179
Cole sifted through the thick stack of mail covering his desk, his mind distracted by memories of last night at the club…and this morning, in the kitchen. Those vivid scenes haunted him with startling tenacity. He couldn’t deny she had a strangle hold on him, couldn’t try to justify her presence as a necessity for the band and his cover any longer.
The truth of the matter was simple. He needed her…had ever since the first moment he’d laid eyes on her. With each passing day, his need had grown into a ravaging hunger pain that wouldn’t be denied for much longer. Hell, last night he’d been willing to
change
her, by the gods…and without her consent…just to keep her.
The burden of indecision weighed upon him.
Did he go against his own principles, and make her as he was? A creature of the night. A predator haunting the shadows. A demon of hell, some less educated would say. Could he refuse to change her and willingly cross the line between Immortal and Mortal, thereby risking an attachment that guaranteed unavoidable, unbearable pain…for him? And, if by doing so, would she be able to accept him as
he
was? Could he risk his own heart, his own soul…his own immortality…and take her as his mate?
He cut that train of thought off before it could take root. The only sane alternative was to keep the playing field status quo and suffer his demons in silence. Unfortunately, he had trouble 180
maintaining emotional…or physical…detachment where Alexandra Sinclair was concerned.
Dragging in a deep breath, he pushed the questions from his mind. With a curious frown, he drew a large, unmarked manila envelope from the pile of mail. Opening it, he pulled a stack of pictures out, only to drop the envelope and the pictures onto the desk in shock. As the pictures hit the desk, they fanned out, spreading, haphazard, across the surface, filling him first with confusion, then with dawning fury.
The picture on the top of the stack drew his eyes first. It was a shot of him standing in his drive, cradling Alex in his arms the first day she’d come to the estate. Bright red marker scribbled the words “tasty morsel” in bold, angry letters across the glossy photo. He picked the photo up and examined it closer.
Her shoes dangled by their straps from his fingers, her slim arms draped around his neck. A cold chill slithered down his spine. He reached for another picture. This was a candid shot of Alex poised to dive into the pool, the next was of her breaking the surface, and the next was of her coming up for air. Despite the creepiness of the why and how those pictures had been taken, the sight of Alex in her bathing suit, wet and sleek, sent a hot rush of feverish desire coursing though him.
There were several photos in the stack of Cole at odd endeavors…swimming, jogging, working under the hood of Danny’s aging truck…all taken here on the estate, well inside the gates. His eyes passed over a picture of him conversing with the TFRA agent in a darkened alley, kneeling beside the body of one Madelyn Kinney, and he heaved a sigh of disgust.
So much for keeping that little arrangement on
181
the down-low.
Then he came to more photos of Alex. Several had large, scribbled question marks over her face.
She wore the same provocative outfit she’d worn back to the estate yesterday.
There were photos of her pulling up in front of and entering a comfortable looking gray townhouse with cranberry trim. Over all, there were close to three dozen shots, and every one of them turned the blood in his veins to an ice floe.
By Thor, the son of a bitch would pay.
Cole seethed as he reached for the phone. He sank down onto the chair behind his desk, and waited for the call to connect. A bland male voice answered in distracted tones.
With fury poorly leashed, Cole snarled into the slim device, “Get up here. We’ve got a problem.”
Without any further explanations, Cole snapped the phone closed, and then repeated the process, thumbing in a different number this time. He’d no more than disconnected the last call, when a slight rap at the door drew his feral gaze. Gathering the photos back into a stack, he shuffled them inside the unremarkable envelope.
“Come in,” he roared, shoving the envelope inside a drawer in his desk.
Cole glanced up, careful to keep his demeanor calm when the entire band filed into the room. He was about to pull the pictures back out, when he noticed they weren’t alone. Alex ducked into the room behind Deacon, her gaze carefully averted. Cole tilted his head curiously at the sight of Zack carrying his Gibson Signature Series Les Paul and Danny toting his Classic Fender and portable amps.
Styx sauntered to the sofa, informing him,
“We think we’re on to something.” 182
A sense of excitement pervaded the room.
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” Danny jumped in. “We were messing around in the studio this morning, and Alex brought us something. We think we came across what we need for that mid-tempo ballad that’s been giving us so much trouble. Check this out.” Without waiting for Cole’s consent, Danny gave Alex a slight nudge toward the piano.
