Immortal Trust (18 page)

Caught up in studying the details, she didn’t hear him approach until he took a seat beside her and set the trunk on the coffee table.

“Shall we?”

All too glad to get out of his room as quickly as she could, she nodded vigorously. As she wriggled out of her coat, Lucan spread out the veil. Their elbows bumped. He flashed her a grin that served to dissipate some of the tension not only in the room, but inside her as well. Too much time had passed since she’d experienced that simple, youthful lightness of heart. Way too many years.

Chloe leaned over the table as he did, content to let his thigh rest against hers. He held her gaze warmly as he passed her a small, open pocket knife. “I shall allow you the honors of separating the fibers.”

She accepted, holding onto his fingers a second longer than necessary, mesmerized by the bright light in his storm-gray eyes. When her heart thumped hard, and the room became uncomfortably warm, she focused on the Veil. Now wasn’t the time to get caught up in Lucan. This was work, not pleasure. No matter how enticing that stolen kiss near the excavation site had been, she didn’t intend to revisit it. Even if Lucan had extended a peace offering with this dual sampling, Julian’s words still rang true. Lucan hadn’t shown interest in the other relics. He’d known about the Veronica ahead of time, and he’d done all he could to ensure her complete silence.

Regardless of his reasons, that made him untrustworthy. At least when it came down to letting him inside her life. Until she could guarantee he wouldn’t turn into another Blake, those few priceless kisses were all she intended to give him.

Brave, firm words—if she could convince her body to cooperate. With him so near his long dark hair brushed against her arm, her resolve threatened to crack.

As she picked at the cloth’s frayed corner, time moved in slow motion. Every excruciating second dragged on longer than the one before, until her hands began to shake. Instead of concentrating on the tiny muslin fibers, her mind replayed each stolen kiss in vivid detail. The way his dark lashes dusted over his cheeks as he closed his eyes. The rasp of his breath against her cheek.

Chloe resisted the urge to let out a frustrated protest and pursed her lips. Damn, she never should have let two years pass without taking a man to bed. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be so caught up in all things sexual and she might actually accomplish something worthwhile.

A fiber broke free from the tight weave, offering her relief. One down, one to go. Careful not to touch the sample with her bare hand, she used the point of the knife to nudge it aside and try for a second strand.

*   *   *

Feigning interest in Chloe’s hands became a chore more difficult than fashioning metal links into shirts of chain. Lucan cared not about the bits of muslin she picked free—he already knew what they would reveal. But for her sake, for the guise he must maintain, he dared not let his disinterest become obvious. He would have to explain that her brother’s behavior had forced him to create the farce in her trailer. A truth he suspected she would not wish to hear. Nor one she would believe.

He would not have believed it. Had not when Enid’s cousin, his best friend, had warned that Lucan’s very brother looked too long on the woman Lucan was to wed. Lucan had believed in his older brother. Looked up to him as well. ’Twas understood Malfred would inherit their father’s larger holdings at Wynnewood and he, as the second son, would take on the smaller Seacourt upon wedding Enid. Naught would have made Lucan believe Malfred would murder their entire family for the sake of a simple maid’s heart.

Siblings were not born to hate. Like he, Chloe would defend Julian no matter the cause.

She shifted position to better pick at the veil, and her thigh rubbed against his. He nearly jerked away at the shock of energy that coursed up his spine. God’s teeth, ’twas ridiculous the power she wielded over him. Everything about her made his conviction to court her properly an exercise in absurdity. ’Twould seem at every opportunity it could find, his body betrayed his mind. If he did not find a means of expelling this desire, he would soon lose all objectivity.

“There, I think I’ve got it.” Chloe leaned away from the table. “One for you, one for me. Do you have some sampling envelopes?”

Lucan cleared his throat, recalling the reason they had gathered in his room. “Nay. I did not think to bring any.”

“I think I have some in my bag.” She laughed and shook her head. “Guess that says a lot for my life if I’m constantly carrying supplies around in case I happen across something, doesn’t it?”

Aye, indeed it did. It said she concentrated on her work far more than social pleasures. Which left room for the interpretation she did not make it habit to entertain herself with men. A slow burn spread through him.

