Midnight Crusader Page 8

  Anger. He sensed anger but couldn't understand its cause. The brief eye contact they made snapped with it. Had he done something? Did she suspect something? He couldn't lay a cause to the fierce set of her soft lips. They hadn't had enough time together, at least in this lifetime, for her to form an opinion of him one way or another.

  And that, he meant to change.

  He smiled, letting the gesture spread like a sunrise across his face, letting the wattage build until she couldn't help being warmed by it.

  She resisted for a moment, clinging to her stony facade, then slowly, with great reluctance, those edges of ice began to melt away. Her gaze dropped, and when it flirted back up to his, he found all the emotion he'd wished for simmering there. Hope, curiosity, desire, need. Yet still, that discoloring trace of wariness. Well, he'd just have to woo that away.

  "You haven't tried your tea."

  "I've been drinking in a more satisfying sweetness."

  As he raised the glass to take a sip, he was rewarded by the flush of pleasure stealing into her cheeks. But she wasn't to be so easily won.

  "You speak flattery well."

  "Only to you.” He caught himself before he'd added, my lady. That she'd think those words sounded sincere because of frequent use on others couldn't be farther from the truth. He'd always had his share of fair ladies crowding for his attention, but only with Naomi had he felt comfortable and at ease enough for poetic sentiment. “You inspire me."

  "I'm supposed to believe that?"

  When had his gentle Naomi become a cynic?

  "It's my plan to convince you of it."

  The nervousness crept back into her glance. “Of what?"

  "Of the rightness of what's between us."

  Her head reared back, her stare growing fixed. But he could hear her heartbeat quicken, its tempo becoming fast and frantic. Not with fear. Please, don't let it be with fear. “I wasn't aware there was anything between us. I don't even know you."

  He forced a confident grin to coax away her alarm. “Ah, and therein lies the convincing."

  "Ummm."

  Clutching at her glass with both hands, she slipped away from him. Though it was his first instinct to follow close, he held his ground and simply trailed her with his stare. Her tension had returned, lending stiffness to the fragile slope of her shoulders and a jarring rhythm to the natural glide of her walk as she circled the gurgling little pond.

  "I didn't ask you here so you could dazzle me with your pleasant but a bit too polished charm."

  He pursed his lips at the tartness in her words but couldn't contain his smile. “Too bad. Then why, may I ask, am I here?” So much for romance.

  "I don't know if Rita's told you that I work at the Amazon."

  "The new hotel at the end of the Strip. Yes. She said you were the manager's assistant. A very prestigious job."

  "A very demanding job,” she corrected without a hint of boastfulness. “I make things run smoothly for everyone else."

  "And you've hit a snag."

  "Yes.” Her quick glance conveyed her gratitude at his immediate grasp of the situation.

  "And how can I help?"

  She ceased her restless travels, coming to a stop on the other side of the pool. The iridescent lights seeped up the cool pastel of her dress to illuminate her fair skin like Carrara marble. Gabriel struggled to breathe.

  "I've seen you at the Excalibur. You are very skilled with a sword."

  "It's a show."

  "No. It's more than pretend with you. I'm sorry I can't explain it better, but there is a oneness with you and your weapons that makes the battle ... real."

  "I'm well trained to make it appear so."

  "You've been in the military."

  "Is it that obvious?"

  "You have that kind of discipline. Can you train others?"

  "Train them to do what, exactly?"

  "To move with the same kind of confidence."

  "Sure. After about eight months."

  "How about three weeks?"

  "You're joking, right?"

  "I'm very serious. That's when we open at the Amazon."

  "And what has one thing to do with the other?"

  She looked around then sank down onto one of the pretty little wrought iron benches as if suddenly needing the support. A touch of entreaty stole into her uplifted gaze. “Our Amazon is filled with Amazonian women. The female warriors, you know.” He nodded, and she continued. “Only our female warriors are about as aggressive as puppies."

  "And they need to be pit bulls."

  She smiled. “Exactly."

