him came to the forefront. “What drives you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What excites you in life?”

  She peered at him. “That’s a good question. I have to think about it.”

  While they ate, she appeared to be deep in thought. She put down her fork. “Knowledge. My curiosity can be a burden and I’m rarely satisfied until I learn all I can on a topic that interests me.” She motioned to their surroundings. “See this garden? It started out as a hobby. But no, I had to get my hands on every book on gardening, and experiment with so many varieties to see what would flourish under what conditions. Much like in chemistry. Searching for the right combination.”

  “Interesting. I never thought about the world in quite that way.”

  “How do you see it?”

  He leaned back in his chair and his gaze drifted off. “Sometimes I dwell on things that are unfair. When someone exercises control over another. Other times, I admire the beauty of art or nature. This orchid, for instance.” He pointed to the white potted flower. “I’m fascinated by what created it.”

  She tilted her head and nodded slightly. “Is that what drives you—creating things?”

  As he rolled his fingers through his hair, he released an audible breath. “That’s something I’m still trying to discover. Unfortunately, I don’t have any talent.”

  “Or, you haven’t discovered it yet.”

  “Maybe. It’s one of the reasons I stopped working security at Vamps. There has to be something more, right? Some meaning in what I do.”

  “You don’t think that had meaning to it?” Her eyes fixed on his in a way that expressed how she was truly interested in his answer.

  His pulse ticked faster. He wasn’t used to conversations like this. In the club, there would be flirting, banter, and so on. This seemed more—authentic.

  And in a way that terrified him.

  “I do.” He had to be careful with how much he revealed. “Protecting people is part of how I’m wired.” It was ingrained in his species. “Yet, I want to do more.”

  “You’re still young.” She raised her glass. “May you find your calling soon.”

  He raised his glass and toasted her in return. “And may you acquire all the knowledge you seek.”

  She smiled, but when she put down her glass, he noticed a slight tremble of her fingers. Something disturbed her.

  “Is that what you’re working on this summer?”

  “Yes.” She smiled, but he sensed she was still hiding something. “The more we can learn about how substances interact, the better we’re able to improve the world we live in. We can come up with medicine to treat the ill, and so on.”

  “You fascinate me,” he blurted out. The more he learned about her, the more he wanted to discover. This conversation was far too intense for a woman who didn’t want a relationship. He glanced around her place. “You have a beautiful home.” That was simply a polite observation, right?

  “Thanks.” She laughed. “We’re back to safe topics again, I see.”

  “You know what they say about better safe.” He grinned. “Have you lived here long?”

  Her brows furrowed. “Three years.” Her expression tightened. She took a sip of wine and then faced him. “I should probably tell you I was married for a short time. I lived here with my ex.”

  “Oh.” His gut tightened with an uncomfortable twitch. He pictured her living here with another man and was sorry he’d asked.

  Then again, he’d wanted to learn more about her. Was the breakup of her marriage what haunted her? It would make sense. In fact, it would make more sense than what he’d guessed earlier with it being related to her research.

  “Did this happen recently?” he asked.

  “We divorced early last year after being married less than two.” She shook her head and raised her hands to both sides. “We were young and foolish, and soon realized that it was a mistake.”

  “That happens often, right?”

  “Perhaps,” she replied in a noncommittal tone.

  Yes, this topic definitely had to be the source of her wariness. It also explained her reticence. “Where is he now?”

  She pulled her lips into a grim line. “Married to someone else. He didn’t wait long to move on. They’re expecting their first child in a few months.” She ran her fingers up and down the stem of her glass and then raised her eyes to meet his. “What about you?”

  She was deflecting again. “What about me?”

  “Any serious relationships? Any kids?”

  It was his turn to close up. “No.”

  “To either question?”

  “Right.”

  “Ever?”

  “Never.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  “All I know about you is that you’re from France and you used to work at Vamps. Anything else you’d like to add?”

  He spun his wine glass and tapped his foot. How could he explain that he was a gargoyle shifter and up until recent months, he’d been encumbered by a curse that had prevented him from having much of a life. He was no more animated than the stone fountain tucked into the corner of her garden.

