Bastien swallowed hard at the memory of the one love he'd had in his life. He'd been young at the time, only eighty-eight, and had spent his life until then sewing his wild oats but not caring very deeply for the women he'd sown them with. Until Josephine. He'd fallen for her hard. So hard, in fact, that he'd ignored that he could read her mind: a sure sign, his mother always said, that a couple would make bad life mates. He had revealed himself to her, begging her to join him in eternal night—or what he had thought was eternal night back then; they'd had no clue in those days that they would eventually be allowed to walk in sunlight thanks to the advent of blood banks and the safety they offered.
"Josephine." The name was a whisper on his lips as he put the cell phone away. The great love of his existence. He'd offered her eternal life and all his riches, which was no small sum. But, repelled by what he claimed to be, she'd turned him down cold. Josephine had believed him soulless. She'd been so terrified of him, she'd dropped to her knees and begged God for immediate deliverance. She'd feared jeopardizing her own soul by even knowing him. Bastien had been forced to wipe her memory and give her up. He'd stood by and watched her fall in love with a human, marry him, bear his children, age, and die. It had broken his heart.
A sudden honk from behind made Bastien stiffen, then glance in the rearview mirror. Someone was leaving work late and wanted out. He was blocking the way.
Forcing himself to move, Bastien shifted the car into drive and eased out onto the street, turning right to avoid having to wait for the traffic to clear. He drove up several streets without really thinking, then decided he'd better soon figure out what he was doing or he could end up driving around all night.
His first priority was Mrs. Houlihan, but he didn't have a clue where to start looking. As Vincent had made him realize, he didn't even know her first name, let alone if she had family to go to. He presumed she did. The woman would hardly be walking the streets, homeless and hungry and cold just to escape him. Would she?
Bastien grimaced to himself. For all he knew, she would. He didn't know a thing about his ex-housekeeper. Which meant the woman was not a matter he could deal with at the moment. He'd have to leave her for now and put his secretary on the matter tomorrow. Meredith had several dealings with Mrs. Houlihan, and might know more than he. If not, she could find out who had hired the woman and what was known about her. Bastien couldn't even recall how long the woman had been working for him. She'd been just another faceless employee until today. With that issue on hold, Bastien decided to head to… What the hell was that editor's name again?
"Chris!" He spoke the same triumphantly as his memory kicked in. Christopher. Keyes. He'd see to getting the man some clothes from his apartment, pick up some subs from… whereever they sold subs, and head back to the penthouse where he could relax and figure out what to do with his houseguests until he had a new housekeeper to take care of them.
Even with his efficient secretary on the job, finding a replacement for Mrs. Houlihan could take days, even weeks. Because of what the family were, employees for any job with the Argeneaus had to be vetted very carefully.
"Hmmm. Weeks without a housekeeper," he murmured thoughtfully as he glanced at the address on his notepad. He turned the next corner to head in the right general direction. Weeks while he would be responsible for his guests. At least for Terri. The editor wasn't
really
his responsibility. He hadn't actually agreed to the man's presence in the penthouse; he was just suffering it at present. But Terri—he had agreed to take her in. In his book, that made her safety and well-being his responsibility. Which included keeping her out of Vincent's clutches.
Perhaps he'd take some time off work for the next little while and stick around the apartment to keep an eye on her. Yet the idea of taking time off was so alien to Bastien, the mere fact that he considered it was startling.
Time off work. He contemplated the matter seriously, and it did seem to be the best move if he was to keep Terri safe. Bastien was sure Kate would never forgive him if he allowed Vincent to bite her. He himself certainly wouldn't be happy about it. The very thought of his cousin's lips and teeth on the tender flesh of Terri's neck—or anything else—was repugnant! Yes. He'd take time off work and—well, sitting around the apartment would be boring. He couldn't see himself doing that. He'd never sat about in his life. He was constantly on the go, his life constantly busy.
He stepped on the brake as the light ahead turned red, then glanced idly about until his attention was caught by a large sign in what appeared to be an empty lot, advertising the hours of a flea market. Bastien stared at it with interest. It was the weekend, and spring had arrived, which meant flea markets and street fairs would be springing up all over the city. He wondered if Terri might enjoy attending a couple of those while she was in New York. Then he spotted a taxi driving by with a Metropolitan Museum of Art sign set on its yellow top.
