Be Still My Heart (5 page)

But nothing could have dreamt Stuart into being. Sasha darted her glance away again before he caught her. This was such unfamiliar territory. She detested it. She’d hated men for so long, it didn’t seem possible. The man was truly jaw-dropping, pulse-stirring, and something else. He was sensual now. Every move in his body defined and carried that exact description.

“So…why are we going to Monte Carlo anyway? If we’re gambling, I need funds. I’m sure they have ATMs there. They do, don’t they?”

“I have a job to do.”

“You’re working?”

Sasha nodded.

“This should be good. What is it you do?”

“I’m an assassin.”

He hooted, then sobered. “Of course you are. What else would a vampire be doing?”

“You don’t believe me?”

“Oh please. Do I look that naïve? Although it is a very original idea for a career. And fairly entertaining. So tell me. What did he do?”

“Who?”

“The fellow we’re assassinating. I assume it’s a fellow. We aren’t going after a woman are we?”

“
We
aren’t doing anything, Doctor Findlay.”

“Oh no. If you think I’m letting you out of my sight, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Sasha felt warmth pumping through her entire body, carrying emotion she’d thought long-lost and buried. She could feel heat even in her toes. It was more than frightening. It was damn near terrifying.

“I mean honestly. Let’s recap, shall we? I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what decade this is. I don’t know who you are – or what you might be; why I’m here with you; where my clothes are. And finally – and this is very important: I am definitely dreaming. Anything else is an improbability of universal proportions. Hmm. I should’ve put that conjunction of words in my dissertation. I might have gotten a better grade.”

He’d ticked each point off on newly elegant fingers. She was so grateful she hadn’t looked higher than that, allowing him to glimpse what might be on her face and in her eyes that she had to blink away an instant rush of actual tears. Stupid Sasha. Stupid man. Why hadn’t she just killed him when she’d found him?

Because he’s your mate
. And nobody chooses that. He probably thought her scowl was over his list of items. She hoped so.

“So. Who are we killing?”

“Richard Cunningham.”

“From the sitcom? I’m really loving this dream.”

He grinned at her and Sasha could kick herself for looking. A black-and-white documentary of World War Two was playing on her 60-inch screen. There wasn’t much sound, though. She moved her gaze to it as if fascinated.

“So, tell me. What did poor Cunningham do to get himself on a hit list anyway?”

“He owes the wrong people. And then, he tried to romance the funds from the wrong family’s daughter.”

“Sounds like a complete fool. He has my sympathy. Can’t we just rough him up a bit? Maybe beat some funds out of him?”

“
We
are not doing anything.”

“So you say. But continue. Please. I’m totally entertained, and since all you’ve got playing is the History Channel, it appears I have to find my own entertainment. Speaking of…why are we watching the History Channel?”

“I’m looking for errors.”

“Errors? They thoroughly research every point. At least I think they do. For the sake of argument, let’s just say they do. Everything on the History Channel is thoroughly researched before they air it. That’s a good way to stay out of litigious law issues, you know.”

“They still get some things wrong.”

“And you would know this…how?”

Sasha set her teeth. “Because I lived some of it.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot. The vampire thing. You’re immortal, too, then? Lived through some of history’s most poignant moments? How much history are we talking, anyway?”

“I don’t want to talk about me.” If he studied body language, he’d know she didn’t want to re-live one moment of the beating and raping and killing of her family. Or the ancient Slav vampire who’d saved her, by cursing her to this. It was in every line of her taut frame.

“Of course not. It’s always what you want. Never what Doctor Findlay wants or needs. I don’t know why I ask. It must be hidden masochistic tendencies that started manifesting the moment I entered this dream-state. That’s it.”

He’d ticked off points on his fingers again, but only used three this time. Sasha moved her gaze up the immaculate shirtfront, perfectly shaped features, looked into what were warm light blue eyes, and felt her entire body react with the most horrid jerk. There wasn’t any way to hide it. She was caught. Netted. Getting reeled in. There was nothing she could do about any of it. Certainty filled her. It was complete clarity.

I love him.

But love had a price. She now knew why she’d turned him, making him fully her mate. And also why she wasn’t admitting to it. Not yet, anyway.

“This is one spectacular dream. I really do have to admit that.” He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth containing little spiked canines.

“Stuart…”

“You don’t have to kill him, you know,” he informed her.

“Who?”

He gave her another smile involving little lines about his eyes. The man had a spectacular smile, too. Even with the fangs.

“Cunningham. You don’t.”

“It’s my job and it pays well.”

He broke eye contact to look about and then whistled. “You don’t look to need money.”

“Exactly.”

“What if I told you I had a trust fund approaching 40 million. Gaining interest as we speak. Would that be enough?”

Sasha pressed a key on the remote. Large numbers filled the screen from her bank accounts. She touched another key and her recent deposit flashed across the bottom.

“And these are…?”

“My account balances. In eighteen different countries.

“And the two million dollars? That’s the fee for this assignment?”

“Actually, it’s in Euros,” she informed him.

He whistled again. “Is that the going rate?”

She shrugged. “Depends on complication and access.”

“Of course it does.”

“How much did you pay for the prince?” she asked.

She’d been wrong. They weren’t light blue. They were cold-as-ice blue. And glaring at her with the one emotion she knew too well: shock.

Shit
. It made perfect sense. It did. Finally.

