Forever As One (3 page)

“E
van
geline.”

The way he said it, with the emphasis on VAN
sounded like a full skin caress. Her eyes went wide at the instant
impression of fingers sliding along her knee…gliding up her thigh.
They couldn’t have put something in her drink…could they?

“Come on. We’ll take this to my office.”

“Your office?”

“Yeah. My office. Private. Quiet. Unless you
like all the attention we seem to engender?”

The chair disappeared somewhere as he got to
his feet, offering his hand to her again. Vangie studiously ignored
it and slid her chair back. The sight of him stole her wits. She
really wasn’t willing to move toward touching. Not just yet. She
didn’t give a flying hang about polite behavior, or business
etiquette, or corporate strategy, either. It was
self-preservation.

Maybe she shouldn’t go anywhere private and
quiet with Dane Morgan. Crowds were safer. She’d read the paper,
watched the news. Bodies were washing ashore lately, with shark
marks that didn’t disguise the bullet holes.

What was she thinking? There wasn’t really an
option. If they stayed here, she’d have to yell her proposal at
him, and that’s if she could make out his expression, since they’d
started to dim the lights. She’d come down here to be exactly where
she was, talking to the bar’s owner and working out a deal. In
fact, she was more successful than she’d dreamed. His office was a
good option. Clearly. Vangie shouldered her purse strap and
stood.

Dane Morgan was over six feet tall.
That
figures, too
. He hadn’t looked that big before. He wasn’t
hugely muscled like a body builder, but he wasn’t far behind them.
She probably reached to his shoulder. Even wearing these three inch
heels. Vangie took a breath and moved her gaze upward, willing the
strange sensation from existence before she reached his eyes. It
didn’t work. She might as well be floating, along with the spinning
sensation that restarted the moment she locked gazes again. She’d
never felt so out-of-sorts. Disconnected. Uninhibited.

“Take my hand. Please?”

That right eyebrow lifted again, and he
tipped his head lower to speak just to her.

“I—”

“I don’t bite. Not on a first meeting,
anyway. Promise.”

Mongoose, Vangie
. Make like a
mongoose. What a stupid idea. Mongoose moved lightning fast. That’s
how they avoided being caught by a cobra’s stare. Or she hadn’t
paid enough attention to those nature films back in grammar school.
Nothing about her felt like moving at all, let alone quickly.

“Did they put something in my drink?”

His lips twitched, but at least he didn’t
smile. “Why?”

“Because I feel….” Her words dragged into
nonexistence. There wasn’t a description to this. She’d never taken
a mood enhancement drug. She’d been around those who did, though,
back when she tried to fit in and failed miserably. It had been a
learning experience. She never wanted to be out of control of her
own body. Like now.
Just great Vangie. Great
. She not only
appeared to be easily influenced, she looked mindless as well.

“Take my hand.”

“I’ll follow.”

That got her another grin. “In this crowd?
I’ll lose you. Come along. I promise you’ll be safe.”

“Right.” He might lose her, but he’d be
impossible to mistake.

“You don’t believe me?”

“Should I?” Good. Her mind still worked, and
it controlled her words. She almost let the self-satisfaction show
before catching it.

“Did you wish to speak with me, or not?”

Trust a man to find the loophole. He was
right. She was being paid to be right where she was. Privacy would
be perfect, quiet even better. And he was offering both. She took
his hand, got a jolt all the way through to the tips of her pinched
toes in her shoes and back, and it was followed by such a sensation
of heat, she almost snatched her hand back. He may have known, too,
for the next moment found her entire form against what she’d
suspected was a rock hard physique. Now, she knew it was.

They’d definitely put something in her drink.
Otherwise, how could they be in a near-embrace and surrounded by
writhing bodies in a crowded darkened club one moment, and the next
out on shadowy open beach spliced by moonlight through palm fronds?
And why wasn’t she finding it the slightest bit difficult to walk
in wet sand with these heels?

Vangie glanced down.

