FIRST CHAPTER OF LOVE OF A LIFETIME

 

This is Jack Midland
and
This is Finley Cullen

This is Chapter One of their story


No.
Heart Thumping.
Ears ringing.
Stomach clenching while raw panic swelled to life inside her as Finley Cullen fought her way through the mind-numbing haze to focus.
They were leaving her.
Don’t go. Jesse!
Thud.
The van door slammed and the vehicle rolled forward as it made its way around the huge snow-covered fountain below.
No.
Unable to speak all she did was stare past the aged bronze beast. Through the Griffin’s wings that were currently frosted in a smooth wave of wintry ice where just beyond, a trail of exhaust smoke lingered in a wavering line, while her colleagues drove off.
Suddenly the wind picked up and the howl that ripped through the courtyard hit the manor’s weather-beaten bricks so ferociously it raised the hairs on the back of her neck. If she weren’t virtually paralyzed at the moment, that blood-chilling sound would have caused her to bolt.
Steady. Focus.
Clang!
The iron gates swung closed with a reverberating clatter of finality. As if they’d never have need to open again. She ignored that thought and kept her eyes on the distance. Peering through the rapid flurries that swirled in a series of mini-cyclone patterns, she blinked hard. A moment later the truck was gone, swallowed up by the distant squall that looked like a cumulous cloud hugging the horizon.
“Jesus.” In a whoosh she fell forward off her tippy-toes, barely catching herself before she connected with the wall and the octagon-shaped window she’d been straining to look through just a second before she was…what? Drugged? More likely enthralled. But being that she refused to believe in ghosts, the hereafter or aliens, she was getting the hell out of here.
There might be a story in it if you stayed.
Yeah, a nice big headline that read, “A young, up-and-coming reporter mysteriously dies while on her first big assignment.” Right. Given the choice, she’d rather create that one than star in it.
Mia shandor lei…
Immediately, she looked down when she heard the quiet whisper. Eerie though it was, she knew what to expect as this was the third time it had happened since arriving at Midland Manor. Although anticipating the oddity, it still freaked her out and made her gasp when her sweater tightened around her in spots as if some invisible person was giving her a hug. That much she could handle, because clearly no one was there, but when the intimate heat followed to steam her up in places—well, she needed to get her shit together and run.
She was halfway across the room before the slap of her bare feet against the hardwood registered. No boots? Skidding to a halt, she forgot about the creep show and fumed. Her beautiful Wooly’s had cost her a good buck. She wasn’t leaving without them. So even if there was something supernatural happening here, the perverted poltergeist could go fuck himself. She wanted her mukluks. Right now.
Scanning the floor she came up empty and one quick check under the bed only left her even more disappointed. Maybe in the closet? Nothing.
“Dammit.”
Teida rula
That masculine whisper, followed by a husky chuckle was enough of an incentive for her to cut her losses. It was beginning to look like she’d be chasing down the passenger van without the comfort of her fuzzy loved ones.
Rushing out the door, she made a right and then her next left, barely pausing as she shot down the double-wide staircase. Thankfully a carpet runner waterfalled over the treads, because at her current clip she was sure she would have slipped on the smoothly polished wood beneath. Out of breath and in meltdown mode when she reached the bottom, she grasped the big cannonball that topped the newel post, squeezed her eyes shut and said a silent prayer.
Dear God, let this be a dream. If it isn’t I’ll do my best, but I may need some help…
Gulping in air, she tried to gain control over her breathing as she waited. Tilting her head higher in order to catch the ethereal reply when it came, but…? No answer. Perfect. Admittedly, she’d been a little thin in the “dialogue to God department” over the last decade, but she was a good person. She volunteered at the SPCA two Saturdays a month and recycled about ninety eight—fifty-seven percent of the time. Hm, she’d have to work on that.
