Dragon's Lair (4 page)

“Made up your mind yet? Staying or leaving?”

Far from inviting, the coldness of his tone suggested her best choice would be to leave. She stepped away and faced him. Without the heat of his body against her back, she could almost breathe again.

She looked up at him, then swallowed a gasp. Instead of impersonal, the hard, chiseled planes of his face spoke volumes of his anger. But it was the animalistic glitter in his narrowed eyes that threatened to steal the last remaining thread of bravery she clung to so desperately.

There was no doubt in her mind that safety at Dragon's Lair would come at a high price. How much would she
have to forfeit to the Master of the Lair for protection against the evil seeking her? Would facing the unknown evil be less dangerous than facing the heartbreaking rage of the Dragon standing before her now?

Alexia wasn't at all certain she was up to the challenge of either choice.

Braeden stared down at her. “Why are you here?” Before she could answer, he stepped aside and motioned toward his office. “I'm not going to stand out here in the hallway. Make yourself comfortable, then we'll talk.”

Comfortable? She doubted if she'd ever be comfortable in his presence again. Still, she accepted his suggestion and stepped into his office.

Her feet sank into the thick midnight-blue carpet. She tried to ignore her innate urge to investigate the dragon statue and swords adorning the room. How many of the swords were real and how many were excellent replicas?

Without being too obvious, she slowed her pace as she walked by a dragon statue perched on a pedestal. The column was marble—that much she was certain of. What about the dragon? Glass or gemstone? Sapphire? Blue topaz? Imitation? Real?

Braeden walked behind the dragon on the way to his desk. “Sapphire. Twelfth century. The amethyst one in Cam's office is identical, even down to the scratch on the beast's belly.”

Heat rushed to her face. “That obvious?”

He said nothing. But his quick glance at her sent goose bumps racing down her arms. They instinctively tightened, crushing the package. Feeling like a fool, she relaxed her hold and sank into one of the leather armchairs facing the desk.

While Braeden stared out at the fog, she studied the man she'd once called her husband. He was still everything
she'd fallen for the moment she'd first laid eyes on him. He was tall enough that she had to tip her head up to look him in the eye. But it wasn't his chiseled face or full lips that had first captured her attention.

With his hands in his pockets, his suit jacket hiked up, he gave her a view that made her cheeks flush with warmth. Even now, the sight of his long, muscular legs and tight ass still set her heart fluttering in her chest.

The well-tailored jacket clung smoothly to his back. She knew full well that there wasn't any padding in those shoulders.

Three years wasn't a long time, but where his muscles had filled out to near perfection, hers had become more rounded and soft.

It simply wasn't fair.

Finally Braeden turned and sat down. He leaned back in his seat, giving her the impression of the Lord of the Castle seated on his throne.

“What do you want, Alexia?”

She cringed before making the mistake of looking more closely at his face. A frown marred his forehead. Dark amethyst eyes stared unwavering back at her. If his tone in the hallway hadn't warned her that he wasn't thrilled about seeing her, the coldness of his eyes and the hardness of his square jaw clued her in.

When had he stopped wearing tinted contacts to hide the color of his eyes? He silently waited for her to tell him why she'd come. Uncertain where to begin, she asked the first thing that came to her mind, “You didn't tear down Mirabilus, did you?”

“No. But that's not why you're here.”

“I, um…” She fumbled with the package, hating how spineless she suddenly felt. Despite her vivid imagination
of him as a dragon and what he could do to her, she had no reason to physically fear the man across the desk. Lifting her chin, she forced her shoulders back. “Don't glare at me.”

“What?”

“If you're trying to intimidate me, it's working.”

“We've shared a bed and a life together and suddenly you feel intimidated?” He shook his head. “I would think guilt would be a more suitable emotion.”

“Guilt? For what? For losing our baby?” A knife ripped through her chest. She swallowed down the searing pain. “It wasn't as if I'd planned it. I had help, whether you believe me or not. Or do you mean guilt about leaving your home? I wasn't welcome there any longer.”

