Enthralled in Silver

“She’s here.” “She’s early.” “Better early than late and risk getting scented out.” “You want me around when you answer the door?” “No, we need her relaxed. She can’t think this is anything but what we told her.” “I hope it works.” “It has to.” * * * * Though she hadn’t been nervous when she pulled into the quarter-mile long driveway, now that she stood on the doorstep of the imposing Napa Valley house with its immaculate garden and faced an ornate knocker the size of her head, Claire Pavaro wondered if she shouldn’t have made some polite excuse and refused the invitation. It wouldn’t have been amiss. Her grandfather’s funeral had been less than a week earlier, his deterioration long and painful. She was still in mourning, still an emotional wasteland from losing her last remaining family. But the card that arrived in the mail had been crisp and elegant, the note surprising. My sincerest condolences for your loss. Though I hadn’t seen Antonio in some time, he had a profound effect on me and my life. I have a few mementos I’m sure he would have liked you to have. I would greatly appreciate it if you would arrange a visit, so that I might pass them along to their true owner. Claire hadn’t recognized the signature but called anyway, too curious not to. Instead of Celeste Rieke, she’d spoken to the woman’s personal assistant, a man whose smooth baritone had nearly made Claire forget why she’d rung. He’d repeated his employer’s well wishes, assuring Claire the visit was important for both of them—and so it was set. The only problem was her subsequent research found no connection between this Celeste and her grandfather. The woman was a mystery. The solitary mention in a Google search suggested a Garbo complex. Claire’s curiosity was still piqued, but with the lack of information came wariness. That was Grandfather’s most important lesson, after all. Knowledge is your greatest weapon. With a sigh, she ran her fingertips along the smooth, warm edge of the ring on her left hand. Grandfather’s last gift to her. The design was simple—a Celtic triquetra with an inscription too tiny for her to read. Though the silver band it was mounted on was new, the rest of it was old, dating back at least as far as Grandfather’s early twenties. She’d seen him wear the medallion as a necklace in pictures. She hoped wherever he was, he couldn’t see her right now, about to walk into a stranger’s house with only a name and a promise at her disposal. She was about to knock a second time when the lock turned on the other side of the door. As it swung open, Claire put her polite smile firmly in place, only to freeze the instant she met the eyes of the man who’d answered. She’d been wrong. She had more than a couple incidentals to wield. She had foreknowledge. This unnamed man wasn’t a total stranger. She’d been dreaming of him off and on for the past two weeks. His features were finely carved, almost delicate—a sharp blade of a nose, a shallow dimple beneath the high arch of his left cheekbone. Though his skin was dark, his eyes were the palest of amber, haunting and piercing at the same time. They were framed by the thickest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. He regarded her in silent inquiry as she tried not to stare. At least she wasn’t openly checking out his trim body. Courtesy of her graphic fantasies, she already knew what it looked like under his crisp white shirt and tailored black pants. She knew how many ridges she’d be able to count on his abdomen, that his bellybutton was an innie, that his c**k was uncut. Her assumption had been the dreams were merely erotic releases, regardless of their intensity. Everybody had them, so it made sense to believe hers were the product of a fertile imagination and fierce hormones. The living, breathing, gorgeous proof they were more than that now stood in front of her, prompting questions about how it could be possible for the Pavaro magic to manifest in her when she’d always been taught it followed the male lineage alone. “Can I help you?” he said. Her brain stuttered. His voice was more molten in real life than it had been on the phone. Heat crawled its way down her neck, along her spine, seeping out along her limbs to melt them into near uselessness. “Claire Pavaro,” she blurted. “I have an appointment with Ms. Rieke.” For a split second, his pupils dilated and his nostrils flared. Just as quickly, the reactions disappeared, his smile warming to the point where she wondered if she’d imagined them. “Ah, that’s right. We spoke on the phone.” He held out his hand. “Seth Lancour. I’m Celeste’s personal assistant.” The naughty voice in the back of her head had more than one idea about what duties she’d demand from Seth if he were her personal assistant, but she managed to slap a muzzle on it before it got her into real trouble. “I know I’m early.” She slipped her hand into his. “It’s a chronic condition.” A twinkle appeared in his pale eyes. “I hear they have treatments for that these days.” She laughed in spite of her discomfort. “I’d probably be too early for that too.” “Come in.” Sweeping an arm toward the foyer, he stepped aside to give her room. “I’ll let Celeste know you’ve arrived.” The house was as imposing on the inside as it was on the out. The entryway was larger than her San Bruno studio apartment, its ivory marble floor polished so bright she had the overwhelming urge to take off her shoes and sock-skate across its gleaming surface. A staircase