No Time to Cry (Nine While Nine Legacy Book 1) (5 page)

Liam was finishing off his ale. He
stopped mid bottle lift and stared at me. The look on his face one of
bewilderment, and perhaps wonder mixed with desire, would do any girl’s ego
good. I stepped mere inches from him—currently my favorite place to be—and took
the bottle from him, finishing it off. I noticed his hair was wet and he had
changed his clothes. He must have spruced up in the kitchen. 

“Sorry if I took too long, the water was
just too nice after all that time in the car. You could’ve gone first.” I
touched his wet hair, moved in closer, still wanting that next kiss.

“No problem, the kitchen sink worked
fine for now.” He moved away, grabbing his coat and keys, seemingly avoiding
eye contact with me. I stared at him, not moving to leave, until he finally
turned and looked at me.

“That…all of that,” he gestured at the
couch, “wasn’t supposed to happen…should not have happened.” Was that an
apologetic look or was it more contrite, more full of remorse.

I walked to him, feeling frozen inside
suddenly and as if a hand was clutching around my heart squeezing. “It was just
some kisses,” I said forcing my voice to be cool and indifferent.

His face was covered in longing, and
regret. Regret? Stupid thing regret.

I shook my head. Had I misread him so much?
“Let’s get this over with.” I strode past him, out the door, ready to tell this
Gideon off. Ready to not see those looks etched on Liam’s face any longer.

~
Chapter Five ~

Thankfully
we caught a break in the rain, which was a plus since the coffee house was
close enough that we walked to it.

In silence.

Liam was still acting oddly and as
though he was full of remorse. He walked as far from me as the sidewalk would
permit without walking in front of me or behind…or on someone’s lawn.

“Here we are.” He stopped. The sign in
front read, Elysium.

Ha
ha
, funny,
I get it.
Could
this Gideon character perhaps have a sense of humor? “Elysium? Seriously? I
asked Liam.

“I told you that was the name of the
place.”

“I know, I guess it didn’t really
register.”

“Are you ready?”

“No. Does it make any difference?” I
asked coldly, swallowing down my hurt.

“No.” He grabbed my coat sleeve—not my
hand, but my

sleeve,
and pulled me up the steps of the early 1900s Craftsmen style cottage. I was
familiar with this particular style of architecture since they were quite
prevalent in Long Beach. That mere thought refueled my anger. My old
neighborhood, of just a day ago, a place I’d lived for nearly half my life. All
the sweet kisses of Liam were forgotten as newly powered rage and anguish
surged through me.

As we stepped through the entrance I
distractedly took in the ambient coziness of the repurposed house. It offered
leaded glass windows, warm lighting, cushy furniture consisting of overstuffed
sofas, plump arm chairs and velvet chaise lounges, elegant-but-well-loved Queen
Anne chairs and settees, and shelves of books. It was artsy, bohemian, quaint.
A fire even burned in the fireplace. Music played softly from hidden speakers.
As we passed through the crowded main room towards another destination, I
distantly thought of how it was my idea of a perfect coffee house.

As we walked, my eyes chased the room,
doing the usual sweep of faces that I’d been doing all my life,
searching…searching.

We stopped at the damask curtained
doorway of a room. I was so overly absorbed in my exploration that I bumped
into the back of Liam. “Sorry,” I said lowly. He didn’t even look back at me.

I did a quick visual scan of this room
and my gaze immediately locked onto one face, the only person in the
wonderfully appointed room—and my breath caught. My head swam slightly, very
similar to how it felt when I took that first draught of ale earlier.

He was startlingly
something
.
Very dark, nearly black, slightly waving hair that had the appearance of
attempted taming; light skin, that held an edge of gold from the sun; a strong
five o’clock shadow on a strong jaw that matched his prominent nose—not the
beaky sort, much more of the Roman heroic variety. He had what I would have
referred to as ‘chiseled features’ in one of my books.

There was a seriousness to his face, an
ease to his body. He seemed very comfortable with himself, in his skin. He was
formidable. He exuded dominance—the way he filled the chair completely, not
because he was bulky, but because he had an intrinsic demeanor that was both
striking and powerful. He was intensely male. His mere presence was commanding.
He didn’t just occupy the space he was in, like so many individuals do, he
dwelled in it, and he saturated it. It was his. To say he was handsome was too
serene a word. He was elegant—he was feral.

