Touch If You Dare (21 page)

Agony ripped across Jarvis’s face, making his eyes even darker. “I don’t have that capacity.”

Death inclined his head in respect. “I admire that honesty. For that, I allow you to live.” He spun the scythe around on his fingers. “On two conditions: You leave my dwelling and never return. The second is that, since you have clearly already tried to burden my star Guide with your own problems, you reverse that and instead assign yourself as her bodyguard for the next two days and make sure she does not work or return here. Learn about love from her. She’s got the goods.” He cocked his head thoughtfully. “In fact, return here on Monday morning with a ten page dissertation on what you learned about love from Fleming and her sister. Got it? Otherwise, I’ll kill you.”

Jarvis narrowed his eyes, and she could see the wheels turning his mind. Well, that was good at least. He was the self-proclaimed God of the Infinity of Choices. Let him come up with another option.

In the meantime… She sat down in Death’s guest chair. “I do love my sister,” she said. “And that’s why I need your understanding here. It’s really, really important for me to be her Guide, and she has specifically instructed me to keep going with my career so she doesn’t need to worry about me when she dies. Continuing to work is necessary for my own sanity, but also as my gift to her—”

“Which is why I’ll let you come back on Monday instead of taking a six-month grieving leave.” Death tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “But that does mean I need to find someone else to take care of the harvest of Augustus…”

“I’ll do it.” Jarvis set his hand on Reina’s shoulder. “And in exchange you’ll bring Cam to me.”

“I will do nothing at your command,” Death snapped. “For your information, your brother is already on his way to find Augustus with my grandfather. I’ll have them take care of the assassin. Gramps would like it anyway.”

“Cam? You want Cam to kill Augustus?” Jarvis’s hand went to his sword. “Love is only as pure as the vessel it’s in, and if Cam murders, that’ll blow love to pieces. End of the world chaos. He can’t—”

“Oh, give me a break.” Death snorted. “Why would I make the Guardian of Love a killer? He is simply using his love skills to help my grandpa find his true love.”

“You lying son of a bitch.” Jarvis reached across the table and grabbed Death by the lapels. “Where the fuck is my brother?”

“Jarvis!” Reina grabbed his arms. Hello, warrior guy! Strategic error to threaten Death. “Let go!” She could feel the heat rising from his skin, and she knew it wasn’t Jarvis calling the shots. It was his beast.

Death’s eyes were glowing black. “You are now on my short list, Mr. Swain. Surely there is someone who will pay me good money to harvest your soul. Once I find them…” He snapped his fingers. “Then it becomes worth my time to kill you.”

Completely undaunted in a totally badass and insanely bullheaded way that was so not the cool, calculating warrior she knew he was, Jarvis tightened his grip, his own eyes getting darker by the nanosecond. “Tell me where my brother is before I—”

“Be off, both of you now.” Death grabbed a totem pole from the back of his office. “Catch.” He hurled it at Reina’s head.

“No, don’t touch it. It’s wood and he can send us away through it—” But Reina’s warning was too late. Jarvis caught it a split second before it plundered through Reina’s skull. The post brushed against her forehead, the room turned fuzzy, and Jarvis’s face became blurry.

And then they were gone.

They’d just been exiled.

Of all the decidedly inconvenient inventions, tinted limousine windows had to be one of the most aggravating ones.

Natalie set her hands on her hips as she surveyed the string of limos lined up outside the Symphony Hall. Mostly black, a few white, all of them gleaming and shiny. All of them with tinted windows keeping her from finding her target.

Somewhere in that line was the Godfather, but she had no idea which one. And she didn’t have much time to figure it out. Trinity would know by now that Natalie had vaulted out the bathroom window, and it would take a three-second Google search to find out that the Godfather was attending the private benefit by Elton John at Symphony Hall tonight.

Natalie’s phone rang and she looked down. Trinity. She declined the call but knew her friend would be closing in fast. Desperation pulsed through her, an almost frantic need to find the Godfather. It didn’t make sense, but she couldn’t stop it. She’d been drawn here by an invisible cord, hauling her down here faster than she could even conceive.

