FicWad

For some reason, fifteen does not show in the previous post for me. In case it doesn't for others, I am reposting here. If you have already seen it, forgive the repeat.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Faelen watched Tynan sleep. Although his gaze traveled over her features, he thought of her mind for the moment. It had required vast convincing arguments and subtle bribes on his part to convince her to go willingly to England this morning. She’d not relented without a fight.

Her lips parted and she gave a soft, purely feminine moan. The violet shadows beneath her thick lashes told him how he’d exhausted her. A faint darkening of her lips betrayed the affects of his demanding mouth. The stamp of the effects of his passion on her made him hard all over again.

Mine, he thought.

His internal clock told him they had less than two hours before the scheduled departure. “Mae ilshlava, resi ve.”

She rolled onto her belly and buried her pretty face in the pillow. “G’way.”

Faelen chuckled. “Resi ve.”

“No habla,” she said, words muffled.

He would see she learned his language. For now, he responded in kind. “Es manana, querida. ”

“Aaaaggghhhh.” Tynan flipped onto her back and swung the pillow at him. “I wish I’d lied about having a current passport.”

He plucked it from her grasp, tossed it in the floor. “I’ve been wondering why you did. Planning a trip or already had one?”

“Last year Lam went on a buying trip to France. I’d planned to go, too, then decided I couldn’t afford it.”

“Any last minute requests,” he queried. “I can have someone make a quick visit to the apartment and meet us at the airstrip.”

She shook her head. “Whoever went last night got what little I needed.”

Three days from now, they had an appointment at an exclusive boutique on The Strand. Between now and then he had to convince her to go along with his intention to have the proprietress outfit her for the rest of their trip. Especially, the parts she did not yet know they would take.

Tynan wrinkled her creamy-skinned brow. “Are you sure you can leave your guests like this?”

He smoothed the little lines with his finger. “When they arrive Fen will explain the circumstances. The hospitality of the house will remain theirs.” Faelen omitted they’d all attend the same Halloween Masque he and Tynan would, at Lord and Lady Paris’ residence in Paris, All Hallows Eve.

Faelen took her hand and held it to his bare chest. Despite what she would allow him to do to her once he’d aroused her, she did not offer her touch. Not the way he gave his to her. He’d remedy that, and the way she tried to retreat after sex.

She glanced at her hand upon him. “Shouldn’t we get moving?”

He saw straight through to her spine. She’d attempted the same ploy last night; to deny him until she could no longer. His mate feared her response to him. He theorized something she’d seen his painting of her caused it.

He leaned down, brought his mouth close to hers. “Cressner will wait.” He’d decided not to make love to her again until she initiated it. But make it a damn supreme priority to induce her to action.

“You know the pilot?” She pushed at him for a tell-tale second.

“I employ him.” Faelen sank his fingers into her tumbled hair. The warm silk of it made his belly tighten. He watched her face, saw the way her pupils dilated, and lips parted. “I can smell my skin on yours. Do you know what it does to me?”

“I can feel it poking my hip.” She blushed the instant she replied.

“Sore?” He traced her top lip with his tongue, nipped the lower. Knowing he’d snare himself in the plot, he nonetheless resolved to see it through.

She wiggled her fingers in his grip, but lifted her head to increase the contact. “A little.”

“I could,” he shifted lower in the bed, pressed his mouth to her throat. She sucked in a sharp breath. He dragged the sheet from her, bent, kissed her smooth belly. “Kiss it better.”

Tynan moaned. She pulled her hand from his, scooted up a bit. He allowed it, studying her.

“I should ... jump in the shower.”

Faelen steeled himself to the desire raging in him. “All right.” He rolled to the bed’s edge and stood. Naked and aroused, he gave her a moment to look at him. She seemed confused. Good, it told him she expected him to ‘force’ her again. Alleviate her of guilt.

“Ladies first,” he told her, dragging on his pants. “I’ll tie up a few details.”

Faelen turned his back as he buttoned the fly over his rampant erection. Not an easy task. He walked into his dressing room, pulled a clean shirt over his head and slipped his feet into a pair of low Cassock shoes.

He stopped by the bed, where she sat amid the twisted bedclothes, a sheet clutched to her bosom. “Kiss me, ilshlava.”

Her loose hair flowed over her naked body, in a display so inviting, for an instant he reconsidered his plan. Refusing to accept less than everything, he girded himself. She tucked her knees under her, rose, and reached for him with one slim, apricot-skinned arm.

Faelen bent and let her press her sweet lips to his in a brief kiss, all the while battling the fierce urge to push her back on the bed and bury himself in her tight wet heat. He left her there, and descended the stairs.

As she’d slept last night he’d phoned his domestic staff in London , Yvette’s boutique, Lady Iolanthe and Lord Dougray in Paris and Kai, on whose Pacific island they would spend a week. This morning, he need only confirm last minute details. Entering his study, he made the necessary calls.

Faelen finished, left his study, crossed to the stairs and ascended to his boudoir. Tynan stood packing her purple duffel. She wore her hair up in a simple knot, a blue blazer over a white oxford, jeans and heavy tread loafers. A sharp tang of defensive anger underscored the scent of her stimulated body and peach body lotion.

He’d anticipated this. Rather than soothe her, he wanted her to steam and steep until she attacked him. Her outbursts of anger he could easily convert to passion, he’d learned.

“I’ll not take long.” He entered the bath, showered, and dressed within fifteen minutes. In the hours while Tynan slept, he’d attended details, packed and sent his bags with Eldon. Only getting to the airport demanded his attention now.

