Читать книгу A Hunter Under The Mistletoe: All Is Bright / Heat of a Helios - Karen Whiddon, Addison Fox - Страница 11

Chapter 3

Rafe wasn’t sure what had gotten into him. First the misstep the night before during his Rejuvenation and now this focused, deliberate sensual assault on Evangeline Kennedy. It was dangerous and very out of character.

Yet he couldn’t seem to help himself.

A year of watching Evangeline from afar was suddenly not enough. Ignoring that strange tug of attraction that gripped him each and every time he saw her moving around the property had grown tiresome. And leaving the lingering question in his mind if she’d come to the Archangel to undermine his people was no longer tenable.

He wanted answers.

And damn it, he wanted her.

There was no reason he couldn’t have both.

It was a simple idea, formed as he’d marched from the security center to the lawns where she’d been determinedly seeking out scorch marks. But it had grown as she whiled away the afternoon in her spa treatment. He was going after the answers he sought.

If he could seduce them out of her, then the process would be that much more enjoyable.

“Say it,” he whispered against her ear once more, pleased she hadn’t yet pulled away.

“Say what?”

“Yes.”

His overt meaning was dinner, but something in the question stuck with him, searing his thoughts with images of the two of them, naked and locked in each other’s arms.

Would she say yes to sharing his bed?

A possible Hunter?

The thought was enough to jar Rafe from the tempting interlude and he stepped back and reached for the dress that had fallen next to his feet when she’d tossed it. The pale silk slid through his fingers and the stubborn ache that had settled in his chest subsided as his focus narrowed on his plan.

“It’s just dinner. Wear a pretty dress. Join me for a meal.”

Indecision painted her features in sharp relief, the heightened pink glow from her spa treatments fading as she considered his offer.

For reasons he refused to think about too closely, he held his breath, awaiting her response. And was more than a little surprised when she finally answered.

“Yes.”

For a woman who’d always prided herself on her unassuming life and the easy, simple comfort of her home, Evangeline couldn’t quite figure out why it felt like the walls were closing in. She’d returned home from her afternoon at the Archangel with several hundred dollars’ worth of spa treatments still coating her skin and a dress worth twice that in a small bag with silky string handles.

And she had dinner plans with Rafe Stavros.

Had her brains leaked out of her head somewhere between the facial and the hot stones?

She was a woman who worked in the dirt, for Pete’s sake. Her life—her own personal harmony—was never more in balance than when she was wrist-deep in the earth, planting any number of flowers and plants. So what was she doing?

A glance down at the bag—and a quick peek through the tissue paper—told her exactly what she was doing.

She was contemplating a date with her boss.

“You went way past contemplation when you said yes.” The self-admonishment fell flat as she stood in the middle of her living room, her voice a harsh clanging in her own ears.

So just why had she said yes?

Unwilling to think too hard on the real answer—because she wanted to—Evangeline marched to her bedroom and unpacked the small bag. She laid the dress out over her bedspread, then traced a finger over the silk.

And oh, wow, was it gorgeous.

The silk was dyed a pale lavender, barely registering in the purple spectrum. She suspected it might even appear a grayish-silver in muted evening light. Dying to put it on, she quickly stripped out of her clothes and pulled on the dress. The material slid over her skin with a cool caress and her mind immediately snapped to Rafe as her body gave out an involuntary shiver.

Thank you.

Such simple words, meant to convey gratitude. Yet on Rafe’s lips they were a sexy promise, encouraging her to take a firm step closer to him.

Where had it come from? This sudden, immediate dance between the two of them. She’d presented to him before, the quarterly design meetings with him placed on her calendar like clockwork. Yet something had snapped this time.

Turning to the mirror, she gave a small spin as the material hugged her body. Her year-round tan and natural coloring complemented the dress and something budded to life, pooling in the very depths of her being.

She felt feminine.

For the longest time, she hadn’t felt anything. A few dates here and there—fewer romps to bed to scratch an itch—but other than that her life was her work. Work that made her happy and satisfied, but over the past year it had become everything.

Why not go out and enjoy this evening? Even if something about it felt the slightest bit wicked.