She wasn’t touching the sand. He had her in
his arms, and was moving so fast, they might as well be flying. She
slammed her eyes shut and swallowed over and over. She was going to
be airsick. Nobody had thought of that. The thud of steps on wood
startled her, and worked at settling her belly. Good. He’d reached
wood. Solidness. And he wasn’t flying. She peeked.

They were at the end of a dock. He owned a
sleek, black boat, very hard to see at night. She thought they were
called cigar boats. At least, that’s what she remembered from the
movies. She probably should’ve spent more time in pursuit of a
social life, and less time with television and her imagination,
because whatever they’d given her was really warping reality, and
she had a lot of imagination to draw from. Either that or he really
did own a boat so fast, it flew, too. Without lights. Without much
noise. Without even making a drop of sea spray. She didn’t have
time for seasickness before a large black shape loomed out of the
night sky all about them, sending a wave to rock the boat as they
neared.

“Where the hell are we?” Forget etiquette and
protocol. She was angry, and it showed in her words and her
voice.

“My office.”

“Bologna.”

“Eric! Hit the running lights!
Starboard!”

“Got it!”

Dane leaned back in order to send the
commands up at more black shapes atop a railing. She couldn’t see
his movement, but the way he had her plastered to him, she didn’t
need to see it. Or anything else. She hadn’t imagined all that
muscle and hard ripped body, either. She got a full onslaught of it
all along her.

She heard the sound of chains scraping, a
hiss of noise, some shouts, and then one side of the most enormous
yacht she’d ever seen up close came into view, lit by blue-enhanced
lights. The entire side facing them was black. Sleek, shiny black.
And way at the top were large painted white letters along with his
call numbers. It wasn’t hard to read them, even from this
angle.

My Office.

“You see?”

Jerk. He should just keep his mouth shut.
Dane Morgan wasn’t just a pretty-boy, rich, surfer dude. He was a
complete and total jerk, too. Vangie cleared her throat to give her
best “we can’t come to an agreement” spiel. She was usually very
good at it.

“Look…Mister Morgan. We got off on the wrong
foot. I’ve changed my mind. I want to go back to shore. I’ll save
my words for another day. When you’re not so busy. So…say you just
turn this little boat of yours around and take me back. Okay? I’ll
be back tomorrow and we can—just what do you think you’re
doing?”

Leaping upward without one bit of assist, and
then walking into an enormous salon place with her was what he did.
He deposited her onto an overstuffed leather sofa, and then took a
seat right beside her. Then he turned toward her as if she was the
most important thing in the world. And if she didn’t do something
to stop this, she’d probably be assailed with the hypnotic
sensation again. Vangie sucked in a breath, held it, and then
slammed her eyes shut. She wasn’t making eye contact with him. No
way. The man was pure drug to her, and she was acting like a
full-fledged addict.

He put a finger beneath her chin and lifted
it, sparking something right through her that had nothing to do
with prior experience. Nothing. Vangie started silently counting.
She got to three before he picked up her right hand within his,
sending flurries of shivers with the contact. She was never
trusting another man. Ever. Never. Ever. And if she got out of
this, she was never ever taking another job without checking every
single bit of their credentials, either.
And
she was
calling the feds.

“
Frja
? I cannot believe it. You
exist. And you’re here. With me.”

She cracked open an eye. He had his one
eyebrow cocked up again and the strangest expression on his face.
Vangie opened the other eye to view what looked like tenderness and
something else. Something akin to awe. Reverence. Wonder. The moist
sheen atop his eyes seemed to reflect it, as well. And damn
everything, she got to turn into his willing prey again,
immediately drawn to the bottomless blue of his eyes.

“Finally. I simply cannot believe it. I
can’t.”

“I…shouldn’t be here.” It was her mouth
speaking, but she couldn’t truly feel her lips and throat making
the sounds.

“You fear me?”

Fear?
What a word for so vast an
experience. He upset the very elements, altered them, and then
reassembled them back in such a haphazard fashion, she didn’t know
what to think or believe.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Should
I?”

“You’re perfectly safe with me. You will
always be safe.”

“After a trick like you just pulled, how am I
supposed to believe that?”

“What trick?”