Tynan had taken her bag and descended to the library he saw, as he emerged from the bath. He observed her when he approached the stairs. She stood before the hearth, staring into its dancing flames. The little frown line he expected at such moments, creased the smooth skin between her elegant brows.

Faelen would bet his worldly belongings his earlier actions inspired it. She definitely wanted sex without the guilt, liked the idea of his ‘forcing’ her. He would not give her the luxury of ‘victimhood’ again.

He joined her. She did not take her eyes from the fire. Still, he felt her attention shift to him. For a long moment he did not speak. Then, he gathered her to his side. She resisted enough to save pride, he thought, then curved into him.

“It pleases me you’ve agreed to the trip,” he told her.

“I don’t think I’m pleased with myself.” She did not try to pull away from him.

“Don’t berate yourself for chasing a rainbow.”

Tynan turned in his half embrace. Her sparkling eyes searched his. “Am I chasing one?”

“Yes.” Faelen gathered her closer, until her full breasts pressed low on his chest. “You should. If we don’t take chances, explore, we do not live.”

“Even,” her tone changed, “vampires.” Self-defensive doubt drenched her words.

Faelen released her. “I recognize this ground.” His temper began to simmer. “Back to ‘Bela Legosi’ mentality.” He took her shoulders into his hands. “Tell me.”

“I believe,” she confessed, “I may have been snowed. You could’ve faked -- everything. Anything-- to suit your purpose.”

“It occurred to me you might not have truly accepted.”

“I only know what I think I saw or believe I felt,” she contended.

Faelen forced himself to calm. He risked much in giving her a family, an anchor to the world of the uninformed humans. “That doesn’t concern me.”

Her eyes widened and her lips parted. A swift intake of air told him the effect of his words. “Excuse me?”

“I worry over your reaction to the truth. Not doubt.”

Tynan rubbed her forehead. “I just don’t know.”

He picked up her bag and took her hand. “We’ve a plane to catch.”


Faelen ignored her silent treatment as they flew to JFK. He read the financial reports his London solicitor faxed him the day before, a follow up from the investigator who’d discovered her relative’s, and made entries into his computer log. When the jet touched down to top off the fuel tanks, he offered her lunch on the town.

“No thanks,” she replied, maintained the same coolness she had during the cross-country flight. Her slim nose remained buried in the Ripping Jack book Karen loaned her.

I know a place not far from here,” he persisted, “an inn that serves wonderful food.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather not have to get off and back on.”

Faelen caught his flight attendant, Brigitte’s, attention. “Dejeuner pour une, sil vous plait.”

“Qui’est-ce vous desirez?”

“Du poisson.”

Brigitte nodded. “Oui. Tout de suite.”

Tynan marked her page, closed the book and set it aside. “I didn’t catch much of that.”

He stretched out his legs. “I ordered you lunch.”

“Oh.” Silence for a moment.

His vampire senses detected fear and anger. The anger he realized stemmed from him. “Tynan,” he clasped hands with her. “Was this your first flight?”

“Yes.”

“You all right?”

“No.” After a brief hesitation, she said, “I’m terrified.”

“Tell me why.”

“Because the last time I saw my parents they were getting on a plane.”

Faelen digested that, considered her canceled trip to France. “The trip you were to take with Lam. Did fear or finances change your mind?”

“Fear mostly.”

If not for the issues he had to settle with her, he could have kept her in the jet’s stateroom, too busy to worry. “You hid your emotion well in San Francisco.”

“It seemed like if I let anything out, I’d fall to pieces.”

“You should have told me.”

“I managed.”

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll have Brigitte bring wine with your meal.”

“Tell her to bring the bottle.”

Faelen smiled.



By the time they stopped to refuel, the late night, heavy meal and two glasses of wine had taken their toll. She fell asleep not long after take off. He carried her back to the stateroom and placed her on its big bed. Pulling back one side of the white spread, he covered her.

He would have far preferred ditching his plan to make her come to him. But as he’d told her, he wanted everything.

The hours past quickly. When the pilot, Cressner, announced over the intercom they’d land at Heathrow within twenty minutes, Faelen went to wake Tynan. He leaned down and kissed her mouth. Lips soft and flushed from sleep tempted him to further taste. She moaned low in her throat and opened for him. Faelen ended the kiss when she reached for him. He knew the limits of his ability to resist.

We’re about to land in London

Her sable lashes stirred, lifted. The warm light his touch had put in her eyes vanished as she glanced around. “You moved me.”

“To the back of the jet.” Faelen helped her up from the bed. His gut gave a swift twist as her hair tumbled down. She put up her hand to catch the barrette which had moored it.

“I can’t believe I slept so long.” Tynan twisted her hair back up into a coil at her nape, and secured it with the efficient ease.

“The sauvignon blanc helped.”

“I need a few minutes.”

He nodded to her little carry on he’d brought in with him. “I’ll wait for you.”

Faelen chafed at the self-imposed restraints on his behavior. He didn’t allow himself to pace or otherwise show it. Instead, took a seat and watched out the window.

She emerged from the stateroom, dropped her bag and sat down only a few minutes later. Buckling her belt, she said, “I’m excited. Since I was about eight and watched a documentary about The Tower of London, I’ve dreamed about coming here to see the sights.”

“No more fear of flying?” He wondered if she’d catch the innuendo.

If she did, she concealed it well. “Not too much. Getting on required the greatest effort.”

“You hated giving the control to someone else as much as anything.”

“Probably,” she replied.

“Yet with me you want overwhelmed, taken, so you don’t have to assume half the responsibility for what happens between us.”

