Crystal Warrior: Through All Eternity (Atlantean Crystal Saga Book 1) (5 page)

‘If you could talk I think you'd answer all my questions,’ he muttered, fondling her ears and frowning out into the night. He was as unsettled as a lion behind bars. Crouching beside the dog, his fingers combed through her thick white coat while his mind roamed back over his involuntary mental conversations with Georgina through the evening. He'd had no control over the words flowing between them.

He'd talked of love and betrayal and knew it to be more ancient than mankind's memory. When he tried to create the thoughts, the images, the words in his mind, there was nothing. Then their eyes would meet and suddenly they were conversing about something out of this world. In some weird way it seemed natural. He had to know if it was the same for her.

He knew basic stuff about her and not enough of that. He knew she owned and ran a cafe-cum-bookshop in the Auckland central business district, which had become a by-word in literary circles, and not just in New Zealand. Knew too, that she'd been married to a much older man who'd died of cancer about three years back. He'd also seen with his own eyes, the evidence of Fran's assertion that she was the butterfly side of the coin while Georgina was the quiet, hard-working ant.

Honey bee more like, he thought, his mind conjuring a vision of her, all bronze and gold mystery in the candlelight at the dinner table. Did the understated camouflage she wore conceal sweetness, or a dangerous sting?

Who the hell was this woman who'd walked into his soul with the ease of someone walking into a garden, but who fit there with the comfort of a damned thorn bush? Who was Georgina Hackville and why did she disturb him so?

Unable to still his restless thoughts, Torr rose and roamed through the lounge, Katja padding silently at his side. He stood for several minutes in the foyer absorbing the music of the waterfall, lit now only by pearlescent shadows of moonlight through the high window. It offered not even a glimmer to the enigma of the woman who was the twin sister of his fiancée. He needed to ring Hugh and arrange his escape before disaster struck. It hummed in the air, the kind of disaster that blasted families asunder; that would forever damage the closer than close relationship Fran enjoyed with her sister, and which was infinitely precious to her.

A wet sensation against his hand brought Torr back to awareness. Katja sat at his side, eyes colorless pools of shining darkness that flickered briefly across the deserted living space to the closed kitchen door and back to Torr.

‘Yeah, I'll go talk to her,’ he said gently and walked back across the lounge.

The need to use the phone was a perfect excuse to track Georgina down. Quietly opening the door, he stepped into a room lit only by the glow of distant street lamps mingled with the softness of moonlight through the windows of the small pyramid-shaped conservatory in its eastern quarter.

Closing the door at his back, he stood for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. Where was she? The dishwasher hummed in the shadowed, deserted kitchen and other-worldly music played quietly on a stereo system from the direction of the tiny conservatory. He moved towards it and then he saw her.

Totally relaxed as he'd not seen her since his arrival, she leant back on the circular couch under the pyramid. Like threads of cobwebby silk, strains of the soft haunting music floated on the air, drawing him to her. Lunar silver limned her hair and profile. Halted again by the ethereal luminous glow of her skin and the bone-deep stillness of her body, he leant against the cool marble of the kitchen counter, and waited, his whole being vibrating with the strange ambivalence she awakened in him. His body thrummed as if with the memory of a shared physically intimate knowledge and a burning need to renew that knowledge, while his mind reverberated with the gut-deep certainty of treachery.

A treachery which nevertheless, wouldn't prevent their bodies from melding and exploding together with cataclysmic and volcanic force should she make one positive move in his direction. Torr had the harsh conviction the civilization he'd always thought an integral part of his psyche was but a flimsy veneer, stretched to its thinnest, over a barbaric brigand lurking beneath. There was no doubt he was losing his mind.

Torr. To-or-rr
!

She was moaning his name!

Rationality suspended. Striding to the pyramid he stepped down and dropped to the seat beside her. His hand covered hers where it lay along the padded back. So still was she beneath his touch he too froze. He didn't breathe and he'd swear she didn't either.

Then her eyes opened, staring into his. In their unguarded moonlit depths he saw—horror. In the next second she'd snatched her hand from his grasp and flung her body sideways as if his very touch spelled ineffable danger, as if he was indeed the marauding brigand he'd thought of earlier.

‘Georgina! What the devil...’ he began.

‘Who—are—you?’ The words were a rough evisceration. ‘Who the hell—are you?’

