Romani Armada (8 page)

That was how she had been caught. A glimpse into his eyes.

And now she sat beside him, wishing desperately for another look into his eyes after weeks away from him and he had yet to look at her directly since she had walked into the room.

Justin made her feel like a twenty-year old fresh out of college and as unsure of herself as she had been in that bad, mad, lonely time when she had gone days without speaking because there had simply been no one around for her to speak with.

When his hand curled over her thigh and squeezed, even while his head was turned away from her and toward Ryan and Brenden as they argued over a defense policy, Deonne gripped the thick edge of the timber that made up the table top to stop herself from reacting openly. The remainder of the meeting was an unfocused, indistinct blur to her. She was grateful that Ryan disbanded the meeting barely fifteen minutes later and that she wasn’t called upon to answer any direct questions. She wouldn’t have been able to pull together a coherent answer if her life had depended upon it.

As people climbed over the awkward bench seating and drifted away from the table, Deonne breathed her first full breath since she had sat down, and recalled Tally’s soft query, before the meeting.

He’s really under your skin, hmm?

Justin turned on the bench to look at her fully for the first time since she had walked into the room. “You’re dressed to stop hearts again, Rinaldi.” His thumb rubbed over the corner of his jaw as he propped his chin in his hand to study her.

She gathered her reading board and accessories together, taking her time over it. “Hardly a sizzling achievement as everyone in this room except Pritti and Kieren can stop their hearts any time they want. Including you, Kelly.” She eased herself out from under the table, got to her feet and straightened her skirt.

“Where are you going?” Justin asked.

“I have a global media conference to arrange in less than two hours, three media-phobic interviewees to shepherd through the shit-storm they’re going to face, and a dozen one-on-ones to supervise after that.” She frowned. “I guess that should be three-on-ones, but you know what I mean. Christian is going to be a major pain in the ass to direct, because he thinks he knows this business…and he does, just not from in front of the cameras.” She picked up her gear, propped it on her hip and looked at Justin. “Why do you ask? Was there somewhere else I was supposed to be?”

He gave it almost a full thirty seconds, just looking at her, his grey eyes steady.

Deonne stood absolutely still, fighting to not look away, or drop her gaze, or to give any hint of her feelings. She almost,
almost
broke. It was terrifying, having him study her like that. What was he thinking? What did he see when he watched her with his predator’s gaze? Could he see right inside her and glimpse the truth in her heart? Could he tell how much she longed to be alone with him, so they could speak the truth openly?

Then he rose from the bench and swung his long legs over one at a time, so that he was standing facing her. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. It pushed the sleeves of his long sleeved shirt up his arms and exposed the tanned forearms and strong wrists. Muscle and sinew moved under his flesh as she watched. “Seeing as you’re so short on time?” he added.

“You? Help me?”

“No one has anything else for me to do.” He shrugged. “I could be useful.”

She hesitated. “You ever worked in communications before, Kelly?”

The corner of his mouth lifted and his eyes twinkled with good humor. “I’m in sales. You may not like it, but sales is communications’ bastard cousin. Same skills, except we make the money.”

She pressed her lips together to hide any negative reaction to that outrageous thought. “I’m glad you think so.” She shifted her board to the other hip. “I
am
going to need help, even if it’s someone to hold Tally, Rob and Christian’s hands and keep their temper tantrums away from any camera lenses.” She lifted up a warning finger. “But you do what I say without question. No second guessing me because I’m young or female, or not Australian, or not vampire, or not with the agency, or any other excuse or reason that suddenly flashes to the front of your conscience as you decide to go off and do something hair-brained. Do we have an understanding?”

Justin tilted his head. “Someone has been telling tales about me.”

“A great many someones,” Deonne assured him, “and I listened to them all. Do we have an agreement, Justin? You do what I say and no arguments? It’s going to be tricky enough, this conference, without worrying about whether the help is doing what it was told.”

Justin grinned. “A tricky conference, huh? You’re starting to sound more Australian every day. I think I’m rubbing off on you, Rinaldi.”