Lucan scowled at the misplaced thought. But before he could comment, she twisted and leaned over the arm of the couch, granting him the most spectacular view of her shapely bottom. He sucked in a sharp breath and fisted a hand against the cushions to keep from hauling her into his lap. Damnation, suggesting they work in his room had been a mistake of the worst kind.

To his immense relief she sank back into the couch, two small paper envelopes in hand. “When I was a student, one of the archaeologists I worked under in Egypt reamed me for not being prepared. Embarrassed me in front of the whole team. From that afternoon on, I’ve always had rudimentary things in my bag.”

As she talked, she packaged the two long fibers. “I think that should be good enough for the lab. Washington’s never needed anything more. There’s almost four inches per strand—they should be able to cut and sample it with that.” She licked each flap, then pressed them closed.

With that innocent act, Lucan’s composure shattered. Her sweet flavor rushed into his memory with a landslide’s force, dominating all thought. He spiraled backward in time, to the place where he was a man of the sword, life depended on the outcome of the next battle, and pleasure was taken where it could be found. Chloe had been promised to him. He to her. She shared the same desire that heated his blood. He read it in her eyes, tasted it on her tongue. This attempt at chivalry was no more than a flirtatious dance he could endure no longer. He would go mad if he must take another false sidestep.

“May I use your restroom?” She smoothed her hands down the tops of her legs as she stood.

“Aye,” he answered hoarsely. Lucan watched her go, his body as tight as stone. He grabbed at all the reasons he should resist one last time, then tossed them aside. Demons or no demons, he hungered for her.

As she passed in front of his knees, her perfume tickled his nose. He closed his eyes on a pained grimace. Beneath the denim of his jeans, he felt his cock swell. Aye, mad indeed. Mayhap he had already left sanity behind. Never before had such an innocent fragrance affected him so completely.

’Twas only one way to cure the rampant insistence of his body. Surrender.

She exited the bathroom with a curious tilt of her head. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Anxious about the samples?”

“Nay.” He caught her hand, stopping her from passing before him once more. With a slight tug, he turned her so he could capture the other as well. Lacing his fingers through hers, he leaned back into the couch and pulled her forward until she placed one knee on the cushion next to his.

“Lucan,” she protested with a soft laugh. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He kept pressure on her hands, drawing her so close her breasts brushed against his chest. “Nay,” he murmured. “’Tis not a good idea.” As she landed in his lap, he caught her mouth with his. “’Tis a magnificent idea,” he whispered against her lips.

He ignored the stiffening of her body and nudged her lips apart to slide his tongue against hers. Sweet. So damnably sweet. And Saints’ blood, she was not fighting him. Nay, she returned the seeking thrusts with the same urgency that flowed in his veins. The tension fled her limbs. Her soft breasts molded against his chest. A low murmur of pleasure bubbled in the back of her throat.

Lucan released her fingers and settled his hands on her waist. But the heat that ebbed from her body warmed him overmuch. He ran his hands over the sloping curve of her hips, down the backs of her thighs, then over her buttocks. Tightening his fingers into the firm flesh there, he urged her closer. Drew her hips flush with his and positioned her atop his swollen erection.

She settled against him with a soft moan. Instinct drove him to satisfy that feminine sound, and he lifted his hips to press against her sensitive center. White-hot fire shot through his veins. He drew in a shuddering breath, broke the kiss, and looked into her eyes. Desire burned bright beneath lowered lashes.

Wordlessly, Lucan slid one palm over her ribs and cupped her breast. The cotton of her shirt was soft, but the flesh beneath far softer. He held her gaze as he rolled his thumb over her hardened nipple. She arched into his hand with a whispered gasp. The sound ricocheted through his head, vibrated down his spine, and tightened the fingers he held against her waist. Slowly, he rocked against her. She moved in time with the roll of his hips.

For several long moments they did no more than move together. But as Lucan’s blood began to boil, and the swelling of his shaft became painful, he leaned forward and fastened his mouth to hers. Their kiss was feral. Full of untamed need. He fisted his hands into her hair and became lost in the satin of her lips, the nip of her teeth, and the subtle undulation of their bodies.

