Immortal Heat (The Guardians of Dacia Book 1) (2 page)

"Yes, but I meant for you to find yourself here, in Frederick, Maryland not Romania." There was a derisive sniff from her mother. "You had your internship here at Livedel."

"Sorry Mama, I'm just not cut out to be a secretary."

"Administrative Assistant, Marilyn—and may I remind you it is what got you through your first two years of college. You had to go and fall in love with Daniel and follow him to Towson when you could have stayed in Frederick and gotten your degree right here at Hood or even Mount St. Mary's."

"Right now, that doesn't matter." Marilyn snorted. "I just want to focus on me. And this is the perfect opportunity."

"But in Romania?" Her mother's voice whined with true emotion. "You may as well be on the moon. I lost your father in Romania…why torture me like this, Marilyn?"

Frustration prickled. Always the same thing with her mother. "I'm not doing this to torture you. This is my time to shine. I can't follow in your footsteps. I need to be myself."

Her mother harrumphed.

Marilyn's upper body slid against the vinyl bench seat as her driver wove in and out of on-coming traffic to get around a slower driver. She closed her eyes as an echoing blast from a semi-truck alerted them of eminent doom if the driver didn't get back over in his lane.

This trip didn't bode well. Maybe she was doomed to death by a taxi driver instead of an airplane. Maybe her mother had a point. No…she wouldn't accept it. She would survive this trip, wild cab ride and all. Looking ahead of the car she took a calming breath. There were no cars in front of them now. She could relax or at least listen to her mother's ranting.

At times like this, Marilyn wished her mother would take a pill. The woman could try the patience of a priest. She'd been known to bring grown men to their knees in a board room but coddled her to suffocation.

"Couldn't you just be happy and excited for me, Mama? This is about my history, my heritage, a part of who I am. I want to explore the world and learn everything I can. I want to explore the ancient Dacian ruins and tour the Carpathian Mountains—I want to embrace the magic of Romania."

Her mother scoffed.

"I'm looking forward to studying with Professor Vamier." She wasn't sure what her future had in store for her. Whatever the situation, she wasn't going to find it sitting in a cubical at Livedel Enterprise the rest of her life.

Marilyn sighed and tried a different tactic. "You've taught me everything I know. Don't you think it's time I try to see if I really learned from your tutelage?" It was true. For all the smothering from her mother she'd also learned a great deal, she just never had the chance to use the skills she'd been taught.

She could hear her mother's deep breathing as if trying to hold back her true thoughts on Marilyn's beliefs. Finally she heard the switch in her mother's tone.

"How are you feeling? Did the muscle relaxants I had Jon prescribe for your trip help with the pain?"

"I'm fine," she lied, wincing when she noticed the speedometer on the cabbie's dash. Was there a speed limit in Romania? "But I think the difference in time is messing with me." She looked at her wristwatch. "It's six-fifty here and I finally feel awake, alert and raring to go."

"Are you taking your vitamins?"

"Yes."

"And your gingko?"

"Yes." Marilyn rolled her eyes. "Mom will you relax. You need to learn to start trusting me. I'm twenty-five now."

"Are you sure? What about your iron pills? I noticed you're looking pale and thin. You need more red meats, protein and iron rich foods. You might be anemic."

"I'm fine. Will you stop worrying?" Marilyn argued. She'd always been scrawny and pale, kind of non-descript. Her thick glasses and long, straggly, reddish-brown hair gave her a fem-geek persona. Being a book-nerd-history major didn't help her socially either. Her mother had tried to get her into society by having her attend Chamber of Commerce meetings and social functions with her since she'd turned twenty-one and could drink, but she was the gawky girl in the corner with a wine spritzer, trying to appear approachable.

"I know you have your meeting in the morning so I'll let you go, Mama. I'll call you when I get to Cluj-Napoca tomorrow night."

"All right. I have your itinerary so make sure you call me
as soon as you land
. You have your meds?"

"Yes. And I'll say my prayers before take-off."

"Good girl. I love you."