And then he turned his head and saw me.
And I stopped breathing. My breath actually caught—completely got stuck. That
had never happened before. It felt like I’d struck a brick wall. Have you ever
had that feeling? Of running smack-dab right into a brick wall when you see
someone for the first time? So hard that it knocks the breath clear out of
you…right along with any sensible thoughts? Well, that’s exactly what happened.
I could swear I knew him, but of course I didn’t. It’s like I remembered him.
Something in my heart recognized him, remembered him from another time, another
place. It was like déjà vu on steroids.

His eyes were predatory. His eyes
sparkled. No, they glinted. I’d never seen it quite like that in anyone. That
intense of a gleam, that luster. I felt pulled to him, but my boots stayed
glued to the Persian runner on which I stood. His very presence called to that
new something in me that hummed and vibrated under my skin and all through my
bones.

He was maybe six feet three; maybe six
feet five…he was tall…very. I wouldn’t know until I stood next to him—which I
wanted to do with every breath in me. And at the same time was apprehensive to
do.

And then Liam interrupted, broke the
trance.

“There he is. Gideon.” He tugged on my
sleeve, pulling me forward again, clear into the room and directly to the man that
had made breathing so impossible. I tore my eyes from him, from Gideon. My skin
felt on fire. Every argument flew from my brain—every kiss from Liam forgotten,
dissolved.

Liam plunked me down on the couch to the
left of Gideon’s chair. He had a fire glowing in the hearth across from my
seat. I felt suddenly nervous and on edge—I wondered briefly if I looked
good—instead of the previous rage and blazing anger of just mere moments ago. I
couldn’t allow him to disarm me, or let these weird misplaced feelings defuse
my planned verbal attack. He was probably somewhere around ten years older than
Liam, whatever that may be worth as I had no idea what Liam’s age really was.
Anyway, I had some steam to release, a list of burning questions to be
answered.

 I stared into the fire, thinking
only of how flattering firelight had always been on my face and hair. What a
stupid thought to have when I was sitting so close to the one who had signed
off on my demise. I stole a glance to my right. Liam was leaning over the wing
of Gideon’s chair, speaking to him in a hushed manner, too low for me to make
out any of what was being said.

I had to force my eyes from Gideon’s
face, mesmerized by his facial expressions as he spoke, the way his mouth
moved, his dark, heavy eyebrows lifted and dipped, a slight smile tugging at
the corners—one side more than the other—every now and again. I felt so
awkward, on display, to be judged…or something. Extremely, incredibly,
vulnerable. Should I just say something? Were they
going to say anything
to me? Wasn’t this all supposed to be explained to me? I tried to keep my eyes
averted, but my gaze, rebelliously, kept straying back on over to Gideon. He
used his hands when he spoke. What wonderful hands; solid, strong, groomed,
powerful.

Stop!
I screamed at myself inside my
head.
He helped take your life away!

That’s when our eyes caught again,
locked on each other’s faces and I totally forgot to breathe…again. His eyes
were such a shade of blue as to seem nearly black in the soft lighting of the
room. The firelight catching in them, caused flares and sparks within the
midnight that his eyes were. I broke the contact first, looking back into the
fire, then out at the night through the window to my left. The rain had
resumed.

It was completely unjust that the one I
needed to confront had this kind of effect on me. I had questions that needed
answers—I deserved answers. But I couldn’t find my voice, or make it work
anyway. I couldn’t even seem to keep up my fury when I looked at him. So, I
wouldn’t. I’d just keep looking into the fire—which is what my brain felt like
when I thought of what had been done to me, what had been taken away.

How I’d been forced to leave everything
behind, and everyone, and then dragged to freaking Seattle. A place I had loved
once…and a place that had brought me pain before. And here I was again—against
my will.

 I ran every tiny moment of the
previous night over in my mind, from the beginning of my fabulous birthday bash
to my exodus and arrival in Seattle, over and over while they talked amongst
themselves as if I wasn’t present, until eventually all of my emotions
collected and jettisoned forth.

“So tell me already!” I burst in on
their private chat. I made sure to keep my eyes turned from them. “I’m tired of
waiting. Why am I here? Why did you do this to me?” My voice seethed, dripped
with anger now.

