Fence (Dragon Heartbeats Book 4) Page 6

  Calm yourself, I warned silently. Remember your role in all of this. And hers. It was all about keeping her away from what we were doing, and that was it. Nothing deeper than that.

  It would pain me to destroy her research—like destroying her dreams, nothing less than that—but it had to be done. All of it. For her sake as well as ours. She would need protection, even if she wouldn’t see it as being protection when I did it.

  A car came to a stop in front of the restaurant. That was nothing new, and I was tempted to pay no attention. But I recognized the blonde curls of the girl sitting in the back seat, and I couldn’t help but watch as she opened the door.

  I should’ve gone and helped her out, but I was too busy staring. She floored me. Absolutely robbed me of the power to move or speak or even think in clear, concise thoughts. The air around me stopped moving. All sound ceased. The rest of the world ceased to exist. There was only her.

  She stepped out of the car, her slim legs bare to the knee thanks to the dress she wore. It was like watching music take on human form as she unfolded herself, standing up beside the car and calling out thanks to the driver as she closed the door.

  When she caught my eye, I lost the ability to breathe.

  This was her? This stunning, sparkling thing? She’d twisted her hair into a bun high on her head, but a few tendrils had escaped to brush against her neck along with a pair of dangling earrings. Her lips were the color of rich, sweet wine, and they curved in a shy smile. Her coat was open, revealing a black dress which hugged her lush body and made my mouth go dry.

  My dragon threatened to burst free of his confines and take flight in the middle of a crowded Edinburgh street—after taking hold of her, first, and flying her away to some distant place where nobody could disturb us.

  I clenched my jaw tight against the desire she stirred in my head and, more pressingly, in my loins. Desire unfurled there, spreading and swelling and taking over. Easy, easy, don’t scare her away, I warned myself. My dragon didn’t appreciate the sentiment—his roaring and thrashing made my head ache.

  She was perfection. It almost felt sacrilegious to imagine the sorts of dirty, nasty, sweaty activities my dragon urged me to conduct.

  And then, she tripped on her heels and reminded me just how heartbreakingly human she was. The sight broke me free of the trance she’d put me under, and I rushed to her side, catching her as she stumbled. Her cheeks burned redder than I’d ever seen them, almost matching the color on her lips.

  “No matter how hard I try to be sophisticated…” she muttered, laughing in spite of herself. “I swear. I can only imagine what you must think of me.”

  No. You can’t imagine. If you could, you’d demand that I take my hands off you right this very minute and get out of your life forever.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” I managed to chuckle. “As long as you’re all right.”

  She was so fragile. Light as a feather and hell-bent on hurting herself, or so it would seem. Taking care of her would be a full-time job.

  A full-time job I suddenly wanted.

  I wanted it very, very badly.

  11

  Ciera

  Something had changed. I could feel it in the air. He was still warm, still chivalrous. He held the door open for me and pulled out my chair before the maître d’ could do it. He had managed to keep me from falling for a third time in two days, and his hands had been just as strong and sure as ever.

  The look in his eye wasn’t the same. The note of intimacy in his voice hadn’t been there before. We weren’t just talking about generalities anymore. Our conversation turned to much more specific, much more important topics.

  “I lost my parents when I was four years old,” I explained over a glass of wine. “A car accident. Seanmhair was babysitting me at the time. It became a life-long gig for her after that.”

  “You were fortunate to have her,” he observed.

  “You don’t need to tell me that,” I smiled.

  He smiled back, and the candlelight danced over his features. His eyes were the color of black coffee and deep enough to drown in. He didn’t seem to mind that the restaurant I’d chosen to meet up in was a little more formal than the average pub—and a little more romantic.

  The romance part had been a slip-up. I had no idea we’d be flanked by two pairs of lovers, holding hands across the table and staring adoringly at each other. I suddenly felt itchy and squirmed in my seat.

  “What about you?” I asked as he poured me a second glass, and bit my tongue against the impulse to joke about him trying to get me drunk.

  He wouldn’t do that, because he wasn’t interested in me that way.

  Wasn’t he?

  “What about me?” he asked as he settled back in his seat.

  The collar of his white button-down was open at the throat, and his thick, dark hair was a mess of waves my fingers just begged to dance through. So sexy. Did he have any idea? Probably not.

  “You made it sound as though you live with your brother and cousins. Right? You said the testosterone was like an ocean.”

  He chuckled. “Yes. I remember saying that, and it’s true. We’ve gotten used to each other over the years.”

  “You must get along very well. I don’t have any family, not anymore, but I can only imagine how difficult it must be sometimes. Do you share a house?”

  “More like a compound,” he explained.

  My eyes opened wide. “Wow, that sounds very fancy.”

  He laughed—and easygoing laugh, warm and almost self-deprecating. “It has its good points, but I’d hardly call it fancy. There have been times I’ve wished I could live on my own, as long as we’re being honest.”

  “And why wouldn’t we be?”

