Desire Me (13 page)

He leaned back in his seat and steepled his hands over
his bare abdomen. In this position, his shoulders looked impossibly
wide, his hands strong and firm resting against his tight stomach. As much as she wanted to deny it, she couldn’t help wondering
what his skin would feel like if she ran her fingers down his torso, not in a medical capacity, as she’d touched him before,
but a lover’s touch.

“You are a descendant?” he said. “From Atlantis?” There was nothing in either his tone or his expression that indicated how
believable he found her story. Or if he’d decided she was utterly mad.

She nodded. “Yes. My aunts and I.” She paused. “Well, we are not the only ones, obviously. In fact, the people who escaped
Atlantis and fled here before Atlantis’s Great War, well, they landed in several different ports along Britain’s coastline.
They then mingled with the culture here at the time and, while some of us still live together in small pockets, others have
been living with the English for so long they are no longer even aware of their heritage.”

She held her breath, waiting for him to laugh or toss her out. It was an admission she’d never made to anyone. Granted, she’d
grown up among so many like her and her aunts, she hadn’t had much opportunity. Still, it was not something they discussed
in the open. Their heritage, while not a secret, was fairly well guarded.

His left eyebrow slowly rose. Max watched her face for several moments, saying nothing. Then he opened his mouth to finally
speak, but he paused as if considering something before he began. “I believe I’ll reserve my question until after you’ve examined
my map.” When she made no move to look, he swept his arms open. “Please, look as long as you’d like.”

Excitement battered her insides as she made haste to
the map. She stood as close as she could without pressing her nose to
it. The prophecy was here somewhere. She only had to locate it. There were no words along the border of the map, nor in any
of the corners. Perhaps it was on the backside, but she couldn’t very well take the thing off the wall and out of the frame.
At least not yet.

She didn’t know how long she stood there searching every inch. It was hard to focus on her search because she was so distracted
by the details within the map: Poseidon’s palace, military barracks, farms and cottages, and the three guardian temples. She
forced herself to count each ring, her eyes moving along the circles searching for any words. But she found none. Then a symbol
in one of the trees caught her attention. She looked closer.

“The seven rings of Atlantis will fall by fire and steel, opening the path for the army of one.”
Max’s voice came from behind her, but she stood utterly still, afraid if she moved, he’d stop.
“Empires will crumble and crowns will melt. The three will lose their blood unless the dove can bring salvation.
”

The words flowed over her like an ancient incantation, as if her very soul recognized them. She braced her arms on the cabinet
below only to realize it was a large glass case enclosing a long spear. It was blackened and charred. She was just turning
around to face Max when his arms splayed on either side of her, anchoring her in front of the map.

“Find what you were looking for?” he purred.

She looked up and met his gaze. His blue eyes were so clear, so beautiful, she nearly winced. Those were the kind of eyes
that could pierce a soul, find hidden secrets and unveil them with little effort. For her, that meant nothing but danger.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said stiffly. “I was merely admiring the map. It’s really quite stunning. So
unique.”

He leaned closer to her, his eyes scanning her face. “Yes, beautiful,” he said softly.

She ducked beneath his arms and moved away from him.

“You know about the prophecy. That’s why you wanted the map,” he said more to himself than her.

He’d said the word “prophecy,” and her heart nearly stopped. Damn him, but he was making it nearly impossible for her to keep
any secrets. She barely needed to say anything, and it was as if he could see inside her and pick out her very thoughts. Still
she kept her mouth closed.

“You were quite serious before? About your family being descendants of Atlantis?”

“Yes, I was very serious.”

“Then certainly you would already know of the prophecy.” He leaned forward and pointed to the clump of trees she had discovered.
“It’s all there. Wound up in the map in various places.” He identified another area in one of the water rings. Another below
the palace.

She moved closer to the map, following his finger as it pointed out the inscriptions. Written in Greek, the words moved in
and out of the images effortlessly. It was a wonder he had ever discovered them.

“It took me a very long time to find them all.” He fell into his desk chair. “Why the interest in the prophecy? That’s my
second question.”

She was silent for a moment, then sighed. “Of course we know about the prophecy. But this map is the only remaining place
you can see the prophecy in its entirety.” That was the complete truth, and it annoyed her how the
knot in her stomach seemed
to dissolve at her honesty. “It was also in an ancient text at one time, but the pages were stolen hundreds of years ago.”

“And this is why you were after my map? To see the prophecy?”

She took a cleansing breath, closed her eyes, and nodded. “Yes.”

“What do you know of the recent activities here in London?” he asked.

Activities? Could he possibly know about Madigan? Panic seized her heart. “Nothing,” she said. She stepped around the desk.

“I think someone is trying to fulfill the prophecy,” Max said.

She turned abruptly to face him, but she said nothing for fear of revealing too much. Instead she sank into a chair.

“There have been murders,” he began.

“Madigan,” she whispered. But then his words sank in. “You said murders. As in plural?”

“Five of our military leaders. With a promise for more. I’m guessing at least two, if we’re going by the number in the prophecy,”
he said.

Military leaders, but that didn’t include Madigan. She gathered a fistful of fabric from her skirt. “A promise?”

“He left a note. With the bodies.” He shook his head. “Damn. I’m not supposed to even know this, but I was consulted by a
friend from Scotland Yard because of my interest in Atlantis.” He picked up a stray coin from his desk and rolled it between
two fingers. “Does the term ‘guardian’ mean anything to you?” he asked.

Sabine knew her expression changed, and though she
quickly looked down, it seemed unlikely he wouldn’t have noticed.

