Trefoil (3 page)

“Suite 107. Can you tell me who occupied it last?”

Before he completed the sentence, the employee was shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry. We can’t disclose any information about guests.” He pointed to a small plaque stating the privacy policy.

“Please,” Nathan said, leaning across the counter. “I need to know, and you can help me.” He slid a bill toward him.

His eyes lingered on it before he covered it with a palm. “It was a couple, Mr. and Mrs. LeClair. They checked out around 8:00.”

“Mr. and Mrs. LeClair?” he choked. “Do you have first names?”

He flipped open a large, red leather-bound book and riffled through the pages. “Ah. . . John and Lillian.”

Nathan’s heart convulsed beneath his chest wall. Lillian. His mind raced, matching her name with her image. “The woman, what did she look like?”

The employee screwed up his face. “A small woman about this tall.” He held a hand about eye level, about mid-chest to Nathan. “She had long reddish brown hair.”

Nathan’s heart soared. She’d been here. She—Lillian. Lillian LeClair. . . and John. His heart stuttered. “The man,” he heard himself say through a loud buzzing that took up residence in his ears. “How old was he?”

“Um, about her age, dark hair, very ritzy. You know, expensive.”

“And she was definitely his wife?”

“Well, I wasn’t a bridesmaid or anything, man, but he did wear a wedding ring.”

Five heartbeats. Okay. Wedding rings. Five more and Nathan could speak. “Where did they go?”

The desk clerk didn’t know. The LeClairs hadn’t used the hotel shuttle. Nathan straightened and tapped the counter with a hand. “Thank you. Thanks.”

He lurched past hotel guests and into the blazing sun. The heat blasted his face and ruffled his hair. As he crossed the sand to a bench at the water’s edge, he swiped the sweat from his upper lip, feeling the rasp of several days’ beard growth.

In a remote way, he understood that the acute pain in his chest was the cause of his dazedness. He had not felt such wrenching pain since Turner’s loss.

Lillian. He had learned her name. And that she was somebody else’s wife.

* * * * *

The miniature buttons of the cell phone felt foreign beneath Nathan’s finger. Dante’s husky voice resounded in his ear. For a moment, Nathan thought he wouldn’t be able to speak.

“I need advice,” he said hoarsely.

“Anything. You know I’m here for you, old friend.”

Nathan drew a searing breath into his lungs and finally focused upon his surroundings. The sky touching the water. The dazzling sun and half-clad people. How had he come to this place in his life?

“I’ve heard her. My mate. But my search is futile.”

There was a beat of silence. “Tell me.”

“She’s married.”

Dante’s breath trickled into Nathan’s ear. “Are you absolutely certain the image you saw was of an immortal woman, Nate?”

“Without a doubt.” No way was that tattoo executed by a human hand.

“Is she with another immortal?”

“I don’t know. Why would she Call to me if she’s spoken for?” He crushed the words between his teeth.

“Nate, there must be a reason. Do not get discouraged. Your information is incomplete. She would not have Called to you if she didn’t need you.”

Nathan pressed his fist to his forehead, weak. He needed to hear this.

“Push onward, my friend. It is worth it in the end. I promise.”

He drew a deep breath, knowing his course once more.

Minutes later he paced the perimeter of the USS Arizona Memorial, feeling Lillian everywhere. He caressed a name on a marble tablet, felt her fingertips. Her slender hand curled around the back of her neck where her hair frizzed damply. A tiny droplet of sweat beaded on  her skin and Nathan licked his lips.

Within a fraction of a second, he realized the image he was being awarded was that of Lillian’s left hand, and that it was bare. No wedding ring circled her finger. The hand was devoid of all jewelry.

He hung his head, letting the emotions rip through him like the crash of waves against the shore. His legs were wobbly and tears stung his closed eyelids. The hair on his body stood erect.

A quick prayer of thanksgiving burst from him and he opened his eyes to the name beneath his finger.

Robert Albright. A clue.

Nathan stowed this information away and continued to follow Lillian LeClair’s footprints. At an outdoor café, he sank into the chair where she had sat. He felt the warmth of her thighs beneath his own, and a shiver of fresh need ripped through him.

She had tipped her face up to the misting rain and used a spoon to eat her meal, though he was unable to see what she ate through the keyhole of vision. And she had laughed and talked with her partner. His hand had clamped around hers, and he leaned in and kissed the full lower lip of Nathan’s dreams.

