Discussion ensued and lasted for hours. It was always this way. The Guardian community was resistant to change by nature. Michael often thought it was a fortuitous circumstance that they were immortal. Otherwise, they would never have the lifespan required to accomplish any task.
In the end, however, he achieved his aims.
"Elder Rachel, you will begin preparations?" an Elder asked. "The acclimation to the human world will not be easy and working against Captain Cross will test you."
Her lush mouth curved, but the smile wasn't reflected in her hard green eyes. "I will be ready."
"It is decided then," the Elder said, speaking for the collective. "We will proceed to the next chapter."
Stacey finished packing up her stuff and took one last look around Lyssa's guest bedroom to make sure she didn't forget anything.
It was going to suck going home to an empty house, but there was no reason to stay and she really didn't want to. The vibe would be too weird now that Lyssa and Aidan knew she'd been intimate with Connor. Besides, Connor was here on business. Knowing how singularly focused Aidan was about his antiquities, they'd probably want to get started right away. She had things to do, too, so…
Slinging one strap of her backpack over her shoulder, Stacey headed downstairs.
She was surprised to find Connor alone. He was seated at the dining table, gingerly cleaning some dirt-encrusted object. A black T-shirt stretched to its limits over his broad shoulders and his long legs were encased in loose-fitting faded jeans.
"Hi," she said, as she passed him on her way to fetching her purse from the top of the breakfast bar. "Where's Aidan and Lyssa?"
"They went to sleep. Apparently, they drove all night and they're wiped out."
Stacey turned to face him. He watched her with those aqua blue eyes that seemed so knowing. As if he'd seen and done more than was possible for a man of his years. He couldn't be more than thirty-five, she'd guess, but he had the stamina and energy of a man half that age, as she knew firsthand.
She shook her head. "I was hoping they'd enjoy some time off. They both work too damn hard."
"Where are you going?" he asked softly, his eyes on her baby pink and black Roxy backpack. She would never have purchased such an extravagance for herself. A five dollar backpack from Wal-Mart would do the same job. But Lyssa had noted her admiring it in the store and bought it as a gift. Because of that, it was one of her favorite "luxury" items.
"Home. I have some things to do."
"Like what?"
"Stuff. The house needs cleaning. I can rarely get to it when Justin's home. And the front step on my porch is rotted. My neighbor said he'd take a look at it for me, so I'll see if today works for him or not."
Connor set the object in his hands down and pushed back from the table in a dangerously graceful movement. For as big as he was, he moved like a panther. Sleek and stealthy. "I can fix it for you."
She blinked up at him, her head tilted back slightly to take in his height. Even from a few feet away, she had to raise her eye level to look at him. "Why?"
"Why would he fix it for you?" he countered.
Stacey frowned. "Because he's a nice guy."
"I'm a nice guy."
"You're busy." And gorgeous. Dear god, he was luscious. Black was his color, for sure. She'd noted that yesterday when he arrived. It accentuated his golden skin and hair to perfection. The slightly too-long locks, T-shirt, jeans, and black combat boots made a heady bad boy combination. The mental picture of him in her house did strange things to her equilibrium.
"I need to strategize," he said. "I can do that anywhere."
"Fixing a broken step is boring."
"Your neighbor doesn't think so."
"He likes my homemade apple pie."
Connor crossed his arms over his chest. "I like apple pie."
"It's really not a good idea…"
"Sure it is," he insisted, with a stubborn bent to his jaw line that she found endearing. "I'm great at fixing porches."
She should say no. Really. She knew he was hoping that a quick repair would lead to some sexual gratitude. Thing of it was, she was worried he might be right to hope. She'd spent the entire length of her shower wondering what it would be like to make love to him with time on her side. Without rushing through it.
Hazardous thoughts.
"I think we should just say good-bye now," she said.
"Chicken."
Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"
Connor tucked his hands in his arm pits, flapped his arms up and down, and made squawking noises.
"Oh my god," she muttered. "That's so childish."
"Whatever. You're scared to take me with you because you like me too much."
"I do not."
"Liar."
She set her hands on her hips and asked, "Why do all men regress to being big babies when they don't get what they want?"
He stuck his tongue out at her.
Stacey bit her lower lip and looked away quickly. He laughed, a full-bodied guffaw of pure joy. She choked while trying to keep from joining him.
"Come on. Enough of this nonsense." He rounded the dining table and took her backpack from her. The grin he gifted her with made her tummy flip. "I promise to behave."
"But I'm so irresistible," she drawled wryly.
"I know."
The intimate timbre to his brogue arrested her and kept her staring at him long after she should have looked away. His gaze was warm and possessive, slightly hungry. She was asking for trouble with a capital "T" by taking him home with her. Letting him play man of the house for the afternoon. Allowing him to imprint himself on her home.
She sighed. "What if I don't behave?"
Connor stepped aside and gestured toward the foyer. "I won't say no," he warned. "If you're hoping I'll agree to play the gentleman, think again."
"Fine." Stacey led the way to the front door and he opened it, pausing a moment to collect his sword. "But I'm putting you to work, Mr. Big-strong-man-who-can-do-the-chicken-dance."
"Bring it on, sweetheart."
He followed her out the white wooden gate that enclosed Lyssa's flagstone patio. They walked together to the small guest parking area and Stacey hit the remote on her keychain that popped open the trunk of her Nissan Sentra. Connor tossed her backpack and his scabbard inside, then began whistling as he moved to the passenger door.
"You're too happy about this," she muttered.
"And you're too worried." He paused and stared at her over the roof of her car. "We had sex, Stacey. Great sex." His voice lowered and the brogue thickened. "I've been inside you. If I can't be happy spending time with you after that, what kind of guy would that make me?"
Stacey swallowed hard, blinking. She'd seen this look on his face before. Austerely intent. Serious. He wore it just as well as he wore amusement. "You're fucking with my head. I don't like it."
"By telling you the truth?"
"By being perfect!" she hissed, glancing around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "Stop it."
His mouth curved in a tender smile. "You're nuts, you know that?"
"Yeah?" She yanked open her car door and slid behind the wheel. "You don't have to hang out with me."
The passenger door opened and he folded his big body into the suddenly miniscule seat. He grimaced.
"Move the seat back if you won't go away," she said.
He shook his head and looked exasperated. "I'm not going anywhere. Get used to the idea."
Rolling her eyes, Stacey leaned over and reached between his legs to find the manual seat release. "Don't think you're going to make me feel guilty that you're squished. Push back."
He didn't move.
"Jesus H. Christ!" She smacked his shin. "Why are you so stubborn? Push back."
He still didn't move. Not one muscle.
Turning her head to complain, she found herself eye level with an impressive bulge in the crotch of his jeans. His right hand was on his thigh, the fingers white as they dug into the hard muscle beneath the denim. Stunned for a moment, Stacey didn't move. Comprehension was slow to sink in. Eventually she realized that her breasts were pressed to his left thigh, thrusting rhythmically due to her labored breathing. Her gaze lifted, noting the rapid lift and fall of his chest before coming to rest on his face.