Single White Vampire (9 page)

“And that's all she said?” Kate asked carefully.

Lucern nodded, then added, “Oh, and she said it was a magazine.”

Kate had to consider this. Marguerite had led her son
astray all right, and the only reason she could imagine the other woman would do that was to try to help her. Kate felt a twinge of guilt.

A moment later, she let it go. Marguerite wouldn't do anything to harm her son. She must think he would go, too. And that it would be good for him. Kate wasn't going to get into the middle of it. He'd said he would do the R.T. “thing” she would leave it at that.

She would also get the heck out of there before he realized it was a conference, not an interview, and tried to back out.

“Oh! I didn't realize it was so late,” she gasped, peering at her wristwatch with feigned surprised. Then she smiled at Lucern sweetly. “You asked when I was going to leave you in peace. Well, there's a one-o'clock flight that I can just make if I hurry!”

And with that, she whirled and rushed out of the kitchen.

 

Lucern gaped at the swinging kitchen door. He'd wanted her gone, but her eagerness to comply was a bit disconcerting. He tilted his head and scowled at the ceiling as banging and bumping erupted upstairs. She was obviously rushing about like a crazywoman up there. It seemed she couldn't get out of his home fast enough. It also seemed she was mostly packed, because it wasn't long before he heard her rush along the hall overhead.

He stepped into the hall in time to see her rush down the stairs. A car honked out front at the same moment her foot landed on the ground floor.

“Oh!” Kate turned toward the kitchen, then paused. She smiled in relief when she saw him. “There you are!
Good! My taxi's here and I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Taxi?” Lucern echoed with disbelief.

“Yes. I called from my room while packing. Boy, they're fast here, huh?”

When Lucern simply stared at her blankly, Kate hesitated. Finally, hefting her suitcase she said, “Well. Thanks for everything. I know I was an unwanted guest, but you were pretty good about it, all things considered. And I appreciate—oh, damn!” she muttered as the cab honked again.

“Wait!” Lucern called as his editor turned and opened the front door. She hesitated, waving at the cab to let the driver know she was coming, then turned back. Lucern didn't really have anything to say; he was just reluctant to see her go. After searching his mind for something—anything—about which to speak, he finally came up with, “What about the interview? When will you arrange it? And you should have my phone number so that you can call and let me know when it is. And my e-mail address, too,” he added as the thoughts struck him.

“Um…” She winced, then admitted, “Your mother gave me both your number and e-mail address.”

“She did?” He was startled, though he knew he shouldn't be. Not with his busybody mother.

“Yes.” Kate sidled a little further out the door, a fascinating expression on her face. She looked torn, as if she knew she had to tell him something but didn't really want to. Lucern's fascination deepened when she took another crablike step sideways before blurting, “R.T. doesn't want an interview.”

“It doesn't?”

“No, they don't. The R.T. thing your mother was talking about is a
conference
.” A look of pain crossed her face; then, while Lucern was trying to absorb that, she added, “But don't worry. You won't regret this. I'll be there with you and will look out for you the whole time.” She was still sidling and had almost made it out the door as she added on a babble, “I'll send you all the information and the tickets and pick you up from the airport and everything. So don't worry!”

The taxi chose that moment to give another impatient honk.

“Gotta go!” Kate cried, and pulled the door closed with a slam. The sound echoed through the house, followed by the
tap-tap
of her rush down the porch steps. Then silence fell.

Lucern was transfixed. It was as if he had been pole-axed. Conference? His mother hadn't said anything about a conference. She'd said
Romantic Times
was a magazine. A book club. Someone who would want an interview. Kate must be confused. Dear God, she'd
better
be confused.

He hurried to the door and stared through the shaded glass just as the taxi pulled away. Lucern watched it.

He stood for a moment, Kate's words playing through his head; then he turned and started up the stairs.
R.T.
She must be confused. He would look up Romantic Times magazine on the Internet just to make sure she was confused.

Barely three minutes later, Lucern's roar echoed through the house.

