Whispers of Night: 1 (Immortal Embrace) (6 page)

Suddenly he broke away. They were both out of breath. By the time she regained enough air in her lungs to speak, her mind had trouble formulating the right words. She ached, hating the loss of contact.

Why did he stop?

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. You should probably go.” His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched with restraint. A shiver slid down her spine, snapping her out of her lusty fog. There was something dangerous in that wild, untamed look he gave her.

Why did her instincts scream
danger
?

Maybe that toe-curling kiss he planted on me had something to do with it. I’m not going to get involved with this guy because that would be very stupid.
“You’re right.” She jumped up. “Sorry, I didn’t—uh, I’ll go back to work now.”

“You should.”

“Okay. I—uh, thanks for lunch.”

He stood up, his gaze intense as he reached for her again. “Wait.” His expression softened.

“Yes, Dane?” Her voice trembled.

“Join me for dinner later, please?”

Jenny swallowed hard. “What time?” she asked.
This is crazy, I should’ve said no. What if this is about the thrill of the chase and I’m his latest conquest? But that kiss, god it was amazing.

“What time are you off?” There was tenderness in his voice. She stared up at him as her emotions swirled incoherently around each other. He lightly brushed back the hair at her temple. “Well?”

“I’m off at five.” Her pulse skittered erratically. She was beginning to like him and worried about the consequences if she fell for this man. They held hands as he led her back to the reception area.

“See you at seven, Miss Harlon.” He pressed the button summoning the elevator. Jenny nodded, too stunned to speak.

She took the elevator down and got off on the floor to Marketing, her thoughts racing. She entered her office and sank in the chair. Her fingertips touched her swollen lips. Never had she ever experienced anything quite so scorching. She’d kissed other men before but not like that. The heat of that kiss burned in her memory. She rested her forehead against the desk.

God, I could become addicted to that man. But what if he’s a player who goes through women? A love-them-and-leave-them type of guy? Could I handle the rejection?

Jenny had promised herself, after the last guy, that if she ever decided to give her heart to someone again, it would be to a man who wanted a commitment. One-night stands were not her thing. It was dangerous to get involved with someone like Dane Voss because he could seriously hurt her.

I’ll go to dinner with him and that’s it.

“Damn,” she breathed. She sat up and stared at her computer.
I need to get some work done.

The last few hours dragged by slowly. It was almost five and Jenny was anxious to get going. She usually worked late, even though technically she didn’t have to stay later.

It took her longer than she had anticipated getting home. It was still warm and slightly humid when she opened the door to her apartment.
I should shower.
She took a quick one, made sure to shave her legs and underarms, jumped out and quickly dried off. She glanced at the clothes in her closet and frowned. Trying to decide what to wear was problematic because she wasn’t sure what Dane had planned. If she hadn’t been so damn nervous, she would’ve asked.

She finally decided on a blue slip dress and black heels. It was a slimming color that complemented her creamy skin and strawberry-blonde hair. She dried her hair straight, applied mascara and some lip gloss. She inspected in the mirror one last time and checked her watch. It was almost seven.

She paced the room, anxious. Suddenly all she could think about was how freaked out the idea of spending the evening alone with him made her. What if he tried to kiss her again? Did she want to kiss him again? That was a no-brainer. Of course she wanted to kiss him again.

The intercom buzzed, causing her to jump. She went over to it and pressed the button. “Who is it?”

“Miss Harlon, my name is Prescott. Mr. Voss sent me to pick you up.”

“Okay, I’ll be right down.” She started to feel a little nauseated. How was she ever going to make it through this night without having a panic attack?
Because you’re gonna take a deep breath, put your big-girl pants on and stop stressing, that’s how.

Jenny inspected her reflection in the mirror one last time, squared her shoulders, left to go meet Dane’s driver.

A man dressed in black was waiting next to a black SUV with tinted windows.

“Miss Harlon.” He opened her door, gesturing for her to get in.

“That’s me.” She waved slightly, suddenly picturing the scene where Julia Roberts gets into the limo and is whisked away by Richard Gere. Her prince was a no-show and had sent his driver instead.

“I’m Mr. Prescott. Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise, sir. Where are we headed?” she asked as she settled into the backseat.

“It’s not far, Miss Harlon.”

Mr. Prescott climbed in the driver’s seat and glanced at her in the rearview mirror. His expression gave nothing away. She briefly made eye contact then stared out the window.

They crossed the bridge into Manhattan and pulled into the garage of the same building she’d left this morning.

“I guess we’re staying in for dinner,” she whispered nervously to herself.

“Did you say something, Miss Harlon?”

“No.” She shook her head.

He opened the door and helped her out of the car. They took the elevator up to the top floor.

“Mr. Voss will be with you in a moment. It’s through there.” He pointed to the marble entryway when the elevator doors opened.

“Okay.” Jenny stepped across the threshold and the elevator doors closed behind her.

Soft music filtered into the room. A fire burned in the fireplace, giving a soft glow to the open space. She stood there patiently waiting, not sure if she should take a seat or wait for him to come get her.

A deep, masculine throat cleared. “Well, good evening, you look quite radiant in that color.”

Jenny’s mouth fell open as Dane appeared in the entryway, dressed in the same pair of jeans. He had changed into a white dress shirt, opened at the collar. His hair was still in a ponytail, accentuating those wonderfully chiseled features. His remarkable green eyes appraised her appreciatively. He smiled as their gazes met, causing her cheeks to warm in response.

