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3
Once Zeke was backin his hotel room and closed the door, he stood in a slightly buzzed state, staring at his surroundings.
A thick file folder on the small desk near the window caught his eye. Before he even formed the thought, his legs were moving in that direction. He flipped it open and thumbed through the mounds of research he’d collected over the past year, pausing on an illustration of a medieval knight brandishing Lupos while standing on a mound of bodies, complete with severed limbs and heads.
He slid the illustration aside to reveal a 1909 newspaper article with a picture of the sword hanging above an enormous stone fireplace. A young, serious-looking man holding a pipe stood below it.
Theodore Blackwell. His great-great-grandfather.
Not long after the newspaper published the article, Luposhad disappeared and was never recovered.
The tip of his finger smoothed over the sword above his grandfather’s head. “I will find you, Lupos, and you will rest in a place of honor in the Friary’s Great Hall.” A place where he could draw on its strength, every day. Where his family could unite around it, every night.
Turning away from the file, he weighed his options. Stay and go to bed? Leave and go for a swim?
He wasn’t the least bit tired and had no interest in flipping channels for hours. Decision made, he replaced his evening wear with a pair of swim trunks he’d decided to bring at the last minute, along with some old flip-flops. Yanking a bath towel off the rack, he grabbed his keycard and stalked out of his room.
Rather than take the elevator to the pool, he hoofed it up the four flights of stairs. Relief hit him when he pushed open the door leading to the roof and found the pool unoccupied. An odd reaction given he’d just escaped his empty room.
The rooftop wasn’t completely devoid of people. A few couples reclined in lounge chairs, quietly talking or gazing at the stars, and a small group of men sat around at the back-lit bar, watching a previously recorded NASCAR race on the big screen above. He ignored them all.
Dropping his towel and keycard at the edge of the deep end, he dove in. The cool water slicked by his face for three, four, five, six seconds before he angled his body upward, his head breaking the surface. Night wrapped around him, lulling him into rhythmic, exhausting laps.
By his fifth rotation, his muscles screamed for him to stop. He pushed himself through one more lap before pivoting onto his back. Snatches of his conversation with Ash tried to push aside his serenity, but he shook them off and, instead, searched his memory for an image of the redhead.
Who was she? With that outfit and those shoes, her presence had to be business-related. Would he see her tomorrow at breakfast? Before he checked out? If he did, what then?
Zeke cursed beneath his breath. He’d screwed up his opportunity to learn more about her when he’d sat there like an idiot and watched her walk out of his life.
A large splash interrupted his whirling thoughts and a ripple of water rocked his world. A yell preceded another splash, and a spray of chlorinated water coated his chest and skipped up his nose.
Uninterested in dodging drunken human cannonballs, he swam to the edge of the pool, his muscles heavy from their exertion. He climbed out, dreading going back to his room. Already thoughts of the stolen sword and shithead Ash and his brothers’ growing frustration were returning. A sense of helplessness thundered against his temples.
Steam and flickering light at the opposite end of the roof caught his eye. A few minutes in the Jacuzzi might be what he needed to calm his frenzied mind enough to fall asleep.
A pergola of sorts, replete with wooden lattice and viny green plants, surrounded the pool of steaming water, giving the space a more intimate feel. It wasn’t until he cleared the greenery that he noticed the Jacuzzi wasn't empty. Annoyance made his steps slow. Until he realized the occupant was a woman.
She sat with her head tilted back, obscuring her features. Steam glistened on her cheeks, her throat, her chest. Water rippled around her, concealing everything below the surface. If not for the thin black shoulder straps, he would question whether she wore anything at all.
Why was she out here, alone? Was her seclusion by choice? Or would she mind company?
He took a step toward the hot tub, then checked himself as his mother's voice rose in his mind, cautioning him.
You're a stranger. A virile man approaching a lone woman at night wearing little more than your underwear.
Glancing around, he noticed several of the lounge chairs had emptied during his swim. He couldn’t help but appreciate the irony of the situation. If there had been more people around, he wouldn’t have thought twice about joining the woman—or at least asking if he could share the jets.
Doing so now would only result in her making a hasty retreat off the roof or both of them enduring an indeterminate amount of awkwardness before one of them bolted. Neither option appealed to him tonight. Clutching his keycard in a death grip, he turned to leave, already feeling the pang of loss.
“I won't bite,” the woman said in a soft, languid voice.
He peered over his shoulder and found her eyes on him, a teasing smile curving her lips.
Catlike eyes. Full, kissable lips. Red hair coiled atop her head.
Sensible Shoes.
His heart punched against his ribcage, as if a temperamental goat had rammed its bony head into his solar plexus.
