Last Enchantment

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

They climbed into the limo, and the driver closed the door, muffling the sound and blocking the view. Oliver released a deep sigh of relief. It never got easier. He wanted to blast them all, and now twilight had fallen and he’d come into possession of his full powers in a matter of minutes, he could have had a reasonable shot at it. He allowed himself a moment’s indulgence, where in his imagination he let down his fangs and went for the nearest leech, paralyzing the others with a blast of powerful psi. That would have been fun.

Releasing the vision with reluctance, he turned to the delectable woman sitting next to him.

He still held her hand, so he squeezed it. “That was great. You could have been doing it for years.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to. You just looked beautiful and smiled, then blushed when I kissed you. Perfect.” That he hadn’t taken more spoke to the years he’d spent disciplining that part of him that demanded he take what he wanted when he wanted it.

She cocked a brow at him and narrowed her eyes. “You think women should be seen and not heard?”

Catching the reference to his childhood, he laughed. “No. I promise. The Victorian chauvinist never really took hold in me.” He stroked her hand again, and she shivered. This time she didn’t hide her reaction, and he felt strangely proud of that. She trusted him more than she had before the meal. “I think people should only say something when they have something to say. That’s all. And you could say nothing to those people without receiving prurient questions in return. So what’s the point?”

“Sure.” A smile flickered across her lips. “But sometimes I’ve used chatter to distract people while I’m working inside their heads.”

“Then you had a point.” His grin turned from cocky to intimate, just between them. “They’ll go insane trying to find out who you are.” That would form some kind of revenge. They’d have to dig deep to discover who she was, and even then, they wouldn’t find out that until recently she’d worked for CAT. Like most operatives. Which reminded him. He’d better find out about that.

“That sounds familiar.” Her smile turned dry. “I’ve spent the last six months trying to find out who I am, and I’m not much closer to my target than I was at the start.”

He could imagine, although he’d rather not. The savage heart of him rose up again and demanded revenge. He ignored it. Not revenge. Stopping the perpetrators hurting anyone else ever again. What was done, was done, and if she could bear it, so could he. But it didn’t stop his vampire roaring in fury.

“Do you know why I wanted G to butt out of this?” he asked, keeping his voice gentle.

“Because you’re an awkward sonofabitch?”

He loved the throaty way she said that and the fascinating American accent adding an edge to her words. He’d love to hear it calling his name when he was buried deep inside her. He’d like nothing more than to hear it again when he was working her up to a climax. But of course, that was out of the question. Couldn’t happen. So he forced a pleasant smile rather than the slumberous one that came more naturally. He could protect her if she didn’t realize he was doing it, but anything else—forget it. “Yeah. Because I’m a fucking bastard and I won’t work for anyone. At least, that’s what I like people to think. It keeps people at a distance.”

“Including me?”

He loved her playful smile and recognized the courage of the woman. She wasn’t used to being mobbed by the press, she wasn’t used to feeling so vulnerable, and yet she’d done it without a visible qualm. “Not including you. Or I wouldn’t be telling you this, would I? You, my dear, can ask me what you like. If I don’t want to answer, I’ll say so, but I won't lock you out.” Except that was what he was doing. Because he wanted her.

He couldn’t imagine where the desire had come from. She’d struck him as a hard bitch when he’d worked with her, totally different to his then lover, a bastet shape-shifter who’d proved a fun companion for a long time. But she had moved on and he hadn't had a real playmate since. Lovers, sure, but not someone he could be friends with. Perhaps that was what he missed, the companionship, rather than the sex.

Fuck, who was he kidding? Certainly not himself. He wanted Tegan, wanted to feel her skin against his, wanted to watch her as she came. As he made her come.

She’d changed. Not just lost her mojo, but changed. Perhaps the therapy she’d gone through had helped, or perhaps it was always there, dormant, that smoldering sex appeal he didn’t know she was even aware of. But she’d let it loose, and it was hanging out there for everybody to see. The way she moved, with a sultriness beneath the elegance, the way she always met his gaze directly, that curvy body she’d never hidden—all of it added up to one hell of a woman. One he wanted to lick all over, toes to head.