“I am not doing it,” Lucern announced, fury underlying his calm proclamation.

“Yes, you are.” Marguerite Argeneau filled in another word in her daily crossword puzzle. She'd been working on the damned thing since he'd arrived.

Marguerite disliked the smell and noise of the city. Lucern's father, Claude, hadn't liked it any better. Besides which, living in the city meant moving every ten years to avoid drawing unwanted attention from the fact that they didn't age. Lucern's parents had avoided it all by purchasing several lots of land an hour outside of Toronto, and building their home in the midst of them. They thus had no neighbors near enough to be a concern, and needed not move at all if they did not wish. At least, they hadn't had to move in the thirty years since they'd built it.

Lucern now sat in the family mansion and watched his mother fill in another word. He had no idea why
she bothered with the bloody crossword; centuries of living combined with a perfect memory made it less than challenging. Shrugging, he glared at her and repeated, “I am not doing it.”

“You are.”

“Am not.”

“Are.”

“Not.”

“Are.”

“All right, you two. Stop it,” Bastien interrupted. He had ridden out to the Argeneau family home after Lucern had called him, ranting unintelligibly about being tricked and shouting that he was going to wring their precious mother's neck. Bastien hadn't really believed his brother would do it, but curiosity had made him rush out to see what would happen. He'd arrived just behind Lucern, entered the house on his brother's heels, and still didn't know what the man was upset about.

He really wanted to know. It was rare to see Lucern with the fire presently burning in his eyes. Grumpy, surly, impatient? Yes, Luc was often all of those. Impassioned with rage? No. Kate C. Leever had lit a fire under him the likes of which Bastien hadn't seen in his five hundred years. And Bastien
was
sure this had something to do with that inestimable editor. Luc had shouted her name like a curse several times while ranting on the phone. It was one of the few words Bastien had actually caught.

Turning to his brother, Bastien asked, “So what exactly is the problem, Luc? I thought you were willing to trade an interview with this
Romantic Weekly
magazine
to get rid of Kate. What's happened to change that?”

“
Romantic Times,
” Lucern corrected shortly. “And it isn't a bloody interview—that's what changed it. It's a damned conference.”

“A conference?” Bastien glanced at his mother suspiciously. “Did you know this?”

Marguerite Argeneau shrugged mildly, which was as close as she would come to a confession. “I don't see the problem. It's just a couple days in a hotel with some readers.”

“Five days, mother,” Lucern snapped. “Five days in a hotel with some five thousand fans. And then there are balls, book-signings and—”

“One book-signing,” his mother interrupted. “One book-signing with a couple hundred other writers there. You won't be the focus. You'll be lucky to get any attention at all.”

Lucern was not calmed. “And what about the balls and awards dinners and—”

“All the functions are held in the hotel. You won't need to risk the sun. And—”

“I won't need to risk the sun because I'm not doing it!” Lucern roared. “I can't go.”

“You
are
going,” Marguerite began firmly, but Bastien interrupted her. “Why can't you go?” he asked Lucern.

“It's in the states, Bastien,” his brother said grimly. “I can't possibly get blood through Customs at the airport. And I can't go without blood for five days.” He could, actually, but not very comfortably. Cramps would cripple him, and his body would begin to consume itself.

Bastien frowned. “I could ship blood to you once you're there. We do such things all the time.”

“There. You see!” Their mother crowed with triumph. “You are going.”

“Thanks, Brother.” Lucern sneered at the younger man, then glared ferociously at his mother. “I am
not
going!” he said again.

“You gave your word.”

“I was tricked into giving my word. You led me to believe it was an interview.”

“I never said it was an interview,” Marguerite argued. Then she stressed, “You gave your word you would go and you are going.”

“I may have given my word, but I didn't sign a contract or anything. I am not going.”

Marguerite jerked upright as if he had slapped her. Her words were slow and cold. “A man's word used to be his bond.”