Yet as pleasure dominated his thoughts, he slowly began to recognize her little murmurs of satisfaction took on a new tone. That of protest. The hands that had roamed across his chest now pushed for freedom.

“Stop,” she whispered between the catch of their lips.

Regret swamped him. Along with a hefty dose of shame. He had breeched boundaries. Let things go too far. Damnation! Where had his self-control gone? He had fair attacked her. ’Twas no wonder she wished to escape.

With one more fleeting press of his mouth, he reluctantly released her. She flew out of his lap as if she were afire. Her hands raked nervously through her hair, and she grabbed for her coat. “I have to go. I can’t do this.”

“Chloe—”

“No.” She gave him a vigorous shake of her head as she stuffed her sample into her pocket. “Don’t say anything. I have to go.”

With that, she fled. The door slammed in her wake.

Lucan dropped his head to the back of the couch with a frustrated oath.

*   *   *

Chloe double-timed it to the stairs, anxious to be as far away from Lucan Seacourt as possible. Though, in truth, she wasn’t running from him. She ran from herself. The way she lost every bit of sense when he touched her. How she couldn’t seem to keep her body from seeking its own desires. Lucan reduced her to a frightening version of the naive young girl who couldn’t read a warning painted in red on a white wall. Nothing like the levelheaded woman who knew the cold, cruel realities of life that she’d become.

He made her feel. Woke her up and drew her out of the blissful void she’d carefully constructed. Reminded her that beneath all her protective layers she was nothing more than a simple woman, capable of a woman’s weaknesses, and starved for a tiny morsel of that fabled emotion called love. Desperate for a bit of human closeness.

And terribly lonely in her black-and-white world of artifacts, dirt, and research.

Her heart clanged against her ribs as she reached the stairs and began the climb to her room. She slowed to take a deep breath and gather her composure.

So lonely she’d risk entanglement with a man who posed the same risks as Blake. She couldn’t do that again.
Wouldn’t.
Only fools refused to learn from mistakes.

But Lucan differed from Blake in so many ways it made remembering that they stood at polar odds professionally difficult to do. Blake had never willingly shared his knowledge—the first red flag she should have noticed. He’d never offered to share anything for that matter. Everything centered on what
he
wanted,
his
goals,
his
dreams. If hers differed, he made no attempt at compromise.

Blake had never made her feel appreciated either. Sure, sex had been good, but not a single one of his kisses held the underlying suggestion of emotional abandon that every one of Lucan’s held. She’d never felt truly
desired
until Lucan took her in his arms and showed her how a man could lose himself in pleasure. And the heat in his intense eyes told her he took pleasure in her. Not just any woman.
Her.

He had been every bit an equal participant in that terrifying encounter as she had. Wanted her as fiercely as she wanted him.

At the third-floor landing, Chloe’s shoulders sagged, and she shook her head. Lucan’s too-obvious desire scared her more than the half-distracted attention Blake gave to intimacy. If he could ignore her a little better, she could do the same, then sex with an incredibly hot guy wouldn’t seem so daunting.

She put her key in the door and pushed. If Lucan’s kiss didn’t demand everything from her, she might not be afraid to give in. The subtle insistence for more, however, awakened all the possibilities of what might happen to her when he returned to Rome.

Chloe tripped over a book and froze. Her belongings lay scattered over the floor. The dresser drawers stood open, bits of clothing hanging over the edge. Books, papers—all her journals from Egypt—littered the rug like confetti. Lampshades hung at odd angles. Her bed sat cockeyed to the wall.

On a hard swallow, Chloe slowly turned to survey the mess. Who had broken in? Why?
How?
The door was locked. She had the only key.

Her gaze skimmed over the safe, and terror raced down her spine. Three jagged scars gouged the thick steel, shredding it like paper. She stepped closer, knowing what she’d find, but unable to stop from looking. Kneeling before the safe, she traced the torn metal. Her mind refused to accept what lay before her eyes. Impossible. She had to be imagining things.