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BOOK 6
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Being Yours BOOK 6 EPILOGUE
Tiny pieces of popcorn lay scattered under the tree on Christmas Day. Joey had enjoyed stringing it, but then he wanted to eat it, so occasional tugs on the string had left little pieces of the stuff lying on the carpet. Jill smiled at the mess, glad to be here instead of in the pristine apartment Marsh had said lacked heart. There was plenty of heart here.Last night she and Dustin had performed their ‘Santa Claus’ duties, placing brightly-colored packages with fancy ribbons under the tree for Joey. His stocking bulged, especially the toe, where Jill had put an orange in the very bottom. She’d so enjoyed planning these surprises for the child; it was almost a miracle to her to be actually putting small toys and candy in his stocking. She had loved wrapping his presents.She heard the pattering of Joey’s pajamaed feet hurrying down the stairs. A smile automatically lifted her lips. ‘Merry Christmas, Joey!’ she called as he ran into the parlor.He ran to squeeze her with a big hug. ‘I
Being Yours BOOK 7
'Are we getting divorced?’Rachel Gold kept her gaze focused on the tarot cards spread across the mahogany table in the traditional Celtic pattern, and considered the woman’s frantic question. There had been rare times over the past years that Rachel had regretted her decision to become a tarot reader, but when faced with having to give an unwanted answer she wondered if there wasn’t an easier way to make a living.Passing her hand over the Death card without touching it, Rachel felt tendrils of energy vibrate against her fingers. She lifted her gaze from the picture of an armored skeleton mounted on horseback to study her long-time, and troubled, customer. Anxiety pooled in Sandra Roberts’ blue eyes, deepening the faint crow’s feet fanning out from their corners.Drawing hard on her filtered cigarette, Sandra blew a thin stream of smoke through her trembling lips. Her complexion paled, sinking to gray in a room bright with festive light. In an urgent whisper so the other guests would
Being Yours BOOK 7
Straightening slowly, trying to discern her response, and his, she pulled her hand back. Tingling energy passed through her fingers, like tiny aftershocks, spiraling upward through her veins. Clenching her hand into a fist, she pressed it into her lap.He held so still, his eyes hot and vibrant, that she wanted to squirm. She couldn’t tell if he was displeased that she’d touched him or if he’d experienced the same . . . whatever it had been. Her glimpse of his emotion ended as quickly as it had begun. His eyes turned cool, unreadable, allowing her to sense nothing but a cold, impenetrable wall, which puzzled her. While she couldn’t read people’s minds, their emotions were usually an open book to her. All she had to do was look.Studying him, she realized Jackson Dermont’s emotions were like the reflection in a mirror. The images were there; she could see them, but she couldn’t feel him, interpret his mood into something real and tangible. Or explicable.Then it dawned on her. Her inab
Being Yours BOOK 7
Beneath the laughter and whirl of conversation, the faint chime of a clock striking twelve echoed through the marbled halls. The muscles in Rachel’s back twisted with strain, but she ignored the ache, remaining poised as she finished Mrs Phillips’ reading. It would be at least another two hours before Rachel could leave the Donaldsons’ party. Two tedious hours of forcing serene smiles when all she wanted to do was escape to her own home where she could close off the unsettling vibrations dragging her down.She blinked her dry, stinging eyes against the thick cloud of cigarette smoke hovering above the sea of perfectly coiffed heads. The scents of cigars, perfume and food battled to dominate the air. She tried to focus on the cards, but they repeatedly made a mockery of her ability to interpret them. Little of what she dealt made sense, and what she did understand was too severe for her to relate without upsetting her customers.As she nodded her goodbye to Mrs Phillips, Rachel reminde
Being Yours BOOK 7
The Imperial Dragon’s eyes flashed, pooling blood-red in the dim light. Rachel ran her fingers over his verdant green scales and imagined his nostrils flaring in pleasure. His sculptured head was tilted back, his mouth parted as if he wanted to roar ... or purr. Gripped in his paw, the crystal ball refracted color and purpose, and the heart of the dragon’s soul. He was dark beauty and regal strength rolled into one.He was perfection.And he was all hers . . . that was, until someone bought him.Having tagged the mythical beast, Rachel entered his eighteenth-century history, along with his extravagant sales price, into the computer. Unable to help herself, she ran her fingers over the cool surface of his gypsum stone body again, hoping that if he truly possessed supernatural powers, some of it would rub off on her. For the past week, ever since the Donaldsons’ party, she’d been off-center, unable to focus on and interpret other people’s actions. Specifically those involving Jackson .
Being Yours BOOK 7
‘Rachel?’ he asked from directly behind her.‘Yes, Mr Dermont?’‘Jackson.’She ignored his correction.‘Do I make you nervous?’She threw what she hoped was an exasperated look over her shoulder. Instead of lying again, shepoured her attention on to the sparkling glass, rubbing so hard that the entire case vibrated. ‘Did you come here to buy something, or simply to distract me from my work?’‘Hmmm.’Feeling his eyes roam down her back, she polished harder until her shoulder muscles began to bunch.‘Now that you mention it, my sister’s birthday is in a couple of weeks.’Thankful for the shift in subject-matter, Rachel faced him and cleared her throat. ‘What is she like?’He tucked a loose strand of Rachel’s hair behind her ear. The act had been so casually accomplished, as if he’d touched her hair a hundred times before, that she couldn’t move. ‘Like a sister.’She swallowed, hard. ‘Is she conservative or flashy?’He lifted a brow in thought. ‘Somewhere in the middle.’‘Does she like
Being Yours BOOK 7
Sunlight washed the screened-in porch with hazy, luminous light. Dust motes clung to the air, drifting with the rose-scented breeze that brushed Rachel’s face like a soothing whisper. Stretched out on her rattan sofa, heat prickled through her jeans, warming her skin and numbing her body. Her eyelids drooped closed as she slipped closer to sleep.The couch’s green and yellow stripes had long since faded, but the cushions were still plump, cradling her in a cocoon of softness. She turned her face into the sun and breathed in the scents of budding trees, fresh-cut grass and the crisp smell of morning burning into afternoon.She shouldn’t be wasting time lounging when she had so much to do. If she started dressing now, she’d just make it in time for Senator Hastings’ fundraiser. But her life allowed so few quiet moments, she hated to give this one up.A shift in the cushions and the telltale sound of purring caused her to open her eyes. Miss Bastet pawed the couch. With her round, golden
Being Yours BOOK 7
'You have the look of a hungry man.’Tensing at the sound of the familiar voice, Jack-son tilted his head around. ‘Sandra, what a . . . surprise.’‘Is it, darling?’ she purred. Though the barbecue was supposed to be a casual affair, Sandra managed to smell like money in her designer jeans, ostrich boots and plum-colored silk shirt. But then, she’d always been the type to wear a Chanel suit to the grocery store, though he doubted she did anything so menial these days.‘I’d say the surprise is seeing you here.’ She rubbed the backs of her pearl-tipped nails against her collarbone. ‘I’ve heard about the trouble you’ve been having. Evidently no one’s safe any more, regardless of how much we spend on gadgets to keep the undesirables out. Just this morning, Edmond and I were discussing changing our security company. Perhaps you could work for us.’Jackson refused to let her bait him into a retort, because he honestly didn’t care what the woman said. It amazed him that he’d thought himself o
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