Raw fury flooded his veins, escalating his need to find her. He stood abruptly and pushed in the chair. His entire being focused on a single strand of long, mahogany hair. Time ceased to move. The world silenced. The sun was blotted by its existence. Nathan plucked it from the chair and he drew it across his lips, stunned by the tingling sensation it caused. He saw again her moist lip and hungered for its feel.

He raced through the streets, aware of his leaping pulse. Had he ever been so alive?

Rushing past houses, he viewed them through Lillian’s eyes, but always through a narrowed perspective. Blue, yellow, pink houses, flags and flowers, flowers everywhere and trees with huge leaves dripping with the latest rain, arching from rough trunks. He climbed the steps of one bungalow and knocked.

A young boy answered his call, about the age and gawkiness of Turner when he had gone to war, except he had the flawless latte skin of a Hawaiian and lacked the starving appearance. Nathan asked if he had seen a woman about this tall, with long, reddish brown hair? Yes, she had been here yesterday. She was lost and walked along that way.

Nathan followed the line of the boy’s finger, thanked him and tripped down the steps to the sidewalk.

As Nathan’s footsteps fell precisely atop hers, his heart throbbed heavily. He spun on the pavement, sensing her confusion and rising panic. Her fingers flew to her throat, clawing for air. She sank screaming to the ground.

Oh, my God.

He folded in half, pierced by images of her struggle and the largest, keenest anger he had ever known. If John LeClair was hurting her, he would make him pay. He would make him pay anyway for possessing Lillian. Mine, he thought, opening his eyes.

A lone pearl from the strand of his Visions rested in the crack of the sidewalk. Lillian had broken it in her distress.

Panting as if he’d outrun the British forces, Nathan straightened to face the great glowing sun across the water. The wind gusted at his face, blowing his hair off his forehead. He knew Lillian was no longer in Hawaii, but he would take away tiny pieces of her in his search. A hair, a pearl, a name.

Lillian felt the mattress sink beneath John’s weight. A cold, wet cloth touched her forehead, and she opened her eyes into his worried gaze. He smoothed a lock of hair from her cheek.

“Lillian.”

She stared past him, through him, seeing the USS Arizona Memorial and a name beneath her finger. She saw a sunny kitchen with a jug of flowers centered on the table. And deeper in her mind lived a rugged blond man, grinding his jaw in frustration.

John stroked the back of her hand. “Are you all right, love?”

She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and pressed it with her teeth before releasing it. “I’m thirsty,” she said quietly.

John shot across the space, located a bottle of water and filled a glass tumbler. Lillian scooted into a sitting position, hugging her knees to her chest. She accepted the water and drank it in one breath.

When the last drop wet her tongue, he set aside the glass. And then he was crushing her to him, kissing the part of her hair, her temple, the crest of her cheek. She clung to his neck, her bracelets digging into her skin.

“What do you remember?” he asked, rocking her.

“I think I was Made immortal on that street.”

He released a ragged breath. “You were.”

“I think you Made me immortal that day.”

“I did,” he choked.

“Why did you bring me here after all these years?”

He buried his face in her hair. “I don’t know. I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you.” He clenched her tighter against him and spattered her face with kisses.

The warmth of his mouth stirred her. Her nipples strained against her bodice and moisture gathered in her secret spot. “John, I want you.”

He jerked as if knifed, withdrawing enough to see her eyes. His were dark and glittering. “What do you mean?” he whispered.

“You. Your body. I want you to make love to me.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned. In an instant he had flipped her beneath him. His hard chest and thighs pushed her into the bed. Heat pooled between them. “Lily, the sun rose for me on the day you were Made.”

She cupped his jaw, black with stubble, letting her thumb skim his full lips. He nipped the soft pad of her thumb and sent a shudder of need between her thighs. His fingers trailed over her collar bone to the swell of her breasts, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. The first brush of their mouths ignited her. He tasted of male and musk and the peppermints he liked to suck.

She threaded her fingers into his hair and held him to her roughly, drawing gulping breaths of his scent. Before she could part her lips for his tongue, he tore his mouth away and turned it against her left wrist. He kissed her bracelet hard, and continued toward her elbow, lightly pinching her flesh between his lips.