Deacon shoved a sheaf of paper beneath Cole’s nose and leaned a hip against his desk.
Devon slid onto the bench beside Alex, sidling close, and Cole experienced a quick, unexpected stab of jealousy at their proximity. He had to force himself to focus on the music in his hands, force himself to remain behind his desk, or run the risk of tearing Devon limb from limb with his bare hands.
In the blink of an eye, Cole’s study transformed into a studio, and the room filled with music. The notes were, by turns, soaring and furiously angry, then plaintive and filled with despair. Zack filled an edgy riff with punchy anger, underscored by the desperate, roaring need from Danny’s bass.
The song—the lyrics themselves—hit the gut first and then thrummed through the veins, wrenched at the heart. It wailed of one tempted against one’s will, torn by desire so passionate and consuming, only to be burned and left in despair, yet still yearning for more of the fire. It was lust. It was addiction.
It was perfect.
Cole didn’t need to look around the side of the piano to know that it was Alex’s nimble, talented fingers coaxing the notes from his Steinway rather than Devon’s. He sight-read the music as they played, the lyrics floating in his 183
mind, pouring out of him in a husky, sensual voice steeped in sinful promise.
The song was good. Exceptional. The group stared expectantly at him, and he grinned slowly.
“That’s perfect! You sped the tempo up on the riff and slowed the bridge. It’s perfect for the album.” Then he turned to Alex, who barely managed to meet his eyes, and offered her singular, heartfelt praise. “The lyrics are brilliant, Alex!” Smiling, her cheeks a becoming shade of pink, she nodded, then her eyes slid back to the ivory keys. She hadn’t uttered a single sound since the group had trouped into the room, and Cole gritted his teeth behind his smile. He needed to do some serious damage control there. He’d blurred the lines between work and play, and she was obviously uncomfortable with the results.
He’d brought her here for a specific reason, a reason that was more important than anything else. He’d brought her here for the band and for his cover. What had just happened here—the music they’d just created—was proof positive that she belonged here as one of them, as one of the band. Possibly indefinitely. He couldn’t mess with that. But now he needed to protect her as well.
Because of him, she was a target, and she had no clue. He had unwittingly put her in jeopardy. If and when she found out, she may never forgive him. There would not be a forever for them. He didn’t need a Witch with a deck of tarot cards and a crystal ball to tell him that.
The trick would be remembering that brutal fact whenever he got within touching distance.
Unfortunately, the memory of her, dressed in that red slip of pure temptation she’d worn last night, writhing in his arms as he brought her a taste of ecstasy, had been seared onto his soul.
There was no denying the truth, whether decked 184
out in designer couture or sporting nothing more than Haines, Alex was irresistible—and hell on his self-control. Even the sight of her now, as she sat demurely at his piano clad in chinos and a vintage
Eagles
T-shirt, damned near cut him off at the knees. He shuddered to think what the sight of her clad in nothing but her own, satiny skin…his for the claiming…had the power to do to him.
The sound of Zack’s amused chuckle broke through his self-imposed torment. “Cole?”
“What? Oh, yeah, let’s put it on the track.” He forced his focus back to business at hand, forced his eyes away from her. “We’ll go down to the studio and see how it sounds later tonight.
There’s some stuff I need to deal with first. Styx, Danny, Deacon, you guys wanna hang back for a few.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to include Alex as well, but he wasn’t sure how she’d handle the information just yet. He knew she needed to be told—had every right to know the truth of the situation—especially now that it appeared she’d stumbled into the crosshairs, but Cole was seriously worried.
Would she call it quits if she found out there was some twisted psycho following her around—
an Immortal killer with a taste for blood and a rapidly developing streak of brutality—taking snapshots of her…because of him? Following so closely on the heels of their latest series of intimate encounters, she’d likely decide this project was more trouble than it was worth. The last thing he wanted was his sexy little lyricist hopping into her sleek muscle car and never looking back. He just couldn’t have that—
wouldn’t allow it.
A regretful, hungry gaze followed her as she 185
trailed Devon and Zack from the room. The minute the door closed, he returned to his desk and reached purposefully for the packet of pictures that had shaken his calm. As the founding members of Stolen Innocence—aside from Deacon of course—the group had been together through thick and thin, obscurity and fame. He and Styx had been through a whole hell of a lot more. They’d had each other’s backs in more sticky situations than he liked to consider, starting with a certain desert sheik, and not one or two, but every woman in his entire harem…all twenty-seven of them.
