Forever As One (2 page)

“I still want to know who. Somebody start
pointing.”

“Business suit. Boston bred. Can’t miss
her.”

“Dane’s got the hots for a high class call
girl? What the hell?”

“She’s not a call girl,” he replied. It came
through clenched teeth, so he wasn’t surprised to see a few raised
brows.

“Yeah. Who knew? All this time we
thought—”

“What was the quantifier?” he asked, more to
stop their speculating than because he wanted to know.

“Well…she didn’t actually ask for you. Not by
name, anyway.”

“Who needs his name? The Viking stud at the
bar usually works,” Marcy offered.

“Not even that. She wants to talk to the
owner of this place. And that’s you. Sorry. I didn’t know it
mattered so much.”

Ah…deflation. Thy name is woman.

Dane fought such supreme disappointment he
was probably in full snarl. It was better to watch the floor, where
little bits of sand glimmered with light from the fake flickering
torches. His failure was going to be complete if the ledge in his
hand broke off. He’d failed at hiding his superior strength. He was
failing at hiding his reaction to a let-down. He was failing at
hiding. Period.

“So? You going over there? Or you want me to
fill in for you again?”

Sam had obviously finished filling the drink
order. Dane watched his apron get pitched across the bar, landing
atop his hand, right where he needed it. If he relaxed his grip
slowly, the creak of wood might not give away the enormous chunk
he’d probably ripped loose. If he concentrated, he could still hear
his mate’s heart-rate, elevated now. It might have something to do
with the spectacle he was making. He sent a tongue over his teeth,
checked for elongation, and then lifted his head.

“I’ll handle it. Thanks. As for the rest of
you? Get back to work.”

It was a futile order. It didn’t work like in
the movies. Nobody did anything other than stand aside, opening an
aisle right to her table. Or perhaps it was better described as a
gauntlet, since even customers pitched in, closing in both sides.
There was nothing for it. For someone avoiding attention, it was
ludicrous. Dane stepped into the void, heard the chunk of wood
fall, and then put his entire attention on her.

His mate.

Her heart rate got even faster, and skipped
more than once as he approached, all of which she hid beneath a
well-polished exterior. She was good. Really good. Only the
slightest tint of blush hitting her cheeks showed her agitation. He
just didn’t know if it was his approach, or the crowd he’d managed
to gather about them.

He slid the opposite chair out, flipped it
backwards, and slouched into it, laced his hands through the
lattice work at the back, working at his best impression of a lazy
rich man. He added to it by tipping his chin down, and waited,
watching her through his eyelashes.

Wow!
He wasn’t just lucky. He’d hit
the mother lode. She was a pure beauty, without a touch of cosmetic
enhancement. Pale, unblemished skin like hers would’ve made her a
favorite at any medieval court. Her hair looked to be a rich brown,
the match to her eyelashes. She brought her glance to him and
completely stole what was left of his senses. It wasn’t hurricane
season, there wasn’t a cloud in sight, but none of that mattered in
the slightest. A roar of ocean wave lifted by a killer force of
wind went right through his ears, cancelling out everything but the
uptick of her heart-rate as they locked gazes.

Dane had vivid blue eyes. It came with his
heritage. He’d heard more than enough about them over the
centuries, but hers! Hers were almost indescribable…a dark
gray-blue, the near match to her suit. Unfathomable. Showing depths
to be plumbed. Fathoms of mystery to delve. He was hooked. Reeled
in. Netted.

“Hi.”

She may have said it. He might even have
heard it. Her lips moved, catching his glance to their honeyed
appearance. Everything that was male on him went rigid. Instantly
and immediately. Without one bit of instruction or intent. He was
grateful for the position that hunched him forward, hiding a
reaction from so far in his past he’d forgotten how it felt. Lips
like hers demanded his kiss. Tormented. Teased. Invited. They were
ripe. Lush. Full. Feminine. Immeasurably sweet.

She lifted a hand to move a strand of hair
from atop her lash, the movement caught a flash, and Dane’s entire
being ratcheted into something so immense, there wasn’t any way to
fight it. He recognized it, too. Supreme male dominated rage.

She wore a wedding ring.