Her phone beeped. A text from Trinity.
Your soul wants to live. Don’t let the deedub poison mess with you. Tell me where you are and I’ll help you. Don’t make the same mistake all your sisters and your mom made. CALL ME.

Her mother. Her sisters. All gone.

Another text.
You don’t want to die, Natalie. You don’t!

Oh, God. Trinity was right. Natalie didn’t want to die like them. She wanted to live, she wanted a chance to have a life like a normal person. She wanted to wake up to the sunshine and not wonder whether today was the day when she went over the edge. She didn’t want to die naked and exposed in the arms of some stranger just because he could hypnotize her burdensome libido with the snap of his manipulative and deadly fingers. She hit send and put the phone to her ear. “Help me, Trinity,” she said, unable to keep the panic out of her voice. “I’m losing it!”

“Tell me where you are. I’ll come right away.”

“I’m—” Natalie froze as a tall figure stepped out of one of the limos further down the way. He was in silhouette, but his shoulders were broad, and he was tall, so tall. Awareness pulsed deep in her belly and then he stepped under the white theatre lights.

The Godfather.

Dread filled her at the same moment that excitement ricocheted through her. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “It’s too late. He’s here.”

“Who? Where are you? Talk to me, Natalie!”

But she couldn’t concentrate on her friend. She let the phone drop by her side and turned toward the man who was going to kill her. She wanted to run, tried to scream, but all she managed was one step backwards and a low moan.

His gaze was fixed on her, and there was such heat in his eyes she felt her own body ignite. He strode toward her, purposefully, not even noticing the people who had to jump out of his way to keep from being plowed down. She knew he wasn’t responding to her. He was caught in the glare of her deedub glow. This wasn’t real. It was a charade, a deadly game.

He stopped in front of her. He was wearing tails, and his dark hair was slicked back from his tanned complexion. “Natalie. You came.”

Stating the obvious was incredibly erotic when done
by a man whose clothes fit him better than a supermodel’s,
by a man whose voice made her girly parts tremble. But she managed to shake her head, fought for sanity, struggled for salvation. “I shouldn’t have come. I need to go.” She managed another step back.

“Natalie? Who’s that? Where are you?” Trinity’s frantic voice echoed over the phone. “Nat!”

The Godfather took her wrist, and she stopped retreating, unable to tear herself away.

All she could do was watch in terrified anticipation as he spoke into her phone. “I promise I’ll take good care of her.”

“What? Who is this?” Then there was a pause. “Oh, shit. It’s you. Don’t do this—”

The Godfather shut off the phone and slipped it into his pocket. He held out his arm. “Would you care to accompany me into the gala?”

“No, God, no.”
Run away! Run away!
The voice in her head was distant, screaming desperately…

And then it was gone.

Replaced by a burning need she couldn’t resist.
Didn’t want to resist. Couldn’t think of a reason to resist.

“I would be honored.” She slipped her hand onto the Godfather’s proffered elbow. The material of his suit was so soft, so silky, as if it had been handwoven by a dozen angels and blessed by a rose. A rose. A pink one. Like the one on Nigel’s cheek.
Nigel.

His dark eyes flashed through her mind, the way he’d leaned against that Hummer, drawing her as she’d woken up after Jarvis had gratuitously knocked her out. She recalled with perfect clarity that moment she’d seen Nigel watching her, as if he saw her in a way no one else did. Not the erotic temptress, not the well-stacked diva, not the terrified wimp who lived a life of fear, but someone else, someone strong and courageous. She’d never met him before that moment, and yet she knew he’d seen a truth inside her that no one had ever bothered to see, even herself—

“Excellent.”

She jumped as the Godfather’s deep voice jerked her out of her revelry. She cringed as he set his hand over hers to escort her down the red carpet. She fought to hold Nigel’s image in her mind, but with each additional moment of contact between her and the Godfather, it got more and more difficult, and everything else began to fade until all that was left was the man by her side.