“Like cat hair?” she asked sweetly.

He snorted.

“Agree, Justin. I really need to get to work.”

“You’re serious?” he asked. “What do you want, a scout’s pledge or something?”

“You were never a boy scout,” she replied with complete certainty.

“Too right. They hadn’t been invented yet.” He pulled one of his hands from his pockets and held it up, the fingers together. “I swear I will do anything you tell me to do. Does that sound about right?”

Deonne fought hard to not let her expression shift or her face give away the sudden flurry of images and thought/feelings flickering through her mind at the idea of Justin Edward Kelly doing exactly what she bid him to do, because none of those imaginary commands had anything to do with communications—not the corporate sort, anyway.

The most powerful of those ideas blazed at the front of her mind, stealing most of her attention and her breath, for it was a snapshot image of him on his knees and naked for her to toy with. The idea of having power over him was laughable, but intoxicating at the same time.

The mild amusement in Justin’s expression evaporated as his gaze pinned her to the spot. “So that’s an idea that appeals to you, huh, Rinaldi? We’ll have to see where that road takes us.”

Her heart and clit…her whole body bloomed with a heated need, that rose up inside her like the swell of a warm wave. Deonne drew in her breath slowly and with great care, riding out the spike of intense longing. She pulled her gaze away from Justin and stared at the floor, marshalling herself. There were still too many vampires around with their supersonic hearing and smell, to give herself away with a simple gasp.

When she knew she had herself under control once more, she lifted her gaze back up to Justin’s face.

He was still watching her, but the urbane, amuse expression had fled. There was a feral, hungry glint in his eyes and his lips were parted, the way he held them when his teeth were descended.

Her heart slammed against her chest. “Justin….” She wasn’t sure if she was encouraging him or warning him. She let her gaze flicker around the room. He wasn’t stupid. Justin was many things, but he was no idiot and he would know she was warning him that there were still too many people around them to allow themselves any personal indulgence.

He swallowed. She could see his larynx move along his throat. “What is your first order, then?” he asked. His voice sounded perfectly normal. Completely under control. He gave her a small smile as he lifted a stray wisp of her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. She had been heard and understood.

His fingertip slid down the edge of her jaw, leaving tingling, burning flesh in its wake. Then he lifted a brow in enquiry, waiting for her answer. The amusement was back in his eyes and Deonne suddenly knew that the afternoon was going to be filled with these microscopic landmines. He was going to take his revenge in tiny sips – a hidden caress here, a delicate stroke there, all designed to zap her nerves and steal her self-control as only he knew how.

The bastard.

Chapter Six

Stockholm, Sweden, 2264 A.D.:
Ryan glanced at Nayara as she shut the heavy timber door, hiding Deonne and Justin from his view. It didn’t matter—Justin’s caress of the woman’s face had been more than revealing and Deonne’s body language had spoken of high sexual tension.

Nayara gave Ryan as small smile as he resettled his balance against the cane. He refused to think about how much he had been using it today. “Is that why you insisted Justin be here today?”

“In part,” Nayara replied, picking up her box of boards.

“How long have they…?”

“A while.” She fell in beside him as they started down the long corridor toward the branch’s administration offices.

“Is it serious?”

Nayara just smiled.

“It’s Justin,” he complained. “I thought I was beginning to know him. But Deonne Rinaldi is the last person I would have associated with him.”

“Then I guess you don’t know him as well as you thought you did,” Nayara replied placidly.

He thought that one over for a while. “Does
anyone
know him better than you or me? He was one of the first the agency signed up. If we don’t know him, who does?”

“I imagine Deonne does,” Nayara told him. “At least better than we do.” She let her shoulder bump against him. “Think you can get a teeny bit more speed out of that stick there, hop-along? I have a media event in need of a location and not a lot of time in which to find it.”

“You have no sympathy for the disabled,” he muttered.

“True. I steal crippled people’s auto-walkers and every time I see a deaf person, I’m overcome with the urge to yank their artificial ears out, run away and smelt them down for the silver and diamonds and if you don’t hurry up I’m going to kick your cane out from under you and steal that, too.”

