Heart of stone, p.3
Heart of Stone, page 3
Deirdre laughed. “That’s flattering. But I’ve never had much use for puppies. They’re cute, but they need too much upkeep and they tend to make messes on the carpet.”
“True enough,” Stone agreed. “And no, I’m not here with anyone. In fact, I almost didn’t come at all.” Encouraged by the fact that her gaze hadn’t left him since he’d started speaking, he leaned in closer across the table. “You know,” he said, “this might be terribly presumptuous of me, but it’s quite loud in here. Can’t hear ourselves think. Also, the quality of the drinks isn’t up to what I owe you for rescuing me from—well, who knows what that might have turned into?” He nodded toward the door. “I know a much nicer little place not far from here. What do you say?”
For a moment, she didn’t answer. The moment seemed to stretch out interminably, even though he knew only a few seconds had passed. He waited, wondering if the thudding of his heart was visible. Why was he so nervous? He’d asked dozens of women out, and most of them had said yes. Why was Deirdre Lanier any different?
It was a stupid question, and he knew it. One look at her told him why. He was deluding himself: no way she’d say yes. She’d look at him with that appraising glance that said so much: Seriously, why are you bothering? I’m so far out of your league that you can’t even see me from where you are. Did you honestly think someone like me would be interested in someone like you? Where do you—
“I say: I thought you’d never ask.” There was that look in her eyes again: the one Stone had seen before, in other women, but couldn’t believe he was seeing now, from her—and certainly not directed at him. “Do you have a car? I came in a cab.”
He thought he might have stared at her for a moment too long, but she didn’t seem to notice—or at least she was too polite to say anything about it. “I do,” he said at last. And before she could reconsider and change her mind, he stood. “Shall we, then?”
Chapter Five
Stone barely noticed the walk back to the BMW. As he opened the door for Deirdre and she slipped gracefully into the passenger seat, he took a moment to study her with magical sight. As dazzled as he was by her, he knew all too well that such beauty could come from many sources, not all of them natural: illusions, for one. Hell, he could whip up an amulet that would make him look like a movie star if he put his mind to it, so he didn’t doubt that others could as well. It wasn’t likely, of course, but it never hurt to be sure. He’d been fooled by illusions before, and in fact had been damned lucky not to be killed because he’d let his guard slip. These days, he took it as standard operating procedure to check out all potential romantic partners for hidden magical traps.
But no: a quick examination revealed no traces of magic on or near her, no supernatural subterfuge that he could identify. He did notice something else, though, something that once again raised his heart rate and stirred his body in anticipation: her aura, a strong, clear blue, pulsed with a vibrant, sensual red that could only mean one thing.
Careful, he told himself, getting in. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
He took her to an elegant little bar tucked away in the back of the Fairmont Hotel. The bar, like the hotel itself, was one of the older ones in the area, more old-world charm than trendy neon and glitz.
When they were settled into a booth, Stone said, “I didn’t even ask where you were from, or what you do that keeps you so busy.”
“I haven’t been in the area long,” she said. “I’ve got a little place in Los Altos. I do most of my work out of my home, but I’m in the City two or three days a week. I’m a fashion designer.”
“Ah.” He indicated her dress with a nod. “Is that one of yours, then? It’s lovely.”
“It is one of mine, yes.” She chuckled. “I like to take them for a ‘test drive’ now and then. Perk of the job.”
“Again, this might be presumptuous of me, but you should model it as well as designing it. You look exquisite.”
Her smile widened. “You’re sweet. And what about you? Did I hear one of those girls call you ‘Mr. Anthropology’ before she left?”
The booth was semicircular; she sat quite close to him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body next to him. “Cultural anthropology, actually,” he said. “I teach at Stanford.”
“Ah, so you’re not far from where I am, then.”
“Palo Alto, near downtown. Been there for a few years now.” Stone forced himself to concentrate; his mental discipline, usually so adept at holding complicated magical patterns in his mind and resisting magical attacks, was proving much less helpful against the persistent thoughts currently threatening to overwhelm him. Her bare arm rested close to his, the faint, tantalizing scent of her light floral perfume rising each time she shifted position.
“Are you all right?” she asked. Once again her eyes glittered with amusement.
“Oh, quite all right.” He ran a hand through his hair and took a sip of his drink. “Sorry—normally I’m not quite so…”
“You look like you think I’m going to eat you up.” She laughed. “I promise I won’t—unless you want me to, of course,” she added, her voice dropping to a lower tone.
“That…could be quite nice, under the right circumstances,” he murmured. He turned a little toward her, locking his eyes with hers. Hers were even bluer than he’d thought: lighter than his, brilliant and narrowed just a little, as if she were finding the entire scene to be great fun. Unlike him, she didn’t seem nervous—but she didn’t break his gaze, either.
“I’ll be honest with you,” she said, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. “I was looking for something—someone at that club tonight. That’s why I went there.”
