Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (2 page)

The elevator
dinged and its doors slid open. They stepped out into a short hallway with two
doors on the facing wall and two on the elevator’s side, spaced widely. Hawthorne
led him to the right and flicked her keycard along the lock of the door on the
left. It opened into a large living room with a sitting area between the
entrance and the opposite wall of windows, a kitchen and dining area to the
right, and two doors beyond that. What looked like a well-stocked bar occupied
the left corner of the room. A row of bookcases occupied part of the wall near
the bar. Portraits in various sizes were strategically placed around the room.
It seemed more like a permanent residence than a hotel suite, and was much
homier than his own room two floors below.

Aaron stepped
through the door and closed it behind himself. Hawthorne whirled and pressed one
blunt end of her stick against his sternum. She leaned into it, forcing him
backwards. His back thudded against the door. He held his hands up and eyed her
warily. What the hell was she doing?

Her eyes were
flat, uncompromising in her otherwise neutral expression. “Now, Mr. Kesselman,
you will tell me how you obtained information about the People and their
activities.”

There was no
or
else
, but there didn’t need to be. He’d seen her fight and was pretty sure
she’d checked herself to keep from hurting her
relative
. He scrambled through
his mind. Who were the people, and what activities was he supposed to know
about?

She trailed the
end of the stick down his abdomen, resting it in the juncture between his legs,
exerting just enough force behind her stance for the end to press up through
his jeans.

“I have no idea
what you’re talking about,” he said. “Honest. Who are these People?”

The stick eased
upward a fraction. He inhaled sharply. It didn’t hurt, but a tad higher and it
would. Oddly, he wasn’t scared. A strange woman had a stick between his legs, a
woman who’d used that stick to take down a man half a head taller and fifty
pounds heavier than herself, and he wasn’t scared.

When he got back
to San Francisco, he really needed to have a long chat with a psychiatrist.

“Look.” He
glanced at her helplessly. “What’s your first name?”

“Hawthorne.”

“Your first name
is Hawthorne? What’s your last name?”

“Hawthorne. Do not
attempt to distract me with trivialities.”

“Knowing the
name of the woman who’s backed you against a door doesn’t seem too trivial to
me.”

Her expression
didn’t change, though the pressure on his groin eased slightly. He had the
feeling he’d amused her.

“Can’t we sit
down and talk about this like rational adults?” He nodded toward her hand.
“I’ll tell you what you want to know without the stick.”

“It is called a
hanbō.” A phone rang nearby. Hawthorne stepped back, dropping the
hanbō as she did. “Please excuse me. I am expecting this call.”

She turned and
walked toward the coffee table, putting her back to him. He eased his hand down
and behind him, searching for the doorknob.

“Do not attempt
to leave unless you wish me to chase you down,” she said without turning around.
“I
will
catch you, Mr. Kesselman. Should you run, there is nowhere you
can hide that will spare you from my questions, or my wrath.”

She picked up a
cell phone and spoke into it in rapid Spanish, only half of which he caught.
Something about a lolly and bedtime. She perched on the arm of the sofa, her
eyes glued to him as she spoke. During a lull in the conversation, she lifted
the hanbō and gestured from him to the bar.

He scrubbed a
hand across his nape. A drink would at least distract him, even if it did put
him farther away from a possible escape route. Not that he believed he had much
chance of escaping. She seemed determined to have him there for some reason.

“Lali,”
Hawthorne said in precise English. “It is past your bedtime.”

So, Lali was a
child. Hawthorne’s?

He ambled to the
bar, sorted through the liquor bottles, and selected a bottle of Johnnie Walker
Blue Label. He raised an eyebrow and wiggled the liquor at her. She nodded
once, so he found two glasses and openly eavesdropped on her conversation.
Apparently, Lali wouldn’t take her evening bath and go to bed without Nana reading
her a story. Levi had called Hawthorne Nana, too. Aaron tucked that tidbit away
for later thought and poured a scant finger of scotch in each glass.