Evangeline gave one more spin, enjoying the way the material gently caressed her thighs. But it was the moment she imagined Rafael Stavros staring at her as he got his first look at her in the dress that had her pulse racing. It was time she accepted the truth.

She had a date with her boss.

Flame Steak House was a joint effort between the Archangel and one of Rafe’s cousins, a world-renowned chef, Rocco Stavros. It had taken a considerable amount of persuading to get Rocco to come around and put one of his restaurants in the Archangel—the bastard had wanted a higher-than-average cut of the profits—but the decision had paid handsome dividends.

The food was exquisite, the steaks some of the finest cuts of meat in the world, complemented by an array of appetizers and sides that would make the most critical foodie sit up and take notice.

And take notice they had.

Reservations typically booked out six months in advance and for the holidays, some people had been waiting two years for their chance to dine this evening. Tonight was no exception. Rafe used the walk to his table to make discreet inquiries of his staff as well as to glad-hand some of the high rollers visiting this weekend.

Everything kicked up a notch over Christmas, and the casino business was no different. The hotel rooms were in demand, as were the gaming tables, the reservations and shows.

Rafe swirled the last of his whiskey, ice cubes clinking against the thick crystal of his glass. He’d arrived early ready to welcome Evangeline and was surprised by the shot of nerves that lined his stomach.

And then he forgot everything—nerves, her background, hell, he damn near forgot to breathe—as Evangeline walked through the entrance of the restaurant.

Pale silk sheathed her body, flowing over her breasts, waist and hips like a sexy waterfall. Unbidden, thoughts of Sirens and rocks came to mind. And while Evangeline wasn’t singing, Rafe could practically swear he heard music. Rachmaninoff. Or no, Puccini.

She stilled when she spotted him, the silk still shimmering around her like a halo, before a soft smile painted her lips. Strangely, it was the smile that calmed his nerves and had him moving toward her.

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

Rafe pressed a light kiss to her cheek, his fingertips drifting over her elbow. The urge to press his hands to her spine was strong but he held back, unwilling to break the subtle spell that wove around them both. The she-cat from earlier had vanished, replaced by a kitten-like softness he was loath to mar.

“Shall we?”

She nodded and they followed the tuxedoed host, who stood waiting discreetly nearby.

“It’s still so busy.” Evangeline’s voice was low, but her gaze assessed the room as they were escorted to his table in the back.

Although he knew his father preferred being front and center—all the better to see the action while being seen in the process—Rafe preferred something out of the way. And where he could keep his back to the wall and his gaze fully on the room.

Things had changed since his father’s time. His grandfather had been one of the first Helios to settle the area, enjoying the relative anonymity and distance from their natural adversary, the Hunters of Chaos.

Hunters still believed the legends—that the Helios guarded the gate of the ancients. Gain access to the gate and the Hunters’ master—the god of Chaos—believed he’d possess the knowledge contained within.

Rafe knew it wasn’t quite that simple. While his people did help secure the gate, knowledge had been leaking out for millennia. The world had changed, yet Chaos still acted as if it was the dawn of time.

His father had followed in Grandfather’s footsteps, enjoying his position as a mover and shaker in Las Vegas and ignoring the increasing signs the Hunters were making inroads. The occasional attack was chalked up to luck, nothing more.

While he and Gabe appreciated all their father had built, they practiced a far more cautious approach to their role as hotel owners and purveyors of a good time.

And always kept their backs to the wall.

Life had changed, inside and outside the Archangel.

Technology had radically transformed the casino business—the games, the rooms and the security most of all—but it had also honed their enemy’s skills. Recruitment through social media, transmissions through bounced mobile devices and a watchful eye that knew how to disguise itself.

“Enjoy your evening.”

The quiet murmur of their host pulled Rafe’s attention back to his lovely companion. Was it even remotely possible she was in league with the enemy?

He held a chair for Evangeline, careful to keep his expression neutral and his hands solicitously on the wood rail. Even with the restraint, the urge to touch her clawed at him, the dress she wore nearly knocking his breath away.

Once seated he no longer had a view of her exposed back and long, long legs, but he found himself distracted by toned arms and impressive chest. She was firm and fit, an athletic beauty that made him think of sun, sand and wrestling.

