Dalton, Tymber - Love and Brimstone [Brimstone Vampires 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) (10 page)

He tossed her the keys, startling her, but she caught them. “Let’s go,” he said.

Sure she was dreaming, Taz tried to read Hawthorne’s expression as she passed him, swapping sides. She adjusted the driver seat, her legs a little shorter than his. She kicked off her heels and put them on the floor behind her seat. Brake and clutch, she shifted it into neutral. Then brake and gas, she fired it off. It roared to life immediately.

Taz closed her eyes and gripped the wheel. She hadn’t been in one of these in…years. Her dad’s ’65 Mustang had a 260 engine. She still remembered one of the few times he picked her up from school, when she turned sixteen, the afternoon he taught her how to drive.

One of the few things he did as her father that Robertson didn’t have to.

He’d sold it when she was eighteen. It nearly broke her heart, but he’d wanted her to have a larger, safer car with airbags, the whole nine yards. Every time she saw a classic Mustang it always struck a melancholy chord, reminding her of the best of her father.

I wish I still had that car.

Praying she didn’t make an ass out of herself and stall it—or worse, grind the gears or screw up a shift—she adjusted the old-style seatbelt to fit and roared out of the parking garage.

Hawthorne encouraged her to floor it on the freeway when they were north of the city. She wound it up, and soon they were doing eighty. She liked her Accord, and the corporate Town Car was nice.

But there was
nothing
like a muscle car.

She noticed at a gas stop it had a Florida license plate on the back. “I usually keep it down there,” he explained, “but I’ve missed driving it. I had it shipped. It arrived last week.”

They made good time up I-5. He directed her to a small hotel south of Sacramento. He checked them in, and for the first time, Taz felt truly comfortable around him, like she wasn’t going to pass out from forgetting to breathe. She called Robertson from her room before dinner and updated him on her location.

“Have fun,” Robertson said. He sounded like he was smiling. She knew that tone of voice all too well.

“Don’t read anything into that, buster.”

“The fastest way to your heart, dear, is a big-block V-8. Especially a Mustang. I’m surprised you didn’t drool.”

God, he knows me so well!
She giggled. “You and I are going car shopping next week. I forgot how much fun they are.”

“Have a safe trip, sweetheart.”

Hawthorne knocked on her door, and they went to eat. She brought the files, and they spent two hours over dinner, talking business.

“Ms. Proctor, I appreciate your attention to detail. And even more, your appreciation for a fine car.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated, hoping it wasn’t a mistake to get familiar with him. “If you want, you can call me Anastazia.” She always pronounced it Anna-stay-zhia when introducing herself, because to say “Ahna-stay-zhia” just sounded too pretentious when she wasn’t British, even though it was her preference.

He eyed her over his coffee mug. “So, are you an Anna-stay-zhia, Ahna-stay-zhia, or Anna-stah-sha.”

The last he said with an affected Boston accent. She shuddered, laughing. “I like the second.”

“I notice you don’t pronounce it like that.”

“It always sounds better when others say it. My”—
Friend? Male nanny? Guardian pro-temp?
—“adopted dad says it like that.” That was the first time she’d referred to Robertson in that way, but it fit.

How sad is it
that I don’t meet enough new people in my life to have ever had that problem before?

Hawthorne raised his eyebrow. “You’re adopted? I thought your parents—”

“He basically raised me,” she quickly interjected. “He started working for my parents when I was a baby. He was their business attorney, but Mom said he was the only one who could get me to eat without a fight, so he took over. He became their majordomo. Ran the house and tried to keep them in line, too.”

She studied her hands. “I loved my parents, but they were pretty busy. He was always there, he took care of me. He’s like a dad to me. When they died, I sold the house and got a condo and begged him to stay. I don’t have any other relatives. I don’t think he does, either. He’s my family.”

“He sounds like an admirable man.”

“Of course, he always called me Taz growing up. I was only Anastazia when I was in trouble.”

“Tasmanian Devil, eh?”

She laughed. “Well, I was hell on wheels. Considering who my parents were, Mr. Hawthorne, it’s amazing I’ve made it this far.”

“Matthias, please.”

And there was her unease, back with a vengeance.
Muscle cars be damned.

“I, uh, no offense, but I’ve only been working for you for a few weeks now. Frankly, I’m not comfortable calling you that yet.” He could use her first name if he wanted to. She didn’t mind, because he was the boss. She just didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

Yet.

“I understand. What are you most comfortable with me calling you?”

