Heat of the Night

Chapter 8

For a man once lauded for his honor, Michael Sheron's present life filled with lies and treason was an end even he could not have foreseen. The shadowy beings they called Nightmares were nothing compared to the nightmare of deceit he dealt with daily.

As his body flew through air across the distance between the rebellion headquarters and the Temple of the Elders, Michael surveyed the beauty of the landscape rushing by beneath him. Rolling, grass-covered hills. Lush valleys with roaring rivers. Magnificent waterfalls.

All a carefully crafted stage to stave off discontent.

It saddened him that he had come to disdain the paradise he expended great effort to maintain, but the perfection of their surroundings was as evanescent as the dreams his people guarded. Beneath the façade lay a foundation firmly mired in untruths. But only the Elders and the rebels knew this. The majority of Guardians were happy here and they would remain that way, if they were kept ignorant of the uprising.

That deception was his most pressing task, and it grew more difficult by the day. Captain Aidan Cross was a warrior of legend, his mere presence enough to make the other Guardians feel safe and secure. Cross's disappearance was beginning to cause undue speculation and now the loss of Bruce would compound the problem.

They were the two most visible and acclaimed members of the Elite Warriors and lifelong best friends. The Guardians wouldn't understand why two men so fiercely loyal to their people would betray them so brutally. Their desertion would raise questions regarding what had so disillusioned them, and the option-to make them villains-was not one Michael wanted to utilize. He thought it best to keep both men in the good graces of the masses. Hero worship was a powerful emotion, and it could be a useful tool in the future. History was filled with tales of great feats accomplished by invoking the memory of a beloved figure.

The gleaming white Temple came into view and Michael slowed his airborne glide, drifting into a vertical position and then lowering gently to his feet. He paused a moment to pull up the cowl all the Elders used to hide their emaciated features from public view. He'd once been a handsome man. Ages ago. The loss of physical beauty, however, was a small price to pay to achieve his aims.

Outwardly prepared, Michael stepped through the massive red torii gate the Elders used as a motivator. Its warning engraved in the ancient language-Beware of the Key that turns the Lock-had given the Guardians both a goal and hope, two things required to maintain mental health. If he could keep the knowledge of the coup contained, the message could continue to serve its purpose.

As he crossed the open-air center courtyard, he left a trail of droplets in his wake. His robes were still soaked from his confrontation with Bruce and would have to remain that way for the time being. He was expected, and punctuality was the best way to stave off unwanted curiosity.

Knowing he was being watched through the vid monitors, Michael kept his movements to a leisurely pace. He paused at the chôzuya. Dipping the waiting ladle into the fountain, he rinsed out his mouth and washed his hands, his gaze sweeping over the center courtyard, a place that brought comfort to most Guardians but felt like a prison to him.

Releasing his breath, he cleared his mind, knowing that a confident and casually arrogant mien would be required to get him through the audience ahead. He had suggested meeting with Bruce, but the events he had set in motion during that discussion were entirely of his own design. It was a complicated dance he engaged in, and a misstep would cost him everything.

Michael crossed the center courtyard and entered the haiden where the other Elders awaited him. His peers. Or so they called themselves. In truth, there were very few of the many who shared his goals.

The cool interior engulfed him, the room's rounded walls hidden in shadow due to the light that illuminated only the dead center of the space. He came to a halt within that beam and it immediately dimmed, revealing the hooded figures who sat before him in semicircular rows.

"Has Captain Bruce connected with Cross and the Key, Elder Sheron?"

"If he has not done so yet, he will shortly."

The benches above him exploded in a hum of dozens of conversations. Michael waited patiently, his stance wide, his hands clasped at the small of his back. With a toss of his head, his wet cowl was thrown back to better convince the others of his sincerity. No one feigned sincerity as well as he did.

"What do you suggest we do now that Bruce is out of the Twilight?"

"We should send an Elder to lead the team recovering the artifacts."

Discussion swelled again, hundreds of voices competing to be heard over the din.

"Sheron."

He smiled inwardly at the feminine voice. "Yes, Elder Rachel?"

"Who would you send on our behalf?"

"Who would you prefer?"

Rachel stood, pushing her hood back to reveal raven tresses and snapping green eyes. "I will go. And lead."

"You were exactly who I had in mind," he drawled.