Naked.

“Rafe? Are you all right?”

Her dark brows slashed over equally dark eyes and he fought the urge to reach out and smooth the slight crease. “Of course.”

“You look upset.”

“Just keeping an eye on business. And cursing my cousin.”

“For?”

“My cousin Rocco is the owner and creator of the restaurant. Bastard keeps asking for a raise and much as it pains me to give him one, I can’t argue with a roomful of happy people enjoying their meals.”

The set of those slim, fit shoulders sagged slightly as she relaxed. “I had no idea your cousin was Rocco Stavros. I should have known by the last name.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him. And it’s hard to miss the loud sighs that flutter in his wake every time we’re in here managing the flower installations.”

“They’re beautiful, by the way.” He shifted his attention back to his companion. “But pale in comparison to you. You’re glowing.”

If the frank appreciation bothered her she held back, a smile ghosting her lips instead. “I’d hope so. The torture experts in your spa exfoliated me back down to the skin I was born with.”

Rafe ran a finger over the back of her hand. “They exfoliated everywhere?”

She slipped her hand away but her gaze remained firm on his. “A woman deserves to keep a few secrets.”

“I suppose it’s a wise strategy. It gives a man something to work toward.”

“To work toward what?”

“Uncovering them.”

Those expressive eyes widened, a million emotions flaring in their depths. He reveled in that look, recognizing he could use the confusion—and the underlying attraction he saw as well—to his advantage. What he hadn’t accounted for was the heady sensation of being in her company.

The woman was a vision. More than that, she was an interesting companion. They’d already discussed the property on their walk through the casino to dinner, her questions and insights astute and thoughtful, several of them tinged with a biting humor he’d not have expected from her. She was also sweet, waving and acknowledging by name several coworkers as they’d made their way to dinner.

Their waiter gave a discreet cough as he came to their table, effectively ending round one. From the besotted look in the man’s eyes as Evangeline greeted him, Rafe mentally added the man into the woman’s legion of fans.

And avoided the small kernel of doubt that attempted to invade the moment.

She knew people. Knew the property and what went on across the grounds. Was the warmth and kindness all an act? Was it possible she was plotting and planning to help her fellow Hunters?

The doubts came fast and furious, disturbing in their intensity. He’d always considered himself a strong judge of character but for some reason, in spending time with Evangeline, he couldn’t be sure. Worse, he increasingly questioned if he could be objective when it came to her.

Evangeline waited until Ross departed their table before she pushed her full attention toward Rafe and wondered—not for the first time—where he’d gone. Oh, he was sitting there, the fine cut of his suit making for an impressive—and incredibly attractive—dining companion.

But he wasn’t there.

Instead, he’d drifted in and out of their conversation since they’d met up in the hotel lobby.

If she’d believed him indifferent to her she might have chafed at the behavior, but his too-warm gaze and awareness during the moments he was present told a different story.

And then there was his touch. Hot as a brand and twice as powerful. Evangeline had never felt anything like it. Or been as tempted to let the fierce need that had settled in her chest have free rein.

She wanted him.

A simple emotion with the most complicated set of outcomes.

He was her boss.

He was a wealthy, powerful man who could have anything he wanted.

And he was hiding something.

The first two might be overcome or even ignored in the pursuit of pleasure, but the last was what held her back. She hated secrets, equating them to the same lack of power and control that had ruled her childhood.

She’d vowed to herself long ago never to be that helpless again. Her choices had made for a quiet life, full of a solitude she’d never planned on, but at least she was safe. Protected.

And if that protection had also become something of a cocoon, well, then, she’d live with that.

She didn’t do secrets. Or omission. And she’d be damned if she was going to accept a bald-faced lie.

Rafe might be charming, but he’d continually denied answering her questions about the burning man on the property. And lest he think a few hours in the spa and a fancy dinner would erase what she knew she’d seen, she now had to figure out a way to get answers.

But first, she’d play the role of ingenue for the evening and flirt a bit with the temptress routine. Stone-cold bitch certainly hadn’t done the trick.

“This is quite a place you and your family have built.”

“Thank you.”