He actually had the gall to look confused.
Vangie blinked around the blurred aura that seemed to surround
them, but couldn’t move her eyes from his. Damn everything! She’d
known not to lock gazes with him!

“This…is not your office,” she whispered.

“It is.”

“It’s a yacht.”

“What does that matter? It’s quiet and
private, just as I offered.”

“Exactly. Perfect for all kinds of
things…like—”

Red lace and entwined limbs. Naked, tanned
skin…. Candlelight. Satin sheets.

The same images assailed her again in
disjointed snippets that had perfect clarity to them. It was worse
than before, and so much better. Her head tipped back slightly
while her eyelids drooped. Her lips parted to pant for breath. His
fingers about her hand tightened. Everything about him looked to
have the same affliction – all taut and muscled and ready to spring
– and the shirt wasn’t hiding one bit of it.

“This is not a good idea.” He looked down at
the hand he held. His voice was rough as he stated the obvious.

“No. Yes.”

“I was a fool to bring you here. And yet…what
else was I to do?”

“Mister Morgan?”

“Dane.”

She ignored his name, and the little smile he
gave. It only worked because he was still speaking to her fingers.
“We should…go back.”

“You are safer with me than with any other
creature on the planet. I vow it.” He polished off that statement
by lifting her hand and placing a kiss right atop the ridges of her
knuckles.

Oh my…heavens!
No wonder they’d
loved that gesture in the middle ages! The spark that shot from
that spot went straight to her center, starting a tremor that was
noticeable. Her hand shook within his, and her entire frame wasn’t
far behind. She held her breath. He lifted his eyes back to
hers.

“I must leave you now,
Frja
. I
cannot stay near you, and not—! I cannot control—! You do not
understand…and I cannot explain. Forgive me.”

He dropped her hand and was gone, leaving
total chill in his wake. In a blink of time. Without making a hint
of sound. Not a footstep. Not a door closure. Nothing.

This wasn’t a yacht. It was more a ship.
She’d once thought being on a ghost ship would be cool. She’d been
a lot younger then. A little less world-weary. Rod had been the
neighbor’s kid, not her deceased husband. They’d both shared an
interest in the strange and scary. She supposed it started when
he’d found a book about the Flying Dutchman and crew that
disappeared in 1795. It had been spotted lots of times since, but
never verified. Sounded really cool.

Ghost ships weren’t as fun once she got older
and saw some of the horror movies. Then they were just plain
spooky. Spooky. With a capital S.

That description was more than apt. This one
probably even echoed.

Vangie peeked around a corner and got a dose
of more corridor, acreage of charcoal-hued carpeting, dark wood
paneling, and the same sparkling chrome fixtures. Didn’t matter if
she found a staircase and went up or down, either. Everything
started looking alike. He had at least three decks. She hadn’t gone
down the last set of steps because she was afraid of getting lost.
They’d looked different. They weren’t carpeted and the walls below
looked like white paint covered them. She probably should have
dared it.

“See, this is the problem with rich
people.”

She said it aloud. It helped curb the
sensation that was raising hairs at the back of her neck. Vangie
gestured to the hall as she lectured.

“They can’t take it with them, so they design
monstrosities like this to spend their money on. Expensive cars,
huge mansions, elaborate estates, yachts the size of cruise ships.
And then they have to buy privacy fences. Security forces.
Electronic surveillance stuff…”

If she ever had a fortune at her command –
which wasn’t likely given her success rate tonight – she’d find a
way to make the money work for her. Better people’s lives. Work on
the environment. Make a difference. Something other than waste it
on something that sooner or later was going to end up a chunk of
rusting iron on the ocean floor, doing more damage than good.

“I mean…just look at this. The guy has a lot
of space. And for what? Parties? Privacy? Status? What a
waste.”

Her voice drifted off. She’d been right. It
echoed, and did nothing to temper the shivers.

She ran a finger along the slick chrome rail
next. Not a speck of dust, either. He kept it perfectly maintained.
Figures. He probably paid an army of servants to keep it in this
condition. They must sleep during the night, unlike their employer.
That didn’t automatically mean if she’d gone down that odd
staircase, she wouldn’t find a living being or two.