Tempted by Midnight 12.5 Page 3

  realize she was being spoken to until she

  saw both her father and Paolo Turati

  looking at her in expectation.

  “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” she stammered,

  embarrassed to have been caught

  drifting. Especially with Lazaro Archer

  there to notice it too. “Would you repeat

  that last part for me, please? I want to be

  certain I get it correct.”

  Her father chuckled. “Sweetheart, I

  just asked if you might like to take a

  short break. We’ve been going on for

  hours without a rest. I’m sure we all

  could use a few minutes to relax a bit.”

  “Of course,” she replied, then

  pivoted to translate for their smiling

  host.

  As she rose from the antique sofa,

  both men politely stood with her. Lazaro

  Archer took the opportunity to stalk out

  of the salon. She watched him disappear

  into the darkness outside.

  “Would you like some wine?”

  Turati asked her, his Italian words

  infused with pride as he gestured to a

  collection of bottles encased in a lighted

  cabinet the length of one entire wall of

  the salon. “My family owns three

  vineyards, one dating back nearly a

  thousand years. I would be pleased if

  you would join me for a glass of my

  favorite vintage.”

  Melena smiled back at him. “I

  would enjoy that very much, thank you.

  But first, may I ask where I might find a

  restroom, please?”

  “Certainly,

  certainly.”

  Turati

  snapped his fingers at the pair of

  bodyguards who’d been hanging back

  obediently for the duration of the night.

  Continuing with Melena in Italian, he

  said, “There is one just through that door

  and down the passageway, my dear.

  Gianni will show you—”

  “No, that’s okay.” She shook her

  head

  at

  the

  approaching

  guard,

  unaccustomed to so much fawning and

  more than capable of finding her own

  way. “Thank you, but I’m sure I can find

  it on my own. Will you all excuse me?”

  With a reassuring glance at her

  father and a nod to Turati, Melena

  headed out of the salon and into the

  passageway. The private restroom at the

  other end was every bit as sumptuous as

  the salon, with gilded trim and elegant

  millwork, gleaming mirrors, and a

  wealth of original art on the walls.

  As she came out of the single stall a

  few moments later and washed her

  hands, she couldn’t help but pause to

  check her reflection in the polished

  glass. Her light copper hair was wind-

  tossed and thickened from the humidity

  of the sea. Her skin was milky beneath

  the freckles that spread out over the

  apples of her cheeks and marched across

  the bridge of her nose. And the aura that

  radiated off her was imbued with shades

  of green and gold.

  Hope.

  Determination.

  She tried not to notice the faint pink

  glow that simmered beneath the stronger

  colors of her psyche. Her curiosity about

  Lazaro Archer had no place here. Her

  awareness of him as a dark, dangerously

  attractive male, even less. She’d come to

  assist her father; that was all.

  And

  besides,

  the

  grim

  representative from the Order had given

  her no reason to think he’d even noticed

  her tonight, other than as a nuisance he

  was eager to relieve himself of at the

  earliest opportunity.

  Every time she looked at him, he’d

  been cloaked in a haze of unreadable,

  gunmetal gray. Coupled with his

  intimidating gaze, the effect should have

  been enough to make her keep a healthy

  distance.

  Instead, as she left the restroom,

  rather than returning straight to the salon

  again, Melena pivoted in the opposite

  direction. Toward the aft deck, where

  she’d seen him go.

  He stood alone at the rail in the

  dark,

  a

  stoic

  figure,

  unmoving,

  forbidding. His large hands were braced

  wide before him. His immense, black-

  clad body leaned slightly forward as he

  gazed off the stern of the yacht over the

  endless blanket of rippling water

  beyond.

  Melena took a silent step toward

  him, then hesitated.

  This was probably a bad idea. She

  should go back inside and focus on what

  she was supposed to be doing. She had

  no business with Lazaro Archer, even if

  there was something she’d been wanting

  to say to him all night. For much longer

  than that, in fact.

  But from the rigidity of his stance,

  she could see that he was in no mood for

  conversation. Probably least of all with

  the interloper who’d shown up uninvited

  and inadvertently defied his authority

  over the meeting.

  Her feet paused beneath her,

  Melena started to pivot around to leave

  him to his solitude.

  “You’re doing well in there.” His

  deep voice arrested her where she

  stood. He didn’t bother to look at her,

  and although the compliment was

  completely unexpected, it came out more

  like a growled accusation.

