Chapter Six
Two days later, Chloe walked up the front steps to Smith’s mansion in late afternoon. Alan Caldwell had called and asked that she meet him there to get a perspective on making a medieval weapons collection interesting to a wider market.
She had mixed feelings about seeing Gavin again after her ungainly fall practically at his feet. He had not mentioned her klutziness on the ride home, but he was probably thinking about the graceful, feline beauty that Morgan exuded. Chloe had no delusions about herself. She had never been a sex goddess—she was more a free spirit, not expecting more than what the moment offered. Still, most men seemed to like that.
What was it with Gavin?
Benton ushered her into the informal living area where the weapon collection hung. Alan rose to greet her, but there was no sign of Gavin, although she knew he was staying here. Perhaps it was better that way.
“I’m so glad you could come,” Alan said as he shook her hand and held it a bit longer than needed. “I can write, but I know practically nothing about the marketing end. Besides,” he added with an engaging smile, “I like working with beautiful women.”
It was only a flirtation, the kind any guy would use in a bar near closing time, but Chloe’s pride still stung a bit from Gavin’s apparent disinterest and she found herself smiling back at Alan. She knew the routine. Besides, he was a good-looking guy. What harm could come from a little playful bantering?
“Do you say that to all the ladies in your life?”
“I don’t have a lady in my life currently.” His gaze traveled to her mouth and then back to her eyes. “Perhaps you’d allow me to take you to lunch soon?”
Well, he was a fast mover, she’d give him that, but what harm would it do? A casual date might actually be nice. “That might be arranged—”
“Ah! There you are, Chloe!” Mr. Smith came bustling in with Gavin. “I do hope you’ll stay for dinner. I’ve already invited Alan.”
Behind him, Gavin was frowning. Did he not want her to stay? Geez. It wasn’t like she’d actually tried seducing him or anything! But Lord, he looked sexy. He was dressed all in black tonight—jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket—she could almost see him standing on an English moor, like a brooding Heathcliff, the wind blowing his hair wildly while he contemplated…what? The woman he’d just left in bed? The woman he wanted but couldn’t have? The woman who broke his heart— Chloe shook her head and refocused. Just because she was a romance reader, did her imagination have to run amok every time she saw Gavin? And where had she gotten the stupid idea that some woman had ever broken his heart? All she had seen was Stoicism from him. But then again— She grimaced. She really needed to get a grip.
“I’d love to stay, Mr. Smith. And I’d really like to have a better look at your collection. I suspect some of these weapons are very valuable.”
“I’ve done the research,” Alan said. “I’d be glad to take the time to go over it with you.”
“That would be good. I could be more helpful that way,” Chloe answered and turned to Gavin who was studying Alan as though he were some rare specimen. “Have you gotten any more information from the police about Jake?”
Gavin turned his attention to her. “I have not,” he said in a neutral tone. “Unless an eye witness appears with some answers, the case will remain open.”
“A man was ripped to shreds! There may be a dragon loose, for Pete’s sake! The police aren’t going to do anything?”
“Cops don’t like to mess with the paranormal,” Alan interjected. “Makes them look less macho if they admit there’s something they can’t control out there.”
Gavin fixed that dark, penetrating look on him again. “There have not been any leads. Unless something suddenly turns up, what would you have them do?”
Caldwell shrugged. “All I’m saying is when the dragon sightings first started happening, the media had a field day and the cops pretty much ignored it—”
“That’s not exactly true,” Mr. Smith said. “The detectives practically hounded poor Sophie, all but accusing her of staging a publicity stunt. Thank goodness she hired that girl, Morgan, to handle the media blitz or the clinic wouldn’t have been able to function at all.”
Gavin’s gaze sharpened. “Where did Sophie find Morgan? Did she have good recommendations?”
Chloe kept her face impassive, trying not to look at Gavin. Was he hedging for personal information about Morgan? Like maybe was she married? Probably. Morgan had certainly been interested in him. She’d made that obvious. Chloe sighed. Life was so not fair sometimes.
“I think Michael knew Morgan from some kind of social group,” Mr. Smith said. “I assume that’s how she came to be hired.”
Gavin’s expression intensified. ‘What kind of group?”
“Oh, something New-Age,” Mr. Smith waved his hand dismissively. “Sara belonged to the group too. I think they called themselves the Circle of Sisterhood.”
Chloe stared at him. “That’s a Wiccan group.”
“Witches?” Alan asked with interest. “Why would McCain be involved with a bunch of witches?”
Mr. Smith winced. “I hardly think Sara or Morgan are witches.”
She didn’t know about Sara, but Chloe wasn’t too sure about Morgan. She certainly had ‘bewitched’ Gavin, it seemed. Still, Chloe’s hippie mother had instilled the principle of not hurling out negative emotions. They came back to haunt you. “Maybe Michael was some kind of warlock or something,” she said with a laugh.