Hawthorne
finished her call and dropped her phone onto the coffee table. She stalked toward
him with a loose-limbed roll of her hips that grabbed at his gut and wouldn’t
let go. He’d never met a woman as relaxed and confident and sure of herself as
Hawthorne was.

It was sexy as
hell.

She slid onto the
seat of a barstool and pinned a piercing gaze on him. “Now, Mr. Kesselman. Tell
me what you know of the People.”

Hawthorne
accepted the drink Aaron handed her. A spark of attraction passed between them
as their fingers brushed. He sipped his drink and met her gaze evenly. This
pleased her. A man who whined and begged held no appeal, but a man who
demonstrated his strength was to be treasured.

“I have no idea
who the People are,” he said. “Honest.”

“So you have
said. Yet, your last graphic novel detailed the life of Rebecca the Blade and
her kin.” She leaned the hanbō against the side of the bar within easy
reach and cupped the glass he’d given her between her hands. “Explain.”

His laugh held
enough incredulity to draw a sharp glance from her. “That’s what this is
about?”

“Where did you
obtain your information?”

“Single-minded.”
He blew out a breath. “From the Bancroft Library at UC Berkeley. I have a
friend who works there and happened to be in town a few days after she found
this great collection of historical documents in the vault, some dating back to
the middle ages. There were two volumes written by an author known only as the
Chronicler, a historian who lived during the early Renaissance. Apparently, his
works are rare.”

The Chronicler.
Rebecca would not be pleased.

Hawthorne raised
her glass and drained it in one swallow. Liquid fire burned its way down her
esophagus. “Where are the volumes now?”

“Still in the
vault, far as I know.” He eyed her with what might have been concern. “That’s
supposed to be sipped.”

“I am well
aware. Another, please.” She slid the glass to him and waited while he poured a
scant finger of scotch into it, his large hands gentle and elegant. Those hands
would be on her tonight, if she could persuade him. Her skin tingled with
possibilities. “You read through these volumes?”

“Yeah. Great
stuff. Epic battles between good and evil, a young warrior overcoming adversity
against staggering odds. I took one of the characters, this Rebecca the Blade,
and gave her story a new setting, a couple of twists. Couldn’t let a story like
that go untold.” He leaned his forearms on the top of the bar. “So, what’s your
interest in the Chronicler’s tales?”

“Personal.” She
threw back her drink, consuming it in one swallow. Its heat shuddered through
her. “I shall verify your story. If this is, indeed, where you obtained your
information, then we shall never have to speak on it again.”

“So that’s it?
I’m free to go?” He pushed away from the bar and shot her a sour look, his
brows furrowing over sinfully dark chocolate eyes. “Next time you need to know
something, try asking.”

“I shall
remember that,” she murmured and rose from the barstool. “You may go unless you
wish to converse or copulate.”

“Copulate,” he
said in a strangled voice, his eyes wide. “As in, have sex?”

“If that is your
wish, I am amenable. The attraction is mutual.” She pivoted and pulled off her
athletic top as she walked toward the bedroom. He wheezed out a cough, and she
almost smiled. “I wish to shower first. The exhibition with Levi left me
sticky.”

She glanced over
her shoulder. He had braced his elbows on the bar and was rubbing his eyes with
the fingers of one hand. Satisfaction purred through her. Yes, he found her
attractive and he would stay. Their interaction would be a pleasant diversion,
perhaps enough to temporarily assuage her worries over the discovery of the Chronicler’s
tales in a location far beyond where they should have been.

“Come, Aaron
Kesselman. You may watch me bathe.”

He gaped at her,
then snapped his jaw shut. “Just like that, you’re ready to strip down in front
of me? Don’t you want to get to know me first, maybe have dinner, catch a
movie?”

“If you are
hungry, I shall call room service. Otherwise, I should like to copulate.” She
held out her hand. “Come along, now.”