The Godfather didn’t seem to notice the cameras, the microphones, the press screaming questions about who she was. He just bent his head so he could whisper in her ear. “And after the concert, would you consent to accompany me back to my hotel for some champagne?” He lightly brushed his lips over her cheek. “You’re too dangerous to my goals of celibacy and keeping women alive.” He nuzzled the curve of her neck. “It would be best if you declined.”

He caught her chin and turned her face so her lips met his. The kiss was electric, and she felt her overly zealous hormones leaping at the contact. Her soul understood the threat, but the poison coursing her veins was stronger.

She swallowed, fighting to clear her mind. Struggling to remember the name of the man with the pink rose tattoo who had watched her so intently. Trying to think beyond the electricity sizzling through her body, the fire so powerful and so strong she knew it wasn’t normal, wasn’t safe, wasn’t right. “I decline. I accept.” God, what was wrong with her? “Let me go.”

“I can’t.” The Godfather gripped her hair, anchoring her against him. His breath was hot, his eyes intense. “You drain me of all logic. I’m not safe with you. I don’t want to kill again. You can’t come to my hotel with me. Get away from me.”

She swallowed. “Yes, yes, get away. You don’t want me. It’s the deedub poison.”

“I sure as hell don’t want you, but I can’t resist you.” He kissed her again. Hard this time. Deeply. Forcefully. And she felt herself melt into him, drink in all that he had to offer. Her body convulsed and a sudden orgasm burst through her. She clung to him as her body shook, and his arms anchored around her, holding her so close that he absorbed every shock with his strong body so thoroughly that no camera would be able to tell what had just happened.

It was the action of man well used to handling that situation. A man who would ruthlessly add her to his list of lovers who had succumbed to his charm. A notch on his lethal bedpost. She had to run from this stranger, this man who was nothing but sex, who was preying on her erotic side, on the poison racing through her brain.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, and then her heart began to thump again, responding to his call.

And the bastard heard it. She saw the struggle in his own eyes, and then he silently held out his arm again.

She fought it, lasted for almost two seconds, and then she took his arm.

They walked into Symphony Hall.

Together.

Toward a future that was as horrific as it was ravenously decadent.

And neither of them could say “no.”

***

Jarvis misted out of a wooden fireplace right behind Reina. He caught her as she stumbled over a pile of laundry that had apparently escaped a large antique basket masquerading as a hamper. He couldn’t believe he’d just been drop kicked out of the Castle. “Where are we?”

“We’re in my condo in the South End of Boston.”

“Son of a bitch.” He slammed his fist into the wall, fury rising hard and fast. He’d been so close to Cam, and he’d gotten deported like a piece of baggage.

Luggage was not something he’d aspired to when he’d broken out of the Den three weeks ago. “We need to get back inside. Now.”

“We can’t. Not until Death’s gone.” Reina yanked an assortment of lingerie off a drying rack, but not before he got a good look at a black lace thong, red silk bras, and a camisole in light pink that was the exact color of those damn socks he’d never finished. “The dungeon is right below his office,” she said. “He’d sense us and kill us.”

“How far below?” He was accustomed to lingerie being used to heighten torture and force responses he wasn’t in the mood to give. But the way Reina tossed it out of sight indicated it was for her, and her alone, and he liked that. Liked it a hell of a lot better than what he was used to. Tension raced through him at the thought of what lingerie had been used for against him, and he had to ball his fists to keep from charging over there and shredding it with his sword. Jesus, he was a mess. He was furious, edgy, and unable to think.

“A hundred feet. Through stone. It runs the length of the building.” She hip checked the drawer door shut, her face dismayed as she surveyed the clothes, books, and general carnage strewn across the bedroom. “But Death said that he was with Napoleon searching for Augustus—” Her eyes widened. “You’re getting that look that gave me nightmares the first time I met you.”