Lucern flinched, but he growled, “It used to be. Times have changed. In this world, a man doesn't have to do anything unless it is in writing.”

“In this day and age, that's true,” she allowed, eyes narrowing on him. “But that isn't how you were raised, Lucern Argeneau. Are you no longer a man of your word?”

Luc gritted his teeth, his fury and helplessness combining. His mother was pulling out the big guns, questioning his honor and using his full name to show her shame that he would even suggest going back on his word. Could he really disappoint her?

 

Kate chewed on her thumbnail and paced the carpet by the arrivals gate. Her plane had arrived early and Lucern Argeneau's plane was late, which meant she'd
been waiting for nearly two hours. And she wasn't even sure if Lucern was on the plane.

She had sent the tickets and all the information on the Romantic Times Conference the day after leaving Toronto. She hadn't received a letter back stating that Lucern would
not
be coming, but then neither had she received word that he would. For all Kate knew, he hadn't even read her damned letter. As usual. She could have called—she had the number—but Kate suddenly found she had a yellow streak. She hadn't called for fear that he would tell her where she could stick her tickets.

Groaning, she turned and paced back the way she'd come. It had been four weeks and three days since she'd left Toronto. She had been petted and congratulated that entire time in the offices of Roundhouse Publishing. Allison had been amazed that she had succeeded where Edwin had failed—a nice little tidbit they had neglected to mention. It seemed her job hadn't been in jeopardy after all; but her convincing Lucern to attend the conference had raised her in their esteem. Allison was now positive that Kate “could get the job done.” Her position was secure.

Barring any big screw-up on her part, she added to herself. Which would include Lucern's simply not showing up after all the money they had put into registering him, purchasing his first-class plane tickets, and securing the three-room suite she'd insisted on getting at the hotel. Kate had told Allison she'd promised Lucern these arrangements. And in a way she had; she'd promised him on the way out the door that she would be sure he didn't regret coming, and that she'd be with
him at all times to ensure everything went well.

She'd considered how best to make him happy on the flight back to New York, and she'd continued to plan at home that night, thinking that if she got to the office on Monday to find a message from Lucern refusing to attend, she could pull all these special arrangements out to try to persuade him. It turned out she hadn't needed to persuade him, but she would still follow through on all the things she'd planned.

She would be glued to Lucern's side almost twenty-four hours a day, and when she couldn't be there—for instance, when he had to use the men's washroom, or when she had to slip away to the women's—someone else would be there. She had enlisted Chris Keyes, one of the two male editors at Roundhouse Publishing, to aid her in the endeavor.

She'd been prepared to beg, bribe and even resort to blackmail to get the senior editor to assist her, but in the end, she hadn't had to do any of that. Despite the fact that Chris had a slew of his own writers to look after at the conference, he had immediately agreed to help her.

Kate supposed the promise of his own room in a three-room suite, rather than sharing a normal two-bed room with Tom, the V.P. of Promotion, had helped. But C.K., as she sometimes called him, was also a big fan of Lucern's vampire series. Chris had asked a ton of questions about the man after Kate's return from Toronto, but she had just kept answering with, “You'll be meeting him soon. Wait and see.” She'd been terrified that if she told him the truth, he'd refuse to help.

An increase in the noise level around her drew Kate's
attention to a mass of people moving up the hall. The plane had arrived, and she was about to find out if Lucern had come. Kate prayed his mother had badgered him into it, but she wasn't at all sure even that formidable woman could manage to do so.

Hands fisted at her sides, Kate searched the crowd of approaching faces. The conference officially began on Wednesday; but she had booked Lucern on a Tuesday-evening flight to prevent his using his allergy to sunlight as an excuse not to come. She and Chris had flown in early to meet him. Their arrivals had been an hour apart, precluding Kate from risking going to the hotel and checking in and then returning to collect Lucern, so Chris had good-naturedly taken control of their baggage and headed to the hotel while Kate waited for Lucern's flight.

