Loki's Game (2 page)

Chapter Two

“I’m here to answer the ad in the paper.”

Behind the desk, the well-dressed blond gentleman scarcely acknowledged her presence. He took her resume, looking disinterested. “Appointment?” he snapped, his tone more efficient than rude.

“Lily Redway.”

“Have a seat.”

She did, perching on the edge of the single, stiff chair. The room held only the desk, the receptionist, and this one chair. Panic shot through her, and for a moment she was certain she’d made a mistake in coming here. Any number of things could be happening behind that door across the way. This guy could easily be a serial killer; maybe they were chopping up women and selling their organs on the black market. Maybe the ad was vague for a reason.

Wanted: single female, 25-32.

The only other information had been a telephone number and this address. A residence, she’d realized with a bolt of fear. On a whim she had called, only to receive information as vague as and more confusing than what she already knew. Today’s date and a time. “It will all be explained at your meeting,” she’d been told when she questioned the job’s duties, and the call disconnected. She assumed it was the same man that now sat across from her, doing his best to ignore her. The voices were very similar.

All of that and half a tank of gas to get across town in rush-hour traffic led her to this moment and the breath of paralytic fear as the door opened. Lurch at the desk pointed to it. She swallowed and smoothed her hand across the top of her head, checking for lumps in her hair. Her fingers brushed the still-tight chopsticks holding the dark chignon in place and she rose from the chair. If it weren’t for her complete lack of a job, Lily would have gone running out the front door. Rather than give into her fear, she picked up her courage and crawled deeper into the old mansion, her kitten-heeled sandals clicking on the expensive tile under her feet.

Behind the door she found a long hallway which exited into a cozy sitting room. It had high ceilings with two large, overstuffed chairs that faced each other. Between the chairs sat a coffee table containing a steaming teapot, two cups, and a jar of honey. A fire crackled happily in the stone fireplace along the back wall, adding ambience to the soft glow of two floor lamps. Paintings hung on the walls; works which, if they were as originals they appeared to be, should have been in a gallery.

The house smelled of old wood and furniture polish despite the gentle lighting and freshly-renovated look. She’d always wanted to get into one of these houses and look around, but she never expected that pipe dream to manifest. Despite the vagueness of the ad and the inherent fear of a lurking madman, she appreciated the snooping opportunity it afforded her.

Even if it was the most unprofessional setting she had ever seen. It felt more like British High Tea than a job interview. But at the same time, these rich kooks liked to do strange things such as this in order to test their would-be employees. Looking around at all of the little personality quirks of the room, Lily assumed she was to sit, but in which chair? Perhaps that was the test.

She opted instead to stand, meandering to the fireplace to look at the painting above it. It was a Monet, and from the look of the brushstrokes, an original. The owner had to be beyond rich to afford something like that.

What have I gotten myself into?
she wondered as yet another door opened. In walked a tall, broad-shouldered man. His blond hair, while brushed and perfectly neat, hung just beyond his shoulders in soft waves. A set of full, rose-colored lips rested amid pale stubble the same color of his hair. Those sinful lips broke into a broad smile that touched his eyes, making them sparkle. They were the color of the sky, flecked with gold and surrounded by a thick fringe of long lashes most women would kill for. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, but carried himself as if he were much, much older. Just the sight of him set her blood boiling in her veins.

“Good afternoon, Miss Redway,” he said. She picked up a slight accent, but from where she couldn’t be sure. “Please,” he gestured to the chairs with a broad sweep of his arm, “have a seat.” Lily hedged, forcing a smile to her lips. He stood by, patiently waiting, and she looked him over as she closed the space.

Definitely a test.

He wore a well-tailored suit with a long-waist coat of dark blue linen lined with black satin, and he moved like a man used to partaking of the finer things in life. His quiet confidence both excited and unnerved her. Lily perched on the edge of the chair, eyes still fixed on him. His smile was natural and easy, and put her on edge as he took the seat opposite her, sinking into its comfort as if he’d sat there a thousand times.

“Relax,” he said. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, Mr…”

“Rowan,” he said, extending his hand toward her. “Rowan Keir.” She accepted the friendly offer, prepared to shake it. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed the skin just behind her knuckles. “Enchantée.” Lily cleared her throat to hide the girlish giggle threatening to escape. It was such a cheesy line, but so, so flattering.

“A pleasure, Mr. Keir.”

“Call me Rowan.”

“All right, Rowan,” she said, trying hard to ignore the tingle across the back of her hand where his lips touched. “I don’t mean to seem ungrateful, but I was hoping you could tell me what sort of job it is I’m applying for.” He hit her with the full force of his smile, a sight that would have made her knees weak had she been standing.

“Very straightforward. I like that.” He poured two cups of tea. “The position I offer is unique. It requires certain…talents.” She swore his words had a double meaning as he pushed a cup toward her. “Honey?”

Lily had to clear her throat twice before speaking. “Thank you.”

“This position will require close collaboration with me on many topics,” he said blithely, as if he had not noticed the immediate effect he’d had on her. Lily knew men weren’t immune to that sort of thing—he could probably smell the change in her body’s chemistry…if not see the bright burn of embarrassment heating her cheeks.

“So, an assistant.”

He smirked, and she went gooey inside. “Something like that.”

At a complete loss for words, Lily lifted the cup to her lips. He watched her, mimicking her movements. Her eyes wandered back to the Monet painting above the fireplace, grasping for a way to break the tension. This man was not ordinary in any way, a realization both terrifying and refreshing. At least he would be anything but dull.