swept from its center, the second-floor overlook looking down upon the rooms that branched off to the rest of the house. Seth pushed open double doors to the left to reveal a sitting room done in muted grays and yellows. “Please help yourself to a cup of tea while you wait.” He gestured toward a silver tray resting on the mahogany coffee table. “It should only be a moment.” As his footsteps faded away, Claire wandered around the edge of the room, trailing her fingers over the intricate molding of a sideboard here, a carved marble statue there. Each piece of art on the walls was individually lit, exuding more of that museum aura, while each step she made was silent, the sound absorbed by the plush carpeting. How was someone this wealthy so completely incognito online? Money bought a lot of things, but these days, privacy was not one of them. Without Seth’s presence as a constant reminder, the lingering desire thrumming beneath her skin ebbed to more tolerable levels, allowing her the peace of mind to go back to musing what a woman like Celeste Rieke could have done with her grandfather. Though he never advertised his abilities, news had spread via whispers at parties, surreptitious notes passed from one hand to another. His clients had ranged from the truly indigent to the incredibly rich, but one thread had bound them all together. They all needed Antonio Pavaro’s magic to help rescue someone they loved. Who had Celeste wanted to help? Other than Seth, there was no indication anybody else was around. Was it a distant family member? An old friend? A lover? A distant door opened and shut. Claire turned automatically toward the echo, but she knew right away the footsteps were too heavy to be a woman’s. They didn’t sound like Seth’s either. Her pulse leaped when a giant of a man filled the open doorway. Where Seth had been sleek and elegant, like a panther on the prowl, this one was rough around the edges. Faded jeans hugged his powerful thighs, the knees grass- and mud-stained, the hems frayed and nearly white from longtime wear. His black T-shirt was dirty too, with smears along his stomach where he’d wiped his huge hands clean. Muscles sculpted his arms, while his shirt strained across his broad shoulders. But his pale-green eyes stole her breath away. They bored into her from across the room and would’ve terrified her if it weren’t for the unruly russet curls falling across his wide brow. He wore his hair like an unaware college kid, and it softened the effect his intense gaze and overwhelming size created. When he didn’t speak, she managed a weak smile. “Hi.” He didn’t respond. She tried again. “Are you looking for Seth? He went to find Ms. Rieke.” At mention of Seth, the man finally blinked and glanced behind him. It lasted a mere moment before his gaze returned to rivet on her. “She should be down any minute,” Claire said. “I have an appointment with her.” In a desperate bid to banish the butterflies that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach, she tore her eyes away and immediately remembered the tea. “If you want to wait with me, I could pour you something to drink.” He followed her line of sight and frowned. “You haven’t had any.” Her knees almost buckled. His voice was a rumble, thunder unleashed from miles and miles away. How Celeste got anything done with these two men around, she had no idea. Claire would be constantly wet and bordering on coming just from listening to them. “Tea’s not my thing,” she said. “I have the wrong accent to really pull it off.” Her feeble attempt at a joke wiped away his frown, and his full mouth twitched as it fought off a smile. “Me too,” he confided. He wasn’t going anywhere but he wasn’t coming in either, and with her sparkling tea repartee now exhausted, Claire was at a loss for what to say. “Do you work here?” was the best she could do. He nodded. “I was in the garden. Have to get the bulbs in before it gets too wet.” “That’s a better explanation for the dirt than what I was coming up with.” A c**k of his head. “What did you—” “What are you doing here?” Seth materialized in the doorway, his approach to the room blocked by the man’s bulk. He glanced between Claire and the gardener, his long hands fidgeting at his side. “I thought you had weeds to take care of.” The gardener’s head immediately ducked, and he edged his way back into the hall. His demeanor shifted to subservience so abruptly, Claire wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t seen it. Her sense of fairness revolted, and she sprang forward to plant herself between them, a hairsbreadth from each man “They were bulbs, actually.” She folded her arms over her chest. “Big difference.” Two heads swiveled toward her at the same time, but she didn’t budge. Amusement flickered in Seth’s eyes. “That must be why Simon takes care of the outdoors and I manage in here,” he said. “The gardens wouldn’t be nearly as pretty.” “No.” Though she relaxed in the face of his lighter mood, she wasn’t ready to retreat yet. “Did you tell Ms. Rieke I’m here?” “I’m afraid Celeste needs to reschedule.” Behind her she felt Simon stiffen. “I hope everything’s all right,” she said. “Nothing to worry about,” Seth assured her. “She’s just not feeling completely herself at the moment.” He reached into his pocket and extracted a dove-gray linen envelope. “She asked that I give you this with her sincerest apologies.” Though she was dying to know what it contained, any thought of opening it was burned away when