Cursed Kiss (Paranormal Romance) (2 page)

She tapped her fingernails on the desk to get his attention. "The fax says the stock of Factor T is contaminated. How did that happen?"

"We don't know yet."

"I thought you said you'd investigated."

He stared at her blankly again, and she shook her head. She just could not get a handle on this guy. One minute he was trying to blind her with complex statistics, the next he behaved like an idiot.

"Okay, did you find out what the contaminant is? Can we purify the Factor T again?"

"No, and no," he said in a precise, clipped tone.

Clare's stomach clenched with a hint of concern. Factor T was the secret ingredient in Moray's anti-aging cream—the company's huge money-maker. If they had to halt production, they were in big trouble. Unfortunately, her grandmother had been so paranoid about secrecy, she had taken the identity of Factor T with her to the grave.

"Has R&D any idea what the active ingredient in Factor T is yet?"

"The Factor T is diluted to homeopathic strength. The original substance used to make the mother tincture has all but disappeared." Edward stroked his odd, even-length fingers over the cover of a leather-bound book before placing it carefully on the desk between them.

"What's this?" Clare reached for it, but Edward kept a protective hand on the cover, pinning her with an unblinking gaze that sent whispers of unease through her. "Treat this with respect. It is…it was your grandmother's dearest possession."

He opened the book to a page marked with a black ribbon and pushed it towards her.

Taking Edward's cue, she handled it carefully. The book must be valuable if it had been precious to her grandmother. Monique had only been interested in wealth and status. She didn't have a sentimental bone in her body.

Careful of the brittle, yellowing pages, Clare scanned the faded script on the page. With a jolt of excitement, she realized it was a recipe for anti-aging face cream. She ran her finger down the list of ingredients and mentally ticked them off until she came to the final entry: "Taldom's blood." This had to be what they called Factor T. But what was it? She wracked her brain for ideas.

"Is Taldom's blood an herb of some sort?"

He shrugged. "Could be."

She finished reading the notes on preparation and blending of ingredients. At the bottom of the page was a footnote in fresh ink giving an address in Paris, France, where more Taldom's blood could be obtained. Clare's heart did a little hop of relief, which she quickly tamped down.

"Have you tried this address?"

"No. I thought I'd leave that to you."

Clare ran her fingertips across the old yellowing page. "This recipe was written years ago, but the Paris address looks more recent. I wonder if it's still current."

Edward stood and stretched. "You won't know unless you try it."

For once, he was right. She needed to get someone on this immediately. Moray's profits and reputation would suffer if they had an interruption in the production of Faceglo. "Do you know how much usable Factor T we have left?"

Edward had wandered to the door. He stopped, hand resting on the golden dragon door handle. "The production manager at Sloterdijk estimates three to four weeks before production has to stop."

Clare cursed under her breath. She couldn't let it run out. Not when the future of the company and so many people's jobs were on the line.

Her office door banged shut behind Edward, and Clare narrowed her eyes. There was more going on here. Edward had his own agenda. She planned to find out what he was playing at, but first she had to solve the Factor T issue.

***

Clare left Heathrow airport and drove her rental car onto the M25 motorway around London. After an hour heading south, she passed a sign marking the county border of Hampshire. She pulled into a rest stop and checked the map on her phone.

She'd been surprised when her assistant discovered that the Paris address in her grandmother's book was the head office of wealthy entrepreneur Luka Vlad. She'd been even more surprised when the man agreed to her request for a meeting. He was reputedly a virtual recluse. She'd found little personal information about him on the Internet, although there were many articles on his businesses, including much speculation on why he was disposing of all his assets.

She scrolled to a financial website and examined a photo of him stepping into a London black cab. It was raining and he wore a long coat, the collar turned up, his dark hair damp and a little wild. He looked as though he had glanced at the camera in annoyance, eyes narrowed, lips slightly parted. Successful, secretive, and hot! She didn't have time for relationships, but this man fascinated her.

With a sigh, she dropped her phone on the passenger seat. Fascinating or not, she was skeptical as to whether the gorgeous Mr. Vlad would be much help in her quest for more Taldom's blood. Could the secret ingredient be some kind of illegal substance? Was that why her grandmother had kept it quiet? Apprehension raised goose bumps on her arms.

Fifteen minutes later, Clare stopped at the imposing black metal gates that barred the entrance to Beddington House, the place they'd arranged to meet. Doubt prickled up her spine as she stared at the expanse of parkland through the bars. She often met businessmen alone and never gave it a second thought, but this place was isolated. Maybe Vlad only met people in out-of-the-way places. He was a recluse, after all.

The gates had started opening. They hit the metal supports at their widest point, vibrated for a few seconds, then with a low drone, started to close again. The future of her company might hang on what she discovered today. She really had no choice. Fisting her hand on the gear stick, she hit the gas.

Beddington House loomed ahead, a dark, imposing bulk of red brick against the brilliant blue summer sky. Scowling gargoyles stared down at her from the parapet. She swung her car around the circular drive and stopped outside the front door.

As she gathered her bag and phone, a dark-haired man hurried down the front steps and opened the car door for her. "Ms. Moray," he said, extending his hand. "Welcome."