Danny had inadvertently stumbled on the truth of their nature, accepted them as they were, and proven himself trustworthy more than a few times. Deacon had been a fairly recent edition to the band, but he’d proven to be discreet in his own affairs, and the TFRA had cleared him to help with the case.
As such, the three of them deserved to know there could be a potential problem brewing. He waited until the door closed behind the others before he spoke. Danny and Styx perched on the edges of his desk, Deacon prowled restlessly around the den, as was his habit.
“I got this in the mail this morning.” He drew the envelope out and tossed it on the desk between the drummer and the guitarist.
The three had obviously been expecting some grand announcement about the sexy new addition to their fold. They all stared at the envelope, varying shades of a frown darkening their collective brow. Styx glanced at Danny, and then to Deacon, and when it appeared neither had any intention of picking the package up, Styx reached for it himself.
Lifting the flap, he drew the stack of pictures 186
out. His alarmed stare flew to Cole briefly, and then he shuffled through the deck, apparently too disturbed to pause long enough to appreciate the candid shots of Alex’s svelte curves in her skimpy swimsuit.
Styx’s pronounced accent thickened. “
Madre
de Dios!
What the hell is this?” Glowering, he held the stack out for Danny, his focus on Cole, obviously searching for some reaction. The bassist flicked a coolly inquiring look at the drummer and accepted the offering.
Soon, he too, reflected Styx’s sentiment. He handed the package to Deacon, and turned to regard Cole with a deep frown.
Cole leaned back in his chair and waited for the full impact of the situation to hit his companions. It didn’t take long.
187
Tension rippled in the room, like a live electrical wire flopping on the ground in a shower of sparks. Styx glanced to Danny and Deacon, finally to Cole.
“Has Slim seen them yet?”
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Cole hesitated to respond.
Danny accused, “She doesn’t have a clue about
any
of it, does she?”
“I haven’t said anything,” Cole hedged, and then qualified, “yet.”
“She needs to know,” Styx pressed, his eyes going radioactive. “You need to tell her about this, sooner rather than later, Cole. About
all
of it. You know that, right?”
“I don’t want to scare her,” Cole growled. But he quickly conceded the point when Danny and Styx both aimed pointed, scrutinizing stares at him. The ever-quiet Deacon simply raised a brow.
All three waited.
Cole grumbled, “I’ll tell her.” Nodding, Styx stood up and paced the length of the room. Between Styx’s pacing, and Deacon’s nervous energy, the two were beginning to give Cole a blinding headache. The gods help them all if Danny joined in. Cole honestly didn’t know if, at this point, he’d be able to stop from ripping one—if not all of them—apart.
Styx stopped in front of the display case in the corner. “You know it’s just a matter of time, Cole, before he takes a picture of something we 188
can’t afford to have exposed. Then the
Enforcers
will come for us.”
They stared at each other, silently
acknowledging the danger this Rogue posed for them. The Vampyre world, while tolerating its members to live in the public eye, held very stringent rules about maintaining absolute secrecy in regards to their true nature. A Vampyre who was less than circumspect in his concealment was dealt with, swiftly and harshly.
Few Humans knew the truth, and those that did either kept silent—or weren’t long for this world.
Danny—the only Human in the room—was for all appearances completely unaffected by the seething Vampyre fury surrounding him. His voice remained level and cool. “So, how do we find him before he outs us, or gets to Alex?” Cole took a moment to consider the males around him with shrewd eyes. “Danny, you and Deacon are good with people. Make a circuit of the clubs tonight, before business starts picking up…every one with some kind of connection to the number eleven, whether it’s in the physical address or the name…whatever the connection.
Talk with the bouncers and bartenders, see if they noticed anyone acting suspicious, anyone who’s only shown up recently but just hangs around casing the place, probably alone.” Then he angled his attention to Deacon. “Deacon, check the photo shops. The photo quality is too good for printing at home. My guess is he’s using a sleazy, one hour joint, maybe passing a few bills under the counter, or using suggestion.” Styx opted for stepping up security, and minimizing access to the estate. By unspoken agreement, the Human police—and therefore the press—would remain out of the loop. Halfway into the discussion, the TFRA agent made an 189
appearance. Tommy arrived close on his coattails.
