Death's Daughter Part 4

She instantly dropped the end of the dreadlock she'd been twisting around her finger and looked up.

"What's wrong? Lord, Hy didn't fire you, did she?"

I shook my head, trying to compose my face into the most depressed-looking expression I could muster. I was even able to manage a little bit of tear action by opening my eyelids unnaturally wide and not blinking.

"Are you okay?" Geneva asked. "Your eyes look kinda funny-"

I held out my hand to stop her.

"Trying not to cry," I said, my voice still as husky as I could make it.

"Oh, sorry."

I shook my head.

"My father is really . . . ill ill, and I need to go home. Can you let Hy know?"

Geneva nodded, her face scrunched up tight with empathy.

"Of course. Oh, jeez, Cal, I'm sorry. That's so awful."

She reached over and gave me a tentative, one-armed hug. It was sweet of her since I knew she was not a public-display-of-affection kind of person.

"Is there anything I can do?" she added.

"Just tell Hy it was an emergency."

She nodded, then her eyes lit up.

"Oh, I'll call HR, so they can make sure there's someone to fill in for you while you're gone," Geneva said helpfully.

I gave her a weak smile full of grat.i.tude.

"You just get on home before anything happens," Geneva said, giving my arm a commiserative pat.

"I will," I said. Boy, this whole thing was starting to make me feel like a total jerk. I hated to lie to Geneva, especially when she was being so nice, but it really couldn't be helped.

I packed what little I needed from my desk into the Kate Spade knock-off shoulder bag-twenty bucks in Times Square-and with a wave to Geneva, who was already on the phone with HR, headed back down the hall to where I knew Jarvis would be eagerly waiting.

using a wormhole to jump from one place to another is an efficient way to travel, but not the most comfortable as far as I'm concerned.

How do I describe the sensation? Kind of like Alice falling down the Rabbit Hole, I guess, but let me tell you, Lewis Carroll never said anything about your stomach jumping up into your throat, or your head throbbing like it was being squeezed in a vise.

I had almost made Jarvis call the house and order a helicopter-I hated wormholes so much. Instead, I'd taken a deep breath and followed him through the swirling ma.s.s of black nothingness he'd called up inside the bathroom while I was back at my desk.

It was as bad as I'd remembered. My head ached, my stomach knotted, and I was pummeled on all sides by bursts of strong, hot air. Then, it was over, and I fell hard to the floor, my body so unused to the experience that it couldn't hold me up on my feet.

"c.r.a.p!"

I opened my eyes and found myself in the middle of my father's dark, wood-paneled library.

As far as I could tell, the room was just as I remembered it: two tasteful brown leather wingback chairs and a matching couch, holding court in front of the ma.s.sive mahogany fireplace; a bloodred-and-cream Oriental rug laid out across the dark patterned parquet floor; the wet bar where my father kept his cognac and other after-dinner liquors.

My sisters and I had spent many an afternoon playing hide-and-seek here, one or the other of us shut up in the wooden belly of the tall grandfather clock that stood majestically by the large bay window that looked out onto the water. Sometimes it was hours before someone found your hiding place and released you, legs and back sore from the long stretch of inactivity. That was the problem with having such a big house-too many good hiding places.

As much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, being back at Sea Verge made me realize how much I'd missed the place-and my family.

"Are you all right down there?" a masculine voice called from the doorway. I looked up, expecting to see Jarvis, but instead found a tall, scrumptious-looking man man standing there staring at me, one of my father's books in his hand. standing there staring at me, one of my father's books in his hand.

Embarra.s.sed, I stood up. Of course I make an a.s.s out of myself in front of the only member of the opposite s.e.x in the room-typical Callie, Of course I make an a.s.s out of myself in front of the only member of the opposite s.e.x in the room-typical Callie, I thought miserably to myself. I thought miserably to myself.

"I'm fine," I said, trying to compose myself. d.a.m.n it! d.a.m.n it! I could feel a nervous grin starting to take over my face. I could feel a nervous grin starting to take over my face.

Another thing you should know about me is I tend to grin like an idiot when I'm nervous-and hot guys make me extremely extremely nervous. I can't help it. I'm just not good when it comes to interacting with good-looking men. I always say the wrong thing or fall over a chair or something. nervous. I can't help it. I'm just not good when it comes to interacting with good-looking men. I always say the wrong thing or fall over a chair or something. It's so embarra.s.sing It's so embarra.s.sing.