“Well, Fin, once again you ignored the dreams and now that the scary shit is happening, it’s just you,” she whispered and then let go of the bannister. She was fully prepared to do what no movie heroine confronted by a living nightmare had ever done before. She wasn’t going to stop to explore, ask questions or hang around until it was too late. Nope. She was simply going to walk out the front door as if she had on her two hundred and seventy-five dollar pair of boots and the warmth of her brand new ski-jacket that she’d bought specifically for the trip. The thought that maybe one or more of her colleagues had stolen the items, just so she’d be stuck here, wasn’t far out of the realm of possibilities she was currently conjuring to distract herself until the high double doors loomed in front of her and she looked up. The sight was exactly how it had appeared in her premonition. “Now that’s a fire hazard.”
The entrance was locked with twin—she gauged eight inch maybe?— slide bolts and as they were right at the top, and the top in this case was nine feet high or more, she definitely wasn’t leaving through that exit.
Mia shandor lei…
“Oh, no you don’t.” She pushed aside her knitted scarf, ironically the only outer-wear not stolen from her, and grabbed the front of her sweater in a tug. Holding it out so it wouldn’t be squashed against her, and spun around to search the darkened entryway. “Who’s there?” She was just about to repeat her question, but then a blast of heat stole through her, stroking her in places so intimately she had to pay attention. The thrilling sensual force made her fall back against the door and left her gasping for breath.
“D-dammit.”
But she didn’t have time to fully recover as her gaze locked on the bar of light that fell out of the only opened door down the hall. From this distance the distorted rectangle looked like a glowing rug floating over the cherry-wood floors. “Hello?”
Someone had spoken, she was sure of it. The strange words were soft, no more than the barest whisper, but she’d heard them just the same.
Taking a fortifying breath, she pushed off the door with her bottom and took one step forward. The longer she stood there the more room her imagination had to grow. She couldn’t let that happen now, because she needed to find her things and get up that mountain before “the boys” got her share of the promised exclusive. And although her flight instinct was in overdrive, the reality was, surviving in that snow storm without proper attire was a pipedream.
She made it halfway down the hall when she caught sight of another one of those bolts. It was locked in place over the frame of the closed door to her right. She hesitated and then stopped to check the closed door on her left. Sure enough that had one too. With dawning horror, she realized all the doors that flanked the hall were bolted shut. Why?
To keep you out.
With great effort she ignored that little voice and headed straight for the light and the only opened door. She was nearly there. One toe lit within the shining rectangle when the little voice screamed. Stop! The bolts weren’t there to keep you out, but to pull you into this room. Turn around. Run away.
“No. I’m not going to run away,” she muttered under her breath, prepared to talk herself into the idea. So much for not behaving like a stupid horror movie heroine. Don’t be that girl. Look for a different way out. She would have too, if she hadn’t caught the distinct sound of a man’s husky chuckle.  A low and totally satisfied one, if you asked her. That got her suspicions fired. Was someone purposely trying to scare her? Frowning, she called, “Hello?”
Silence.
The idea that she was being punk’d or played gained momentum as she didn’t want to think about the alternative. Sure, it was probably some kind of “first timer’s” initiation. And with that being the case, she didn’t want to look like a coward.  Oh, hell yeah, she was definitely going in that room, there was no doubt about it, but it was one thing to be brave and another to be stupid. She needed something, just in case she was wrong about this. The hall table lamp? Too awkward. The crystal vase beside it? Too fragile. A—her eyes fell on the umbrella stand that had an old-school black one sticking out of it. Perfect. She hurried to get it, and when it wouldn’t budge, she checked inside to the bottom.
“A basketball?”
Yes indeed. One lone ball was jammed in the bottom of the container so tight it caused the umbrella to be stuck. Tightening her grip on the handle, she wiggled and jiggled until it finally gave.
“Gotcha.”
Tapping her index finger against the semi-sharp metal tip at the end, she smiled. This could do some serious damage if she needed it to. She was just about to turn away when she caught sight of the ball again, and for some reason it gave her a measure of comfort. Why? Because it’s real and absolutely normal. As in ordinary. She eyed the bolt on the front door and spun around to examine all the others down the austere hall while she turned her latest premonition over in her mind. Right. Ghosts and demons probably didn’t make a habit of shooting hoops in their off haunting times.
