THE SKY HAD LIGHTENED to a chalky gray by the time they turned off the main road and onto a gravel driveway. Lily glanced sideways at Alfonso’s stoic features. The hard set of his jaw. The strong but slightly crooked nose that suggested a fight or two. He’d put on his leather bomber jacket but hadn’t bothered to zip it up. Having taken off his shirt earlier, his muscular chest was exposed, and there, sitting between his nipples, affixed to a leather cord, was the medallion she’d given him.
She sat back against her seat and tried not to think about that.
Okay, so he liked it. That was all.
Instead, she concentrated on the fact that he’d seemed far more at ease back at the Darkblood cabin. Now he just looked…irritated. He must be pissed off that his involvement wasn’t over, that Kip couldn’t be transported directly to Region, allowing Alfonso to wash his hands of the situation and go back to his normal life. One that didn’t include her.
If that was how he felt, then she wasn’t particularly eager to be spending more time with him, either. It was the last thing she needed.
She thought about Zoe and the promise she’d made to herself about not getting involved with any more men. Trying to make things work with Steven again had been a huge mistake. The longest six weeks of her life. The parties, the clubs, the women. To him, being a father was an afterthought. He had an agenda and it didn’t include them. Which was fine—she’d never loved him. No, she couldn’t subject Zoe to another one of her doomed relationships again.
The bumpy road began a steady incline. Surely there had to be a suitable safe house closer to the freeway.
Just as the slope leveled off, Alfonso hairpinned the car around an enormous stump covered with hanging moss, and the road narrowed considerably.
She eyed the encroaching blackberry bushes, their thorns lying in wait for anything that got too close. If he scratched her car, she was going to be pissed. “How much farther is this place? It’s not like you’re driving a four-wheeler.”
“Perimeter coming up,” he said, braking. “Does it bother you to go through or would you rather I disengage it? The remote control is in my bag.”
“No, I’m fine, but aren’t they expecting us? Shouldn’t the cloaking system be down?”
The car lurched forward.
Wait. Why would he have the controls to a safe house anyway? Usually you call ahead and they have it turned off for you—if the perimeter was even camouflaged. Up here in the Northwest, not many vampire families bothered with that precaution.
Now that she thought about it, she didn’t remember him making a call. “Whose place is this? I’m not aware of a safe house in this area.”
“It isn’t. It’s my home—I mean, the house I’m building.”
Before the shock of his words could completely settle in, they passed through the perimeter with a snap of electricity. Her skin tingled, setting her hair on end, and she absently rubbed the back of her arms. Good God, that was set high. She glanced at Kip lying on the backseat, but he was still so out of it that he hadn’t reacted.
Alfonso was building a house? It didn’t make sense. He could almost be classified as a drifter. A restless soul, he’d never been comfortable staying in one place for long. Always moving or needing to do something, he never seemed to fully relax. He would tinker with things or pick the strings of his guitar just to keep his hands from being idle. It was like he didn’t know what to do with himself otherwise. She’d assumed it was because he’d been a double agent for most of his life, constantly on edge and never able to truly let his guard down. Obviously her assessment of him had been dead wrong.
A huge wrought-iron gate loomed about twenty feet ahead of the car, and the headlights cast grotesque shadows on the trees beyond it. Alfonso rolled down his window, touched a control panel she hadn’t noticed until they were stopped, and the heavy gate slowly eased open.
Knots of apprehension brewed in her gut. Was he making his home here because he’d settled down with someone? She hadn’t detected a female’s scent on him, and yet—
She lifted her nose to the window. Although she didn’t smell anyone, considering her tracking problems she could’ve easily missed the scent marker. Not having an item to lock in a scent memory didn’t help, either.
Could that be the real reason why he hadn’t come back to her last year? He’d found someone else and didn’t have the balls to tell her? It was so unlike him to have a permanent residence, but it made sense if there was another woman involved.
She felt a little sick. At some point, she knew she’d need to deal with that knowledge, but she wasn’t at all excited to be doing it face-to-face. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to stay calm. If there really was another woman here, Lily already knew she was going to hate the bitch.