  “Thanks.” Tentatively, since there

  was no point in trying to avoid him now,

  she crossed the deck to join him at the

  railing. “I like Signor Turati. And I have

  a good feeling about this meeting. I think

  my father has made a true friend here

  tonight.”

  Lazaro grunted. “I’ll be sure to

  inform Lucan Thorne that you give your

  blessing.”

  Melena exhaled a short sigh. “I’m

  not trying to minimize the importance of

  this meeting. I understand what’s at stake

  —”

  “No. You couldn’t possibly,” he

  replied, finally swiveling his head to

  look askance at her.

  And oh, Lord. If she thought Lazaro

  Archer was intimidating from across the

  room, up close he was terrifying. His

  midnight-blue eyes glittered as dark as

  obsidian in the moonlight, ruthless under

  the ebony slashes of his brows. His

  strong nose and sharp cheekbones gave

  him a ferocity no human face could carry

  off, and his squared, rigid jawline

  seemed hewn of granite.

  Only his mouth had an element of

  softness to it, though right now, as he

  looked at her, his broad, sensual lips

  were flattened in an irritated scowl.

  “How old are you?” he demanded.

  “Twenty-nine.”

>   He scoffed, his dark gaze giving her

  a brief once-over. Based on the fierce

  ticking of a tendon in his already

  ironclad jaw, she guessed he didn’t

  particularly like what he saw. “You’ve

  barely been out of diapers long enough

  to understand how important it is to have

  peace

  between

  the

  Breed

  and

  humankind. You were only a child when

  the veil between our world and theirs

  was torn away. You didn’t wade through

  the blood in the streets. You didn’t see

  the death, the brutality inflicted on so

  many innocents by both sides of this

  war.” He blew out a curse and shook his

  head slowly back and forth. “You can’t

  possibly comprehend how thin the thread

  is that holds back an even uglier war

  now. Nor can you know the lengths to

  which some people will go to rip that

  thread to tatters.”

  “You’re

  talking

  about

  Opus

  Nostrum,” Melena said quietly. A flicker

  of surprise in those narrowing indigo

  eyes now. “As my father’s personal

  assistant, he trusts me completely with

  all of his GNC business. I collect data

  for him. I summarize reports. I attend

  most of his meetings, as well as

  compose the majority of his speeches.

  I’m also his daughter, so of course, I’m

  well aware of the attempted bombing at

  the summit he attended a couple of

  weeks ago. I know Opus wanted to take

  a lot of lives at that event—Breed and

  human. I also know the Order’s primary

  objective now is to unmask the members

  of Opus’s secret cabal and take the

  terror group down.”

  Lazaro grunted but seemed less than

  impressed. “If you came out here to

  recite your credentials, Miss Walsh, let

  me spare you the effort.”

  “You all but challenged me to tell

  you,” she pointed out.

  “And all you’ve done is confirm

  what I already knew about you. I have a

  job to do here too, and you’ve been

  standing in my way all night.” He

  glanced back out at the water. “I’m sure

  your ample charms will find a far more

  receptive audience back in the salon.”

  Ample charms? Was that a cut on

  the fact that she actually had curves

  and a figure, or could he possibly mean

  he found her even a little bit

  interesting?

  “I didn’t come out here to...Jesus,

  never mind,” she stammered. “Forgive

  me for disturbing you.” Frustrated,

  Melena pushed back from the railing.

  She started to pivot away, then paused.

  Glanced over at him one last time, her

  own anger spiking. “We’ve met, you

  know. You don’t remember me.”

  Why she felt stung by that she really

  didn’t want to consider. When he didn’t

  respond after a long moment, she

  decided it was probably for the best.

  God knew, she would be better off

  forgetting the night she nearly died too.

  She turned and headed back across

  the deck.

  “I remember a reckless child doing

  something stupid,” he muttered from

  behind her. “A silly little girl, being

  somewhere she damned well didn’t

  belong.”

  Rather like the way he seemed to

  regard her now, she thought, bristling

  at the comment.

  “I was seven,” Melena replied,

  swinging a look over her shoulder at

  him. Lazaro hadn’t moved from his

  position, was still staring out at the

  black water. “I was seven years old, and

  you saved my life. I’d be dead if not for

  you.”

  “Saved you? Christ.” He exhaled

  sharply, as if the idea annoyed him. “I’m

  not in the habit of saving anyone.”

  Something about the way he said

  that, the quieting of his tone, and the

  almost raw edge to his words made her

  drift back toward him. She rubbed a

  chill from her arms as the recollection of

  her accident washed over her with fresh

  terror.

