Lucifer's Lover (31 page)

Before he could gather his thoughts together to formulate a response, the woman had grasped the sleeve of his jacket, and turned him around to face in the other direction, looking out under the bridge to the water on the other side. “See?” she demanded.
 
“That’s his mate.
 
She’s waiting for him.”

David saw the second albatross floating serenely on the dark water, at the edge of the area lit by the bridge lights.

“Don’t you understand?” she said.
 
“You have to let him go.
 
Anything else is cruelty.”
 
Her fingers were digging into his arm despite the leather between them.
 
Her eyes were wide, direct, trying to speak her urgency.
 
David didn’t need the message from her eyes:
 
Intense waves of feeling were radiating from her stance, her expression, from every curve and angle of her body.

He found himself nodding, as her impassioned plea made itself felt.
 
It wasn’t a matter of what was reasonable or logical, but what was right.
 
He lowered the bird to the concrete, and unwrapped the cloak.
 
The albatross stepped out and blinked.
 
After a moment to orientate itself and realize it was free, it waddled to the edge of the platform, and took off awkwardly.
 
Flapping steadily, it flew gracefully out along the harbor.
 
The mate gave a cry and took off from the water and joined the first in the air.

It pleased him to have been instrumental in the reunion, even though it had not been his idea.
 
He found himself smiling and turned to tell the woman standing beside him that she had been right.

She was silently crying.
 
Two large tears rolled down her cheeks as she strained to watch the escaping birds.

The impact of her tears slammed into him with the force of a train and again he was left breathless and his heart hammering.
 
He knew instinctively that she wasn’t solely empathizing with the albatross.
 
It was the symbolism of the bird’s freedom that meant so much to her.

Why?

He stared at her.
 
It had been a long while since he’d met anyone with the driving passions of this woman.
 
She had scrambled his senses and surprised him with her reactions at least twice already, and that was…unusual.
 
He’d grown used to dealing with business people whose motives were logical.
 
He could anticipate that sort of person.

She must have felt his stare for she scrubbed hurriedly at her cheeks, and whirled to pick up her shoes.
 
She reached for her cloak.

“Thanks for your help.”
 
Her voice was husky from the pressure of more dammed-back tears.

“Don’t go,” he responded without thought, maintaining his hold on the cloak.
 

He wanted her.
 
The thought stole into his mind with the covert agility of the subconscious prompting it, but as soon as the thought sounded he acknowledged it fully.
 
It wasn’t just her beauty.
 
That was only the beginning, the beckoning.
 
He would have been happy to give her beauty only a passing mental acknowledgment if he had not seen it shift and slide to reveal what lay beneath.
 
It was her.
 
She was romantic, empathetic, considerate, driven, emotional.
 
Sensual.
 
Gorgeous.

“Don’t go,” he repeated, trying to soften his voice, to remove any command from it.
 
He was too used to commanding, damn it.
 
Like the albatross, he knew she must be coaxed, gentled.
 
He didn’t know where the certainty sprang from, but he obeyed his instinct.
 

She looked a little surprised.
 
Then alarmed.
 
He watched her eyes widen as she looked at him.
 
This time she really looked and saw him, David, not the stranger who had helped her with the bird.

Awareness filled her face.
 

He saw her expression change and the same painful pleasure speared his heart, made his throat tighten and his entire body came to stiff alertness, the nerve endings sensitized to a painful degree.
 
In the heartbeat of silence between them he could hear – far away – the sound of traffic and – loud in his ears – her unsteady breath.
 
The shimmering black panels of her dress moved a little as she breathed.

Now she was aware of him, just as he was of her.
 
He recognized her awakening, thanks to his own hypersensitivity.
 

He felt the touch of chill air on his warm face, and it reminded him of more practical considerations.
 
He hauled his attention back to their whereabouts.
 
“You must be freezing.”
 
He unfurled her cloak.
 
He inspected it for dirt and damage, then dropped it around her shoulders, and pulled it close about her.
 
He tried to let go, but his hands wouldn’t loosen.
 
His mind was back on track, but his body was obeying different rhythms.

He swallowed.
 
His throat was very dry.
 

“Come on board for a minute,” he said.
 
“You can clean your hands and warm up before you go.”

Her eyes were filled with puzzlement and the unease in her expression had grown.
 
He didn’t know if it was a prudent wariness of strangers, or fear at the swift unexpected impact on her senses, but he knew either one would cause her to bolt for safety with only a little more pressure.
 
She began to protest hesitantly and he knew she was trying to act normally and sensibly despite scattered wits and tingling nerve-ends.
 
“No…I…”

“Just for a minute.”
 
He strove for a reasonable tone.
 
“You can’t run around Seattle at midnight with blood on your hands.
 
They’ll arrest you, or something.”

The wariness eased.
 
She nodded.
 
“Just for a minute.”

David almost sighed.
 
He felt like he’d just won a major coup.
 
As he helped her back onto the boat, he felt absurdly like letting out a war whoop.

About the Author

Tracy Cooper-Posey is a national award-winning writer. An Australian, she brought her family with her to
Edmonton
,
Alberta
,
Canada
in 1996 to marry.

Tracy
is a net citizen— she met her husband on the Internet, and has coordinated discussion groups and teaching on-line. She also built and maintains her own web site. She has taught creative writing both on-line and at university, and entertains students and the public with anecdotes and insights into the publishing industry.

By the end of 2011, Tracy had published 38 titles, under her own and other pennames.
 
She has won the Emma Darcy Award, and the Sherlock Holmes Society of Western Australia’s Best Pastiche Award
.

She has been a Romantic Times Top Pick author.
Her short stories and articles have appeared in various Canadian and Australian magazines and periodicals, and on the Internet.
 

Thief In The Night
was announced as one of RRT Review’s
Best Book of the Year
, and also selected by eCataromance for their Reviewers’ Choice Awards in February 2007.
 

Her 2004 historical romantic suspense,
Heart Of Vengeance
, was nominated for a CAPA Award for Best Historical of 2004, a
Romantic Times
Magazine Reviewer’s Choice finalist for best medieval historical romance for 2004, and was published in Germany in February 2007.
 

In 2010, she was again nominated for the prestigious CAPA awards, in the best erotic paranormal category, and as favourite author, and in 2011, for best paranormal romance.
 

In early 2011 she began self-publishing her novels, with
Blood Knot
, which has been nominated at least twice for Book-Of-The-Year.

So far her life has encompassed an eighteen month stint on war-ravaged Bougainville Island in Papua New Guinea, and at various times she has been a secretary, office clerk, single mother, freelance writer, public speaker, columnist, law student, international traveler, writing teacher, advertising production coordinator (for a national newsmagazine), web-press production coordinator, and the first female cinematograph operator in Western Australia.

She has been the editor of
WHERE Edmonton
magazine, and managing editor of the national magazine,
Canadian Cowboy Country
Magazine, and for a decade, she taught creative writing at Grant MacEwan University.

She currently lives in Edmonton with her husband, a professional wrestler.

You can find her web site at
http://www.tracycooperposey.com
.