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“Why did you come back here, Daniel? If you’re planning on trying again with her…I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Daniel stretched out his tired legs. “I’ve been asking myself that question since my plane landed. I don’t know. Tired of traveling. Not ready to go home yet. Plus…I wanted to thank you.”
“Thank me? For what?”
Leaning forward, Daniel clasped his hands between his knees. His hands…once they’d been smooth as a woman’s. He’d been an archivist in his old life and the worst thing that ever happened to his hands was the occasional paper cut. Now for a year and a half he’d been scrambling up mountains, trekking through rain forests, and digging through ancient ruins. His hands looked it.
“The funeral,” Daniel said. “I would never have been able to forgive myself if I hadn’t gone to the funeral.”
The funeral. Maggie’s funeral. His late wife. He’d only made it through that day because Kingsley had given him drugs. The good kind. He’d half-joked to Eleanor that Kingsley had slipped him a horse tranquilizer. It might have been, actually. Whatever it was, it had done the job. On a normal day, such a drug would have put him on his back for a week. That day, it had merely disconnected his mind from his body and allowed him to stay vertical for those two necessary, nightmarish hours.
“It pays to have a well-stocked medicine cabinet. And liquor cabinet. Can I get you something from either of them now?”
Daniel smiled. “No. I’m fine. Thank you. I should probably go before you-know-who shows up.”
“He won’t kill you. He’s a pacifist.”
“And a sadist.”
Kingsley smiled. “Who isn’t? Look, he won. He knows he won. He always knew he’d win, or he wouldn’t have sent her to you in the first place. I’d be more afraid of her than him, if I were you.”
“Elle’s going to beat me up, too?”
“Not your body, but your heart. Again. She does have that power over men.”
“I noticed.”
Understatement of the century. Kingsley peered at him, as if trying to see in Daniel’s eyes if he was still in love with Eleanor or if he’d come to his senses.
“I hadn’t left my house in three years,” Daniel said. “I still can’t believe that sometimes. When every day feels the same, three years can pass in a blink. I think I might have died in that house if she hadn’t dragged me out.”
Daniel had only had Eleanor for one week—a gift, of sorts. Or, to be more accurate, a loan, since he’d had to give her back. But she came and worked her magic on him and when she left, so did he. She’d joked about Tierra del Fuego. Why? Who knew, with her. She probably just liked saying the name. So after three years exiled in his own home, he went there for one reason and one reason alone—to send her a damn postcard postmarked from Tierra del Fuego to prove he was free again.
But was he truly free? He couldn’t escape thinking of her. Maybe not as free as he wanted. Not yet.
“Anyway, it was good to see you again, King. Apart from the manslaughter attempt.” Daniel started to stand but the door burst open and two laughing women nearly fell into the room.
“Tessa! Irina!” Kingsley glared at them both. “Come here. Now.”
Kingsley pointed at the floor. Both women pasted on artificial looks of contrition as they simpered across the Persian rug and sat at Kingsley’s feet.
“Ladies,” Kingsley began, “what are you two doing? Or do I not want to know? Tessa—answer me.”
He tapped the buxom olive-skinned girl on the tip of her nose. “Anya said you were in your office with the ugliest man she’d ever seen in her life. We had to see for ourselves.”
“She’s such a liar,” said the hazel-eyed brunette glancing at Daniel. “He’s more handsome than you are, King.”
Kingsley gasped and put his hand over his chest in melodramatic shock. “Blasphemy, Irina.” He pulled Irina’s earlobe. “No one is more handsome than I am.”
“You’re too pretty,” the girl continued, flashing her eyes at Daniel. He couldn’t take his eyes off the girl. Irina spoke beautifully clear English but with a tinge of a Russian accent. She, too, must have been part of Kingsley’s Imperial Collection. “He looks rough, rugged. I like his eyes.”
“Rough?” Kingsley scoffed. “I spent four years in the French Foreign Legion. I have bullet wounds. That,” Kingsley pointed at Daniel, “is a librarian.”
“Archivist,” Daniel corrected. Ex-archivist actually. He inherited a huge sum of money from his late wife and hadn’t worked in years. Now at thirty-eight he felt restless, useless. Being a man of leisure didn’t really suit him. He knew he needed something else in his life again. Just didn’t know what yet.
“Intelligent men are my favorite,” Irina said, nearly purring the words. “And in such rare supply these days.”
Kingsley exhaled dramatically and snapped his fingers. Both women stood up. The Russian Irina cast another lascivious glance at Daniel.
