Page 9 of Blood Stone

He turned and walked back to his limo, and both he and his lawyer climbed back in. The limo took off with a smooth purr, and passed Kate and Adrian, all black enamel and smoked glass. Kate didn’t know if Garrett would be watching her, but she bet he was.

She shuddered. “Creep. He didn’t even say good-bye.”

“His sort doesn’t because they figure they’ll be back,” Adrian said. “What did he want, anyway?”

Kate starting heading toward her Audi again as she told him quickly about her run in with Garrett, skipping to the distasteful highlights. Adrian listened without interruption – he was good at that – but she got the impression his mind was half-occupied with something else.

As she settled herself behind the wheel, he ducked down to look at her, with one hand on the roof of the car, the other on the door. “I’m going to pass up the privilege of being driven anywhere by you, Kate.” His voice was low, and the double meaning of his statement sent a little shiver down her back. His eyes and his attention were fully on her. “I’m sorry, but I forgot about something I have to take care of downtown.”

She hid her disappointment, and made herself nod. “No problems.” She made herself not ask the next question.

But Adrian answered it anyway. “I’ll call.” He went to close the door, hesitated, and dipped his head down to look at her once more. “Maybe you should stock up on hundred dollar bills, Kate. Just for fun.”

He shut the door softly and was gone, all while Kate fought to draw in her breath fully, and get over the huge lump of excitement and pure erotic pleasure that blocked all her vitals for twenty precious seconds.

When she finally turned the key, her hand shook.

Oh, Adrian Xerus wassogoing to impact on her life!

* * * * *

Gaining entry to the roof of The Standard wasn’t that difficult, despite the security they had in place. Garrett stripped off his jacket and loosened his tie while he searched out the coolest and shadiest corner, and settled in to wait.

He dug out the sunglasses everyone had warned him to bring to L.A., glad now he’d taken the effort. The sun truly was a killer, here. He hadn’t for a moment thought he’d spend much time outside in L.A., because he’d had wall-to-wall meetings booked.

He didn’t have to wait long. Barely ten minutes after he’d hunkered down in the shade cast by the water tower of an air conditioner, the roof access door creaked open, then thumped almost closed, up against the length of two-by-four he’d used to prop it open.

“Over here,” Garrett called.

“I can smell you,” Roman agreed. He rounded the tower, his leather jacket held over his back with one crooked finger, the wrap-around sunglasses nicely anonymous, like the endless limousines here. He stood over Garrett. “Jesus, Calum,” he swore and shoved his hand into his pocket. It made his biceps ripple, and his shoulder with the tattoos flex. Just the sight of the tattoos on his shoulders, so familiar to him, bought an odd ache to Garrett’s chest.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Roman demanded.

Garrett got to his feet. “And it’s nice to see you, too, Roman. What are you passing as at the moment, anyway?”

Roman dropped his coat and tore his glasses off, but the effect was lost when, despite the shade, he had to wince and wait for his eyes to adjust. He glared at Garrett, his hand clenched around the glasses. “What the fuck do you care?” he said, his voice low. “And besides, doctrine says if you haven’t been introduced to me by humans, I don’t get to tell you. Find out the hard way. I’m not a fucking famous financial jerk this century.”

Garrett took off his own glasses and everything righted itself. Colours and vision properly enhanced. He hated sunglasses, but sometimes they were a necessary evil. He pulled his tie off. Outside, without air-conditioning, it was an unnecessary layer, even though neither of them was particularly bothered by the heat.

“Why all the anger?” he asked softly. “I did what we agreed. I stayed away. You’re as big a surprise to me as I am to you, today.”

Roman’s eyes narrowed. Thoughtful, or suspicious. Garrett knew that look of old, and it gave him another strange little jerk, low down in his abdomen.

“I’m not here for you,” Garrett stressed.

Roman’s jaw rippled. “Then what the fuck are you doing with Kate? You’re jerking her around.”

Garrett sighed. “I can’t say.”

Roman half laughed, half snorted in disbelief. “Since when could you not tell me anything?

Garrett grimaced. “I can’t tell you this.”

The humour in Roman’s eyes faded. “What are you into?” he breathed.

Anger touched him. Garrett clenched his jaw. “You know, you can’t just rock back into town after a hundred and seventy-nine years and expect to pick up where you left off. Things change, Roman. Times change.”

“You haven’t,” Roman said flatly. “You might be wearing Armani, but you’re still fiery Calum Micheil Garrett of the mighty Bruce clan, and even now your hand is resting next to the hilt of your broadsword, because you’re on the defensive.”