"Yes, you are are a fine little girl, aren't you," he said, giving me a wry, knowing grin as he appraised my face and the figure underneath my clothes, which today consisted of a really adorable flowered tank dress from Anthropologie. a fine little girl, aren't you," he said, giving me a wry, knowing grin as he appraised my face and the figure underneath my clothes, which today consisted of a really adorable flowered tank dress from Anthropologie.

His gaze was very penetrating, and suddenly, I realized the guy was, like, mentally undressing me mentally undressing me! Who did he think I was? Dial-a-call-girl? Dial-a-call-girl?

Not sure at all how to respond, I glared at him. The one thing I've found that can combat nervousness is anger. And this guy with his so cool so cool att.i.tude was starting to make me really angry . . . and, I hated to admit it, kinda h.o.r.n.y at the same time. att.i.tude was starting to make me really angry . . . and, I hated to admit it, kinda h.o.r.n.y at the same time.

"In fact, you look as hot as a four-alarm fire in h.e.l.l," he said in response to my silence. Shocked, I took a step back. Is the guy talking about how angry I look, Is the guy talking about how angry I look, I thought, I thought, or is he just- or is he just- "Are you making a pa.s.s at me?" I blurted out before I could stop myself.

This made the guy laugh, and for the first time I noticed how incredibly blue his eyes were. They had to be the palest ice blue eyes I'd ever seen outside of a Paul Newman movie. He also had nice, s.h.i.+ny white teeth and a head of curly, ebony hair that made his pale skin look almost translucent in the sunlight.

"You're a funny little thing, aren't you?" he said, putting the book back on the bookshelf-lined wall. "I haven't heard the term 'making a pa.s.s' at someone in a very, very long time."

He took a step toward me, and I took a halting step back, trying to keep as much distance between our bodies as I could-fat lot of good that did me. He closed the gap between us in two quick steps, the warmth from his tall, lean body almost palpable as he stood mere inches away. I swallowed hard, not liking the way my body was instinctively reacting to his. Part of me even wanted to reach out and touch him, play with the soft curl of hair that escaped from the top of his b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rt, but I fought hard to keep that part of me firmly in check.

"Who are you?" I asked, my voice thick in my throat. This was going very badly. A few more minutes, and I'd be ripping the s.h.i.+rt right off his chest, my body was getting that that excited by his nearness. I hadn't felt this way about a guy in years. In fact, I didn't think I'd excited by his nearness. I hadn't felt this way about a guy in years. In fact, I didn't think I'd ever ever felt this physically attracted to another human being in my life. felt this physically attracted to another human being in my life.

Suddenly, he reached out, his fingers gently grazing my cheek as he slipped a stray lock of hair back behind my ear. The way he did it was so sensual I almost choked on my own breath.

Oh, G.o.d, I thought, my legs as weak as a newborn lamb's, my mouth dry with antic.i.p.ation. I thought, my legs as weak as a newborn lamb's, my mouth dry with antic.i.p.ation. He's gonna ravage me right here on my father's Oriental rug . . . and I am so gonna let him! He's gonna ravage me right here on my father's Oriental rug . . . and I am so gonna let him!

He leaned in close-close enough to feel his breath hot against my ear, to smell the woodsy bouquet of his cologne. I closed my eyes, my heart thumping erratically in my chest with all the h.o.r.n.y enthusiasm it could muster.

I was so not not ready for what was obviously gonna come next: ready for what was obviously gonna come next: s.e.x. s.e.x.

I mean, I wasn't on the pill, there were no diaphragms magically waiting to be spermicided in my purse, and I definitely didn't think my father was the kinda guy to keep a pack of condoms tucked away in his desk drawer.

Screw it! I thought to myself. I thought to myself. You only live once. You only live once.

Having made peace with my dubious situation, I licked my lips, prayed my breath wasn't too terrible from the double espresso I'd had that morning, and let my mouth go slack with antic.i.p.ation.

"Go ahead," I said. "Do your worst."

I closed my eyes and waited. I didn't have to wait too long. He came closer, his lips only a hairbreadth from mine.

"I am . . ." he said, then he paused.

I swallowed hard, trying to becalm my struggling pulse and the throbbing between my legs.

"I am the Devil's protege."

five.

I opened one eye, then the other, and stared at him.

"Oh . . ." I said, hoping the "Devil's protege" couldn't see how disappointed I was we weren't fornicating on the floor already. "Is that all?"