He’d have to survive on cold showers and his trusty right hand because it wasn’t happening. Ever.

To break the intensity, he glanced out the window. “Nearly there,” he said.

“I don’t get to go home?”

“My home,” he reminded her. “We’ll pick up your stuff. But they’ll be waiting outside my place. If we don’t stop off there, they’ll chase us anyway. We created a story when we came out of that restaurant, and they’ll chase us for a few days until something better shows up.”

“I must be getting stupid, because I never played it forward like that.”

“Play it. Before we get there, tell me your cover story. When I worked with you, you were a New York art gallery owner.”

“I sold it.” She smiled. “It got too expensive. Unlike you, I have to make a living, and for a while, the gallery worked. Now I’m dealing in jewelry. You don’t need as large a space to display it, and although there are risks, if you diversify into art jewelry it’s not so bad. I stock everything from precious metals and gems to things made out of old cans and trash. It’s all art, and in my opinion, it all looks good.”

“So how’s that going?”

“Well. All I needed was to find good managers. I have three stores in choice districts of New York, and I’m opening one in London. Or thinking about it.” She shrugged. “Truth is, I’m not, but it makes a good cover.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “If it’s the right stuff, it would go down really well somewhere like Covent Garden or near the museums on Cromwell Road.”

“Have you seen the real estate prices?”

He stared at her for a moment. “That’s it. I deal in real estate. I had to. My core business is computer hardware, or it was, and at one point I bought a lot of smaller businesses. That left me with real estate to deal with, so I started doing it in house. Some of the small stores I still have would suit you. So that’s how we met. You were viewing one of my properties and I asked you out.”

“Great.” She sounded cautious. “But how long ago was that?”

“A week ago,” he said. “What’s your story about your absence?”

“I was ill. Stressed. So my managers worked in. I still ordered the stock, but rested at home. But nobody asked.”

He squeezed her hand again, longing to draw her close. “They will now.”

They drew up outside his house. He lived in the place he’d bought many years ago, after his father sold the London mansion he’d used when the fashions changed and people preferred to live less ostentatiously. But that was a matter of perspective, he knew that. This house was worth millions and plenty ostentatious for him. But it was home. Curious to see how she took it, he watched her rather than the people already gathering around the car. They pressed camera lenses up against the windows, the dull sounds interrupting their peace.

“Ready?”

“Sure.”

Unable to resist anymore, he hauled her across the seat and set his mouth to hers.

She tasted exactly as he’d imagined—sweet with a touch of tartness, her mouth slick with strawberry lip-gloss. Her mouth opened beneath his, but he didn’t take advantage and maraud as he wanted to do. This woman, more than any other he’d ever kissed, needed gentle treatment. The kiss was necessary, he told himself, to soften her a little, to make her more lover-like. But that wasn’t what he was doing now.

He released her hand to cradle her face, her cheeks soft under his palms. She touched his arms, and he froze, waiting for her to push him away, but she took hold of his forearms and tugged him closer. Triumph, far exceeding that small gesture, surged through him, and he had to force himself to finish the kiss, ending it with a soft touch of his lips against her own. “You taste good.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded harsh.

“So do you.” Her eyes wide, she stared at him.

Someone had to move, so he did, drawing away, releasing her face. She stayed, her hands still grasping his forearms, and he broke the growing tension with a smile. “I don’t know if they got that, but you have to know that wasn’t why I did it. The kiss outside the restaurant was for them. This one was for you. But remember my promise.”

Tegan remembered. He said she’d be safe with him. She’d been safe since the attack, nurtured and cared for and sometimes she’d wanted to scream. The last thing she wanted was cozy security.

He’d unlocked something with that kiss, touched a part of her she’d never allowed out to play before. Over the last six months, one by one her emotions had emerged, shy and unused, not sure how to behave. She’d learned some of it. And this one had blossomed under this man’s touches and looks, and finally his kiss. She’d never experienced desire before, but she knew for sure that what she was feeling was desire. Absolute, completely engrossing desire. And she wanted more of it.