Clare wiped her palms on her pants, stepped out of the car, and shook. "Nice to meet you, Mr.…"

"Pablo Lopez Marcos," he said and gave her a charming smile. His hair was nearly black, his eyes brown, and his skin olive. Spanish, she guessed from the name, although his English was perfect. Expensively dressed, he wore a navy jacket and white slacks. He was tall and nicely built, the jacket taut across broad shoulders.

"You replied to my e-mail, I believe," she said.

"I did. I'm Mr. Vlad's personal assistant."

Clare turned to retrieve her briefcase from the car. Pablo placed his hand on her arm. "Allow me."

Clare admired his shapely butt as he leaned into the car and decided she liked Pablo. His old-fashioned courtesy put her at ease.

He led her through a huge entrance hall, dominated by a chandelier that dangled tiny crystal daggers above her head. They mounted a wide curved staircase, past portraits of stiff men in military uniform. The place smelled like a museum, a mix of beeswax polish, dust, and old oil paintings.

When they reached the second floor, Pablo knocked lightly on a door. "Luka's waiting for you, Ms. Moray. He prefers not to shake hands."

For the first time since she'd entered the house, nerves tightened her stomach. The fate of Moray Skincare rested in her hands. This meeting might be crucial. She composed herself as Pablo opened the door and then she walked through.

Luka Vlad sat on a leather wing chair beneath the open window. The afternoon breeze gently stirred the dark bangs on his forehead. He sipped a glass of red wine cradled in his palm, and perused her with dark, hooded eyes.

Clare's feet stopped moving and she completely lost her train of thought.

The man before her looked like a businessman in his dark pin-striped suit with a crisp white shirt and navy tie. Despite this, he was a picture of decadent sensuality, his dark hair a little too long, the faint trace of shadows beneath his eyes that hinted of excess. A knot of something part apprehension, part desire tightened low in her belly.

He set aside the newspaper on his lap, stood, and inclined his head. "Miss Moray, it's a pleasure to meet you."

In an effort to recover her composure, she strode forward, hand out. When he didn't respond, she remembered Pablo's warning that Luka didn't shake hands. She halted abruptly, feeling disoriented. "Mr. Vlad, thank you for seeing me."

He indicated a chair. "Please sit down, Miss Moray." Once she was settled, he took his seat again. "Would you like a glass of wine?" He raised his glass to the light, fingertips caressing the engraved crystal. "A fine
cuvée
from my own vineyards. A nose of spice and peppers, ample and round on the palate, with a black currant and licorice finish." He turned to his assistant. "A glass for the lady, Pablo, please."

"Oh, no. I can't. I'm driving." Much as she would like some Dutch courage, she needed her wits about her. To be as successful as he was, Luka Vlad must be intelligent, astute, and almost certainly ruthless. It would be a huge mistake to underestimate him.

"Red wine is good for you," he said, dismissing her objection with a flick of his fingers.

Pablo presented her with a glass, giving her no option but to take it.

"And for me, my friend."

Pablo flourished the bottle and poured deep red liquid into Luka's glass.

Clare gathered her thoughts and tried to focus. "As I mentioned in my e-mail, my grandmother died recently, and I took over as president of the Moray Corporation."

"I remember reading about the fire. Such a tragedy to lose a relative unexpectedly like that. Please accept my condolences." Luka glanced into his glass and swirled the wine thoughtfully. "Monique Moray had quite a fearsome reputation. Did you find her difficult?"

That was an odd question, and not one she expected from a stranger. Could it be that Luka had known her grandmother? "You met her, then?"

At her question, the two men exchanged glances and tension charged the air. "A long time ago, yes," Luka said.

If he'd met Monique, that suggested he might know about Taldom's blood. That was promising.

"I found your Paris address in a book of my grandmother's, along with a recipe for one of our preparations. I hoped you might help me find a rare ingredient we use, something called Taldom's blood."

The silence seemed to thicken as for long moments, Luka pinned her with his dark gaze. Eventually, he uttered a single word: "Yes."

"You have some Taldom's blood you can sell me?"

"I know how you can get some."

"Great. What is it exactly? I was thinking an herb, but that's just a guess." In her excitement, Clare gulped a mouthful of wine, forgetting that she didn't want to drink.

"To acquire Taldom's blood, you'll need to come to France with me."

"That won't be necessary. We have enough for a couple more weeks. I need it shipped to our production facility in Holland, if that's okay."

"You misunderstand me, Miss Moray." He put down his glass, rose from his seat, and walked closer to her.

Clare raised her eyebrows in question. He grazed his hand through the air, nearly touching her arm, but not quite. The movement disturbed the tiny hairs on her skin, tickling.

His dark irises reflected the light like mirrors, giving nothing away. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Luka Vlad had the shutters down.

"Perhaps you'd better explain," Clare said.

"In return for what you seek, I require you to do something for me in France."

A little burst of warning shot through Clare. She didn't like the sound of this at all. "What do you want me to do?"

His dark gaze scanned her face for a second longer, then he turned and walked across to stare out of the window. "I'll explain when we arrive at my château."

Warily, she tensed against the chair. This man was playing games with her. Unfortunately he held all the cards right now. "I'm sorry, I don't have time."

He turned, his expression unreadable. "Then I can't supply what you need."

Clare rubbed her palms on the arms of her chair, her thoughts churning. She knew when guys were coming on to her and she was not getting that vibe from Vlad, although she could be wrong. She really had no option but to play along. "If I agree to come with you, how long before I get back to New York?"