He looked surprised (or maybe "upset" was a better word) that I wasn't shocked by his p.r.o.nouncement, scared of him even. He frowned and c.o.c.ked his head, obviously trying to reconcile some incorrect vision of me he had in his mind.

"You're not surprised?" he said, his brow furrowed. "But I don't understand. I was told you were the normal normal member of your family-" member of your family-"

"Who told you that?" I demanded.

"Common knowledge," he said, skirting my question.

"And I guess you just took that to mean I didn't have a clue as to what went on around here?" I sniffed. "Please." "Please."

He took a step back, and I felt a sharp pain in my chest. Am I experiencing "Devil's protege" withdrawal? Am I experiencing "Devil's protege" withdrawal?

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and the guy took another few steps backward until he had put a good "couch and wing chair" between us. It was the strangest thing, but the farther he got away from me, the more I wanted to jump him. It was actually becoming a struggle to keep from leaping over the couch and attacking.

I put my hands on the back of the leather couch and dug my nails in. This was getting ridiculous.

"I, uhm . . ." I began, but couldn't seem to think beyond how attractive I found him, how much I wanted to screw his brains out right there on the floor.

"G.o.d! Stop it!" I said to myself, holding on to the couch for dear life.

"Is something wrong?" the Devil's protege asked, but I only shook my head.

"Get. Out," I finally said through clenched teeth.

"What?"

He didn't seem to understand we were a reaching crisis point. He just stood there looking at me. Obviously he had no experience with hormonal women.

"Get out before I do something we'll both regret," I almost screamed at him.

He jumped, my words like a cattle prod.

"I don't understand-" he began, but I didn't let him finish. With both hands, I picked up one of the red accent pillows on the couch and lobbed it at him.

Shocked, he just stood there.

"Get out! Get out! Get out! If you value your life, get out!"

This seemed to penetrate, and he looked a little terrified at my outburst. He quickly turned on his heel and departed, shutting the door firmly behind him.

The moment the door closed, I felt a tremendous release-and not the o.r.g.a.s.mic o.r.g.a.s.mic kind. Up until that moment, I hadn't realized how physically tense I was. My jaw ached horribly, and I noticed I was still in the middle of quietly grinding my teeth. I stopped grinding immediately and put two fingers on both sides of my jaw, rubbing the sore spots. kind. Up until that moment, I hadn't realized how physically tense I was. My jaw ached horribly, and I noticed I was still in the middle of quietly grinding my teeth. I stopped grinding immediately and put two fingers on both sides of my jaw, rubbing the sore spots.

"Ow," I said under my breath. "That really hurts . . ."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and I instinctively reached for the other accent pillow.

"Mistress Calliope . . . ?"

"Stop calling me that," I said, dropping the pillow back on the couch as Jarvis tentatively opened the door.

"Pardon me, Mistress . . . I mean, Miss Miss Calliope," Jarvis intoned. You could see it was just killing him to do what I told him to. Calliope," Jarvis intoned. You could see it was just killing him to do what I told him to.

"Where were you!" I yelled at him. "There was almost an incident incident in here, Jarvis." in here, Jarvis."

"Excuse me?" he replied. "An incident?"

I shook my head, a dull headache creeping up my neck and settling in my temples.

"Forget it," I said, flopping into one of the wing chairs and closing my eyes.

"I've been looking for you throughout the house, Mistress-" He stopped, annoyed with himself. "Miss Callie, I expected you to come with me to your mother's sitting room. She's very anxious to see you, as is your sister." Callie, I expected you to come with me to your mother's sitting room. She's very anxious to see you, as is your sister."

"Hey, I didn't choose choose to make a stop in the library. It just happened!" to make a stop in the library. It just happened!"

"Shall I take you to your mother?" Jarvis asked, ignoring my rudeness.

"All right," I said, dragging myself out of the wing chair. I followed him out of the library and through a long hallway that led to the main foyer.

"Jarvis," I said, "who was the guy waiting in here?"

"What 'guy' are you referring to?" Jarvis said, turning to look at me with a puzzled expression.

I followed him up a wide set of marble stairs, the focal point of the foyer, and down another long hallway. When we were kids, my sisters and I would slide down the cool length of the banister, our b.u.t.ts black and blue from landing hard on the marble floor at the end of each ride.

"Look, there was a guy in the library-tall, dark hair, blue eyes, kinda hunky."

Jarvis snorted at the word "hunky."