One hand reached under her and eased down the zipper on her dress. The metal vibration of the zipper against her sensitive spine made her writhe. He separated the fabric and traced his fingers against her immortal tattoo.

The bolt of electricity from his touch shot through them, heightening their need. Flames licked down to her pussy and it released a trickle of fluids.

In one hasty movement, her dress lay crumpled on the floor and John knelt over her with his thumbs hooked in the lace of her panties. As he slipped them slowly down her hips, he held her gaze.

“My beautiful woman. Mine.” Her panties disappeared, her knees were nudged apart and his dark face plunged between her thighs. He nuzzled her mound of curls, scraping them with his rough jaw. She twisted her fists in the sheets, hips grinding, seeking his touch on her hard, slick clit.

The tip of his tongue tasted the crease of her thigh, teasing up the full vaginal lip to her quivering inner lips. He moaned as he found the pool of juices. As he lapped at them, Lillian stopped breathing.

A knot formed in her core as his tongue flicked inside her. His fingers tickled over her pussy, spreading her gently and exposing the hard pearl that most wanted his attention. “You want me to suck your big hard clit, don’t you?” he asked. Before she could draw breath to reply, his hot mouth descended, drawing it between his lips. He suckled it tenderly, his tongue working in a circular motion.

A gasp escaped her and she splayed her hands over his shoulders, nails lightly raking his skin. His finger pressed at the entrance of her tight hole, and a flood of wetness bathed his hand. Without warning, he speared her on his finger, driving it into her sheath. Immediately he found the needy spot that sent her out of control. He circled her g-spot with maddening slowness. She bucked against his hand.

Against her clit, his tongue mirrored the stroke of his finger, circling, plunging, driving her to the brink. Her inner thigh muscles quivered and she longed for a taste of his flesh. She wished for his crisp, scented pubic hair against her nose as she sucked his cock into her mouth.

He tongued her harder, lapping from hole to nub, but his finger grew still, applying the barest pressure. Her hips rose and fell. The breeze through the double doors washed over her nude form and heightened her pleasure. The soft feel of his hair on her thighs drove her to the brink.

His finger began to thrust, plunging into her center, stroking her fleshy inner walls. A burning heat enveloped her. Her breath caught and held as he drove her higher. Her pussy began to contract, pulsing softly at first and then clenching hard. Her muscles enveloped his finger, quaked against his mouth. A soft scream tore from her chest and a hot flush washed over her.

John continued to stroke her, extending her pleasure. His mouth softened as her orgasm ebbed away. He sucked at her come and kissed her lips and mound. She grew boneless. He lifted his face, beard and lips glistening with her cream.

“I need more,” she said, gripping his biceps and guiding him up the length of her body. She found his mouth and tasted her own juices. Her tongue swirled around his and made him moan. She fumbled with his fly. The tip of one finger dipped into the waist of his briefs, caressing the fleshy head of his cock. She smeared the drop of pre-come, withdrew her finger and brought it to her mouth.

He held her gaze at she enjoyed his flavor, salty-sweet and delicious. She tore off his shirt and tossed it aside. Her palms skimmed his hard pectoral muscles, feeling his nipples like two jewels set in the mat of curly hair.

Next she slid his pants and briefs down his hips. He kicked his legs free, hovering at her heated core. His thick shaft nudged the entrance to her pussy. She hooked her heel about his hip and drew him in with a quick jerk.

His cock buried deep inside her. A grunt of satisfaction vibrated against her throat. He kissed a trail back to her mouth, and then he began to move. She met his thrusts, forcing him harder and deeper, desperate for him to fill her. Desperate for him to drive away the image of the blond man. Desperate for him to consume her the way he had always done.

He fingered the tattoo on her spine and their passions flowed between this intimate link. The shocking sensation spurred them higher, up the slippery slope of newfound need. The slick walls of her pussy hugged his long shaft tight. The pleasure-burn deep in her core combusted, blossomed, and her sex contracted around him. He locked her to him with a cry as his orgasm swept him.

Lillian clung to John, her mouth wild against his throat, jaw and up to his ear. She gently ground the sensitive lobe between her front teeth, making him shiver. As the pleasant heaviness of release washed over them, a new set of images flashed through her mind. Tumbling onto the feather mattress, long, elegant fingers sprinkled with golden hair burning a trace on her inner thigh.