He leaned forward and opened his mouth. But before he could speak, she barreled ahead. “Why didn't you come after me? Braeden, you could have contacted me at your will, anytime, anywhere, and you never even called or wrote or—”

“Enough.” He cut her off, then asked, “Are you finished?”

No, she wasn't finished. She wanted to lunge across the desk and throttle him until he gave her the answers she needed.

Braeden laced his fingers together until his knuckles turned white. Apparently he was as angry as she was. Good. It served him right.

“In the first place, did we or did we not agree that I would never use an ability you did not possess?”

Alexia looked down at her hands for a moment. Yes, that was true. He'd vowed not to force his thoughts into her mind and not to use any form of magic to locate her. But there were other methods of communicating. She lifted her gaze. “You could have picked up a phone, or a pen, or sent an e-mail.”

“I wrote to you. I called you. You never responded.”

He briefly closed his eyes. His frown deepened. Alexia waited while he concocted another story to appease her.

“I did call, but Maureen told me I'd done enough damage and to leave you alone. I most certainly did write.”

Alexia groaned. Leave it to her sister to protect her, whether she wanted the protection or not. She paused. While she could see Mo stepping in to field a phone call or two in the beginning, she didn't think her sister would go that far afterward, nor would Mo dispose of letters unread. What did Braeden think to gain by lying?

Before she could ask, he hit her with questions of his own. “What do you want? Why are you here? Are you ready to file for a divorce?”

Alexia cringed, ignoring his last question to push the package across the desk. “This is yours.”

He slid a letter opener across the top of the envelope like he was slicing into someone's body. She was pretty certain that someone would be her.

Braeden slipped the contents out onto his desk and stared at the manuscript pages. “Where did you get these?”

“Do you even know what they are?” She picked up the sealed packet of acid-free gloves that'd been inside the envelope. “Put these on, please.”

To her surprise he did so without question, then he ran a gloved finger over the entwined Celtic dragons on the front page. “It doesn't take a degree to suspect these could be from the grimoire.”

“Could be? No, I'm certain they are from the book.”

“Impossible.” Braeden leafed through the highly ornate pages, disbelief widening his eyes a little more with each flip. “It's still under lock and key.” The corner of one faded page crumbled beneath his touch.

She grimaced at the sight of flaked vellum. “Braeden, be careful.”

He returned the pages to the envelope, put it in his desk, then took off the gloves. Once he'd locked the drawer, he asked, “How did you get them?”

“They were on my desk when I got to work yesterday. I don't know how they got there.”

“How can you be certain they're part of the Dragonierre's Manual?”

“How could I not be certain?” Surely he knew she'd done a paper on the manual. Alexia laced her fingers together and looked down at her lap.

“Touché.”

His clipped reply surprised her. She'd expected a rant about her paper. When she raised her head, she was startled by the fury etching his face. Perhaps she should be afraid.

“Why did you—” Braeden was cut off by the buzz of his phone. He hit the intercom button. “Yes, Harold?”

“Mr. Drake, there's some waxy stuff on the roof of your visitor's car. Want me to wash and polish it?”

“Waxy stuff?”

“Sounds strange, but I'd say candle wax.”

Alexia stared at the intercom. “Candle wax?” Then she looked at Braeden, mouthing, “Harold?”

“The chauffer, mechanic and sometimes valet. I had him park the car in the garage.” Braeden tapped his desk a couple of times before asking, “Is there a pattern?”

Harold answered, “Could be. Looks like something your aunt might do.”

“Don't touch it until Ms. Drake sees it.” Alexia's hopes about his aunt remaining in Boston were dashed by his direction to Harold.

Braeden punched a button and got Danielle Drake on
the line. After explaining the situation and asking her to look at it, his focus returned to Alexia, making her squirm.

He said nothing.

“Braeden?” Alexia's pulse raced faster with each second of silence.

She recognized his expression. His forehead creased with concentration. He clenched his jaw, making the already squared shape more intense. He turned his head, causing a dark blond hank of hair to fall across his face.

