Читать книгу Beyond the Moon - Michele Hauf - Страница 10
ОглавлениеThe buildings on the Ile St.-Louis where Rook lived were old, and Verity knew anyone living here had to be wealthy. She suspected Rook was rich, judging by the stylish suit and Italian leather shoes he wore. She wasn’t into brand names, but she could pin a designer label merely from the way it made the man stand, erect and proud, elegant and tailored. Right with his place in the world and not afraid to take on any challenge.
Of course, that could be the hunter in him, too.
And he smelled like something worth more than a quick spritz from a cheap bottle of cologne. Like burnt peaches and tobacco. The idea of tasting him effervesced in her core and warmed her skin.
Occupied by a truth demon, eh? Yet he couldn’t read the truth in Veritas Von Velde. Interesting. And definitely worth further exploration.
After shedding her sweater and handing it to him to hang, Verity sat at the kitchen table with a goblet of Bordeaux to watch her host work culinary magic. Admittedly, cooking was not in her arsenal of magical or just plain practical household skills. She ate simple whole foods that required little preparation, but that was only because she’d never taken the time to learn to cook. She had always been busy with her magical studies. And when a woman grew up with a grandmother, great-grandmother and mother who always cooked, why bother? So to watch this gorgeous man move about with such ease as he concocted food for her was a dream.
Rook was tall and sleek. Beneath the gray dress shirt flexed steel muscles, and the very sinews of him conformed against the fabric as he reached for vegetables or high on a shelf for cooking oil.
In her imagination Verity glided her palms over his cool skin, mapping his contours and memorizing his hard angles. She bit the corner of her lip to contain a squeal of glee.
His slicked-back dark brown hair touted tufts of gray near his temples and a few sprigs of salty strands mixed here and there throughout. Dark brows commanded her attention to his gaze when he regarded her. While sitting at the café table she’d noticed a tiny scar above his left brow and fancied it from a rapier or even a vampire fang.
The groomed stubble that edged his jaw as if to frame his façade begged her to touch. A small triangle of stubble sat beneath his lower lip, and along with the mustache, it gave him a swashbuckler appeal. She loved facial hair and wanted to feel his mustache tickle her upper lip as he kissed her.
All in all? The man possessed a brutal beauty that she wanted to trace and learn.
Rook’s frequent glances over his shoulder acted as if invisible touches shot through the atmosphere and made it impossible for her to relax because her entire body hummed with desire. Tracing the inner curve of her lower lip with her tongue, she tapped a fingernail against the crystal wine goblet.
“You like quinoa?” he asked over a shoulder.
“I’ll like anything you offer.” Including a tickling kiss from that sexy mustache. “It’s a treat to have a man cook for me.”
“I’ve been cooking for myself for centuries. I hired a chef for a few years in the early twentieth century but decided I prefer doing things for myself.”
“You like the control,” she guessed.
He nodded, conceding with a guilty grin.
“That’s the difference between the two of us,” she said. “I prefer people doing things for me.”
“It pleases me to do this for you.” His wink caught her as if a hand about her heart clasped ever so gently.
Verity swore under her breath. The man was sexy. But she’d only just met him. Cool the fire, and calm the jets. She didn’t need to trust him at this stage, but learning a little more about him would prove wiser than leaping blindly into lust. And after her last disastrous relationship, she was skittish.
By all means, she wanted to help him find his soul. Because—and this was just occurring to her now—if this hunter could find the vampire who may have stolen her necklace containing his soul, then naturally, he’d slay the longtooth. Then, if for some strange reason the spell she’d worked last night hadn’t been effective, she would have a backup reassurance that she’d never transform to vampire.
Not that she needed backup. Her spells were always effective.
She wandered over to the stove and peeked around Rook’s arm to inspect his creation. Bright chopped vegetables glistened in the frying pan. Scents of lemon, pepper and rosemary teased her nose.
“Looks delicious. Mind if I snoop about while you
create?”
“Go ahead. The bathroom is through the bedroom if you need it.”
“Thanks.”
As she strolled into the living room, her heels clicked on the parquet flooring. A vast ballroom-sized area, it was sparely furnished with only a massive turquoise velvet couch and a sleek glass coffee table that harbored a laptop and precise stacks of mail and books. Even the man’s clutter was controlled.
