Tempt Me with Darkness

Page 5

With him near, exhaustion wasn’t a problem. Suddenly, her body pinged with life.
“Not for the first time, I think.” He stepped out of the shadows. Light from the half-moon bathed his hard face in silvery tones. “I startled you this morning as well. I apologize.”
He closed the distance between them, so quietly she understood how he’d sneaked up on her. Then he withdrew the keys from her tense grip.
With a quick flick of his wrist, he locked the shop’s door. Olivia couldn’t look away from the planes of his broad back, the ripple of his shoulders.
What would they feel like under her hands as he thrust deep inside her?
The question blindsided her. Totally inappropriate. Completely ridiculous. Sure, he’d been erect earlier, but it was probably an involuntary reaction. Sex between them was unlikely to ever happen. Her brain was clearly in her panties.
He turned and deposited her keys back in her hand. Could he see the flush climbing up her hot cheeks?
“I’ve reconsidered your offer,” he said suddenly.
Olivia’s gaze snapped to his face. No explanation of his earlier behavior, no assurances it wouldn’t happen again.
Though Marrok set off her personal danger sensors and lit her fire all at once, he was her best shot at success, at scraping together the money to keep searching for her father. After working at an art gallery during college, she was a pro with the high-maintenance ones. He had difficult written all over him. She’d deal with whatever he threw her way.
“So I’m no longer on par with the devil?”
He had the good grace to look sheepish. “Nay.”
Nay? What was with his archaic shtick?
“Fine. We can talk.” She glanced at her watch. “I have time for a cup of coffee.”
Marrok shook his head. “I want to show you my entire collection, work no one has ever seen.”
His intimate whisper sent a medley of tingles through her. The intimation that he wanted to show her something he’d never shared with anyone hit her bull’s eye as a business owner—and a woman.
“All right,” her trembling voice answered. “Where to?”
Marrok paused. Olivia had the impression he was studying her, monitoring her every reaction. “My flat.”
Just then, a cab screeched around a corner and halted at the curb. Marrok opened the door and gestured her inside.
“I hired a taxi in advance, hoping you would come with me.”
Logic warned her that only a fool would climb inside and follow a virtual stranger to his place. After all, what did she know about him? He’d grabbed and insulted her mere hours ago.
She bit her lip. Bram had just asked her to give him a chance. And in her dreams, she knew intimately the feel of his hands spreading her thighs…
Stop there.
The taxi door gaped open. Olivia hesitated.
If Marrok wanted to hurt her, he wouldn’t lure her back to his home in a taxi, with its driver as a witness, right? Odds were he lived in a crowded flat with three other starving artists.
She climbed into the taxi and scooted to the far edge, wrinkling her nose at the odor of stale smoke pervading the car’s interior.
Marrok climbed in beside her. His presence absorbed three-quarters of the backseat. The scents of wood, earth, and male replaced smoke. He put off the kind of smell she could breathe in forever. It wasn’t smart, but she leaned closer and drew in a deep breath. A buzz of energy wound through her, like a morning Starbucks run.
Marrok’s blue-gray eyes glowed hot with lust. Then he looked away, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Something agitated him. Did he feel the pull between them? Her body responded, flowering with a tug of desire.
Forget it. Stay professional.
“How long have you lived in London?” He broke the quiet as the taxi sped off.
“Six months. Almost seven now,” she replied. “You?”
“Seems like forever.”
His conversation should have set Olivia at ease. Instead, she felt more edgy.
“Did you open the shop on your own?” He rolled down the window and sucked in crisp autumn air.
“Yes. I’m convinced your work would make an excellent addition to my shelves.”
“After you’ve seen the rest of my collection, we will talk.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it. You’re very talented.”
He shrugged away her remark.
“Are you displaying elsewhere?”
“No.” He unclenched his fists, then clenched them again. “Why an art gallery? Why do something as difficult as open your own shop, rather than take a job elsewhere?”
“I love art.” She smiled. “When it’s well done, it takes you to another place, evokes emotions you didn’t know you had. When your life sucks, it allows you to escape into a whole new world. I mean, is there any woman who’s looked at Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus and hasn’t imagined herself rising out of the sea, reborn into something…spectacular? Or looked at Renoir’s Bal au Moulin de la Galette, Montmartre and couldn’t picture themselves laughing and dancing with the beautiful crowd, being free and alive? Art is like…cleansing to the soul. An office job…” She wrinkled her nose. “I did that one summer in college. I got fired for falling asleep, and I wasn’t good at taking direction. I’d rather have a few little shops like this that sell great art about real life to people who need its beauty. Like your fawn. That was stunning.”
“I heard you tell Bram that you moved here to find your father. By yourself?”
Olivia hesitated. She understood him asking for her philosophy about art, since they were discussing her displaying his work. She had no idea why he’d be interested in her personal life. He’d touched her earlier, seemingly been aroused by her—just before he insulted her and stormed out. Was it possible he was interested in her?
Regardless, the subject of her father was a deeply personal one. It went beyond matters of flesh and blood, straight to her heart. Bonds between fathers and daughters should be special, and Olivia couldn’t help but wish that to be true for her as well. She wasn’t going to share more than the basic facts with a stranger.
“Yes. He and my mother were estranged. I’ve never met him.” More than anything, she yearned to.
“So you live alone?”
She cast him a wary stare. This was more than chitchat to kill time. Was he fishing for her marital status? No, that couldn’t be it…But the way he watched her, awaited her response, he seemed far more interested than she’d previously imagined.