  The answer was simple—he couldn’t. She was human and would run away from him quicker than she had from the club the other night.

  So, what was he doing here?

  Good question.

  He cut a piece of chicken and chewed carefully while he formulated an answer. He was allowing himself to grow closer to this woman, which was counter to his plans to leave town. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

  He had to give her something, though. Otherwise, how could he expect her to reveal anything?

  After he swallowed and followed it up with a sip of wine, he said, “Remember last night when you’d said you weren’t looking for a relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m guessing that has something to do with your ex.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I thought we were going to talk about you?”

  He shifted in his chair. “Yes. I’m just trying to explain that I understand you not wanting to get involved with anyone.”

  She studied him. “Did you get burned by someone?”

  “In a way,” he replied. He’d been a casualty in the witch Veronique’s quest for vengeance.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That part of my life is over now. I’m trying to move on. Is that what you’re doing?”

  She released a breathy sigh. “It’s complicated.”

  He smiled to himself. “Life usually is.”

  “Let’s not talk about this now, okay? I’m enjoying myself far too much to spoil it.”

  He nodded. “Message received.”

  After they’d finished dinner, they moved on to dessert in her living room. She played music from her phone. Amy Winehouse’s voice surrounded them, singing that “Love is a Losing Game.” Possibly. He didn’t know about love, and this wasn’t about it. Companionship, maybe.

  Why question it?

  He took a bite of the éclair and savored the succulent sweet chocolate and cream, while being distracted by her lips. Would they taste just as sweet?

  He managed to keep his hands to himself while they ate. Once they cleared off the plates and returned to the living room, he extended his arm. “How about that dance?”

  She furrowed her brows. “Here? Now?”

  “Yes.” He pulled her into his arms, holding one of her hands and then placing the other on her lower back.

  Without those stiletto heels, she barely reached his chest. His body tightened with anticipation, reacting to her closeness and touch. A strange urge to care for her rushed through him. Why was he responding in such a peculiar manner to this woman?

  Resisting that call, he kept a respectable distance between them as he glided her across the hardwood floor, relishing the feel of h
er in his arms.

  Her scent wrapped around him, stirring him in an unfamiliar way. The physical hunger was clear, but with something else. Something that reminded him of home.

  That didn’t make a grain of sense. Although he’d lived in the States for years now, he still considered his homeland France. She lived here. No apparent connection.

  “How different this is from the club,” she noted.

  Indeed. They’d been surrounded by others that night. Their bodies had been too close to ignore the rising heat between them. But still, they hadn’t been alone like this. And now, this dance, far more modest, whispered as far more intimate.

  “Just the two of us,” he said. “I like it.” Far too much.

  “Me, too.” Her eyes glimmered with desire.

  Did his own show the same ardent yearning? His gaze fell to her lips.

  Fuck. He wanted to kiss her so badly. She seemed on board, but he’d read her wrong in the past. The last thing he wanted to do was push her to run again.

  “Rachel.” His voice came out with a rasp.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t want to screw this up. Show me a sign.”

  Chapter 9

  Rachel held her breath, captured by the intensity of his gaze. He asked for a sign, but she could barely function. If he kissed her, she might evaporate. If he didn’t, she might cease to exist. Could she escape this situation unscathed?

  She’d thought that in the safety of her home, she’d feel safe. Although Mattias cared for her in a way that comforted her, it also left her reeling.

  And, then, following what her body yearned, instead of the chaos in her mind. Her eyes fluttered closed as she reached up on her tiptoes and brought her lips to brush his. Frissons of fire traveled over her skin. He stiffened as if surprised by her bold move. She was just as shocked that she’d acted upon instinct rather than reason.

  That mere touch wasn’t enough. She wanted more.

  Mattias released her hand and moved his up to the back of her neck. He cradled it and then bent down, capturing her mouth. His tongue caressed her lower lip and edged a way through her parted lips. She opened them wider, and he explored her with what seemed like tentative fascination. The taste of chocolate and sweet cream filling of the eclairs lingered, adding a luxurious richness to this kiss.