Axe murders might.
True. She held the umbrella tighter and headed down the corridor. Stubbornly ignoring her instincts while visualizing the midget chick in Poltergeist chanting, “Stay away from the light” and instead went directly for it.
“Who’s there?”
More silence.
“I know someone’s there. Hello?”
 A shadow passed over the rectangle making it strobe quickly in and then out of darkness. The proof irrefutable. There was a person in that room. Her heart hammered and the blood pounded in her ears like an African drumbeat.
“H-hello?” she called again. Squeezing the umbrella so tightly the vinyl fabric twisted until all the tines were bunched together to one side in her rapidly sweating fist.
She was careful to position her makeshift weapon like it was Luke Skywalker’s light-saber. Then she sucked in a steady breath and, before she chickened out, quickly stepped in.
“Hello.”
She gasped and jerked to attention. The deep masculine voice cutting through the silence was so calm, she stood rooted to the spot and squinted in the direction it came from. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, she spotted him resting casually on his haunches in front of a blazing hearth. Yeah, hearth. There was no other word to describe it except maybe to say a walk-in fireplace. It was huge and he was a solid black shadow as he worked to feed more wood into the flames.
“Wh–where is everyone?” She edged into the room and looked around while she waited for his answer. Until she heard it, she refused to put down the umbrella.
“Everyone? You mean those reporters?”
The stranger unfolded to stand. He had to be about six-foot-six, give or take an inch. Not that exact measurements mattered when such a mammoth confronted a gal of five-foot-four. An inch or two either way was immaterial until he turned in her direction and his heavily muscled frame blocked all the light from the roaring blaze behind. For some reason she had the urge to make the sign of the cross, which immediately put her on the defensive. “Yes, I mean the reporters. Where are they and who are you?” She rudely jabbed the tip of the umbrella his way for emphasis.
His grin flashed a second before she was treated to another one of his chuckles. It was a dirty one, too. Her eyes narrowed while she waited for him to step out of the shadows and once he did, she worked to hide her shock. Seeing him in the full light of the fire’s shine, she had to admit the guy was beyond gorgeous.
An abundance of coal-black hair fell in soft, wavy layers down to his shirt collar where the ends curled as if each strand wanted to kiss his neck. Broad shoulders. Bulging biceps. A chest that filled out a shirt better than any body builder she’d ever seen. Trim waist. Muscular thighs… And when her gaze traveled back up the length of him and she saw his face, she stepped back. His features were more perfect than the rest of him.
“Are you go-going t-to answer me?” she stammered. She couldn’t help it. His strong, chiseled features had her pulse dancing all over the place. Testosterone virtually emanated from his every pore and came at her in sensual ripples that nearly took her breath away. Even the shape of his mouth, which currently had one edge tipped up with a ghost of a smile hovering over it, had her heart beating against her rib cage triple time.
“I might be persuaded.”
That sentence skated over her like silk on glass. Causing her to shiver as his dark eyes drilled into her and pinned her with a molten look, so intense, so purely sexual in nature, that it took all of her will to maintain a coherent thought in her head. She couldn’t seem to get oxygen either, and just as she was scrambling to come up with some clever retort, and possibly gain some air back in her lungs, those gleaming eyes shifted from hers, and slid purposely down to the umbrella. He stared at it meaningfully before she took the hint. With heated embarrassment singeing her cheeks, she slowly lowered her weapon.
“My frie—um, colleagues aren’t here, are they?” Suspicion and panic choked her, but oddly, there was no fear of him. Why?
As if the stranger had guessed her thoughts, his winged brows rose in interest and he smiled. “No, they’re not. Does it matter?” He continued to stare so she answered him.
“N-no.” Was that her voice so soft, ineffective, and strangely accommodating? What was she saying? Of course it mattered.
“I didn’t think so.” He walked to the couch and sat down on the huge upholstered arm. Once he was settled, he whispered, “Come here.”
