Blade's Lady

Milly strode out. The door closed firmly behind her.

Jack grinned and kicked back in his chair.

Blade’s brows went up; he didn’t think he had ever seen Jack so happy, or so satisfied, despite Milly’s bad temper. “Trouble in marital heaven?”

“Milly’s pregnant,” Jack said baldly. “She says it’s all my fault.”

Blade stared thoughtfully at the door, which Milly hadn’t quite slammed. He knew that she already had three grown children from a previous marriage. “Takes two to tango.”

“Amen to that. It was the tropical honeymoon that did it. She said I ought to be able to control her baser impulses. What can I say?” he murmured, picking up the papers Milly had brought in. “I tried.”

Restlessly, Blade paced the length of his office, halting in front of another bank of windows, this one facing into the city. He stared in the general direction of Joe’s Bar and Grill, the name that had been emblazoned on the front of Anna Johnson’s sweatshirt.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to keep a lid on the wild impatience that was eating away at his usual control. He should forget about her and turn his mind back to work—God knows, there was enough for him to do.

After spending several years with the Special Air Service, Blade had decided it was past time for him to take his place in the family business. He was almost thirty-four, and while he’d been injured twice on operations, once seriously, he counted himself lucky. No point in pushing that luck any further.

The construction of the casino and a retail complex was a massive undertaking. He and Jack were splitting the load between them. The risk involved in setting up the casino and the huge propensity for trouble it represented appealed to Blade far more than becoming involved in some of Lombards’ more conventional enterprises, and his family knew it; by nature, he was more conqueror than manager. At the same time, Blade was building his own dream further north, a quarter-horse stud on a wild piece of country caught between high, muscular hills and the Pacific Ocean. The property was remote enough—courtesy of the physical barrier of the hills—to be its own kingdom, yet close enough to Auckland to make for a reasonable commute. After years of travelling, he needed his own base. He was ready to settle down.

Instantly, his thoughts turned back to Anna. He frowned at both the way his mind had made the switch and the string of coincidences she represented.

She would probably be at work now, despite the fact that she should be resting. Her head would be throbbing, feet aching. She would be working for a damn pittance. He should let her get on with it.

If she was still there.

The thought slid into his mind as slick and easy as a knife. Anna was using a false name. She was as jumpy as a cornered cat, and she had been attacked. He was certain that she was on the run from something. Or someone.

She could be married and running from a husband.

The thought curled into his mind with the sour, savage taint of sexual jealousy. Blade’s jaw tensed. If he’d walked into a brick wall in broad daylight, he couldn’t have been more astounded. Jealousy. The emotion was alien, unsettling. As intrusive as the dreams. He enjoyed women, and he was naturally possessive, but he had never been jealous.

He remembered the softness of Anna’s breasts pressing against him when she’d scrambled out of that storm drain, and the thought that she might be tied in some way to another man filled him with fury.

He came from a long line of males who were used to taking what they wanted, and right now he wanted Anna. His genetic heritage was underlined by his name. Every few generations in the Lombard family, someone lost their head and named one of their sons Blade, after the original marauding rogue who had reaved and plundered, carving out the basis of the first Lombard fortune with raw muscle and the help of his trusty blade.

He fingered the ancient earring that pierced his lobe. The small cabochon ruby was said to have belonged to the first Blade and was traditionally passed down to whoever carried the name. He doubted this was the original gem—that had probably been lost in the mists of time—but it was certainly old.

Grimly, he wondered if his ancestor had had the same trouble with women that he himself was now having. If so, he could understand why he’d carved such a bloody swath through history. He had been a frustrated man.

Blade surveyed the bustling cityscape and let the irrational urgency that had chewed his patience to the bone have its way.

What if she was the woman in his dreams?

For the first time, he allowed himself to examine the possibility. He remembered how she’d looked last night: eyes wary with secrets, the exquisite curve of her cheekbones, and that pale, sultry mouth.

The primitive hunger that persistently invaded his dreams stirred to life. His jaw clenched against the hot flood of arousal and, more, an intense need to simply have her near.

He might have difficulty believing in anything with a supernatural bent, but he trusted his instincts, and he trusted his body’s reactions. He had never felt such a powerful physical response to a woman outside of his dreams. He fiercely resented the loss of control—giving in to the hunger went against the very essence of who and what he was. And yet, he was honest enough to admit that, in part, that was where the heady excitement lay.

The dichotomy should alarm him. It should scare the hell out of him. Instead, he felt a savage exaltation. He wasn’t prepared to admit that he had found his dream woman, but he had found a woman who touched him on some primitive level in a way he needed to be touched.

He might not understand much about what was happening, or why, but for Blade the problem had just been simplified. He understood his own burning sexuality very well, and when he needed a woman, his approach was time-honoured and straightforward: he went out and got her.

He spun on his heel. Jack was still lounging in a chair, watching him with an amused grin. Blade had forgotten he was in the room. “I’m going out.”

“I can see that.”

Blade’s smile was rueful, edged. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“Believe me, I understand. Take all the time you need.”

Chapter 4

Anna hung up the pay phone, relief making her weak. She had finally found a room in a boarding house, although the cost of the bond would come close to cleaning her out financially.

