Eden's Charms (4 page)

“You had your chance, Mister.” Jovan bared her teeth.

Savanah enjoyed the antics between her parents. Their love for each other never faltered, in fact, it only strengthened each day. Oh, how she wanted to find love like theirs. Her face twisted.
One-hundred-thirteen-years-old and not even a bloody boyfriend.
“If, the airlines so much as lose one item I’ve packed, Papa, I’m turning them all into hotdogs and setting them in front of
Takeru Kobayashi
. Mum? Don’t pack your blow-dryer ’til the very last sec. Jules, same goes for my transcripts. I’ve got some work to do on the flight.”

“You mean this one?” Jovan wiggled the red dryer in her face. “I thought you bought a romance book yesterday to read on the plane.” Jovan paid her no heed and packed the blow dryer right under her little nose.

“Mum!” Savanah yanked the life-saving device out of her suitcase. “That wasn’t funny. I can’t walk out of here with my hair wet. God forbid it’s humid. My hair alone will take up more space than your belly.” Savanah ducked as her mother tried to swat her. “I packed that book. A person could die of a broken heart reading the first chapter. I’m already in a mood.”

“That you are.” André grabbed Savanah’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got a few hours to kill before we head to Heathrow. Let’s get some air, and we’ll bring your Mum home some chips.”

“You brown-noser,” Savanah teased.

“Savanah, at one-hundred-thirty-four years of age, I’ve learned how to stay on top of your mother and her moods.”

“That’s more than obvious, Pops.” Savanah giggled when his hand connected to her backside.

****

At a brisk pace, André and Savanah kept up with the hustle and bustle of the crowded walkways along King Charles Street, Parliament Street and before they realized it, they’d landed on Victoria Street in front of Westminster Abbey and just like the surround-sound of a theatre, clicking sounds amplified the airway as cameras flashed and tourists took their memories home with them.

“No matter how many times I see this place, it awes me.”

“Me too, Papa. Are you sad that you were never crowned king?”

“No. Are you? You’d have made such a generous queen, Savanah, so beautifully loyal to those you love. Some days regrets fill me, never for me, but for you. My selfishness took that option from you before you even understood what it meant.”

“Papa, your sacrifice kept Uncle Lucian, Aunt Serina and Aunt Raven safe. I hold the greatest respect for your choice. It must have been difficult to turn down such an offer from Queen Mattie in her time of need. She was beside herself after the fiasco the night they tried to stone Aunt Serina. Thank Goddess Aunt Serina’s mother turned back the sands of time to save her daughters and find Devona.”

“Pregnant, let’s not forget, by a vamp. ’Tis such a shame the baby was kidnapped and never found. And please, Savanah, never mention that woman’s name again. She cursed us for a century. No children. What type of hag does that?”

She squeezed her father’s hand and dragged him toward the church. “She’s got issues. Come on, Papa. 'Tis been so long, since you and I were here together.”

Inside the Abbey, history closed in around Savanah like a dried up flower stuck between the pages of a diary. Surrounded by family and friends forever encased in different tombs, she found it hard to breathe, but as they passed through the Chapter House, to the centre room where the coronation throne sat she took a moment to enjoy the phenomenal craftsmanship of the stained glass windows. Each so different. Each a window to someone’s soul.

Eyeing the renowned chair as they entered the abbey, Savanah lost her brilliant grin. It reminded her more of the electric chair. It would have been, had her father been seated at it. She knew vampires couldn’t run a country, although she’d heard rumors France did just that around Louis XIV’s time. Various stories surfaced that the Sun King proclaimed himself that to cast off suspicions of his family and their nocturnal, carnivorous habits.

And in her courtyard sat King George III with his porphyria and links to vampirism, so who was she to throw stones?

“Do you still have the tiara your uncle Jonah gave you when you were little?”

Savanah’s smile hinted of devilishness. “Last time I saw it, one of my porcelain dolls wore it. I’m not much into the beauty queen routine anyway, and I’ve no need for it. I meant what I said—no regrets.”

“You are my little queen, Savanah.” He ruffled her hair. “There were days when I could have crowned you myself.”

“Papa, you’ve never been upset with me a day in your life.”

“That, little girl, is because you always flashed me with that damned light trick you and your mum do. I never stood a chance.”