Along the far wall stood various large artifacts that drew her interest. A marble sculpture of a nude woman stretched backward in an impossible bend intrigued Verity enough to glide her fingers along the cool white curve of her torso. The creation felt as cool as Rook’s skin. Was he cold because of the demon within? Had to be. She studied the smooth stone. It had been carved especially for Rook. She knew it as she knew things about living, breathing people. It was that thing she had about knowing a person’s place in this world.
Touching the small brass knobs on the unstained apothecary’s cabinet next to the sculpture, she wondered at what might be inside the dozens of tiny drawers but respectfully did not pull any open.
Her heels clicked on the spotless wood floor as she crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the Seine. Although the sun was setting, the gray sky was illuminated from all the unnatural light that burst forth from a city that never slept. Across the river, lights inside the four- and five-story buildings formed a pixilated artwork against the cityscape.
Verity performed a twirl right there because she felt light, despite the events of the previous evening. She didn’t want to think about that darkness. Tonight she would enjoy spending time with a handsome man.
Her mother would turn over in her grave.
“Just in it for the adventure,” she reminded herself, knowing her staunchly warned heart would never allow her to actually fall for a hunter. Any man, for that matter. Because just when she began to let down her guard and welcome in love, she had gained a stalker.
She walked on light feet to a door impressed with rococo carved wood scrollwork. She decided it must lead into Rook’s bedroom. Glancing over a shoulder to ensure he was still in the kitchen, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
A bedroom was a person’s thumbprint of their personality, and what an interesting study of the stoic knight. This was his sanctum.
Grays and blues designed the room’s color scheme, with the parquet floor painted a soft gray, much like in her attic bedroom. Calming and serene. Verity released her breath and then inhaled the subtle blend of cinnamon and myrrh. Exotic scents for an equally exotic man.
She decided suddenly that Rook was chocolate yuzu. She had a tendency to assign macaron flavors to the people she knew. Crisp and delightful on the outside, with a surprising tang on the inside.
Smiling at her assessment, she wandered inside the room. Again, little furniture, as if to collect possessions would somehow clutter the man’s vita. She liked that. Some who lived many centuries tended to collect hoards of material things. This home showed restraint. Control was certainly Rook’s mien.
A large turquoise velvet tufted ottoman—must be a match to the couch—sat near the window. Next to that a cloth yoga mat was spread out before an altar that featured a stone Buddha with tumescent belly and a gleeful grin.
“Disciplined,” she further assessed the man. “Yet also open, and…” her eyes fell over the bed “…so sensual.”
The middle of the room offered a peek beyond the tight-fisted control. A king-size bed sat beneath a fall of turquoise fabric tied up to allow entry to the innermost sanctuary. It resembled a harem hotspot, a post where illicit and exquisite pleasures could be had.
Verity tapped her lips. Such fantasies she could entertain beneath that gossamer fabric.
Keeping to the wall that hugged the living room, she tiptoed over to the wardrobe. Drawing her fingers along the steel front, she decided the modern-styled piece felt out of place in the room. A hinged door was open a crack.
Chewing the corner of her lip, she vacillated between whether or not to peek inside. She hadn’t done so out in the living room, but here, so far from the kitchen…?
She slid a finger between the crack in the wardrobe, and the heavy steel door glided toward her to reveal not clothes but—
Bloody Hecate, it’s an armory.
Must be the weapons he used when engaged in hunting. Dozens of titanium stakes were lined along the back of the wardrobe. Pistols and a crossbow and an assortment of blades. She marveled over the throwing stars she’d only seen used in movies. Ninja stuff. Did he use all this in the fight against vampires?
Daring to draw her fingers along the cool column of one of the stakes, she took it and held it, finding it was much lighter than expected. A flashlight was twice as heavy. Careful with it, she knew that the actual stake part came out of one end with some kind of release mechanism—
“You take that snooping thing seriously, don’t you?”
Startled, Verity squeezed the titanium column. The stake sprang out, jerking her arm back to hit Rook in the chest with her elbow. He wrangled her wrist and spun her around, an expert offensive move that he may have only practiced on vampires previously.
“Uh.” She gasped and looked from the deadly stake, pointed toward his chest, to his smirk and those laughing blue eyes. “Sorry?”
“Be careful. That thing could take out an eye.”
“Or a life,” she whispered, releasing the weapon to him. He extracted it from her shaking fingers and set it inside the cabinet. “I’m sorry. It was open a little, and I—well, I did say I was going to snoop.”