Elder Rachel was a warrior of singular skill who had a rare gift for command, much like Cross and Bruce. Her appearance was also a plus. Only the female Elders retained their youthful attractiveness. She would not be as conspicuous as the men would be.

"Captain Cross will have difficulty facing a woman opponent," he said. "That is an advantage we will need."

"And Bruce?" someone questioned. "I still do not understand how his presence in the mortal realm helps us in any way."

"Each of them is immovable alone. Together, they are fluid. They lean on each other. They have more to lose when they know their actions affect the other one. They will become more firmly rooted in the mortal plane. They will venture farther, experience more, take bigger risks than they would have apart."

"It will take too long!" someone complained.

Michael sighed inwardly. "If we hope to have the Dreamer conceive a Guardian sired child, we will need to give them time. They are poised on a knife's edge and until they feel secure enough in their future together, they won't chance pregnancy. Regardless, the gestational period for a human female cannot be changed."

"But she is not like other humans."

"Which creates even more questions," he argued. "We cannot rush this. We must be patient and allow the pieces of the puzzle to fall where they may."

Discussion ensued and lasted for hours. It was always this way. The Guardian community was resistant to change by nature. Michael often thought it was a fortuitous circumstance that they were immortal. Otherwise, they would never have the lifespan required to accomplish any task.

In the end, however, he achieved his aims.

"Elder Rachel, you will begin preparations?" an Elder asked. "The acclimation to the human world will not be easy and working against Captain Cross will test you."

Her lush mouth curved, but the smile wasn't reflected in her hard green eyes. "I will be ready."

"It is decided then," the Elder said, speaking for the collective. "We will proceed to the next chapter."

Stacey finished packing up her stuff and took one last look around Lyssa's guest bedroom to make sure she didn't forget anything.

It was going to suck going home to an empty house, but there was no reason to stay and she really didn't want to. The vibe would be too weird now that Lyssa and Aidan knew she'd been intimate with Connor. Besides, Connor was here on business. Knowing how singularly focused Aidan was about his antiquities, they'd probably want to get started right away. She had things to do, too, so…

Slinging one strap of her backpack over her shoulder, Stacey headed downstairs.

She was surprised to find Connor alone. He was seated at the dining table, gingerly cleaning some dirt-encrusted object. A black T-shirt stretched to its limits over his broad shoulders and his long legs were encased in loose-fitting faded jeans.

"Hi," she said, as she passed him on her way to fetching her purse from the top of the breakfast bar. "Where's Aidan and Lyssa?"

"They went to sleep. Apparently, they drove all night and they're wiped out."

Stacey turned to face him. He watched her with those aqua blue eyes that seemed so knowing. As if he'd seen and done more than was possible for a man of his years. He couldn't be more than thirty-five, she'd guess, but he had the stamina and energy of a man half that age, as she knew firsthand.

She shook her head. "I was hoping they'd enjoy some time off. They both work too damn hard."

"Where are you going?" he asked softly, his eyes on her baby pink and black Roxy backpack. She would never have purchased such an extravagance for herself. A five dollar backpack from Wal-Mart would do the same job. But Lyssa had noted her admiring it in the store and bought it as a gift. Because of that, it was one of her favorite "luxury" items.

"Home. I have some things to do."

"Like what?"

"Stuff. The house needs cleaning. I can rarely get to it when Justin's home. And the front step on my porch is rotted. My neighbor said he'd take a look at it for me, so I'll see if today works for him or not."

Connor set the object in his hands down and pushed back from the table in a dangerously graceful movement. For as big as he was, he moved like a panther. Sleek and stealthy. "I can fix it for you."

She blinked up at him, her head tilted back slightly to take in his height. Even from a few feet away, she had to raise her eye level to look at him. "Why?"

"Why would he fix it for you?" he countered.

Stacey frowned. "Because he's a nice guy."

"I'm a nice guy."

"You're busy." And gorgeous. Dear god, he was luscious. Black was his color, for sure. She'd noted that yesterday when he arrived. It accentuated his golden skin and hair to perfection. The slightly too-long locks, T-shirt, jeans, and black combat boots made a heady bad boy combination. The mental picture of him in her house did strange things to her equilibrium.

"I need to strategize," he said. "I can do that anywhere."

"Fixing a broken step is boring."

"Your neighbor doesn't think so."

"He likes my homemade apple pie."