“Just so you’re aware, you still don’t.” The smile she flashed could’ve won her the beauty queen pageant. Savanah stood to offer her father a hand up. Behind her, a hand tapped her shoulder. Her shrill screech ended the silence in the church. In an instant, she had become the object to gawk at by other tourists.

Savanah turned and ended up face to face with the one person she wanted vanquished from this atmosphere. Mr. Pinky finger in the flesh. Behind her now, André placed his hands firmly atop her shoulders for support.

“Hello, Savanah. I hear you’re leaving soon for America. I’d hoped we could talk before you left.”

Stringy blond hair, sunken eyes with no lashes and more cartilage than skin on his nose and no firm ass—hell no ass period, Savanah wanted to kick her own for actually dating this pencil dick. “How in bloody hell did you know we were here?” She backed up into her father’s arms.

“I hate to admit it, but I followed you.”

“Oh, so now you’re stalking my daughter? Didn’t we put a restraining order against you? Nowhere near her up to five hundred ridiculous meters or something? I suggest, Radcliff, you scurry your bony ass out of here before the ceiling comes down atop of you, or I do.”

“Ah, the doting papa.” Radcliff pointed between the two of them. “Isn’t it funny you two look more like siblings than father and daughter?” The frail man scoffed.

“What do you want?” Savanah chided.

“Just keep in mind I want recognition in your display come opening day.”

“You bastard. You did nothing to deserve it. Uncle Julian and I did all the work, the research, the hunts, everything. The only thing you did was plant your DNA into my mummy—and I don’t mean mother!” Savanah balled her fists into knots, ready to take a swing at him if he got any closer.

“Savanah, Lord St. James, I’ve kept my mouth shut about your family secrets, including Uncle Julian’s once a month fur coat and Lord Lucian’s disappearing acts. I’ll have my name on the credits come opening day or your family will be plastered on the front page of every tabloid.”

André grabbed Radcliff’s shirt collar in a fitted rage. “I’ll plaster your emaciated excuse of a body across the rails and watch with a smile on my face as the trains roll over you again and again, severing you into tidbits for the stray dogs to scarf up.”

Radcliff jerked out of André’s clutch. “No
Princess
!” He enunciated her title slowly, as he bowed. “That’s but a warning. You’ll meet the real bastard if my name doesn’t appear anywhere in the credits. I better get a piece of that display.” And with that, he squared his shoulders, turned, and ran. All that was missing was the tail between his legs.

Eyes wide, Savanah turned to André. “Papa?”

“Let me take care of him.”

“Can we leave? I can’t wait to get out of here and get home and see the new baby.”
And get the hell away from that moron.

About to step into the tube, André warned, “Mind the gap.”

No matter how many times she’d heard the phrase, it made her smile, and she did as asked. She peeked down watching her footing for the gap between the car and the railway tracks.

****

The engine’s deafening roar came to an abrupt halt when the tires touched down on the tarmac. The 747 bounced twice, leaning left and then right before its balance was regained and it taxied back to the gate. The bottle of water Ethan had to his lips jammed into his frenulum with the jerky landing. It broke open the tender skin between his upper teeth and lip. The backwashed water in the bottle turned pink. Cursing under his breath and impatient, he waited for the light above him to flash saying it was okay to move around the cabin. Looking ahead at the bathroom/closet, Ethan tried to decide if he wanted to subject himself to the aromas and the claustrophobic anxiety he knew he’d get if he didn’t have someone in there to distract him. Nature called regardless of what he did or didn’t want. He made his way up the isle and stood outside the door. As he waited for the next available closet to open, Ethan eyed a blonde woman headed in the same direction.
Ah, company after all! Gorgeous. Long legs, tiny ass, b-e-l-l-y!
Baby on board
. “Hello pretty, Momma!” Ethan purred in the tall blonde’s direction, regardless of her maternal condition.

“Move your arrogant
arse
.” Jovan covered her mouth as she shoved past him in a rush.

Ethan scratched his head. “I got here first.” He smiled until he saw the woman gagging and then the loud wet belch a second before…

Jovan vomited down the front of Ethan.

“What the f—why?”

“I said move.” Jovan offered no apology, shoved past him and closed the door in his face.

****

“Ouch!” Savanah yelled hopping on one foot.

A bottle of ginger ale in hand for his wife, André asked, “What is it, Peanut?”