“Thanks.” She tried to hold back a grin.

“Are you hungry?”

For you, perhaps.
“I’m a little bit. Are we dining in this evening?”

“Yes, if that’s all right with you. I’m not much for crowds.”

She swallowed hard as she contemplated his words. “I don’t mind.”
I’m spending the evening alone with Dane Voss. God help me.

“Come on, I’ll pour you a drink. What do you prefer?” His tone seemed completely casual and relaxed, so why couldn’t
she
relax?

“Um, do you have any wine?”

“Do you like red or white?”

“White would be great.” She followed him into the living room and noticed he liked a more contemporary design. He reached for a wineglass from behind his wet bar and filled it.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip. “This is really good stuff.” She took another sip.

“I’m glad you like it.” He placed the bottle in front of her. She glanced at the label, trying to read the inscription, which was difficult because it wasn’t in English.
French, perhaps?
The label was old and faded.

“Is this a vintage year?” She turned the bottle over and searched for a date.

“Yes, it’s quite old, as a matter of fact.”

Do I even want to know how old?
“What’s it called?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re drinking Chateau d’Yquem.”

“What year?” she gasped. Marley’s parents loved wine. One year she’d thought about ordering some wine to be shipped to them as a Christmas present. When she was researching the different brands, she saw an article online that some French wines were very expensive and a vintage year could cost a small fortune. They were definitely from two different worlds.

“It was bottled in France over two centuries ago. Why, do you know a lot about wine?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Not really.” She set the glass on the table. She was a frugal girl. Never having much meant frivolous spending was foreign to her. It made her uncomfortable.
I’m definitely out of this guy’s league.

“Go on, drink it.” He picked up the glass and gave it to her. “In my opinion, wine should be enjoyed. It’s not meant to gather dust in a wine cellar somewhere.” He poured her another round.

“Are you going to have any?” She was still trying to figure him out. His statement made sense but how could he throw money away like that? She certainly couldn’t and even if she could, she wouldn’t, especially not on a stupid bottle of wine. She wanted to believe he was more than some handsome rich guy flaunting his cash but so far that’s what it appeared.

“No, I poured it for you.”

He doesn’t drink, perhaps?
“Is it because of your diet?” This guy was cer
t
ainly an enigma. He wasn’t telling her much about himself but then she wasn’t one to spill either.

“I do drink occasionally, just not wine. I have it on hand for guests. Come sit with me and let’s talk for a bit,” he said.

“Sure.” She shrugged, trying to act casual. She wasn’t hip on the idea. It was hard for her to open up because most people wanted to know you by talking about your past.

She followed him over to a large leather couch in front of the fireplace and took a seat. He sat next to her and smiled. She took another sip, letting it warm her from the inside out. It was delicious, like the exquisite male next to her. The wine began to take effect and she relaxed.

“What did you want to talk about?” She crossed her arms, vulnerable under the scrutiny of his penetrating gaze.

“First, I’d like to start by apologizing for my actions earlier this afternoon.”

“It’s okay. I kind of enjoyed it. You’re a good kisser.”
Shit, why did I say that?

“It was nice but very unprofessional on my part.”

“No harm done.” She tried to act natural so he couldn’t see how affected she was by that kiss.

“I’m glad. I have to admit that I’m a little conflicted when I’m around you.” His gaze was smoldering and intense.

“Why should you be conflicted when we hardly know each other?”
I wonder what he means. Does he know about my past? Does he already have a girlfriend and he’s feeling guilty?

“I’m trying to figure that one out too.” His eyes were guarded, deepening the mystery. “I suppose that’s why I called you today and invited you to lunch. I had hoped to learn more about you. But then I kissed you and—well, I shouldn’t have done that. It made things more complicated.”

Now she was really confused. “Why invite me over for dinner then?”

“You intrigue me and I…” He hesitated.

“Go on,” she pressed him.

“It’s not you, it’s me. My life is complicated,” he sighed.

“I’m sure it is. Running a large corporation with all its responsibilities would make anybody’s life complicated.” She needed a distraction. More wine might help.

“Indeed. Can I ask you something?” He grew serious.

“Sure.” She crossed her legs and tried to act casual as she took another sip of wine. But his next question caught her by surprise.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“That’s kind of personal. Why do you want to know that?” She placed the glass down before she spilled it.

“Humor me.” He poured her more wine. She traced the rim of the glass with her finger. She hadn’t thought about her ex in quite a while. It was too painful.

“Once. His name was Jimmy. I dated him in college. I believed he really cared about me. He was my first love. Everything was great between us until his family found out I wasn’t from some rich Southern family.” She took a large gulp, the alcohol’s rich, buttery flavor sliding down her throat. She didn’t want to discuss this subject with him or anyone.

“What happened?”

She was surprised by the concern in his voice. It was kind of disarming and she found herself answering instead of clamming up. “His parents convinced him I wasn’t someone he should get serious with because of where I come from. He wasn’t man enough to stand up to them so he broke up with me instead.”
Crap. The wine must be making me talkative because I usually don’t open up like this.

“I’m sorry to hear that. More wine?” Was he trying to get her drunk?

“Sure.” She forced a smile as he filled her glass.
I think getting hammered isn’t a bad idea.

“Your ex sounds weak.” He frowned.

Inwardly, she winced. “Immature is probably a better way to describe him.”

“Clearly, or perhaps he wasn’t ready to make a commitment.”