Tynan tensed, averted her gaze. “Do we have to get into this now?”

“It will keep.” He saw her relax at the reprieve.



Faelen’s London driver, Stanfield, waited with the black Rolls as they emerged from the airport. “Welcome back, sir,” he greeted, taking their bags. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Miss Singleton.”

He introduced his driver and helped her into the car. During the ride, he watched her drink in the sights, point and exclaim over landmarks like a school girl. Such undisguised pleasure and appreciation was a rare thing in a jaded world.

“I can’t absorb it all,” she told him with artless candor. “I may burst.”

He’d seen it all a thousand times. From 1822 until 1893, he’d lived here almost full time. Yet, through her eyes he could see it again; imagine how it must look to a human viewing it for the first time. The mix of landmarks and trendy coffee shops, uniformed bobbies and kids with nose rings and leather jackets.

At quarter to ten local time, the area approaching the new financial district buzzed with activity. Stanfield maneuvered the car with admirable competence in the clogged streets.

“Bloody - beggin’ your pardon, miss - quagmire this time o’ day,” he said.

Faelen saw Tynan catch the little man’s gaze in the rear view mirror.

“You’ve outraged my delicate sensibilities.” The game smile she flashed him in the wake of her solemn declaration made Stanfeild relax, and warm to her with an enthusiasm Faelen felt at once.

“I’ll do better, mum.” The wiry, reformed thief glanced back, grinned.

“You bloody well better,” she said.

A few minutes later, they pulled into the underground parking garage of Hanover House. A large building of Canary Riverside, Canary Wharf, it had become a prestigious address with the growth of the most recent business district.

Faelen opened the door, stepped from the sedan and helped Tynan out. Stanfield circled round the car and removed their bags from the trunk. The three of them took the elevator to the top floor. When the doors opened into the foyer, Mrs. Stanfield waited there. Her hazel green eyes lit upon Tynan and softened with maternal response.

“Yer pur luv,” she crooned in her Irish lilt, taking Tynan by the hand and patting the back of it. “Sure and didn’t that trip take the starch right outta yer.”

The older woman’s warm welcome came as a surprise. She tended to treat Faelen with a sort of fearful disdain that often tried his patience. He wondered if she would take it upon herself to ‘save’ Tynan from him. That, he would not tolerate.

“Stanfield,” Faelen said to his driver, “take our bags to the master suite. Miss Singleton and I will be changing and going back out.”

Tynan’s head turned. She fixed him with her gaze. “We will?”

“I assumed you’d wish to go see your family.”

Color suffused her cheeks. “Today?” she queried in a breathless tone.

“Your family, your call,” he replied. He had assumed she would want to begin the process as quick as possible.

She squared her shoulders, smoothed back a strand of hair. “Of course.”

“You’ll be wantin’ a late supper, then?” Mrs. Stanfield asked.

“For Miss Singleton, yes. Unless she’d prefer dining out.”

The grey haired woman patted Tynan’s hand again. “I’ll fix you a proper meal, luv. None o’ this fancy stuff they call gor-may.”

Tynan smiled at her. “I can’t wait.”


When the car pulled alongside the curb of the Mayfair address given in his solicitor’s report, Faelen looked at his mate. She hadn’t uttered a word during the trip, and now sat still and silent as a head stone. The fetching apricot hue of her skin seemed to have drained, replaced by a hectic flush in her cheeks.

She could have reached for him, asked in any number of wordless ways that he comfort her. Instead, she remained aloof and rigid. Damn her.

“I’ll wait here,” he said to provoke a negating response.

She stared at the place. “Probably best.”

A moment passed. Two. “The bell won’t ring itself.”

“Right.” She reached for the door handle.

He opened his door, climbed out and beat her to it. “Bon chance.”

She stood beside the car. Eyes glittering with anticipation, she nodded. Yet, she did nothing. Faelen seethed. She need only reach out and he would give her his strength. Offer any support. Turn the world upside down to accommodate her.

Tynan glanced at him then fixed her attention upon the face of the townhouse. She picked up her small purse, inhaled loudly. Exhaled. “Here goes nothing.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

For a woman who considered herself strong, Tynan felt very weak. She strode up the walk, shoulders back, chin up, determined no one would see her vulnerability.

The glorious old townhouse had served as a wealthy bachelor residence in years before, according to Faelen. It now conveyed a stateliness worthy a dowager duchess. At the apex of the stone steps, a towering English oak door stood sentinel. Steeling herself, Tynan rang the bell. A moment later a nasal male voice addressed her from some concealed speaker.

“Your name and business.”

“Tynan Singleton to see Lady Baxter-Harwood.” After a moment’s silence, she added, “A local solicitor, Syrus de Winter, has revealed a link between us.”

Silence. She peered around a cluster of ivy, seeking the source of he voice. A slim flat box the same shade of grey as the house’s stone lie flush to it.

The nasal voice returned. “Lady Baxter-Harwood is not receiving.”

Tynan straightened. “Tell her I’m Harry Fitz Gerald’s great granddaughter.”

Moments ticked past. Her nerves began to fray. Just as she moved to turn and leave, a tall thin man dressed in a spotless bottle green uniform opened he door. “Milady will see you.”

Tynan surveyed his narrow face and thinning grey hair. He had a pinched look to his expression that made her think of a rat. “So good of her.”

She followed him into a dazzling foyer. A huge chandelier hung above her head. Pale blue marble walls flanked her. The soles of her navy boots echoed as she proceeded him across the shiny wood floor into a formal salon. Chippendale and Queen Anne furniture vied for dominance. Oriental vases rested upon the tables and gilt framed oils depicting garden scenes graced the walls.