She might like to go there, too. Bastien hadn't been to the Met since its grand opening in Central Park back in… 1880, he thought it was. Had it been that long? He frowned over the date, but was pretty sure he was right. He'd always intended to go back, but had never really been able to find the time.
Dear God, it had been over 120-some years since he'd managed a couple of hours out to visit a museum? Well, it was about damned time he did, Bastien decided. He'd take Terri there. That's what he'd do. She'd enjoy it. But he wouldn't want to take her there on the weekend. The museum would be terribly crowded then. Perhaps Monday was a better day for a trip like that. He considered as the light changed, and he eased his foot from the brake to the gas pedal. Yes, he'd take her around the flea markets and street fairs this weekend, then take her to the museum on Monday. After that? Well, there were tons of places to take her and things to see in New York. Plays for instance. He hadn't seen one of those in—
Bastien's mind shied away from the calculation. He was pretty sure it had been longer than since he'd been to a museum. The idea of going just hadn't seemed all that interesting before now; but with Terri to entertain, and imagining it through her eyes, it did.
The thought reminded him of Lucern's words earlier that day.
"Everything seems more vibrant and interesting now. I find myself seeing things anew, seeing them as Kate must see them, rather than with the jaundiced eye I've cast over everything for ages. It makes a nice change."
Bastien slammed his foot down on the brakes and sat frozen in the driver's seat, ignoring the sudden rush of honking behind him. He was causing a traffic jam, but he just didn't care. His mind was racing. Everything seemed more interesting when he considered showing it to Terri. He had an unusual concern for her well-being, and was distracted with the idea of keeping her and Vincent apart that—in truth—had nothing to do with what Kate might think or say. He doubted she'd be pleased if the editor got bit either, but that didn't really bother him. No. He wanted to keep Terri away from Vincent because the very idea of his cousin wooing her under his nose made him sick, because…
he was interested in her himself.
A banging on the window drew his distracted gaze. A driver had gotten out of his vehicle and was now yelling and pounding on Bastien's door. He couldn't hear what the man was shouting—the honking from behind was too loud—but Bastien gathered the fellow wasn't happy with the holdup. He watched the man's mouth move for several minutes, then put the suggestion in his head to shut up and get back into his car. The moment the fellow did, Bastien eased his foot down on the gas pedal and set his Mercedes moving again.
The incident set his mind going in another direction. He had put the suggestion in the angry driver's mind without any effort. Could he control and read Terri's mind? If he could, she wasn't for him. It he couldn't… He'd have to wait till he got back to the penthouse to see.
Eager to get home, Bastien put on some speed, cursing the fact that Chris Keyes lived in Morning-side Heights in the Upper West Side, far from his own expensive area of town.
When he got there, Bastien found he didn't need the keys C.K. had given him. The door to the apartment was wide open. An old lady stood inside, hands on hips as she nattered at a pair of workers carting out chunks of plaster and wood—clearing away the rubble from the fallen ceiling, was Bastien's guess. He entered and approached the woman, presuming she was the landlady. Wasting a good deal of time, he tried to explain to her that he was there on Chris's behalf; then he got tired of reassuring her and slipped into her mind to suggest she not notice his presence at all. Bastien then had to do so with the two workmen as well before being free to move into the bedroom.
He should have done so in the first place, Bastien thought with irritation as he slipped out of the apartment several minutes later. He had a haphazard collection of clothes stuffed into a gym bag he'd found on the bedroom floor. Tossing the bag on the passenger seat of his car, he started the engine, then paused. The next stop on his list was to collect subs, but he had no idea where those would be sold. Bastien almost got out of the car to ask the nearest passerby where he could find a shop that sold subs, then changed his mind. He'd wait till he was closer to home to ask directions. If the subs were usually heated, which he suspected a meatball sub would be—and for all he knew Terri's assorted sub might be too—he didn't want them to be cold by the time he returned. They sounded disgusting enough without being presented cold.
