Nightwind (2 page)

To Lauren, his smile was intoxicating. His even, white teeth gleamed in the dark tan of has lean face and

his glowing brown eyes seemed to undress the older woman as he looked at her, appraising her, flirting

with her. For the first time in all the years Lauren had known Louvenia Yelverton, the usual look of

disdain and arrogance did not twist the face of the older woman. Instead, a look of wistful girlishness

infused the lined face.

“Of course not, sir,” she heard Louvenia Yelverton whisper in a throaty tone. “Miss Fowler will be most

happy to help you, I am sure.”

“Thank you,” he said and his gaze slid to Lauren. “I believe you were about to show me the historical

section, Miss Fowler?”

Lauren’s knees weakened at his smoldering gaze, at the gentle squeeze he gave her arm before he

released it, his slim fingers running down the length of her arm before he did, and she had to look away

from the heat in his devastating gaze. She found herself staring at Inez Montes instead and saw hate and

envy glaring back at her. Even before Inez flounced away, her pert nose in the air, her skirts swishing

behind her like the flamenco dancer she pretended to be, Lauren caught the unmistakable glint of revenge

in the woman’s Latin face.

“Pay no mind to her,” he said, watching Inez flit away. “She’s jealous.”

“Of me?” Lauren gasped, so surprised by his words that she forgot herself. She looked away, ashamed

of her outburst.

“Most certainly of you,” he answered smoothly. “She wants what you have, Miss Fowler.” His dark

eyes lost their sheen, became less warm. “She craves something she will never experience.”

Lauren looked at him. “What on Earth could I have that Inez would even want?” Once more her words

shocked her as he looked down at her.

His dark look held her spellbound. That lazy, gentle smile returned to his lips and his soft voice lowered,

whispering his words to her like a lover’s sigh.

“Something even you do not yet know you possess.” He looked away from her then, breaking the spell

he had cast over her. He scanned the store, frowning when he saw the other shop girls staring at him. “I

don’t care for this place,” he said in a low, throbbing voice. He looked back at Lauren. “You could do

better.”

The force of his gaze shook her to the very foundations of her being and she found herself helplessly

staring at him, unable to look away, caught and held by the sheer strength of his personality. Her gaze

moved over his face as she evaluated the utter male beauty of him.

There was unmistakable power and authority in the chiseled planes of his face. His nose was bold with a

hint of arrogance to it. His jaw line was round, but not so pronounced as to make his face seem hard and

unapproachable. The soft fullness of his lower lip was sensual in its unsmiling state, sultry when he smiled

and his teeth were very white, just a touch crooked. Beneath the slash of his thick eyebrows, his dark

eyes, a warm, mesmerizing shade of soft brown, were direct and gentle. There was a small scar just

under his chin and she wondered how he came by it. A mole on his right cheek caught and held her

attention, making her want to touch it with her fingertips. In all, his face was so devastatingly handsome it

made her ache to look at him.

From his face, her attention moved to the gleaming deep brown of his long hair that was tied back. She

found herself wanting to reach out and touch the healthy sleekness of it, to remove the silver band that

held it to let it fall down around his shoulders, to run her fingers through the thick wavy locks. She had to

mentally shake herself to keep her hand from moving up to do just that.

Her gaze moved reluctantly from his face, paused as the glint of a small silver hoop in his left ear brought

her gaze to it. Something moved in her lower belly and she took in his broad shoulders, powerful chest

beneath the flowing white of his full-sleeved shirt. Before her vision could take her down the full length of

him, down the black trousers, she forced herself to look away.

“Is something wrong, Miss Fowler?”

A tremble went through her and she shook her head, not daring to look at him. What must he think of

her bold perusal of him? Embarrassment flamed in her cheeks, tears misting at her presumption. She

shook her head, feeling humiliated to the very depths of her soul.

“The historical section is over here,” she heard herself saying in a voice that was not hers. She didn’t

look at him as she walked away from him. “Did you say Soames?”