Rat-face gave a shallow bow. “Milady will soon join you.” He departed.

Tynan considered the information Faelen gave her en route. Lady Baxter-Harwood was the surviving twin from the pair her ancestor sired. She acted as matriarch of the resulting relatives. Her title and wealth served as a safety umbrella for them all. Taking in the lavish environment, she perched upon the edge of a floral print hostess chair. She caught herself twisting her opal ring, then made an effort to leave it alone.

Her heart thudded like tribal drums. Her relative. Her link to her past. Tynan looked to the arched entry of the salon. A small trim woman wearing a conservative skirt suit of dark plum stood there. She wore her shiny grey hair in a smooth chin length bob. Gold studs winked at her ears and a thin matching chain circled her slim throat. Surely the new face of mature aristocracy.

“Miss Singleton.”

“Yes.” Tynan rose.

Snapping glacier-blue eyes met hers. “This is just the bad form I’d expect from an American.”

Tynan felt like someone had kicked her in the gut. What about long-lost familial love? The welcome home? “Bad form?”

Something like uncertainty flickered in the cold gaze. “Perhaps we should speak in private.”

“We aren’t in private?”

The question hardly left her mouth when two dark suited security men stepped from behind a thick cluster of tall potted plants. “We’ll speak in my morning room,” she said.

Still dazed, Tynan followed her through the luxurious residence to a large room of glass panes, red and yellow tulip print wallpaper and 19th century furnishings accented by shades of yellow. The scent of lemon polish lingered in the air. A small manicured garden lie outside the huge windows. Its juniper bushes and bare trees swayed in the autumn wind.

“Lady Baxter-Harwood,” Tynan began as the door closed.

The addressed party cut her off mid-sentence. “I’ve dreaded this day since my mother entrusted me with her awful secret. Always knew some grasping American would uncover the truth and come to do blackmail.”

“Blackmail?” Tynan echoed, thoroughly confused.

Lady Baxter-Harwood waved an elegant white hand. “Really, for someone bright enough to discover our scandal, you seem very stupid.”

Swift defensive anger cauterized Tynan’s hurt feelings. “I’ve come here with only the best intentions. To speak to you before I contacted the rest of my family.”

The small woman drew herself up to fullest height. Her cold eyes narrowed and her voice vibrated with palpable fury. “My family. Don’t you dare threaten me with claiming them. You’ll be paid and on your way this afternoon.”

“You can’t pay me to stay away from my own relatives,” Tynan returned. “American and linked by an affair, I still have the right to meet them.”

“Name your price, Miss Singleton.” Lady Baxter-Harwood skirted a petite writing desk, picked up the phone. “I’ll ring my banker and have the money wired to the account of your choosing.”

Shaking her head, she responded, “There’s been a huge misunderstanding. I didn’t want anything from you but a blessing. Some kind of a acknowledgment. I see that won’t happen, so I’ll meet the others and hope for he best.”

Tynan pivoted and walked to the door. Her hand touched the knob.

“Wait,” the other woman called. “A moment, please, Miss Singleton, I believe there has been a misunderstanding.”

She faced Lady Baxter-Harwood. The small woman looked somehow much older than she had a minute ago, almost frail. Her narrow shoulders seemed burdened by emotional fatigue. In a deliberate manner, she placed the phone back upon the cradle and indicated a pair of sunshine-colored wing backs.

Tynan accepted the silent invitation, seated herself, and waited. She studied Lady Baxter-Harwood across the small distance. The lady’s hands trembled in her lap.

“Miss Singleton,” she began, “would you be kind enough to relate how you discovered the flawed Baxter heritage?”

“As I said, a London solicitor, Syrus de Winter, who also conducts special investigations, found the illegitimate twins my great grandpa fathered.”

Lady Baxter-Harwood seemed to hesitate. She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “It’s best we speak frankly, Miss Singleton.”

“All right.”

“My father, Viscount Roland Baxter, came from a family somewhat notorious for children born on the wrong side of the sheets. His parents and the old earl were determined neither Roland nor his younger brother Edmund would continue the tradition.” She paused, coloring a little. “They made it a condition of inheritance that neither son produce bastard children. Any child not of appropriate birth would result in the sire’s loss of all financial advantage.”

Tynan shook her head. “But, it wasn’t your father’s doing.”

“Men do not hold a monopoly on adultery,” he other woman replied. “The clause worked for the sons and their wives. My father guarded the secret with the ferocity of a bear. We were the children of his heart, and not just because he could sire none of his own.” She fixed Tynan with an intense gaze. “What’s more, the contract continues to hold with all descendants.”

The light of realization began to dawn. “You’re telling me that if it comes out Grandpa Harry, not your father, is your biological parent, you lose your money?”

“Every pound and pence of the original fortune, as well as any created by investments or ventures funded by those monies. All then surrendered to a list of charities.”

“Can’t be legal.” Tynan pondered the enormity of what they stood to lose.

“The will and circumstances were worded with such meticulous care and foresight to the changing times, that of the near three hundred law readers I’ve hired to make the attempt, none have found a fool proof method of diffusing it.” Lady Baxter-Harwood appeared to regain some of her glacial composure. “So you see, any revelations on your part will only insure you never see a shilling of the Baxter fortune.”

Her words emerged in a quiet tone. “I never wanted it.”

“Well, Miss Singleton,” he older woman said, “if you truly mean no harm, then you grasp what injury you can carelessly inflict upon my family. We are proud of our Baxter name. Would you steal that from my nieces and nephews? My children and their children? Shame us for sake of your meeting them?”

