Free Forever and the Night (The Black Rose Chronicles) by Linda Lael Miller Page A

and turned her head slightly in order to protect herself. She sighed. “I used to work for a United States senator,” she said. “He was involved in some very crooked deals, and I gathered enough proof to put him, and the creeps he was dealing with, out of business. Or so I thought.” Out of the comer of her eye she saw that he was looking at the base of her throat, and she felt a sudden and inexplicable desire to surrender to the dark magic she saw in his eyes. “Now it appears that they’ve decided to make sure I can’t cause any more trouble,” she finished shakily in a distracted tone.
    He bolted away from her with unsettling swiftness. Had he been anyone other than who he was, Neely would have thought he hadn’t heard her explanation, but she knew very little got by Aidan, whether he appeared to be paying attention or not.
    “It will require some thought—your predicament, I mean,” he said gravely, avoiding her gaze. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring the car to the front of the house in a few minutes. I don’t use it often, so the engine will need some time to warm up.”
    Neely nodded, feeling both relief and disappointment at the prospect of being separated from him.
    “Thank you,” she said.
    Aidan left the room.
    Neely waited, then raised herself out of the chair, supporting her weight with one hand and clutching the empty snifter in the other. Her legs were still trembling, and the small injury she’d done to her shin earlier stung like crazy, but the brandy had definitely restored her. And none of those things were of any consequence at all in comparison to the emotions and yearnings Aidan Tremayne brought out in her.
    She crossed to Aidan’s desk and set the snifter down.
    There was a music box sitting just to the left of the blotter, and Neely automatically reached for it, wanting to think of something else, if only for a moment, to shift her thoughts from the master of that spooky old house.
    Besides, she had a collection of such boxes tucked away in a rented storage unit, along with most of her other belongings. The small mechanisms and delicate tunes had always appealed to her.
    This one was clearly antique, perhaps dating back to the early nineteenth century. The case was carved of the finest rosewood, and there were tiny forest animals etched into its top.
    Neely lifted the lid, and the tinkling notes of an old tune rose from inside. She trembled, and her heart lurched painfully.
    It was the same melody she’d heard in her dream.
    With a little cry Neely closed the music box and stepped back.
    “Is something wrong?” an unfamiliar male voice inquired.
    Neely whirled, one shock compounding with another. She had never seen the man standing behind her; he was enormous, imposing, and, she supposed, handsome, with his rich chestnut hair and discerning violet eyes. She clasped one hand to her chest and made an inarticulate sound.
    “I’ve frightened you.” With a calm, easy smile the man bowed his head. “I apologize.”
    Neely was still shaken, but she was beginning to regain her equilibrium. She would work out the music box thing later, she decided. As for the man’s sudden appearance, well, that was easily explained. The Tremayne house was large, and Aidan hadn’t said he was alone there. She had simply assumed that.
    “My name is Valerian. Yours?”
    “Neely,” she said, still breathing fast. Could this man be the same one who had chased her into the woods? No— she’d been watching too much television and reading too many thrillers, that was all. This guy was hardly the sort to go rambling through the trees in the dead of night, and it was impossible to imagine him behind the wheel of a Blazer. “Neely Wallace.”
    “A pleasure,” he said, taking Neely’s hand, which she didn’t recall extending, and barely brushing the knuckles with his lips.
    A shiver went through her, part pleasure and part primal fear. She felt light-headed, almost as if she’d been