What the hell was wrong with her? Why did she put the umbrella down? In her mind, she thought this was the most ridiculous thing to do. Like she would obey him simply because he told her to, but then her feet moved, one step, then two, until finally she was standing right in front of him, unsure why she was there at all.
“Are you warm enough?” His soft and husky question made her shiver. An action that had nothing to do with the temperature as there was a hint of promise buried in those words that suggested he was prepared to do something about it if she weren’t.
“I better go.”
Lightning fast he stood. Almost menacing as he towered over her. “I prefer you stay.”
Finley didn’t look up. Instead she closed her eyes and experienced the scent of his released breath as it wrapped around her. Cinnamon. Like the Red Hots she loved. Delicious. Intoxicating as a thrill went through her.
“Are you sure you’re not cold?”
No, she wanted to scream. I’m hot. On fire…for you. Instead she shook her head and opened her eyes, looking up. Not all the way up because his rugged features, with those penetrating jade-colored eyes, had a power over her she couldn’t comprehend. It didn’t take her more than a second to realize the rest of him was equally as magnetic. The onyx curls that curved around his white, pristine collar begged to be touch, rubbed and combed, while the shadowy layer of stubble-roughened skin on his throat beckoned to be kissed and nuzzled. God, even the huge expanse of his chest made her tremble because all she saw was herself disappearing in the strength of his embrace.
“Let me take this off you then.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe even, as he slowly unwound her scarf and pulled it across her left shoulder. Her hair caught against it and shifted with the material as both slid down over her chest, the coarse wool doing a tantalizing drag over her breast where her hair stopped in a bounce to further tease.
“Beautiful.”
She watched the scarf fall from his hand. The action was unhurried and purposeful. As if this were only the first of many items he was going to take from her. “I-I better go.”
“I want you to stay.”
His arm lifted and he slowly turned his hand until his palm was facing up. Her eyes focused on the sterling ring he wore, but then she blinked and paid attention to the action.
The gesture was ordinary and yet so unexpected. If he thought she was going to put her hand in his, he had another thing coming. She stared at it even as she tentatively backed up. She would have gotten some respectable distance between them if she hadn’t tripped on the edge of the area rug.
“Careful.”
He grabbed hold of her and she wasn’t sure whether it was almost falling or being held in his grip that was warm, sure and wholly possessive, that caused her to gasp. All she knew was that she was in over her head. Drowning and she hadn’t even abandoned ship yet. But if there was ever a time…
“I really should leave.” She studied his buttons and waited for him to let her go. Hot cinnamon and heady spice surrounded her. The scrumptious combination made her lightheaded. Dizzy.
“You’re going to stay.”
The shock of that finite pronouncement pulled her out of the daze she was in as she finally shot a look up and demanded, “Who put you up to this? Please tell me it wasn’t Jesse Alt. I thought—I wanted him to be my—”
“Your what?”
He let go of her so fast, she teetered. Once her feet were firmly planted and she’d scooped both sides of her hair behind her ears, she answered him, “My friend.”
His dark scowl eased into a frown and when he softly whispered, “Why?” her heart skipped a beat. It was the oddest thing. How ferocious he was one moment, and then completely tender the next. This whole bizarre interaction reminded her of a scene between Beauty and her beast.
“Why?” he asked again.
There were several answers she could have given him, but only one that she should give him. In the end she chose neither, and said, “He was supposed to help me to get my first great interview. But now I think his being nice was all for show. I know those guys were mad when my name turned up on the list.” She’d been foolish to ignore her instincts. Interviewing the reclusive Jack Midland was tantamount to gaining an audience with the pope. And, being that the most popular guest she’d ever landed on her little lifestyle blog for her local paper so far was the host of a public television show about cats, she’d been right to be suspicious.
Yes, the more she thought about it, the more convinced she became. “They probably slipped me a mickey or something. So what? Did they pay you to stay behind to babysit me?”