“Yes.” He sighed, following her. “Lord Bertram Soames.”

Inez Montes glared at her as she passed the woman; heard a hiss of contempt from the Latin woman’s

pursed lips. The force of the other woman’s anger followed Lauren to the historical section.

“If Miss Fowler isn’t up to the task of helping you, I would be most happy to get you anything you

need,” she heard Inez coo. “All you need do is ask, Mister...?”

Lauren looked back, saw him stop, his unfathomable gaze aimed at Inez. She thought she saw a flicker

of dislike cross his face before he smiled at the Spanish woman.

“Cree,” he answered in an annoyed voice. “Syntian Cree.”

Inez obviously did not notice the bored, knowing way she was being regarded as she stepped closer to

him. Her gaze moved down him then locked on his handsome face. “And what do your friends call you?”

His lips twitched. “Mr. Cree.”

The flirtatious smile on Inez’s face wavered.

He turned and smiled warmly at Lauren. “But there are those whom I allow to call me Syn.”

“Syn as in wicked?” Inez teased, her face glowing as he returned his attention to her. She unconsciously

licked her upper lip as she watched him.

“Syn as in deadly.” His smile turned cold.

Lauren felt the heat of him as he came to stand beside her. “If we have any of Lord Soames’ books in

stock, they would be on this shelf,” she said as she put her hand on the wood. She snatched her hand

back when she saw it was shaking and started to turn away.

“Would you help me look?” he asked, his voice low and rife with subtle command.

She would not look at him. “Yes, of course.” She scanned the titles before her.

He was standing close to her, so close she smelled the tangy aroma of his cologne, so close she heard

the gentle exhalation and intake of his breath. She watched as his hand reached out, looked down at the

fine matting of hair on his wrist as the French cuff pulled back, admired the dark tint of his tan, the elegant

tapering of his slim fingers, the manicure of his nails as he plucked a book from the shelf.

“Duke Giles du Mer.” She heard him chuckle softly. “History of St. John Thorne.” He thumbed through

the pages. “Du Mer considered himself quite the intellectual, but he didn’t quite grasp the complexity of a

man like Thorne.” He turned to her. “Are you familiar with the tale?”

She shook her head, glancing at the cover of the book he held in his hand. There was a picture of a

scaffold, rope dangling from the crossbeam. In the background, angry black clouds swirled on the

horizon.

“St. John, Lord Thorne, fifth Earl of Willingsham, was hanged at Derry Berne on the twenty-fourth of

April in the year of our Lord 1653. His body was left on the scaffold as a warning to all those who would

dare to defy the English government.” He turned a page and stared down at a lithograph; he frowned.

“Sometime between midnight and dawn of the following day, Lord Thorne’s body was removed by a

person, or persons, unknown and was never found.” He turned his enigmatic gaze to Lauren. “Legend

has it that he wasn’t dead, that he had cursed his executioners before they carried out his sentence and he

swore to take his revenge on his accusers.”

“What did he do?” she whispered, seeing anger building in his dark face.

“He skewered a revenue agent on the tip of his sword for trying to confiscate the Thorne lands.”

“Was he in debt?”

“One did not have to do much of anything to lose one’s land during that time.” He shrugged. “An insult

to a nobleman was often just cause to sue for satisfaction. The courts often awarded land as

compensation.” His gaze narrowed. “Nor was it uncommon to condemn a man to death on trumped up

charges in order to take those lands if you had no other cause against him.” He shut the book and sliding

it back on the shelf.

“Did Lord Thorne take his revenge?”

He didn’t answer, but rather drew another book from the shelf. He scanned the contents page then

turned to hand it to her. “I’ll take this one.” He moved further down the aisle, looking at other books.

Lauren glanced at the book in her hand. Her brows drew together. She couldn’t ever remember seeing

that particular book before. Even the title was not familiar to her. She opened it in the middle and was

shocked to see an explicit picture of a man and woman engaged in sexual union. She shut the book with

a snap, drawing his attention.

“Shocked, Miss Fowler?” he asked, one brow lifted in amusement.

