Free Her Dark Knight by Sharon Cullen Page B

so inadequate. Her gaze landed on a cluster of women in tight mini-dresses and push-up bras. Any of them could have easily stepped from the pages of a magazine—they were so beautiful. They sneered at her scuffed shoes, her worn jeans and baggy sweatshirt. Then made a point to look at Christien, whispering and laughing to each other.
    Lainie lifted her chin and tightened her hold on Christien’s hand. He threw her a worried glance before returning his attention to Sabine. The women continued to whisper and laugh.
    Christien touched her shoulder. “This way,” he said above the music.
    She knew it was petty and beneath her, but Lainie smiled at the group of women before following Christien into the elevator. She caught their narrow-eyed look of disbelief before the doors slid shut. And then she was alone with Christien in the small elevator, feeling horrible for what she’d done and hyperaware of the man next to her.
    The heat coming off him wrapped around her. She was acutely conscious of his every breath and every movement.
    She tried to put distance between them, but Christien was having none of that. He tugged her closer and turned to her as the elevator rose swiftly. “I am sorry I did not answer my phone.”
    She shook her head, feeling foolish for putting him to all this trouble. With him this close, her fear abated. “It’s all right.”
    He cupped her cheek in his large hand. Against her better judgment she leaned in to his warmth. “No, chérie, it is not all right.”
    He was so close his warm breath caressed her skin. So close she could kiss him. For a moment their gazes locked, his such a pure beautiful gray she could fall into it and never want to leave. She had the oddest sensation she’d done this before, looked deep into his eyes and found everything she’d been searching for.
    The elevator doors opened, startling her out of the haze of longing and severing the deep connection humming between them. He pulled away and motioned for her to exit. She stepped out and caught her breath.
    She expected his living quarters to reflect his office décor. Glass and chrome, hard angles and dark colors. Starkness and simplicity.
    Instead elegance, opulence and luxury were the words that sprang to mind. The look was homey instead of stuffy. The kind of place to retreat to after a hard day’s work.
    He’d decorated in dark wood, intricately carved, with jeweled tones to complement, offset by creams and beiges. The living room and dining area were combined, surrounded by cream-colored pillars. The windows were unadorned, the lights of Milwaukee in the background and the dark void of Lake Michigan beyond.
    The couches were formal, yet comfortable. A flat-screen television looked out of place sitting inside a large antique armoire.
    Gorgeous, gigantic floral arrangements sat on the coffee table and dining room table and a sword hung above a stone fireplace.
    Feet sinking into the deep-piled carpet, Lainie made her way to the fireplace to stare up at the weapon. Her mind flashed back to her latest dream in which the other Madelaine had been watching Christien prepare for battle, a sword almost exactly like this riding his hip.
    She knew nothing about medieval weaponry, yet had dreamt about this one in detail, right down to the hammered hilt. Before tonight she hadn’t even known what a hilt was.
    In her dream the sword had been nicked and dented. This was polished and gleamed in the recessed lighting but that was the only difference. How did she dream of this weapon when she’d never seen it before?
    “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Where did you get it?”
    He stepped into the room and for the first time she noticed the music playing in the background. Not the loud techno-pop of downstairs, but a quiet jazz coming from an invisible sound system.
    “I’ve had it for years.”
    She turned from the massive fireplace, almost disappointed he hadn’t said more. What else is there to say, Lainie? Were you expecting