Stuart pressed his thumb and forefinger into the space atop his nose, feeling the pulse point pounding on his finger pads. He was on the verge of a headache, a large one. This wasn’t a dream. It was a psychotic breakdown, it had been triggered by his conscience, and that was just another example of his Irish bad luck; most of which he’d addressed in a study of physical manifestations on the psyche for his doctorate dissertation. In extreme cases of trauma, the mind could conjure anything. Even gorgeous women, capable of turning his body inside-out; jet-set lifestyles only the rich and famous pursued; and claims of vampirism tossed in for good measure.

He’d gone insane. But to have proof that having the time of his life with a woman of his dreams really was a figment of his imagination…well. That was complete punishment. He should’ve known. Chinese philosopher Confucius had said it hundreds of years ago: Before a man embarks on vengeance, he needs to dig two graves. Stuart had pondered it but didn’t care. He’d wanted revenge and so he’d gone and found it. And now he had this penance to contend with.

“Are you going to tell me?”

Stuart pulled the hand away and regarded his dream woman. She’d moved closer. Or something. She’d also changed. Somehow. Or he’d been completely self-absorbed. Again.

She had her mass of charcoal-shaded hair wrapped into a sleek French Twist, little black onyx studs gracing each earlobe, and those womanly curves filled out another tiny black cocktail dress, slit to mid-thigh, and all of it ended with another pair of killer heels. All of it in black satin. He wasn’t complaining. He’d never seen or been near anything so inherently sexy. She obviously liked to dress in black. Come to think of it…everything in his new wardrobe was black, too.

“Well?”

“Tell you what?” he replied finally.

“How much did you pay for the assassination of Prince Ada Majin?”

“How do you know I did?”

Ridiculous. And not remotely fair. He’d just admitted it was his own brain playing out this entire episode, and he still had to make explanations? If there was any logic and justice in there, he was missing it.

“Your assassin told me.”

“Really? Did you kill him?”

“Of course.”

“Torture him, too?”

“He wasn’t forthcoming with information.”

Her red lips were moving, saying words that were horrid, and all Stuart could think about was kissing them, and what would happen the moment he did. He had to force his gaze from contemplation of them back to the big screen in order to answer.

“Well, that does explain why he hasn’t contacted me for the final payment.”

“You paid too much, didn’t you?”

“The down payment was five million. Moved via wire transfer to an account that was immediately drained and then closed. I know. I checked. He never sent me information on where to send the final five. And just why don’t you already know this?”

“He was experienced. And good. No wonder he charged so much.”

“So much? It was a complicated hit. He told me so.”

“There were only five guards. They would’ve been easy.”

Stuart looked sidelong at her, and back to the black and white view of WWII-era tanks rolling across the screen. “How would you know?”

“Prince Ada Majin was my hit. Your man stole him. For that, he paid with his life. I had the same planned for you.”

“What stopped you?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since we met, Doctor Stuart Emerson Findlay…the Third.”

Her voice drew out each of his names, lingering on them as if they tasted of chocolate or something even better. Stuart gulped and watched her move, sliding effortlessly from her chair and onto a position atop his thighs. He supposed she’d shove her fingers through his hair next, and started hoping for it. The jet angled into a descent, taking the situation out of his hands, and in the next moment he was attached to those red lips, sucking a kiss into play that would lead to much more. The intercom sparking to life with Vaughn’s voice ruined it.

“Good morning. It’s four-twenty-one a.m. in beautiful Nice, France. We’ll be touching down at Cote d’Azur International Airport in ten minutes. From there, it’s a short forty minute drive along the equally beautiful coast of the French Riviera. It’s a shame we’re so early nobody will get to see the exquisite view, but there you go. Right on time. As specified.”

The intercom buzzed off, and the plane angled even farther, placing his dream woman fully into his arms.

“Why won’t we see it?”

Stuart asked it amid kisses, and if she wanted to arrive looking crisp and perfect she should probably stop running her fingernails along the shadow stripes in his black shirt. She was creating a friction of sensation, and he wasn’t remotely immune. That’s when he decided that if he’d earned insanity and got stuck in this dreamscape, it wasn’t a bad way to go, after all. Except…maybe the History Channel stuff.

The plane touched down with a tap that showed off her pilot’s skill, and the moment he opened his eyes he saw she was back in her chair, swaying one crossed leg at him.

“You closed your eyes.”

“Uh…I had something in them.” He hadn’t conquered the defensive tone in his voice, yet, either.

“You’re afraid of flying?”

“Never. I just get air-sick.”

“Really? When?”

She was right. He hadn’t felt one queasy episode. Not one. Come to think of it, he’d never felt better. Even the gouges she’d put in his flesh earlier were gone. Not one scrape mark. No cut. No scab. Just perfect skin. Healed, without one scar.

“It isn’t the flying that bothers me as much as the landings. You could’ve stayed over here and helped, you know.”

“You’re a bit…impatient.”

“I’m impatient? Look who’s talking. Come back over here. I’ll show you impatient.”

She shook her head.
She shook her head no?
That wasn’t a good sign if he was stuck in this for life.

“Later. I’ve got to blend in with the crowd now.”

“You? Blend in? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m very good at my job, Stuart.”

“Of course you are. Vampires are very good at all sorts of things, aren’t they?”

She smiled and there wasn’t a hint of a fang in sight on perfectly aligned, white teeth. She could put his dental hygiene regimen to shame. Stuart blinked.

“We’ve got eternity for that, Darling. We just have to be inside our suite before the sun comes up. Sunlight does awful things to us.”