Chapter Three
“What the hell were you thinking?” Alex muttered under his breath. He shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it on top of the old steamer trunk tucked against the end of the bed, and dragged his fingers through his hair.
He’d seen the kiss coming. Instead of backing away, he’d leaned into it, allowing curiosity to smother his intelligence and destroy any semblance of common sense. Being yanked through the portal must have scrambled his brain.
The last thing he needed was to get involved with the innkeeper. Talk about a complication. She was the only link he had to his mystery assignment. He couldn’t afford to piss her off enough to boot him out the door, or worse, call the law.
And speaking of keys… He plucked the room keys from the floor where she’d dropped them and tucked them into the front right pocket of his jeans.
Kissing her wasn’t on his agenda. Then she’d looked at him with hunger and curiosity in her eyes. There was something about her that drew him in a way that defied logical explanation. It had to be because she was part of his assignment, nothing more.
He should have stopped the kiss before it started, should have stepped away, but had wanted to feel her lips beneath his, know the sweet taste of her. At least he’d had the presence of mind to keep his hands off her.
Cilla Wainwright packed a punch. She tasted like sunshine and honey, warm and sweet. The light fragrance of roses clung to her. Eight—he’d counted them—golden freckles were sprinkled over her smooth-as-cream skin. It was harder than it should have been to keep his hands off her.
There was a sense of innocence about her, which seemed odd considering he placed her in her late twenties.
He barely knew her, but she’d proved calm in a crisis.
She seemed to have a contentious relationship with her brother.
There’d been no mention of parents, making him wonder about their status.
Then there was the fact she was running this place.
There was much he didn’t know about her, but she wasn’t his priority. He was here to do a job—figure out whose soul he had to reap and complete the assignment. He couldn’t afford to get off task. The stakes were too high.
Seducing her would be a pleasant distraction, but it wasn’t on the agenda. His entire future hinged on getting this assignment right. The reminder doused his desire better than a cold shower.
It had been too long since he’d had a lover. It got old not being able to be honest with the women he took to bed, and picking up a woman in a bar for a single night of pleasure no longer interested him. That wasn’t an excuse as much as a rationalization.
The modern world had only further complicated being a reaper. He didn’t age, which meant he had to move every couple of decades. It was easier to avoid entanglements altogether. That limited his options when he needed to escape from the lonely reality of his life.
Prolonged celibacy, fueled by the adrenaline rush, along with the residual anger at his father, had to be the main reason for his instant attraction to Cilla.
These days he got his thrills from fast motorcycles, faster cars, and adding to his already substantial fortune. All of which he’d lose if he didn’t keep his eyes on the prize.
Satisfied with his assessment, Alex rolled his head to work out the kinks.
“Get it together.” There was too much at stake for him to take this assignment lightly.
His father hadn’t been kidding about permanently exiling him if he failed.
He might call it having his freedom curtailed, but it was imprisonment any way you looked at it—for eternity, with no chance of parole.
An icy finger of fear skated down Alex’s spine.
Big brother had completed his assignment. There was no way he’d fail.
Closing his eyes, he listened, wondering where Cilla was, hoping to hear a snippet of conversation that might help him figure out his next move. To say details had been sparse was an understatement.
Birdsong filtered in through the screened window. In the distance, a lawnmower purred. What the hell? His preternatural senses were muted. Opening his eyes, he focused on a point across from him, trying to conjure a portal. Nothing. Not only was he stranded here, his abilities were suppressed.
His throat rippled when he swallowed. It was like losing a vital part of himself. There was only one person who could make that happen. The old man wasn’t messing around.
And wasn’t it a kick in the pants to realize his father was powerful enough to strip Alex’s abilities away with no effort or fanfare.
Talk about blithely going through life unaware.
His old man had always pulled his and his brothers’ strings—they were reapers, besides being his sons—but this went a step beyond.
He was doing everything in his power to set obstacles in Alex’s path.