  We shared a chuckle as our food arrived. My mouth watered at the scent of grilled beef, and I hoped I wouldn’t make too big a pig of myself. I had been so worked up over the idea of a dinner date with Fence that I hadn’t eaten lunch.

  “So, why can’t you live on your own?” I asked as I sliced into my steak.

  He winced.

  If my eyes hadn’t been on him instead of my food, I would’ve missed it. My question had hit a nerve. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, since I did want to know about him but didn’t want him to feel as though I were pressing too hard.

  “It’s a long story,” he murmured, cutting into his prime rib.

  “Well, I have all night.”

  “It’s a boring story, too,” he added, glancing up at me. There was humor in his eyes, at least. “Suffice it to say our parents wanted it that way.”

  “Understood.”

  Only I didn’t understand at all. Every time he answered a question, I ended up with three new questions in its wake. Why couldn’t he be straightforward? He had no problem asking me all sorts of things, after all.

  “Where did you live in the states?” he asked.

  “Scranton, Pennsylvania.”

  “Where The Office was based,” he grinned.

  “And nothing else,” I added with a heavy sigh. “You can’t imagine what it was like, moving to New York for college. I felt like I was stepping out of a tunnel, into the light. I couldn’t see at first. Everything was too bright.”

  “I do know the feeling,” he said, nodding.

  “Oh? How so?” I leaned closer, genuinely interested.

  “Why do you want to know so badly?”

  Answering a question with a question. He was good at that.

  I couldn’t help the little flash of frustration which bubbled up in my chest. “Why can’t you ever simply answer a question? Are you in the CIA or something?”

  “No.”

  “A spy?”

  “No.” A smile played at the corner of his lips.

  “Don’t laugh at me.”

  “I would never laugh at you.” His tone was grave, and his face went blank.

  I believed him, though it was a grudging belief.

  “What is it, then? Why do
I get the feeling this is all a giant ruse to keep me away from something?”

  There it was. Dropped on the middle of the table, right in front of the both of us. I hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, because I was afraid of admitting to myself that things couldn’t be as perfect as they seemed. He’d asked me out to dinner and told me to pick a nice place. He looked just as tasty as anything on the menu—maybe more so. He was charming and flirtatious. And the whole thing rang false.

  It seemed too easy. Too neat.

  If my question got under his skin, he was gifted with a wonderful poker face which gave nothing away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I feel like you do. It’s just too convenient for my liking.”

  “Don’t you believe I could be genuinely interested in you?”

  The question didn’t sit well. Maybe he knew it and maybe he didn’t, but I didn’t have a strong history with men. Growing up as the nerdy girl, the bookworm with buck teeth and frizzy hair and thick glasses, hadn’t exactly made me popular. Carrying that stigma became a habit. I couldn’t believe he’d be interested in me.

  Rather than answer directly, I asked, “Why can’t you ever be straight with me? I feel like there’s so much you’re holding back, and I’m having a difficult time enjoying my meal when I get the feeling you’re using me in some way.”

  “How would I use you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “The connection you have to the clan.” I kept my voice low. “For some reason, you want all the information I can give you on them. I don’t know why, because God knows, you won’t tell me. Even if I ask, you’ll put on the innocent act and try to deflect somehow.”

  “I suppose telling you how beautiful you look tonight wouldn’t be helpful, then.”

  “You said you wouldn’t laugh at me.”

  “Does it look like I’m laughing?”

  “No,” I admitted, “but it sounds as though you’re having fun with me.”

  “I’m not. I swear that much.”

  “But you can’t swear anything else, can you? That’s all you can be honest about.”

  He reached for my hand, which I’d rested on the table, but I recoiled like his touch burned. It did, a little, but it wasn’t my hand he hurt. It was my pride. I didn’t want to hurt anymore.

  Only I wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing, exactly, and I knocked over my wine glass and flinched when it shattered against my plate. The sort of thing I did on a regular basis. This time was different. This time, Fence tried to clear the glass away from me—and winced when a large, transparent shard sliced the heel of his hand.

  “Oh, no!” I grabbed his wrist and pulled out the glass without thinking about the possible danger to me, then wrapped my napkin around the wound. A person as clumsy as me had to be well-versed in first aid.

  “It’s okay,” he said, waving off the attention of other diners.

  Blood soaked into the tablecloth and had already stained the makeshift bandage, but he swore he was all right as he stood up. “I should go take care of this.”

  “I’ll come with you.” It was all my fault, after all. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  “No, no, I’m sure it’ll be okay. I’ll go back to the hotel and use their first aid kit, something like that.” He pulled out his wallet with his good hand and tossed a stack of bills onto his chair without stopping to count them.

  When I realized he was serious about leaving, I grabbed my coat and ran after him.

  “You need stitches! It’s a deep wound!”

  “It’ll be all right. I promise you. Don’t worry about it.”

  Why was he practically running away from me? And why, oh why, was I practically running to keep up with him? In heels, no less. Was I begging for a broken ankle? Maybe worse? I couldn’t let him get away. That was all I knew.

