Revelation (25 page)

Outside a Mercedes waits for us at the curb, black finish gleaming beneath streetlights, windows so dark they seem impenetrable.

We climb inside, fastening seatbelts as the driver pulls away.

"Thank you for agreeing to this. I'm sure there are a million other ways you'd rather spend your evening." He touches the silver earring dangling from my ear, fingers trailing my jaw line. "You do give me something beautiful to look at, though."

A flood of heat rushes to my cheeks, and my heart kicks up a notch, flipping anxiously.

Focus.

I study buildings as we pass, darkened windows punctuated with the sporadic, fluorescent glow of someone pulling a late night at the office.

"Nervous habit?" He nods toward my left hand, where I'm twisting my ring, around and around and around again.

"Apparently."

"Would you be opposed to removing it for the evening?" he asks. "I'd like to have all of you for one night, if I may."

Carter's ring?

My fingers curl together, an instinctive fist. "No. I'm not taking it off."

"Would you be willing to switch hands, then?" he presses.

Switch hands?

I examine the blue diamond, hesitating.

I suppose it wouldn't hurt anything.

I slide the precious stone off my left hand ring finger, swapping it for the right. The stoplight changes from yellow, a brilliant filter painting the world red. The driver slows.

"I appreciate it. We wouldn't want to start any unnecessary rumors."

"I'm a Fleming," I remind him. "There will always be rumors."

Luke laughs at this, eyes lighting. "If you've nothing against rumors, then I have something for you." His hand disappears, reaching inside the tailored pocket of his dark coat, producing a light blue box.

A jewelry box.

Those reputed strings tumble invisibly, flowing suspended between us.

"What is it?" I ask, cautious.

We're moving again.

"A gift."

I waver, resisting the inexplicable flurry of excitement threatening to consume me, then take the box from him, lifting the lid. Inside, a bracelet. A bangle of wildflowers covered in diamonds—sparkling, colorless diamonds. The name of the jewelry store is etched into satin lining. My pulse flutters, stirred by the small fortune in my grasp.

"I can't accept this," I insist, snapping the lid shut and passing it back to him.

"Nonsense." He removes the bracelet and slips it onto my wrist, wraps his fingers around mine. "One day you're going to realize, Genesis, that you're worthy of beautiful things."

Worthy of beautiful things.

The driver eases the car to a stop in front of the restaurant.

Luke offers his hand and I step outside, joining him on the sidewalk. My fingers remain locked in his, frozen, faces inches apart. Those glittering, emerald eyes—they're beyond deep. They're limitless, entire worlds held within them.

Our heavy breaths turn to smoke, vanishing. And I feel. . . .

Powerful. 

Like I can do anything.

My heart stutters, lips refusing to cooperate, having forgotten how to speak. How to move. I swallow hard, searching for my voice—grappling for words.

A gentle smile curves his lips. "You're very welcome."

"What?"

"The bracelet. You were trying to thank me."

"Oh." I laugh, uneasy. "Right. It really
is
beautiful. Thank you." 

What is happening to me?

The rest of our party has arrived, and introductions are made at the table. Luke sits beside me, arm draped comfortably across the back of my chair. There are eight of us, and I'm the only woman in a sea of dark suits and glasses of brandy. The questions abound.   

"Where are you from, Genesis?"

"A little town on the coast. South Marshall," I reply.

"We've vacationed there before," another says. "I hear they're not allowing visitors until the crime is under control."

"There have been a few problems this year," I admit, reaching for my glass of ice water. "We're hoping everything is back to normal by the busy season. I'd love to have my town back."

"What do you do?" another asks.

My spine stiffens—
assassin for hire
—and I have to force a smile. "Absolutely nothing at the moment. Just living off a trust fund and enjoying my post-graduation year before settling down."

"I'll drink to that," someone else says, lifting his brandy in a toast.

"Genesis has agreed to join me in Europe for a few months," Luke announces.

"Lucky girl."

"I'm looking forward to it," I say, stealing a quick glance at him. He smiles at me, pleased, as the waitress arrives with baskets of fresh bread.

"And where do you hail from originally, Luke? You have an interesting accent."

"Italy, originally. However, I spent much of my youth in Scotland."

"I knew it had to be Scottish," another says.

"What about your family?"