“You should be chastised for such daring.” He looked at her over his shoulder. “And I’m of a mind to do that.”
“But I was just…uh…” She sighed and lifted her chin, losing all powers to reason as she fell into the depths of his intimately delving stare.
The man answered her astonishment with a kiss that landed on her mouth as softly as a butterfly. But as their lips joined, the too-gentle pressure demanded they seek one another more forcefully. Pulling her body against his, he claimed her in that moment. His fingers moved along her hip and curled, forcing her closer. His other hand swept through her hair and clutched it aside her cheek. He tasted like the herbs he’d used to season the meal, which mingled with the wine lingering on her tongue. His mouth seared fire against hers, teasing her to match his urgency.
And she did.
Every part of Verity shimmered, seeking, grabbing, wanting this delicious connection to never stop. It was as though she had not been kissed for centuries, and finally, exquisitely, she was being fed the life she had never known she needed.
Rook’s hand swept down her derriere and his fingers traced along the ruffles that hemmed her miniskirt, his fingertips every so often touching the bared skin between skirt and thigh-high stockings.
Verity pressed up higher onto the tips of her toes, clinging to his shirt collar to keep him at her mouth. She needed his breath. Their connection made her feel as powerful as she did when throwing fire. Combustible, that was the word for this embrace. And if she could, she’d melt right into his arms. May he lay her across his vast bed of untold exotic pleasures and continue his exploration with a million more kisses.
Suddenly the kitchen buzzer tinged, and he abruptly pulled away from her. Verity gasped, stepping on her tiptoes to maintain balance at the loss of such utter sensual strength. The kiss had completely discombobulated her in the best way possible.
He bracketed her face with his hands. “Dinner’s ready.”
Screw dinner. Another kiss, please?
Seeming to completely dismiss that he’d just kissed her silly, Rook closed the wardrobe doors, secured the latch, then strode out of the room.
Verity obediently followed him into the kitchen and sat when he pulled out a chair for her. Her body was still in the bedroom, crushed up against his powerful build. Her mouth was at his…
Licking her lips to savor the taste of his chastising kiss, she pressed a palm over her heart. So fast, it rushed toward something she hadn’t thought to ever know. Excitement, adventure, romance. It all sounded deliciously decadent.
Yet he’d walked away from the kiss as if it had meant nothing more to him than, well, peeling away the rind from the lemon as he’d prepared the meal. Perhaps he was not as enamored of their embrace as she had been. Or maybe it had simply been as he’d stated: a punishment for her snooping.
If so, then what other kinds of mischief could she get into that required such admonishment?
Play it cool, Verity. It hasn’t been that long since you’ve been kissed. Why the silly swoon this time? He’s just another man. Take it slow or you’ll end up in another wacky relationship with a stalker.
But Rook wasn’t any other man. They had met for a reason, and she wanted to learn why.
When he offered white wine, she held up her goblet. Its scent was ridiculously strong, and she picked it out, even over the herbs and cooking aromas. “Raspberries?” she guessed.
“Very good. A friend of mine owns a vineyard in the south of France. They plant raspberries and peaches within the vines.”
After a sip, she said, “It’s delicious.”
“You may claim an epicurean mastery of Paris’s macarons, but I challenge anyone to match me at wine.”
“I bow to your sommelier skills. But is wine the way to your heart?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
“You have your unreadable secrets. I have mine.”
He set a plate of quinoa and vegetables before her. Verity closed her eyes, drawing in the crazy-good scents, until Rook touched her shoulder to sweep her hair back.
Meeting his gaze, they shared a smile that said everything she had wanted that kiss to mean to him.
“This meal won’t be anything to talk of after that kiss,” he said.
So he had been affected by it.
Smiling to herself, she forked in a bite. True, his kiss had been delicious, but the food was nothing to sneeze at. “I’ve only known you a few hours and already you’re spoiling me. If you keep feeding me like this, I may never leave.”
“Is that a promise?” He winked and poured a goblet of wine for himself.
* * *
While Rook loaded the dishwasher, Verity wandered into the living room. She didn’t feel compelled to help. Domesticity was not tops on her list. Admittedly, she spoiled herself with maid and catering services. She could afford it. An immortal witch with a mind to living many centuries compiled a nice portfolio over the years, and a cache of seventeenth-century gold given to her by a former lover who had taken infatuation to new levels was something she would appreciate for centuries to come.