The forest opened up onto a large clearing on a bluff. Nestled into the side of the mountain was a majestic stone manor house with a red-tiled roof, arched doorways and windows and a breathtaking view of the water. In any other circumstance, she’d love to admire everything, but right now she just wanted to get things over with. “Welcome to Casa en las Colinas,” he said flatly. “The House in the Hills.”
He parked the car next to a battered blue work truck. Her legs felt heavy as she hauled herself out, but a strong updraft blowing in from the edge of the cliff almost lifted her off her feet. Another storm was definitely on its way. With this wind, no wonder she couldn’t detect the other woman’s presence. It’d be whisked away before she ever smelled it.
“You all must lose power a lot out here,” she said, trying her hand at small talk in an attempt to keep her mind focused on trivial things. Talking about the weather was always a safe subject.
He shrugged. “I’ve got a high-efficiency generator that kicks in automatically and can run for weeks on its own.”
She went to retrieve her bag from the backseat before helping Kip out, but Alfonso beat her to it. Resting her forehead on the doorframe, she knew she had to ask him, especially before they went inside. If there was another woman waiting for Alfonso, a lover who would drag him into her arms and welcome him home, Lily wanted a heads-up to prepare herself. Surely he’d have told her. Wouldn’t he?
They’d been apart for more than a year—what did she expect? God knew she’d wanted to move on after it was clear he wasn’t coming back to her. And if he had found someone special who had finally gotten him to settle down, it really shouldn’t be that surprising. After all, she’d tried. Why couldn’t he?
“Are you—” She closed her eyes for a moment, unable to form the words. “Why are you building a home clear out here? I mean, it’s very beautiful, don’t get me wrong. But it’s so far away from everything. Don’t you feel isolated?”
“No.”
“But you’ve never been one to stay in one place for long. Building a house seems contrary to that.” She steeled her shoulders. “Are you living here with someone?” She tried to keep the emotion from seeping into her voice, but she wasn’t sure she was successful.
The car door on his side closed with a thunk and he peered over the roof at her. The lively blue of his eyes had dimmed to a steely, unemotional gray in the flat light.
“I live here alone, Lily. I am not seeing anyone.”
Relief flooded through her. Was that a flash of regret in his expression? She couldn’t be sure. He opened his mouth, the words so close that she could almost see them forming on his lips.
Yes. The word popped in her head—the answer to an unknown question. Was he going to ask her something? Tell me. Please.
If he was, he evidently changed his mind, for he snapped his jaw closed and turned his attention to Kip in the backseat.
She straightened up and smoothed out her ponytail, a tactile reminder to herself to remain aloof and indifferent. “Good. I won’t need to suppress the urge to scratch out some chick’s eyes then. Old girlfriends and new ones don’t exactly mix.”
She heard the low rumble of amusement as he headed toward the front entrance, Kip’s arm slung over his shoulder. Like any job site, the landscaping came last, and the place was a total mud pit during this rainy time of year. She followed him, trying to step exactly where he had. A few narrow boards had been placed strategically across the worst parts. Without slowing, he strode across them, obviously having done so many times.
With her arms out for balance, she tentatively stepped onto the first board. It tilted, but she was ready for it. As if walking a gymnastics beam, she put one foot in front of the other and kept her eyes straight ahead.
When she got to the far side, Alfonso clapped from the front porch. He’d set Kip down and was watching her.
She curtsied. “Piece of cake.”
When she stepped onto the next board and took a few steps, it rocked her back on her heels. Overcompensating, she shifted her weight forward and promptly lost her balance. With a gasp, she stepped calf-deep into the mud.
Laughter erupted from the covered porch. “Hold on, Lil. I’m coming.”
She lifted her foot, but the muck held tight and she ended up stepping in with the other one as well.
Alfonso jogged adeptly across the boards. “Here,” he said, reaching for her. His large hand dwarfed hers. When he hauled her up, the mud made a sucking noise, refusing to let go, and, sure enough, both boots stayed behind.
She couldn’t help but laugh as she stepped onto the board in her socks. “My God, I had those things laced up tight.”
“Yeah, it’s like quicksand. It hangs on and won’t let go. At least you didn’t fall all the way in. I’ve done that once or twice.”