When he said nothing more, she pressed on. “This hotel isn’t more than a decade old, yet your father and grandfather have legendary reputations in Las Vegas.”

Something almost imperceptible flashed in his gaze and if she weren’t watching him so closely she’d surely have missed it. “We purchased this property years ago but this end of the Strip wasn’t nearly developed enough for our needs. The original Archangel was over on Fremont and the Stavros family managed joint ownership or backing in other properties here on the Strip until we were able to bring our vision fully to life.”

“That’s all rather patient of you.”

“A trait my family has in spades.”

The sommelier arrived, effectively pausing their conversation and Evangeline took a small, unobtrusive pull of air through her nose.

Patience? Planning? Perhaps bit of world domination tossed in for good measure?

Who did she work for?

She’d taken the job on a whim, circumstance driving the decision more than an overt hunt for employment. She’d seen a need—the poorly managed grounds—and had pushed and poked her way into the Archangel. When she’d seemingly been accepted at face value, she hadn’t questioned her good fortune.

So why was she now?

A small, predatory light filled Rafe’s gaze, perhaps indicative of her sudden discomfort and uneasiness.

Their sommelier departed, two glasses of red wine left behind in his wake, and Evangeline lifted her goblet in response to Rafe.

“To patience.” Rafe clinked his glass against hers. “And all the dividends it inevitably pays.”

“Cheers.”

She took a sip of the wine, an exquisite explosion of taste on her tongue as she drank the rich red. The spa. The dress. Now the dinner. Rafael Stavros did nothing by half measure.

“Lovely.”

“As are you.” Rafe inclined his head before he settled his glass on the table. “What about you, Miss Kennedy? Are you a Las Vegas native?”

“I think so.”

The words were out so fast there was no way to retrieve them, even as the answer was far more honest than she’d ever have intended. While Rafe waited for her to continue, she weighed the merits of sharing her past.

How did one share the details of a wretched childhood that began in an abusive home and ended in the cold, airless confines of foster care?

And why did she even care?

“My pedigree isn’t nearly as well established as yours.”

Rafe’s eyebrows did lift at that, a mix of humor and affront painting those gray depths. “Are you suggesting I’m some sort of purebred dog?”

“No, but I definitely have strains of mongrel.” She took a sip of her wine, fortifying herself with the burst of flavor and obvious quality of the drink. While certainly not necessary, it did make the telling a bit sweeter.

“My parents were rather poor at their jobs. Both had drug problems, my father especially.”

Where she’d braced for sympathy, something more akin to anger morphed in the swirling depths of his gaze. Oddly, the unexpected reaction encouraged her, allowing her to push on. “The tale’s not new, but Vegas certainly doesn’t provide a helpful backdrop for those battling addiction.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I was young at the time, so there’s quite a bit I don’t remember. But one day my father just stopped coming home. My mother ranted and railed about it for months, falling deeper and deeper into her own abyss and then one day, it all stopped and she was gone, too.”

“You remember?”

“Some days.”

“And others?”

“I remember how I survived. Learning places to hide. Understanding how to read moods and body language and whatever else went on in a room. And finding my own solace in the small patches of dirt outside our apartment, the hardscrabble something I could make beauty out of.”

“A flower in the desert.”

“Perhaps.”

“There’s no perhaps about it. You clearly found a way to triumph over unfair circumstances no child should ever have to experience.”

“It’s why, you know.”

“Why what?”

She’d never been one to avoid or evade when she could simply go for what she wanted. It had been like that in foster care and she’d carried the trait on into adulthood. Hell, it had earned her a place at the Archangel.

Yet in this moment—at this time—she nearly backed down. Almost walked away in the light of that anger that still burned in his gaze.

Anger for her.

Evangeline felt it. Knew it, on a deep, visceral level. The story of her past had upset him. Angered him with a primal rage she could read in the set of his broad shoulders and the tight grip he had on his wineglass.

But a lifetime of loss and of looking out for no one but herself had more gravity than the rather new sensation of sitting opposite a champion.

“It’s why I won’t forget what I saw. Or stop looking for answers as to why there was a man burning to death outside the greenhouse last night.”