The Tempting: Seducing the Nephilim. D. M. Pratt

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      “Miss Eve? We better be getting back to Philip. He’ll be waking up any minute,” Aria said. “He’ll be hungry. That boy of yours is always hungry.”

      “Philip?” Eve asked.

      Aria smiled. “Yes, Philip. Remember? Your rambunctious son, who you hired me to nanny? Good thing you did ‘cause that little boy is a demon of energy. I’ve never seen anything like him in my life. And growin’ like a weed, that handsome little one.”

      Eve watched as Aria spoke while busily grabbing a bottle of chilled breast milk Eve had pumped from the second fridge in the pantry. Suddenly, Eve felt a rush of moisture release from her aching breasts. When she reached up and touched her blouse, it was soaked with mother’s milk. Aria saw and handed her a kitchen towel.

      “Guess nature calls and you’re on duty,” she said with a smile. “Unless you’re not feelin’ up to it? You have two bottles stored and I could get the pump for you now.”

      Eve shook her head as she stood, straightening her wobbly legs under her.

      “I’m fine, Aria,” Eve said. “You put him down in the nursery?”

      “No Ma’am, he’s in the garden house with Miss Cora and little Delia.”

      Suddenly she could hear her son’s cry from the backyard, distant, but strong.

      “Will you get a bath ready for him?” Eve said.

      “I’ll have it ready by the time you’re done with the feeding,” Aria said.

      Eve looked one more time at the refrigerator. She wiped her bodice with the kitchen towel, crossed the kitchen and exited out the back door.

      Stone steps led from the back sun porch to the patio. The still flowing milk from her breasts, trailed down her stomach, staining the soft green cotton fabric of her dress as she walked. Still carrying the towel, she wiped again. Eve smiled as she looked in the direction of her son’s screaming. His cry demanded she hurry to fill his empty belly before she spilled all of his lunch from her breasts. There was a real messiness to motherhood. Yet her aversion to pumping, which made her feel like a cow, was clearly superseded by the pleasure she took in giving her son nourishment and life.

      Eve stopped. A chill ran up her spine the moment she felt someone’s eyes on her. She turned and saw him: the slightly rumpled, but very handsome Detective from the New Orleans police force with the sad, worried eyes. Detective Macklin Blanchard had been trying to build a rape case against her soon-to-be husband. After all, he’d reminded her more than once, she had been a guest at a party who ended up raped and pregnant. All the evidence made a compelling case: young woman taken into the bushes, knocked into unconsciousness and found to be pregnant. There had been a rape kit taken at the hospital without her request and, well, there had been Philip. She had no boyfriend and admitted to surrendering to Beau’s seduction willingly. When Eve woke from her coma, Beau fought hard to keep Detective Blanchard away from her. She and the detective had spoken and, to the detective’s frustration, Eve had refused to press charges. The impending wedding muddied the waters even more.

      Eve’s eyes connected with his as she stepped from the shade and the heat of the warm morning sun pressed down on them. Eve was hit by a feeling of déjà vu. Of course this wasn’t the first time he had come to the house, not to mention all the times he had tried to speak with her while she was still in the hospital. Eve liked him. Something about him made her even trust him. There was an easy kindness he exuded. Cora and Beau didn’t like him at all. As a matter of fact Beau vehemently hated him. Cora insisted repeatedly that Beau was jealous—always saying it in that coquettish, playful, Southern belle way she had when she wanted to make a point while avoiding making anyone mad. But Eve never felt jealousy coming from Beau—just immense concern that played itself out in southern hostility. After the last interrogation, Beau had demanded Mac leave her alone.

      Once she refused to press charges everyone thought Detective Blanchard would go quietly away. Beau asked her to promise never to talk to him again and Eve had agreed. After all, she and Beau were getting married and, whatever the circumstances of the case Mac was trying to build, she had forgiven Beau his passionate indiscretion that fateful night. After all, she had been a willing accomplice to his seduction and every day that passed she found herself falling more and more in love with him. She was moving on to a bright new future. But there Mac stood, a walking red flag warning her of some danger neither he nor she could articulate. He was staring directly at her, obviously wanting to probe her for more answers to questions she knew she didn’t know how to answer.

      “Eve, I mean Ms. Dowling …,” Mac said.

      “Detective Blanchard?”

      “Mac, please, you promised to call me Mac,” he replied. He stood there watching her, waiting for an invitation to speak to her despite the palpable tension between them.

      “You shouldn’t be here. My fiancé has asked you not to come here or talk to me, detective. The case is closed,” Eve said.

      She moved to pass him, but Mac blocked her.

      “I know. It’s just . . . This isn’t about police business exactly . . . I . . . have been… and please don’t think I’m crazy until you hear me out. I have been having … these dreams… nightmares is a better word. You’re in them a lot. They’re so real and I… I was wondering if you …”

      His words stopped her. She looked into his eyes. He knew and worse, he knew she knew. Eve could tell he knew from the flash of horror that flushed her face and turned her cheeks red. He knew she understood exactly what he was talking about: dreams and visions from another time and place that made no sense. Eve fell silent, but her heart screamed, pounding in her chest like a frightened, captive bird desperate to escape its cage.

      Yes, I’m having dreams too, nightmares, daydreams, fragments of images that don’t make sense. Horrible dreams that wake me from sleep and block my eyes and fill my mind with dread and fear that something happened I can’t remember. That something very wrong is happening. She wanted to say all of it out loud to Mac, but Philip’s screams cut through the air. He wanted his mother and he wanted her now!

      “I … I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about and I have to go to my son. Please leave, detective.”

      “I think you do, Eve,” he said as he pressed his card into her hand.

      She felt a rush, a connection that calmed her. “I know you know, Eve. Call me when you you’re ready to talk. Help me help you before it’s too late,” he whispered.

      Eve backed away. Her heel caught a stone and she began to stumble. Mac caught her, his arms circling her waist. He pulled her close, lifting her off her feet. Face to face, their breath mingled and she could smell the scent of aftershave, leather and clove breath mints. His arms were strong and she felt amazingly light in his embrace. For a moment, Eve actually felt something she realized she’d not felt in a very long time … truly safe.

      Eve twisted from his arms and pushed away. She headed to the summer house. Her head spun, a new, strange, light-headedness made her dizzy again, but this time pleasantly so. She quickly glanced down at the card in her hand. A voice inside her said, tear it up and throw it away, but she slipped it into her pocket and followed the sound of Philip’s cry.

Chapter Four СКАЧАТЬ