For some men the unkempt, wayward look required expert work. For Braeden it was natural. It also meant he needed a haircut before the back started to curl. And when had he shaved last? Her sister loved the rugged stubbly look, but Braeden's faint beard only made him look tired. He wasn't taking care of himself, which meant he was still working too hard. Alexia frowned. What difference did it make to her?

Trying to get his attention, she smacked the desk. “Braeden!”

The tactic worked. But the cold stare he turned toward her seemed filled with hate. Instinctively she leaned away.

While the hatred vanished, she could still feel his anger.

“How did you say you came by these pages?”

“They showed up on my desk yesterday morning.”

“Why didn't you just mail them? What prompted you to come here in person?”

Had his silent concentration moments ago been focused on her? No. Alexia doubted if he'd give her that much energy.

She wished she could trust him enough to tell him everything. But she didn't. He'd destroyed her trust years ago, and Alexia knew in her heart that hadn't changed. “I wanted to make sure the pages got into your hands.”

“You could have sent them with a signature required.” He leaned forward. “Want to try again?”

“I wondered how you were doing.”

He hiked an eyebrow, echoing her opinion of that lame answer. Braeden raised two fingers. “That's two. Want to try for three?”

Something in the back of her mind told her to lie. She bit her lip. Why? Unable to justify her reasoning, she shrugged. “I needed to get away.”

“From what?”

“My job.”

He shook his head. So she offered, “Mo.”

“Not likely.”

Not wanting to see his response, she closed her eyes before saying, “The men trying to kidnap me.”

“You mean someone other than a Drake wants a piece of your hide?”

B
raeden didn't seem the least bit surprised by her confession, almost as if he already knew. A knot formed in her stomach.

Instead of expressing concern, he repeated his original request. “Start at the beginning.”

To keep her focus away from her increasingly queasy stomach, Alexia ran a fingertip along the beveled edge of his desk. “The package was waiting on my desk when I got to the office yesterday. Inside was a note asking me to translate the pages and a very lucrative offer I couldn't pass up.”

“If you were broke you could have called me.”

“Called you?” At least a thousand sarcastic comments tripped over each other on their race to her tongue. She swallowed them. “I never said I was broke. I don't need or want your money.”

“You're still my wife.” Braeden reached into a drawer
and pushed a bankbook across the desk. “The money's yours for the taking.”

Intentional or not, the insult stung. He didn't believe she could take care of herself. Worse, she wondered if he was right. She pushed the offending bankbook back to him. “If I remember correctly, you paid for my degree. That more than covered our short marriage.”

“You're right, I did. And yet you saw fit to bring the Dragonierre's Manual into the limelight.” He stared at her, his eyes darkening even further. “In case you've forgotten, we're still married.”

Alexia wanted to explain. But as the words teased her throat, she knew he wouldn't believe her. Braeden would never understand being forced to do anything. The concept of not having a choice would be too foreign, too easily brushed off by accusing her of putting her priorities in the wrong order.

He took a deep breath, then asked, “Why were you so desperate for cash?”

To prove I could make it by myself.
Alexia clasped her hands in her lap. “The necessities of life—rent, utilities, food…research…” Why was she explaining this to him? “Actually, it's none of your business.”

“None of my business?” His tone was flat and far too steady not to be forced.

She'd always needed the physical signs—the clenched jaw, blazing eyes, thinned lips—to let her know when he was ticked off before. But now his rage wrapped around her heart like a vise. Had time and distance made her more sensitive to his moods? Or was Braeden finally breaking his vow to her and calling on the magic running through his veins to convey his anger? Alexia waited silently for the eruption.

“I'll tell you what
is
my business.” He glared at her. “Men dying or ending up in an emergency room because of your complete lack of integrity.” He slammed a fist on the desk. “It's my business when Mirabilus Keep is broken into and defaced because you couldn't keep a sworn secret.”