That pent up fury and resentment of
almost twenty four hours, I dumped it all out, regurgitating all of the same
rant that Liam had already heard, ticking off to him, without pause, all of the
beyond messed up issues and questions that raced through my mind.

“I want to know why this happened to me.
Why am I supposed to be this thing? I need you to explain all of it to me. I
think I’ve been pretty patient with waiting. Why was Liam sent to get me? Why
do I have to be in Seattle? Why was I chosen? My life was amazing and you
ripped me out of it, left me with nothing. Why did I have to die?” I was
shaking, vibrating with ferocity. My voice was low, laced with arsenic, anguish,
and mourning.

And it pissed me off to no end that
while I surged forward all the more heatedly with each question, Gideon seemed
so calm, detached and almost cold, as if he couldn’t be bothered with any of
this.

 I dared to steal another look at
him. His serene countenance was long gone, along with his detachment. In its
place was a deep, dark glower. I willed fire into my spine, into my eyes. I was
the one wronged. How dare he look at me like that—and how dare he look so good
doing it.

 I let the confusion over that
allure fuel the flame of my anger even further. I was not going to back down. I
lifted my chin and kept my gaze steady. Let this go wherever it may. He should
at the very least know how much I despised him and how much I loathed them
both—well, hadn’t been loathing much earlier, or just moments ago…but my wits
were back in play now, so…

Without moving his eyes from me he spoke
to Liam. “She really is something.” The heat of his words quiet, lethal.

What exactly was that supposed to mean?

He shifted his body in his chair to face
me better. He crossed his arms.

Even that slight movement pulled at me,
distracted me for a moment—he had great shoulders, broad, and strong. The
sleeves of his black thermal Henley were pushed up casually over his forearms,
his very well toned, muscular forearms.

What is wrong with me?

He leaned ever so slightly forward,
towards me, studying me, considering me from head to toe.

 I could feel, actually
feel
,
the restrained anger and heat in him.

 I swallowed nervously. What else
could he do to me? Who was he? Better yet,
what
was he?
Could
he
make this worse? What if he could make this worse? Waves of heated irritation,
that’s what it was, not even anger. He was irritated with me? Irritated with me!?
Screw him! I dimly noticed Liam move away to take a seat off to my left.

“You can’t seriously be irritated with
me?” I was suddenly drained, the warring emotions taking their toll, my inner
fire sputtered to nothing, not even smoldering embers remained. I was nowhere
near ready to sputter out. This couldn’t happen now. I was ready—way ready for
a big knock-down-drag-out fight. But my brain and body seemed to be done and
more than ready to betray me.

And I was cold. I was hungry. I was
tired, bony deep weary and exhausted…purely exhausted.

I fell back into the softness of the
couch—shaking, trembling—into its false comfort.

Gideon’s look of bridled wrath faded
minutely into something of a warm half smile, crooked up a bit on one side, one
eyebrow slightly lifted, almost amused. Amused?

 I felt like screaming into the
pillow that was clutched in my hands. But I didn’t even have the energy left
for that. Not a scream, not even a scowl.

“Liam, why don’t you get our guest some
coffee? Maybe a bite to eat.” It was posed as a request, but was not. That was
put forward as an order.

I looked at Liam, a pleading look I’m
sure. I didn’t want to be left alone with Gideon.

Alone with Gideon.

It was like
a whisper in my ear.
A tickling wonderful thought deep down in my psyche. Alone with Gideon. Not an
altogether unpleasant thought.
Yes! Yes it is!

“I don’t want coffee. I want my life
back,” I spit out.

“Can’t do that,” Gideon responded.

His voice. His voice was just as
compelling as his eyes…and his body.

It was distinct. It was deep. Slightly
rumbly and
bassy
, but not entirely, and he had an
accent as well, very similar to Liam’s, but with something else thrown in that
I couldn’t identify. I couldn’t place its origin. It struck a chord in me, drew
me further in. Made that humming under my skin pick up.

Liam left the room. He didn’t even
glance my way as he exited. Obviously our kisses long forgotten and
meaningless.

“Besides, you pissed me off enough with
the raid you pulled on your old apartment,” he continued.

“I didn’t take anything that would be
missed.” I mumbled into the pillow, barely lifting my head to speak. “I think I
know my life well enough to know what would be missed. Knew my life well
enough.”