I watch him—his lips, rather—as he answers. "I have no mother or father of which to speak. No siblings. My early education included a great deal of independent study under private tutors—some of the greatest minds I've ever known. My formal schooling includes stints at both Oxford and Yale."

The list flashes in my mind, and I wonder how this never came up in our conversations. Why I never asked.

If you were doing your job, you'd know this by now.

"You certainly have the credentials for the job."

"I believe my record speaks for itself."

"What about the young lady?" one asks, frowning, nodding in my direction as if I'm not even here. As if I can't see. I don't hear.

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean," Luke confesses, reaching for his Scotch.

"We would prefer to avoid any . . . distractions," he replies, hesitating.

Luke stiffens beside me.

"I am
not
a distraction," I say, a vain attempt to defend myself.

"I can assure you that there is no such thing as far as I'm concerned," Luke promises. "Whatever exists between Genesis and I—whatever I'd
like
to exist—will have no bearing on my performance."

An older man speaks, his thick, white eyebrows drawing together, expression hard. "If we sign off on this, we want one hundred percent of your effort."

"I believe my stake in the company is enough of an incentive to see to your success. I do not fail."

The men laugh, and the disbelief resonating in its echo hovers, casting a dark shadow on the party. 

Luke's eyes harden, irises blackening with disapproval. "You seem certain that this is what you want. I can make it happen.
Distractions
or otherwise. You realize, however, that once the contract is signed there is no breakout clause. No loopholes. You enter this agreement freely, understanding that I will do whatever necessary to see the job to completion."

"That's all we're asking, Mr.
Castellani
."

The smile returns. "Excellent."

Everyone seems to speak at once, the buzz of excitement palpable.

"You seem pretty confident you can give these guys what they want," I point out, keeping my voice low.

He turns toward me, voice smoldering. "I can."

"Do they know what they're giving up?"

"They've read the fine print, I'm sure."

A smile pulls at my lips. "Ah, the proverbial
fine print
."

"Why are you smiling?" he teases, shifting closer.

"No one knows what they're giving up, Luke. You said so yourself. Because we don't really know what we have until it's taken from us." I reach for my glass, diamond bracelet catching the light. "It's the
real
consequences that matter. What's hidden
between
the lines."

"Christ," he whispers, eyes softening. "You're amazing."

I swallow a mouthful of water, stifling a laugh. "No, I'm not."

"You are. Every second I spend with you. . . ." The thought disappears, voice lowering. "What do you want from me, Genesis?"

My body grows heavy, weighted, as the room around us disappears. And for a moment it's like he knows. He can see right through me. Who I was. Who I am. Who I'll be. He knows my every thought. Everything I've done. Everything I'll do.

"You're afraid," he confirms.

"What?"

"You're afraid to depend on anyone. You hesitate to ask for anything."

"But I don't need anything."

"There must be
something
," he insists. "I only want to understand you—to know you better."

"Maybe I don't know what I want."

 "I refuse to believe that."

His eyes burn into mine, on fire, mesmerizing, drawing me closer. "What if—what if you can't give me what I want?"

"Impossible," he replies, voice dangerously low. "But I'll admit my fear is that what you want for yourself isn't in line with what I want for you."

"I don't know what you want for me."

A sharp laugh. "At this point I think I'd settle for your happiness." He reaches for his drink, smile easing to a frown.

"That offends you. Why?"

He swallows hard, returns the drink to the table. "Because I like you, Genesis," he admits, tone harsh, abrupt. He casts a furtive glance around us. The men are absorbed in private conversations. "I . . . like you," he murmurs. His thumb moves along my back, caressing my skin, slowly circling the space between my shoulders. "From the moment I saw you sitting on that barstool. And you should know that was never my intention. That's not how I operate. And yet . . . I can't seem to get enough of you."

Someone moves, hastening toward us, winding between tables. But I can't. I'm trapped, smothered in his eyes, unraveling at the core.

Luke
Castellani
likes me.

His hand curls behind my neck, guiding me closer, and my head tilts instinctively as his lips brush my jaw line, sending a thousand tingles tripping through my body. I feel him everywhere.

He wants me.

It's like a high—that someone so powerful. . . .

My skin burns where he's touched me, humming.

"Let me make you happy," he whispers, breath warm against my ear.

My spine shudders. Everything inside screams at me to say yes.