Mind you, had she realized that Lucern's flight was going to be delayed so long, she might have gone with Chris and stopped for a drink or two or three before returning. She was so nervous about this conference that she was developing a sour stomach. Or perhaps it was an ulcer—she had heard that was a common editors' complaint.

Kate's thoughts died abruptly as her gaze settled on a man who had been somewhere near the back of the pack. She'd recognize anywhere that muscular frame and the majestic way he held his head.
Lucern
. He was bearing down on her, his long-legged stride quickly bringing him to the front of the disembarking passengers.

“Thank you, Marguerite,” she whispered, not even caring that the man looked as surly as ever. She would
expect nothing less. He was here, and that was all that mattered. A smile of relief stretching her lips, Kate moved forward to greet him.

“You came.” She hadn't intended to speak those words, or for her relief to show, but so it was.

Lucern scowled. “I said I would. I'm a man of my word.”

Kate's smile widened even further; then she glanced down at the suitcase, overnight bag, briefcase and portable computer he held. “Here, let me take those for you.”

She relieved him of the briefcase and portable computer before he could stop her. He didn't appear pleased by her help.

“I can carry my own things, thank you,” he said. His words were stiff, and he tried to retrieve the articles. Kate ignored the attempt and merely turned to lead the way out, babbling with determined cheer. “Chris went ahead to the hotel to check us in, so all we have to do is ride there and settle in. I arranged for your flight to be tonight because I recalled you were allergic to the sun. The best I could do was to have you leave late in the afternoon and arrive in the early evening, which I figured was better than leaving and arriving in the daytime. This works out nicely, though, because now we have the whole night to relax before the others show up tomorrow.”

Lucern had been scowling at Kate's back—her heart-shaped butt, actually, if he was honest—but at those words he jerked his eyes up to the back of her head and grimaced. He had wondered why his flight was booked for the night before the conference began, but
he had just supposed it was what everyone did. Now he knew she'd done it out of concern for him. Or, more likely, concern that he would refuse to fly during daylight due to his “allergy.” What a pain; now he had to be grateful.

“Here we are.”

Lucern had been debating commenting on her kindness in having him fly at night, but gave up the idea as he saw the car she'd stopped beside. It was a black sedan, mini limo. She handed his portable and briefcase to the driver with a smile, then turned and tried to take Lucern's overnight bag while waiting for the driver to stow the items in the trunk. Lucern frowned and evaded her reaching hands. He moved to the trunk and put them in himself. The silly woman was trying to be helpful, but Lucern was used to things being the other way around. In the era in which he'd been raised and his attitudes formed,
he
was supposed to carry things for
her
—not allow her to carry his burden.

The driver closed the trunk and led the way to the back passenger door where Kate stood. Apparently, she didn't appreciate Lucern's gallantry in refusing her help. That fact was just as exasperating to Lucern. Someone should teach the silly woman that men were given the physical strength to bear the burdens in life. Women were given beauty to please the men. Deciding to ignore her, he followed her into the back seat when the driver opened the door, then fixed a dignified you-don't-exist-for-me look on his face and stared straight ahead.

The moment the door closed, he was enveloped in a cloud of her tantalizing perfume. He didn't know
what it was she wore, but it should come with a warning: “Heady, and likely to cause confusion in those who smell it.” He himself was certainly suffering confusion from it.

Annoyance overtook him. He'd been feeling betrayed for four weeks, ever since she'd rushed out of his house, and he'd been nursing that anger. Yet now, as the smell of Kate's perfume surrounded him, his anger was overwhelmed by an entirely different but equally passionate reaction.

Men suffered a terrible handicap, he decided with disgust as he found his anger edged out by lust. The amazing thing was that it had taken him six hundred years to recognize that fact.

“I tried to do everything I could to make sure this was as comfortable for you as possible,” Kate said, drawing his attention. “What I'd like to do is outline what I've arranged. Then, if you have any suggestions, perhaps I could take care of them tonight so we'll be all ready before everyone else arrives. Okay?”