Stay the Night (6 page)

“Neither.” She guarded herself more carefully than a Scotsman did his purse, Robin thought, while asking questions better left unanswered. He decided to tell her the truth and see what she would make of it. “I could smell the ginger ale on your breath.”

“You couldn't have done that,” she told him flatly. “You were sitting at least ten feet away from me.”

“Alas, I'm cursed with a sensitive nose.” He took in the scent of her on a slow, deep breath. “You also smell of rain, herbs, honey, and”—he bent his head close to her mouth—“maraschino cherries. Did you steal them when the bartender wasn't looking?”

“No, he put two in the first drink he made for me.” Her fine cognac eyes grew wary. “That's quite an impressive trick.”

He moved his shoulders. “It's nothing.”

“I washed my hair with rain-scented shampoo and conditioner today,” Chris said, “and I drank a cup of herbal tea with honey.”

He grinned. “So I was right.”

“I did all that,” she continued, “when I got up this morning.” She waited a beat. “Seventeen hours ago.”

Robin's smile faded as her words invoked an image of her in his bed, her pale skin and auburn hair glowing against the dark sienna of his silk sheets, her arms open and welcoming. The book could wait; having her could not. He would have to lay siege to the fortress she had built around her heart, and quickly, before her suspicions drove her from him.

“If this is a practical joke, it's a good one,” Chris continued. “Did Hutchins put you up to it?”

“I don't know anyone named Hutchins.” He could barely speak as primal need surged through him, lodging in his groin to distend and harden his cock while demanding he find some manner in which to turn the fantasy into reality. Feeding earlier lent him a certain measure of control he might otherwise have lost in this astonishing rush of desire for her, but suddenly Robin did not trust himself. “I am not joking with you.”

“You're not.” She sounded uncertain now.

Robin couldn't think, not with the urgency of his hunger pounding inside his head. He could not tolerate another moment of this. He had to have her. Tonight.
Now
. He kept a suite of rooms at the hotel where he frequently used willing females. The only thing that kept him from sweeping her up into his arms and carrying her off to the nearest elevator was the sound of her voice, asking him more questions.

“Do you know a fair-haired man who wears a lot of red?” She nodded toward the other side of the dance floor. “There's one over there staring at you.”

Robin glanced over to see his seneschal, Will Scarlet. He made a simple gesture behind Chris's back, and Will scowled but retreated into the crowd.

“Pay no heed to him.” He noticed the other couples staring and smiling at him and realized how badly his control had slipped; somehow he'd flooded the entire dance floor with his scent. No wonder Will had come to see what the matter was. Soon every occupant of the bar would fall under his spell.

Except one, it seemed.

Robin peered down at the woman in his arms to see if her pupils had dilated, but the dark color of her eyes made it impossible to tell. “How are you feeling?”

“This is nice.” She sighed. “I don't want to go home.”

At last, her fortress was crumbling. He didn't know if it was due to his talent or
l'attrait
, and he didn't care. He tugged her closer, fitting her body to his and pressing his aroused flesh against her belly. She did not pull away, and indeed the movements they made caused her abdomen to rub lightly over the ridge of his erection.

Robin gritted his teeth. “What if I ask you for more than a dance, love?”

“You can ask.” She emphasized the last word oddly.

Robin knew women, delighted in them. He had spent several lifetimes enjoying their company, learning their ways, and recognizing their wiles. He knew the subtle changes arousal caused in their voices and their bodies, the tantalizing signs that showed their interest in a man.

Although Chris was perhaps the most reserved human female he had ever encountered, and possessed great skill in masking both her true thoughts and emotions, he did not doubt now that she desired him. No mortal he touched had ever resisted his charm for long. Not even this stubborn wench, who had wanted nothing to do with him but five minutes ago.

Fool
. Inside Robin's skull, his father's angry voice shouted across seven centuries.
You want her only because you cannot have her
.

The scent of bergamot thinned as Robin's self-disgust grew, and gradually the other couples on the dance floor lost interest in them. When the song ended, he released Chris and stepped away from her, breaking all physical contact. As long as he didn't touch her, his talent could not influence her decisions. As soon as he left, the effects of
l'attrait
would rapidly dissipate.

And he would never know her, because once he took the manuscript from her he would have all that he truly wanted, and that was how it would be. How it would have to be.

Robin bowed to her. “I thank you for the dance.”

Chris began to say something, and then hesitated as if choosing her words.

“It's all right, love. This is not your doing.” Because he couldn't help himself, he added, “My home in the city is on the penthouse floor of the Armstrong building. It is that unsightly tower of black glass and steel at the end of the street. Do you know it?”

She nodded.

“Good.” At least he could offer this much. “Come to me there, whenever you wish.”

“Come to you? Rob—”

“Listen to me now.” He felt the tips of his
dents acérées
emerge in his mouth, aching for a taste of her flesh. He slid his hand to cup the back of her neck and pressed his cheek to hers, using his talent to enforce his words. “I want you, love, more than I can say. But it must be what you want. When I am gone, when your head clears, then you must choose to do as you wish. Nothing more. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, but—”

Robin pressed his scarred fingers against her lips. “You know where I shall be. I do not sleep until after dawn.” He put his mouth to the back of her hand, careful not to let her feel the sharp tips of his fangs. “I hope that we meet again, my lady.”

Chapter 3

C
hris watched Rob walk out of the club before she retreated to her table and sat down alone. She'd enjoyed the dance, and the rare opportunity to be treated as nothing more than a pretty woman, but something she had said or done had definitely given Rob the wrong impression.

