Damn you! You have me thinking conspiracy.
There was a small silence. Byron was shocked that she had used the intimate form of communication between lifemates so easily. She was a strong telepath—and more. She often called him to her with her music, yet she seemed unaware of it.
You are finally coming to terms with what is happening around you. Deliberately closing your eyes to a possible threat is not wise.
Antonietta began to slowly slip the small pearl buttons from the fastenings on her blouse. Her fingers were shaking with cold and maybe fear, so it was difficult to manage.
I could come and help you.
Antonietta gasped, looked around her room as if she might glimpse him there in her world of darkness.
His laughter was soft. Flirtatious.
The night belongs to me. I come out of the shadows. I can be anywhere. Even there in the room with you right now, helping you to undress.
There was a drawling caress in his tone that sent liquid fire racing through her body and pooling low into an aching need.
I always know when you’re in the room with me, and you’re not at this moment.
Antonietta realized she was beginning to stop trembling, and she was smiling in spite of the events of the evening and the serious situation. Byron was deliberately warming her, making her relax.
I don’t think helping me undress is a particularly good idea. What are you doing? The idea of helping you undress takes my breath away.
There was a short silence. Antonietta draped her blouse over the back of a chair. Her fingers trailed over the silk, wishing she were touching Byron’s chest. The idea of him helping her undress robbed her of breath, too. Of speech. She couldn’t think straight. Dragging the tie from her hair, she began to pull out the weave as she crossed to her bathroom.
I am searching the palazzo to see what the intruders were up to and examining your cousins to make certain they were not fed poison or drugged. A much more interesting question is, what are you doing? I’m taking the braid out of my hair.
Byron closed his eyes and inhaled sharply as if he could drag her scent deep inside his body.
There is something very erotic about a woman letting down her hair. Have you removed your slacks? My blouse.
She admitted it without hesitation. It was part of her dreamworld. He was far away and it was a harmless game. And it distracted her from thinking about the terrors of being nearly killed. Of someone hating her enough to want to kill her. Antonietta’s fingertips moved across the swell of her breasts. She ached for his touch. She had never wanted a man more.
It doesn’t make sense. It makes perfect sense.
She had never talked with any man this way, not even a lover. She had never blushed or stammered or deliberately tempted a man. Byron never once had given her an indication that he was interested in her as other than a friend. She might even be making a fool of herself, but it didn’t matter. He was an obsession.
As she made her way across the tiled bathroom floor, colored images leapt in front of her eyes without any warning. Shades of vivid red and yellow. She cried out, closing her eyes instinctively. The colors were so intense they hurt her, made her feel ill.
What is it?
She was disoriented, frozen to the spot, unable to tell exactly where she was in her own bathroom.
I see something. Colors. Red and yellow. Like heat images. Take a deep breath, your heart is beating too fast. It is nothing. Let the images go. You may have been seeing what I was seeing. Our connection is strong.
Byron bit back the ominous growl in this throat, hackles rising. He shifted shape back to his human form and bent over her sleeping cousin.
Cautiously, Antonietta opened her eyes and saw the comforting darkness.
That made me sick to my stomach. How strange.
Rather than use the centuries-old bathing pools, now modernized, Antonietta filled her private bathtub and tossed in scented salts. She wanted to feel beautiful tonight She needed to feel beautiful.
Where are you?
She didn’t want to be alone. In spite of her bravado, she was frightened by the events of the evening and wanted the comfort of Byron’s powerful presence. She peeled off her damp slacks and laid them carefully on the vanity. The simple act of removing her lacy bra and panties made her feel sexy. A tempting siren.
She stepped into the bath, sank into the blessedly hot water, and allowed her head to fall back against the side of the tub.
I am standing over your cousin Paul. He is sleeping deeply, and I do not think it is a normal sleep. I must spend a few minutes examining him. Are the windows in your rooms closed and secured?
Her breasts floated on the scented water as she relaxed.
I didn’t think to check. I will before I go to bed. Have you smelled a strange odor? A wild cat. Large breed.
Antonietta sat up straight, the water beading, rushing down her skin.
Why would you think that? What made you ask me that?
Byron was silent, analyzing her voice. There was fear in her tone. Fear in her mind, but her barriers were intact and strong. For a moment he considered pushing through to get the information he needed, but she was his lifemate, and he had learned, all too well, the danger of trying to force and manipulate. Patience, he reminded himself. Above all, a Carpathian male could endure.
Antonietta could not escape him, now that he found her. He had not counted on danger in her own home.
Byron? Why would you think I would smell a wild cat?
She sounded very anxious. For the first time he wished he could see images around her through her eyes. He felt textures through her, but there were no images to aid him. He had to use feelings. Emotions were still somewhat alien and overpowering. It made him dangerous and near the edge of control.
I smell a cat here, in this room. And also I smelled the same creature in your grandfather’s room.
He answered truthfully because she was his lifemate, but his instincts told him she knew something he did not.
Are you with Paul or Franco? Paul.
There was another long silence. He tuned his acute hearing to finding her room. Bathwater splashed as if she were agitated. He closed his eyes with a small groan, picturing her lush body naked and floating in the scented water. Her silky hair would be surrounding her, an allure he would never be able to resist.
His entire body tightened, hardened to a painful ache. Antonietta. How much he wanted her. How difficult it was to wait. He savored every moment with her. And his creativity, so long gone, was returning, thanks to her.
Is it Paul? Does he have the scent of a cat?
There was reluctance to her voice, as if she might be betraying someone… or something she held dear. And there was an underlying note of fear. She tried to hide it, but it was there.
Byron leaned over Paul, examining every inch of him, paying attention to his fingernails, his arms, looking for scratches, for any telltale sign that would indicate he had been a party to the attack on Don Giovanni and his grand-daughter. There was one long scratch along the inside of his left forearm. It looked raw and angry.
Byron! Please, does he have the scent of the cat?
The Scarletti palazzo and the family dwelling there had nearly as many secrets as his own people. Byron inhaled deeply. The scent of the cat permeated the room. It was difficult to tell if Paul had the scent or not.