Chapter Five #2
He stepped into the room and for the first time she noticed the music playing in the background. Not the loud techno-pop of downstairs, but a quiet jazz coming from an invisible sound system.
“I’ve had it for years.”
She turned from the massive fireplace, almost disappointed he hadn’t said more. What else is there to say, Lainie? Were you expecting him to tell you he used it to fight in the Crusades?
“What happened tonight, Madelaine?” His tone wasn’t cajoling, but commanding. Not smooth, but coarse. The soldier, her mind whispered.
She stepped away from the weapon. His eyes tracked her, unrelenting, probing.
She rubbed her arms and looked around. She wished she could spill it all, but that was impossible.
You didn’t tell a stranger you dreamt of him or you saw visions of yourself being…
murdered. Her mind stuttered over the word and she shivered.
The fear she thought she’d overcome bubbled to the surface, almost overpowering her, but she managed to wrestle it back in place and put a tight hold on it.
Fear wouldn’t do her any good right now.
She didn’t even know what it was she feared.
“Madelaine.”
She closed her eyes, once again pulling from his strength and making it her own.
“It’s nothing.” She walked to the windows to look out. Far below, a line of people snaked around the building, waiting to get into his nightclub.
“You lie,” he said softly.
She turned to face him, keeping the room between them.
“It was just an episode. An asthma attack. I panicked and called you.” She glanced away, unable to meet his direct gaze.
“I’m sorry I bothered you, but I don’t know many people here yet.
You’re the first one I thought to call.” There. That at least wasn’t a lie.
“Do you have these attacks often?”
“More often than before.”
“Should I call a doctor?”
“No!” Her head jerked up. “I mean, I’m fine now. They pass.” Or at least she hoped they passed, but what did she know? She’d never dreamt like this before.
He tilted his head and studied her. “What brings on these…” He paused. “Attacks?” In his quick hesitation she sensed he didn’t believe her but was playing along.
“Um. Stress.” Isn’t that what she’d told herself?
Just stress. Stress of moving, starting a new job, making new friends.
The stress of her father’s health and paying her bills.
Except lots of people did all those things and she’d bet a dollar none of their stress manifested itself in strange dreams that took place hundreds of years ago, and with weapons she knew nothing about but now, due to her dreams, suddenly seemed to have an abundant knowledge of.
Christien remained quiet for a long while, studying her. She had the feeling he was waiting for something. Waiting for her to tell him the truth, but she couldn’t do it. This wasn’t something you just blurted out.
“I couldn’t breathe.” She suddenly wanted him to know, needed to say it so they had at least some honesty between them. “When I called you. I couldn’t breathe.”
His gaze sharpened. “Is this what happens during these attacks?”
She nodded, relieved she could at least admit this. “It feels like…” She put a hand to her throat and swallowed. “Like someone’s strangling me,” she whispered. “Like I’m dying.”
She closed her eyes and the vision came back. Hands around her throat, squeezing the breath from her. The thought of impending death. The fear the knowledge brought. The sadness of losing…something. She didn’t know what though.
“Madelaine.” He was suddenly in front of her, pulling her hands from her neck and holding them in his. “Chérie, breathe. I am here now.”
She opened her eyes, still seeing the hands, still feeling the burning need to breathe. Her chest rose and fell.
“It’s all right, chérie.”
“It’s not,” she gasped. “It’s not all right.” She backed away from him, terrified. Not of him but of herself. Of what her mind was doing.
He let her go, his hands falling to his sides, his eyes haunted. “Madelaine,” he said softly.
“It’s not all right, Christien. Something’s wrong with me.”
She moved to the sofa and sank into it, putting her head in her hands. What’s happening to me? Why am I acting this way? Where are these visions coming from?
He sat beside her and took her hands in his, kissing her knuckles.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“For what? What has you so scared? Please tell me so I can help.”
She looked at him helplessly, the words stuck in her throat. To admit something was wrong with her would be admitting she was losing her mind.
Christien’s phone buzzed. He cursed and pulled it from his belt to read the text message. “It’s Sabine. I’m sorry, Madelaine, but I need to see to this.”
She nodded, partly relieved she’d been given a reprieve and scared he had to leave her. What if the vision returned and what if, this time, she wasn’t able to pull herself out of it?
“Stay here,” he said. “I want to finish this conversation.”
