LITMIR.BIZ

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gaze darted around the room. He seemed to see the destruction for the first time through the eyes of a reasonable man because he actually looked a little sheepish. He strode over to the wet bar and grabbed a bottle of scotch. “Want one?”

      Was that supposed to be a peace offering of some sort? She crossed her arms over her chest. “Not if I’m going to have to drive to the store and buy a crib.”

      He smiled then, not one of those big, movie-star smiles with the gleaming eyes and the perfect teeth that made you want to strip off your panties, but a quiet, almost diminutive smile that said he knew she was right, he was wrong, and that maybe her past was still in the past after all.

      He picked up his phone, barked a few orders and hung up. “Okay, Roxanne. Miguel will have a crib within the hour.”

      “Thank you. That’s going to make it so much better for Mackenzie.” She ran her hands along the spines of the books and smiled. “Please, I’d like it if you called me Roxy.”

      He studied her face for a moment before his gaze traveled slowly down her body all the way to her feet then back up again as if he were seeing her for the first time, as well. A ball of warmth concentrated in her belly and radiated outward, making her cheeks feel as if they were on fire. She resisted the urge to cool them with her palms.

      He held up the bottle again. “Are you sure?”

      “Um, thanks, but no. I’m a frou-frou drink person all the way.” At the amused expression on his face she added, “You know, daiquiris, cosmos, anything that comes with an umbrella.”

      He poured himself a drink and knocked it back in one swallow. Twisting the glass around in his hand, he seemed to be inordinately interested in the tiny amount of scotch that was left at the bottom. A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked as if he was chewing on his thoughts.

      “Positive?” He set the glass down and looked at her pointedly. “Because you might want one after what I’m about to ask you.”

      A dozen red flags flapped in her head and her mouth went dry. First he wanted her out of his office and now he wanted to chat? Why the turnaround? She had a really bad feeling about this. Maybe she should take him up on his offer because she was suddenly very thirsty. Too bad she hated scotch.

      She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to hear him out. Trying to maintain her composure, she opened the small refrigerator and spotted a small can of grapefruit juice. “Got any vodka?”

      “Right here.”

      “Then I’ll have a greyhound. And don’t add too much juice. I want to be able to taste the alcohol.”

      Grabbing a glass that hadn’t been broken, he made the drink, poured himself another scotch and pointed to the couch, the only piece of furniture unaffected by his tirade. “Take this and sit down,” he said in that gravelly voice of his. “But I’m afraid I’m fresh out of umbrellas.”

       CHAPTER SIX

      THE CHAMBER WAS lit only by candles. Hundreds of them. Encased in identical frosted-glass votive holders, they sat on almost every flat surface, casting a warm, flickering light on the stone walls.

      People came here for answers, comfort or guidance, which Santiago had never understood. He didn’t feel he should have to look beyond the borders of his own skin for validation or support. He was a firm believer in being the driver of your own life. If you wanted something, you took it. If you worried about something, you figured it out. If you needed someone to do something, you told them. You didn’t stew or fret or ask for opinions. He sure as hell didn’t live his life by committee—earthly or divine. A savvy combination of fists and brainpower was the only formula for success he subscribed to and it had served him well the past two hundred years.

      So, when he stepped inside the sanctuary, it wasn’t answers he sought.

      Roxy was bent over the small altar on the dais, lighting candles with a long match that reminded him of the cigarette holders used by old Hollywood starlets. And like those women, there was something timelessly beautiful about her look, something that would never go out of fashion.

      Nothing about her was hurried. She was agonizingly slow in everything she did and it drove him mad. Deliberate and methodical, she spent way too much time thinking about shit. Introspection and Santiago were like oil and water. They didn’t mix no matter how hard you shook them. He was a shoot-now-ask-questions-later kind of guy, but without the questions.

      Her off-white gauzy dress skimmed her ankles and because her movements were slow and fluid, it gave her the appearance of floating on the stage. She was barefoot, and the light from behind silhouetted her long legs through the thin fabric. Her arms were ballet-dancer graceful and something sparkled in the soft, loose curls that fell past her shoulders. Whether it was now or a hundred years ago, men would find her classically beautiful and elegant.

      If she thought she could avoid dealing with “his proposition,” as she’d called it, by running and hiding out here, she was sadly mistaken. Not much happened around region headquarters without him knowing about it. A snap of a finger or a terse phone call and his people told him everything he wanted to know. Which included reports that she’d gone into the sanctuary.

      But it wasn’t a proposition he’d given her back in his office. It was a goddamn order.

      She still hadn’t acknowledged him with so much as a glance in his direction or a nod of her head, so he shut the heavy, hand-carved doors behind him with a bang. She didn’t jump or act surprised. She simply turned around and those golden eyes burned right through him, as if she’d known the whole time that he was here.

      Undaunted, he strode up the center aisle between the rows of pews, the sound of his boots echoing irreverently throughout the chamber. “Are you trying to hide from me, Ms. Reynolds?” Going back to formalities emphasized who was in charge—him.

      “Hide? Try ignore.”

      “Because if you are, it’s a waste of time. My people tell me everything. You cannot—”

      Wait. Did she say she was ignoring him? He came to a screeching halt. The woman came here because she was…snubbing him? Impossible. No one gave the region commander the brush-off. When he gave an order, people did what they were told.

      “No one ignores me, Ms. Reynolds.”

      “Am I supposed to be thrilled for you?” She turned back around and continued lighting those damn candles, dismissing him.

      His blood boiled up like an active volcano and he spat out the toothpick he kept clenched between his teeth.

      She was belittling him, discounting his authority. No one dared defy him like that.

      No one.

      He wanted to pound his fists through the walls and rip the sanctuary apart. Yank out a bench, lift it over his head, and throw it across the room. Instead, he stormed between the last set of pews and kicked at a hymnal that someone left lying on the floor. When he stomped onto the dais, the whole thing shook and a dozen tiny flames flickered.

      She turned to face him, hands on her hips. From the defiant tilt of her chin, it was clear he didn’t intimidate her in the slightest. “What is your problem?”

      Eucalyptus from either her shampoo or lotion faintly filled the air around him, while the fire in her eyes stirred up his insides. Both sensations were pleasing and he started to relax until he remembered the dakai thing. His sister had smelled of weird scented oils, too, because of that cult.

      He moved in close until he towered over her, but she didn’t back away. Even with her head cranked back, she seemed to be able to level a stare at him. This vexed him even more. “I gave you a direct order.”

      “Yes, I know you did.” She wasn’t at all impressed. “Too bad you have no authority over me.” There was a gleeful tone to her voice. It was subtle, but it was there.

      Rather

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