"Yes?" said the woman, her voice low and soft.
"I'm Neal Etan. I have an appointment with Ms. Rowan."
"Is it four thirty already?" She sounded bewildered.
"It is."
She swung the door open and stepped back for him to enter. "I'm sorry. I was studying a new artifact and must have lost track of time. Please come in."
Neal stared at her in a long moment of surprise.
She was taller than he expected—only a couple of inches shy of six feet—and much, much younger. He'd had an image of some dried-up, bent old woman, someone who fit in with all the younger. He'd had an image of some dried-up, bent old woman, someone who fit in with all the ancient items she was reputed to have collected—one of which Neal wasn't leaving without.
Instead, he guessed her to be in her late twenties, though her prim business suit and spinsterish bun gave her a more mature air. She was pretty in an untouchable kind of way—the kind of woman a rough man like Neal avoided when possible. He'd either shock her or hurt her or both if he was around long enough.
He hoped he could conclude their business and be on his way before that became an issue.
Neal stepped over the threshold as she extended her hand in greeting. "I'm Viviana Rowan."
He didn't want to touch her. Her long, elegant fingers seemed too fragile for his sword-calloused hand. But even more than that, he didn't want to offend her—not when they hadn't even begun to negotiate.
With an inward sigh of resignation, Neal took her offered hand, thinking of blown-glass sculptures and hollow eggs so he'd keep his grip light.
He'd intended to make the contact as brief as possible, but the second his skin touched hers, his world fell silent. Decades of pain evaporated like snowflakes over a fire. A buoyant, weightless bubble swelled inside him, driving away the pressure of the massive power he stored but could not use. The hair along his limbs lifted from his body, and a fine shiver eased down his spine, warming him as it passed. Even his shock at the reaction couldn't seem to penetrate the overwhelming sense of peace that settled over him. He was content to stay here in this quiet, warm peacefulness for the rest of his life.
And then he felt her fingers slide from his grip and reality came crashing down on him once again. Pain thrashed inside him, as if angry that he'd had even that brief respite. It lunged against his bones, pummeling his organs as it punished him.
Neal gritted his teeth against the scream that was crawling up his throat and locked his knees so he wouldn't collapse in a heap at the woman's feet. A cold sweat beaded up along his hairline, and his stomach gave a hard, sickening twist.
". . . you okay?" Her soft voice lapped against his nerves, quieting their rioting dance. "I'll call for an ambulance."
"No," croaked Neal. "I'm fine." He was anything but fine, but the last thing he needed was to be dragged away from here and have human doctors poking at him. Not only would they be freaked-out by his lifemark, but he'd have a hell of a hard time explaining why there was an invisible sword strapped around his hips. "Can I have some water?" he asked, just to get her to leave him alone for a minute. He needed to collect his wits, and he really didn't want this woman to see him weak like this.
She shut the front door behind him and hurried off, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor.
Neal sagged against the walland blinked to clear the black spots from his vision. He was shaking like one of those scared little purse dogs, and about as tough as one right now, too.
Sunset was in just over an hour, and he had that long to get his shit together and fix it before the nasties came out to play.
One thing was certain: There was not a force on earth that was going to pull him away from Ms. Viviana Rowan's side until he figured out what she'd done to him.
And how he could make her do it again.
Viviana filled a glass with water and guzzled it down before she remembered she was supposed to get him the water. Her heart was racing, and her hand was trembling so hard it kept slipping from the faucet handle.
When he touched her, something happened. And she wasn't entirely sure she liked it. She'd felt like someone had sent an electric current through her skin, making it tingle and buzz from the inside out. A swath of heat swept over her, emanating from his wide, rough palm. His touch had been gentle, but that had somehow allowed her to feel each ridge of his calluses, every minute detail down to the whorls in his fingerprints.
That simply wasn't right. It had to have been some kind of hallucination. Maybe his skin had been drugged with a contact poison.
Even as the thought entered her mind, she dismissed it. Deep down she knew what this was.
She'd felt it before, albeit never so intensely. That buzzing, resonant humming that filled her wasn't new to her. She'd felt it every time she touched one of the precious artifacts she collected.
The only problem was, Neal Etan was not some centuries-old artifact. He was a living, breathing, incredibly warm man. One who was waiting in her foyer.
What was she going to do with him? He couldn't stay. He was here to buy one of her artifacts, and although she hadn't before suspected he'd want one from her special collection, she now realized that had to be the case.
She wouldn't let him have one of those. They were hers—the only things that made her feel connected to this world. Without them, she would be doomed to live with that meaningless, disconnected feeling she'd suffered through most of her life. She couldn't let that happen.
Not that she could keep him from taking something he wanted. He was far too big and powerful to stop. She was going to have to outsmart him and get him to leave as soon as possible. She could not let her entire life's work be torn apart. Especially not so soon after losing Mother.
This was going to be her first Christmas alone with only her collection to keep her company.
Viviana covered her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle a whimper, and swore she could smellhis masculine scent lingering on her skin. It soothed her nerves, which only frightened her more. She'd never had a reaction like this to a man before, and she hoped it was only temporary.
She scrubbed her hands in the sink to rid them of his scent, and then hurried out with his glass of water. The sooner she got him to leave, the better.
She rounded the corner and nearly ran right into his broad chest. He grabbed her arms to steady her, and she was thankful the layers of fabric between them muted the effect of his touch.
Only a trickle of that tingling energy reached her skin, but it was enough to heighten the trembling of her hands, causing water to slosh over the side of the glass onto his boot.