their fingertips brushed as she took it. Suddenly, she was too hot, too cognizant of the very male, very imposing bodies flanking her. She could barely manage a smile without licking her lips, because that wouldn’t be too obvious at all, now would it? “Does she want me to come back a different time?” “I’ll have to let you know.” Stepping back into the foyer gave her room to leave, though at the door Claire realized Simon hadn’t stayed behind. He stood a foot behind Seth, his eyes as heavy on her now as they had been before. As incongruous as the pair seemed, they fit in each other’s spaces like perfect pieces, movements mirrored, gazes synchronous. It left her unsettled, the sensation of being under a microscope too strong to ignore. She got through it by breezing down the porch stairs, flipping her hair behind her ear when it blew across her cheek. “You should be good on the no-rain today,” she tossed over her shoulder at Simon. “Your flowers next spring will be beautiful, I’m sure.” His brows disappeared beneath the curls covering his forehead but then he smiled—a wide one this time, genuine and sheepish at the same time. “Thank you.” As she opened the door on her beat-up Corolla, Claire tossed the envelope onto the passenger seat and threw one final wave at the men. Seth nodded while Simon continued to smile at her, but neither response dispelled the tension they elicited—not the desire, not the certainty there was something she was missing. Whether it was about the mysterious Celeste or the men, however, remained to be seen. * * * * As soon as the car was out of sight, Seth grabbed Simon’s arm and pulled him away from the front door onto the lined path that led into the rose garden at the opposite side of the house. “What were you thinking?” he hissed when they were buried among the flowers. “I told you to stay away from her.” Though Simon could break him in half if he wanted, he remained motionless in Seth’s grip. “You smelled her, too,” he pleaded. “I couldn’t stay away.” Which was the biggest reason Seth had aborted their original plan and sent Claire Pavaro packing. If the smell of the magic clinging to her skin was enough to draw Simon from outside the house, where he would’ve been surrounded by the rich aromas of the earth and everything it offered, it just might be enough to wake Celeste—and that was the last thing they needed if they ever hoped to be free. He eased his hold, too distracted by their new situation to fully appreciate Simon’s obedience. “I didn’t expect her to have Antonio’s magic. He always said it was passed on through the men in his family, not the women.” “But if she does have his magic—” “Don’t. Don’t go there.” “But why not?” Simon’s eyes begged him to listen. “You were prepared to kill her to break the spell. What if we don’t have to? Wouldn’t it be better if she helped us voluntarily?” Yes, it would. For so many reasons. Because it would be one less death on their heads. Because she was young and beautiful and too full of life to cut short this soon. Because it just might mean they weren’t yet the monsters Celeste wanted them to be. “She’s too vulnerable,” Seth said. “You saw the way she reacted to us. Her attraction would cloud her thinking.” Simon grinned and Seth almost forgot every argument he had against the idea. It was the same boyish smile that had first captivated him in ‘52, when he should’ve known better, when the world hated him as much for being black as it did for liking men as well as women. But he’d already spent a year in Celeste’s employ, drunk on his growing power, whether it was real or not. Sixty years later, he knew what a trick it had been, but that didn’t change his feelings for Simon Aldredge or how he still reacted to him. In spite of Simon’s size, in spite of the cruelties Celeste had commanded of him, Simon was still an innocent, trusting in Seth, believing in the future. Seth needed to protect that. For all his faults in condemning Simon to this life in the first place. “She’s prettier than Antonio ever was,” Simon coaxed. “I’ll bet she’s smarter too. She didn’t even touch the tea.” True on both counts. After Antonio’s bargain with Celeste, they had lost track of him. Seth had no idea who he had married but Antonio’s sole heir, the granddaughter who wore his magic like a second skin, was unmistakably part of his bloodline. She had eyes as black as a starless sky, lustrous hair with glints of red peeking through its dark strands, a body ripe with the kind of curves that had been fashionable in his youth. She was funny and loyal too, as evidenced by her swift defense of Simon when she believed he was about to get in trouble. Seth would have liked her just for that. “Lucky for us she didn’t drink it,” he replied. “Celeste can’t find out about her.” “What was in the envelope?” “A second chance for us to get this right.” He’d acted on impulse, afraid they’d lose Claire to Celeste, even more fearful they’d lose their last best shot for freedom. “Right now we need to block her scent from the house before Celeste discovers it. Bring in as many flowers as you can. I’ll take care of the rest.” When he turned to go back, Simon touched his shoulder to stop him. “I don’t want her to get hurt.” Seth covered Simon’s hand with his own, running his thumb along the callused side in a show of reassurance. “Then we have to play this smart.” He didn’t add “Trust me,” though it was implied. Because Simon always did. Even when Seth wasn’t sure he’d necessarily earned it.