He freed her boots and, before she knew what was happening, he swept her up, piggyback-style. Her arms and legs went instinctively around him as she let out a whoop of surprise. His warm scent invaded her nostrils and every step jostled her body against his. She rested her chin on the hand that grasped his shoulder, rather than on the bare skin of his neck. If she weren’t careful, her fangs were likely to elongate, being this close to his vein. She’d been this close to him at the club, but back there, they hadn’t been alone. Kip was so out of it, she doubted he even knew what the hell was going on.
For all intents and purposes, it was just the two of them. In Alfonso’s own home, surrounded by his own personal things.
Lord help her.
He traversed the rest of the way with ease and set her on the base of the steps. As he stepped away, she immediately missed the warmth from his body
“Here, let me take those from you.” She reached for her muddy boots.
“I’ll clean them up.”
She started to protest but he interrupted.
“Remember, I’m an expert in cleaning mud off boots, clothing, whatever. They’ll be as good as new before we set out again at nightfall. Speaking of clothes,” he said, eyeing her pants, “you can take a shower and I’ll wash those, too.”
“Thanks.” She couldn’t look at him, didn’t want him to see the emotion on her face. Her eyes stung as she recalled how he’d always taken care of seemingly insignificant things for her. Changing the oil in her car while she slept because he noticed it was overdue, making sure her cell phone was charged, fixing her coffee the way she liked it, even though it was a little high maintenance.
They climbed several steps and passed through an archway onto the large covered porch. Lined with stone pillars, it stretched from one end of the home to the other. Noting the infrared heaters in the ceiling and a single Adirondack chair, she wondered how often he came out here and played his guitar. Did he still tinker with that tune he was always working on?
An empty glass sat on the armrest, no doubt filled at one time with a finger of Maker’s Mark and two ice cubes. He dropped her mud-covered boots before helping Kip to his feet.
The young man staggered, but Alfonso held tight.
God, the kid looked terrible.
“Kip, how you doing?” she asked.
He stared blankly at his hands and didn’t answer.
“You didn’t tell me why you moved out here,” she said to Alfonso as he unlocked the front door.
He pointed toward the water. “The property reminded me of where I grew up. If you take a look at the coastline, it has the same rugged, undeveloped look as my family’s home overlooking the Cantabrian Sea.”
“How long have you owned it?”
“Couple of years, I guess.”
So he’d had this while they were together. Why had he never mentioned it?
Stacks of lumber and boxes of tiles were piled against the exterior walls, along with a wide array of power tools. “So you’re building the whole thing yourself? I knew you enjoyed working with your hands, but I had no idea you were so talented.”
He laughed. “If I did it myself, I’d never have it done on time. No, I’m just doing the jobs I enjoy—tiling, painting, some of the finish carpentry. If I’m lucky, I’ll have it done and furnished before the year’s out. I’m getting pretty close and don’t have a lot left to do. Come on. Let’s get Kip situated.”
He pushed open the heavy double doors and held them open for her. “Careful, I’m not done with the tile work in the entryway.”
She stepped in and could hardly believe what she was seeing. The grand foyer opened all the way up to the roof, with a mammoth carved-wood chandelier hanging down over a floor tiled in an ornate mosaic pattern of azure blues and Spanish reds. On either side of where she stood, a galley ran the length of the house, much like the deck outside, with arched doorways leading to various rooms. The walls were made of some sort of stone that looked as if it had come from a medieval castle. She followed Alfonso to the right. On the floor between each window, brightly colored, whimsical landscape paintings waited to be hung.
“Oh my God, Mackenzie did those.”
He looked pleased that she recognized them. “I know they’re not really in keeping with the feel of this place, being that they’re a modern take of the Cantabrian landscape, but when I saw her work, I had to commission some pieces.”
“They’re perfect. They add a lighthearted spirit to the place. Has she been here to see what they look like?”
“No, you’re actually my first guests.”
A thrill rippled through her at the thought of being his first guest, the first woman invited into his dream home.
After getting Kip set up in a guest bedroom with its own private bath, she and Alfonso returned to the foyer.
“Will he be okay?”
“Yeah, what he needs most right now is sleep. We’ll take him up to Region at nightfall.”