Connor crossed his arms over his chest. "I like apple pie."

"It's really not a good idea…"

"Sure it is," he insisted, with a stubborn bent to his jaw line that she found endearing. "I'm great at fixing porches."

She should say no. Really. She knew he was hoping that a quick repair would lead to some sexual gratitude. Thing of it was, she was worried he might be right to hope. She'd spent the entire length of her shower wondering what it would be like to make love to him with time on her side. Without rushing through it.

Hazardous thoughts.

"I think we should just say good-bye now," she said.

"Chicken."

Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"

Connor tucked his hands in his arm pits, flapped his arms up and down, and made squawking noises.

"Oh my god," she muttered. "That's so childish."

"Whatever. You're scared to take me with you because you like me too much."

"I do not."

"Liar."

She set her hands on her hips and asked, "Why do all men regress to being big babies when they don't get what they want?"

He stuck his tongue out at her.

Stacey bit her lower lip and looked away quickly. He laughed, a full-bodied guffaw of pure joy. She choked while trying to keep from joining him.

"Come on. Enough of this nonsense." He rounded the dining table and took her backpack from her. The grin he gifted her with made her tummy flip. "I promise to behave."

"But I'm so irresistible," she drawled wryly.

"I know."

The intimate timbre to his brogue arrested her and kept her staring at him long after she should have looked away. His gaze was warm and possessive, slightly hungry. She was asking for trouble with a capital "T" by taking him home with her. Letting him play man of the house for the afternoon. Allowing him to imprint himself on her home.

She sighed. "What if I don't behave?"

Connor stepped aside and gestured toward the foyer. "I won't say no," he warned. "If you're hoping I'll agree to play the gentleman, think again."

"Fine." Stacey led the way to the front door and he opened it, pausing a moment to collect his sword. "But I'm putting you to work, Mr. Big-strong-man-who-can-do-the-chicken-dance."

"Bring it on, sweetheart."

He followed her out the white wooden gate that enclosed Lyssa's flagstone patio. They walked together to the small guest parking area and Stacey hit the remote on her keychain that popped open the trunk of her Nissan Sentra. Connor tossed her backpack and his scabbard inside, then began whistling as he moved to the passenger door.

"You're too happy about this," she muttered.

"And you're too worried." He paused and stared at her over the roof of her car. "We had sex, Stacey. Great sex." His voice lowered and the brogue thickened. "I've been inside you. If I can't be happy spending time with you after that, what kind of guy would that make me?"

Stacey swallowed hard, blinking. She'd seen this look on his face before. Austerely intent. Serious. He wore it just as well as he wore amusement. "You're fucking with my head. I don't like it."

"By telling you the truth?"

"By being perfect!" she hissed, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Stop it."

His mouth curved in a tender smile. "You're nuts, you know that?"

"Yeah?" She yanked open her car door and slid behind the wheel. "You don't have to hang out with me."

The passenger door opened and he folded his big body into the suddenly miniscule seat. He grimaced.

"Move the seat back if you won't go away," she said.

He shook his head and looked exasperated. "I'm not going anywhere. Get used to the idea."

Rolling her eyes, Stacey leaned over and reached between his legs to find the manual seat release. "Don't think you're going to make me feel guilty that you're squished. Push back."

He didn't move.

"Jesus H. Christ!" She smacked his shin. "Why are you so stubborn? Push back."

He still didn't move. Not one muscle.

Turning her head to complain, she found herself eye level with an impressive bulge in the crotch of his jeans. His right hand was on his thigh, the fingers white as they dug into the hard muscle beneath the denim. Stunned for a moment, Stacey didn't move. Comprehension was slow to sink in. Eventually she realized that her breasts were pressed to his left thigh, thrusting rhythmically due to her labored breathing. Her gaze lifted, noting the rapid lift and fall of his chest before coming to rest on his face.

His expression was mocking. "This is supposed to make me more comfortable?"

Stacey glared and straightened. "You did that on purpose."

Connor snorted and moved the seat back himself. "Let's go, sweetheart."

They pulled out of Lyssa's gated condominium complex and sped down the road to Stacey's part of town. Old town, they called it, but it was presently going through an overhaul. The new police station and town hall were being built in one large complex, and new businesses were filling the once empty plots. Murrieta was a new town with an old history. Within a block of each other, one could find a Starbucks and a farm. The dichotomy was one she relished. Country charm with all the modern conveniences.