He was being set up to fail. Damned if he would.
His first task was to get the lay of the land—the faster, the better.
The knee of his jeans was ripped, but there was no sign of blood.
As a reaper, he healed instantly from any injury.
At least his father hadn’t removed that power…
for now. He supposed he should be grateful for that.
Ending up in a hospital would have put a serious crimp in things.
Once he was back in New York, the first order of business would be to figure out how to keep this from happening again.
While he couldn’t stop his father from yanking him through portals, there had to be a way to keep him from restricting Alex’s natural abilities.
Not having them left him…vulnerable. Not a sensation he particularly enjoyed.
After taking the time to use the facilities and wash up, he locked the door to his room and went down the stairs. There was no sign of Cilla. The sound of someone singing drifted down the hallway, the voice deep and surprisingly good. Since it came from the kitchen, he assumed it was Rosa.
Feeling hemmed in, he went out the front door. There wasn’t a cloud in the soft blue sky. The air was still and heavy with bees buzzing lazily among the flowers. A yellow butterfly drifted in front of him before darting off. It was an idyllic summer’s day.
Refusing to look back at the house, he headed down Ivy Lane on foot and turned onto Main Street.
It was time to be proactive and check out the town.
Despite the late afternoon heat, traffic was brisk and people were out and about taking care of business.
With any luck he’d get a tingle or some kind of sign to indicate the target of this particular assignment.
Reaping was as natural as breathing, and as necessary to his well-being. While he might not find the same satisfaction in the task as he once had, reaping fought back the darkness inside him, kept the abyss at bay. Without it, he feared the emptiness might swallow him whole.
Usually, he knew where he had to be and when.
It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about before.
It was simply instinct. But nothing about this job was normal.
He’d been doing it for thousands of years; he’d figure it out.
Time to focus on the job at hand. No more getting distracted by the innkeeper.
…
Cilla stood at the library window and watched Alex stroll down Ivy Lane.
He made as striking a picture from behind as he did from the front.
She couldn’t help but admire the way he filled out a pair of jeans, or the way the breadth of his shoulders stretched the seams of his shirt.
There was no denying he was gorgeous. She’d have to be dead not to notice.
Didn’t mean she had to do more than look.
“He’s a guest,” she muttered under her breath. The impulse to kiss him had been an aberration brought on by the scare she’d suffered in the accident.
She wasn’t spying on him, not really. She’d heard the front door open and close and hurried down the hallway from the kitchen to see who it was.
It could have been any one of her guests, except she knew they planned to be gone all day.
Sighing, she turned away from the window and took several calming breaths.
“Get to work,” she muttered. Mooning over a handsome man was silly at her age. She had more important things to keep her occupied. Running an inn meant there were always chores. With Rosa here for the rest of the afternoon, her plan was to tackle the garden.
Before she could make her escape, the doorbell rang. “I’ve got it, Rosa,” she called as she hurried from the library to the foyer. She slapped a smile on her face and opened the door to find a stranger standing there. “Welcome to Ivy House.”
The man on her porch was tall, dressed in khaki pants, brown boots, and a beige T-shirt. Sunglasses covered his eyes. He gave a curt nod. “Priscilla Wainwright?”
The use of her full name was jolting. “Yes, I’m Cilla Wainwright.
May I help you?” She automatically took the envelope he thrust at her.
Without another word, he turned, walked down the garden path to a waiting vehicle, and climbed in on the passenger side.
The black SUV had tinted windows, not allowing her to see the driver.
They were gone before she had the presence of mind to check the license plate.
Bewildered by the exchange, she shut the door and stared at the cream-colored envelope. The name in the return address was all too familiar. Her stomach twisted into a giant knot.
She tore open the envelope, pulled out the official-looking document, and went straight to the body of the letter. “This can’t be right.” She read it again, convinced she had to be misunderstanding. After the third time, she had to concede she understood all too well.