She recalled what Alfonso had said earlier about having the house done on time. He’d made it sound like he had a deadline. “What’s the rush getting the house finished? The end of the year is only a few weeks away.”
He pulled off his cap, tucked it into a pocket and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how long I’m staying. I’m thinking it’s time to be moving on soon.”
A hollow, empty sensation gnawed inside her belly, reminding her of how she’d felt after that horrible phone call last year when he’d said he had fallen out of love with her.
Okay, this is silly. He’s got some redeeming qualities, but clearly, commitment is not one of them.
She seriously needed some sense knocked into her. He hadn’t even been back in her life for twelve hours yet and now she was sad to learn he was moving away. She examined the intricate tile work beneath her foot. “But why start a huge project if you didn’t think you’d stay to enjoy it?”
“At one point, I thought I would be staying. At least I hoped I would. I…I wanted to make some changes in my life and thought building this house would help. Mackenzie talked me into sticking around for a while. You know—see the baby, try to patch things up with my brother, things like that. It was stupid really, thinking I could build a house like this, put the past behind me, lead a normal life.”
She didn’t understand. Hadn’t he received a full pardon from the Council with an invitation to join the Agency as a Guardian? He had a future here, if he wanted it. “Why did you change your mind?”
He shrugged. “I got realistic.”
Ahead stood a grand, uncarpeted staircase that curved up to the right. She could almost hear the swish of seventeenth-century silk skirts brushing against the stairs. To the left of the staircase, a long hallway led to more rooms.
She examined the exquisite tile work in greater detail. Although she’d never been to the part of Spain where he’d grown up, she imagined this was authentic to the region. “It looks like you’re almost done with this.”
“I’m ripping it out.”
“Oh my God, why?”
“Not happy with the color.”
“What are you talking about? It’s lovely.”
“I’m trying to recreate my parents’ country estate. Although I imported these tiles from the same centuries-old tile maker in Spain that my parents used, it’s still not right. And it’s the third batch I’ve tried.”
“Maybe this is as close as you’re going to get. It might be impossible to create what exists in your memory. The composition of the clay wouldn’t be the same after all these years, and the color dyes would be different too. You might be able to get close, but it won’t be exactly the same.”
“No, it must be perfect.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer her right away, just looked at the floor in all directions with a critical eye. “Because I’ll know it’s not right,” he finally said. “And so will Dom. If he ever sees it.”
As she tried to see things the way he saw them, it suddenly became clear. Alfonso was trying to prove something to his brother. If things were perfect with the house, Alfonso hoped that Dom would see that he did treasure what they had with their parents, and that his brother might forgive him. Although she didn’t know the details, she knew Dom blamed Alfonso for their death.
“And you think that’s the key to reconciling with him?” she asked quietly.
He shrugged.
“He’s not like that, you know. He’s not hung up on details like you seem to be. He’s much more ‘big picture’ than that. You have to be to effectively run a field office. He’ll see your efforts with this house for what they are. An honor to your parents’ memory.”
He huffed out a loud breath and headed through the first arched doorway to the left of the stairs. She followed him into a sparsely furnished room with a fireplace.
“You don’t know my brother like I know him.” He tossed his duffel onto a cordovan leather sofa next to a pillow and folded blanket.
In this huge house, he chose to sleep here? Why? “I know your brother well enough and I think he’d be impressed by all of this. I certainly am.”
His laugh was cold. “He lost his faith in me long ago. I was foolish to think it could be restored.”
“Maybe so, but that doesn’t mean it’s gone, that he doesn’t want to have a relationship with you again. After he found out that you were my contact within the Alliance and that I had been sworn to secrecy by the highest levels of the Council, I was afraid he’d not be able to forgive me. But he did. Yeah, he was pissed off at me for a while, but he got over it. Although he should’ve been thrilled that Pavlos was dead and that Mackenzie was safe, he almost went into a mourning period when he thought you had died in the fire. No one saw him in the field office for days.”
Alfonso looked unimpressed.
“Have you talked at all?” she asked quietly.
His jaw muscles worked back and forth. “If you knew your brother was responsible for the death of your parents, would you still want him in your life?” He brushed past her and headed back around to the staircase.