Her chest throbbed as if she had a great wound. She pressed a palm to it and tried to staunch the flow of blood

Oh, John, I’m sorry, she thought. I don’t know what this is or how to stop it.

* * * * *

The man in aisle two looked up from his laptop and into Lillian’s eyes as she eased past his knees and into the window seat of the jet. While she settled into the seat, a grunt sounded, and she looked up in time to catch John staring down the passenger.

She tugged John’s hand and forced him down beside her. His forearm muscles were tense and his fist clenched. She put her mouth to his ear. “What is that about?”

He passed her a book, but did not reply.

Minutes after takeoff, she became aware of John’s restless movements. She was unable to see his face, but the passenger next to him wore a mottled blush. A lifetime of soldiering meant John could easily intimidate anyone. This businessman was no match for his menace. But that was the problem. In over six decades together, Lillian had never seen John use such tactics.

“You got a problem?” he asked his neighbor.

The man attempted to shift away by moving his legs into the aisle. When the drink cart slammed into his shins, he shot to his feet and demanded the flight attendant assign him a new seat. Since the flight was booked full, the man had to keep his seat beside John.

Lillian put her mouth to his ear. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

“He’s got a case of the wandering eye,” he said, tone deadly soft.

Her stomach flipped.

He knew.

He sensed her preoccupation with the blond man of her dream. As she thought of that man, she drowned in new visions of golden limbs and firelight throwing shadows over his nude body. She could nearly taste the sweat dampening his carved ab muscles and the hollow that cradled his long, thick rod.

She dug her fingers into the hair at her temples, struggling to emerge from these hallucinations. Her mind was out of control, and her body was following. She didn’t want her nipples to pinch into tight nubs or instant wetness to pool between her thighs. I have John, she thought, fighting against the sting of tears. He knows what’s going on.

“Don’t worry about it, John,” she whispered directly into his ear. “It’s happened before.”

His teeth gnashed. “I’m putting an end to it.”

The man at his elbow jerked. He straightened with a glare. “Sounds good. Meet me at the gate,” he said.

John swelled beneath the challenge. “You got it.”

As the plane began to descend, her knee bounced and her gaze ricocheted between her usually placid spouse and the man seated next to him. By the time they reached the ground, she writhed with nerves. Her stomach was a sick twist of dread.

The landing gear barely scraped the runway and the passenger lurched to his feet. John followed suit, and Lillian made a play of having lost her sunglasses to stall.

Too soon they disembarked. John towed her swiftly to the gate, where the other man waited with his arms folded across his chest and his legs braced wide. Standing, he was much taller than John, though not as muscled.

She gripped John’s arm and cried, “What are you doing?”

“Clearing up a little misunderstanding.”

“John.”

“Stay over here, Lily, and don’t interfere.”

She shook her head, sending snaking curls over her shoulders. “This is unnecessary. Please.”

“Stay here, Lily.”

She watched him stalk away from her, her hands suddenly helpless and empty. She pressed her fingertips to her mouth until her teeth cut her inner lips. As John approached the man, he unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled the sleeves to his elbows. Dark tufts of hair burst free, and the blue-black lines of his immortal tattoos peeked from beneath the white cotton. Her gaze riveted to those tattoos, too beautiful for words, and she hungered for him all over again.

“You keep your woman on a leash.”

Her head snapped to the man who puffed his chest until it bumped John’s.

John’s tolerance faded in a blinding flash. He launched into the man, hurling them into the luggage carousel. Few people milled about the area where they fought, but they stopped to watch.

They grappled on the conveyor belt before John’s fist met the man’s face with a sickening thud. Lillian screamed and rushed forward. “John, no,” she cried.

His knuckles struck the man again and again, until Lillian caught John’s arm, yanking and screaming until he heard her. He rolled to his feet, straightened his clothing, jammed a hand through his hair.

“What were you thinking? What has gotten into you?” she asked, hauling him toward the exit.

They broke through the doors into the sultry Seattle evening. She tossed John several glances, but his face was stony. He gave no indication as to what had possessed him to tear into that person simply because his eyes lingered too long on her legs. As she was slammed with several fresh flashes of her dream man, she wondered how she was going to conceal her new fixation from John, and what might happen if she couldn’t.