The Megiddo Mark, Part 1 (7 page)

“Then why do it?”

He stared at the onyx blades of the ceiling fan for a moment. “I don’t live for the recognition. I can’t leave history uncovered, unclaimed. I have a driving need to uncover the stories of our past.”

The waitress delivered their drinks. He waited to finish. The honesty and conviction of his response struck a chord deep inside her. Yes, this is what drives this man, what would drive him to succeed in every area of his life. She watched him sip his brandy then trace the rim of the glass with the pad of his thumb where his lips had pressed moments before.

“So curiosity about mankind drives you,” she said.

“Yes and a need to understand why people undertake certain tasks, why they do the things they do, as you Americans would say. Whole cities and civilizations lay buried
–lost to us until someone like me unveils them and begins to piece together the mystery of their lives, one piece at a time. We need to understand where we’ve been to see where we’re going.”

“How profound,” she said, trying not to smile at his pompous overarching imperial “we.”

“Well, yes, it is rather profound.” He grinned. “This insatiable curiosity also compelled me to find out about you. My need to uncover your story.”

“And yet there seems to be more to our story than first appeared.”

“As is the case in much of history. Yes, clearly we are a man and a woman drawn together by destiny.” He brushed her cheek.

Awareness shivered down her spine. Her attraction to
Cullen Wade was immediate and potent. She’d never experienced anything like it. Raw sexual hunger warred with her logical intellect. She needed to find out what he knew about the
Vitae Lux
and his mother’s role as Guardian. She didn’t believe Joshua Dellacourt. Cullen’s information would either support Joshua’s claims or disprove his outlandish rantings.

And this sexy man sitting next to her might be the one holding the answers to all her questions. He’d know if his mother had owned a book like the one Joshua had described. And surely, he’d know how his mother died. She sipped her drink, not willing to show her impatience.

“Do you believe in fate?” she said.

“I’ve visited too many places, been in contact with too many people, and experienced too many unexplained events to think that the circumstances of our lives happen by chance. So, yes, in a way, I believe we all fulfill a destiny. Yet it’s our choices when presented with the challenges of life that define our journey. Make us who we are.”

His lazy smile distracted her. If events yesterday, last night, and even this morning hadn’t unfolded as they had, she might have fallen for him. But the building blocks of any relationship, she knew, were trust and honesty, both of which were dubious in her interactions with Cullen Wade. Trust mattered. Almost as much as honesty. One built upon the other. Without one, the other could not exist.

She’d promised to get to know him before she pumped him for answers, to give him the benefit of the doubt. Remain cool, distant. Yet she found herself craving the easy grace and sensuality he offered. A sharp longing flared and burned hard and low before she tamped it out.

“I’ll grant the journey aspect. And it does seem like we have more in common than we’d realized. But is it too much to believe? Too coincidental?” she said.

He poured her another glass of rich, blood-red Sangria. A drip splattered onto the tabletop; he wiped it with his thumb then licked it from his finger. “Coincidental? Yes. Random. No.” He held her gaze. “You can trust me, I promise.” He answered her unspoken question as he replaced the carafe. She considered him.
His smile was irresistible. She wanted to believe him for more reasons than she’d care to admit. Did she dare? “Will you answer my questions as well?” he said.

She’d expected him to be interested in one thing tonight, okay, maybe two. The book,
Flights of Fancy
, and sex. Yet he didn’t even want to discuss the book until later and now he actually seemed interested in getting to know her. Maybe she had misjudged him. She weighed her answer.

“I will answer whatever you ask, within reason.” She added the subtle qualifier. What could he possibly want to know about her that he hadn’t already found out? She took a quick sip of the Sangria.

“Fine, then, we will play this as you wish.” He brushed her hair over one shoulder so he could see her face.

“As you said, this is one night. I require nothing more from you than answers.” Okay, maybe she
was lying a little, but he never needed to know, did he?

Cullen stilled. He looked at her, his eyes penetrating. “I find myself greatly disappointed.”

