Читать книгу Masked Possession - Alana Delacroix - Страница 10

Chapter 4

Killing off the non-Eric masques seemed like a common-sense solution, so Caro was more than a little surprised at the effect her suggestion had on the three men. Julien flapped his mouth open and shut like a hooked fish. Stephan simply stared before a deep flush stained his cheeks. Eric gripped the edge of the table so hard she thought he would shatter it.

Then there was silence. “Or at least disappear permanently,” she added. “They don’t have to be totally dead.” Maybe she should have softened her suggestion in the first place.

Still nothing. As she waited, she thought about Eric. How many more masques had he taken on over his life? Was five at a time a maximum? Was there a maximum? A brief flash of anger that her mother hadn’t bothered to give her even these basic facts of masquerada life ran through her before she recognized it was unfair. Her mother, to give Gaelle some credit, had tried to talk to her about being a masquerada. Not hard, but she had tried. It had been Caro who had not wanted to listen.

An exotic scent of orange and cinnamon drifted toward her and she inhaled greedily, knowing it was Eric. How did he manage to keep the masques straight? Seeing Eric actually shift there in front of her had thrown her off-balance. She had never seen anyone take on a masque. Her mother had insisted on total privacy and Caro had grown up thinking the transition was something to be hidden away, an act both secretive and shameful.

As though Eric knew she was thinking about him, he raised his eyes to gaze straight at her. The air in the boardroom seemed to get thin and hard to breathe. Without thinking, she stared at his broad shoulders, wide and muscular under the slightly looser but well-cut suit jacket. The Alex masque was an impressively built, attractive man, but Eric as himself was a thousand times hotter. Dark hair dipped over his forehead and peaked eyebrows gave him a wickedly sinful expression. The lips—she couldn’t even look at them. Or the jaw.

Her eyes drifted down. Could he change everything about his body? She tried not to blush but she must have had a peculiar expression on her face because Eric gave her a look that made her stomach tighten.

“Tell me more, Ms. Yeats,” he said softly. “How do I commit multiple murder? Or would it be suicide?”

“Yes, Caro,” Julien interrupted, his fingers drumming on his leg under the glass table. “Explain yourself.”

Caro twirled her pen around her thumb, a trick she’d learned in journalism school that helped to focus her mind. Pull it together, woman. She regretted not getting a glass of water when she first came in. With these shoes it would be impossible for her to get one now without a good deal of ridiculously over-the-top ass wriggling. Not the professional vibe she wanted.

Putting the pen down, she said, “The others aren’t much of a problem but as you’ve pointed out, there’s no way a disappearance by Alex, your most public masque, will go unnoticed.”

“And?” Eric prodded.

She beamed at him. “If we can’t go small, we go big.”

Julien stared at her with growing understanding, though his lips were still thin. “Go big,” he echoed. “Mettre le paquet. Yes. Yes, I see.”

“Then maybe you could share the details with us?” Stephan suggested. “We’re a little busy today.”

“He doesn’t just die.” Caro sat up straight, getting interested in the possibilities. “He dies spectacularly.”

Now Julien turned to Caro. “By car?” he asked.

“Too pedestrian.” She waved her hand as though dismissing the idea. “Plane. No, ship. A yacht. Exotic locale. A party.”

Julien nodded grudgingly. “Less chance of body recovery. We can have the mers plant something good, though.”

* * * *

Eric listened with astonishment as Caro and Julien gleefully plotted his murder. A ruthless brain lay behind Caro’s big innocent eyes and full lips. His respect grew as she countered Julien’s suggestions with her own, planning out the details of the entire strategy on the fly.

Intelligent women captivated him; strong, witty women with their own minds who didn’t have trouble speaking them. Boredom had always come fast on the heels of a mindless high-pitched giggle or childish pout. He’d tried—not the first man to think with something other than his head—but in the end he’d had to give it up. Silly women didn’t have enough meat for him. They weren’t a challenge.

Caro, on the other hand…. He regarded her surreptitiously, noticing her eyes gleam as she shot down another one of Julien’s ideas and suggested something infinitely better. Caro would be perilous for him if she had masquerada blood. He tried to ignore the pang that shot through him, but he simply couldn’t get involved with a woman who couldn’t take on a masque. As Hierarch, there was no way his people would accept a non-masquerada as his consort—the perceived taint to the bloodline would be considered outrageous and it would undo even the small amount of progress he’d made with his people. Yet he would fight for an outsider mate were there not the greater problem of intimacy: there would always be an impossible space between them, a lack of closeness where the masques, and all the freedom they represented, lived. He couldn’t endure that.

Then she laughed. The sweet sound hit him like a punch.

Slow down, brother. Take yourself in hand. He’d seen the woman for a total of seventeen minutes. No need to worry about wedding bells yet. He glanced at her again, noticing how her long lashes cast a shadow on her high cheekbones.

“Do you agree?” Julien asked.

Eric looked at the golden skin on Caro’s long throat and didn’t even answer.

“I said, do you—”

“That sounds good,” Stephan said hastily. “We’ll hear from you by tomorrow at noon, then? We’d like to keep this quiet, obviously. Can you come by the house?”

“Oui, pas de problème.” Julien made a note on his tablet, refusing to look at Eric. “Let me walk you out.”

They stood to leave and Eric took on the Alex masque that he had arrived in. Stephan nodded politely, but Eric wasn’t going to miss a chance to touch Caro, even if it was nothing more than a formal, professional hand shake. She stepped back as he approached her and Eric frowned.

“Something the matter?” he growled.

“It’s, ahh…” She turned to Stephan as though appealing for help.

“You shifted out of your Alex masque,” Stephan accused, his blue eyes narrow. “Did that happen without you noticing?”

Shit. That shouldn’t happen. He glanced down, wondering who he was. The clothes still fit, but with convergence, it was possible to take on physical traits from multiple masques. Stephan’s comment about ending up with four heads was based on a very possible outcome. Dread swept through him.

“Eric,” Caro said softly. “You’re Eric Kelton.” Again he admired how perceptive she was.

“Then I have to apologize,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Most people would much prefer to shake hands with Alex. I made him to be quite charming.”

She held out her hand and gave him a long look that made his heart pound. “Is that so? A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kelton.”

Her handshake was firm, the skin soft. He gave it a quick shake and dropped it almost before it was polite. A strand of her hair had fallen out of her tightly tamed hair and he had to fight a ridiculous impulse to tuck it behind her ear.

Remember, he told himself as he turned around to become Alex again. You’re not interested. You can’t be interested.

It still took every ounce of his self-control not to check to see if she was watching him leave.