Craving (2 page)

So far, nobody had spoken to Dante. I turned to thank him and saw Nanette rubbing the back of his neck, whispering in his ear. What
was
their relationship? She’d mentioned another bloke, mentioned screwing around. I shook my head. Why the hell was I interested anyway?

I moved to stand in front of him, holding out my hand. “Thank you. I really wasn’t expecting such a show.”

“We’ve got it, every last fucking word of it.” Tristan’s shout was triumphant as he punched the air. I grinned. His exuberance was infectious. Remembering Dante, I glanced back at him as he took my hand, holding it a fraction too long. Silver eyes bored into me from an exhausted face.

“Anytime.”

1.3 Dante

Close to midnight, they packed up the last of their equipment. Apart from the cheap table and chairs, they were reluctant to leave anything here overnight. Nanette gave me a hug, and a dry peck on the lips before driving off in her funky, Barbie-pink Mini, and the students clambered into their van.

I was finally alone.

God, I was tired. It’d been a long ride from York down here to Cornwall. Close to 350 miles, eight hours of mostly motorway travel. My arse was still numb. I wheeled Bonnie, my motorcycle, into the building, giving the saddle a rub with my sleeve on the way in. The chrome was dusty from the distance I’d traveled today, but I’d give her a good polish tomorrow. Even with a thin coating of grime, my classic Triumph Bonneville looked superb, and I felt a familiar ripple of pride in her clean lines and potent engineering. Sheer beauty and power on two wheels.

With a massive, jaw cracking yawn, I set about clearing a space on the floor. Funds were perilously low until they paid me for this gig, but at least it was dry in here. I’d be fine in my sleeping bag.

My protection routines were now second nature. I swept the floor and created a clean circle in the middle of the room, then poured a line of salt just large enough so I could lie comfortably inside. Finally, I lit another bunch of sage leaves. I grimaced at my still rumbling stomach and took a long swig of water. That and a stick of gum would have to do until morning.

I crawled into my sleeping bag, rolled up my leather jacket for a pillow, and relaxed for the first time that day. My lids were heavy, and sleep beckoned. Then Ingrid appeared.

She looked like a small child with fair skin and blonde plaits swinging down her back. Today, she wore a white wool dress and furry boots, and a blue scarf matching the vibrant color of her eyes.

“Hello, Dante. Why are you on your own?” She perched on the table, her legs swinging back and forth. I sighed and forced myself to be polite.

“Hello, Ingrid. I called you earlier, where were you?”

“
She
scared me. And…” The swinging stopped. She shuffled back a little, crossed her legs in front of her, and rested her chin in her tiny hands. “I didn’t feel safe.”

My hunch had been right about Screamer, aka Melissa. With luck, she wouldn’t bother coming back tomorrow night. “Why didn’t you feel safe, Munchkin?”

“I don’t know.” Blue eyes regarded me, an impish expression on her face. “Do you want to play a game? We could play something. I’m bored.”

“I’m tired, Ingrid. Do you mind if we play tomorrow, instead?”

She huffed, glared at my bike and then back at me. “He said you wouldn’t want to play. You’re no fun anymore, Dante.”

Did she mean Simeon? My head ached. I really didn’t feel up to the mental gymnastics of amusing Ingrid. Simeon arrived next, a tall and graceful elderly man with a shock of white hair. He always wore cream robes, and I’d never figured out where he came from. The Middle East possibly.

“Dante.” He gave a half bow, and I smiled in return, clamping my jaws together to prevent another yawn escaping.

“Dante doesn’t want to play with me.” Ingrid sounded cross. “And now
she’s
coming back, so you won’t want to play either.” I was trying to figure out why Melissa would be coming back, when the door creaked open.

Pink Cardie stared down at me. “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

I winced as she shone a flashlight directly into my eyes. “Why are you trying to blind me?”

She swept it away, flashing round the room, over my bike, and back to my sleeping bag, but not at my face this time. I blinked and rubbed my eyes.

“I heard voices.”

I struggled not to laugh. What would she say if I told her I heard voices all the time? “I was on the phone.” I sat up, and pushed the sleeping bag down to my waist. “There’s nobody here but me. And you. Is there a problem?” She hadn’t moved from the doorway, her flashlight held in front of her like a shield. I didn’t want her to be afraid of me, so I tried a smile. Ingrid and Simeon had both disappeared, not that she’d be able to see them anyway.

“What’s that white circle on the floor?” She stepped forward, the door closing behind her with a dull thump.

“Salt. It’s for protection.”
I’m vulnerable when I’m asleep.
Her eyes looked huge in the dim light from my tiny lantern, and I sighed. Sleep was looking more unlikely by the minute. “It’s Kathy, yeah? Why have you come back tonight? I’m really kinda tired.”

“
Katherine
. It’s not Kathy
or
Kath.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Yep, she was feisty.

She pursed her lips and scowled down at me, taking another step forward. “Tristan insists on calling me Kathy, but that’s because he’s only got a three minute attention span and blanks it whenever I complain.”

I laughed aloud. She reminded me of a cat with her fluffy cardigan, big eyes, and flashing claws.

“How about I call you Kitten?”

Before she could reply, my phone jangled from the depths of my rucksack. Her gaze slid to my pack, resting on the back of my bike. “Are you going to answer that?”

Busted
. There’s no way I could’ve been speaking on the phone, stuffed it back in my pack
and
climbed into the zipped up sleeping bag before she walked in.

“Were you talking to the airman again?”

I ignored her, unzipped and scrambled out of my sleeping bag, and tried to reach my pack before the bloody thing stopped ringing.
Failed
. The missed call had no number recorded. With a grunt of annoyance, I dropped it back into its pocket and turned to stare at Kitten, only to find her staring at me.