“I didn’t know we had this.”

He took the book from her. “The Satyricon of Petronius was considered to be the most erotic book of

its day.” He leafed through the pages. “This version, complete with lithographs, was an underground

version of the novel printed in the late seventeenth century.” He handed the book back to her, drew three

more from the shelf then faced her.

“Have you found what you wanted?” she asked, wanting desperately to escape from his intoxicating

presence.

He smiled. “For today.” His eyes moved over her face with a tender sweep as he handed her his

purchases.

Lauren clutched the books to her chest. She felt him right behind her as she walked to the counter where

Louvenia Yelverton stood waiting.

“I hope you found everything you were looking for,” the older woman gushed.

“And more,” he answered as he took out his wallet.

“Cash or charge?” Louvenia asked as she mentally calculated the total of the four books. She looked up

at him sporting a foolish smile.

“Cash,” he said, handing her a hundred-dollar bill.

“Thank you, Mr. Cree,” said Lauren.

“It was my pleasure, Lauren.” His smooth voice made the hair on her arms stir. His gaze was hot and

filled with an emotion she was shocked to realize was keen interest and sexual fascination.

“Run along now, Miss Fowler,” Louvenia told her, her eyes stern, “or you’ll be here all night.”

“Yes, Mrs. Yelverton.” She heard her manager murmuring an apology to Mr. Cree.

“Sometimes I’m afraid Miss Fowler has her head in the clouds when she’s working.”

“Better than her soul in torment, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, his voice tight with annoyance.

Lauren glanced back to see Mrs. Yelverton sputtering as she hastily placed Mr. Cree’s purchases in a

bag with the store’s crest emblazoned on the front.

The bell over the door tinkled as he left the shop and Lauren glanced around the shelf of self-help books

to see him staring back at her through the window. She ducked her head, hiding herself from his view.

“He’s mouth-watering, isn’t he?” she heard Beth Janacek sighing to Karla Cooper. “I bet he has women

eating out of his hand everywhere he goes. He can put his slippers under my bed any time.”

“He could come to my bed—” said Inez began, but Louvenia’s curt voice hushed her into propriety.

“The gentleman would not appreciate us talking about him in such a manner, Inez,” the older woman

snapped.

“I bet he’s use to it.” Karla giggled. “Any man who looks like that has to know what women think of

him.”

“Who is he, anyway?” Beth asked. “I’ve never seen him around town.”

“And you would have remembered if you had!” Karla teased.

“I wonder if he’s the man who bought the old Herndon place. Reed told me a stranger had bought the

place through a lawyer up north.” Louvenia nodded her head. “I bet that’s who he is.” Her avarice

glowed. “Reed said he paid cash for the place.”

“And did your husband get the commission?” Inez inquired.

“No, Reed’s partner made the sale.” Louvenia sighed. “It was a rather substantial commission, too. The

asking price for the acreage alone was over a quarter million. Janet Herndon practically threw the house

in for next to nothing in order to get rid of it.”

“The place is haunted,” Karla said, shivering.

“You don’t believe those old tales, do you?” Inez scoffed.

“Can you explain why the house has been vacant all these years?” Karla shot back. “No one wants to

the live in the house where Janet’s granddaddy went berserk and killed his wife and oldest son. People

have seen things in that house.”

“Like what?” Inez challenged.

“I believe we have better things to do than discuss old ghost stories of the Florida Panhandle, ladies,”

Louvenia reminded them. She looked down at her watch. “We close in fifteen minutes and I, for one,

have no intention of putting in any overtime.”

The women moved away from the center aisle and headed back to what they had been doing before

their last customer had entered the shop. Only Inez Montes did not resume her work, but instead, stared

across the aisle from the inspirational books to where Lauren knelt, shelving books. As Lauren looked at

her, Inez laughed disdainfully.

“You made a fool of yourself flirting with that man,” the Spanish woman sneered. “It was obvious he

wasn’t interested.”

“I wasn’t flirting with him.”