He exited the vehicle and extended his hand to help her out. She didn’t need it—she’d learned how to elegantly step out of a limo years ago—but she took it anyway. It felt too good to refuse. And it helped with the image they were trying to create.

Honest it did.

This time he didn’t stop to answer questions but blanked them as if the media mob wasn’t there. A dozen or so people clustered around them, snapping pictures and shouting questions, but they might as well not have been there for all the notice he took. Without the burly chauffeur and another guy who had presumably been ordered to be here, they wouldn’t have made it to the front door, but the media were reasonably friendly and let them pass without too much hindrance. At the end, the questions turned uncomfortably personal. “Is he as good in bed as they say?” was one question, and others, more salubrious, were harder to ignore, but they did it.

The door opened from the other side, and he pulled her inside, slamming it closed behind them. Then leaning against it, he laughed. He fucking laughed.

Losing it, flustered after the questions, she thumped him, but she might as well have been hitting a punching bag for all the notice he took. Shit, he’d be vampire now. “What’s so funny?” she demanded.

“That should bring him running,” Oliver said. His eyes clouded with concern. “Did they upset you?”

She shook her head. “Ruffled me, rather. I’m not used to it, that’s all.”

He grinned. Taking her hand again, this time more gently, he drew her forward. “Come and see the house.” He nodded to the woman who’d answered the door. “Thanks, Mrs. Leeming. Who else is here?”

“Your PA, sir, and one of the office assistants. They’re getting ready to go home. As I will, if there’s nothing else you need.”

“No, that’s fine. Mrs. Leeming, this is Tegan Gibbs. You’ll be seeing more of her from now on. She’s moving in.”

There was no disguising the way Mrs. Leeming’s pale blue eyes widened at the news, and her mouth hung open just a fraction before she recovered herself. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Gibbs. I’ll find a key for you.”

“I’d appreciate it.” He turned to Tegan. “I have a key, as does Mrs. Leeming, my PA Louis, and now you. That’s all.”

It sounded like a warning, but she knew it was reassurance. That nobody else would get in here and he trusted the few people who had keys. No doubt they’d received a vetting as thorough as hers. “I’m honored.” She supposed she was, what with him an earl and all. Not that she thought about that very often, because he didn’t seem to. The people who worked for him didn’t bother with the “my lord” stuff, so maybe he just told them to forget it.

Unexpectedly, his voice came into her mind. No, that’s protocol. It’s “my lord” the first time and “sir” after that. Though I invite my personal staff to call me “Oliver” if they want to.

So I’m personal staff?

You, my sweet, are a challenge.

That endearment warmed her, but she tried not to show it. However, it helped to make up her mind, and deep inside, she took a step over the threshold, made a decision that only one thing could rescind. If he said no.

“Come on.”

With her hand securely tucked into his, he took her around the house. It was larger than it looked from outside but not unwieldy large. This place contained no ballrooms, no state rooms, just a series of spacious, well-furnished places.

Downstairs he had a series of workrooms and storerooms. “The kitchens were down there in the old days, but it’s none too convenient, so I had a kitchen installed on this floor and another smaller kitchenette on the top floor.” She passed through without comment, but she did like the kitchen. He told her it would have been the breakfast parlor in the old days, and since they were alone she ventured, “And I bet you remember that, too,” in a low tone.

“I do. Although my parents had this for a few years before I was born, so I never knew the place new.” He leaned closer. “Although it wasn’t far off.”

His breath heated her ear, and she shivered. He drew back. “Are you okay? Tired?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

They went on. She liked the kitchen, furnished as a country kitchen but with an impressive array of modern devices, all tucked away until needed. “Mine is a little small compared to this.”

“Where is your place?”

She shrugged. “I rented an apartment in London, and I have a small apartment in New York.” Both equipped with what she needed, no more, no less. Although recently, she’d begun to contemplate decorating the apartment she would live in. The London one was too small for permanent residence, but she didn’t want to go back to New York and face her colleagues until she could show them a strong mind and a smiling face. Her main base was New York. She’d only come over here for one special assignment, and then the related cleaning up operation. And that was the one that had gone bad. She’d have lived in hotels, had it not struck her that it was a waste of money. She could clean up after herself and, after the attack, she didn’t like the idea of someone coming into her personal space every day.