Torr didn't believe a man could be so drawn and so repelled at the same time. He wanted to crush her to his chest, fill her with his body, lose himself in her very essence. Yet he knew also a desperate fury to squeeze the breath from her throat and fling her like a rag-doll out into the indigo night sky soaring above and beyond the glass.

He was trembling. Six feet four inches of macho, muscular, quivering jelly.

‘That's my question,’ he snarled, then subsided in dismay as he realized that what he'd intended to sound as a snarl was little more than a grating whisper. Shit!

Georgina had flung herself as far away from Torr Montgomery as she could get, which wasn't far, on the circular banquette. Mere inches separated their knees and she was intensely aware of the strong emotional energy emanating from him. Her feet, her hands, the whole of her physical body trembled for contact, straining towards him with the vibrant attraction of a magnet to iron, knowing they would fit together with the perfection of yin to yang.

‘How long have you been here?’ she demanded, aware now that her heart beat in her chest like a war drum.

‘Long enough.’

Terse bastard.

‘Would you mind leaving?’

The words were as clipped and cool as she could make them.

He looked nonplussed then said, ‘You called my name.’

‘I didn't. At least—’ Oh God! ‘It wasn't you!’

One black brow rose in disbelief, his eyes darkening to rival the sky beyond the glass. He stood. Georgina held her breath. The air about them crackled, fragile as glass. If he touched her it would shatter and she would disintegrate too.

‘I apologize for intruding. I came to ask if I might use your phone to call my office in London. I have a card so it won't go on your account.’

His voice had the rough-smooth quality of a rasp sheathed in black velvet. Her senses responded accordingly.

‘Of course. There's one here in the kitchen—or you might like to use the one in the office. Off the front hall—opposite the garage entry.’

‘Thanks.’

Their words were as sharp slivers of glass sliding beneath the skin. Georgina didn't move until the kitchen door closed behind him, then very slowly she curled back onto the seat. After several moments of brain-dead stillness she reached out a foot and with a vicious stab at the concealed button, silenced the music. Case could have that CD back. She'd never listen to it again.

For that moment when she'd stared into Torr Montgomery's eyes, she'd felt as violated as when Gavin—Alan's son—I won't think about that. Not ever again.

Suddenly she was very tired. There was nothing she wanted more than to be in her bed with her head buried under the pillow. Or safe in Gould's arms. But if he wanted to make love she didn't know whether she could face that tonight. Life could be so bloody unfair! She loved Gould. He was a wonderful lover, had taught her to trust again, live again, however tentatively. How the hell could one man,
her sister's fiancé
, make her feel like a—whore, something she understood only too well—for sleeping with Gould! Or make her jealous of Fran whom she loved more than life itself?

Georgina was still in the pit, furled as tightly in on herself as a hedgehog, when Gould came in about an hour later.

‘What the hell are you doing down here, woman?’ he demanded, slipping onto the seat beside her and adding huskily, ‘I thought you were in bed—waiting for me.’

Like she usually was? Or, where she was supposed to be? Where were these thoughts coming from? She didn't want to question her happiness; she just wanted to live it.

‘Gould—what attracted you to me? I mean, it wasn't as if I'd put it out there for you to see.’

‘Sounds like a serious question,’ he said, and Georgina fancied she could hear wariness in his voice.

‘It is. I want to know what you saw beyond the business woman image I work so hard to project.’

He took her hand and toyed with her fingers for a moment. Was he going to fob her off with a flippant answer? Suddenly he reached up, cupped her face with his strong, sensitive fingers and said, ‘The real Georgina Hackville is in your eyes. They're quite incredible, you know Georgi. I looked into them and saw a luscious golden princess looking back at me—and I knew she was mine.’

He was the only one who called her Georgi. A day ago she'd have melted from the inside out at such a declaration from Gould. Tonight, all she felt was annoyance.

‘The prince wasn't in any hurry to join his princess tonight,’ she snapped, wishing she could take the waspish words back as soon as they were spoken.

‘It's not like you to be jealous, honey. Your sister gave me heaps of info on Peru and you know I'm always a lost cause when I'm on the track of something new.’ He gathered her into his arms and deftly diverted her thoughts. ‘You're frozen! Why on earth didn't you go to bed?’

Why indeed.

‘Cos you weren't there,’ she murmured, burrowing into the warmth of his chest and trying to hide from her own lies. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Gone to bed. At least I presume that's where Torr went. I haven't seen him for an hour or so. Fran's just gone up. It gave me a bit of a start to find our bed empty. I had the craziest thought that I was going to find you up to no good with Montgomery. I caught him looking at you tonight, with the oddest look on his face. I'm not sure you should trust him.’