He muttered
under his breath as he came around the side of the bar, but took her hand and
allowed her to lead him into her bedroom.

“I had no idea
modern men could be so shy,” she said. “Is this typical among your social set?”

“You have a
strange way of putting things.”

“That is not an
answer.” She stepped into the bathroom and turned the water on, adjusting the
knobs and testing until the temperature felt right. Even after decades of having
access to it, nearly instantaneous hot water was a blissful luxury. She
stripped off her yoga tights and stepped into the shower. “A young man of your
age should be ready to copulate at a moment’s notice. Is this not evolution’s
way of ensuring the survival of our species?”

At his continued
silence, she turned. He was leaning against the bathroom’s counter, his long
legs crossed in front of him at the ankles, his hands gripping the edge. His
gaze was fixed firmly on her body. Even over the chemical scent of the water
and from across the room, she could smell his arousal in the pheromones he
exuded, observe it in the growing hardness beneath the zipper of his trousers.

She slid the
shower curtain open, catching his attention. “Have you never seen a nude woman
before?”

He closed his
eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“If I did not
wish you to look, I would not have undressed in front of you.” She closed the
curtain and began to bathe, reveling in the warm water sliding across her skin.
“I am puzzled by your reluctance to perform a natural act. Such modesty is
unnecessary.”

“I can honestly
say I’ve never met a woman quite like you before.”

“The women of
your era are soft, weak.” Hawthorne washed her hair quickly, rubbing her
fingertips briskly across her scalp as she lathered and rinsed. “They would not
endure three minutes on a battlefield.”

He grunted out a
laugh. “Not a lot of battlefields in America.”

“There are more
than you can know, Aaron Kesselman.”

“Maybe you should
call me Aaron. Now that I’ve seen you naked, using my whole name seems a little
too formal.”

She turned off
the water and stepped out of the shower. He handed her a towel. She handed it
back to him. “I wish for you to dry me.”

“Ah.” He eyed
the towel, glanced down her dripping form. “Are you sure about that?”

“I would not ask
if I did not wish it so.”

“I’m beginning
to believe that,” he murmured. He draped the towel over her head and chafed
gently. “Never met a woman who says exactly what she means.”

“You have not
met many Daughters, then.” She sighed as he slid the towel down, drying her
shoulders and arms, her breasts and torso. The towel was rough against her skin
in spite of the softness of his touch. She would speak with housekeeping
concerning that on the morrow. “You are very gentle for such a large man.”

“Don’t want to
hurt you.”

“You cannot,”
she assured him.

He knelt in front
of her, rubbed the towel up and down her legs in quick, brisk motions. She
shifted, allowing him better access, and combed her fingers through the curls
of his hair, watching him. He hesitated, holding the towel near the juncture of
her thighs. She tightened her fingers in his hair and gently tugged, pulling
his head back until their gazes met.

“Why do you
hesitate? This is where I wish you to be.”

His eyes went
molten and his breath hitched. “You are the oddest woman.”

She released her
grip on his hair. “Is it odd for a woman to speak her mind, to direct a man to
her pleasure?”

“In my
experience? Yeah.”

He slid the
towel upward, dried her in soft dabs, denying her the friction of the fabric
against her clitoris. When he finished, he continued kneeling in front of her,
as if uncertain. She urged him forward with a hand to the back of his head. He
pushed back, resisting her silent plea for his touch. Such recalcitrance, from
a man who clearly wished to be with her. It would amuse her if his arousal were
not obvious, in the erection visible beneath his pants, in the musky smell of
it drifting to her.

She stepped
forward, straddling his thighs in a wide-legged stance. “Touch me.”

“I really think
we should move this to the bedroom,” he said, his voice thick and low. “And
then, if you still want me to, I’ll touch you all you want.”

“Then that is
what we shall do.” She stepped back and took the towel from him, hanging it on
the metal bar above the toilet while he rolled back onto his heels and into a
stand. When he reached for the buttons of his shirt, she placed her hands over
his. “I shall do that, if you please.”