Vangie had taken this job because it sounded
interesting. Easy. A walk in the park. Fly down to Florida; during
spring break no less. Find the bar called Sex and Sunburn. Find the
owner. He’s named Morgan. Likes the party crowd. Usually works
behind the counter of his own bar. Meet him. Schmooze him about the
possibility of selling. Get a price range. Communicate. Bargain.
Seal the deal with a handshake. Her employers had sweetened the
offer with a bonus of 1% for every dollar under twenty million she
managed to negotiate. It was right up her alley. She even had a
degree in business, and listed her specialty as corporate
negotiation.

She was also lying to herself. Still.
Again.

She took this third job from this same shady
company because it was very expensive to live after Rod’s death
wiped her out and nobody else offered, no matter how many times she
reworded her resume, or how many places she submitted it to. She
was already working two minimum wage jobs; both part-time, one
handling night-shift at the local convenience store, because nobody
offered full time work with benefits anymore.

This time her employers had even thrown in
travel expenses, to Key West of all places, Florida per diem rates
which were exorbitant, and they gave her a big enough advance she
splurged on Italian spectator pumps to wear with her one good suit.
Easy money. Perfect for her qualifications. If she turned a blind
eye to things like cash transactions and amounts that never went
above nine thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine dollars. For a
law-abiding, uptight American, it didn’t seem possible she worked
to help launder money. And if she didn’t watch it, her conscience
would be helping her call the FBI, or something. But…not just yet.
She’d be homeless if she didn’t do this. It was just better to
ignore the implications, follow instructions, and collect her
pay.

Nobody had factored in a pissed-off,
pretty-boy, ex-jock, though. And she hadn’t even told him she
wanted to buy his place yet.

When she’d first asked for the owner and
watched the waitress go over to the most gorgeous man in existence,
she’d actually got cold hands. And cold feet. And then everywhere
else on her body had experienced the same sensation of ice cold
chill. And excitement. Good heavens! There wasn’t a guy like this
in existence. Even seen at a distance, he was so perfect he looked
photo-shopped. Every bit of opening conversation she’d practiced
disappeared. It was difficult to breathe. The words probably didn’t
matter anyway. Her tongue wasn’t going to work properly. Blinking
hadn’t muted the effect of looking at him, either. The guy was a
walking piece of art with sex appeal tossed in. No wonder the place
was crawling with women.

A moment ago, he’d acted ready to leap across
the table and create some hot and heavy action with her – even with
the crowd of people about them. And now? Now he looked like he’d
just as soon rip her head off. And enjoy it.

“Uh…”

She’d been right. Her tongue didn’t work.
Neither did her voice. Her throat wouldn’t even move on the dry
swallow she sent there. He didn’t need to put a finger up to stop
her. That was just overkill.

“Don’t say anything. Not yet. Please?”

Vangie added to her complete self-disgust by
nodding. Some corporate CEO she was going to make. Someone set a
tall glass in front of her, so wet with frost it darkened the
napkin. She dragged her eyes from the guy across the table and
managed a breath as a waitress winked at her.

“Tonic water and lemon. On the house. Sam
figured you’d need it.”

She did. Vangie lifted it and drank until the
cold hit her brain, stopping her. When she put the glass back in
place, nothing else seemed to have moved. She could feel the flush
happening and didn’t have anything to draw on to stop it. An
introvert by nature, she’d had to work at getting to the front of
her class. Speaking in public. Putting herself on display. She’d
didn’t want to be the center of attention. She’d always suspected
it would be embarrassing. Now, she knew it was.

“Oh, everybody get back to partying! Jake,
call CJ from the back. Looks like we just lost a barkeep, and I’m
still needing some drinks! You? Move. You don’t want me to start
the boys early, do you?”

“You got this, Morgan?” That was a deeper,
male voice.

The absolute god across the table grunted
what might be assent. He didn’t take his eyes off hers. Vangie
returned the favor as if glued in place. The crowd might be moving,
might even be dissolving. She couldn’t say.

“All right! You were warned. Get me the boys!
You’re on early tonight. And make it loud!”