“It does.” He leaned forward. “What does it mean, Sabine?”

“I can’t,” she said and shook her head for emphasis.

“Whoever this guardian is, he’s in danger. Tell me what you know, and I can protect him.”

“What do you mean, he’s in danger?” she asked.

“The note left with the bodies was addressed to the guardian. It warned that the killer is getting close and that what he
protects will soon be his.”

Agnes and Phinneas were in danger. But she had known that. Now that she knew the prophecy, she needed the Seer’s guidance
to help decipher it. She needed Phinneas. She had to leave as soon as possible.

“Sabine, I can help. Trust me.”

“The guardians guard the elixir,” she said before she could reconsider. She eyed his face to see if she’d said too much.

“Elixir? What is that?” he asked. He flipped the coin in the air and caught it.

“No.” She shook her head fervently. “I’ve said far too much already,” she said. “You’ve asked your two questions.”

“Can you tell me how many guardians there are?” he asked. “Scotland Yard is working on the case, and I’d like to be able to
have the police protect them.”

She met his eyes. “There were three. Though only two remain.”

All his questions brought her doubts pouring down on top of her. Seeking the help of an outsider. She was violating one of
the sacred rules of her people. A guardian would never have done this—further proof the selection
of Agnes had been correct,
and she did not deserve to be guardian. It was a significant risk to trust him, but he knew about the map and the prophecy,
information she would need in order to protect Agnes.

She had to do what she felt was right, and at the moment, she needed this man’s assistance. So for now, she had to trust herself,
and to an extent, trust Maxwell Barrett.

L
ong after Sabine had left his study, Max stood staring at the map. He’d always assumed the inscription buried within the map
had been a prophecy foretelling the destruction of Atlantis. But first Justin and now Sabine. It seemed rather impossible
that this could be a coincidence. The murders, the letter to the guardian, and what of Sabine and her aunts’ being descendants
of Atlantis?

Perhaps the girl was mad. Caught up in a fantasy world she’d created after reading about Atlantis. But what if? That niggling
feeling dug at him. What if she wasn’t delusional? What if she was telling the truth, and not simply what she believed to
be true, but the actual reality? If Sabine and her aunts were descendants of Atlantis, then that was his proof. Real flesh-and-bone
people whose lineage flowed back to a land that no longer existed. Of course, there was no scientific measure to show their
lineage.

“The guardians guard the elixir,” she’d said. Elixir. It didn’t jar any memories. So much about this prophecy
didn’t exist
in any of his sources. Then again, in the past he’d focused on proving the existence of Atlantis. He’d paid less attention
to Atlantean culture. He pulled a few books from the shelf and dropped them on his desk, including the newest from that odd
American who claimed Atlantis was the birthplace of civilization. Max didn’t consider the man a true scholar on the subject,
but he needed information, and right now he’d take it from nearly anyone.

He opened another book, an ancient text written in Greek, and caught a glimpse of an illustration, a four-tiered fountain
in the center of Poseidon’s palace. Some legends claimed that it was the fountain of youth, a wellspring of immortal life.
He’d never given much thought to that theory one way or another. Was this the elixir the guardians protected?

Again he stood and read the prophecy, even though those words were imprinted on his brain. He looked down and caught sight
of the stitches on his all-but-healed gunshot wound. The pain had completely disappeared. She’d said it was an old family
recipe. He just bet.

That ointment she’d used on him was nothing short of amazing. He glanced down at the illustration of the fountain. Fountain
of youth… elixir.

“Son of a bitch.” This probably meant that one of her aunts was a guardian. Which would certainly explain the thugs at their
shop the other night.

He ran his hand over his stitches, marveling at his healing. That elixir could be the proof Marcus required for use of his
submersible ship. Somehow Max needed to get his hands on it. Starting tomorrow, he would find a way to
borrow
some from her.

She certainly had said all the right words to pique his curiosity. From the wager to everything she’d told him
tonight, he
was utterly intrigued. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was quite likely the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

If someone were to design the perfect woman to distract him, wouldn’t she be just like Sabine, though? Beautiful, aloof, full
of mysteries and contradictions. And involved with Atlantis. She was almost too perfect.

In one swift movement, he reached over the glass case to the map and heaved the frame off the wall. It slipped from his hands
as he was pulling it away and slid down. The corner of the frame struck the glass case, and it shattered. Glass fragments
poured over his feet, and the noise echoed through the room.

His butler came running into the study. “My lord, are you all right?”

“Fine, I just broke the bloody case. Have another one commissioned next week to replace this one. We can’t have this rusty
old spear exposed where someone might hurt themselves.” He grabbed the frame again and moved it over to his desk.

He looked up to find his butler still standing in the doorway, a frown furrowing his already wrinkled brow. The old man cleared
his throat. “Yes, most certainly, my lord. Anything else?”

“No, that will be all.”

He wasn’t normally so clumsy. He was tired. Thoughts of the little minx had certainly troubled his sleep the previous night.
However, he was a grown man and could certainly manage his desires. He was less prepared for having his intellectual pursuits
stymied. When he encountered a puzzle, he solved it. When he needed answers, he got them.

Furthermore, people generally followed his orders.
Sabine did not. She did whatever she damn well wanted, regardless of the
consequences.

In this instance, she’d insisted on returning to her shop, despite the obvious dangers. There was a killer on the loose, and
unless Max was mistaken, the next target was one of Sabine’s aunts. Therefore, the four women should obviously accept his
protection until the danger had passed. It was only logical.