“Oh?” Her hand was warm; he held his still to keep it from shaking. His voice sounded husky in his ears. He wondered if she noticed it too.
“Mm-hmm. Do you know what I was looking for?”
“Suppose you tell me.”
She leaned in a little more. “A man I couldn’t intimidate.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So apparently you can’t see my heart pounding like a jackhammer, then.”
She laughed, squeezing his hand a little more. “But you invited me for a drink anyway. And you weren’t a jerk about it. I like that.”
“I honestly didn’t think you’d say yes. But it never hurts to try.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Not a jerk, and not a puppy. That’s rare—did you know that?”
He felt her leg press against his under the table.
She sipped her drink and tilted her head. “I was looking for something else, too.”
“You were.” Her leg was even warmer than her hand; he forced himself to hold still.
“I was. I told you I work a lot—I’m guessing you do too. I was out tonight looking for—a little fun. No strings, no obligations. But only with the right man.” She leaned in even closer, until her face was only a few inches from his. “Are you the right man, Alastair Stone?”
He swallowed once, but when he spoke, his voice was soft, steady, and confident. “I…think I could be, yes.”
She took another sip and smiled. “Then what are we still doing here?”
Chapter Six
She said little as he drove, except to give him occasional directions, but every time he glanced over at her, she was looking at him. He had a hard time reading her expression properly: a mix of amusement, anticipation, and the sort of hunger that he still couldn’t quite believe someone who looked like her was aiming at him.
He’d checked her out more thoroughly with magical sight as they’d walked back to the car, but nothing dinged: nothing more than that pulsing, primal red around her brilliant blue aura that indicated better than any words could that she wasn’t trying to deceive him about her intentions. Disguising one’s aura was a seriously advanced magical technique, something even he had to work at. If she was hiding anything, she was doing a damned good job of it.
Or…maybe she was exactly what she seemed, and for some inexplicable reasons of her own, she wanted him.
Given that at this moment he wanted her more than anything else on Earth, he’d be a fool to argue with her.
She directed him into the gated underground garage of a genteel old three-story building that had been converted into upscale lofts, and didn’t wait for him to open her door. Deftly exiting the car as soon as it came to a stop, she waited for him to come around and reached out to grip his arm. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s give the neighbors something to talk about.”
They rode the elevator up without encountering any of the neighbors, however. When Deirdre opened her door, Stone got a brief impression in the dimness of soaring ceilings, elegant and minimalist furnishings, and a bold modern art print on the wall before she grasped his arm again. “We could have another drink,” she said, her voice low and husky, her smile still playful. “You know…if you want to.”
Even Stone’s control had limits. “I…think not,” he said in the same tone. He gripped her shoulders and pulled her into a firm embrace, inclining his head to cover her smiling, mocking lips with his own. A part of him was astonished at his boldness, especially given how he’d been feeling lately, but he ignored it. This wasn’t the time to overthink things.
She responded instantly, her arms going around him, sliding his coat off his shoulders and letting it fall into a heap on the floor. She pressed into him, the full length of her body against his. Her hands worked their way under his thin black T-shirt, caressing his back, kneading his knotted muscles with proprietary insistence. “Mmm…” she murmured. “Yes…”
He kissed her again, cutting off anything else she might have intended to say. He explored her with his hands, stroking her back, her neck, burying his fingers in the luxuriance of her hair. Any thoughts, any doubts about why someone like her would want someone like him swept away as his body responded to hers, and hers to his; auras didn’t lie. All he knew was that he wanted her, and as long as she was willing and enthusiastic, he would have her.
She didn’t say anything, didn’t break the kiss, but she seemed to be trying to steer them somewhere. He came up for air long enough to notice the shadowy form of a stairway, as elegant and minimalist as the rest of the place, off to one side of the open living area.
He got the hint, and somehow they managed to reach the top without breaking their embrace or toppling head over heels back down to the first floor.
They left a trail of clothes on their way across the room toward her bed. The only illumination came from the moonlight shining in through a skylight directly above it; as they stood for a moment next to it, Stone drank her in with his gaze. Only a few inches shorter than he was, her lithe, slender, body was athletically trim and perfectly proportioned. She studied him in return, her own gaze open, searching, with no hint of shyness or embarrassment.
“You’re…beautiful…” Stone murmured. He didn’t care if it sounded trite: it was true. It was more than true.
“And you talk too much,” she said with a smile, pulling him to her in a crushing embrace.
After that, he didn’t talk anymore. He kissed her again, letting go of anything that wasn’t about her pleasure and his. He caressed her, the heat of her body and the insistence of her response spurring him on. She pulled his head down and kissed him even harder, her hands moving down to stroke his back, her fingernails digging into his skin. He arched as the pain and the pleasure joined together to form a sensation so exquisite that he didn’t even have a name for it. His mind didn’t have names for much of anything right now. He was beyond words, and he thought she was too.