Georgina's heart leapt guiltily. Yesterday they'd have discussed the matter openly. Today—

‘Don't be silly. Let's go to bed.’

Perhaps a good bout of love-making with Gould was what was needed after all, to rid both their minds of these wild, confusing images.

‘Hmm, good idea,’ he agreed, swinging easily to his feet and pulling her up with him. Between one breath and the next she was in his arms and he was striding purposefully through the house. As he fell with her onto their bed Georgina was desperately fighting off the image of a pair of violent green eyes. Why the hell should she imagine Torr Montgomery would be affected in any way by her making love with Gould?

Get out of my head! The thought was a silent scream as she grabbed the two edges of Gould's shirt and ripped.

‘Hungry wench,’ he growled, and then they were tearing at one another's clothes, hands and mouths hot and demanding on each other's bodies. With one mutual thrust of their hips they joined, their flesh lunging and pummeling as if they sought to punish themselves or each other.

The fire and fury of their coming together was such that Georgina was able to suppress all images of Torr until the moment of climax. But then as the wild sensations washed through her body it was his name in her throat, in her mouth, on her lips. Desperately she clamped her teeth on her tongue and the only sound to escape was a strangulated groan from the back of her throat, and tears slid from beneath her closed lids.

‘I love it when I make you cry,’ Gould murmured hoarsely against her hair.

Georgina could think of nothing to say. Guilt, a familiar companion, but tainted with fear and a whole gamut of other emotions she didn't dare examine, had totally depleted her reserves. Exhausted, she fell asleep with the steady accusing beat of Gould's heart thumping against her cheek.

Chapter 3

She'd slept in! Georgina supposed that was predictable when she had so much to do at the shop.

‘Why the hell didn't you wake me!’ she stormed at Gould as she hurried into the kitchen, uncomfortably aware that she was using anger to mask the welter of thoughts she'd rather not face just yet.

As most mornings, he was sprawled in the pyramid pit, wide naked shoulders propped on one side of the circular couch and long muscular jean-clad legs draped across the other, watching the morning grow. It was his favorite time of the day and the closest he ever came to meditating and Georgina knew that even if he'd thought of waking her, he probably wouldn't have. Just because it was a time he liked to share only with himself.

Gould looked up, blue-green eyes bright with laughter, and vaulted upright. In one spring he seemed to be across the floor and wrapped around her, his hard, virile body reminding her just how well they fitted together.

‘Good morning, grumpy,’ he laughed, and kissed the end of her nose. Then he purred in her ear, ‘I thought that perhaps after last night you needed to replace some energy reserves.’

Hot color flooded her cheeks with the instant recall of the buttons popping off his shirt. As she swatted ineffectually at his hands that had a teasing way of being everywhere at once on her body, the door opened behind them but Gould didn't release her.

‘Sorry to intrude.’ The voice was male and decidedly cool. ‘But I've been sent on ahead to put the kettle on.’

‘Good God, man, you're not intruding,’ Gould assured Torr cheerfully. ‘You're just in time to prevent me getting chewed up for not waking the sleeping beauty. I was working on getting out of the mire but I don't seem to be making much headway.’ Then to Georgina he said, ‘Put the kettle on, sweetheart. Your guests would like their morning cuppa.’

Georgina stepped purposefully on his bare toe.

‘Put it on yourself. They're your guests too.’

Gould grimaced good-naturedly and did as he was bid.

‘And she wonders why I didn't wake her!’

‘Morning,’ she muttered to Torr as she delved into a cupboard to find the toaster. ‘Did you sleep all right?’

She was definitely losing it, she decided, when she started wondering if she could just climb into the cupboard and curl up into a fetal ball.

‘Fine. Can I help?’

Lord, he was standing right beside her! Georgina scrambled to her feet with the toaster clutched against her chest.

‘No—thanks. Is toast all right for breakfast or do you want cereal?’

‘Bacon and eggs,’ Gould put in.

‘You cooking?’ Georgina snapped back.

‘Of course, sweetheart. You just get your toast and coffee and maybe it'll put you in a better frame of mind.’

She hated it when Gould made her look like a useless housewife and when he was so reasonable. She had an awful urge to throw the toaster at his head but some deep inner knowledge told her that nothing she did would fool Torr Montgomery. He knew every thought in her head as if it were his own. And she knew his.

