And suddenly, it wasn’t just that the world went away.
The whole galaxy disappeared.
Wanting even more, Anne stretched out and urged him onto her, his upper body rolling in on command, a hint of the heft of him making her breath get tight—or maybe that was the raw need clawing into her core. The fit of him against her, his pecs pressing into her breasts, his shoulders so broad, his mouth insistent… it all felt inevitable, as if everything from the moment of impact in that street to this incendiary instant right now was on a single string of destiny, drawing them together.
Entwining them.
When he moved back now, it was slowly, with regret. “I could do this all night.”
“Me, too.”
His eyes were the most vivid blue she’d ever seen, and they got even more intense as he stroked her hair back with a delicate touch. That huge, powerful body of his was coiled with anticipation, but he held himself in check, chaining all that she could sense inside him.
She wanted him unleashed.
“Listen,” he said quietly. “I know that you’re just coming out of something that was at best complicated, at worst downright abusive. Me? I haven’t had a serious relationship in… well, longer than I can remember. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I am really attracted to you, and I hope you’ll give me a shot when you’re ready to think like that again. Even if I’m just a rebound, I’ll take it.”
As she could only stare up at him, because she couldn’t believe the good fortune of it all, he flushed and laughed awkwardly. “Too much? Too soon?”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“I was already wondering how to ask for a second date without coming across as desperate.”
His chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Well, frankly, I’m impressed I waited this long—I was tempted to drop that speech over the soup in your kitchen last night.”
Anne had a quick memory of him in the ER, sitting in the little chair next to her folded clothes and her one shoe, the shuffling hustle-and-bustle on the far side of the draping a dire kind of backdrop to what had felt, even then, like a movie with an epic romance. And then she remembered him standing outside her kitchen, on her little porch, her missing loafer in his hand, his face shadowed, yet full of what she now recognized as something she herself was feeling… namely the fragile hope that this was the beginning of something special.
In a life that seemed otherwise dreary.
She wasn’t even going to worry about how this was happening or why. She hadn’t asked those questions about Bruce, when all along she’d been unsure whether she had any true feelings for him.
So why the hell would she ask it now when this felt so right?
Putting her hand lightly on Darius’s face, she let herself get lost in his hungry stare. “You’re not a rebound. In fact, I feel like… you’re the one I’ve been waiting for.”
His smile was less an expression, more a glow from the soul. “Anne—”
At first, the sound that interrupted the urgent whisper of her name was so quiet, she couldn’t place what it was. But as Darius’s head wrenched around to the door, she realized the rhythmic beat was someone coming down the stone steps. Fast. And the footfalls were heavy, so it was definitely not the butler with dinner.
Before she could say something, the oak panels were shoved open without a knock or a hello—and even though she was prepared to not see the ancient butler in his formal black-and-white uniform… she was most certainly not ready for what stood in between the jambs.
The vicious-looking man was dressed in black leather from head to toe, and she knew without seeing what was under his jacket that he was armed. Seriously armed. But whatever weapons he was carrying on his body were not what scared her.
His icy pale eyes were the stuff of nightmares, cunning and cruel… utterly ruthless as they took in Darius and her, together on the bed.
Were those tattoos on his temple?
“Don’t you knock,” Darius said in a nasty tone of voice.
As he moved to shield her with his torso, he sounded like a totally different person. Looked like one, too, his brows drawn down over a stare that was outright aggressive.
Anne had to tilt to the side to look around his thick biceps.
The other man took out what appeared to be a hand-rolled cigarette and put it between gleaming white teeth. “Didn’t know I needed an engraved invitation to come down here.” A gold lighter spit out a little flame, and after he used it and clipped the top shut, he resumed speaking on the exhale. “Then again, you’re not the type to be caught in flagrante delicto. At least not in the past.”
Only one of his hands was gloved. In black leather, of course. The guy probably thought cotton or wool was too effeminate—heck, maybe chain mail was too girlie for him.
“I’ll meet you upstairs,” Darius said tightly.
“Not going to introduce me?”
“No, I’m not. Now get the hell out of here.”
The black-haired man pointed behind himself with the cigarette. “Across the hall. I’ll be waiting.”
As the door to the room was closed with a smacking sound, Darius shut his eyes briefly. Then he sat up. Staring across at the heavy oak panels, he seemed to age before her very eyes, years multiplying until they were decades. Centuries.
Until his shoulders dropped, and his brows drew together out of exhaustion.
“I’m so sorry,” he said remotely.
“Who is he?”
“Same night.” He shook his head. “The same damn night.”
“What?”
“V hasn’t been here in how long?” Darius rubbed the back of his neck like he needed a chiropractor. “And he shows up on the one night you’re here.”
“Do you work with him?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Darius glanced over. “I’ll go get rid of him.”
“Okay, but I can leave if you have something you need to—”
“Please. Stay.”
Anne repositioned herself against the pillows, plumping one up to support her head. “All right.”
The tension in his shoulders eased. “I won’t be long, I promise.”
“Take your time. I’ll be right here.”
Darius nodded, as if they’d struck some kind of deal. And then he marched out of the bedroom with such a stride, she almost felt badly for the man in black leather.
As the door was re-shut, she crossed her legs at the ankles and stared down the bed with its red-and-black satin duvet. Reaching out for the hors d’oeuvres, she helped herself to another pig in a blanket.
It was lukewarm.
And now tasted like cardboard.
But that was less about the food and its temperature… and more about whatever was happening across the hall.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Darius hit the door to his bedchamber like it was an opponent, punching at the heavy weight before marching into his private quarters.
Over at his desk, Vishous, son of the Bloodletter, had taken a seat and was leaning back in the carved chair, his boots propped up on the blotter, a Cartier ashtray balanced on his abs.
“Surprise, surprise,” the brother drawled after a puff of Turkish tobacco. “Interrupting you on a date.”