"I love you
more
, Mama." Marilyn made the natural effort to add 'more' to her closing.

Her mother said goodnight, letting her cell phone screen go dark. Lost in her own thoughts she jolted back to reality as her driver merged from an exit without signaling or giving the driver behind them room to let them in. She closed her eyes and prayed to arrive safely at her destination.

Maybe if she feigned sleep her cabbie wouldn't continue to grin at her as if he needed her approval to his asinine driving skills. Finally tires squealed on the pavement, and her body catapulted forward pressing the seatbelt into her breastbone. Well, it held. If not, she would've been upside down in the front passenger seat.

She looked out the side window and realized they were in front of the Hotel Elysee. A doorman dressed in a red jacket, black slacks and wearing a small cap opened her door and greeted her with a charming smile. Marilyn emerged from the car on trembling legs, thankful to have the aide of the doorman to keep her steady. The driver retrieved her suitcase from his trunk, and she paid him more than the trip cost. She didn't care, she was just happy to be alive and in one piece.

The doorman ushered a valet to see to her personal items and guided her up the marbled steps of the pillar-framed entrance of glass. Spiral topiaries stood sentry to the elegance of the reception area. Warmth and antique furniture greeted her. Bright chandeliers hung from Italian-Michelangelo paintings on the ceiling, giving the classic hotel a five star quality while she felt as limp and attractive as a haggard crone. Her glasses slipped down her nose.

"Ah, Miss Reddlin," the hotel manager greeted her from the lobby. "We've been expecting you. Mr. Vamier has taken care of all your needs while you are here. Dinner is on the house and Yves will escort you to your suite. If you need anything, please do not hesitate to let us know."

"Thank you."

Yves led her to the elevator that took them to the second floor where she was shown to a beautiful suite fit for a queen. The canopied antique bed and elegant Victorian furniture were wasted on her for a single night's stay, though. Maybe a quick, relaxing shower would renew her before going down to have dinner.

Marilyn tipped Yves, receiving a smile and a jaunty salute from him before he closed the doors. Placing a 'do not disturb' sign on the outside of the double doors, she locked them and stripped to the private bath, leaving her wrinkled travel ware and fatigue behind her as she turned on the various jet sprays of a soul-reviving shower.

#

The wine steward replenished her glass of merlot for the third time. Marilyn enjoyed the benefits of having someone take care of her. Professor Vamier was generous with his hospitality, even from afar. He'd guaranteed her exceptional treatment, gave her carte blanch for the night, and the staff treated her like a queen.

Though Marilyn never wanted for anything, except her father, her mother never let them splurge on frivolous things. She was a woman who pinched her pennies and those of the company to a degree she fought over with many of her board members. Diane Reddlin knew her job and got the company where they were. Though Marilyn's early life was taken care of by a nanny, her mother was always there at the end of the day. Working for Livedel and its generous CEO, Rick Delvante, provided a wonderful life. They'd never met Mr. Delvante personally since he was based somewhere in Europe, but still he treated them like family. When her father had gone missing, he'd sent his condolences, made sure her mother had the best medical treatment available through Livedel during her pregnancy and would always have a supporting job within the company. Now her mother was the chief financial officer of Livedel Enterprise and a respected member of Livedel both nationally and internationally.

Even with the pleasant lifestyle her mother made for them over the years, Diane Reddlin taught her not to take advantage of good fortune. Only blood, sweat and tears could get you where you needed to be in life. So having the opportunity to indulge in what a five-star European hotel had to offer, especially when it was bankrolled by a generous benefactor, made her feel special.

Professor Vamier had even taken the expense to book her a day in the spa before her flight. She looked forward to indulging in a prepared spa treatment tomorrow—it might help with her recent bout of aches and pains to get the whole Vichy shower, mud bath, facial and massage. It was a treat to be able to splurge on a vintage red wine much less a luxury spa day.

Taking a sip of said wine, Marilyn stopped with her glass half-way to her lips.