How could you let him touch you like that?

He has that right.

Not while I'm around.

What gives you the right?

I've always had that right!

Since when?

Since time immemorial!

Shit!

Yeah, my sentiments exactly.

With shaking fingers Georgina shoved bread into the toaster then turned for the door. She had to get out of here.

‘Morning, George!’ Fran erupted through the door just as Georgina reached for it and flung her arms round her sister. Then she leaned back and surveyed Georgina from the top of her neatly scraped back hair to the tips of her plain black pumps. ‘You're not going to work today, George!’

Georgina gave her twin a hug.

‘Of course I am. There's still a heap of stuff to arrange for Friday. I can't just play hooky and then expect everything to run smoothly on the day. It's a big day for the shop, Fran, as well as you.’

‘I know all that,’ Fran said crossly, ‘but I thought we'd get to spend some time together.’

‘We will,’ Georgina promised. ‘After Friday.’

‘S'pose I'll have to be content with that,’ Fran muttered, gravitating across the kitchen to where the kettle and coffee things resided. ‘I'm dying for a coffee. What are we doing today then?’

‘The weather's perfect for a sail on the harbor,’ Gould commented from the stove where he was already laying strips of bacon in a pan. ‘Today and tomorrow are the only two days I've really got free this week. Does sailing take your fancy?’

‘Oh, I love sailing!’ Fran cried. ‘I haven't been sailing since—Lord, forever! Oh, yes please.’

Silence followed this delighted outburst, and as Georgina turned reluctantly back to watch the toast, Gould said, ‘Torr? Fancy a blast round the Waitemata?’

The silence became a tangible thing, drawing Georgina's attention to the man standing motionless at the entrance to the conservatory and looking out onto the tiny jewel of a lake over which already sailboarders were skimming.

He turned slowly, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. It was hard to see his face with his back to the light, but there was no mistaking the care with which he enunciated each word.

‘I'm sorry, Frannie. But you know I can't do that.’

Almost at the speed of light, Fran was across the kitchen and draped round his rigid body.

‘But we'd be
on
the water, not in it,’ she cajoled.

‘Makes no difference. I need a lot of boat between me and the water. Otherwise—’

He shrugged then gently, almost absently ruffled one hand through her hair. Turning to Gould, he said, ‘I have a phobia about the sea. I'm beyond terrified of being in it so the only time I'll venture on it is if I have to in the course of my job and then I prefer it to be on something as big as an aircraft carrier. But thanks for the offer.’

Georgina felt something inside her contract. The man had to be at least six feet four inches tall, body rippling with the muscle of a quarry worker, and there was something in his eyes that promised fearless retribution if anyone should dare cross him and yet—he was scared of water? She closed her eyes and was immediately transported back to that moment in the strange vision beneath the pyramid when she'd suddenly been floating above the warrior, watching his body, his face, distort and vanish beneath a roiling mass of water. What did it all mean?

The toast popped and brought her back to the present.

‘While you go sailing with Gould it'd be a good opportunity for me to catch up with those contacts at the university,’ Torr said to Fran, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

Fran pouted.

‘But that's work!’

‘Yes, sweetheart. You know I promised Hugh I'd deliver those papers on sub-aqua mining. They're doing a similar study here and want to compare notes. I talk to these guys regularly on the internet. It'd be damned rude not to make a point of contacting them while I’m here. You know there's no way in hell you'll get me on that yacht but I see no reason why that should stop you when you'll enjoy it so much.’

Sighing, Fran said, ‘You're always so reasonable about it and I can never understand how you can be so afraid when you don't even know why. It's not as if you've ever had any traumatic experience in the sea or anything.’

‘I've learnt to live with it, Frannie. I don't see why it should be so hard for you.’

And don't be fooled into thinking it was easy, Frannie, Georgina thought, as she kept her head down and her hands busy with her morning ritual of buttering her two pieces of toast and spreading peanut butter on one and honey on the other. There were layers over layers of feeling and meaning in Torr's words. On the surface he appeared matter of fact, almost nonchalant, about his phobia. But Georgina knew that was the impression he'd taught himself to project. Beneath it she recognized the mind battles he'd fought, the ridicule he'd suffered. Beneath that again she heard the baffled male fury that still railed against the illogicality of it. He'd dealt with his problem the only way a macho male could, head-on and with all the finesse of a battering ram.

