One Night Is Never Enough (34 page)

He peeked one eye open to look at her, death promised in his glare.

She looked down, satisfied, and started the next stitch, settling the scene into a rhythm as she worked.

Andreas took a swig from the bottle in his hand a few minutes later, far calmer. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or pleased that they sent five men after me and Slade after you,” he said to Roman.

But now that things were being taken care of, Roman was unresponsive, rolling a pair of dice under his palm, across the table, over and over, staring at them as if doing otherwise would produce dire results. Charlotte spared him a quick look as she threaded the needle with a new line. She was nearly done stitching. Apprehension slid through her, but she couldn’t identify why.

Bill looked pensive. “Maybe luck of the draw. Slade’s expensive. So they sent one pot one way and the other”—he shrugged—“to the other. But they didn’t make the proper inquiries, or else they would have sent Slade after you instead, Merrick. There’s only one person in this world who Slade would show himself to, and they submitted his name to the fold.” Bill shook his head and shot a glance at Roman. Charlotte’s apprehension grew at the concerned look in Bill’s eye as he too watched the steady crackle of dice.

Andreas smiled, eyes closed once more. “Does my heart good to think that the bastard’s reputation took a hit tonight.”

“He’ll probably hold it against
you,
” Bill pointed out.

Andreas smiled thinly. “I hope so. It will give me opportunity when they send round two.”

“Only thing in our favor is that they might think Slade can’t do the job properly and not hire him again. How did people without an arseload of inquiry figure out how to contact him anyhow? S’not easy. It has to be multiple factions working together, Boss, you were right. Bad communication is to our advantage.”

“Who’s Slade?” Charlotte asked, pricking Andreas’s skin again with a far steadier hand than she had any reason to claim.

She could see Andreas study her from beneath cracked lids. “He’s an assassin,” he said finally.

“I put that together, actually,” she said calmly, pulling the thread through. “But
who
is he, and why didn’t he kill us?”

“What difference does it make
who
he is?” But Andreas moved his fingers slightly around the neck of the bottle, belying his words. “Wouldn’t have killed you anyway unless you saw his face, or he was paid to put you in a grave. Roman was the target.”

“Slade’s the best,” Bill piped in, then held out his hands. “No offense, Merrick.” Bill addressed Charlotte again quickly. “Boss saved his arse years ago when Slade was still wet behind the ears.” His brow furrowed, and he turned to Roman. “You know, Slade might have chosen his target. Taken you instead, Boss. To protect you like.”

Roman shrugged. He looked bored. “Perhaps. Though why now?” And now his voice sounded anything but bored. Vicious, angry, savage. “This happens all the time after all.” He swept the dice, flinging them harshly against the wall. He threw back his chair and went to the sideboard.

Andreas’s eyes narrowed on him. Charlotte’s unease turned into a raging tumult.

“What’s crawled up your breeches?” Andreas demanded.

Roman fished through glass containers, ignoring him, clinking bottles together.

“Stop abusing my liquor.”

“Walk over here and stop me.” Roman’s voice retained the vicious thread as he grabbed a bottle, nearly breaking it along with another as he yanked the glass container from its pocket.

“Roman.” The voice held warning. A warning laced with some unidentifiable emotion. And like before, her body instinctively reacted to the threat underlying every aspect of Andreas, and her shoulders rose and tightened.

Glass shattered somewhere behind her.

Andreas thumped his own bottle down roughly, and she found the needle plucked from her hand. She blinked at her empty fingers. Shock overpowering everything else.

“Out! All of you. Now,” Andreas barked, holding the needle, threaded and still attached to him.

And it was as if everyone had a pressing urge to use the commode, as they all stumbled over each other trying to get to the door. She stared at the madness.

“You, out too,” Andreas hissed at her.

She bristled and opened her mouth to respond, but something in Andreas’s eyes stopped her. Something neither cold nor cruel. Something almost approaching fear. And it stopped her.

She looked from one of his dark eyes to the other, and in other circumstances she might have been surprised to notice that his eyes weren’t inky black—they were a very dark blue. And as if the realization that Andreas wasn’t a fathomless pit, and instead was just very, very dark, made a difference to her worldview, she rose and stiffly walked to the door.

Roman stood rigidly by the sideboard, gripping a bottle, aggression vibrating underneath his skin. His mouth tightened as his eyes slid past her, still not fully meeting her gaze. Saying nothing.

But as she touched the handle of the door, the words came, dark and harsh, as if torn from him.

“
Do not leave this floor.
”

She gripped the handle, turned it, and walked stiffly into the hall, where a gaggle of men and boys shifted uneasily. She shut the door behind her just as the shouting started.

Charlotte curled into Roman’s plush seat and idly moved pieces on the chessboard. The yelling—and a few conspicuous thumps and sounds of breaking glass—had ceased half an hour ago. There hadn’t been a peep since, though neither Andreas nor Roman had emerged. They had either killed each other or worked through the argument, as stupid men did.

Bill, who had been the only one to remain with her—having sent the others to various defensive stations or tasks—had looked relieved, so she was inclined to the latter view. Some of the words had penetrated the wood, though most of the time it had been obvious that they were too aware that there were others near.

Still, it had become evident that Roman felt he had endangered her life. That he would always do so. Andreas had not been kind, saying she had been in as much danger the day before, and yet he hadn’t cared then.