Laughter followed the statement. It was
followed by voices, and microphone buzz, and then drumbeats invaded
the entire area, reaching out from beneath the roof onto the beach
beyond, pumping a rhythm that dragged her pulse with it. The beat
was accompanied by a thread of melody from a reed instrument she
couldn’t place. Not without moving her eyes to check. Oboe, maybe?
Sax? She didn’t believe in magic or spirits, or mysticism, but
there was something very stirring and hypnotic about the spell
being woven around her. She sensed movement as shadows flitted
across the span of table between them. His customers were probably
dancing. Vangie didn’t check that, either. The experience of gazing
into his blue eyes wasn’t just something magnetic, it was downright
mesmeric. Tantalizing. Alluring. Enthralling. And vaguely
threatening. She knew now what a rodent must feel when facing a
hooded cobra.

“You ready?” he asked.

Wow
. For the images that small
statement caused! Beneath this suit, she wore plain white cotton
briefs, white bra, nothing fancy about her slip, and yet views of
red lace and naked tanned skin assailed her, coming in a rapid-fire
mélange as if frames from old reel-to-reel movies were getting
interspersed with reality. Vangie blinked several times, licked her
lips and pulled in a breath that shuddered.

“For what?” she finally replied.

He grinned, stole her voice and her breath,
and then her next heartbeat.

“Name’s Dane. Dane Morgan.”

Dane.
Figures.
It couldn’t be
something reasonable like John, or Albert. Or Henry. Oh, no. It was
a name conjuring Vikings and plunder and pillaging and ravishment –
as if he needed the advertisement. He put his hand out as if she’d
actually touch it. And then his grin relaxed, adding stranger vibes
to the mix. Vangie looked at his outstretched hand and then back at
him.

“You going to tell me your name?” He dropped
his hand.

She shook her head.

“Why not?”

Vangie gulped again. She should have taken
another sip of her drink since her throat was so dry it scratched.
She’d been naive, too. Instead of visualizing a nondescript rodent,
she should have fancied herself a mongoose. Weren’t they a cobra’s
natural enemy?

He looked away, the release granting her time
to breathe, blink, and then take a gulp from her drink. In that
order.
This is ridiculous, Vangie
. The guy wanted her
name, not her body. Or her soul. Nothing scary about that. She’d
practiced this a thousand times. Every business transaction started
with the basics: Greetings. Name exchange. Handshake. She’d even
been taught the correct way to shake hands. Use just a slight touch
of pressure with her thumb and she wouldn’t come off as a pushover
or wimp. Using that method controlled “hand-crusher” types, too.
They wouldn’t pump her arm if she had the recurrent branch of their
median nerve beneath her finger.

Besides…the worst thing that could happen is
he’d tell her no. Right?

Vangie squared her shoulders, lifted her
chin, and stifled her own reaction to this guy. It was ridiculous.
She wasn’t the type to attract gorgeous young guys, especially rich
gorgeous, young guys, who looked like they spent every available
moment in the company of women and more women. Surf and sand. Fun
and sun. Parties and more parties. That lifestyle looked to suit
him perfectly…looked really good on him, too. The tawny stripes in
his hair were probably sun lightened. Or he spent a lot of time in
a beautician’s chair for the effect.

He didn’t seem to notice her perusal. He
wasn’t moving. It didn’t even look like he breathed, but it would
be hard to note that beneath the loud colors of his shirt. It
wasn’t hard to define really nice pecs, wide shoulders, or the
bulge of biceps in his sleeves, though. And his forearms weren’t
lacking in muscle, either.

She was caught as he brought his attention
right back to her. There wasn’t much she could do about it. It was
in the warmth stealing up her breast and into her lower cheeks, but
she kept her eyes on his. It felt…safer. And that was just
ridiculous. She couldn’t knock the sensation, though. She felt like
the room spun in a wide, slow circle, trapping her in the center
with a predator just hovering. Waiting. Watching. Her heart even
decided to act up, dropping to somewhere within her belly, so it
could pump beats from there to match the drums.

“You want to take this to my office?”

“Evangeline Harper.”

He could raise just one brow at a time. His
right one. And that little quirk, combined with a killer grin, was
really going over the top. The room spun faster, the heart swoop
happened again, only this time it took her pulse with it, starting
a distinctive ringing tone in both ears with the rapidity of it.
There wasn’t much sense to any of this.