The Perfect Temptation (31 page)

Sawyer considered
him
somberly
and then gently offered'

"I'm sure it was absolutely
necessary to do so,
Mr.

Terrell. I sincerely hope you
also view it in such a light and

have no remorse over the course
of events."

"I'm working on it,"
Aiden admitted with a shrug. That

was the one problem with knowing
Sawyer so well; the man

also knew
him.

Rather than dwell on the regrets,
he deliberately moved to

the next phase of his plan.
"But it occurred
to
me in the after-
.

math that I can't adequately
protect
three
people all at once.

If
I'm out and about with Mohan, then Alex is alone in
the

house and Preeya's alone in the
kitchen. I can't very well confine

everyone to one room of the house
to keep watch over

them. The boredom would be
unrelenting. For all of us."

"And you do so loathe being
bored."

Aiden smiled, knowing that
if
Sawyer were
being honest

he'd have to admit to the same
predilection.
"So
what would

you say to being my second for a
few weeks?" he posed, already

knowing that the deal was done
and all but sealed.

"Just during the day. I'd
take full responsibility for Mohan's

safety and you could be a
daunting male presence hovering

along the edges of Alex's and
Preeya's worlds. You could

step in and diffuse any number of
situations that might arise.

At night, we're always together
in the salon until we retire. I

can manage that on my own and you
could come back here

to sleep in your own bed. So what
do you think? Would you

be interested in helping me
protect them?"

"I am hardly a professional
at such efforts, sir."

"And I
 
am?" Aiden countered with a snort.
"I thought I

might press O'Brien into duty,
but I
 
couldn't find him.

Which is just as well. He's a bit
rough around the edges.

Then I
 
went looking for Barrett to see if he had someone else

he could assign to help me. His
secretary says that he thinks

Barrett has gone off to Wales on
a case. Not that he'd know.

Barrett never tells anyone what
he's going to do. The inconsiderate

bastard. I
 
swear to God, Sawyer, the man will be

dead in a ditch somewhere for a
week before it .occurs to

anyone that he might be
missing."

"You sound slightly harried,
sir."

"That's probably because I
 
am," Aiden supplied, knowing

that they were mere seconds away
from Sawyer's formal enlistment.

"If
you truly believe that I
 
would be of more help than

hindrance-"

"Bless you, Sawyer," he
declared, clapping a hand on the

man's shoulder in genuine
gratitude. "I'll make sure Barrett

pays you for your trouble."

"But I
 
can give of my time only until I
 
hear word of the

family's imminent return. At that
point, my duties here
'

would have to take precedence
over any others."

"Of course. I
 
wouldn't have it any other way. Can you

start tomorrow morning?"

"I believe that will not be
a problem, sir. At what time

should I
 
arrive?"

"Nine?"

"Very good, sir. Nine
o'clock it will be."

"Thank you, Sawyer. You're a
saint Now," he added,

looking back at the house and
sighing. "Let's go see what we

can do about the cats and
salvaging Sera's curtains."

"If
you have any hopes of becoming a saint yourself,"

Sawyer muttered, "you'll
take them home with you. The

cats, I
 
mean. Not the draperies."

Aiden grinned.
"If
no
one's sneezing or blotting red eyes

when we get in there ... A boy
should have pets, don't you

think?"

Aiden started awake and stared
into the darkness, hearing

only the rasping of his breath
and the frantic pounding of

his heart, feeling only the
searing heat in his shoulder. He

reached up and laid his
fingertips over the scar, letting the

smooth familiarity of the circle
ground him.
As
always,

the burning slowly began to
subside, retreating back into the

realm of his nightmares. And as
usual, the stark, horrifying

clarity of the images started to
fade with it. But not completely.

This time the memory of them
hauntingly remained

and his heart refused to slow.

He swallowed and deliberately
considered the changes.

Her eyes had been blue, her hair
golden in the sunlight.