She sobered at the sight of his bewildered look. His jaw, shadowed with a dark, attractive stubble, clenched tight as his face became an unreadable mask. She’d wounded his male pride.

“You’re serious? I’m so sorry. I thought most men were delighted by the prospect of living free and enjoying the moment, no strings attached and all that hoopla.”

“Apparently, luv, you’ve never had a date with me.” He pulled her close with the hand that had been caressing her neck. His lips met hers in a warm, lingering kiss that had her ready to forgo dinner for dessert. After a long moment, he pulled back. “All right. We play by your rules. One night only. But you can bet I’m going to make this one night you’ll never forget.”

She believed he meant every single word of his threat.

Chapter Eight

Dinner stretched into a river walk along the Thames. Small cafes whose lights flickered like fireflies in the dark pulse of night populated the busy walkway. A cocoon, soft and warm, wrapped around them creating a world where only the two of them existed. Malena fell headlong into a warm camaraderie she wasn’t comfortable embracing.

They held hands as they walked. She needed answers she hadn’t yet received. Nonetheless, she’d agreed to wait on the hard questions until midnight; pretending, for one night, for a few more moments, that their relationship consisted of more, much more than either one of them had imagined. Vendors sold brightly colored scarves, faux leather handbags, and costume jewelry at elaborate stalls.

Cullen picked up a beautiful red paisley shawl. She touched the soft cloth, the colors were exquisite. Red, orange, gray, royal blue, and black. Wrapping it around her shoulders as she shivered, he pulled her close, kissing her lightly on the mouth. He tossed two
ten-pound notes at the vendor–twice the price.

“It’s almost as gorgeous as you,” he whispered in her ear. He caressed her throat, trailing his fingers down her shoulders and arms before he clasped her hand again to lead her away. They walked along the water. Pedestrian traffic thinned as midnight approached. The London Eye loomed ahead, a blue neon glow a short distance away.

He backed her up to one of the iron lampposts, a remnant from Victorian London now rewired with electricity. “So, my first serious question–”

“
–ah, ah, ah. We agreed midnight.” She pointed to Big Ben. Ten minutes to the hour. She had wondered at the light banter they’d fallen into since she had laid down the ground rules. Whether he claimed to or not, Cullen Wade played by the rules.

“Is there a significant other? A man in your life?” He’d pressed his hips against her abdomen, gently pinning her to the black painted post. A large glass globe glimmered several feet above them. When he moved close, the overhead light cast his face into shadow.

It wasn’t the question she’d expected. She lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers to show him her ring finger. “Nope. No current attachments and never been married.” She shifted her hips. He growled low in his throat. She grinned at him and shifted again. “How about you?” She rested her hand, the one with the tattoo, against his chest.

“Not yet.” He shook his head, his eyes suddenly serious. She could tell he wanted to say more. Yet he hesitated. She stroked his chest, her fingers caressing his sculpted pectorals through the silk sweater.

“Ever want to be married?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “Family history keeps me looking over my shoulder. Not sure I want to perpetuate the genes.”

“I don’t think I understand.” She could guess from what Joshua had told her that Cullen referred to his mother’s suicide. She wouldn’t. Not yet. He’d have to spell it out for her. One word at a time. She wouldn’t let him off the hook.

“My mother fell from a cliff in Cornwall.”

“Yes. I’m sorry. I did know. My mother spoke of her often. But what does your mother’s death have to do with your future?”

“A great deal, I fear.”

“How so?”

He pulled away, stepped to the railing that overlooked the Thames. Cool air rushed in to touch her skin where he’d stood a moment before. She followed him. Water glistened black, ominous and sparkling in the flickering light. He rested against the gray metal bar, still not looking at her.

“What you may not know is that she jumped from a cliff in Cornwall. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why she went over the edge that day. And until I do, I won’t marry or bring a child into this world. I can’t trust myself until I know the truth. If my mother struggled with depression or something worse, I won’t chance passing that on. No one deserves that sentence. I won’t strap a wife with that millstone.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. He turned to look at her. “That’s a heavy burden to bear.”