That was it. The invasion of her privacy. And her therapist had encouraged her to get a place of her own. One room with a kitchenette and bathroom, but in a good area of town. Until now she’d thought it was just what she wanted.

But he was talking again, keeping his voice gentle. He switched on the lights as they entered deserted rooms, and then off as they left. She liked that. Conservation was essential, in her opinion. He showed her a series of offices. “I mainly work from here. It’s convenient, but I travel to the glass monstrosity in town when I have to. So my sec—PA is here, and his assistant.”

“You were about to say secretary, weren’t you?”

He laughed, self-consciously. “Yes, I was. Sorry. I keep trying for PC. But Louis doesn’t mind. He says I can call him what I like so long as I pay him every month.”

He took her into his office. She knew it was his, because she could scent him here, his aftershave, subtle but unmistakable, and a sense of his presence. Already she was getting an idea of his taste, and this office showed it, with solid mahogany and walnut furniture and a slightly old-fashioned air, which lent what could have been an imposing space a sense of familiarity.

“It’s nice.”

“Thanks.” He paused. “It does the job. This used to be the bookroom, in effect a kind of library. My father did all his business in town from here.”

It must be strange, living in a space once occupied by ancestors. But something puzzled her. “What happened to your parents?”

“An air crash. For real.” He added the last, she knew, because long-lived Talents often faked “accidents” and then reappeared as their relatives, children or such, so they could claim the estate and property. Before, it had been easy, but in recent years, with photography disseminating images, with the Internet and computerization, it had become almost impossible and eventually they’d recruited the help of various friendly governments. In return for favors. That was one reason the existence of Talents was accepted so readily. Some people already knew.

But not in this case, it seemed. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you. But it was a long time ago. I’ve inherited the estate from myself twice. I plan to announce that I’m a Talent eventually, but I don’t want to do it while the world is in such turmoil.”

Her lip curled. “Let others take the brunt of it?”

He kept her gaze. “If you like. Or think of it that I’m responsible for a lot of people’s livelihoods and a lot of wealth coming into this country, which we sorely need. Announcing my state would be a self-indulgence.”

She’d never considered it in that way before, and it made her wonder. She didn’t know what to think. In the community of CAT, Talents considered it their duty to come out, but yes, if Oliver did so, it might make shares in his various companies unstable, might make people lose confidence in him. In which case, layoffs and industry slides could follow. “Couldn’t you manage it?”

“I’m trying to. One day. I’m safe enough. God knows I have enough money for three lifetimes, but I need an interest. Can you imagine living for this long without pursuing something seriously? I know Talents who do. They drift along, going from one thing to another. That’s not for me.”

She felt inadequate, as if she were only just beginning. But she had this life and no other, and she’d never regretted that. She’d seen the kind of people Oliver was describing. They did drift and became more self-indulgent as the years went by, until they died, perhaps of boredom.

He swung their linked hands. “We’re getting too serious here. On with the tour.” And he returned to his carefree, insouciant self, the self he’d charmed the world with.

She followed him upstairs, and he showed her the drawing room and dining room. “An entertainment suite these days. I have parties for clients here and sometimes something else. Indulge myself with friends.”

“That sounds interesting.”

He touched the tip of her nose. “But not for innocents, my sweet. For those parties, I have certain pieces of furniture stored away. There’s a room at the end of the suite I can use for that. I have various pieces, and they’re interchanged, depending on the occasion.”

“How the great live.”

“But not the good.” He grinned, unrepentant, and moved toward the door. “You like it?”

For some reason, she got the feeling that her reaction meant something to him. She didn’t need to lie, although she would have done if she felt the need. “Yes. Yes, I do. It’s light and airy. Almost…feminine.” She shot a sly glance at him to see how he took it.