“I don’t think—”
“But I do. There are things you need to tell me, no?”
Her breath escaped her in a terrified rush. He wasn’t letting her go easily. When he returned, she’d have no choice but to tell him what was happening. Or she could leave. Go back to her apartment where her fears lived.
“Please stay.” As if sensing her thoughts, his fingers tightened around hers. He touched her chin to draw her closer.
He was so close, so warm and secure. If she moved just a fraction she could kiss him. But something kept her from moving, some force held her back when her body longed to feel his lips on hers and her soul cried out for him.
“Madelaine.” His whispered words brushed her skin and slid along her nerves, making them tingle in ways she’d never experienced before.
Slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his. A storm raged inside him, as well. She saw it in the swirling fog of his eyes, in the steel that had become his muscles.
“Don’t leave me,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him.
His head inched closer, degree by degree. He was going to kiss her. And this kiss would change her life. Nothing would ever be the same again.
He spoke but they were in words she didn’t understand, in a language she’d never heard before, and yet the cadence was comforting, almost familiar.
“Kiss me,” she said.
He closed his eyes as if he were in pain. For a horrible second she thought he wasn’t going to kiss her. And then his lips were on hers, hot and insistent.
She made a sound deep in her throat of surrender, submission, longing. His fingers moved from her chin to her jaw, to the back of her head, cradling it in a tender embrace.
She put her hands on his broad shoulders and pulled him closer. Their tongues brushed together and Lainie gasped at the unexpected need racing through her.
This is where you should be. This is the way it should be between us.
He pulled away. Something passed through his eyes, something desperate and sad. A grief so sharp it pierced her soul to find an answering grief.
Christien looked away and swallowed. “Stay.” His voice was rough, but not harsh.
“I will.”
He touched her face and the key at her throat. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
He left her sitting on the couch alone in his apartment with the certain knowledge that she’d been right.
That kiss changed everything.
Christien clenched his fists and leaned against the wall of the elevator. He’d been balancing on the razor edge of control ever since he brought Madelaine to his living quarters. Who was he kidding? Since she walked into his club Thursday night he’d been off balance.
The brush of her body, the small sound she made in the back of her throat, her hands on his shoulders urging him forward had nearly tipped him over that edge.
Instantly he’d been rock hard and he fought the compulsion to tumble her back on the couch and touch every part of her luscious body, to drive into her and spill his seed until he was a dry husk, spent.
And then to do it all over again because once would never be enough with Madelaine.
He groaned and rolled his head against the wall in a combination of misery and fiery need that wouldn’t release its hold. Everything, from the smallest red blood cell in his veins to the tip of his throbbing erection, yearned for Madelaine.
He had to control himself or he’d stride back in there to finish what he started, even if it was the worst mistake he could make. She was confused and frightened and to top it off she’d been lying.
When she pressed her body against his on the River Walk, he felt her shaking, felt the fear coming off her in waves. Yet he didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust her. She claimed an asthma attack but she couldn’t look him in the eyes when she said it.
Was this another ruse to get them together? Had Lucheux put her up to this? His body clenched in barely suppressed anger and he pounded a fist against the wall of the elevator. What the hell was going on? What was Lucheux up to?
He didn’t want to think Madelaine was involved, but until he was sure, he would be on guard.
Damn his traitorous body. When she touched her throat and the fear clouded her eyes, he had no choice but to go to her and comfort her.
Either she was a very good actress, or she was truly afraid.
He was betting on the latter because he saw right through her pitiful lies and she hadn’t been lying about being afraid.
He should put a man on his door to be sure Madelaine stayed safe inside his club but that would frighten her more and raise questions he didn’t want to answer.
He had to play this in a way that kept her from questioning his motives and yet also kept her safe. How the hell he was going to do that, he didn’t know.
His phone buzzed again. Sabine wondering where he was.
He punched the button for the club level and forced his body to cool down, cursing the ill-timed interruption.
He had the impression Madelaine was on the verge of telling him something important, something she was struggling with.
Was the guilt eating at her? Did she want to tell him what Lucheux’s motives were? Did she even know?
What if it was none of the above? What if she was nothing but a look-alike caught in circumstances she knew nothing about?
If this were the case, Christien vowed he would protect her with everything at his disposal.
He would not allow an innocent person to be dragged into this war.
But first he had to prove she was innocent.