"Do you like it here?" Connor asked, surveying the passing landscape with a curious eye.

"I do. It's perfect for me."

"What do you like about it?"

She glanced aside at him. "What's not to like?"

He wrinkled his nose. "It stinks."

"O-kay…" Stacey pondered that a moment. "We are in a valley." At his raised brows, she explained, "Smog tends to sit in valleys."

"Wonderful."

She shrugged. "If you think it stinks here, don't go to Norco."

"Sounds like a gas station," he said.

She laughed. "I've always thought so, too! Seriously, though, it's horse country. Plus they have lots of dairy farms out that way. The whole town smells like cow shit."

"Nice." His mouth was curved in that singular smile that made her heart flutter madly.

They turned a corner and entered the part of old Murrieta where there were no sidewalks and there was a good bit of distance between one house and the next. It was far different from the area where Lyssa lived. There you could borrow a cup of sugar from a neighbor just by reaching your arm out your window.

Stacey pulled into her gravel drive and came to stop before the little two-bedroom house she called home. It was small, just under a thousand square feet, but it was adorable. If she said so herself. It had a wide covered front porch framed by curving flower beds that she'd designed and planted herself. Painted a soft sage green with bright white trim, the place was cute on the outside and fully modernized on the inside. And it was hers.

Well, as much as a mortgaged house could be.

"Here it is," she said, lifting her chin with pride.

Connor rounded the trunk and drew abreast of her. "I like it."

She glanced at him and found him engrossed in checking out her abode. "It's too small for you," she thought aloud, then instantly regretted how that might come across. As if she were imagining him living there.

He canted his body to face her, standing so close she couldn't help but smell him. She didn't know what the scent was. It wasn't any cologne that she could recognize. It was just him, she suspected. Just Connor-brilliant name for a signature cologne and he'd make a fortune off it.

"I like tight places," he purred with mischief in his eyes.

Not for the first time, Stacey wondered what it would be like to live with a man who was so confident. That inner surety enabled him to be such a shameless tease. It also made him different from all the other men she had ever dated. The others had been small men pretending to be big men. She'd always fallen for the shell, the illusion of stability. Until she had Justin. Then she learned to find strength within herself, because someone else depended on her.

She inched by Connor and went to the trunk where she pulled out her backpack. Evading him when he tried to take it from her, Stacey jogged to the porch and cautioned, "Watch out for the second stair. That's the one with the rot."

"Got it."

When she pulled open the wooden-framed screen door, he was right there with her, his hand catching the edge and holding it ajar while she unlocked the two deadbolts and door lock.

"Isn't it safe out here?" he asked, delaying entering the house after her because he was scanning the front yard and the quiet street beyond.

"Yes. But my scaredy-cat sensibilities take over after dark."

He nodded as if he understood. Stacey suspected he sympathized, but she doubted he had ever been scared of anything. He was too steady, too assured. She imagined that resoluteness came from growing up in a family so dedicated to dangerous military service. They all expected to die, so they didn't fear danger in the same way others did.

He stepped into her living room behind her and the screen door swung shut with a loud squeak followed by a louder bang. Connor scowled at it. "Your door's broken."

"Technically, it's the little arm thingy that doesn't work, not the door."

"Whatever. It's busted."

"Nah, it needs adjustment. Make yourself comfortable." Stacey headed down the hallway to the laundry room, where she pulled her cat hair-covered clothes out of her backpack and tossed them in the washing machine.

A moment later Connor called after her, "Your son is a handsome boy."

Stacey blew out her breath and headed back toward the living room. Connor was half-way down the hall, looking at the multitude of framed pictures that lined the length. It was a small space and he hogged all of it, the top of his head nearly reaching the low ceiling.

"Thanks. I think so." She found him studying a Polaroid of the two of them at the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby. Justin had been nearly of a height with her, and with his medium brown hair and dark eyes he didn't really look related to her at all.

"That was taken a couple years ago," she explained. "He's dropped out of Cub Scouts since then. Said it was something a boy should do with his dad."

Connor reached over and stroked his hand down the length of her spine. It was a gesture of comfort, much like the kiss he'd given her the night before, and it was a source of consolation, but it was something else, too. And she couldn't let it be something else. She couldn't allow him to become a crutch she looked toward or depended on, because he wasn't going to be around forever.