He dropped his
hands and followed her into the bedroom where he slipped off the boating shoes
he wore and placed them neatly in front of the dresser. He sat on the edge of
the bed and scrubbed his hands down his thighs in a gesture that tugged at her
sympathy.

“Have you never
known a woman?” she asked gently.

“Seriously? At
my age?” His eyes widened and he wheezed out a breath. “Yeah, I’ve had sex before.”

“You seem
nervous. Scoot back, please.” She knelt on the bed, straddling his thighs, and
unfastened the buttons of his shirt before pulling it off and folding it. He
wore a t-shirt underneath, so she pulled it off as well, working it over his
head and raised arms, and placed it with his outer shirt. She ran her hands
over his chest in admiring sweeps, memorizing the silky smoothness of his muscled
physique, not overly so, but enough to indicate the care he took with his body.
“You are well-formed.”

“Thanks.” He
rested his hands on her hips and squeezed. “You, too.”

She trailed her
hands up over his firm pectorals, across his shoulders, and twined her hands
behind his neck. “I shall kiss you now, if you are amenable.”

“I’m amenable,”
he murmured, and slid his arms around her as their mouths met.

She darted her
tongue out, tasting him, and he opened for her, taking control of the kiss,
melding his mouth to hers with a passion that took her breath. Need climbed in
her, sending a deliciously melting heat through her veins. His hands skimmed
over her back, one finding her ass and the other the back of her head, and he
pressed her forward, molding their bodies together, her breasts brushing his chest,
their stomachs aligned. He tightened his grip and twisted until her back was on
the bed with him above her, resting between her thighs.

The need chilled
within her and she cursed inwardly. Two millennia and she still hadn’t
conquered this fear.

Aaron drew away,
crawling backward off the bed, and stood by its side. His eyes were dark pools
of heat as he stared at her, full of possession and need and want. He
unfastened his trousers and pushed them down, and his erection sprang free, a
thick, hard length that jutted from his body, begging to be tasted. She levered
herself up, intending to do just that. It had been too long since she had
pleased a man in that fashion, and the urge to do so with this one came
inexplicably.

“Stay there.” He
kicked away his trousers, his expression taut and greedy. “I have plans for you.”

Her amusement
dissipated under the tickling touch of his mouth along her instep. He nibbled
her ankle, slid his hands up her calves and licked behind her knees, pressed
light, teasing kisses to her inner thighs. Each touch lifted the desire within
her, sending it coursing through her limbs, melting her fear and resistance at
having a man holding her down. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her clitoris
and suckled her there, igniting the heat into a raging flame. She clasped his
head in her hands, holding him against her sex while his mouth explored her,
writhing under his touch.

“That is very
pleasing.” She gasped the words out, her voice breathy, needy. This man, a near
stranger, was mastering her. It could not be so. She, a Daughter who never
submitted to anyone, could barely control the desire he raised in her.

Aaron’s tongue
dipped into her core and then he licked, a long, slow caress. Her hips shot off
the bed and her fingers tangled in his hair and her breath left her as he
teased her, tonguing her clitoris in hard strokes that gentled until they were
a feather-light torture against her need.

She tugged at
his hair. “I would like to copulate now.”

His teeth
flashed, white and even against his tanned skin. “Let me get a condom.”

“No condom. My
needing time is months hence and neither of us carries diseases that would harm
the other.”

“Don’t get me
wrong. I’d love to be in you without a condom getting in the way, love to feel
your heat without that barrier, but I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She tugged at
his hair again. “Do you trust me?”

He considered
her for a long moment. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then you will
do as I say. We shall copulate now.”

He shook his
head and scooted up, bracing himself over her. “Why am I giving in to you,
again?”

“That is simple.
You wish to be with me. It is, therefore, easy for you to accede to my wishes.”