“When he found out you’d survived that fire and were in the regen clinic, he had Mackenzie check with your doctors for a progress report.”
Alfonso stopped, one foot on the bottom stair. “She told me that, but…”
“But you didn’t believe it.”
He didn’t answer.
“He cares about you, Alfonso, but whether either of you can admit that verbally is another thing. Both of you are cut from the same stubborn mold. Everything you’ve done—” She swept her arm wide. “Sacrificing a normal life and your own happiness in order to destroy the Alliance from the inside is pretty amazing. You deserve to be happy now, and if building this house does it, then I think that’s wonderful.”
Before she knew what she intended, she slipped her hand into his and gave it an encouraging squeeze. An electric energy passed between them, stretching outward to the top of her head and down to her toes, making her heart race. Without warning, he pulled her into his arms.
She expected his kiss to be more of a peck, but he shoved her against the wall of the stairs and his mouth came down over hers, stealing the breath from her lungs. With even more ferocity than she’d felt back at the club, he pried her lips open in an almost bruising fashion. It was raw and laced with pent-up emotion, not just a superficial game to be played out for others.
Stay calm, she told herself. He’d come to his senses in a moment and realize this was a terrible mistake. She braced herself, expecting him to abruptly release her as the realization dawned on him.
But he didn’t.
The feel and smell of him diluted any further rational thought.
She slipped her hands up his chest, over the muscular definition of his pectorals, and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hand cradled her jaw as it often did when he kissed her, caressing the tender skin below her ear with his thumb. It was as if he were keeping her under his influence until he decided to let her go. She couldn’t help but moan softly.
The amount of control he had over her body was an aphrodisiac, which was ironic considering she hated being told what to do. His iron-hard erection pressed against her hips, separated from her by only a few millimeters of fabric. She ached to feel him inside her; she needed to feel it.
“Lily, we can’t,” he said, his lips now against her throat, but it was more like an admonishment to himself. She was the one pinned against the wall; he was the one in control.
“Yes, we can,” she heard herself say. Positioning one foot on the step above them, she gripped his ass and pulled him closer.
A low sound, almost a vibration, came from deep inside him, igniting a warm need all over her flesh. He hooked a thumb inside her waistband, slid it around to the front. The movement tickled, sending tiny goose bumps of anticipation along her arms and up her spine. For a split second, she thought he was going to unfasten her pants.
God, how she wanted him to.
But he pushed away from her instead and gripped the banister with white-knuckled hands. “Lily, I’m sorry. I can’t.”
The foyer was mausoleum-silent as she followed him up the stairs, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Or hadn’t happen. Why had he stopped? He’d seemed to want it as much as she had. In fact, he was the one who’d started it.
Her heart continued to beat madly inside her hollow chest. What had happened to make him change his mind? She’d certainly given him every indication that she wanted it to go further, so why hadn’t he? The fervent way he kissed her wasn’t something she’d imagined. Maybe he was worried she’d get the wrong idea and want to rekindle their relationship if they had sex. That she wouldn’t be able to consider it just a fun romp.
She ran her tongue along her teeth, relieved that her fangs had retracted.
Relationship? Yeah, right. That was the furthest thing from her mind. Sure, they were sexually compatible. Lots of people were. Just because he had the ability to give her several mind-blowing orgasms in the length of time it took to brush her teeth, didn’t mean she was going to fall for him again.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I’m an idiot.
Given that his home was still under construction, she was surprised when they got to the upper hallway. Several groupings of elegant swords were displayed on the burgundy walls. From the crown molding and the antique furniture to the Savonnerie carpets, the upstairs appeared to be completely decorated. Were the rooms behind these doors finished too? Something about a nearby antique table caught her attention. Running her fingers along the top as she walked by, she could tell the piece was quite old. Made of walnut, the design was trestle-style with distinctively carved legs and two iron stretcher bars.
“It’s a Spanish refectory table,” Alfonso said without turning around, as if he knew she was admiring it.
Although he continued down the hall, she stopped to inspect it further. “What a beautiful piece, and in such pristine condition for its age.” The thing was sturdy too, with hardly a scratch to mar the surface. “Seventeenth century?”
“I believe so.”
“Where did you find it?” she asked.