Tynan could meet them without their ever knowing the truth. Perhaps no other living soul would ever know. Or, sooner or later, someone might get curious. Did she have the right to take that chance with their lives?

She felt the family she’d never known she had, the last of her blood, slip through her fingers like grains of sand. Although she had given them as little conscious thought as possible, down deep she’d dreamed of a sweet homecoming. Of finding herself a welcome addition to the group.

“No, Lady Baxter-Harwood, I won’t.” Tynan stood. Her legs and arms felt numb, her chest ached. “I’ll see the documentation destroyed and strive to forget this.”

“Noble conduct should not go without reward. Where shall I send a token of appreciation?” Lady Baxter-Harwood rose as well. The aura of uppercrust imperturbability had returned in spades.

A ripping sense of loss clawed is way over her heart, down to her stomach. Determined not to reveal her pain, Tynan met the lady’s cool stare. “If you believed in my ‘nobility’, you’d know I wouldn’t accept a reward.” Gathering her composure around her like a splendid evening wrap, she gave a mocking bob of a curtsy. “Good day, milady. I’ll show myself out.”


Faelen watched her coming down the walk, her expression like the smooth facade on a crumbling building. He felt the pain and disillusionment emanating from her. His strongest instinct told him to ignore it. She hadn’t wanted his comfort before, let her do without it now.

However, as she approached the car, the pendulous dark clouds that had hung low in the sky portending rain, burst and made good the threat. Poetic fancy made him think the Heaven’s shared her misery; wept for her. He beat Stanfield to helping her in and closed the door behind. As they pulled away from Mayfair and made their way to Hanover House, he put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her close to his side.

They didn’t speak during the trip. She leaned into him, but gave the impression she’d deny needing it. Her abundant enthusiasm had vanished. She stared out the rain streaked window. Although, he doubted she really saw any of the passing scenery.

In the underground garage of Hanover House, Faelen helped her from the car. Her turbulent, wounded emotions coursed into him from their linked hands. He felt her disappointment and anger, the bitter pain of losing something she never truly possessed.

The ride in the elevator passed in silence. Stanfield seemed to grasp the mood and treated Tynan gently. A rush of scented air assaulted him when the doors parted. Aromas of lamb, onion, dark beer, carrots and cabbage swirled in a thick fragrance. Mrs. Stanfield bustled around the corner from the kitchen, a small blue towel in one hand.

Her hazel eyes took a bead on Tynan. “Pur luv.” She draped the cloth over her shoulder and said, “Two of yer, take a seat in the living room. I’ll bring tea.”

Faelen helped her out of her coat. Stanfield took it to the cloakroom and brought back a plush towel. She accepted it, and blotted her damp coiled hair.

Tynan could use something more potent, thought Faelen. And, Mrs. Stanfield must have decided the same. When she came bearing the service, the steam from the pot carried the distinct perfume of brandy. He assisted her in pouring and handed the cup to his mate. Tynan’s face seemed paler by the moment. She sipped the spirit-laced brew, stared out the small balcony’s French doors. Across from the sofa where they sat, the dining room gave access to the over nine hundred square foot terrace overlooking the Thames. Although she couldn’t appreciate the view now, later, if the rain stopped, he might take her out there.

“Are ye hungry a’tall?” Mrs.Stanfield asked, setting the pot upon the silver tray. Tynan shook her head. “Not right now. I’m sorry. You made something special.”

His housekeeper made a very Irish sound of dismissal. “Stew, luv. It’ll keep. Seems a toddy and a warm bath’d do yer most good.” Her hazel eyes moved over Tynan, at once soft and sharp. Faelen felt the older woman sensed the other’s orphanhood. He saw a childless woman coveting a motherless child. The potential for a bond existed.

Mrs. Stanfield’s choice of words made Faelen think of his and his mate’s unfinished discussion about her recent behavior. He also wanted to hear the details of her visit with Lady Baxter-Harwood. “Mrs. Stanfield,” he said, “Miss Singleton and I can manage quite well for the night.”

Stanfield, returned from down the hall and replied, “Of course, sir. The missus and I’ll make it an early night.”

Faelen kept an apartment for them on the floor below. An intercom system and small elevator from the cloakroom to their living room linked the two residences. “Thank you both. Until morning.”

Stanfield followed his wife to the kitchen. The sounds of her putting away supper and tidying the room lasted about ten minutes. The two of them left a few minutes later.

Alone with her, Faelen leaned back upon the sofa. He watched her sip her tea. She winced at the potent mixture at first, then seemed to adjust. Her hands trembled. It caused her cup to clatter on its saucer. On an automatic timer, two end table lamps clicked on. He saw her tense in surprise.

Realizing he’d have to drag it from her, Faelen said, “Tell me about it.”

“Rather not.” She scooted lower, took a long drink of her tea. “But, you deserve to know.”

“My agent informed me of a rumor concerning an old Baxter will.”

“ASAP,” she answered, “anything he has in writing needs torched, shredded, whatever. It’s not rumor. Everyone in the line could lose their money if the illegitimacy comes out.”

“I could put Syrus on it. See if he can find a way around the will.”

Tynan took another deep drink of her brandy laced tea and set the cup upon the nearby service tray. She shook her head. “I don’t think the money’s half of it. An aristocratic family doesn’t want the world to know they’re actually the descendants of an American naval officer, who had a really good time on his shore leave.”