  "You want me to train your show girls to become GI Janes?"

  "Could you? I mean, not really, but just teach them the attitude, the toughness, the control, how to swing a sword without cutting off each other's limbs."

  "This was your boss's idea?"

  Her hopeful gaze flickered downward in evasion. “No, it's mine. Mr. Zanlos doesn't come down onto the floor. He's busy in his office with investor meetings. He leaves the details to me. And it's my job to make those details..."

  "Go smoothly. I get the picture."

  "Can you help me, I mean, us?"

  "And I'd be working closely with you?"

  She looked uncomfortable, and that was his answer before she spoke a faint, “Yes."

  "But I have a job already."

  "We can pay you twice what you're making now."

  "You don't know what I'm making."

  "Yes, I do.” Then she put her hand to her mouth. “Please don't say anything. I wouldn't want to get Rita in trouble."

  "Rita found out how much I get paid?"

  "I have a feeling Rita is very resourceful."

  "Good old Rita."

  He was silent, letting the moment build with suspense while inwardly he reined hard on his eagerness. Working closely with Naomi. Close but out of the sight of Kaz Zanlos. This was perfect. Perfect. Finally, he ended her wait.

  "Three weeks at twice the pay. How can I refuse?"

  Naomi had hoped success would relieve the tightness crushing within her chest, but the pressure squeezed mercilessly. Her heart was beating much too fast. The evening heat went straight to her head, making it swirl while her thoughts spun around like revolving satellites. Faintly, she heard the sound of glass shattering, but she didn't associate the noise with the drink she'd been holding as all her senses seemed to suck down into an endless vacuum.

  She said his name, and he was there.

  Her field of vision filled with his handsome, angular features. Gabriel McGraw but not ... not quite. The tousled mane of blond hair was the same, and the rugged symmetry of his face. And his smile, his smile like the promise of a new day dawning clear and bright and ripe with possibilities. The difference was in his eyes. The gaze that bewitched hers was deep and dark and dreamy, untouched by harshness, by evil. The gaze of an innocent, of an idealist, a romantic as yet untarnished by the ugly truths of life. Shy, hopeful, respectful.

  This was the man she'd fallen in love with.

  But it wasn't the same man who shared her garden and threatened to break her heart.

  Images, sensations, sounds swirled about her with tornadic force. Laughter, a light caress of lips upon her palm, the tickling of lute strings, and quiet words, spoken with fierce intention and intensity.

  "I will return for you. You have my pledge, as you have my heart."

  She sat up with a gurgling gasp for breath.

  "It's all right. You're all right."

  The quiet assurance brought her focus back to the small garden, to the delicately scented night and to the man who now held her close.

  Her gaze darted about in a panic. All was as it should be, but could she say the same about herself and about Gabriel McGraw?

  "What happened?” she asked to give herself time to recover.

  "You fainted."

  He'd joined her on the wrought iron bench. Its size forced them into intimate proximity. His arms wrapped about her
, binding her to his chest in a possessive curl, both comforting and claustrophobic. Too disoriented to struggle, she sagged against him, limp and trembling, until small slivers of awareness began to reassemble. Alarming things like how his silky shirt warmed to the heat of her body, how his scent reminded her of tall grasses and cool meadow breezes. The bend of his arm formed a supportive cradle about the small of her back, and the hollow between his chest and shoulder, a secure nave in which she could hide forever. She closed her eyes, her senses soaking up those oddly familiar details. How could she know the exact way his lean jaw fit against the top of her head? Or recognize the muscular sculpting of his arm as if she'd ridden those impressive highs and lows before and often? Why did the sound of his breathing console with the steady cadence of the tides, so regular, so solid, so eternal?

  Her hands were knotted in the loose folds of his shirt, clutching for security against the ebbs and rips of her awakening senses. Slowly, her grasp relaxed and her fingers spread along the taut and hard textured plane of his midsection. His breathing stopped. She felt his fingertips trace the curve of her cheek. When they curled beneath her chin to encourage an upward tilt, she didn't resist.