“I didn’t. It’s been in my family for years.”
He came back and towered over her, his breath ruffling the tiny hairs on her neck. He leaned in close and she felt the heat emanating off his body. At first she thought he was going to touch her again—she wanted him to. Instead, he jammed his hands into his pockets.
“My mother found it at a monastery that had been ransacked repeatedly by marauders believed to have ties to the Spanish government. Rome decided to close it down, so she took us along to see what pieces they couldn’t take with them.”
He stared at the table, a faraway look in his eyes as he recalled those old memories.
“I remember Dom and I riding all the way home—three hours on an uneven road—in the back of the cart with this and several other items. And in those days, the roads through the hill country were hardly more than cart paths. Our mother was afraid the furniture would get damaged if we boys weren’t in the back keeping an eye on everything. It was one hell of a miserable ride. I remember Dom and I complaining for many nights about our sore muscles and aching arses until our father, who was sick of the whining, told us he’d give us something to really complain about if we didn’t stop.”
He laughed then and so did she. It felt good to loosen up after being so tense.
“And what about Catalina? Was she there too?”
Alfonso rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “As I recall, my sister was just an infant, and thus she was spared the agony.”
“Lucky her. When was the last time you saw her?”
“The last time I saw her? Several months ago. When I was in the U.K.”
The way he phrased it, he made it sound as if he’d only seen his sister, not that they’d actually spoken. Did Catalina harbor the same resentments toward him as Dom did? Lily didn’t recall him ever saying that, but she didn’t want to probe any further.
At an arched doorway, he rested one hand on the ringed, wrought-iron handle.
“Give me a minute to straighten up.” Then, without waiting for a reply, he entered the room and closed the door behind him.
Heavy footsteps sounded on the wood floor as he rustled around inside. Several times, she heard a drawer or door slam shut. What on earth was he doing in there? He was tidy—she couldn’t imagine clothes lying around, if this were indeed his bedroom. She crossed her arms and waited, studying the decor as she did so.
Several fan-shaped groupings of swords hung on the wall across from her. Lily whistled softly as he stepped out of the room. “I knew you were fond of swords and knives, but this is an amazing collection.”
“Thank you.”
She walked over and examined the first group, then took another few steps and examined the next one. “I’m curious, though,” she said, turning to face him.
He raised his brow. “About what?”
“They’re all considered to be common man’s swords, aren’t they? Made for cutting and thrusting, rather than a single purpose.”
He smiled. “You never cease to surprise me, Lil, the things you notice. Yes, they’re all espada ropera. But why do you find this curious?”
“I guess I’d expect you to have many other types of swords displayed, given your fondness for them.”
“While I do own rapiers, sabers and a host of other blades, the espada roperas are particular favorites.”
“Why do they appeal to you? With your father’s position on the Governing Council, you were hardly a common man.”
He walked to the first grouping of swords, reached up and touched the hilt of one. As he lightly brushed his fingers over the Toledo-steel blade, she found herself wishing he were paying attention to her body like that, running his hands over her skin, admiring how she looked, remembering the beautiful history they shared.
“Yes, but being the black sheep of the family, I was always different.” His voice sounded clipped, but tired. “My father raised high-strung Thoroughbred horses on his English estate, so I preferred the sturdy Spanish Andalusians. My father hated the French, so I kept a flat in Paris. Dom became a Guardian, and I—” He abruptly turned away. “Well, you know what I did.”
She followed him through the arched doorway into a large bedchamber and gasped as she tried to take in all the details. Dark Gothic paneling covered the walls, heavy draperies hung from the windows and a curtained bed with a massive walnut headboard and bedposts the size of tree trunks stood in the center of it all. She wasn’t sure what she had expected, but this certainly wasn’t it. “You did this all yourself?”
“I did have a little help, but fortunately, they don’t remember a thing.”
Why go to all this trouble making everything perfect, when it appeared he slept downstairs on the couch? Is that all he felt he deserved? she wondered.
“It’s gorgeous, down to every last detail.” She approached the bed. The ornate headboard stood a foot taller than her. It was some sort of carved relief. Pushing back the tassel-edged curtains, she examined the depiction of a countryside with soldiers on horseback, swords drawn, racing toward some unknown enemy in the distant hills.