Cole briefed Crispin and Tommy about the pictures and, being Vampyre themselves, they were well aware of the ramifications of the situation. A council of war couldn’t have been more grave. They were just wrapping up when a determined rap on the door broke into their discussion.
“Come in,” Cole barked, tensing when Alex hesitantly stuck her head in the door.
“Oh,” she murmured. “I didn’t realize you were still busy. I can come back…”
“No, don’t go, Alex,” Cole called, motioning her forward. He shot Styx a pointed look, and then added aloud, “We’re finished here.” Taking his cue, Styx ran herd, bustling the curious Vampyre toward the door. Crispin didn’t get more than a passing glance and appreciative nod in Alex’s direction. But, smooth charmer that he was, Tommy managed to elude Styx for a moment. He stepped close to Alex, drawing her hand to his lips.
“You must be the talented and very stubborn Ms. Sinclair.” He smiled wolfishly over her hand.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face to face.” Immediately recognizing the voice that had hounded her phone for weeks on end, Alex smiled with polite interest at the handsome face framed by hair black as a crow’s wing. “And you must be Mr. St. James.”
“Tommy, please. I’m a huge admirer of your work, Ms. Sinclair.”
Cole cleared his throat, loudly.
Turning back to Cole, Tommy added, “I’ll go over the list of cities you want added to the venue, see if they work out, and I’ll get back to you.”
Tommy’s eyes slid back to Alex, slipping over 190
her with polished finesse, nearly imperceptible but assessing nonetheless. Alex wasn’t fooled, and Cole smiled when she extracted her hand from the agent’s with patently practiced ease.
“I hope to see you again very soon, Ms.
Sinclair.”
She tilted her head in acknowledgement, but moved away without any further exchange with the talent agent. Her attention was already on Cole, her response to Tommy automatic, dismissive.
Smirking, Danny and Deacon followed a flustered Tommy from the room.
On the threshold, Danny paused long enough to shoot a considering look at Alex. A low growl erupted from across the room, deep in Cole’s chest, and her gaze swung to his face. His stare warned Danny to walk away while he still could.
She glanced between the two men, frowned.
However, Danny only grinned with studied innocence, shrugged, and ambled from of the room. Leaving Alex alone with Cole.
Cole was all too aware the last time they’d been alone not a word had been spoken between them, but the entire dynamic of their relationship had changed. What’s more, he didn’t know how to feel about that.
“We need to talk.” She approached his desk slowly, chewing the edge of her lip.
Color rode high in her cheeks, and she struggled to maintain eye contact. A swift shot of smug male satisfaction coursed through Cole’s system. Apparently, he hadn’t been the only one left hot and bothered.
Cole stood up, but thought twice about joining her on the other side of the desk, knowing he’d be putting her within arm’s reach…within temptation’s reach. “Alex, you can’t—” 191
“No,” she interrupted, holding her hand up to forestall whatever it was he’d been about to say.
Drawing a determined breath, she plunged on, “I want to get this out before I change my mind, again.”
Alex began pacing before his desk, her small hands twisting in front of her in a nervous tell.
“I agreed to come here—to work with you—
with a lot of reservations.” Cole’s heart plummeted apprehensively inside his chest. “In the last three years, I’ve worked very hard to put this entire life well behind me. I’ve tried, and I’ve succeeded. My column, my life, my privacy have become very important to me. I was completely content with my life as it was.” Content, but not happy. He could read between the lines as well as the next guy.
But her hesitation shot alarm straight through his system all the same, and he completely forgot his resolve to keep her safely out of his reach. He charged around the desk and grasped her firmly by the shoulders.
Giving her a slight squeeze, he stared hard into her eyes. “You can’t just come in here and tell me you’re ready to walk away from this.”
You can’t walk away from
me
.
He silently added.
Not yet.
Not ever…
“Cole—”
“Listen to me, Alex,” he cut her off. “You can’t let what happened between us yesterday… I should have…”
“Cole—”
“I can make this work,” he argued, refusing to hear rejection. “Tell me what it will take. I can—”
“Cole!” She lifted her hand and pressed her fingertips to his lips. The action, the touch, startled him. The feel of her skin against his lips flipped his stomach over. “I’ve made up my mind.
192
Let me speak!”
He nodded mutely, refusing to relinquish his hold on her. Not until he’d convinced her to stay.
Seemingly of their own accord, her hands splayed over his tense muscles, feathered over him in a caress that sent his equilibrium—and his focus—
careening madly.
