Samhain Publishing Ltd, Ebooks and Books in Print

The Rose Legacy

“Oh, hell.” Cam hurried toward the window, pulled up short and hurried back to Mace. “Don’t leave. We need to talk. Stay right here—and out of sight, please.”

She leaned out of the window, giving the drapes a tug to be sure the safety pins held close around her, smiling as if nothing was wrong. “Good afternoon, Aunt Rosemary.”

Roe stood beneath her, a slim flute of champagne in her hand. She wore a black lace teddie with thigh-high boots and nothing else, her hair whipping in the wind. Camille almost laughed. Incredible, how Mace could always seem to lighten her mood. She couldn’t honestly say she liked her aunt, but the woman definitely had her own style. Only Rosemary could dress like that for a stroll and look totally cool.

“My afternoon hasn’t been any better than yours, and yours has apparently been a nasty one. I’ve been walking the grounds. I’ve seen what you did to David’s car. Tell me you didn’t make an absolute fool of yourself in town.”

Oh, hell. She couldn’t take a piss without her aunt knowing. The woman was all over her. “It was just a minor fender-bender. Nobody got hurt and I fully intend to take care of the damage myself. In fact, Reverend Osgood was the only witness and he didn’t seem to think—”

“You went to see the preacher?”

Her aunt’s voice became even sharper as her eyes narrowed. Was visiting the clergy also a no-no? “Well, yes.”

Rosemary laughed, rubbing her legs together in delight. “Well, if he can forgive you, I suppose I can too. What do you think? Isn’t he about enough to make you cream?”

“He has good things to say about you too.”

“What the hell are you doing stuck up in that room on such a nice day?”

Mace snickered behind her, and Cam pulled the drapes even closer. She was not going to let him distract her, or have her aunt come upstairs to see what was really going on. “Actually, I was…daydreaming. Yes, that’s it. Sitting here and mentally laying out plans for the future. Imagining what I’d do with the house, the roses, the garden in general. It could be such a lovely property, I think.”

“Really? Tell me about it.”

Oh, hell, dammit and back to hell. Cam tried to remember the plans she’d formed on her own walk around the grounds—when was that? A year or two ago? Opening her mouth to speak, she clamped it shut in horror as she felt her skirt lifted from behind.

“Camille? Are you all right?”

“I…um…”

“You look a little pale.”

Forcing a tight-lipped grin, she rested her weight on one arm and swatted back at Mace with her free hand. She not only failed to land a single blow, but suddenly found herself hobbled when he smoothly slid her panties down around her ankles. What was he doing? Was the sonofabitch insane? “It’s the accident. I’m afraid it knocked the breath right out of me.”

“Are you ill? We can’t have you getting sick now, not when I’m so close to leaving. If you want, I can come up and—”

“No.”

She fervently hoped she hadn’t shouted the word as loudly as she thought. And that Rosemary hadn’t heard Mace’s soft chuckle. Or the rasping sound of his zipper going down. “I’m fine. Really.”

Roe peered up at her, one eye closed to the sun. “Then I’m waiting to hear these hot-shot plans, princess.”

“What are you doing back there?” Cam muttered between her teeth, trying to mimic a smile. “I’m gonna kill you.”

“Now, now.” Mace’s voice, whispery and seductive, flowed over her, even as he grasped her buttocks with both hands, kneading possessively. “Mustn’t let Auntie Roe know you’re being a naughty little girl, hmmm?” With a tiny growl from deep inside his throat, he nestled closer, probing her cleft from behind with one thick finger. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just find something to occupy myself while you two girls talk.”

Ravenous

“Mr. Bachmann?” He was a morning-gray shadow in the office of contrasts, sitting in her red chair. He’d removed his coat, helped himself to her coffeemaker and made himself quite at home. “What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”

“I broke the lock.”

Promising. “You really should’ve called for an appointment,” she said, closing the door. “I have other clients scheduled for this morning.”

He lunged from the chair and was on her before she could move. With her arms still trapped in the sleeves of her coat, he shoved her against the wall and pressed his body into hers. “They’ll have to wait,” he muttered. “I can’t.”

He looked tired, she noted. Such a shame it couldn’t have been for a better reason. “I’m not exactly sure why you’re here.”

“I had to come. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t dream.” One shoulder heaved in a half-hearted shrug. “I practically begged you to haunt me, didn’t I? I honestly thought I could handle it, fool that I am.”

Of course he’d thought so. They all did. Still, the heart that wasn’t hers ached for him, would have released him if she could. She had very little control over the thrall. It had become a part of her very nature, the slave of the slave. “Mr. Bachmann—”

“You didn’t come to me last night.”

“Of course not.”

“You knew I was thinking about you.”

“Look, this delusion of yours—”

“Tell me you knew.” He touched his feverish forehead to hers. “Tell me I’m not crazy.”

Oh, he was definitely crazy. He had no idea what he was asking for. “I can’t do that.”

He grimaced, and she almost felt his pain. With a forceful yank, he pulled her blouse out of her skirt. One of his hands came up to work the buttons on her blouse, the twenty-four tiny little buttons that had frustrated so many men. A few had simply ripped the shirt open. One or two had resorted to begging her to remove it.

Bach skillfully freed one at a time, his fingers moving up the garment. She held her body’s breath, watching his eyes watch hers. It felt as if he were slowly picking her apart. “Tell me you weren’t with another man last night.”

She let her coat slide to the floor, tempted to lie to him. She wasn’t very good at it, rarely needed to bother. But there was no point. If he’d guessed enough about her to ask, he already knew the truth. “I can’t do that.”

Her bare nipples hardened as he peeled the blouse down her arms. She heard him take in a huge breath as he pushed her hair away from her face and skimmed his fingertip along the line of her collarbone. It dipped lightly between her breasts as his eyes flared wide. “Then tell me I’m wrong about what you are. Tell me you don’t want me.”

The magnetism of the man was astonishing, so similar to the effect of her own thrall it was almost devastating. She wanted him more than anyone she’d ever desired. This attraction was worth being exposed. It was worth everything.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Ms. Cheval.”

“I…I can’t do that.”

He whispered in a tone that might have been a prayer. “Thank God.”

His lips barely grazed hers, and she closed her eyes, shivering with the surprising sweetness of it. No one had ever been gentle with her before. It wasn’t what she thrived on. She needed the heated spike of sexual energy. But this was something different. Cupping his face in her hands, she slid her lips across his, marveling at the sense of closeness. It brought back vague memories of being one of the Favored, of belonging to something larger than self.

Memories best left forgotten. “Mr. Bachmann?”

“Mmm?” His tongue traced the lines of her lips.

“Be sure.”

“The only thing I’m sure of is that I’m dying to have you, Leyla.”

“Not yet,” she murmured, surprised at the heavy feeling of her body’s heart. “But you will be.”