Confused, she asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I'm talking about two employees and an intruder who died during the first break-in. I'm talking about a carpenter who barely clings to life after trying to stop a second break-in. I'm talking about a groundskeeper who was fatally shot by yet a third intruder. That intruder is still comatose. And let's not forget the hired gun that died in the last break-in. All after you got even with me by writing your paper on my family's secrets.”

“Oh, my God, Braeden. I never thought—”

“You never thought? I'm supposed to believe that you never realized what chaos your hints, insinuations and speculations would create? You aren't that stupid.”

People dying and getting hurt had never been her intention. She had to explain. “Braeden, I—”

The ringing of the phone cut her off. Braeden hit the intercom. “What?”

“Braeden?” Alexia recognized the youngest Drake brother's voice. Sean sounded a little hesitant, but said, “We need you down here in the garage. And bring your…guest along, too.”

Those brief seconds had given Braeden the time he needed to pull his detachment firmly back in place. She grabbed his arm, stopping him as he walked past her on the way to join his brother. “Wait for me.”

He shook off her hold and headed for the door without saying a word.

Since he didn't tell her not to come with him, she sprinted to keep up with his long strides. But she refused to give up. “Braeden, I never intended to harm anyone. Surely you know that.”

He shook his head, but kept up the pace. “Except me?”

“Well, not intentionally. I am sorry.”

“How convenient.”

“Convenient?” Alexia had had enough of his foul mood. Yes, she'd expected him to be angry, to be distant and remote. She hadn't expected curt sarcasm. “Look, now that you have the pages, I'll be on my way.” To where, she had no clue.

He stopped in front of a mural. She thought maybe he'd halted to finally say something
to
her, instead of
at
her. When the mural parted in the center, she realized it was an elevator.

Since they were heading to the garage and her car, she followed him inside and stood at the far corner. What was she going to do now? She sure as hell couldn't go home—she no longer had a home. How could she go anywhere? It would take at least a day or so before the credit-card company sent a replacement card…and that wouldn't happen until after she called them.

She squeezed her eyes closed.
Don't cry. Don't you dare start crying.
The more she repeated her silent order, the harder it was to obey.

“Where will you run to this time?”

The emotionless tone of his question stole her breath. It sounded as if he didn't care at all. The lump forming in her throat would soon make it impossible to speak. So she answered quickly, “What does it matter to you?”

“Damn it, Alexia.” The elevator bounced to a stop, but before the doors could open, Braeden hit the close button on the panel, sealing the two of them inside.

He moved in front of her, so near she could feel the
warmth of his body and hear the unsteadiness of his breathing. When she pressed her back against the wall of the elevator, he inched closer.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked. “
You
left
me,
remember? No explanation, just a note telling me to leave you alone.”

“You know why I left.”

Braeden placed his hands on the wall behind her, effectively trapping her between his arms and chest. “You left because it was easier to run away than face what had happened.”

“No.” She paused, hoping to steady her voice. “I left because there was nothing else for me to do.”

He leaned even closer. His breath hot on her face only conjured up the image of a dragon in her mind once again. “There was a lot you could have done or said. But instead, you chose to punish me for the loss of our child.”

“I never—”

He stopped her denial with his lips. It was an effective tactic he'd used more than once during their marriage. Yet Alexia gasped at the contact. Shock, fear, anger, unbidden desire…all warred within her. Before she could act on any of the emotions setting her heart to race and knees to tremble, he broke their kiss.

“And now you've returned.” He spoke as if his kiss had never happened. But the lingering tingle on her lips let her know that she hadn't imagined the searing caress.

She pushed against his chest. “I said I'd be on my way.”

“No.” He didn't move a muscle, except to narrow his eyes. “You came to me for protection. You'll stay until I know you're safe.”

Alexia didn't need more than a heartbeat to realize he wasn't kidding. Braeden didn't tease about anything.

“You can't force me to stay.”

“Don't bet on that, Lexi.”

His use of the nickname he'd given her gave her pause. Maybe she'd been alone too long. Or maybe she'd thought she hated him for too many years.

