Her natural confidence, which she now considered her supreme stupidity, had caused her to approach them. Despite all the strange looks various passersby gave her—she must have appeared to be speaking to the air like a madwoman—she had carried on a conversation with the monsters. But how could she have known what they really were? A few moments later, before she knew what was happening, she met Rith for the first time.
She blinked and forced the memories away.
Havily’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Alison has suffered for weeks. I’m just so glad she has some answers now.”
She glanced from one woman to the next. “Do either of you have children?” she asked.
Parisa shook her head, but Havily couldn’t quite hide a sudden stricken look.
“I’ve caused you pain,” Fiona said quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”
Havily smiled and shook her head. “It was a long time ago. I guess all this trouble with Alison’s pregnancy has brought it back to me.” She turned to face Fiona. “I had three little girls when I was a young wife on Mortal Earth. They died of scarlet fever, my husband as well, but that was at the turn of the last century. Like I said, it was a long time ago.”
Fiona looked away and suddenly her heart hurt, maybe because Havily would understand. “I don’t know when my children died. I know nothing about them or their lives, how they grew up, if they grew up, whether they married, had children, grandchildren. They were ten and eight when I was taken from Boston. There is something hideous in not knowing, and of course after all these years neither of them would still be living.”
“We could find out for you,” Parisa said.
Fiona sighed. “I’ve thought about it, probably one minute out of two since I arrived at Madame Endelle’s palace. Now I’m afraid that I’ll have to live it all over again.”
Havily moved to the side of the bed opposite Parisa and put her hand on Fiona’s, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Nothing has to be done today. Look, Jean-Pierre is back.”
Fiona turned toward the doorway.
And there he was, holding a steaming brown ceramic mug in his hand.
She felt dizzy suddenly, such a strange reaction. Well, he was terribly handsome, and he seemed to always be looking at her, focused on her, which added to her dizziness.
Where had he found such a nice mug in the hospital?
“I went home,” he said as though having read her thoughts. He went home. That translated into a quick dematerialization, but it also meant he’d made an effort. “It took no time at all. There is also a very nice coffeehouse in Sedona. They were very obliging. I hope the cream and sugar is to your taste.”
She drew in a deep breath. Havily’s hand slid away from Fiona’s and Jean-Pierre took her place beside the bed. Fiona’s gaze fell as it so often did to the shape of his lips, the two soft peaks, the full lower lip. Her breathing pattern changed, and she forced her heart to please slow down.
He handed her the mug, handle first, supporting it from the bottom. “Careful. It is quite hot.”
She nodded but then she caught the scent of the coffee in the mug—and then the smell of him. It was so very wonderful, very male, and was that just a hint of coffee coming from him?
She now held the mug in her right hand. He was about to pull away when she caught his hand and drew it to her nose. She took an unladylike sniff then buried her nose in his skin. “It’s you,” she cried. “You smell like coffee. Did you spill some on yourself?” She looked up at him. His lips parted and the scent of him began to roll in heavy waves so that she was surrounded by his scent. The smell of fresh-roasted coffee beans flooded the space.
She released his hand with a gasp.
“I must go,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“I wish you wouldn’t.” She felt suddenly desperate to keep him near.
“Actually, Jean-Pierre,” Parisa said. “We were hoping that you would stay with Fiona for a little while. I need to speak with Antony, and Havily needs to get back to the admin offices.”
“Bien sûr,” Jean-Pierre said. He sounded strange, like he was in shock.
Fiona didn’t know what prompted her but she lowered her shields and at the same moment shut out the mental exclamations emanating from both Parisa and Havily as they left the room. She focused on Jean-Pierre’s thoughts.
Elle sais. Maintenant, elle sais. She knows. She knows. I can see it in her eyes. I ache for her. I must leave but I cannot make my feet move. I want my mouth on her, on her lips, her br**sts, between her legs, sucking …
She drew back and realized her mug-holding wrist was growing lax. She righted the mug before she tipped the steaming contents on her lap. She drew the brown ceramic to her lips. She shored up the shields of her mind. Had she even said good-bye to Havily and Parisa? No. Had she really taken the warrior’s hand and pressed it to her face to smell him? Yes.
She shook her head then sipped her coffee. She didn’t understand what was happening. After a moment, she asked, “Jean-Pierre, what’s going on? I … I’ll confess I just read your thoughts.”
“You did? But how? I did not feel you in my head.”
She glanced at him over the rim. She sipped the coffee, careful not to burn her tongue. Oh, how to explain? She met his gaze and thought she would drown in the sight of him. He was so beautiful and his eyes were the color of the ocean and his smell an aphrodisiac.
Desire flowed over her now as though some floodgate had been released in her, something she had not felt for a man in decades. The blood tonic she had been forced to drink following each drain had always resulted in a powerful orgasm, but this was different.
From the time she could remember, even as a child, the eldest of eight siblings, she had been a woman of decision. When she saw what she wanted or what needed to be done, she took action. That she had been enslaved for over a hundred years was a circumstance she viewed as a terrible inconvenient breach in her life.
She understood that she would need some form of healing and therapy; that was a given. And as soon as the doctors released her from the hospital, she would get all that set up—not just for herself but for the other slaves as well.
But this was a new world and a new life. She desired this thoughtful warrior who had given her back a precious locket and asked, Can I bring you something?
Yes, she would begin her new life now, and she would begin by taking something she wanted.
She set the mug on the table beside her. She knew what she had to do. “You should shut the blinds,” she said. “And close the door.” She watched his face. His sensual lips were now set in a grim, determined line, even the points flattened … a little.