So Tempting (16 page)

A spark flashed in the dark eyes. "Markos, is it?"

Cassie retreated from Antonia's grasp. "We—we're just friends. He said that if I wanted to go out on my own, he'd help me."

"What sort of help did you have in mind, Cassandra?"

She wished Antonia would stop using that name, but now was not the time to offend her. She was walking on quicksand. "I don't really know."

"You're such an infant."

Cassie's temper sparked. "How am I supposed to grow up when no one will let me think for myself?"

"Is that why you went to The Club?"

"Does everyone in Santa Fe know about that?"

Antonia chuckled. "I doubt it, but I have ears in the household." She studied Cassie carefully. "Tell me, what did you think about it?"

"Have you ever been there?"

"Oh, yes." Antonia's smile held secrets and memories.

"Then you know. It's—I can't explain it." Cassie stared off into space, reliving the pulse beat of excitement, the shimmer of forbidden secrets.

"You met someone there."

Cassie gasped. "How did you know?"

"I've been young." She smiled. "What was he like?"

They strolled through the plants. "He kissed me." She turned to see Antonia's gaze narrowing. "It was my first kiss." Cassie grimaced. "I do sound childish, don't I?"

"You've been sheltered."

"I know that, but it wasn't my choice. I didn't ask to be cooped up for the last six years. I certainly didn't ask to become a prisoner in my room."

"Would you like to leave?"

Hope surged. "Would you help me?"

"Of course, I will, little one." Antonia ran one finger beneath the curve of Cassie's hair where it draped over her forehead.

"When?"

The older woman's eyes gleamed. "Why not now?"

"Now?"

"Didn't I hear Manolo say that Dante is due back soon?"

"But I—I need to pack—"

"Cassandra, do you honestly think he will let you walk out of here, suitcase in hand? If you want to leave, it will have to be now."

"But how?"

Antonia looked across the greenhouse. "That doorway leads outside, doesn't it?"

Cassie nodded.

"I'll return the way I came. You leave through that door and walk to the driveway but stay hidden. I'll unlock my trunk, then remember something I need to tell my mother. I'll visit with her and Manolo for a few minutes. You slip inside the trunk."

"Will it work?"

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Where will I go?"

Antonia smiled. "I have just the place. Don't worry a bit."

Cassie hugged her. She was making a break for it! She'd be free of Dante, at last.

She wished she could take a few things with her, but Antonia was right. Now or never.

Maybe someday when she'd established herself, she would come back and have it out with Dante. He'd acknowledge how very wrong he'd been to smother her this way. She was old enough to take care of herself, and someday he'd admit that.

But that was someday. Right now she had a new life to begin.

Please, Markos, I need you.

Cassie wasn't sure what she'd do if he wasn't serious about helping, but she'd think of something.

She wasn't a child, no matter what Dante thought. She slipped out the doorway and took her first steps toward freedom.

* * *

Surreal. It was the only way Jace knew to describe driving up to Sabanne's estate again that afternoon. Nerves battled with an obsession to unravel his mystery. To figure out, once and for all, what made him impossible to forget.

Worse than that, however, something in her responded to him at a level so primal it scared the shit out of her—and made her mad as hell.

She didn't get it, this loss of control. Men did not intimidate her, as a rule. She worked with them all the time, understood them as much as any woman could, had managed to dissolve the male/female barriers that made life so hard. She'd busted her ass to become one of the guys.

Yet Dante Sabanne had flipped everything on its head. Had her questioning the most fundamental aspects of herself, and that was without going into some sort of trance every time they touched.

He'd lied to her, she was virtually certain. Why she couldn't simply ignore him made no sense. That she was in danger of losing her focus on this first, crucial case made her crazy. God, how she wished she could get the toxicology tests done some other way—
any
other way.

Enough of this bullshit.
New day, new game, Jace.

She emerged from her jeep and took the steps two at a time, arming herself to deal with him as a cop, nothing more. She hadn't called first, in order to catch him unprepared.

The silent mountain was gone. In his place was a tiny Mexican woman, smiling.