She'd been a tiny slip of a
thing; so feminine, so delicate,

that he'd called her his china
doll. God, he could remember

all of that so clearly. So why
couldn't he just as clearly conjure

the actual image of her from his
memory? Why had the

crumpled body on the bloody deck
of his nightmare been

raven haired? Why had it been
Alex's hazel eyes that had

stared unseeingly up at him?

He couldn't have forgotten,
couldn't have let such a precious

thing slip away.
It
was
unforgivable. More so than having

failed her that day when the sun
had glinted so brightly off

the sea and
all
the world
had been full of hope and promise.

Aiden sat up and scrubbed his
hands over his face. With a

hard breath, he willed his
awareness on the moonlight

spilling in through the windows
of his room and the world

slumbering around him.
It
took a long
time, longer than it

ever had before, but eventually
the harshness of his breathing

eased and the desperate cadence
of his heartbeat slowed.

He needed a drink. The darker and
more potent, the better .

Not much, he promised himself as
he raked his fingers

through his hair. Just enough to
dull his mind so that he could

sleep without being haunted
.
Maybe Alex
kept something

suitable in the parlor, he
thought, quickly pulling on his

trousers. Brandy, perhaps, for
when she entertained. Most

likely it would be in the chest,
the one with the statue.
Probably

the bottom drawer. He snagged his
shirt as he climbed off

the pallet and onto his feet. He
wouldn't have much of it. But

even if he did, he'd replace it
for her tomorrow.

A flutter of white at the edge of
her vision told Alex he

was there just before she heard
him: gasp in surprise. She

glanced down past her open book
to be sure she was adequately

covered, stroked a kitten once to
calm herself, and

then looked up to smile at him.
"I see that you can't sleep,

either."

For a second he looked panicked
and his gaze darted to

the chest against the far wall.
Then he expelled a hard breath

and moistened his lower lip with
the tip of his tongue.

"Would you mind some
company?"

She should say that she was just
planning to try to retire

again. She really should get up
and let him have the salon to

himself. And she most certainly
shouldn't be noticing the

bare chest clearly visible
between the open edges of his

shirtfront. And neither should
she be so keenly aware of the

roguish tilt of the waistband
around his narrow hips. But,

dear God, it was such a fine
expanse of flesh and well defined

muscle and she was only human.
What harm was

there in looking? As long as she
didn't act on her baser impulses,

there wouldn't be any at all.

"I'd love to share your
company," she assured him, closing

her book and laying it on the
floor beside her. "Please

come in and be comfortable. I can
loan you a kitten if you'd

like one."

His conscience told him that he
was going to be sorry
if

he didn't make some excuse, turn
around and leave. Another

voice, a far more strident one,
countered that one more

regret on the heap wouldn't
matter one whit to either his

happiness or the destination of
his soul.

And, the hedonistic voice went
on, peeking out from under

'
the
hem of that caramel-colored dressing gown was a

bare, delicately curved foot and
a wisp of cinnamon gossamer

silk. All curled up on her side
in the pillows as she

was, her hair unbound and fanning
around her shoulders,

kittens nestled into the curve
beneath her breasts. the flickering

light of the fire, of the candles
... He wasn't dead. Not

by a long shot.
In
fact, at
that particular moment, he was

truly glad to be alive. His
conscience could just be damned

for the next little while. As
long as Alex didn't curl into him,

purr, and ask to be petted,
everything could be kept quite under

control, quite circumspect.

Alex tilted her head, hoping to
give the impression that

she was deeply engaged in
deciding which kitten to offer

him. The truth, however, was that
she didn't want to be

caught openly watching him move
toward her. But there was

no way to keep from doing so
altogether. He was positively

magnificent, a true feast for a
wanton appreciation of sensuous

form and grace. No wonder he'd
had his choice of London's

women. The wonder was that any of
them had ever let

him go.

Not that they'd
been
given any
choice in the matter, she