“Tell me a bit about yourself,” Rowan said, startling her back to attention. His gaze was intense and intimate, and Lily cleared her throat nervously, hugging the teacup to her.

“I’m twenty-seven, never married, no pets, no job, and bills coming out of my ears.” She took a sip of her tea. “Other than that, there isn’t much to tell.”

“That is unfortunate,” Rowan said. The look on his face was strange, as if he didn’t know how to verbalize the thoughts in his head.

“What about you?” Perhaps if she prompted him…

“Also not much to tell. Thirty-four. Never married. But I do have a pet.” Lily barked a nervous giggle and they fell back into tense silence. She sipped her tea once more. Rowan looked around, admiring his collection.

Look at me like that,
Lily caught herself thinking, and immediately squashed the thought.
Tension!
She couldn’t stand it.

“The Monet…is that an original?” she asked. The question obviously pleased him.

“It is. An early variation of Water Lilies.”

“So you’re a collector?”

Rowan nodded. “You are an art lover,” he replied. She blushed again, and felt silly for doing so.

“Sort of,” she admitted. “I was an art history major. My specialization is Renaissance artwork.” Why was she telling him this? He had her résumé!

“Impressive,” he said as if he was just learning this information. “So far you are the only prospect who has been able to correctly name one of my paintings.”

“Score one for the home team,” she said, twirling one finger in a sarcastic fashion while attempting to ignore his comment—if he had more than one painting then she was in way over her head. He chuckled, and the sound shot through her like a surge of pure energy.

“And a sense of humor. Miss Redway, you are by far the most interesting woman I have met in years.” She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. But one thing was certain…spending much more time in his presence would lead to very bad things. He was intoxicating, like a glass of fine, aged wine. Just this small taste of him already had her wanting more.

Stop it
, she berated herself,
this is your future boss!
In one gulp, she drained her cup. Here she was already placing herself in the job, and she didn’t even know what it was yet. This whole interview felt completely absurd—like it was only a front for something different. The longer she sat there, the less she felt like a job candidate and the more she felt like she was about to be propositioned. And she could not guarantee to herself that she would turn him down if he did.

Talk about skewed perceptions.

“So you know artwork,” he continued with a smile. “What can you tell me of mythology?”

Lily shrugged. “Not much,” she said, thankful for the abrupt change to a less personal subject. “I had to study the history around the time period relevant to my degree, but the ancient mythologies I can’t say I know much about.” Setting her cup on the table, she brushed a hand over the side of her head to make sure her hair was still in place. “I know the Greek and Roman stories from high school, but I don’t really know much of the others.” She pinned him with a steady gaze. “Is there a reason you ask?”

He smiled.

“I find myself drawn to the old histories,” Rowan said. “Nordic mythology seems to be a particular favorite of mine.”

“You mean Odin and Loki?”

“The very ones,” he replied, and her heart leapt into her throat. She didn’t know these things! She was losing her chance… She had to find a way to save this.

“Is that knowledge relevant to this job?” Lily asked.

“Not necessarily,” he answered, and she relaxed a bit, watching him as he spoke and taking in the way his Adam’s apple moved in speech, the way his lips formed around the words, and wondered for a moment what those lips would feel like forming around hers. “But I cannot promise that I will not bore you to tears with the stories.”

“I like stories,” she said dumbly. Lily grimaced and covered her face with her hand. She was making an absolute fool of herself, and all he could do was smile at her with his too-full lips and his bright, white teeth.

“More tea?” he asked, already pouring before she could answer. “So tell me something,” he continued in an obvious attempt to put her mind at ease, “what made you answer such a vague advertisement?”

“Curiosity,” she replied with a noncommittal shrug. “Masochism,” she added and she heard his cup rattle on its saucer as he held in his laughter. “But mostly I think it’s because I don’t have a job.”

“Again, points for honesty.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” An enigmatic smile played across his lips and his eyes glimmered with something wicked. Her throat went dry.

“Why would you post such a vague ad?”

“Those are the requirements.”

“But I still have no idea what the job is!”

The good humor never left his eyes. “Consider it an engagement.” He placed his cup to the side and rose. “Come, walk with me and I will try to help you understand.”

She boggled at him, but did as he asked. Rowan extended his elbow and she slipped her hand through, and the urge to giggle swept over her again. Even beneath the fabric of his coat, his skin burned against her fingers. “Your résumé says you were a curator,” he said, leading her through the door. “What happened?”

“The museum lost its funding and closed.” She sighed. “The collection was scattered amongst the investors and returned to owners.” Lily shrugged one shoulder, trying to hide her disappointment. “There isn’t much call for an art history major anywhere else.”

A low, vibrating chuckle escaped him, shimmering through her and all the way to the tips of her toes. Every cell in her body grew hotly aware of him, of his side brushing against the back of her hand as they walked.

“Your professors trained you well.” Lily grinned at the compliment, and covered the motion with her hand. She didn’t want to appear too eager or too smitten. Besides, in her experience, compliments were usually followed by less pleasant things. “Now what of your family?” he asked. Shaking the butterflies from her stomach, she dared a glance up at him. His profile wasn’t one that could be considered perfect, but it was still enough to make her want to get closer—to completely derail her brain.

“My parents live in Tampa,” she said. “I was already in Atlanta, so they left Charleston when my dad retired. I’m an only child.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Being an only child can be lonely.”

“‘You know this from experience?”

“I do.”

“What of your parents?” she asked.