1.4 Katherine

My face burned as I watched Dante striding to his motorcycle, clad only in boxers and a T-shirt. Boxers that clung to a well-defined arse and a T-shirt that rode up to show a flash of color on his belly and a hint of another tattoo on his spine. Jesus. His arms were graffitied enough, had he run out of room? On his left arm, a snake wound its way down to just above his wrist. On his right, I could see a wide band of Celtic-looking symbols above the elbow and a dragon on his lower arm, brilliant in blues and golds. Its eyes seemed to watch me as his arm moved, the muscles flexing. Were they gang symbols? They were unlike any I’d seen before.

He abandoned the phone, his dark eyebrows low and threatening as he turned to face me. “No, I wasn’t talking to the airman.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he scowled. “Was there anything else?”

All my life I’d rescued waifs and strays. Blackbirds with broken wings. Limping dogs. Small children who fell over in the park.
Never
a piece of hard core trouble like Dante.
That poncy lot.
I glanced down at his sleeping bag again. His bed tonight was a concrete floor. “I assumed you’d be going home with your girlfriend.”

He raised one eyebrow, but stayed silent.

“If you’d like, you can come with me.”

His other brow shot up, but I charged on before he could speak. Before I could change my mind. “I’m staying with family, and before you make any assumptions, you’d be sleeping on the sofa. But it would be more comfortable than this. And you’d have access to a bathroom.”

“A bathroom, huh? Is that a polite way of saying I smell?” His lips twitched as though he were trying not to laugh.

My cheeks burned. “
No—
I didn’t mean that.”

“So your family won’t mind?” There was that arrogant, couldn’t-give-a-shit smile. “I doubt if I’m your usual type.”

I scowled. “You’re not geeky enough. Look, do you want to come and stay or not?”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t talking about you, Kitten.”

“My name is
Katherine
.” I bit the words out, furious with myself at the flare of excitement in the pit of my stomach, the tiny part of me thrilled at such a hip and sexy nickname. I raised my eyebrows in a silent question as I stepped toward the door, reaching for the handle. I wouldn’t offer again. He might be a great medium—he might be what I was looking for—but he was still an obnoxious jerk.

“Yeah, thanks, I will do.” He graced me with a blazing smile, his entire face lighting up for a brief moment. “That’s really, uh, generous.”

I waited as he hauled on his jeans and shirt, shook out his black biker jacket, and stuffed his feet into tough, buckle-encrusted boots. “I’ll follow you on my bike, yeah?”

Ten minutes later we were pulling up at Ellie’s, a rambling farmhouse on the road to Camelford. As expected, the lights were all out—they were early risers. Dante parked next to my VW Golf in the graveled yard and followed me into the private suite. They frequently took paying guests—it was a great way to supplement the income from the farm—and I’d been allocated this self-contained flat for the duration of my stay this time. Closing the door behind me, I flicked on a series of muted spotlights and smiled at my visitor. I felt more confident with him on my own turf.

He placed his helmet on the floor, took off his boots, and lined them neatly beside it. Padding round the room in his socks, he peered at the photographs adorning the walls and shelves, eyeing the trinkets and ornaments. Even here, in an alien environment, he still acted as king of the jungle. His mid-length, brown hair fell roughly around his face, several days of stubble graced his jaw, yet he looked delicious.
God
. I’d been too long without a real boyfriend if I thought he was attractive. He was a thug! He wasn’t just from the wrong side of the tracks—he
was
the wrong side. No fixed address, according to Tristan. No regular employment. Tattoos. Piercings. Motorcycle. God’s-Gift-to-Women attitude.
Get a grip, Katherine
.

Funny how I forgot all that when he smiled at me.

He nodded toward the bedroom and fixed me with a teasing grin, the silver eyes glittering. “You’re sleeping in there?”

I nodded.

His lip curled again. “And you’re sure you want me to sleep here?” He gestured at the sofa. “It’s awfully close to your bed.”

“You won’t try anything. You’ve not been paid yet.”

“Touché.” He looked highly amused, little crinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes. “You’ve got balls, you know.”

“Oh?” I injected a bored tone.

I stood rigidly as he sauntered to stand mere inches away, close enough to smell his breath. Minty. “You’re afraid of me.”

I kept my face still. My heart was racing, but it had nothing to do with being scared.

“Yet you invite me to stay. And you came waltzing into the tower when you thought you heard someone inside.” His voice dropped. “Just you and a flashlight. There could have been anyone inside.”

“I’ve studied self-defense. I know a few moves.”

“Yeah?” Like a cat playing with a mouse, he extended one arm to the side of my head and rested his hand against the wall. He stood a few inches taller than me, and I shifted my eyes to meet his, intrigued by his posturing. “Are you playing games with me, Kitten?” His voice a sensuous whisper.

As his left arm slowly rose, moving to box my head on both sides, I smiled. And moved. Years of practice made for an easy grab and twist maneuver. I took him completely by surprise. One hand on his left forearm, I ducked under his elbow and spun around as I dragged his arm down. My left arm shoved at his shoulder, forcing him round.

A second later, with his face pressed to the wall and his left arm twisted behind his back, he laughed. It sounded genuine. I leaned on him a fraction longer, exerting just a little more pressure, then released.

He spun around, laughing, rubbing his wrist. “Well done, Kitten, that was awesome. Are you afraid of anything?”

I allowed a grin. “I’m not afraid of you.”

1.5 Dante

I liked Kitten even more, especially when she walked over to the stove and asked if I’d like some supper. I’d been rude to her, acted like a prick, and yet she just smiled and warmed up some soup while making a mountain of buttered toast. I tried not to guzzle it down. I wanted to impress her, without really understanding why.