“Some guy just drove over my toes with his carry-on.” In the never-ending custom’s line, she noticed a blond man with a cute tight butt that filled his jeans out nicely. He was tall enough for her liking and in a major huff to get through customs. Savanah noticed she wasn’t the only one he bounced off as he budged the lines.

“Hey!” She yelled, her temper ruffled, “Watch where you’re bloody going.”

Ethan turned to face the music and the moment he did his eyes were drawn like iron to a magnet to a tall woman in a baseball cap with thick pig tails sticking out of each side of her head. Dark sunglasses rested high on her cheekbones. Looking at her from head to toe he wondered where she got the money to purchase her clothing let alone a plane ticket. Her jeans had to have been a religious relic, holier than thou. Both her knees peeped through, and all the way down the length of her long slender legs, more holes than material were noted. Her flip-flops weren’t designer’s, but he did notice her manicured, hot, neon-pink toenails. Hard not too.
High maintenance.
Maintenance he decided he wouldn’t mind maintaining. Her T-shirt fit snuggly, sporting his team’s arch rival,
The Evil Empire
, along with two
lick-your-lips
, sensuous mounds of flesh.
Opposites attract, right?
A second scan revealed she wore no rings on her delicate fingers. His eyebrows rose.

“Did you hear me?” Savanah raised her voice. “Watch where you bloody go, you giant bull.”

“You watch where you bloody go, you giant cow,” he mimicked in his British accent.

“That is by far the worst imitation of the British impersonation I’ve yet to withstand.”

Beautiful or butt-ugly, he no longer cared. “Then don’t talk to me.” With a quick bow, he flipped her off, spun on his heels and got back in line.

“Tell me you didn’t just do that!”

Ethan spun around and with a roguish grin saluted her a second time. “This what you meant?” He headed back toward the customs gate.

That someone would treat her in such a manner—her blood roiled.
If he wasn’t so rude or a giant moron… Oh, Savanah stop. You’re desperate. Some bald clown with a giant, brilliant-red bulbous nose would probably look good right now. Or not.
Unwilling to give an inch, and having to get the last word, engraved into her very being, Savanah pressed through the lines of tightly woven people where she found no one willing to let another air bubble squeak by, let alone a body.

“Excuse me,” came out countless times as she wormed her way to the front of the queue. “Please, that’s my husband up there.” She lied. Once behind him, she slapped his shoulder hard.

Startled, Ethan jumped. “Persistently pesky, aren’t we? What now?” he asked. Seeing his reflection in a pair of black shades, he immediately began touching up his hair.

What made Savanah even crazier was when he pulled his lips back and started picking at his teeth as if she were a mirror put on this earth just for him. “Narcissus, some people never change,” rolled from the tip of her tongue. “You’re rude, arrogant, pushy, and it’s more than obvious you don’t care about anyone else.”

“Then why the hell did you marry him?” Someone asked.

Ethan choked on laughter. “What?” he asked again.

This time Savanah noted a distinct edge of amusement with his sugar-coated tone.

She put a silencing finger up to the man’s face behind her and mouthed, “Shush!” Turning back to Ethan, she demanded, “I want an apology. You pummeled my toes and had no right flipping me off.”

“I can see why he did it,” Mr. Nosey, from behind, added his two cents.

In a heated tone, Ethan yelled, “Don’t you talk to my wife like that,” right before he grabbed her and pulled her close enough to whisper, “Who are you, woman? Go get back in line and get on the next flight back to jolly old England and see if it doesn’t rub off on you this next trip. Want me to rub off on you? Put you in a better mood?”

Savanah went to put her finger in Ethan’s face, only this time he caught her hand and held on. She fought back the only way she knew how; she sent him some burning, spine-tingling zingers that ripped down the length of his arm and back to his heart.

“Holy shit, Pippy, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Savanah cracked up laughing. “Pippy?”

“Longstocking? Look at you, woman. Take those glasses off. Great team you’ve got there.” Ethan pointed to her T-shirt.

Savanah smirked. “You’re a Yankee’s fan?” Maybe there was hope for him after all.

“I wasn’t referring to the shirt, Pip. Little deeper than that.” Ethan eyeballed her breasts with a hungry expression. “Boston, baby, all the way to the World Series—again.”