  He was going to kiss her. And she was going to let it happen.

  She wanted it to happen. Had wanted it to happen for so very, very long.

  Only it didn't.

  When it didn't, she opened her eyes. His features swam into focus, so close she could map the laugh lines feathering from the corners of his eyes and notice a tiny scar on the bridge of his nose. His dark stare swallowed her like warm, blanketing evening, engulfing her world with the compelling secrets of its own. This close, his eyelashes seemed impossibly thick and his mouth irresistibly soft. She touched his lips with trembling fingertips, lightly charting their mysterious curves and tempting swells. His gaze brightened, firing with something so beyond simple passion that she was consumed in that complex combustion. His mouth moved gently against the pads of her fingers, moistening them, sucking lightly at them. Intrigued, she flirted with the feelings sparking between them, until the sudden harsh draw of his breath startled her from her musings.

  She stumbled away from him, backing off the bench on unsteady legs to protect emotions that were more wobbly still. Her hand went automatically to the sheer scarf knotted at her neck where a hard pulse pounded in denial of what she'd been about to do. Her fingers twisted tight in the loose ends of silk, as if clinging for her very life against the attraction she held for this man.

  But it was a lie.

  He was there to use her, to abuse her heart, and she'd had quite enough of that.

  "I'm sorry to be such a bad hostess, but I really think I should go lie down. There's a bug going around at work, and I think I may have picked up a touch of it."

  "You need to take better care of yourself, Naomi."

  Whenever he spoke her name, an electric charge prickled along her bare arms, as if she were standing in the path of a fierce storm drawing danger like a lightning rod.

  "I will. About that job? Can you be at the hotel tomorrow afternoon?"

  "Nothing like short notice."

  "As I've said, time is something we don't have.” Talking business felt safe, and she gathered courage from the uninvolved nature of it. This was familiar ground. Desire was not.

  "It will have to be in the evening. I'm afraid I'm just not a day person."

  "That will be fine. I'll arrange things for you. Mr. Zanlos will be so pleased."

  "I'm not doing this for him."

  Again, she experienced that current of longing, that wish that his words were true.

  But they weren't.

  "Tomorrow night then, Mr. McGraw."

  "Gabriel."

  She swallowed and said his name, wishing it didn't sigh from her lips as if a spoken answer to prayer.

  * * * *

  As he climbed into his big Mercury, he saw the telltale flutter of the curtains in the front of the bungalow. A bug going around. That bug was the disease of Zanlos’ influence, and the sooner he dealt with Zanlos, the sooner Naomi would be cured of it.

  As he sped toward the glow that hung over the city like the aftermath of an atomic detonation, he recalled of the scent of her hair with the wistful inhalation of his breath. The petal soft fragrance of violets drew him across the centuries to her side. And her skin, so smooth and flawless. And much too pale. He frowned. Was she ill? Was Zanlos overeager in his possession of her? His own protective instincts rumbled. To drain her to such a weak state was madness, but perhaps it was necessary to maintain his control. Was she aware of what Zanlos was, of what he did to cloud her mind and manipulate her actions? Was she even now a pawn drawing him into some clever trap? It didn't matter. He could take care of himself. It was Naomi's survival that concerned him. No, consumed him.

  Whether Naomi wished to act upon it or not, her subconscious was reacting to the past they'd shared. That was all the encouragement he had, and truly, all he needed.

  Tomorrow night, he'd be close to both his love and his enemy. And it would be his impossibly difficult job to keep the two separated in both heart and mind while he saved the one and destroyed the other.

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  Chapter Eight

  "You're going to go in there right under his nose?"

  Gabriel paused in the brisk stuffing of his gym bag and tried to soothe his friend's worry with a confident smile. “He takes no interest in the running of the casino, only in the business matters above. He won't even know I'm there."

  Rolland snorted his disbelief. Gabriel felt compelled to calm his doubts.

  "I'll use a mild mask so I won't be recognized by anyone beyond the room. If my old friend should happen to glance my way, he'll see a stranger."