Georgina looked up just as her sister slipped her arms around his neck and said, ‘Okay, so long as you're sure.’

‘Of course I'm sure. It's perfect.’

His eyes collided with Georgina's and communication was instant.

Don't you dare pity me.

As if one would dare to pity such an arrogant bastard.

Georgina inadvertently smeared honey on her fingers and quickly popped them in her mouth. The green eyes darkened to the color of smoky nephrite and Georgina dropped her own confused gaze back to her toast.

This was awful!

‘Well, so long as you've got your day planned, I'd better get going. I'm running late.’

She pecked Gould's cheek, waved vaguely in the direction of her sister and Torr and headed for the door.

‘You haven't eaten your toast!’ Gould shouted after her.

‘No time. I've got a nine o'clock appointment,’ she lied and hurried out the door.

‘What about dinner tonight?’ Gould yelled, pulling the door open again and following her up to the foyer with an egg-slice in his hand. Katja lifted her head from the Turkish rug inside the front door and eyed her mistress hopefully. On days when Georgina knew she'd be in the shop all day she took Katja with her. Today just might be one of those days.

‘Ask Mum and Case and Merryn. We'll dine out. Book us somewhere. Sky Tower, the Revolving Restaurant, wherever you can get. Somewhere nice.’ Somewhere with something to look at so she wouldn't have to fight to keep her eyes off her sister's damned fiancé. ‘Hell, please feed Katja.’

Gould waved the egg-slice at her.

‘Go on. You'll be late. I'll take care of Katja.—Want to come sailing today, girl?’

Katja thumped her big fluffy tail and dropped her head back on her paws, fixing him with mournful eyes.

Gould grinned.

‘C'mon, breakfast,’ he said with quiet enticement and the huge animal came suddenly erect and bounded towards the kitchen with a single `woof'. Looking directly into Georgina's eyes for a moment, he said gently, ‘Sure you don't want to come sailing?’

Georgina shook her head.

‘Can't.’

With a grimace and a nod, he said, ‘Take care out there.’

‘Yeah. You too,’ she murmured and hurried into the garage, wondering at the strange ache in her chest. But there was no time to examine it further as she slotted into the rush hour traffic heading into the city. She usually left before seven thirty and it was now after seven forty five. Those fifteen minutes made a crucial difference to traffic volume.

It was gone eight thirty by the time she reached the shop. Vanessa, her floor manager had already opened up. She knew from experience she rarely caught up when she was late. True to expectation the drama started almost immediately. One of the café staff had flu`, the poet who was scheduled to do the lunchtime readings was similarly afflicted, and a cardboard display stand of best-sellers had collapsed, spewing the books across the floor.

‘And the day's only just started,’ Georgina muttered to Vanessa.

‘It can only get better,’ Vanessa opined hopefully, calling a junior assistant over to sort out the book display.

‘Not according to Murphy's law!’ Georgina growled, stepping around books and heading for her office.

‘It's not like you to be negative, Georgina,’ Vanessa called after her. ‘You might try ringing that elderly chap, Smithson Te Kanawa, who wrote that collection of historical Maori tales. He said he'd be happy to read his work—and being a senior cit, he's probably at home!’

‘True. Thanks, Van.’

Georgina flashed her a smile and closed herself into the office with a sigh of relief. She felt like she'd found a refuge.

An hour and numerous phone calls later, she'd scored a housewife willing to read excerpts from her novel set in suburbia and tracked down a uni student free to work in the café until two o'clock. She went into the café to inform the manager of the arrangements, grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to her office intending to deal with the paper work building up on her desk.

But her mind refused to focus on book returns, order sheets or her speech for the conference. Leaving her half-drunk coffee cooling on the desk, she prowled back into the shop, getting in the way of counter staff, tidying shelves where nothing needed tidying, and surreptitiously checking out back cover blurbs on the fantasy titles.

‘I thought you'd be over the moon, having Fran home. I even thought you might be normal like everyone else for once and get the tiniest bit hung over to celebrate. I didn't think I'd have to put up with you prowling round the shop like a bear who can't find its den.’

Vanessa came to stand alongside and peer concernedly at her boss.

Van wasn't only her Floor Manager; she was a very dear friend. Georgina attempted a jaunty grin. Like her mother and her sisters, Vanessa `saw' too much. She was surrounded with them, people who knew more than they had a right to about others without even having to ask! Her grin became a gusty sigh.