It amused him. “Thank you. It’s classical Regency in style today, though I sometimes like the heavier baroque. I have more baroque rooms at Chetbury.”

“The house in the country?”

“The very same. I killed the entail years ago, so I could sell it if I wanted to, and I came close a time or two.”

“You did?” Somehow, she’d thought he’d always been wealthy.

His gaze skimmed the room with its pale green upholstered sofas and chairs scattered around occasional tables, the Canaletto cityscapes and Gainsborough portraits. “Those feckless Talents? That could have described my parents. They used all their power and influence to make money to have a good time with. Sometimes, I think they weren’t too bright. But they were loveable.” He crossed to the window and moved the sheer curtains a little, twitched them into place. “It’s a tradition to have parties here. I’m not immune to a bit of self-indulgence myself.” He turned back to her with a bright smile. “Or hadn’t you heard?”

She’d heard. But she refused to let him push her away like that. He’d be her first project post-Talent. The first one she’d have to get to know without probing into the subject’s mind. Just body language and common sense. He’d only let her deeper into his mind once, and it had proved intriguing enough for her to want more. From that one glimpse, she knew there was a lot more to him that he let anyone see. And she wanted more. Now the revelation about his parents, although he’d tried to pass it off as casual, meant more than that.

But she’d let him have his way . “Yes, I heard. It interested me, but I couldn’t risk it.”

“The famous sorcerer control?”

“Something like that.”

He came back to her, his steps muffled by the thick Oriental carpets. “Let me show you the rest.”

He didn’t take her hand this time, but she followed him out of the lovely but so perfectly arranged room and upstairs. Here he indicated a large door. “You can lock this if you like. I do when I have visitors in the house.”

“They can take your treasures but not your privacy?”

He stared at her, unsmiling. “Something like that. I only allow Mrs. Leeming and Polly up here. Polly is the cleaner. Mrs. Leeming rarely comes up because she has arthritis in her hips. Polly’s her niece and she cleans.”

“Old retainers?”

He shook his head. “I found them through an agency five years ago. Their references are impeccable. I don’t have old retainers, unless they’re Talents, and I haven’t had one of those for a long time.” Otherwise, they’d notice when he didn’t age. What a lonely life.

“When did you last inherit from yourself?”

“Ten years ago. Probably for the last time. G facilitated it.”

Considering CAT’s encouragement for Talents to leave their closets, Tegan wondered how long they would continue to do this. And the briefness of his response told her he didn’t want to get into it. But she would. She wanted to know more about him, discover what she could. Perhaps she might consider a job in the investigation industry. After all, she’d had the best training and she could make do with what she had left.

He stood aside to let her walk into the hallway on this floor. Immediately, she felt the difference. He was everywhere on this floor, the whole atmosphere redolent with it. While the furnishings were no less expensive, there was a lot more mix and match up here. An elaborate pietra dura chest stood next to a Regency harp-backed chair. Colors were muted and kind of peaceful, though not boring. He led her in silence to the first room, which overlooked the park.

She gasped, the sound loud in the hushed atmosphere.

“Like it?”

“Love it.” She moved to the window, savoring the view, and found that the large windows led to a balcony. “How wonderful. This place is so tranquil, like my school used to be. The first time they took me out of school to test my resistance, they took me to Orlando. I met Virginia there for the first time in years. They knew, but they didn’t tell me. It was supposed to be a treat, rewards at hand, rides and candy if we were good. I wasn’t. I couldn’t take it, the combined psis too much for me. They took me back an hour later, and I remembered Virginia’s face for years afterward. She looked sad, but she smiled. That smile helped me until I met her again.”

He didn’t comment, but she knew he’d listened. Few people did. “Glad you like it. I have breakfast out there in the summer. Every day. Dinner sometimes, too.”

“I bet the London smog put paid to that at one time.” She folded her arms and turned to face him, the view as good as the one out of the window, but in an entirely different way.

“It did. Right up to the end of the fifties. It took them a while to clean up the city. But I enjoy it now. When I was young, the smog was more like fog, hanging over the city all the time. You could taste it. It got into everything.”