“I keep thinking the pain will disappear one day. But nothing I say or do changes the past. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“No, you’re right. How old were you when she died?”

“Five.”

“That’s awfully young to lose your mother in such a traumatic way. Do you struggle with depression?”

“No.”

“Then why assume you’d pass mental illness on to your children?”

“I won’t take the risk.”

“Do you think that’s what she’d want? To know you walked through life alone? That you ran scared anytime you got close to someone because you were afraid of who you might become?” Malena leaned into Cullen. Her bare arm brushed his. They peered into the depths of the blackened soul of London
–the Thames.

“She gave up all rights concerning me when she jumped from that cliff.” He looked at her. “Now I’ve shared my secret fear. What scares you?”

“Hospitals.”

“Hospitals?”

“Yep. Hospitals, doctors, needles, blood. Anything remotely dealing with healthcare.” She shuddered.

Cullen laughed. “Seriously?”

“No kidding. My mother suffered five months in a hospital during what was supposed to be her recovery from a double transplant. She didn’t survive. I spent every day with her until she died. I vowed never to step into a hospital again.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“And you’ve never been to a hospital since?”

“Nope. I have a close friend who’s a doctor. If I need anything, I call for a consultation. She obliges me at home. Enough about me and my irrational fear.” She lifted her ice-cold hand to his forearm. He covered her fingers and squeezed gently. His warmth steadied her trembling.

“Rubbish. I understand. Fear is never rational.”

Big Ben chimed its way to midnight. She tilted onto her tip-toes then stretched to press her lips to his cheek. Cullen turned toward her. He hemmed her in, holding the railing on either side of her. His chest grazed her. She inhaled sharply. He rested his hand on her hip then trailed his fingers up her side. Skimming her ribs, he brushed the outside curve of her breast.

“If I were going to overcome my fear and marry, though, I’d want a woman very much like you,” he said, his deep, clear voice resonating close to her ear. “Passionate and beautiful. Intelligent and sexy.” He nuzzled her ear. She turned her face to capture his mouth in a hot kiss. He toed her feet apart, wedging his shoe between them. His knee slid between hers.

She felt the rough abrasion of the denim against her bare legs. His hardness brushed her abdomen. She wiggled closer trying to find satisfaction. He deepened the kiss, warm lips exploring hers. His tongue touched hers in a smooth moist slide. When the bell struck midnight, he pulled back, ending the kiss. They were both panting. Sweat beaded his brow; he grabbed her hand and pulled her along the walk. “Hurry, we’ll be late,” he said.

“Late for what? It’s midnight.”

“Come, I have a surprise for you.” He tugged her gently after him down the sidewalk to the London Eye. All the tourists had departed long ago, the official closing hour having come and gone at nine o’clock. But the huge observation wheel glowed neon blue and turned in a slow progression as they walked up to it. She looked at the individual steel and glass cage that moved at a slow crawl in front of them then back at him in awe. She’d never ridden the London Eye. Again, she glanced between machine and man.

“Surely it’s closed?” she said.
Delighted surprise flowered through her when he opened the pod door.

“Not for the most beautiful woman in London. And the right price.” He gestured for her to precede him into the private car. A long bench centered the enclosure
. Next to it stood a ewer of ice with a wrapped bottle of champagne. The cork must have just been popped because the dark green bottle still breathed a smoky mist. She saw no evidence of an attendant outside, but someone had to be nearby. Cullen closed the door. The slow ride began.

Atop the Eye, she looked out over the city of London. Lights scattered like speckles of phosphorescent dust, glimmering red, green, yellow, orange, and white through the glass of the enclosed pod. Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and the House
s of Parliament glowed golden in the night sky–luminaries of history, sentinels of tradition, stalwart guardians of the Thames. She held a chilled glass of champagne in her hands.

“Cullen?” He stood at her back, his arms around her. They looked out at the vast city before them in contented silence.