It wasn’t an old piece, but she recognized the workmanship and attention to detail. “You carved this, didn’t you?” she asked, running her fingertips over the piece. The wood was so smooth, she couldn’t imagine the amount of time he must’ve spent on it. Even the cracks and grooves were finely sanded and varnished.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
When she leaned over the pillows to get a closer look, she suddenly became aware of a faint throbbing between her legs that seemed to coincide with the beating of her heart. It was as if her body’s cravings for Alfonso were making themselves known and they had an interest in using the furniture for its intended purpose. The interlude on the stairs hadn’t sated her desire in the least; it had merely whetted her appetite for more. Being near a bed with him so close was definitely not a good idea. She backed away quickly.
“You don’t mind if I take a shower?” she asked, knowing he’d already told her she could but unable to think of anything else to say.
“The room is yours. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back with something for you to eat.”
Again, she was touched by his attention to her needs. “But this is your room. I can’t take your bed. As long as I have a blanket, I’ll be happy anywhere.”
A strange expression that she couldn’t quite decipher crossed his face for a moment. “No, it’s not my room. I’ve never slept in here.”
DOWN IN THE DRAWING ROOM, Alfonso was picking at the strings of his guitar when he heard the water running upstairs again.
Why would she be taking another shower? Then it dawned on him. She wasn’t showering. Christ. She was taking a damn bath.
Closing his eyes, he rested his head on the back of the couch. She’d be slipping out of her silky pajamas right about now—if she wore them. There was a time when she would’ve raided his closet. What if she were wearing one of his shirts now? She’d have run her fingers along the edges of the hangers as she selected the one that had the most concentrated smell of him. Or at least that’s what she’d always done before. The sleeves would be rolled up and the hem would hang midway down her thighs, making it easy for him to run his hand underneath and encounter nothing else but her. First, he’d feel the roundness of her bottom as it curved at the top of her leg. Then he’d move to the front, past a thin, neatly waxed strip of curls, slip a finger inside and listen to her moan.
He rolled over, fluffed the pillow again. Didn’t she know he was trying to get some sleep down here? And these pipes… For godsake, they sounded like a flimsy, 1940s Rambler.
He grabbed his guitar, hoping to drown out the sound and occupy his mind with something other than thoughts of that woman in his tub upstairs. A few empty chords not belonging to any song in particular echoed in the air as he played.
Then the water stopped. He pressed his fingers on the guitar strings to silence them.
She’d be stepping into the bath now—slowly, because the temperature would be hot. First one manicured toe, then the whole foot, a shapely leg—
Damn. He had to knock this off.
He set the guitar aside, grabbed the laptop and put on the headphones. With the volume cranked, his fingers stabbed the keys. If BloodySunday could kill a bunch of zombies, maybe his memory would take a hike.
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been playing when the blood in his veins stirred for no apparent reason.
Lily?
He pulled off the headphones. Hit Pause.
Except for the crackling fire, the house was quiet. Perhaps he was mistaken. They hadn’t shared blood in over a year—surely this unusual effect she had on him had worn off after all this time.
When they’d been together, sharing blood regularly, he’d always been able to discern her presence. If she told him to meet her at a hotel, he could locate the room without knowing the number. At a crowded festival, he’d walk right up to her as if he knew her precise GPS coordinates. He imagined that this innate ability would be like following a scent if he were a Tracker—the stronger the sensation, the closer he’d known he was getting.
A moment later, faint footsteps padded down the stairs. He set the laptop aside.
Why could he feel her now? He’d assumed it had something to do with the blood sharing, but it had been well over a year since he’d last taken her blood. In the parking lot of the field office, the sensation hadn’t been apparent, but here, where it was just the two of them for miles, it was obvious.
If this ability hadn’t worn off, what about the other ways she affected him? He shoved that thought from his head. What he thought may have happened a long time ago was just his overactive imagination. It simply wasn’t possible. He’d been drinking that night, so nothing about those odd recollections made any sense.
Glancing through the doorway at the staircase, he first saw her feet, then her legs, then the rest of her as she descended. She had on pajama shorts. Holy shit. And one of his shirts. She was using it like a robe.