Faelen nodded. He’d anticipated it from the beginning. Rising, he said, “I’m going to change and spend some time in my office.” He sensed she wanted to say something to him, though she did not. Determined not to give in and offer himself again, he left her.

In the bedroom next to the master, where he’d created work space, Faelen found several messages on his machine, faxes and e-mail waiting. Advantages of modern technology fascinated him. He enjoyed their convenience far more than people who’d lived their entire life surrounded by them. However, he missed the stillness of the night without airplanes, trains and autos.

Taking a seat at the desk, he responded to the varied correspondences. He re-confirmed their appointment at Yvette’s, and replied to the queries of preference from the Paris household’s hospitality staff. After a long while, he pushed back from his desk and stretched. Muscles, tendons and ligaments pulled tight. Then, he relaxed in the depths of his chair.

Faelen caught her scent, a microsecond before he heard the knob turn. He kept his eyes on the computer screen as he felt her approach.

“Faelen?”

The tremulous quality of her voice pulled his gut taut. Comfort he’d offered. She hadn’t fully accepted it. Did she wish for it now? Or passion to make her forget?

He turned his chair. “Yes.”

Tynan had showered. Her hair hung in a damp curtain. As she advanced he saw she’d dressed in a pair of worn grey and green plaid pajamas. Their boxy shape swallowed her slender frame, made her seem young and so new to the world he ached.

For a moment she appeared to weigh words. Cool composure settled with her customary ability to summon it. “I came to say goodnight.”

She possessed enormous talent for covering turbulence with a smooth veneer. But, Faelen had studied her too closely to let the act fool him. “Goodnight, then. Sleep well.”

The frown line that creased the creamy skin between her brows told him he’d not answered as she’s hoped. With an almost imperceptible nod, she pivoted and left the office.

Although it dug deep stinging furrows in his already thin patience, he waited. He pulled up account reviews, sent a message to Cressner concerning their cross channel flight. A half hour passed. Enough, he decided, turned off the computer.

Faelen entered his room in the dark. Although he did not need it, he flipped on the suite’s sitting room light and shut the door by half. His mate’s human eyes required the illumination to see him. She lie curled on her side facing him as he approached the bed. Despite her closed eyes and slow breathing, she hadn’t gone to sleep. The emotional and sexual energy electrifying the air told him.

He took his time undressing. Placing his clothes upon the silent valet with precision. Naked, he stood in a wedge of light and he took down his hair. His blood heated as he sensed her watching. A shaky inhalation from the tangled bedclothes made him smile inwardly. He felt the same: alive, hot, riven.

However, he would await her consummation of intimacy between them, if it killed him. Given the violent throbbing of his cock, bowstring taut belly, and tingling canines, it might.

Faelen went into the bath, saw to his few necessary ablutions and returned to the bedside. He pulled back the white comforter and sheet. Tynan lie framed against the fitted sheet. Her hair fanned over the pillow. He climbed in, and tugged up the bedclothes. By force of will, he slowed his respiration and circulation, granting the impression of rest. While below it, like his mate, he seethed.

Keeping his eyes shut, Faelen waited. His tested patience received its reward. After long moments, her slim soft hand touched his face.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tynan traced the sharp slant of his cheekbone and marveled at its perfection. Her fingertips tingled where she touched his dark skin. The texture amazed her. It felt warm and smooth, masculine yet lacked any hint of stubble. Intrigued, she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Not a trace of roughness marred its strong line.

She’d never seen him with a shadow, and it aroused her curiosity. Of course some men didn’t have a much beard. But, their chests weren’t hairy, either. She blushed. The memory of his hair roughened chest rubbing against her made her belly flutter.

Careful not to wake him, Tynan propped herself up on her elbow to better see him. The wedge of light from the sitting room cut across his face just below the nose. It illuminated his carnal lips and sculpted chin, cast his eyes in shadow. She feared stroking his lips would wake him, and she didn’t want him to catch her at this. Instead, she ran a fingertip over one straight brow.

As she gazed at his handsome face, something inside her twisted. An unfamiliar emotion made her throat feel tight. Why? He’d kidnapped her, outsmarted her, taken his strange communion against her will, and sent her world spinning off its axis.

She sighed. Faelen had also restored her apartment, opened his spectacular home to her, given her more physical pleasure than she’d believed possible, and footed the bill to find her family and fly here to see them.

What did he mean to her? She studied each feature, the corded column of his throat, the powerful breadth of his shoulders. Her sexual attraction certainly didn’t need explanation. But, how could she define her opinion of him?

She admired his skill as an artist, shared the kinship of loving books, grudgingly admitted she respected the way he treated his employees. His generosity impressed her as much as it unnerved her. And she loved the way he made her feel. Not just between the sheets. How he looked at her and talked to her and made her feel like no other woman existed.

Tynan faced her demons. Faelen attracted, excited, and gratified her. However, she feared becoming dependent and enchanted by the spell he cast. Could she enjoy the sex without involving her emotions? She wondered if the even sex might pose a threat. He’d introduced her to primal lust. Might he chain her with it?

That raised more questions. Tynan studied his sculpted mouth, thinking about the way he’d teased and tormented her with it last night. He hardly let her out of arm’s reach. Then, thoughout the flight, and all day today, he’d proven solicitous without intimacy. Why?

Probably because of her. She should have known he’d sense her reserve. Seeing herself through his eyes, on canvas, had opened her eyes, shown her a side of herself she didn’t know how to deal with. Maybe he thought she needed time to wrestle with the whole vampire ...

Saying it to herself conjured a host of mixed feelings: doubt, fear, curiosity, fascination, dread. Combined with everything else on her mind, it became too much.

