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“Why the sudden interest in my personal life? If you’re asking for Eve’s sake, then I can tell you I’m strong, healthy, mentally sound and possess all the powers of a royal.”
“Why are you reluctant to tell me where you live?”
“I live all over the world. I’m an international businessman, an offshore banker, with interests in numerous countries.”
“And the other Ansara—how many are there? Where do the Dranir and Dranira reside? Are your people scattered throughout the world as we Raintree are?”
“What few of us there are keep a low profile,” Judah told her. “We are not prepared to confront the Raintree and do nothing to call attention to ourselves.”
“But you did, didn’t you? Seven years ago, you deliberately seduced a Raintree princess. I’d say that’s calling attention to yourself.”
“But at the time, you didn’t know I was Ansara. And if you had not conceived my child, you never would have known.”
What he said was true enough and yet a sense of foreboding clenched her stomach muscles, creating a sick feeling in her gut. Was it possible that in only two hundred years, the Ansara had rebuilt their clan enough to actually pose a threat to the Raintree? Surely not. If the Ansara were once again a mighty people, the Raintree would know. One of the Raintrees’ many psychics would have sensed the Ansaras’ escalating power. Unless…Unless they had deliberately shielded themselves from detection with a mass protection spell…But was that even possible?
“What about your Dranir and Dranira?” Mercy asked.
“So many questions.” Judah came toward her.
She held her ground, refusing to cower in front of him.
“The Ansara Dranir is single,” Judah said. “Some consider him a playboy. He has a villa in the Caribbean and one in Italy, as well as homes and apartments in various places. He owns a yacht and a jet, and women swoon at his feet.”
“Sounds like a charming guy,” Mercy said sarcastically. “And you’re related to him. From what you’ve said about him, I sense a strong similarity between you two.”
“Like two peas in a pod.” Judah smirked. “I also manage his money for him.”
Mercy wondered why Judah was so forthcoming with information about his Dranir and his people. Either they were, as he had told her, no threat to the Raintree, or he was telling her just enough of the truth to appear open and honest. But why should a Raintree trust an Ansara?
Whenever Judah was this close, their bodies almost touching, Mercy found it difficult to concentrate, and he damn well knew it. Ignore the fact that your heartbeat has accelerated and your nipples have hardened, Mercy told herself. He doesn’t know that you’re moist with desire, that your body yearns for his.
“Wouldn’t our brief time together be better spent not talking?” Judah leaned over just far enough so that they were nose to nose, mouth to mouth. “As I recall, neither of us needs words to express what we want.”
Shivering internally, she barely managed to keep her body from shaking. Her breathing quickened. Her nostrils flared. Her feminine core clenched and unclenched.
“Why does your brother hate you enough to kill you?”
Her question acted as the deterrent she had hoped it would. Judah lifted his head and withdrew from her, at least far enough so that she could take a free breath.
“I told you that Cael’s mother killed my mother. There’s been bad blood between us all our lives.”
“If his mother killed yours, then you should be the one who hates him, the one who wants to kill him. Why is it the other way around?”
“I’m my father’s legitimate son. Cael is not. It’s as simple as that. An insane mind needs little excuse to act irrationally.”
Mercy told herself that she was questioning Judah to acquire needed information about the Ansara, but that was only part of her reason. Curiosity? Perhaps. All she knew was that she felt a great need to know this man, her child’s father.
“How old were you when your mother died?” she asked.
Judah’s jaw tensed. “My mother was murdered.” He tapered his gaze until his eyes
slanted almost closed.
Of its own volition, her hand reached over and spread out across the center of his chest, covering his heart. For one millisecond, while emotion made him vulnerable, Mercy absorbed his innermost thoughts. He had been an infant when his mother died, too young to remember her face or the sound of her voice. A small boy’s sadness lingered deep inside Judah, both a hunger for a mother’s love and a denial that he needed love from anyone.
“I’m very sorry about your mother,” Mercy told him. “No child should grow up without a mother to love him unconditionally.”
With his mouth twisted in a snarl, his eyes mere slits and tension etched on his features, Judah grabbed her hand and flung it off his chest. “I neither want nor need your sympathy.”