That hadn’t gone over well.

She had finally given up waiting outside and numbly walked to Roman’s room, which had already been thoroughly searched for intruders and cleared, and closed the door behind her.

She had then leaned against it for long moments, with her eyes closed and a delayed whimper on her lips. Finally, after gathering herself, she had moved to the table—not a desk, for there were no
desks
in his personal rooms—and sat in his cozy, well-loved chair.

Roman was going to push her away. That much was clear because that’s what stupid people did.

Stupid people like she, too scared to grab the
good
that she could have.

Smart people like she, with enough regard for others to understand that her actions didn’t impact just her alone.

She moved the white queen, dragging her rigid hem along the squares.

She should let him push her away. Make it easy.

Make
life
easier. Make life safer. Make life so less vibrant and bright and warm.

She heard a door shut down the hall, then Roman’s door opened. Andreas strode inside, dark and deadly, though the sinister air that usually surrounded him was conspicuously absent, and there was a slight hitch to his stride. Probably more to do with the loss of blood than anything else.

He regarded her for a long moment, taking her measure. She took his right back. She figured that she had poked a needle through his flesh, she might as well tell him to go to hell too.

“If you are here to tell me to stay away from Roman, you can—”

He gave a humorless laugh, eyes dark. Dark
blue.
“I’m not.” It was hard to hold his piercing stare, truly, but she did so, determined. He lifted his chin, regarding her as if she were a mangled insect that somehow still managed to stay alive. “If you make him happy, then I will
tolerate
you.”

Only the stubborn urge not to allow him to flummox her moved her tongue. “That is very sporting of you.” At least, that’s what she figured she should say. “Thank you.”

She couldn’t read his expression for a moment. “But just because I know why he likes you,” he said, “doesn’t mean
I
have to like you.”

“Of course.” She smiled without humor. “I’d hardly think you a man to be swayed by cool manners or a pretty face.”

His finger nearly vibrated as he jammed it in her direction. “If you think he likes you because you are beautiful or finely mannered, then you are as stupid and useless as I once thought you.”

She blinked.

He turned and was almost to the door before he stopped and angled his head slightly back toward her. “Oh, and thank you for stitching me up.”

And then he was gone.

Roman had tried to grab Andreas before he entered the room, but even injured, his brother was a slippery bastard.

Andreas exited again, an unreadable expression on his face. Roman moved to walk past him, but Andreas’s hand shot out, gripping his forearm.

“Don’t be an idiot.” Then he strode off, likely heading somewhere to get soused.

An idiot? That was what he had been to think that everything would be fine. That he could control the chaos when he wanted to. That nothing could touch him.

He hadn’t much cared that anything could touch him before. He still didn’t. But that it could touch
Charlotte . . .

He could feel the lingering coil of absolute fear. Fucking unpleasant emotion. His hand shook. An inch to the left, and
he
would have killed her.

From his post just outside Roman’s door, Bill tilted his head in question. Roman wanted to shake his head and walk right by his room. Even with the door wide open and her able to see him do it. Better than seeing that overlay of her face lifeless and frozen. Shit, he had just admitted no more than a few hours past that one of his fears was—

She appeared in the door, her features very much alive. “Are you not going to come in, Roman?” Her voice was soft. Almost as if she
understood
what was going through his mind.

But then again, maybe she did.

His feet took him toward her, unwillingly, and he entered the room, pulling the door shut behind him. But he couldn’t meet her eyes. All of his cute games. His plans and traps. His excitement that maybe . . . just maybe . . .

“You did not endanger me.” Soft, so soft, her voice as it attempted to absolve him of damnation.

He gave a brittle little laugh. Andreas had already rung him up one side and down the other, and that hadn’t helped. He opened his mouth to say so.

She touched his cheek, making him meet her eyes. Bright blue rimmed with gold. “Everything is well. See?”

And she gently pulled his head down, her lips gliding over his forehead, over his eyelids.

One hour earlier, and he would have had something easily witty to say to that.

“Everything is not well, Charlotte.”

She took his hand and pulled it to her throat, to the heavy beat in her neck, then down her chest and around her waist.

He shuddered, then slowly withdrew his hand. “I’ll have One-eye and three of the others escort you home.”

“Why?”

“You will be safe with them.”

She gripped the open edges of his shirt, giving him a shake. “I will be safe with
you.
”

“
I know.
” He grabbed her wrists against her chest, spinning and pinning her to the wall. “Because I would skin anyone alive who dared to touch you.”

He could feel her heart beating nearly through her chest. A black, ruptured emotion slithered through him. She was
afraid
of him.

She pulled his mouth to hers, almost savagely, and he shuddered under the onslaught of need that rushed through him. To possess her. To keep her. To protect her. To never let her stop pulling and kissing him as hard as she was able.

Every dark desire that he had first felt for her remained true, but with the certainty that she would push back to dominate him too. Equally.

What he
wanted
from her.
Needed
from her.

But what was best for
Charlotte
?

He pulled away, breath harsh. “Go home, Charlotte.”

“You are being foolish.” She stepped toward him again.

He pivoted and walked around the table, picking up the decanter of One-eye’s specialty—for he needed all of his wits about him—putting furniture between them, not letting the desire to chain Charlotte to his bed overtake him.