Darling, dearest, booty call, Mrs. Hawthorne, anytime you want, oh baby—

“My first name is okay.”

“But never Anna-stah-sha.” He laughed.
Pahk ya cah in the yahd.

She grinned. “Lord, no.”

“Very well.” He paid their bill and helped her carry the files back to her room. He stopped at her door, where he handed them over. “Seven in the morning. We’ll eat downstairs before we hit the road again.”

“That’s fine.”

“Good night, Anastazia.”

The sound of her name on his lips made her shiver. His accent sounded slightly British, now that she thought about it. She wasn’t sure where he’d grown up, but her name sounded beautiful when he said it.

“Good night,” she managed.

He turned without hesitation—

Oh rats, I mean oh good, no awkward attempt to kiss.

—and walked several doors down to his room, where he went in without a backward glance.

She closed and locked her door and leaned against it while she tried to catch her breath. He was being a total gentleman, completely professional. Absolutely…

Wonderful.

Chapter Eight

“Well?” Albert asked.

“She hasn’t fled screaming into the night, if that’s what you mean,” Matthias said. “I thought she was going to die a happy woman when I tossed her the keys.”

“From now on, Tim plans everything.”

Matthias agreed. “I need a very cold shower to have any hope of getting to sleep. Unless…”

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you blow this—oh, poor choice of words.”

“Don’t worry, Albert. I’ve been totally professional.”

“Don’t scare her off with your singing, either.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my singing.”

“Yes, as long as you’re not singing. Good night, Matthias.”

He laughed. “Pass the word to Tim, would you?”

“I’m sure she’s already on the phone with him as we speak.”

Matthias hung up and rested his head against the headboard. He’d split them up by a few rooms to make her feel more at ease. And to reduce his own temptation.

He closed his eyes and searched for her. He held back, not wanting her to sense his presence. He wasn’t sure how sensitive she was, which was why he didn’t want to probe her while in the car or office. That would be too obvious.

He found her. Taz was getting ready for bed, talking on the phone with Tim. Score one for Albert.

Beautiful, wonderful, exquisite—inside and out.

Patience
.
Don’t ruin this.

He turned down his bed, put out the lights, and waited. She finally settled, tossing back and forth.

Despite what he told Albert, Matthias couldn’t resist sending out a gentle probe. He didn’t have to deeply explore her mind to feel her agitation, the frustration.

The sexual tension.

If only you knew, Anastazia
.

Twenty minutes later, she was no closer to sleep. She laid there with her eyes open, staring at light patterns cast on the ceiling by a neon sign outside her window.

He had to do it or she’d feel horrible the next day, he justified.

Sleep, my dearest
, he thought, using the lightest of touches on her mind. It was so hard not to plunge in, to soak her up. She was so close, so fully and completely open to him, unable to erect any barriers in her mind to keep him out.

Four rooms away, Anastazia’s eyes fluttered then closed.

I still have it
. Matthias rolled over in search of his own restless slumber.

* * * *

Matthias knocked as he walked past her door. She opened it almost immediately. He knew she’d been ready to go since six thirty, alternating between sitting on the bed and nervously pacing by the door.

“Good morning, Anastazia.”

“Good morning.”

He grabbed her overnight bag before she could object and motioned for her to go first. “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, I had a little trouble at first—”

—thinking about sliding into bed with you—

“—but then I just dropped off and slept straight through. You?”

“Wonderful.” He caught whispers of her thoughts and had to stifle his smile while loading the bags in the car. He couldn’t reveal his secrets to her too soon. “I’ll check out if you’ll get us a table. I’ll take coffee, black please, and their scramble special.”

His coffee was waiting and their order placed when he returned. She was going through her BlackBerry, answering messages. He pretended to do the same, and they made small talk until their food came.

She was ravenous. He hid his amusement. She probably wondered why she could eat like a horse and still have a great figure. Or maybe she didn’t. He didn’t take it for granted. She was perfect, beautiful rounded curves in all the right places, a real woman he could place his arms around and actually feel her body against him and not worry she’d break if he hugged her too tight. He couldn’t wait to feel her body against his—

He cut off that line of thinking and shifted in his chair, hoping she couldn’t sense his thoughts.

There was so much she would have to learn, and he would enjoy teaching her.

But not yet. It was far too soon, the earliest still months down the road, after she was settled and completely comfortable around him.

* * * *

They were on the road by eight, discussing files. After an hour he was ready for music and opted for the XM radio.

“Big Tracks?” she asked when she saw the channel.

“Yes, I like the variety.”