The sudden awareness that Rook was behind her made her bow her head and smile. He was so quiet. Stealthy, like a hunter. But a sexy, cool stealth that disturbed her need to remain cautious around him. She was normally not so quick to jump into a man’s arms, let alone allow him to kiss her, but with Rook all her personal boundary rules seemed ridiculous.
Trust? Certainly not. But trust had nothing to do with lust.
He wanted to touch her? Bring it on. And don’t stop, pretty please.
He raked his fingers up through her hair, clutching a good portion of it, and tugged her head and shoulders back until she bent at the waist. Looking down at her and holding her firmly before him, he traced a finger down her neck and the vee décolletage of her T-shirt, leisurely skimming the mounds of her cleavage. To be held like this—controlled—excited her.
“Your skin is soft.” With a twist of his hand, he righted her to stand straight. His fingers never left her cleavage, and they felt like a cool summer breeze against her warm skin. “Your skin is like the flame you seem to have mastered. I’ve known witches over the years, and most avoid fire.”
“Because it can bring our death.”
He nodded, his jaw tensing. Burning a witch at the stake, or in any other manner, was the worst and most assured way to end their life. Had he witnessed such a travesty? Verity got the impression he suddenly wasn’t in the present moment, so she sought to lure him back.
With a teasing dip of her tongue out the corner of her mouth, she held up her palm, and with nothing more than a thought summoned a fireball the size of a plum to hover above her fingers.
Rook’s eyes alighted with the flame’s reflection, and his smile grew. “Marvelous. And so controlled. May I?” He opened his palm as if he wanted to hold it. “Can I?”
“If I allow it, you should be able to hold it a few seconds without getting burned.”
She tilted her palm, and the ball of ensorcelled flame rolled onto his hand without touching skin, only skimming above it. Her magic kept it from settling onto his palm, and she had to concentrate to make it stay there. He didn’t flinch at the heat, and she gave him credit for that. Perhaps his cooler skin also made it possible to hold it as long as he was.
Lifting his hand before his eyes, with his other fingers he touched the top of the ball. “Incredible.” The flames licked at his fingertips and he hissed, retracting and shaking out his palm and dropping the fireball.
Verity bent to sweep a hand through the flame, extinguishing it before it hit the wood floor.
“Sorry.” He studied his fingertips. “I’ll leave the fire magic to you.”
“You had to try it,” she said, taking his hand to inspect the damage. “I sense you are a man who likes to control whatever you can. You exude power.”
“Is anything wrong with that?”
“Not at all. So long as you don’t corrupt that power with greed or malevolence.” She kissed his fingertips, which were warm but had not touched the flame long enough to receive more than a red blush to the skin. “You want to play with something dangerous that’ll warm your hands?”
She stepped back, teasing her fingers along the neckline of her shirt. A dip of her head, and she looked up through her lashes at him. The hunger in Rook’s eyes brightened. He followed her as she backed across the room, nearing the Buddha statue. Only when the windowsill behind her stopped her progress did he smirk. Triumph. She was now trapped by the hunter, unless she dodged to the side.
Verity planted her feet. She preferred the capture.
Rook did not disappoint.
He swept a palm along her thigh and hooked her leg with a hand, coaxing it up along his hip. Pressing her back against the window frame, he placed a hand over her head as he leaned in and captured her mouth with another of his devastating kisses.
Verity tugged him closer with the leg she had wrapped behind his hip, and he nudged his erection against her Hard and ready. Goddess, but she could unzip him and take him in hand if she could get beyond the fact that this was happening so quickly. They’d shared a drink at a café and then supper, and now…
The devouring. Which she didn’t mind at all if she didn’t think about all the reasons to mind it. Reasons that included the fact that she knew nothing about this man and generally she was a bit more prudent when it came to intimacy.
His kisses tickled along her jaw and up her cheek, where he nuzzled into her hair and his breath hushed across her ear. The touch sent shivers up and down her skin. Verity coiled against him, wanting to pull him into her and become one with his powerful distraction of masculinity.
“You were right,” he said at her ear. “You are as hot as the flame but infinitely more interesting to play with.”
He slid a hand over her chest and she gasped, tilting back her shoulder to fit her breast against his palm. A squeeze of her nipple stirred up a moan, and in response he bent and mouthed her roughly through the fabric.