He straightened up and held it out to her. “Here you go.”

“My hands are full.” She shrugged, the box lifting with the movement. “Sorry.”

Ryan dropped the cane back to the floor with not a little relief. The few steps he’d taken without it had been precarious and he was aware that Nayara had observed each drunken, weaving step, too.

The silence that fell was thick, writhing with everything she wouldn’t say.

“Just this one emergency,” he promised her. “Then I will concentrate on figuring out what the hell is wrong with me and find out how to fix it. But we have to get through this.”

The silence stretched another few steps.

“Cáel would kill you if he saw you pushing yourself this way,” she said. “We don’t even know what is really wrong with you—”

“You think Cáel hasn’t gone right back to three hours of sleep a night, ouzo and eating once every two days?” Ryan asked her, trying to keep his tone free of anger. The anger was a product of the fear her questions were building in him and he didn’t like that he was responding to it with this shitty macho reaction.

What
was
wrong with him? His reactions were all screwed up and unpredictable.

Nayara pressed her lips together tightly, riding herd on her own inappropriate reactions. Damn, when had they both got so good at controlling themselves this way? In Constantinople, they would have screamed and fought and resolved their differences in bed.

“How would I know what Cáel is doing?” Nayara asked. Her voice was neutral but her posture was stiff with hurt and upset. She missed him, of course. Much more than Ryan, because he had only just started to notice Cáel’s absence, now he was awake again.

“Cáel isn’t the only one pulling crazy workloads, is he?” Ryan asked softly. “You’ve been covering for me, and trying to rebuild an entire station at the same time. Have you had any rest at all?”

“Who needs rest?” she asked. “I’ve made sure I’ve fed on schedule and I haven’t jumped back into the past more than Christian has recommended. I’ve been careful, Ryan. Other than that, hard work is exactly what I want right now.”

Because the busier she is, the less she’ll think about Cáel…and me,
Ryan added for himself. It was the unspoken other half of her sentence.

He nodded, politely agreeing with Nayara, as they moved into the administrative area of the branch. “So, what sort of location do you need for the conference?” he asked, deliberately changing the subject.

* * * * *

Norstedthuset, Stockholm, Sweden, 2264 A.D.:
Nayara placed a tall glass with a graceful handle in front of Deonne. “Here, with my thanks. You earned your salary today, Deonne.”

“Hear, hear,” Ryan murmured, putting his feet up on the low coffee table.

“Well, thank you, but what is this?” Deonne asked, indicating the glass. There was thick, dark brown liquid for three-quarters of the glass. “Is that actual cream on the top?”

“Yes. It’s coffee. Swedish-style coffee, with real cream on the top. Enjoy.”

“I would have thought a glass of champagne would be more appropriate, under the circumstances,” Rob judged, pulling Tally in against his side on the sofa next to Ryan.

Nayara shook her head. “Deonne has been back in this time for thirteen hours and we’ve worked her like a mechanical steam engine since she arrived. She needs stimulants, not a depressant like alcohol. I’m hoping one of you multi-billionaires will take her out to dinner when we’re done here. I don’t think she’s eaten since she got here, either.”

Deonne shook her head. “I had some of the
gravlax
they were serving before the conference.”

“Pickled salmon shaved thin enough to see through does not constitute a meal,” Christian said. “You’ll kill your metabolism if you don’t eat regularly. I don’t have to give you the same lecture I gave Cáel Stelios, do I?”

Deonne looked at him. “I thought Fahmido was the doctor? Weren’t you in communications?”

“I’ve been a doctor more than once or twice, too. Fahmido is a medical research specialist. She stands in as a doctor of sorts.” Christian glanced at Ryan. “That’s a gap that needs filling, too.”

“Are you volunteering, Christian?” Ryan asked, his tone mellow and his expression placid.

Christian shook his head. “I’m a human specialist. I couldn’t begin to treat vampires – not with all the physical and mental challenges we’re facing these days.”