“You’ve lived here all your life?”

“Here and in the country, yes.”

She could get lost in this sight, his clean-cut features close enough for her to see the beginning of beard stubble. She wanted to touch it, see if he felt like sandpaper or velvet. Not yet. But hopefully, he’d let her do it soon. Real soon, if she had anything to do with it.

He looked away abruptly, as if he had to force himself to do it. Good. That was what she wanted. “Come and see the rest of this floor, then I’ll order supper if you’re hungry. Or I can rustle you something up.”

He showed her the kitchen here, and it became obvious that this was the one he used, and his familiarity with the equipment told her he used it frequently. “After that lunch, I’m not very hungry.”

“Do you want to put yourself in my hands?” He pulled open the fridge door and showed her the array available.

If only he knew. But it was after dark. “You can’t eat now. If you like, I can make myself a sandwich and some salad.”

He grinned. “I’d like to make you something.”

“Do you need to feed?” She could have bitten her tongue out. That was far too abrupt, and it shattered the air of intimacy building between them. She’d reminded him of what she was, what he was, instead of emphasizing the similarities between them. But it was said now.

He shook his head. “After the first fifty years or so, a vampire doesn’t need to feed so often. At first, it’s every day, then every week. I fed yesterday. Elegant way of putting it, isn’t it?”

Too late to go back. Better to go forward. “Do you dislike being a vampire?”

He laughed, but she detected a tinge of bitterness in his tone. “I’ve never known anything else. Vampire born, that’s me. No, I just don’t think about it too much. In a way, we’re weaker than mortals, because we have that extra appetite to fulfill. But I make it as pleasant as possible. And I tend to feed from strangers. That way I don’t owe anyone anything.”

Lonely. And preferring it that way, or that was what he’d rather let people think. She was beginning not to believe it. Something in his eyes when he looked at her, the way he’d welcomed her into his mind so warmly told her different.

“Are you hungry?”

She checked her watch. It was barely six p.m. They’d had a late lunch and lingered over the meal. But that meant they’d been here two hours already. Wow. “I didn’t think it was getting that late. Where has the time gone? I’ve been here two hours already.”

He raised a brow. “Time flies when you’re having fun?”

“Something like that. Or when you’re engrossed. This house is lovely. Thank you so much for showing it to me.”

“Don’t forget what I said. You’re staying here. Want to see the bedrooms? Choose one?”

She went forward. “Yes, please.”

There were three bedrooms on this floor. The two guest bedrooms had different color schemes, one in soft autumn shades, the other more redolent of spring, in soft blues and greens. If she had to choose one, she’d have this one. But she turned to him. “Do I get to see your room?”

“Why would you want to see that?”

And all pretense left them. For a fleeting moment before he looked away, she saw naked hunger in his eyes, and she wanted him to see it in hers. But she was too inexperienced to know for sure, and too unsure what to do next. She had no experience in these things. So she just said it. “I want to go to bed with you, Oliver.”

Shock opened his eyes, made his mouth drop open slightly, and he stared at her for a fraction of a second before he regained his senses. “No, you don’t.”

She took a step forward. “Yes, I do. Show me your room.”

He firmed his jaw, the muscle visibly hardening. “No.”

“Yes.” Clearly, she had some work to do. “Why don’t you think I want to do this?”

“You’re a sorcerer—”

“Was,” she corrected. “No more.” When she took another pace, he didn’t back away. That had to be good. Now barely two feet lay between them. “I lost everything, or I thought I did. But I didn’t. I only lost one sense, one part of me. And I got something else in its place. My baptism into sex might have been painful and humiliating, but I don’t intend it to continue that way. What I need is a man of experience, someone to show me the right way to do this.”

He stared at her, saying nothing so she pushed her advantage. “I had the therapy. I learned to cope with it. I want to bring the person who did it to justice, but I know sex is much more than that. I want to learn. I don’t have any reason to stay innocent and sweet, and I don’t want it anymore. I want to learn to be this new person, this mortal who has to live.” He still said nothing, so she played her last card. “Six months ago I was a thirty-four-year-old virgin. Now I’m thirty-five, with one violent experience behind me. I don’t want to hit thirty-six and still be in the same place.”