He sat back down on the couch arm and folded his arms over his chest. “Tell me, do I look like a babysitter?”
Good point. He looked more like the type of guy who could crush an unsuspecting sitter with his bare hands if he had a mind to. “Um, no.”
“Glad we established that, as I’m not one.” His look devoured her from head to toe. And when his eyes lingered on her bare feet she tried to hide them under her pant legs, but it was no use.
Slowly he tilted his head and stared right at her. “Are you sure you’re not cold? The wood can be—”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got bigger problems than potentially freezing to death. Are you going to give me a lift up to the main house, or am I going to have to walk the distance in bare feet?”
When he uncrossed his arms and slipped his palms down each of his thighs, stopping at the knee, her breath caught in her throat. Her heartbeat sped and that heat that had invaded her when she’d heard those whispered foreign words earlier was back with a vengeance. She opened her mouth to question him about this phenomenon, but before she could, he stood and went to the window. His departure took the heat and sizzle between them away.
 She didn’t move as he drew back the heavy brocade drapes and stepped aside. Although darker now, she could still make out the swirling snow falling heavily beyond the arched window.
“I don’t think it would be wise to go out in this, do you?”
“I have to.”
He let the drapes go and shook his head. “No, you don’t. Nothing is so important that you should risk your life and limb.”
“Oh yes. You don’t understand. I need to interview the guy.” She was prepared to lay it on thick in order to convince him. “Really, I’d…” She couldn’t get any more words out. His penetrating stare silenced her. His full attention, directed right at her, acted like an unspoken warning. And the way the jade-green of his eyes turned to a deep and dark emerald color made her breathless. Wary. Wanting something she couldn’t put a name to.
“You’d what?”
He pronounced the “t” in that last word so succinctly she flinched. Before she thought about what to answer him, the words just tumbled out. “I’d be forever grateful if you’d help me.”
The wood in the fire hissed and popped as he examined her. Was he trying to decide? If he was, he wasn’t happy about it because now he was back to scowling again.
“How grateful?”
Wow, there was no mistaking that innuendo. If she had to put a description to his tone, she’d have say, audible sex. She nearly melted, but once she mopped herself up and got it together, she scowled right back at him. Wet dream come to life, or not, the guy needed to know she had boundaries and he’d just trampled them. “I’ll mention you in the Pulitzer prize winning article I’m going to write on Midland.”
Holy hell, he smiled and her knees nearly gave out. No man had the right to look this gorgeous. It wasn’t fair.
“That’s it?”
“Isn’t it enough?”
“No.”
His smile eased to a grin as he walked toward her. The closer he came, the more the warmth inside her spread. Until heavy tingles invaded her breasts, making her already spiked nipples harden in anticipation of being touched. Just the thought had an acute ache sweeping through her to stall right between her legs, where it pulsed so hard that hot desire spilled to soak her panties and she nearly passed out. If he hadn’t taken hold of her arms she was sure she would have crumbled. It took every ounce of willpower she had to get her next words out. “P-please help me find Jack Midland.”
“I already have.”
“Y-you? You can’t be him.”
His scent, the heat and yes, lust that coursed through her shook her to the core. She tried to fight it off and when she couldn’t, she attempted to rationalize it. Maybe she was still feeling the effects of whatever her colleagues had given her. Why else would she be feeling as if she were stuck in an erotic dream?
She didn’t fight him when he pulled her in close. Now she was helpless. Fully caught in his shadow and when he curled down over her, she was lost.
He searched her face, her shoulders, pausing to examine her neck before he huskily promised, “I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”
His head descended and that sensual heat flared within her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Her whole body trembled with need. She wanted to give into it. She wanted to let go but—“No.”
“Oh, yes.” He leaned down, and when his lips connected with her neck, her knees buckled well and good. Right out from underneath her. Thankfully, he hauled her in close and tight as he spoke softly against her throat, “Tu me manques.”
Odd was the only word that came to her as she processed that phrase. Finally a language she could understand. French. But what did he mean by, “You are missing from me”?

 

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