She'd made the same mistake so many times-looking for strength outside of herself. She refused to do it again.

"I'll go start on the pie," she said before passing him and heading into the kitchen. It took him a while to join her, and when he did he wore an odd expression.

"You alright?" she asked, turning off the water she had running to wash the apples. "All the family stuff freaking you out? Want me to take you home?"

"Aidan's house isn't home." He leaned against the jamb of the archway that connected the breakfast nook with the kitchen. There was no formal dining room, which worked because she didn't need one.

He watched her intently, a brooding and overwhelming presence in her tiny kitchen. "Am I supposed to freak out because you have a child?"

His arms crossed his chest in a now familiar gesture, emphasizing his mouthwatering biceps. He dominated her thoughts, making it impossible to avoid being highly aware of him. A larger-than-life personality housed in a larger-than-life body. It was too much. He was too much.

"I don't know." She shook out the excess water from the colander. "You came in here looking funny."

"It's been a rough couple days."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"I do, actually."

"Okay. Shoot." She dug into one of the lower cabinets for her apple peeler.

"I can't."

Stacey straightened and hid her unreasonable feeling of hurt and disappointment with a caustic, "Of course not."

"You wouldn't believe me."

"I'll have to take your word for it." She met his gaze and held it. "Since I've got nothing else to go on."

They both waited a long moment. She sensed the conflict in him, the need to say something important, but she couldn't figure out what it would be.

So she made her best guess. "You're not going to be living in the Valley full-time, are you?"

He frowned. "I have to travel a lot."

"Okay." She sighed. "You're not going to ask me to be exclusive when you're in town, but single when you're not, right? Please don't."

"I'm not an asshole, Stacey," he said with quiet dignity. "Can you raise the bar a little when you think about me?"

Connor watched Stacey fidget nervously and inwardly kicked himself. He was bungling this all to hell, but he didn't know how to fix it.

He wanted to be with her.

It was as simple and as complicated as that.

She sighed audibly. "I'm sorry." She tossed her hands up. "I just don't know what you're doing here. Why you're looking at me like that. What I'm supposed to do or say."

I'm here because I couldn't let you go home alone when there are freaks out there. I'm looking at you like this because I've been in your room and I touched the blankets on your bed that keep you warm. I want you to say that you want me there. With you.

With an impatient hand, she pushed the mass of dark curls back from her face. He knew she wanted promises and stability. Perhaps not promises of forever, but he couldn't even guarantee her anything beyond this moment. He might be on a plane tonight with no clue when he would be back. The best way to keep her safe was by stopping the danger before it reached her.

Aidan was right. Connor knew he was the worst possible choice for her, but that didn't silence the part of him that insisted she was his to take care of.

He straightened. "Do you have tools?"

Busy work. That's what he needed. Something to occupy him physically while his brain worked to sort out his dilemma. Otherwise, he'd be all over her in a minute, coaxing and seducing her into the tumble he so desperately wanted. Face to face. Her legs wrapped around his hips. Her nails in his back.

"Only the basics." Her green eyes gave so much away. He wondered if she knew that. "They're in a yellow metal bucket just inside the door."

"I'll get to work."

"Thank you."

Gratitude. He heard it in her voice and the primitive part of his psyche wanted to howl in victory. She needed something and he could provide it.

Mine.

Connor had never felt even the slightest bit possessive about a lover in his life. But then he hadn't felt even the slightest bit like himself since he'd met Stacey.

He caught up the bucket handle, pushed open the screen door, and stepped out onto the porch. There was a good bit of distance from the house to the street. A wide expanse of lawn took over from the flower beds and ran all the way to the chain link fence.

It was a cute house. Quaint and charming. It was a home that suited Stacey and revealed another side of her. He wanted to stay for dinner and another movie. He wanted to love her body again, the right way. The long way. All night. He wanted to wake up with her wiggling her delightful ass against his cock. Only this time they'd both be naked. He could anchor her leg on his hip and push into her from behind-

The door slammed shut behind him.

"That's got to go," he growled, turning to glare at the offending object.

Connor set down the tools and got to work. He forcibly pushed thoughts of Elders and Nightmares from his mind. He had only this single day with Stacey and though he'd come here because he feared for her traveling alone, he now intended to spend the hours with her indulging as if there were no tomorrow.

Because, for them, there wasn't.