“How much farther?” she asked instead as they headed south, past London’s boundaries.
“Close now.”
“I assumed you lived in a flat in London. Why move out here?”
He turned to her with another probing stare that made her feel like she should protect her very soul. “Long story.”
Better to keep their conversation on business anyway. “I meant what I said before. I really think your work will be a hit in my shop. You’ll bring people all kinds of joy. I’m glad you’ve changed your mind.”
“After we have talked, I feel certain I will be, as well.”
His answer did nothing to reassure her. She couldn’t shake the thought they were carrying on two different conversations.
“I’ve been pleased with the other pieces I carry at the gallery. What do you think?”
With lifted brows, he replied, “I would rather not say.”
His answer stopped a hair short of egotism. It needled her, though he was probably right.
Silence gnawed at her nerves as the taxi sped away from the dim streetlights of the residential districts and suburbs. When they passed the last of the quaint homes, anxiety reared its claws. Where on earth was he taking her?
“Is it much longer?” she asked, pulling her gaze from the empty countryside whizzing past and peered up at his sharp profile.
“Ten minutes.”
Okay… Olivia looked out the window again. The eerie night fog and Marrok’s odd demeanor were making her paranoid. She took a fortifying breath, reached into her purse, and gripped her can of Mace.
Finally, agonizing minutes later, Marrok told the driver to stop at the mouth of a narrow dirt road. The drum of disquiet beat double-time inside her.
After paying the driver, Marrok exited and turned to her, holding his hand out expectantly. A shiver of uncertainty rattled her. What did she really know about him?
“Well, out you go,” the driver barked, stained teeth large in his thin face.
“Take my hand,” Marrok prompted.
“I’ve got other fares, so be gone wit’ you.”
“Give me a minute!” Olivia glanced at the taxi’s meter. Marrok had negotiated a good fare at thirty pounds, but being flat broke, she didn’t have that much cash with her…or in the bank. She didn’t carry credit cards. Even if she wanted to return to London, the cost of the taxi decided her dilemma.
“Go on!” The cabbie shooed her.
“Come with me.” Marrok’s calm voice soothed the ball of tension in her belly.
If she wanted to see his carvings in person, she was going to have to get brave. Slowly, she reached out and placed her palm in his.
A flux of fire, hot and lightning fast, struck her fingers and burned clear to her chest. The sensation was so intense, she nearly stumbled as she rose from the cab.
Before she could withdraw her hand, he jerked his away.
The taxi sped off in a cloud of dust.
Olivia shot Marrok a questioning glance. Why did he recoil from her every touch? At times he seemed to want her. At others…he couldn’t stand her.
Focus. Do business. Get the hell out of here.
“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.
“To my home.”
She looked around at the nearly-dead trees, their spindly branches devoid of leaves. Eerie. Silent. Foreboding bit into her belly.
“It doesn’t look like anyone lives out here.”
“I do, in the forest.”
In other words, he lived where no one would hear her scream. The taxi’s taillights faded away. Too late to turn back.
“Are you some sort of madman who’s going to chop me into little pieces?”
He paused. “In this day, I see why you might believe thus, but nay. I require quiet and privacy to carve properly. There is none to be had in London.”
Without another word, he stalked down the deserted dirt road, clearly expecting her to follow.
Through the glow provided by the waxing half-moon, Olivia glanced at Marrok’s enormous, retreating back and set off after him. She couldn’t decide whether he was just another odd artist or a total loon. She didn’t get a murderous vibe from him, but something was…off.
Premonition, something she often ignored, told her he was about to change her life forever.
Darting after him, she matched his long steps until she reached his shoulder. “I’m uncomfortable with this. Take me home.”
He didn’t look at her, didn’t pause as he strode down the road that narrowed to a rarely used path. “I have no car.”
“What?” she screeched. “How did you expect me to get back to the city?”
“Bram will be ’round soon.”
That calmed her. Bram Rion, despite his outrageous charisma, had proven reliable in the few months she’d known him. Her father’s letter mentioned him as someone he’d called on for help. So she’d hunted Bram down after reaching London, and they’d been friends ever since.
The dirt path before her was etched with a recent set of tire tracks. Surely if Marrok expected his friend back, he couldn’t have anything terribly chilling planned for her, right?
Ancient, awe-inspiring sycamores lined the road, stretching endlessly on either side into a seemingly unbreachable forest. With apprehension, she stared up at the weather-ravaged branches that reached for her with spindly fingers.
Five silent minutes later, they broke through a clearing. A small cottage appeared. Its sloping roof bore Tudor-style markings and charming mullioned windows. Out front rested a rocking chair illuminated by a small porch light. The rocker’s lines had been lovingly carved with engravings down its arms, while a plethora of ivy leaves was etched into the backrest.
Marrok hadn’t been lying. Every notch in the wood demonstrated another facet of his talent. The depth of his ability thrilled her. No matter how strange he was, Olivia knew he could make them both a fortune.
Almost giddy, she rushed up the steps and trailed her fingers across the back of the rocker. “Wow. It’s beautiful.”
“It is but a chair, placed there for watching the sun rise.”
Olivia could easily picture him, thoughtful as the sun burst over the horizon, its golden light pouring over the angled strength of his features.
Marrok stepped toward her and wrapped his fingers about her elbow. Tingles swarmed as she turned to him. He focused straight ahead, opening the door.
“There are many more carvings inside. Come.”