Tynan climbed out of bed and hurried from the suite. She fled down the hall to the living room. The huge windows let in the flashes of lightning streaking down from the sky. She stood in front of one, gazing out at the lights reflected on the inky, rain splashed Thames. Fixing her eyes upon it, she forced herself to get it together. None of these issues were new. However, facing them in the dark, a thousand miles from everything familiar and comforting made them larger and more frightening.

Big warm hands settled upon her shoulders. Tynan gasped and spun around. “Faelen, I swear I’m going to hang a bell on you.” Her heart tripped a beat at his sudden appearance.

He caught her face in a gentle but insistent grip. His sensual mouth tightened, brows lowered. “Never run from me.”

She started to deny it. Then replied, “I told you before, obedience isn’t my strong point.”

Blue-white incandescence lit the room. Vanished. The darkness hid his expression. Still, she heard the dominion in his voice. “I treasure your spirit, ilshlava. But in some matters I must bend you to my will.”

Tynan decided not to acknowledge that particular issue with an argument. All the raw emotion within her boiled just the same.

“My coming here with you was a compromise, not a promise. I realize you think what’s between us is permanent. I’ve told you it’s not. Nothing’s changed. This is just a very short term affair for pleasure.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “We need to keep it simple.”

His hands slid down to her neck and her pulse fluttered wildly. He brushed his thumbs over the hollow of her throat. “Impossible,” he replied.

Her gaze dipped to his body when the next lightning strike lit the room. He hadn’t dressed. Naked and powerful, he stood caressing her with a lazy sort of determination. She thought he meant to remind her of the sensation of his sharp teeth at that sensitive spot. It did.

Tynan shivered. “I don’t have time for anything more.”

“Come to bed.”

The husky invitation in his voice affected her as much as the words. This was what scared her, the instant, breathless, melting response. “You go ahead. I’ll come later.”

“You say this is only for pleasure,” he challenged. “Let me give it to you.”

He had her, and she feared he knew it. If she went with him now, she might somehow show her weakness and vulnerability. If she didn’t, it could do the same. Cause him to realize she couldn’t make love with him right now for fear of revealing too much.

Faelen made the decision for her. He pulled her against him, leaned down and brushed his lips over hers. A dark flower of desire bloomed low in her belly. And when he sucked her lower lip into his mouth, she worried her knees might buckle. He released her, rasping his dangerous teeth over the sensitive skin with exquisite care.

Tynan kept her hands at her sides to keep from touching his hard body. She realized the foolishness of the gesture, aware his nudity affected her as much. Tactile restraint wouldn’t stem the tide of growing passion.

His fingers whispered over her shirtfront and the top parted. She hadn’t worn a bra beneath. Knowing he’d bared her to his gaze and touch sent a hot fission of excitement streaking down her spine. Faelen kept kissing her. He changed the angle of his head, nipped and stroked, teased and stimulated her in a ruthless assault of bliss.

He slid the shirt off her shoulders, untied the drawstring at her waist and pushed the pants down over her hips. The garment pooled around her feet and she stepped out of it. Left in only her thin cotton panties, she had little to shield her. Yet, he didn’t take advantage. His hands played in her hair, and he kissed her as if he’d all the time in the world.

She abandoned any attempt to deny him. Bone-deep sensual restlessness caused her to step closer. She felt he heat of his skin. Less than an inch must separate them. Her peaking nipples tingled and she arched her back so they touched him. A moan escaped her. She reached to circle his strong neck with her arms.

His lips left hers. Tynan opened her eyes. His mouth hovered above hers. A multiple flash of incandescence. He stared down at her, the look on his face so sensual it almost intimidated her. Still, he did nothing.

Faelen’s expression changed like quicksilver. Tynan’s dazzled brain struggled to understand the sudden wolfish keenness.

“Get dressed,” he commanded and disappeared.

Coming back to herself, she stepped into her pants and had her shirt half buttoned when she saw him, in black jeans and boots, standing in front of the main elevator.

“What is it?” she asked.

He held up a hand and she said nothing more. His alert intensity caused the nape of her neck to tingle. A sense of impending danger made her fingers fumble with the remaining buttons. Seconds later she heard the elevator ascending the shaft.

“Go onto the cloakroom, Tynan.” Faelen did not take his eyes from the double chrome doors. “Take the service elevator down and stay with Stanfield.”

Fear struck her like a fist. “Is it Blade?”

“Do as I tell you.” He spun around. She saw a blur of movement, felt herself lifted into his arms. The elevator opened with a discreet chime. Shattering glass savaged the night quiet.

Tynan could see nothing in the dark. Then, lightning exploded in the room. The elevator doors stood open, revealing its empty interior. Two hulking men crouched just inside the ruined windows. Rain-laden night air whipped. Another whirl of motion as he carried her. Faelen set her upon her feet in front of the couch, stepped in front of her.

Dizzy, she clutched his narrow waist to steady herself. She leaned to peer around his side. A bolt of electricity showed her the huge intruders. They wore all black, like SWAT agents. But their blazing red-rimmed eyes and long bone white fangs dispelled the resemblance.

Stay there Faelen sent to her.

She felt him move away. Terrified and alone in the thunder-filled dark, she groped behind her. At the end of the couch she knew she’d find a lamp. She touched the smooth cool edge of the table. A violent crash rent the air. Her shaky hand half-tipped the lamp before she switched it on.

Tynan wondered if the dark scared her less. Seeing Faelen locked in combat with the two unwelcome guests sent her adrenaline flaming. Both wielded long lethal blades. They surrounded Faelen in a web of glinting steel. He ducked, dodged and struck out with astonishing precision and speed, keeping the attackers at bay.