He moved then, seized her upper arms and dragged her close, bringing his mouth down on hers with no warning and no mercy. He held her so tight she could hardly breathe, just enough to return his kiss and open her mouth for him when he demanded it by pushing his tongue against her closed lips. It was inexperience rather than reluctance that made her hesitate, and in that time, he drew back and stared at her, gray-blue eyes starkly intense. He released her enough that she could breathe. “Is that what you want?” He gave her a little shake, and she knew it was more for him than for her, to try to push her away.

“If that’s what you want to give me,” she replied, pushing her panic down deep. She’d expected it, knew as soon as she was in a man’s arms again she’d feel like that. Her therapists had told her as much, but she hadn’t needed them to confirm it. “I want to give myself to someone voluntarily. For it to be my choice. So as long as you promise to stop if I tell you to, I’m good.” She lifted her chin. “Anything you want, Oliver.”

His laugh was frankly ugly. “Anything? You have no idea.”

“I have some. Just because I don’t have the experience doesn’t mean I didn’t research it.” She’d tried, but she had to give up the minute she felt herself getting aroused in any way. So her knowledge was patchy and mostly concentrated in those areas that didn’t appeal to her. That was how she knew she wasn’t gay and why she’d had so many girlfriends in New York. They were safe. Girlfriends who hadn’t bothered to chase her up, for the most part, but she kept in touch with a few. None over here. She hadn’t had the chance.

So Oliver represented her first intimacy of any kind since the rape. Because she didn’t count that.

“You researched me?” He still held her, but his hold gentled, as if sure she wouldn’t break away. Either that, or giving her the chance.

“Of course. It was part of my job.”

He drew her closer. “So what did you think? ‘Oh, he’s experienced, he’ll do’?”

“Something like that,” she admitted. “But I’d already met you, don’t forget. We’d worked together, and I felt your strength. I didn’t dare allow myself to feel anything else.”

He took a deep breath. She had him.

“You chose me.” No longer a question.

She’d promised honesty, if only to herself. “Yes, I did. At the time, I knew if I could afford to do it, I’d choose you. Well, now I can. I have nothing to lose.”

His hold on her changed. He opened his hands on her back, his fingers spreading wide, as if to encompass the maximum amount of her, and he urged her closer until she rested against his chest. She could pull away at any time, only she didn’t want to.

“I won’t ask why me. But I will ask you to think, and then think again. Are you sure? You know I can’t offer you much.”

She laughed weakly and released his shoulder to wave vaguely about them. “All this? A house overlooking Regent’s Park? A palace in the country?”

“Hardly a palace,” he murmured, but she saw his smile. “You forgot the title.”

“You do most of the time.”

“I don’t forget it. I ignore it.” He gazed down at her, and his expression softened, his eyes more blue than gray. Tiny lines delineated the corners of his mouth as he smiled slightly. “You are mad to choose me. You should have someone more gentle, less marked by life, more open. Because I can’t give you much. Only now.”

“Now can go on forever.” But she knew he was reminding her that in their case, it couldn’t. He had a five hundred year lifespan, probably more, but at least that, barring accidents. She had eighty. He was a powerful being, capable of feats that would always be beyond her, and she knew she should shoot for someone more like her. Someone she might even be able to have children with, something she’d never let herself dream about before. But at the tail end of her fertile years, she still had a chance.

Not yet. Today, she wanted him and nobody else. She’d take whatever he was prepared to give her.

He bent his head, but he didn’t kiss her, instead murmuring, in almost unbearable intimacy. “Then this is my condition. Forget what happened to you before. I want to treat you as if this is your first night, as if you’re giving your virginity to me. A woman your age who was still a virgin might not have much physical evidence left, but she’d still lack that practical knowledge. That describes you, doesn’t it?”

It did. Perfectly. She didn’t have to speak, only give him a short nod.

He smiled down at her. “I wanted you, too,” he said before he kissed her.