Instead, he’d focused on the tedious work he did for Tomanna, unwilling to face the realisation that Tanselm, his precious homeland, seemed so far out of reach. Had it only been a year since he’d been there? A year since he’d poured himself into a prince’s duties in the Royal House? Since he’d immersed himself in elemental magic and the natural beauty of Tanselm’s rich lakes and streams?
If only ‘Sin Garu, that evil wretch of a sorcerer, had contented himself with the dark lands and left Tanselm alone. If only that scourge upon the living, the Netharat, could be killed as swiftly as they were created. If only, if only…
He glared at the door from behind his desk and watched with dark satisfaction when it banged shut. Then, floating an empty glass from a nearby sink to his desk, he waved his hand over it and watched it fill with water, as pure and clear as Tanselm’s deepest wells.
He sighed. That one of Tanselm’s great Storm Lords was now reduced to petty financial squabbles and immature spats with a woman didn’t bear dwelling upon. He tossed back his water and slammed his cup on the desk. He had more than a weekend’s worth of work due by ten Monday morning, and were it not for his mission to find a bride from this magic-forsaken land and return home to fight for his world, he’d quit this place and everyone in it.
Unfortunately, he had to admit this position placed him in an ideal circumstance to find a suitable bride for a man of his status. His brothers might be content searching for a heartmate in a bar, but Marcus had higher standards. Darius had gotten lucky with Samantha. It was doubtful Cadmus, assuming Darius’ role as a bartender, would find himself similarly blessed.
No, Marcus needed to wait it out in this mundane realm, servicing the rich and prosperous. Sooner or later he’d find a woman to serve as his affai, his intended bride. Until then, he’d continue to apply the persuasive strategies he’d learned as a boy, focusing on the here and now.
But much as he tried to ignore it, his heart still yearned. What he wouldn’t give to hear someone from the royal kingdom once again have need of the River Prince.
Tessa slammed into her apartment, threw her keys at the hall table, and huffed into the nearest overstuffed chair, cursing Marcus Storm to everlasting celibate hell.
The minute she’d walked out his office door, she’d come up with several more satisfying rejoinders aimed at his shortcomings as a project manager, as a man, and as a human being in general.
Her little goad about the proposed cutbacks becoming a reality, in retrospect, wasn’t as gratifying as slurs on his character and his abilities as a lover would have been.
Her face heated, recalling his skilful mouth and persuasive tongue. Damn it all! She’d been having such a nice Friday too.
She smouldered as she sat in her favourite chair, waiting for the soft leather and deep cushions to soak away the tension. Resting her head back, she closed her eyes and after several deep, measuring breaths, slowly began to relax. Her parched throat demanded something cool to drink, but she felt too comfortable to get up.
Peace and quiet replaced the stress that had hounded her all week, and as weariness invaded her limbs, she began to drift into a light doze.
Without warning, something ice cold and wet nudged her hand, and she shot out of the chair in a shriek. Tumbling backward, she managed to land less than gracefully on the floor.
Her heart racing, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and stared around for the source of her surprise. Anxiety mounted until she noted the water bottle dripping with condensation to her immediate left, floating in the air!
“Not again,” she groaned, grudgingly accepting what her subconscious had ferreted from the refrigerator. Grabbing the bottle, she gingerly regained her feet and trudged to the couch. Telekinesis was such a pain in the ass. Literally, she thought as she rubbed her posterior.
At least her short bout with pyrokinesis hadn’t returned. Since Charles Johnson had left the company, she hadn’t experienced any more repeats of setting her sheets on fire. Now, however, an apparent telekinetic resided at Tomanna Consulting, either that or elderly Mrs. Morris next door had a sudden gift for moving things with her mind.
For as long as she could remember, Tessa had been gifted with strange and unexpected extrasensory perception. To this day she still wasn’t sure how she could do what she did, but concluded she possessed an unusual ability to ‘siphon’ the latent ESP from those gifted around her. Unfortunately, as she’d matured, her powers strengthened, as did the hit-or-miss control that accompanied them.
She wished she knew what triggered the siphoning. Johnson, the pyro, had been at the company for three months before her bouts with fire had started. And as soon as he’d transferred, her pyrokinesis had vanished.
Since no one had moved into her direct neighbourhood within the last six months, her abilities had to come from someone at work, where she spent the majority of her time. She’d found, over the years, that close proximity to the ‘target’ helped her to control the powers, and at times, call upon them at will.
But with the amount of personnel changes, her target could be anyone. Hell, it could even be Marcus Storm.
Reminders of the arrogant Lothario made her body tingle. She’d known at first sight he’d be dangerous. Hell, he’d made her body sing on a whisper of breath.
Sensuality flooded her veins, washing her in the ecstatic sensations he’d stirred earlier. No doubt about it, he was a jerk. But for a few moments she’d forgotten his attitude and indulged in something very bad for her. And it had felt so very, very good.
Sighing, she took a large swig of water and realised how desperate she was to desire a man as cold as Marcus Storm. The foreplay with Storm and the nonexistent sex with Davis notwithstanding, she couldn’t recall the last meaningful, intimate interaction she’d had with a man. Could she be any more pathetic?
The phone rang, startling her out of her reverie.
She stared across the room at the telephone. Chances were she had not won Publisher’s Clearinghouse, so why answer? Why cap off a less than perfect day with more bad news?
“Tessa? You’d better pick up,” her brother’s deep voice persuaded over the answering machine. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today, and I have a bad feeling trouble’s just around the corner.”
She let out a loud curse and crossed to the kitchen to grab the phone. When the clairvoyant in the family had a bad feeling, worse would surely follow.
“Lay it on me, Tom,” she muttered with feeling. “But be gentle. I’ve had a long day.”
“Sorry, Sis, but it’s about to get longer.”
Chapter Two
Marcus groaned as the sun hit him right between the eyes. He’d been hoping to sleep in this morning, having worked another late night into the early a.m.
“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” a wry masculine voice chided. “I even brought you a cup of coffee.”
“That’s the only thing saving your annoying ass, Cadmus,” Marcus muttered as he opened his eyes. He sat up and grabbed the coffee with an irritated curse.
“Touchy.” Cadmus grinned, his identical features buoyant, in stern contrast to the scowl darkening Marcus’ face. “Just wanted to check on you. Aerolus and I are concerned about the long hours you’ve been putting in at work.” Cadmus took a sip of his own coffee and frowned. “What’s so important at your play job that you’ve twice missed Aerolus’ meetings?”