  “Well, you did save me. You

  pulled me out of that frozen pond and

  you saved my life.” He didn’t look her

  way at all, hardly acknowledged she had

  returned. “My family was in Boston,

  visiting at your Darkhaven. A bunch of

  us kids were playing outside that night,

  mostly boys—your grandsons and young

  nephews and my older brother, Derek.

  Unlike me, they were all Breed, and as

  the only girl with them besides, it took

  all I had to keep up.”

  Sometimes she felt as though she

  were still competing, still struggling to

  prove her worth in everything she did.

  She realized she held others up to her

  same impossible standards too. Her

  parents had pointed it out to her on

  numerous occasions. So had more than a

  few of her exes.

  Now here she was, making a point

  to remind this arrogant man of the

  stupidest thing she’d ever done in her

  life.

  Melena let out a soft sigh as she

  stood next to Lazaro once more. “The

  boys didn’t want me there with them at

  the pond, but I followed them anyway.

  They started daring each other to walk

  farther and farther out onto the ice.”

  “Idiots, all of them,” Lazaro

  grumbled. “Winter came late that year.

  The pond hadn’t yet frozen toward the

  center.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “And it was

  very dark that night. I didn’t realize the

  ice wouldn’t hold me until I was already

  too far out. I stepped onto a thin section,

  and it broke away underneath me.”

  The curse Lazaro uttered was ripe,

  violent. But the look he finally swung on

  her was oddly tender, haunted. To her

  complete shock, he reached out and

  grazed the pad of his thumb over her

  scarred eyebrow. “You’d hit your head

  on something.”

  “The edge of the ice was jagged,”

  she murmured, her throat going a bit dry

  for the mere second his touch had

  lingered on her face. When his hand was

  gone, she shivered, though not from

  anything close to a chill. “I went down

  very quickly. God, the water was so

  cold. I could hardly move my limbs. I

  panicked. I couldn’t see anything. When

  I tried to swim back up, I realized I was

  trapped under the ice.”

  Lazaro was listening intently now,

  his expression impossible to read. His

  aura forbid her too, the dull gray haze

  blurring the edges of his broad shoulders

  and strong arms, haloing his dangerously

  handsome
face like a brooding cloud

  against the darkness of the night that

  surrounded him.

  “I remember everything started to

  go

  black,”

  Melena

  said.

  “And

  then...there you were. In the water with

  me, pulling me to the surface. You dived

  into that frigid pond and searched until

  you found me. Then you brought me back

  to your Darkhaven.”

  “You were bleeding,” he said, his

  gaze returning to the scar above her left

  eye.

  Melena nodded. “Your Breedmate,

  Ellie, helped my mother patch me up.”

  Both women were gone now.

  Melena’s

  adoptive

  mother,

  Byron

  Walsh’s mate, Frances, had been killed

  in a senseless car accident a few years

  ago. Lazaro’s kind-hearted, beautiful

  Breedmate, Eleanor, had suffered a far

  more brutal end. Killed just a couple of

  years after Melena had met her, along

  with the rest of Lazaro’s family who’d

  been home at his Boston Darkhaven the

  night of an horrific attack.

  His gaze hardened, going distant at

  the mention of his lost mate. It took

  nearly all of Melena’s self-control to

  keep from reaching out to offer comfort

  to him now.

  If she didn’t think he’d snap her

  fingers off at the roots, she might have

  braved it in spite of his forbidding

  glower.

  And yet, there was something more

  in his eyes as he looked at her. As much

  as she was drawn to him tonight, she

  couldn’t help feeling that he was aware

  of her too. Not as the hapless girl he’d

  fished out of a frozen pond, not even as

  the grown-up daughter of a colleague

  and friend.

  He was annoyed with her tonight,

  no question. Given a choice, he’d

  probably still prefer her gone. But

  Lazaro Archer was also looking at her

  the way a man looked at a woman. And

  she couldn’t deny that his interest made

  her pulse trip into a faster tempo.

  “What

  are

  you

  doing

  here,

  Melena?” His gruff question caught her

  off guard.

  Did she even know the answer to

  that? She shrugged lamely. “I guess I

  just...I don’t think I ever got the chance to thank you—”

  “No.” He cocked his head slightly,

  those

  unsettling

  eyes

  narrowing

  shrewdly now. “I mean, what are you

  doing here at this meeting? As skilled of

  an interpreter as you are, I think we both

  know there’s something you’re not

  saying.”

  She stared at him, wondering how