“I don’t know how to feel—what to feel—about what happened between us last night at the club…or in the kitchen, or yesterday in the garage, for that matter,” she began, then hurried on when it appeared he was about to speak.
“Regardless, that has nothing to do with our working relationship. I won’t allow it to. I’m not here to discuss what happened between us, not yet anyway. I’m here to discuss this project…the band and the music.”
She glared up at him. Pressing her hands against his chest, she forced a little room between them. Still he didn’t let go completely. His hands slid down her arms, snagging at her wrists, holding her hands between them, holding them pressed to his chest. A lifeline he suddenly couldn’t bear to sever.
“I’ve made a decision about your offer to continue working with the band.” She finally allowed her eyes to meet his. The muscles beneath her trapped hands were rigid, his heart pounded anxiously against her palms.
The hint of a smile curved the corners of her lips. “I’ve decided to take my own advice. I’m not ready to walk away. The music is still in me, and I want to fight for it. I want the job if it’s still on the table.”
For a moment, Cole couldn’t breathe. He’d convinced himself she was about to say no, and the world fell out from beneath his feet.
As soon as he understood she was
not
193
walking away, his grin grew, untamed and elated.
Without warning, he dragged her into his arms and lifted her clear off the ground, crushing her to him. She had no choice but to hold on as he spun her around, laughter gurgled in her throat.
Cole set her back on her feet, but before she had the chance to say anything else—before he stopped to consider his actions—his head swooped down, and his lips sealed over hers.
The kiss was fast and hard, demanding, and she responded. Her fingers slid into his hair, her body melted against him. Her responsiveness slipped through Cole like an intoxicating shot of ninety-proof, coursing through his veins, setting his insides on fire. He pressed Alex close and changed the angle of the kiss, deepening it, slowing it down. Spinning it out.
“Cole,” she whispered against his lips, smoky desire clouded her voice. “Stop…” Every cell in his body screamed to press on, urged him to overwhelm her with his passion.
Take everything she could give and demand more.
She wouldn’t be able to deny him for long. But he held back, resolute that when they finally did come together, it would be of her own free will.
Her choice. He wouldn’t give her any reason to regret it, wouldn’t give her any reason to be any angrier with him than she already would be when she found out what he was. He let his hands fall to his sides, silently waiting for her to go on.
“I agreed to stay on—to work.” She crossed her arms defensively, protectively over her chest as she moved before the window, staring blankly out at the lush green landscape. “I’m sorry, but I can’t let myself get involved—that way—with you.”
Despite her words of denial, his gut burned with the knowledge that it was no longer a 194
question of
if
he would have her, but a matter of
when
. No longer a question of
if
she would learn the truth, but a matter of
when
. And then she would have to decide…
His words were cold, brutally intuitive. “Can’t, or
won’t
?”
Drawing a deep breath, she turned to face him. Alex lifted her chin defiantly, clarifying,
“Won’t.”
“Explain,” Cole ground out tersely. Anger and lust thrummed through his overheated body, making her words distasteful and difficult to swallow.
“I don’t need to explain, ‘no’ should be sufficient. After all, it was you who told me that nothing would happen here that I didn’t want,” she snapped, turning his words back on him.
“You want
this
,” he hissed, hurt for reasons he couldn’t fathom. His fists clenched at his sides, but his fingers itched to tangle themselves in her hair and drag her into his arms. “I feel it when I touch you, when I kiss you. I know you do—”
“I don’t!” She jabbed him in the chest with a sharp, perfectly manicured nail. “And if you want me to stick around you’d better get that through your head and stop pushing. This…” Alex waved her hand emphatically between them. “This thing between us stops now. We work together, we don’t…we
can’t
go there, not anymore. Not ever again.”
Her tone had become brittle, her eyes wide, and she looked as if she might bolt at any moment.
“Okay,” Cole ground out, wanting to hold on to what ground he’d gained, afraid of losing it all.
Holding his hands up in a placating gesture of acquiescence, he nodded. If she wanted business, 195
she’d get business. The rest… Well, the rest she’d just have to contend with later. He had not the slightest doubt that there
would
be a later. It was inevitable. Just a matter of time. Time he might very well be running out of. Nevertheless, he backed up a step. “Okay.”
He thought of the pictures then, and mentally shoved them back in the drawer, buried them deep. No way was he pulling those out now and giving her yet another reason to second-guess her decision to stay.