"I'm Detective Carroll, here to see Mr. Sabanne." She pulled out her shield.

"
Señor
Sabanne is not here."

"When will he return?"

"
No sé,"
she shrugged.

"What's your name?"

"
Señora
Montoya."

"Mind if I ask you a few questions, Mrs. Montoya?"

The little woman's eyes narrowed. "Me?
Por qué
?"

"How long have you worked for Mr. Sabanne?"

"Oh, since he first came to Santa Fe."

"What do you think of him?"

She hesitated, a tiny frown appearing on her face. "Why do you ask?"

"It's all right, Mrs. Montoya." The dark voice of her dreams spoke from the shadows. "Go ahead and tell Detective Carroll anything she wants to know."

Jace felt the impact all the way down to her toes and cursed herself that it was so. "Never mind, Mrs. Montoya. We can talk later." She'd get no good answers with him standing there.

Then she was alone with the man who haunted her nights and her days.

"Good to see you, Detective." The polite tone of a host.

Her impulse was to search the eerie gray eyes for some trace of that night at The Club, some sense that it had truly been him. That he'd been marked by it as well.

Instead, she kept her glance as disinterested as she could muster.

One eyebrow arched. "This way, Detective. Mrs. Montoya, please bring us..." He turned toward Jace. "Iced tea on such a warm day?"

"This isn't a social visit." Forget being gracious. She wanted him rattled. Maybe then he'd tell her the truth about the night at The Club that had shaken her foundation to the roots. The pieces of dreams...the feeling of him inside her.

Christ. She'd never been prone to fantasies, but they had to be, didn't they?

No matter how she dreaded it, she had to know if she'd dreamed all of it—or if not, why she couldn't remember more. She also wanted to hear what the note-sender knew that Dante wasn't revealing. "Do you own controlling shares in Prince Laboratories?" There. No playing around.

Smooth as silk, he responded. "Good day to you, too, Detective...Justine," his voice almost caressed.

"I'm here on business."

"So I see." He walked behind his desk and sat down, gesturing for her to do the same. "Why do you ask?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions. Do you have something to hide?"

He spread his arms wide. "My life is an open book. Ask me anything."

Damn it.
Why do I know how you feel inside me?
But she had an investigation to conduct. "Fine," she snapped. "Do you own controlling shares in Prince Laboratories?"

"Is that a criminal offense?" The cool, indulgent smile never reached his eyes. "Will you arrest me?"

"What makes you think you're a suspect?"

His voice frosted. "You speak to everyone this way?"

She had to obtain his help with the lab tests, first and foremost. Then she needed answers. Pissing him off wasn't likely to gain either. Stiffly, she conceded. "I...apologize. I—" Touching the bandage at her forehead, she glanced up. "I have a headache."

"What happened?" His voice slid to intimate. "Are you all right?"

She didn't want to feel caressed by his tone. "I'm fine. Just...I hit my head on the kitchen cabinet."

"No other ill effects except the headache?"

Why was he so solicitous? "No. Not...really." For a long moment, their gazes lingered.

"I am sorry it happened."

She had the strangest sense that he meant something beyond her hurting her head.

Christ. He was doing it to her again. She had to stop reacting to him at such a visceral level. "I have a hard head. I'll get over it. So you do own controlling shares in Prince Labs?"

He retracted his gaze slowly, then stared at his hands on the leather blotter. When he looked up again, she thought she saw a glimpse she'd almost call regret, but it was gone before she could be sure.

"I have never tried to conceal that I hold the major portion of the stock. Is that important?"

"I need to request a favor."

At last, she'd surprised him. "What would that be?"

"Our lab has analyzed blood samples from both the old man and the girl found dead outside The Club. More extensive test results just in show traces of some compound which the lab doesn't have the equipment to identify."

"And you want me to help you run further tests." No trace of emotion.

"Yes. Will you?"

"Of course. Do you have the samples with you?"

She hadn't expected such quick acquiescence. "No. Our toxicologist will have to supervise the testing. Where will the tests be run?"