Faelen feinted right, drawing one of them close. He knocked the weapon from the interlopers grip and sent it clattering across the floor. He bent, caught the black-clad figure around his hips, and charged through the balcony doors.

Glass and timber flew. A hoarse scream spiraled away and Faelen appeared between her and the onrushing second intruder. Paralyzed, she watched him battle the other man. The metallic flavor of fear rose in her throat. Their actions challenged the ability of her vision to decipher.

Tynan saw a vivid slash of crimson cross Faelen’s wide chest as he spun. He struck the blade from his opponents hand, sent it up into the air. Almost too fast to perceive, he caught it and brought it down at an angle upon the intruder’s shoulder. Gore sprayed. To her shock, she witnessed him give a sharp twist halfway through the stroke, and the other man’s upper body fell away.

She cried out and turned from the horrifying scene.

A wolfish snarl brought her back around. Faelen stood over the remains of his opponent, bloody sword in hand. His elongated teeth glinted from between his lips and a look of savage satisfaction transformed his features. A long wicked cut stretched from just under one arm to the opposite shoulder. However, aside from a few smeared drops, no blood ran.

Shaking, unable to look at the corpse, Tynan made her way from the living room.

“Stanfield’s on his way up. I hear the elevator,” Faelen said.

She flinched. Her nerves had taken all they could. “I’m calling the police.”

“No.” Absolute command filled the single syllable. “Stanfield will call a cleaner to fix the mess.”

At that moment, she heard the secondary elevator arrive and the doors opened. The small wiry man strode from the cloakroom.

“I shut off the main alarm, sir,” he reported. Glancing around at the wrecked room, he added, “See you have this under control.”

“Assassins,” Faelen replied. “There’s one in the river. Have that cleaner, Conrad, here within the half hour.”

“What about building security?”

Faelen dropped the crimson smeared blade. Flecks of red from his downed opponent dotted his arms and belly. “Call and tell them we had a table blow into the balcony doors, in case someone reports the noise.”

Tynan looked from one man to the other. “Two men have died. We have to call the authorities.”

“Two vampires,” Faelen corrected. The rain-heavy wind blew unchecked through the shattered windows. Somewhere in the distance a barge horn blew. “It wouldn’t do to have a coroner examining them.”

His coolness sent a shiver down her spine. “So, you’re just going to have some guy come scrub up the mess and pretend this never happened?”

For the first time, she saw him survey his wound. To her surprise, it had closed. As if it had happened months ago rather than minutes.

“Conrad cleans scenes. He specializes in service for my kind. He helps avoid questions.”

Stanfield flipped through a little grey book, phone in hand. He walked into the kitchen as he began to dial. Tynan felt a sudden wave of dizziness and sat in an oversized chair.

“You kill two people, and your main concern is avoiding questions?” The callous unconcern appalled her. It made her already churning stomach threaten to rebel.

Faelen stalked over to stand before her. “They came here to kill us,” he countered. “You’d prefer I’d done nothing? That my body float in the Thames and yours feed their lusts?”

She thought of him slain, of them touching her. Doing God only knew what. The images mixed with the ugly picture of Faelen delivering that final terrible blow. She shut her eyes against them. “I can’t stay here.”

“Dress and pack your bag. We’ll leave.”

When Tynan came down the hall from the bedroom, Stanfied waited for her. He took her carry-on and suitcase. “I managed a room in an inn about two kilometers from here.”

Tynan had glanced at the clock as she packed. At just before midnight, she knew it had required clout. Privilege of the wealthy, she supposed. Faelen emerged from a secondary bedroom before she could reply. His long damp hair drawn smoothly back and wearing fresh clothes, he looked as if he’d come from a gentleman’s club rather than combat.

“Security didn’t ask questions, sir,” Stanfield told him, “and the cleaner’s on his way.”

“Let’s go,” Faelen returned. “You can send my bag in the morning.”


Tynan waited for the young male attendant to switch on the lamps before she entered their room at the King Richard’s Rest Inn. The mellow light revealed a sitting room furnished with Victorian antiques. Cream carpet and brown walls brought out the cool splashes of turquoise in the print upholstery and drapes.

“Nothing more tonight,” Faelen told the other man.

“Very good, sir. Cook sets breakfast at nine.”

He took out his wallet, handed him several large bills. “We’ll have breakfast in our room.” He looked at her in expectation. Unable to think of eating, she shook her head. He continued to the attendant, “Send a little of everything.”

Tynan walked into the bedroom. Light from the sitting room spilled in, allowing her to find and turn on a small tasseled crystal lamp. Decked in the same era furniture and colors, it looked like the private chamber of an earl. She gazed at the wide bed with longing. Weariness and the fuzzy mind function left in the wake of her trauma sapped her strength. The door closed and she knew he’d joined her.

Faelen undressed her like a ladies maid. She let him tuck her into bed and lie watching as he stripped, cut the light and joined her. When he took her in his arms, a vision of him bringing down the sword and halving the would-be assassin blazed in her mind’s eye.

He must have sensed it. His embrace tightened. “Don’t fear me, ilshlava.”

As quick as the first ugly image came, a second replaced it. A gruesome picture of Faelen’s body split like the intruder’s.

Tynan buried her face against the hard plane of his chest, and held tight to the man - the vampire - who’d saved her life.

Again.

*

I am seeing high read increases and only one reader has reviewed. Please take a minute and tell me what you think. Appreciation in advance.

~ K