“Rook,” she gasped. “This is…”
“Fast?” he guessed, nudging his nose along the neckline of her shirt. A finger dragged the stretchy fabric aside. A dash of his tongue traced the rise of her breast. So sensitive there. “You want me to stop?”
“Uh…” Did she?
Hell no, and blessed be, yes.
She grasped behind her, and her fingers landed on the carved woodwork coasting a windowsill. Leaning away from him only thrust up her breasts and offered him more of what he wanted.
Yes, this is too fast, her conscience finally blurted at her. She and the hunter should take it slowly. Couldn’t give him everything he wanted so quickly. Bad things happened when she gave in—like stalking.
Verity shoved at his chest.
Rook stepped back, putting up his palms. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said quickly and offered him a sheepish smile. Swishing a curl of hair over her shoulder, she took a much-needed breath of air. “I didn’t want to stop you, yet I needed you to. It is a bit fast. Not that anything is wrong with fast. I just think—”
“I got it.” He dashed a hand across his lips and flicked a wink at her. “You’re right. I tend to take things that I want when a little prolonged desire is best employed. We should savor this.”
She nodded eagerly. “Savoring is good.”
At the same time she wished she wasn’t so prudent to hold him off, and instead, could grab him by the shirt and pull him back for more.
“Any way I can convince you to go along with me to headquarters tomorrow to look at mug shots?”
“Still don’t want to take sides.”
“The victim chooses her own side. Very well. I won’t push you to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”
Being labeled a victim did not sit well with her. She had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet the idea of missing out on his coercive sensual skills made Verity drop her shoulders. Should she reconsider helping him? What if she refused to help unless he kissed her?
“Come. It’s time we called it a night.”
He tugged her hand into his and led her through the living room and into the kitchen, where he promptly helped her on with her sweater. Gathering her long hair into his hands, he pulled it from the sweater and let it fall across her shoulders. He nuzzled his face into her hair and wrapped a hand around and across her stomach from behind.
“You have gotten inside me, Verity.”
“And yet you claim an inability to read me.”
“Frustrating, but the mystery of you is as sweet as a vanilla macaron.”
He’d guessed it right. She had always considered herself a vanilla macaron.
“Mmm…your hair. I want to lose myself in this.” He bunched up her tresses against his face. “You’d better leave now before I decide to keep you here against your will.”
Sounded rather adventurous, actually.
But Verity declined her lusty imagination. With a nod, she turned to give him a quick kiss. “Thanks for a lovely evening.”
He stroked her neck over the vampire bite. “This should be gone by tomorrow, yes?”
“We witches take a little longer than most paranormals to heal. Give it a few more days.”
“Sure. That’ll give me an excuse to see you again. To make sure you’re looking as good as new. Bonsoir.”
Closing the door behind her, she exhaled and shook her head. Damned vampire bite. Did it bother him? Surely, as a hunter, he wouldn’t like to look at anything left behind by a vampire. She’d have to practice her cover-up skills with makeup before she next saw him.
Date number two couldn’t arrive fast enough.
* * *
Rook caught his hands on the back of the kitchen chair and listened until he could no longer hear Verity’s heels tapping away down the outer hall. They’d been so close to stripping away clothing. He certainly wouldn’t have stopped it. When the hell had he been such an animal around a woman?
Besides always? He did have a tendency to take and then push them aside, never to see them again. Easier that way. When a man lived this long he couldn’t dream to have real, lasting relationships. Such a connection would only result in heartbreak. He’d been there and done that enough times to have learned his lesson.
Verity had bewitched him; that was it. Because he couldn’t imagine not touching or kissing her. He wanted to put his hands on her. Constantly.
Are you forgetting why you need her?
“No,” he muttered to Oz.
She can help you find your soul. End of story.
“Why can’t it be the beginning? I like her, Oz.”
She will muddle everything if you do not treat this as a business arrangement.
Could be true. Oz was the wiser of the two of them. If Rook became further involved with Verity, his brain would certainly not be en pointe and he could not expect to have the focus required to hunt Slater and find the bald vamp who might have his soul.
It was all tied together in some way. Zmaj, Slater and the vampire who had stolen his soul from Verity.
Ah, but he hadn’t felt this way about a woman in a long time. A little muddling was all right, wasn’t it?
Rook, you are not thinking straight.
“No, I’m not,” he whispered. And the smile that followed spread up to his eyes and into his heart.