"Give me his name. I will make the arrangements."

"He's a fan of yours."

That seemed to amuse him. "A fan?"

"Victor holds you in high regard. He's the one who told me to come to you in the first place."

His gaze held hers. "A lucky accident."

Jace shivered. "Was it?"

When he rose and prowled toward her like a big cat, Jace hastened to put the width of the room between them. "Did you warn your sister?"

He stopped; his eyes narrowed. "Cassandra?"

"Is she here? I'd like to meet her."

"No—" he said sharply. Too sharply. "She is asleep at the moment."

Something about the topic of his sister made him uneasy. Why? "Will she listen to you?"

A hint of vulnerability crossed his face, immediately masked. "I will take better care of her. She will not go there again." He hesitated. "Justine, I..."

Jace leaned forward slightly, every nerve on alert.

Instead he withdrew. Straightened, his tone glacial, expression remote. "Will that be all, Detective?" He walked toward the door.

"I'll watch out for her when I go back there."

He stopped in his tracks. "When you go back where?"

"To The Club. To ask questions."

"Do you think that is wise?"

"It's my job. I'm a cop, remember?"

A shadow drifted across his eyes. "I remember that very well, Justine. There are many things I recall about you."

Now. Ask him. Make him admit it was him. Ask him about your dreams.

Jace froze, shaken by conflicting urges. To run from him, to return to her safe, normal life.

Almost as much as she longed to lay her head against that shoulder...to open her mouth on his and see if his body could deny hers. But touching him was dangerous, she remembered that much. As off-balance as she was, she wasn't remotely eager to go spinning off in space again...whatever the hell that was about.

Still, she was haunted by a feeling that he had the key to something she needed...that somewhere within him, he wanted her as badly as she—

"I am sorry, Detective. I regret that I must rush you, but I have another appointment."

Shame fought with temper. Jace jerked herself out of her thoughts and headed toward the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Mask of the Dark Priestess and stumbled. Stared at it. Her head throbbed with a feeling that she'd seen it somewhere else, if only she could remember...

"Detective?" Impatience layered his voice. "Anything more?"

She shook her head as if emerging from a dream. Jace turned back. Though his face was stone, something burned at her from his eyes.

He blinked, and it was as if she'd imagined it.

Get out of here, Jace. You got what you came for.

No, that wasn't true. She'd gotten what Detective Carroll had come for, but not Jace.

Not Justine. "Why do you call me that? Justine?"

"Is it not your name?"

"Yes, but everyone—"

"Surely by now you know I am not everyone." Standing only inches away, he surrounded her with his presence.

If she rose to her toes, she could press her mouth to the pulse that beat at his throat—

Damn it. She jutted her chin, tried her best to ignore the jumble inside her. "I'm not sure what you are, but I intend to find out. Thank you for your help, Mr. Sabanne." She headed for the door.

"Be careful, Justine."

She whirled at the odd tone.

But he was nowhere in sight.

* * *

Dante stared out the window, watching her leave, wishing he could follow and bring her back...draw her against his body and stem the ache that gnawed at his bones more every time she was near. Last night had proven to him that she was the one...his One. His Prism.

But so much was at stake, and she was so far from being ready to listen. She danced too close to the flames and had no idea of the danger lying in wait.

Dancing...images of her at The Club assaulted his brain. Her pale breasts emerging as he drew down the zipper...the feel of her hips under his hands...the taste of her skin...

He remembered her stretched across his lap in the cabin...the hot, wet sweetness of her inner muscles enfolding his finger...watching her fight the surrender he was so determined to have from her. No matter that it was beyond insanity.

Her face rose in his mind, that lush mouth of hers, the pale green eyes with their feline tilt, at times sparking outrage, never giving him an inch. Audacious and challenging, chin tilted up. She did not need him, did not want to lean on him. In her own way, she was as strong as he was.

And those eyes, soft and confused and vulnerable in a manner he now knew most unusual for her...they captured a corner of a heart he'd thought long ago dead.