Maybe he'd read her wrong when she'd mentioned how nice it was to dance, and that she didn't want to go home. Somehow those innocent remarks had driven him wild. So much so that he hadn't even bothered to conceal his erection, or the lust that he'd assumed was mutual.

I want you, love, more than I can say
.

Chris had worked in a male-dominated field for years, and she knew how fragile men's egos could be. She also avoided being cruel whenever possible. She would have let him down gently; she'd had every intention of doing so as soon as the song was over. But from the moment he'd made it clear that he wanted more than a dance, Rob had hardly let her get a word in edgewise. In fact, he'd behaved as if
she
were the one acting out of control.

It matters not, as long as you will stay
.

She'd noticed immediately the odd shift in his speech when he'd become aroused, too. Maybe he was an actor obsessed with Shakespeare or Tolkien or something. He'd certainly been so preoccupied with being noble that in the end he'd done the dirty work for her.

...
it must be what you want
.

Had she sent him some mixed signals? It wouldn't violate Chris's cast-iron principals to admit that Rob
was
one of the most attractive men she'd ever met. Or that being in his arms had brought back to life feelings that she'd thought the job had smothered long ago.

No, that wasn't true. She'd forgotten the job and her responsibilities, and for a few minutes had enjoyed simply being a woman. That could have been what set Rob off. Then he'd had that panic attack or whatever it had been and seemed as if he couldn't get away from her fast enough. She still felt a little guilty for allowing him to leave in such a state. Had he been drunk? She should have seen the signs if he had been.

It's all right, love. This is not your doing
.

Chris left the club and took the elevator down to the lobby, where a doorman offered to hail a cab for her. Without thinking she shook her head and glanced down the street.

You know where I shall be
.

That she did. She could see the Armstrong building from here. It was exactly as he'd described: an ugly column of dark glass and polished steel girders. All the windows were dark, except for the rows on the very top floor. Those windows glowed with diffused light from within.

I do not sleep until after dawn
.

She wouldn't sleep at all tonight either. Not after this.

...
you must choose to do as you wish
.

Without knowing exactly why, Chris began walking down toward the end of the street.

The hollow sound of her heels on the concrete sidewalk kept time with her pulse, slow and then quickening, faltering as her common sense tried to turn her around, speeding up as the low, velvety voice in her head persuaded her to keep going.

...
it must be what you want. What you want. What you want
.

As skeptical and pragmatic as Chris was, she did believe in love at first sight. Her parents had taken one look at each other across a crowded room and, twenty-four hours later, had stood in front of a justice of the peace to make things legal.

“I would have gone sooner,” Jack, Chris's dad, often claimed, “but you know how long it takes your mom to get ready for anything.”

Upon hearing this Beth, Chris's mom, would always laugh. “I seem to remember someone who wouldn't let me out of bed long enough to get dressed.”

Jack and Beth Renshaw had scandalized their families, dumbfounded their friends, and, forty years later, were as much in love and devoted to each other as they had been after that one look back in 1968. The only flaw in their relationship was the fact that they had never been able to have a child together, but they had solved even that problem by adopting Chris.

As much as the story of her parents' speedy romance charmed Chris, she was a realist. She had never felt that kind of passion, and her personal desires rarely played any role in her decisions. Whatever was necessary to meet her goals, solve the situation, and get the job done, she did. Someday there would be time enough for love; until then she allowed neither her emotions nor her needs to run her life.

Yet here she was, standing at the lobby entrance of the Armstrong building, looking up at the top-floor windows and wondering about the man who lived behind them.

Chris eyed the doorbell panel. A single neatly typed label listed what evidently was the building's only occupant: ARCHER ENTERPRISES, INC.

“If you wish to gain entrance,” a familiar voice said over the panel's speaker, “you must press one of those buttons to indicate that you are at the door.”

She looked into the lens of the closed-circuit security camera above the panel. “But you already know I'm here.” She didn't touch the buttons. “Have you been watching for me all this time?”

“No. I've been too busy on my knees praying. Come up.” An electronic buzz released the entry lock.

Chris didn't like being rushed. She preferred time to think over what she was doing, analyze her motives, and base her choices on the most prudent course of action. Out of nowhere, a cold draft made her skin shrink and sent a jolt up her spine, as if the warm summer night had turned winter-icy.

The truth was that she didn't know this man; in reality he could be anything from a sexual sadist to a serial killer. Despite her training and confidence, she had no business placing herself alone in an intimate situation with him. And he'd made it very clear what he wanted, so any further voluntary contact on her part would virtually be the same thing as giving her consent.

...
it must be what you want
.

The buzz mocked her, rushed her, demanded she ignore her common sense and go to him. She knew that if she went inside she would be risking a great deal more than her personal safety. Her boundaries of behavior existed for very good reasons. She had come to this city to do an important job, one that would probably make or break her career. She had debts to settle and a reputation to restore. In the wake of the scandal, catching the Magician constituted her only real chance of redemption. She didn't have time for one-night stands.

Then make this one count
.

A split second before the buzzer switched off, Chris opened the door and walked inside.

Reds, golds, and browns dominated the color scheme of the interior lobby, which had been cleverly arranged around a massive dark walnut reception desk. Several Michael Tischler prints of the Catskills hung on the walls behind crescent-shaped clusters of red leather chairs and love seats. Large tables were surfaced with mandalas of hubcap-size polished agates seated on wood bases carved to resemble tree stumps. The ebonized floor tiles diffused the amber beams streaming down from a series of enormous, sphere-shaped brass lighting fixtures in the high, coffered ceiling.

Welcome, madam
, the lobby said, as if it were a snooty English butler.
If you have to inquire about price, then it is likely that you can't afford it
.