“Yes?” he whispered into her ear, kissing the rim.

“Mmmm.” He kissed down her throat, licking and nipping. She tried to concentrate on her questions. She had so many for him. Break-in. Her head felt light, fuzzy. “Someone broke into my house last night.”

He stiffened behind her.

She waited.

“Anything taken?” He mumbled into her neck then continued to kiss her, his fingers trailing to the zipper of her dress. She pulled away, looking out the window to slow things down.

“Oh, look. Aren’t we supposed to make a wish when the bridge opens?” She pointed to Tower Bridge. A ship passed under when the drawbridge opened. His fingers cupped her shoulders, pulling her back against his chest.

“I don’t care about passing ships right now. Or silly wishes. I want you naked. Now.”

“Did you hear me?” She turned in his embrace. “I think someone tried to steal
Flights of Fancy
.”

He squinted his eyes and compressed his lips into a straight line. “Why do you think they’d want a book of poetry? Who would want the book?”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d been my midnight prowler.”

“Me? I should be offended.”

“You want the book.”

“I won’t deny that I want the book. But I didn’t break into your house last night.”

She stood perfectly still in his arms, trying to read his face. He didn’t flinch, his eyes remained open and honest. She had no way of knowing if this man was lying to her. Her gut said he was telling the truth.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” A slow flush of red infused his cheeks. He smiled tightly before he stepped back and let his arms fall from her. “You had dinner with someone you thought might have broken into your house? You’ve allowed me to kiss you, practically make love to you at dinner. And you thought I might have used force to enter your house while you were sleeping last night?”

She looked at her sandaled feet.

“Woman, are you crazy?”

“I didn’t want to believe it might be you. I didn’t really think you’d break into my house to harm me or steal the book.”

Cullen turned his back on her. She watched him stalk to the opposite wall of windows. He pivoted again to consider her.

“Let’s get this straight right now. I didn’t break into your house last night. Doesn’t mean I don’t want the book.” He looked dangerous and deadly serious. “If you suspect someone intends to hurt you, you don
’t date them.” He walked toward her. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Anger radiated off him. “If I’d tried to take the book, you’d know it. You’d no longer have it. You wouldn’t have to guess.”

“Fair enough.” She backed up until she bumped into the cool window behind her. She was dangling in a glass car high above the London skyline and the winding Thames below with two hundred pounds of angry, muscled, sexy male. She had nowhere to go. Nowhere to get away from him even if she’d wanted. Thank God she didn’t. She was a captive audience. Her breath hitched in her throat when he stood in front of her.

He lifted her onto the low bench next to the window and she kicked off her sandals. She stood a few inches taller than him. He pulled her into a fierce kiss. His lips blazed against hers, hot, livid, and angry. His hands held her face so she couldn’t turn away from him. She squirmed. He held her against his lean frame. His chest pressed against hers. His groin, tight and hard, brushed her. He continued to rain hot kisses on her face. Excitement coursed through her body. His lips touched her cheeks, her chin, and her eyebrows. Until he found her lips again. He softened, satin warmth gliding against her mouth. His actions slowed, his anger drained away. His movements became more gentle, loving.

He eased back. “I would never hurt you.”

“I know.” And she did. She felt it to her core. She’d been fighting her attraction since the moment she’d met him. She’d begun to think he could be a monster; a man she couldn’t trust. Yet tonight she’d seen a side of him that made him real; a man, not a wicked playboy, wounded by the death of his mother. This insight convinced her that he hadn’t been the one in her house last night. Someone else wanted the book.

But who?

And why?

She lifted her hand to touch his jaw.
He turned his lips into her palm, again pressing his mouth to her tattoo. She withdrew her hand quickly. He caught her wrist.

“Tell me about the mark.”

“It’s nothing.” She tugged at her hand.

“
The pattern is beautiful. I’ve seen that mark before.” He touched his lips to it again before he inspected it closer.

“Hmm. Yes, at the auction.”

“No. I’ve seen the image at Megiddo in Israel.”