He felt no resistance as he grew more insistent, and in fact her body, her hands, her low moans urged him on to something far more primitive, more forceful than he’d ever experienced in the past—they were more like a pair of lust-crazed animals than anything human. For a moment, just a moment, he switched to magical sight—her aura’s brilliant red glow blazed so brightly that it nearly obscured every vestige of the strong, clear blue. The temptation to keep the sight going was strong, but even that simple magical expenditure required energy, and Deirdre’s voracious appetite demanded every shred of energy he could muster if he meant to satisfy her. To do otherwise was unthinkable—to let her go was even more so.
He gave her his full attention, responding to her firm and urgent intensity with a heightened focus of his own. She moved in rhythm with him, their bodies in a perfect synchronization that he never wanted to end—except that if it didn’t end soon, he feared the rising sensations would simply take him apart.
Her nails dug harder into his back, pulling him closer as if trying to merge his body with hers. Her hot, sweet breath sounded harsh in his ears.
And then it was over, in a moment of exquisite ecstasy that rose and kept rising until he didn’t think it could rise anymore. He tried magical sight again—he couldn’t help it—and their auras entwined, his purple-gold and her blue, both nearly obscured by a red so intense that he felt it more than he saw it. Deirdre’s moan of pleasure rose with it until it became a soft little scream, and then she let him go and he fell back, spent, panting, his brain unable to form a coherent thought.
“Mmm…” Deirdre moved closer to him, draping her arm across his chest.
“Mmm…” he agreed.
They didn’t talk more than that, but lay in companionable silence as their breathing returned to normal, until Deirdre shifted so she could look into his eyes. Hers glittered with mischief, and her hands began to move over him again.
“You’re trying to kill me…” he murmured, eyebrow arching.
“But what a way to go.”
He had no argument with that.
The second time proved every bit as good as the first: slower, more measured, less urgent, but no less intense. Deirdre seemed to know instinctively what he wanted, and how to communicate her desires to him with no words. He responded with enthusiasm, and once again her obvious pleasure was as much of a reward to him as his own.
She lay on her side, this time with both her arm and her leg draped over him, her head propped a bit on her other arm. Her sly smile was only just visible in the moonlight. “I think you’re right,” she said, tracing her finger over the quick rise and fall of his chest.
“About what?” His own arm was underneath her; his fingers played in her tousled hair.
“You are the right man.”
“Good to know.” Their auras had died down now, back almost to their normal hues, but the bright red of passion still flickered around the edges. He smiled back, lifting his head to kiss her and then letting it fall back on the pillow. His every muscle felt relaxed, his mind at peace and drifting, savoring the fading but still potent euphoria of what they’d just experienced.
She stroked his jawline, her touch feather-light. “Go to sleep,” she said with a little laugh. “I know how you men are…”
But she sounded sleepy too; her head drooped to rest on his shoulder, snuggling into the crook of his neck, her flower-scented hair tickling his cheek. He drifted off to the sound of her soft breathing and the touch of her warm body against his.
Chapter Seven
Stone awoke, refreshed, to sunlight streaming in through the skylight. He didn’t open his eyes at first as the memories came back to him, convinced that the whole thing had been nothing but a particularly elaborate and pleasant dream—perhaps his subconscious mind’s way of apologizing for all the unpleasant ones it had been sending him lately. He did remember a dream, vivid and sensual, but every time his mind tried to grasp it and replay it, it danced tantalizingly away.
Finally, reluctantly, he opened his eyes. He was not, as he feared, lying in his own bed back in his townhouse, but stretched out and wound up in the disarrayed, scented sheets of a room that was, just for a moment, unfamiliar.
It hadn’t been a dream.
He smiled, stretched languidly, and glanced over to the other side of the big bed.
It was empty.
Across the room, an open door suggested a bathroom. “Deirdre?” he called.
No response.
He shivered against the early-morning chill and sat up. The sheet pulled at his back briefly before coming away; when he twisted to look, he saw small spots of dried blood that surprised him until he recalled her fingernails digging into his back and he smiled again.
No, definitely not a dream.
In his upright position, he spotted the folded piece of paper on her pillow, featuring a smiley face on the front. He unfolded it.
The note was short:
Good morning, sleepyhead.
Sorry to leave you, but I had to go up to the City this morning, and I didn’t want to wake you. Please make sure the door locks behind you when you leave.
I’d like to see you again. Call me next week if you feel the same.
D.
Below it, she’d written a phone number.
Stone stared at it for several seconds, then refolded it. As he gathered up his clothes and took a quick shower (her master bath was spotless, minimalist, and sensual with a marble vanity, art-deco mirror, and simple Asian-inspired frosted glass shower door), his mind’s eye kept returning to her: her sparkling eyes, her body, her smile, the willing, hungry warmth of her pressed against him. Already he wanted nothing more than to see her again.
Call me next week, the note said.
He wanted to call her tonight. Hell, he wanted to call her now. He stepped out of the shower, dried off and dressed quickly. Stop it, he told himself. He was acting like some kind of lovesick teenager. Sure, last night had been mind-blowing, but still.
