"Don't think so. I'm getting the hang of cooking on an Aga."

"Settling in nicely, I hear."

Dixie nodded. "Yes. Very."

"Must dash," he said. "But I know I can count on you for the Whist Drive next weekend."

"Whist Drive?" What was he talking about?

He smiled. He did have very white teeth. "Fund-raiser for the church roof fund. Everyone will be there."

She agreed before she had time to refuse, then shrugged. What the heck? What could happen at a parish fund-raiser? He could hardly hit on her in church. Besides, Sebastian might not be her sort, but at least he didn't take her property.

"I can't change your mind?" Tom asked.

Christopher didn't even shake his head. "I have business to transact. We all need those books."

Tom raised an eyebrow. "Don't get caught between the covers."

Christopher groaned. Tom hadn't changed in all these years. "You could wish me success."

"I'll wish you caution. You're stronger, but not strong enough."

"Tom, all I have to do is buy some books from a harmless young woman."

Tom's eyes shadowed as if seeing into the distance. "Remember the harmless young woman in Deptford."

"That young woman was a trollop."

"A well-paid trollop who played her part well." Tom was right about that, but Dixie was different. Her transparency and honesty would impress even Tom. He twitched his mouth. "This isn't the same. Come down to Bringham, I'll introduce you to Miss LePage."

Tom shook his head. "No, my friend. I have too much sense of survival to consort with humans, if I don't have to."

Christopher! A slow s.h.i.+ver snaked down Dixie's spine at the knock on the door. She just knew he stood outside and she didn't want to see him. Her anger and confusion over finding her date book in his kitchen had gelled into a cold hurt. While she'd thought him a friend, he'd been prying into her life. Christopher wanted something from her. Fine. He could have the books they'd agreed on and nothing more.

"Hi," she said. Whatever else she'd planned to say stayed in her throat. He was beautiful. Hair dark as midnight shone in the light from the door. The same light that gleamed on the leather covering his shoulders and turned the pallor of his skin to nacre.

He smiled. Dixie forbade her heart to thaw.

"h.e.l.lo, Dixie," he said. It sounded like the opening bars of a sonata. Warmth caressed her skin. Hope and excitement wriggled in her belly. She dug her heels in the doormat and clenched every muscle in her back."Why, h.e.l.lo, Christopher." At this rate the conversation wouldn't go far enough to cause problems.

"I've been away for a couple of days."

That explained the deserted house but not the car parked in front. "Have a good trip?"

"Visited a friend in town."

This was ludicrous. Talking on the doorstep, as if he were a brash salesman. She had to get rid of him. She didn't want him in the house. She didn't trust herself near him. Just standing this close she could smell him and if she dared think about it, she'd imagine his touch again. "I ran into Guildford today and dropped off the books. I'll have a valuation by Friday."

"Wonderful. Just name your price." He took a fourth of a step forward. "Could I come in?"

"No!" It came out like a m.u.f.fled shriek that tore the roots of her mind. "Not now." Ten minutes in the same room as him and her resolve would fade as surely as daylight. "It's not a good time." She gestured with her head to imply someone was in the house. The lie ripped deep within her. The look on Christopher's face made her want to cringe.

"Indeed," he said and stepped backwards out of the circle of light. A shadow seemed to slip over him. "Get back to me, Dixie.

When it's a good time."

In the dark, she never even saw him reach the gate. Slamming and locking the front door, she leaned against it. Her heart raced like a Derby winner, her chest heaved so fast each breath hurt. Her blood seethed in her veins, pounded her temples and surged like a boiling flood ready to burst a dam. She wanted Christopher. She wanted his arms around her, his body against hers and his lips' warm caress. Forget it. Never. Not now.

Visceral pain tore through her. She pressed into the heavy oak door as if pulled by an outside force. She shook and wanted to cry out his name, but hurt gagged every sound but a moan. Her body slumped, her legs wobbled like a newborn foal's, and her lungs felt filled with concrete. Only her fingers clenched around the doork.n.o.b and her hip against the mail slot stopped her from crumpling on the doormat.

Her breathing normalized. Her heart rate calmed. Shaking her head as if stunned, she wobbled back to the kitchen. A half- eaten baked potato waited on the table. Dixie wasn't sure if she remembered how to chew. That did it! No man was tweaking her b.u.t.tons. The minute they concluded their deal, she wanted nothing more to do with Christopher Marlowe.

Christopher leapt back from the stoop as if blasted. What conniving human was in there with Dixie? Sebastian, with his slick tongue and scheming heart? James, with his poisonous mind? Jealousy burned like acid, blocking Christopher's thoughts and shuttering his reason.

Transmogrifying in a blaze of fury, he shot through the night sky in an eastern trajectory until he reached the heart of the city. He found his safe haven high on St. Paul's dome. Strange, how often he came here to roost-but he'd loved the view ever since the new St. Paul's rose from the ashes of the Great Fire. He watched the quiet streets beneath his feet, deserted except for the stray taxi, and looked across the river to where the new Globe stood near the site of the old. He could trust London. A city wasn't fickle like mortals or perfidious like womankind.