No. Something…a strange flash warned her to be careful, not to let lingering feelings and memories cloud her better judgment. He was too close to the Dragonierre's Manual not to be part of recent events. A sudden fear sent ice through her veins.

She took a deep breath to steady her nerves, then looked up at him. “Why? Why would you force me to stay?”

He silently returned her scrutiny for a minute before saying, “Because I want you close, right where I can see you.” He moved away, then smacked the open button on the panel, adding, “And you might prove useful.”

His admission sent her thoughts into a whirl of confusion. Had her flash of warning been correct? Did she have more to fear from this dragon than the evil she'd encountered at the museum?

I might prove useful?

How?

Before she could ask, she heard footsteps approaching the elevator.

“Took you long enough. Thank God it wasn't a real emergency.”

Alexia couldn't help shaking her head. Sean was just as impatient as ever.

Braeden moved aside, waving her forward. “I'm sure you remember my guest.” She darted around him and out of the elevator.

“What is
she
doing here?”

Danielle Drake's voice dripped with all the hatred Alexia remembered. The unwarranted tone set her teeth on edge. She'd never seen any indication that the curse Danielle feared so much had been true. Not the tiniest speck of Braeden's power had been drained from him during their marriage. What would it take to make his aunt see reason?

Alexia hadn't the faintest idea. Since she had no plans to stick around for long, she really didn't care what Danielle thought or felt.

“Don't start, Danielle.” Braeden's exasperated sigh reminded Alexia of how many times he'd been forced to come between her and his aunt before—and of how many times he'd failed to do so.

She studied Danielle. His aunt, a petite woman, hadn't aged at all in the past three years. The jet-black hair flowing over her shoulders and her unblemished, wrinkle-free skin made the woman all that much easier to dislike. How did a woman professing to be as old as dirt retain such a youthful appearance?

Even though Alexia wasn't telepathic, she'd learned the hard way that Danielle Drake was more than able not only to read her mind, but also to send thoughts to her. The only thing Alexia needed to do was let down her guard, and Danielle would see to it that they held a full conversation without saying a word out loud.

Intentionally letting down the wall surrounding her mind, Alexia mused, Danielle Drake didn't look a day over…eighty.

Aunt Danielle's instant glare momentarily pinned her in place.
“Eighty? Quite a compliment coming from someone the other side of…forty.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes against the expected intrusion and returned the nasty stare, thinking,
“I see you haven't
lost your ability to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. Stay out of my head, Danielle.”

“Seems you invited me in.”
Danielle tossed her head.
“What the hell are you doing here in the first place? Haven't you caused Braeden enough grief? Or are you looking to finish him off?”

“It doesn't take a psychic to know what the two of you are doing.” Braeden grasped Alexia's arm and pulled her to his side while ordering his aunt, “Enough.”

Instead of goading Danielle further, Alexia turned her attention to Sean. He'd introduced her to Braeden. She'd known Sean at college. They'd been friends and she'd gone with him to a weekend party at the Drake mansion in Boston. He'd only asked her because his girlfriend had stood him up, and arriving alone would have only made him a target for his aunt's matchmaking.

Braeden had also been at the party. As if bewitched, they'd been drawn to each other. It took all of ten minutes for her to lose her heart and soul to him. They were meant for each other. How had things turned out so wrong between them?

Unlike the rest of his family, Sean was
uninitiated.
He was normal. Safe. She smiled at him and asked, “How are you?”

For the first time since they'd met, Sean's smile didn't reach his eyes. While he returned her greeting, his guarded look and narrowed gaze made her want to escape. She shouldn't have expected anything different. Uninitiated or not, Sean was still a Drake.

Braeden released her, only to drape his arm possessively across her shoulders while he caressed the side of her neck with his thumb. Surprised, she flinched. What was he up to with this sudden display of affection?

Between the heat of his body against her and the shivers of awakening desire shooting down her spine, Alexia wondered if coming down here with him had been a wise decision.

She tried to step away, but he merely settled his arm more firmly around her. Had her move only been seen as a challenge to him?