The odd sensation returned, like at the airport, as if someone watched her. She peered at the other guests. Only a few couples dined, engrossed in each other. Yet prickling awareness pinched the nerves in her spine. This was ridiculous. Her mother's foreboding had her paranoid. How could she control her half a world away? Rolling her eyes, she chuckled. Knowing her mother, if anyone could, Diane Reddlin would find a way.

Swirling the remaining liquid in the bowl of her glass, she let it bleed along the sides. The effect of the tannins took hold of her, making her giddy. Smiling within her own silent thoughts, she exhaled and downed the final sip of wine in salute to her new, adventurous life as she pushed her empty plate of meat juices away.

But the liquid called to her like a temptress. She'd soaked up much of the prime rib juices with her dinner roll but the remainder still sat there sinfully teasing her. The rare meat had tasted so good, filling a hunger she'd never experienced when eating.

She wasn't much of a meat eater but when she did, she liked hers cooked well. Perhaps it was the way the prime rib had been prepared? Pressing her lips together, Marilyn hoped her waiter would show soon to remove the offensive drippings from her sight before she made a spectacle of herself by grabbing the plate and licking it clean.

The server rolled out a dessert tray, and Marilyn automatically possessed room for the piece of decadent Belgian-chocolate cake whispering her name. She couldn't pass up the temptation. Besides, it was only a sliver of cake. She needed something to absorb all the wine. The rich chocolate would complement the merlot and appease her craving.

The first bite hit her taste buds with the smooth, sinful flavor of Belgian chocolate- ganache. Marilyn sighed blissfully and closed her eyes, allowing the sweetness to pleasure her senses as she dragged the fork through her lips to capture every last molecule of taste.

Upon opening her eyes she saw a man sitting at her table, staring at her. She inhaled a crumb of chocolate cake, setting her to cough. Marilyn tried to breathe as her eyes watered behind her spectacles. The man handed her the water goblet and their fingers touched. Trembling at the jolt of electricity shooting through her hand, Marilyn took a sip to clear her throat.

She picked up the subtle scent of the amber and musk she'd noticed in the airport. Was it him? Was he spying on her?

He didn't blink. His electric blue gaze bore into her soul. Small tremors of the fear her mother had addressed for years came running back, but she sat immobilized, staring back at him.

Dressed all in black, his raven hair blended in with the black leather of his jacket and turtleneck shirt. Those blue eyes caught fire from the reflection of candle light between them. Little bubbles of sensual awareness boiled within her bloodstream, and her mouth went dry as if the cake she'd been eating left behind a sawdust residue. She tried to laugh away the nervousness, but what came out was more of a croak. "I think you have the wrong seat," she said in broken Romanian.

"You have to leave," he said.

He spoke in perfect, modern English with a hint of accent. She wasn't sure what kind.
You have to leave,
her mind echoed. She shook her head at the distracting sound of his voice. Like the Belgian chocolate ganache, the thick tenor drizzled delicious intent that could make a woman fantasize about what that voice would sound like whispering rich, sweet words into her ear. She needed to stop drinking red wine. It made her think silly things.

What would her mother do in a situation like this? With the stiffened spine she'd learned from Diane Reddlin, she met his gaze—difficult as it was to look into his eyes without melting. "This is my table. You are the one who needs to leave." She took another bite of her cake as if he weren't there. Whether the cake was more acceptable to bite into than he was would be a matter of decorum, but she bet he would taste yummy.

Hands joined in a single fist planted on the table, he leaned forward until his face was mere inches from hers. He studied her every move as she ate. The intensity should have unnerved her, and yet a wine induced boldness hit her, coupled with a determination to put him in his place, whoever he was. His good looks and dark, sensual appeal could only mean trouble.

The flickering candlelight created shadows along his jaw line, making him appear even more mysterious. His elegant European nose flared, the muscles in his jaw flexed. The mixed scent of the aroma she'd been alerted to at the airport and leather from his jacket again hit her senses. As much as she tried to fight her feminine instincts, her inner woman wasn't cooperating. Her nipples hardened, and a quiver started in her core. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.