Images racked his mind. Dixie was his. He'd tasted and marked her, but without her knowledge. The claim and need were his alone. And alone he'd forever endure his pain. Tom's warning had come too late. Socializing with mortals brought misery and danger, even death. A quest for knowledge and his own frailty for a pretty mortal had brought him to the rim of disaster but he'd pulled back in time. He'd close the deal then take Tom's advice and leave Bringham. With the coven strengthening, the village was too dangerous for his kind.

Christopher returned to his cottage less than half an hour before dawn. His body ached like the rotten tooth he'd once had pulled by the barber in Fleet Alley. Tom had been right about feeding; farm animals didn't offer enough nourishment to transmogrify twice in one day. His empty veins screamed for sustenance. The heart he didn't have called out for Dixie.

Dixie! She'd been here! He sensed her presence and smelled her sweetness. His mouth watered at the thought as fast as his mind seized with horror. Half-transmogrified hands grabbed the scrubbed pine table. He watched the return of human skin and nails with a wonder that never ceased. Nothing would alter the thrill he always felt at the power within his own body. He splayed his re-formed hands on the table, leaning into it on wobbly shoulders. He had to rest.

His head felt like a cannonball as he raised it and looked across the table. His eyebrows tightened as he noticed the plate on the table. Neatly encased in cling film, the even squares of chocolate appeared like pieces of a puzzle-the conundrum of Dixie LePage. The paper shook in his hand. He recognized a sheet from his own writing tablet. "Christopher," she had written in a hand as clear and open as her smile. "Forgive me for barging into your house but the door was unlocked. Here are some brownies, Gran's recipe, a thank you for the wonderful lunch. Went into Guildford this morning and left your books. He promised me a price by Friday so I'll get back to you. Take care and see you soon, Dixie."

The note crumpled in his grasp. Too weary to even consider the implications, Christopher dragged himself upstairs to his shuttered study and let sleep swallow his confusion.

Dixie drove back from Guildford in a daze. She had a small fortune in books on the backseat. Her throat tied itself into a dry knot at the prospect of actually asking for a check that large. Had Christopher any idea of their worth? Could he afford that much? She'd find out soon and demand an explanation about her appointment book. It had better be good.

He was in. She knew it as she turned the corner and saw the moss growing on the uneven roof tiles. Of course he was in. He was expecting her.

He was waiting, leaning against the open doorway of his cottage, watching for her from the shade of the front porch. He filled the doorway, with his long, slim legs stretching in front, one broad shoulder propped against the frame, and his head almost touching the lintel. Of course it was a cottage. He hadn't blocked her doorway quite the same way but he still had the smile that could melt permafrost.

As she opened the gate with one hand, balancing the box in the other, she sensed his excitement. He came towards her. Warm, rippling waves of antic.i.p.ation came at her like a flowing tide. No one got this excited over a bunch of books. Well, he could want all he wanted. She had a deal to make and a bone to pick. He took the box of books from her. His arms shook as they hefted the weight. "Come on in and let me know the damage."

She followed him into the kitchen and noticed how his shoulders sagged with relief as he set the box on the scrubbed table.

"I've got the valuation." She handed over the sheet of paper and waited for the shock to register.

He read every word and figure, his head moving from side to side as he scanned the paper. A slight crease of his brows and a little tightening of his mouth showed concentration, nothing more. He looked up and smiled, his eye gleaming with something like triumph. "Seems fair enough. I a.s.sume you're satisfied with the valuation?"

Dry-mouthed, Dixie nodded. Satisfied? This was more than she'd earned in six months as a school librarian. "Of course, I said you could have them."

He reached into the drawer in the table. "Check okay?" he asked, uncapping his fountain pen.

"Yes, I suppose." She'd never seen anyone write a check that large. He did it as easily as paying for a tank of gas.

"It won't bounce. I made sure I had enough to cover this."

"You knew how much it would be?" What sort of job did he have to fling this sort of money around? Come to that, what did he do for a living?"I had a rough idea. It was slightly more than I expected but inflation affects everything and collectibles particularly."

"Is this a hobby, buying old books? Or what you do for a living?" She'd been dying to ask. Having done so, she felt like a pushy American.

He didn't seem to mind. "It's a hobby. With some old friends, I'm a.s.sembling a library on the occult and the paranormal. I offered to buy from your Aunt Hope, but she wouldn't part with anything. I'm glad you agreed."

His s.h.i.+rt was open at the neck, showing a vee of fair skin and a few stay curls of dark hair. She forced her mind back to her question. "What do you do for a living, then?" Nothing that she'd noticed so far.