She checked her watch, saw that she’d exceeded the fifteen minutes she had for a break, and started back toward the restaurant, her mind swiftly calculating all that she had to do and how quickly she would have to move. Just a few more hours and she could leave.

Sunlight flashed, diamond bright, off the side mirror of a nearby car. Her eyes squeezed shut to ward off the stab of pain and what it did to the throbbing at her temples.

As she reached the staff entrance of Joe’s Bar and Grill, the sunlight was abruptly smothered by heavy gloom. She glanced at the purplish-black thunderheads seething above, rain-rich and roiling with violent energy. She could smell the moisture in the air, feel the tension of the approaching storm.

More rain. Great, just what she needed when she had to shift out of her flat, she thought, as she strode inside, automatically bracing herself against the mental assault of working at Joe’s.

At least the lunch rush was well over. If Joe’s ever had a lull, this was it, the brief hiatus before the evening trade picked up, although the liquor licence ensured that the huge barnlike restaurant and bar was never empty.

Joe’s specialised in bad coffee, fast food and even faster beer, and attracted a clientele that was definitely on the seamy side. The sweeping wooden counter lined with stools emphasised where the money was made. The companionable wail of rhythm and blues soothed patrons into parting with that money even faster, and the pool room off to the side enticed swaggering groups of brash young men to stay until they were flat broke.

The mock saloon doors swished open on a low rumble of thunder, and Anna was glad her tray was safely set down on a table as Blade Lombard stepped into Joe’s as casually as if he ate there every day.

He was dressed for business in a suit made of some dark, fine material. The jacket fitted his broad shoulders like a supple, expensive glove. His gauzy grey collarless shirt was open at the throat and had probably cost the equivalent of a month’s worth of her wages. He looked wealthy, sleek and dangerous, and as out of place at Joe’s as an exotic jungle cat prowling a city alley.

His gaze found hers, night-dark eyes unblinking, and so direct that any fiction she might have entertained that he had just wandered in casually off the street died.

Heads turned as he angled around a cluster of tables. The steady hum of conversation dropped away, so that he walked in a spreading pool of silence.

A group of women in the next booth, regulars who Anna knew were hookers working out of the bar, stopped their heated debate over the love-life of one of their friends. They were dressed in tight jeans and even tighter low-cut tops, with jackets pulled capelike over their shoulders for warmth.

“Is that for real?” one demanded. “Nita, how many beers have I had?”

“Not enough if you’re still thinking of going home with that jackass you were eyeing before,” came the dry answer.

“He don’t have to pay,” another one murmured.

The first woman who had spoken sighed. “Speak for yourself. I was thinking of paying him.”

Anna jerked her gaze back to the booth she was supposed to be clearing. Blade had said he would check on her tonight, at her flat. She tried to isolate one believable reason for him to come looking for her today. There wasn’t one.

Abruptly, she swung on her heel, abandoning the table and the tray as she began threading her way through the tables, heading away from Blade toward a side door that led to the rest rooms. There was a small storeroom next to the Ladies that was generally unlocked, as it had nothing in it that anyone would want to steal—not even the patrons of Joe’s. It was usually crammed with mops and buckets and cleaning materials, but it had the added convenience of a bolted door that opened onto the dusty service entrance in back.

She quickened her step, her mind automatically putting together a strategy. If she could just get outside to the car park, there were any number of places she could hide. When she was sure Blade was gone, she could come back and claim her briefcase, which was stored in a staff locker. If she had to leave Joe’s early and forfeit her money, then so be it.

The flat of her palm connected with the swing door. She was into the hallway, her heart pumping wildly, head faintly dizzy at the fast movement. Her hand closed around the door handle to the storeroom. For a crazy moment she thought it was locked, but then the stiff handle gave way. She stepped inside and gently closed the door behind her.

It was pitch-black. She didn’t dare turn on a light in case he saw it and decided to check this room before the Ladies.

She heard the creak of the swing door as she picked her way gingerly forward, and her heart accelerated on another spurt of adrenalin. Her shin connected with a box, she gasped, shuffling sideways. The back of her hand brushed against a stack of what felt like broom handles. One more step and the door should be right in front of her. Her fingers encountered the heavy door, then searched for and found the cold metal of the bolt. She fumbled, easing the bolt back, then pulled the door inward.

Wind blasted into the room, thrusting the door back against her, almost knocking her off balance. A sound had her turning in time to see the widening arc of light as the other door swung open; then she was outside in the alley, damp wind cold around her legs, flattening her black skirt against her thighs and tugging hair loose from its knot so strands whipped around her face.

Anna heard her name, risked a glance over her shoulder, and saw him burst through the door. His black gaze seared into hers, and panic exploded through her. She knew Blade wouldn’t hurt her physically, but she was too much on edge, too hunted, to respond in a rational way. She rounded the corner and broke into a run, her breath shoving hard into her lungs.

She had only gone two steps when his hand fastened on her arm. Instinctively, she jerked to free herself, and when that didn’t work, she lashed out, her elbow driving back to connect with his stomach. He grunted as she pivoted to strike out with one foot, at the same time still desperately wrenching at his hold. But he was too strong, shifting every time she tried to hurt him, so that her blows glanced harmlessly off his body. Instead of breaking free, she found herself pressed face first against the unyielding surface of a concrete block wall, his muscled arm snaking around her waist, cradling her against the impact as his heavy weight pinned her.

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