Gavin’s eyes riveted on her and for a moment, she felt as though she were pinned against a door, but there was only space behind her, then the pressure lessened.
“Do you believe in witches and warlocks, Miss Whitley?” he asked.
“Do I—? No. I was joking. I mean—I suppose that there are weird people out there who think they’re witches. The AP gets crazy news stories in sometimes about people who think they’re werewolves or vampires or faeries that can fly.”
One of Gavin’s dark brows rose. “Really? And are there logical explanations?”
“Who knows? They usually pop up in crime cases with insanity defenses,” Chloe answered.
“Well, Sara and Sophie and Michael were all quite sane,” Mr. Smith said, “and there just may be a dragon out there.”
“Maybe he’s looking for one of those relics everyone’s been searching for,” Chloe replied with a big grin. “After all, aren’t dragons supposed to like shiny bling?”
Three pairs of eyes fastened on her. Mr. Smith frowned, Alan looked speculative, and Gavin was nearly glowering.
Clearly, he was not pleased. Chloe got the distinctly uneasy feeling that she had just made a huge faux-pax, but she had no idea why. Would she ever understand him?
Geez.
* * * *
Miss Whitney returned two evenings later at the request of Mr. Smith. Gavin sat across from her at the massive black-walnut dining room table with its intricately-carved legs and tried not to notice that the neckline of her scoop-necked shirt exposed softly-rounded cleavage just above the level of the table. Tonight her nails were painted neon-pink which, oddly enough, picked up the pink streaks in her orange hair. The color was a little easier to accept since she’d told him it was to support breast cancer awareness in the month of October. Still he wondered what color her hair really was and then his groin tightened as his mind told him where he might find out.
Chloe—Miss Whitney—had the strangest effect on him. First was the fact that she seemed immune to any mesmerization effort on his part. She simply stared back at him and remembered her train of thought. Secondly was her scent—not just the slightly spicy cologne she wore—vampire senses were extremely sensitive and more than once, his fangs had itched to elongate at her unique female smell—but it was her touch that nearly unraveled the strict self-control he’d learned as a Templar. When she placed her hand on his arm, liquid fire swept through his veins, making him remember what it felt like to be human—and how besotted he’d been with Queen Gwenhwyfar whenever she favored him with a smile, but then, at least half of Arthur’s knights were in love with her.
Gavin sighed, not wanting to remember the outcome of that. Being human was not something he would ever be again, which was why he kept his distance from Chloe—when he could. Mr. Smith seemed quite fond of her and Gavin also suspected his host liked to meddle in match-making affairs, since he’d boasted at having gotten his vet together with the warlock.
Well, this was one match that would not be working out. It was nearly impossible for a vampire not to nip his lover in the throes of passion, but it was also necessary to mesmerize her to heal the wound so she wouldn’t remember anything but the best climax she’d ever had. Not that he’d mind giving Chloe—Miss Whitney—the most mind-boggling, earth-shaking, mountain-moving experience she’d ever had, but Bel’s Fires! She’d remember his fangs and the moment of ecstasy that came with the blood-letting!!! Gavin took a bite of his steak Tartar and forced himself not to think about her blood.
“I don’t see how you can eat that bloody thing,” Chloe said. “Is it cooked at all?”
Beside her, Alan laughed. “The Brits aren’t known for their culinary skills.”
Gavin swallowed. “Since we are not in Britain and I did not cook this steak, I assume you meant to insult our host’s chef?”
Standing by the sideboard, Benton almost twittered, but his neutral mask quickly covered returned. Gavin smiled inwardly. He had a feeling Benton did care for Caldwell anymore than he did.
A faint blush washed over Caldwell and he turned quickly to Smith. “My apologies.”
Chloe frowned and then turned pink too. “Ohmygod! I didn’t meant to insult the chef either. I— That is— Um…I love the way my steak is cooked. To perfection.”
“It’s quite all right, my dear,” Smith said. “Henri is used to unique requests. I seem to remember that Lucas Ramsey liked his meat nearly the same way.”
Gavin took a careful sip of wine. If only they knew how often he and Lancelot had hunted and eaten their kill raw. Seven hundred years of civility had refined their tastes, but not totally eliminated them.
A sudden loud sound like rolling thunder rattled the windows followed by shrieking wind and a blinding flash of light. Chloe jumped in her chair. “A tornado!”
Gavin was already up, willing himself not to use supernatural speed to get to the door. “Afraid not,” he said.
“Well, what then?” Chloe asked, hard on his heels, Caldwell behind her.
He didn’t want to tell them, but there really wasn’t any way to delay the inevitable. Slowly, he opened the door. “I think another present has been delivered.”
Chloe gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “Ohmygod!”
Part of Mr. Smith’s brick fence was broken and a nearby tree lay uprooted, but in the midst of the lawn lay the battered, bruised, and bloody shell of a woman.