  “What is it with you?” I nearly screamed, putting on a burst of speed and finally catching him when he paused at the corner. The crisp air turned my breath into a cloud around my head and burned its way down my throat as I gasped, staring at his wounded hand.

  His suspiciously unwounded hand.

  He’d wiped away much of the blood while his back was turned to me, and it was clear that what had been a deep, gushing wound was suddenly a shallow cut.

  It wasn’t even bleeding anymore. In less than four minutes, maybe less, he’d magically healed.

  Magically.

  I looked up at him, shocked and stunned and scared half out of my mind.

  “Who the hell are you, Fence?”

  12

  Fence

  Damn it. Damn all of it to hell.

  Her eyes were round, her mouth open, her breath steaming as it hit the almost cold air.

  Once again, the world went on all around us, while the two of us were frozen in a solitary moment. Only this time, there was a serious feeling of dread in the air between us. Enough dread to choke me if I wasn’t careful.

  We were at the edge of a cliff, with only a half-second between standing on firm ground and falling through empty air. Once we fell, there was no going back.

  She was about to find out something about me she could never forget. She’d never be allowed to forget.

  I couldn’t even lie. There wasn’t a lie in existence that could accurately cover what had just happened. I should’ve been gushing blood onto the sidewalk—that glass had lodged itself deep in the meaty part of my palm. I had known then and there that I needed to get away from her, immediately.

  What I should’ve known was that she wouldn’t allow me to.

  Her question was still unanswered. Who the hell was I? If she were half as smart as I thought she was, she would’ve run.

  I opened my mouth with every intention of telling her to do just that. Run away and forget everything you saw tonight. Forget we ever met. Forget I exist. Go on with your life. Be happy.

  It just wasn’t an option.

  “Ciera, let me explain.”

  “You’d better explain,” she whispered through clenched teeth, suddenly fierce and demanding.

  All she did was stoke the fire that had been burning in me all night.

  “I will. Just not here, in the middle of the street.”

  “Why not? What are you afraid of?”

  “Give it some thought, Ciera.”

  It was the first time I allowed myself to be sharp with her, and she visibly recoiled. I spied a free taxi and flagged it down, taking her by the arm. She was probably too surprised to attempt to fight me off—not that she would’ve been successful, at any rate.

  “Give him your address,” I ordered after we were both seated.

  “What?”

  “Your address.”

  She glared at me, and I glared right back. Challenging each other in a staring contest in the back seat of a taxi. She blinked first, muttering the address of her apartment. We were off in a flash.

  I leaned back, pretending to relax, and held a finger over my lips. She took the hint. How had everything fallen apart so quickly?

  I was stuck in a corner, and there was only one way out. I took advantage of the silence during our ride to get my thoughts together—or something close to together, at any rate.

  In the back of my mind, I registered the fact that she was shaking from head to foot. I wished I could reach out and take her in my arms, assure her everything would be all right. She wouldn’t regret meeting me. She wouldn’t regret knowing me. I would never hurt her.

  Except I knew she’d recoil in horror and maybe scream a little. I couldn’t have our driver witnessing something like that. He was already eyeing us both up in the mirror, distrustful. Would he remember us? For his sake, I hoped he didn’t.

  I had already made too many mistakes.

  We came to a stop in front of a nondescript building not far from the university, the sort of place a student could afford, especially when they were living on a grant. I paid the driver and made short work of helping Ciera out of the car.

  She
wouldn’t take another step.

  I turned to face her. I’d never seen a face so stricken.

  “I don’t even know why I let you talk me into bringing you here.”

  When I closed the distance between us, she didn’t back away.

  “Because you know I would never harm you,” I whispered, reaching out to touch her hair. Her eyes closed for the briefest of seconds as my hand trailed down the side of her face. Her cheek was warm, flushed. I wanted nothing more than to cup her chin and pull her to me.

  “Why do I wish I could say you’re wrong?” she asked, staring up at me. “That’s insane. I shouldn’t want you to want to hurt me, but it would make this easier. I could kick you out of my life and be done with you.”

  “But you can’t.”

  “No. I can’t.” She had no idea how much she couldn’t. But she would find out.

  “Come on. Let’s go in. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  She led the way to the front door while I kept a lookout—what I was watching for, I had no idea, especially on such a quiet street where everybody looked to be minding their business. Even so, it was a relief to get inside and close the door.

  The flat was pleasant, though just as small as she’d described. There was hardly room to turn around without bumping into something. How she managed not to wreck the place, as inclined to clumsiness as she was, baffled me.

  She was smaller than I was, though, which gave her a little more leeway as she navigated the space between the sofa and coffee table, the kitchen table and stove.

  She leaned against that table, arms crossed, while I stood in the center of the small amount of empty space in the living room. There was a photo of an elderly woman sitting on the end table, a woman with long, white hair and sparkling blue eyes and a lovely smile. The woman with all the stories.

  “All right. We’re here, alone. You’d better make this good, or else I’m calling the police.”