“Can I get you something?” he called out.
She leaned over the banister. Her hair was no longer flat-iron smooth, but tousled. Bed-head sexy.
“Just checking on Kip. I wanted to see how he’s doing.”
“He woke up enough to drink some weak broth, but he’s sleeping now.”
“I’ll just peek in on him then.”
As she stepped into the foyer and padded away, he pulled up the HG forums and halfheartedly clicked on a few threads. Nothing. No one had responded to his messages about looking to party. He didn’t feel like posting a new one.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
What was keeping her? He tightened his brace and pulled himself to his feet, cursing under his breath. His knee was always stiff when he’d been sitting for a while, but after the scuffle last night it had gotten worse. Ignoring the lingering pain, he flexed his leg to limber it up, then strode through the doorway and crossed the foyer.
In the hallway outside Kip’s room, Lily sat huddled on the floor, her hands around her legs, her head tucked into her knees.
“Lily, what’s wrong? What happened?” He was at her side in an instant.
She turned away, swiping a hand over her face. “Nothing. Just relieved, I guess.”
Had she been crying? “I told you he’ll be fine. They didn’t have him long enough for the addiction to take hold.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He had a distinct feeling she wasn’t telling him everything. “Then what’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer.
It gnawed at him. He needed to know.
“Come. Sit with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
After just a slight hesitation, she slipped her hand in his. He was careful not to push or pull any energies as he led her to the drawing room.
Her skin and hair smelled of lavender. Warm. Fresh. Clean. She’d used the bath salts he’d set out for her. Why he had them in the first place, he wasn’t quite sure. He’d bought the crystal bottle months ago, long after he’d made that fateful call to her telling her he no longer loved her. The scent had reminded him of her.
He motioned for her to sit, but he didn’t join her on the couch. Instead, he threw another log on the fire.
“If it’s about me taking advantage of you earlier, then I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll do a better job controlling myself.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that at all. I…I wanted that just as much as you did. I’m just sorry it didn’t go further.”
A sudden relief washed over him. Despite everything, she still wanted him, just as he wanted her. For once, he wasn’t the cause of her pain. Somehow he resisted the urge to go to her. “Then what, Lil?” Although she didn’t answer him right away, he sensed her resolve slipping. “Tell me,” he prodded.
Her breath came out in a slow exhale. “It’s my fault Kip is suffering. When I make my TechTran report, noting the time it took to track Kip as well as the distance and location, it’ll be obvious that I’ve got problems. I had hoped to keep that information to myself, but I’m afraid I can’t keep hiding it. This is all my fault.”
“How long has it been like this?”
“Months. But it seems to have worsened lately.”
“What about last night? You were fantastic.”
“Yeah, after many hours of tracking. It shouldn’t have been a hard find. Since he and I had been working together for the past few weeks, the scent memory should’ve been strong. I should’ve been able to go straight to him. When I was at the top of my game, I could’ve tracked him whether we’d been working together or not. I would’ve been able to find him that very first night.”
“Why don’t you let Santiago know? Or Roxanne. Maybe you’ve just been working too hard and need a break. When was the last time you took any energies? Or blood—from a live donor? Hell, when was the last time you took a vacation?”
“It’s not that.” She drew her feet up underneath her, grabbed his pillow, and hugged it to her chest. “Once this decline in my abilities gets out, my career, which I’ve spent years building, is over. Everyone will find out it was only through my father’s influence that I got the position with the Agency in the first place.”
“Bullshit. I don’t care who your father is and what calls he may or may not have made. That has nothing to do with it. No one qualifies for Tracker Academy without demonstrating an aptitude far above what others have.”
“Well, my ability has been severely hampered,” she said huskily. “And what good is a Tracker who can’t track?”
A Tracker who can’t track.
It suddenly became clear to him. This wasn’t strictly a matter of guilt or a little self-doubt. This was an issue threatening her whole identity.
He examined her more closely. Her shoulders looked stiff. Her face was pinched with worry. He felt the tension roiling off her body in waves as if it were his own. She was wound so tightly, no wonder she was having troubles.
“Lie down. On the sheepskin rug. You need a massage.”