"Some years back, I made a few lucky investments. I'm a layabout. I write when the muse strikes me, drive too fast, ride when the weather's fine, and get on Caughleigh's nerves."

She couldn't hold back the chuckle. "I've noticed."

He shook his head. "Watch out for him, Dixie. The only person he's ever helped was Sebastian Caughleigh."

"I can take care of myself." Was he pursuing her just to get at Sebastian? "I came by yesterday to see you. The door was open."

His smile didn't quite become a laugh. "You left a plate of little chocolate cakes."

"They were brownies."

"Brownies." This time it was almost a chuckle. "You know the local meaning? Brownies are little people. They cause milk to sour, hens to stop laying and haystacks to self-ignite." His mouth twisted in a way that almost mocked her. "But of course, you wouldn't believe in them. You'd put them in the categories of witches and vampires."

"An interesting local myth." It came out sharper than she'd intended but the hurt look on his face caused a twinge of guilt. "You don't share my skepticism. The occult interests you."

He smiled, but not at her. "That's why I'm building this library. Why not search for knowledge if it's there to find?" He tapped one of the books. "There's old lore here. Forgotten ideas. Old dreams and nightmares."

"I prefer to stick with realities."

"Everyone has different realities, my dear Dixie."

That did it! She certainly wasn't his "dear" anything. He had mentioned realities, she wanted one explained. She reached into her pocket book and closed her hand over her appointment book. "There's something I want to ask you." She pulled her hand out of her bag. "I noticed this when I brought the brownies and wondered if you'd explain."

She placed it on the tabletop and watched his knuckles whiten as they clenched the table edge. She swore she wouldn't speak first. He owed her the explanation.

"So, the kindly neighbor act was an excuse to come snooping." An icy cynicism crackled through his words.

"It was not!" Dixie felt the tabletop under her fist. "I tore a sheet off your message pad to write you a note, and the whole stack fell to the ground. I picked it up and just happened to find the agenda I've been missing since I arrived."

"And how did you get in?"

"I opened the back door. You left it unlocked.""I did, did I? How remiss of me."

"Yes, you did, and you're lucky it was only me. It could have been a burglar. There are enough of them around here."

"I'm not worried about burglars."

He actually had the gall to grin. Dixie pressed her palms on the table and leaned forward, her face tensing in a frown. "You're avoiding my question, buster. Where did you get it and why was it sitting in your kitchen?"

"Isn't that two questions?" He raised his hands up, palms out, as she leaned across the tale. "Alright, Dixie. You want to know where I got it?"

"Yup." She waited, determined to stand her ground until she got her answer.

"Caughleigh gave it to me. I offered to return it to you."

"But you didn't."

"I'm afraid I forgot about it."

She'd worked in schools long enough to know a lie when she heard one. "Why would Sebastian give it to you? I was in his office on Wednesday and I'm seeing him tomorrow night."

Christopher's mouth twisted as his eyebrows curled. "Enjoy yourself, my dear."

That did it! "I expect to."

"I hope you're not disappointed." It was almost a whisper but she heard it clear as day.

"Why should I be?"

"Because, my dear Dixie, Sebastian Caughleigh is not the man for you."

The laugh came from somewhere deep inside. She shook her head. "I'm thirty years old, Christopher. Old enough to decide these things for myself. Look, I didn't come here to fight. I just wanted a straight answer. Maybe I got it. I'll probably never know. Thanks for the check. a.s.suming it clears okay, our business is over."

"Maybe," he replied and walked her to the door. "Take care, Dixie. Make sure you choose the right company."

Just what did he mean by that?

What was the truth about her organizer? Had she dropped it in Sebastian's office? If so, why would he give it to Christopher?

They acted more like adversaries that friends.

Christopher had to be lying. Why did she want to believe him? Did it matter? She'd see Sebastian tomorrow night. She'd ask him. And why believe him? Being a lawyer didn't guarantee integrity. She'd learned that the hard way.

Chapter Six.

Previous Top NextPerched high in the elm tree, Christopher watched Dixie lock her car and then go in the front door. He'd replayed their conversation a dozen times since she left. She didn't trust him now, just as well. He was nothing but bad news. But how he ached for her-his own fault. If he hadn't tasted that one time he'd never have known the warmth of her soul and the sweetness of her lifeblood, and now he'd spend eternity missing her.

He had no choice. He had to leave Bringham. Tom was right-it was getting too dangerous. If he stayed, it was only a matter of time before Caughleigh sussed the situation. And the thought of Caughleigh weaving Dixie into his machinations...

Christopher's fists balled up at the idea. He'd take up Tom's invitation to stay in South Audley Street. Soon. He sagged against the tree trunk. By Abel! He was weaker than a fledgling. He shouldn't have gone out this afternoon. The sun sapped his strength and it would take more than a day's rest to restore him.

He had to feed. Sebastian's new hunter wouldn't match Dixie's sweetness, but the prospect held a certain satisfaction.