  "And you have the power to maintain such a disguise?"

  Reluctantly, Gabriel admitted, “Yes, I do."

  "So you'll mask your identity and cloak your presence from our kind and be on guard every second against danger?"

  "It's what I do, Rollie. It's what I've done for centuries."

  "I could help."

  "Stick with your studies, my friend. This is my battle. I can't do what I must do from the outside."

  "My studies, as you call them, are not without their own risks,” he said. His tone prickled in his own defense.

  Gabriel pressed his shoulder. “I'm not making light of how you've chosen to lead your life. Our paths have gone in different directions, but I'm glad they've crossed once again. I have missed you, Rolland. So many times I could have used your sage counsel to keep me from rushing into trouble. You've always been the tug of restraint to my own impulsiveness."

  "Yet you won't listen to me now any more than you would then."

  Gabriel shrugged. He glanced about the locker room, feeling a strange sadness at walking away from the familiar, away from his companion of another era, another lifetime. He was always walking away. It was the pattern he'd made for himself to better accept what he was. No ties, no involvements. He couldn't afford to linger with humans in a world that didn't have a place for one such as himself. If he stayed on the outside, constantly moving, he had no time to miss what had escaped him.

  Until now. Until Rolland and the excitement of this place fired his spirit with memories of a past he could no longer claim.

  Until Naomi.

  Now that he'd found her, he'd have to adjust his preternatural world to include her. He'd worry about how exactly to accomplish that once he'd freed her from Zanlos. He wouldn't consider the possibility that their worlds would never mesh in harmony. It could be done. He'd seen it happen with his human partner, Rae Borden, and her new husband, newly made vampire Nick Flynn. He and Naomi would have the life they had been denied. He hadn't conquered time to let it slip away from him now.

  "So, you go there for him or for her?"

  "For both,” he admitted quietly. He closed the bag with a loud rasp of the zipper. “I think I have everything."

 
; "Everything except your reason. Gabriel, no good can come of this."

  Gabriel forced a smile of patience. Rollie—always the cautious one. But he owed his friend the courtesy of his attention. That, and so much more. More that they had never spoken of. “Why do you say that?"

  "As a student of history, I listen to what history tells me. You should do the same."

  "I'm listening."

  Rolland scowled at his friend's obvious indulgence. “No you're not. You never listen, Gabe. You just rush in. Think first, Gabriel. Remember the past."

  Yanking the bag straps up over his shoulder, Gabriel gave the morose prophet an impatient look. “Remember what?"

  "What happened the last time duty and love collided. Your pride destroyed her, Gabe. Would you do that again?"

  Wincing as if from the unexpected thrust of a sword, Gabriel turned away from both his companion's sincerity and the truth he spoke. But Rolland wasn't ready to let him go.

  "Gabriel, she belongs to him. How can you think to bring him down without her suffering as well?"

  "I won't let that happen."

  "How can you prevent it any more now than you did then? You can't fight what was not fated to be."

  Gabriel confronted him with a fierce expression. “What was fated was a future Naomi and I shared together. I will have that future, Rollie. I will."

  "At whatever the cost?"

  "What else could I give that I have not already surrendered?” He concealed the pain in his eyes behind a pair of dark glasses. “Thank you for all you've done, Rollie."

  Seeing their parting was imminent, Rolland sighed. “You'll return for a rematch, won't you? Our fans demand it."

  "Anything for the crowd."

  Rolland's voice deepened in anguish. “Don't do this, Gabe, not alone."

  "I'm not alone.” He slapped his hand down upon Rolland's shoulder, offering no further explanation. “You worry too much."

  "And you not at all."

  "You see, people don't change with the passing of time. Only the scenery does."

  "You'll call if you need me."

  "You are a good friend, Rolland."

  "That's not an answer, Gabe."

  "I'll call."

  But as Rolland watched him leave the locker room area, he shook his head. “No you won't,” he said to himself. “Not until it's too late."