Unfortunately, it appeared that sub shops were scarce in the elite section of the city that housed Argeneau Enterprises; and the directions Bastien eventually got made him backtrack quite a fair distance to find what he was looking for. It also appeared that such shops were quite popular, because the line inside was atrocious. Bastien was tempted to leap into people's minds to cut to the front of the line, but forced himself to be patient and wait like everyone else. This wasn't an emergency. He had no excuse for such manipulation.
Half an hour later, and well over two hours after he had set out, Bastien rode up the elevator to the penthouse suite, carrying the gym bag with the editor's clothes, and a paper bag holding three subs, plain chips, two bags of barbecue chips, two Dr Peppers, and a Canada Dry ginger ale. He'd double ordered Terri's selections, to give himself something to pick at so she wouldn't wonder why he wasn't eating.
"The conquering hero returns," Vincent said as Bastien strode into the living room.
Bastien ignored him and focused his attention on his two charges instead, then gaped. "They're asleep!"
"Well, what did you expect?" his cousin asked in amusement. "You took forever. I've been back for an hour—and I was on foot and actually had to hunt down my meal, not pick it up from the corner sub shop."
Bastien turned a suspicious glance his way. "You
did
feed outside? You didn't—?"
"No, I didn't bite your houseguests," Vincent assured him, then gestured to the editor who was sound asleep in a sitting position, his head bobbing on his chest. "That one's sleeping thanks to his painkillers, I think. And Terri's had a terribly long day. And it
is
late."
Bastien's gaze narrowed at the way Vincent's expression and voice softened. "It's only"—he lifted his watch to check—"nine."
"Nine here, two in the morning in England," Vinny pointed out.
"Oh yes." Bastien glanced from the sleeping woman to the bag of food in his hand. Despite how disgusting it sounded, the subs actually smelled good. "Do you think I should wake her up to eat?"
"No." His cousin shook his head. "She's been up since four a.m. England time."
"Four a.m.?" Bastien asked in dismay. He set the bags down on the coffee table.
"Her flight left at ten. She had to check in three hours before that, and Huddersfield is more than an hour's drive from Manchester Airport. Between all of that and the seven-hour flight turning into a nine-hour one thanks to the delay in Detroit—not to mention the long drive into town—she's had a terribly long, wearying day. Best to let her sleep."
"Hmmm." Bastien nodded in agreement, then scowled at Vincent. The man had obviously been talking to Terri before she'd drifted off. That annoyed him. "How long ago did she fall asleep?"
"About half an hour."
He nodded. If Vincent had taken an hour finding his dinner, that meant he'd got to talk to Terri for around half an hour. Bastien couldn't decide if he was annoyed that the man had got to talk to her for that time, or pleased that his conversation hadn't been invigorating enough to keep her awake. Deciding that it didn't matter, he moved around the coffee table and carefully scooped the woman up in his arms.
"Going to tuck her in?" Vincent teased.
"She'll get a crick in her neck sleeping out here," Bastien answered in a murmur. He carried her out of the room and down the hall. He managed to get the guest room door open, carry her inside, and set her on the bed without waking her up. Then he went to the master bedroom and tugged the comforter off the bed there to cover her with, rather than possibly wake her by trying to pull the duvet on her own bed out from under her. Once she was tucked in, he straightened and stared for a moment.
When awake, Terri Simpson seemed a curious bundle of contradictions: funny, kind, unconsciously sexy, yet with a wickedly mischievous sense of humor. Asleep she was pure innocence, her face soft and sweet. She appeared to be a lovely human being, both inside and out. It was rare for him to think so highly of a mortal, or anyone for that matter. Most people he met seemed greedy and grasping. He had learned over time that everyone has an agenda; the trick was discovering what it was.
But Bastien didn't see that in this woman. She had flown thousands of miles and given up her vacation to help Kate with the upcoming wedding. He hadn't known her long, but from what he had seen, Terri was happiest giving and she didn't expect or feel comfortable taking anything from others. Most people would have delighted in having these luxurious accommodations rather than Kate's lumpy old couch, yet this woman had been uncomfortable at the idea of staying here. And she hadn't been happy that Bastien wouldn't let her contribute to the pittance for the dinner she now wasn't going to eat. He would learn more in the days to come, but at the moment, it appeared that Bastien had finally met a woman he could like and respect—and not feel that she was out to get something from him.