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

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СКАЧАТЬ shots at Beau’s graduations, both from high school and then from Oxford University were stuck into the pages of his high school year book. His grandfather was there, but the pictures were clear evidence of the distance that loomed between them; never touching or even standing too close, like a sharp knife cut the air between them. In every picture Beau kept his distance, obviously wanting no part of his past or the vast fortune he’d been bequeathed by his parents or his Grandfather, Millard Le Masters.

      After University, Beau told her how he’d traveled and worked in Europe until one day he just walked away. He vanished for eight years exploring Africa, New Zealand and South America. Until a letter from Beau’s oldest and dearest friend, Augustus Valentine Lafayette the fourth, aka A.V. came with the knowledge that the family estate, the only home Beau’d ever known, was about to be lost to him. A.V.’s letter convinced Beau to give up his freedom and come home. Beau explained to Eve that he’d called A.V. and together they called the estate’s lead attorney. Lincoln Bryant, senior most partner of the prestigious law firm and Beau’s father’s friend and attorney, told him he’d all but lost everything because he’d been declared dead by his only living relative, his grandfather so he’d better get his ass back to New Orleans. Mister Bryant and A.V. started the paper work to raise Beau from the dead, but his presence would be needed in court as proof of life.

      “That’s when I came back,” Beau said, explaining that he’d told no one except A.V. he was returning. Unannounced, he arrived at his family’s mansion the afternoon of that fateful summer night they’d met. He’d come home, gone into his old room, uncovered the dresser and bed, crawled under the covers and fallen asleep.

      “When I woke it was dark and the party was in full swing. I showered and dressed, remembering only then A.V.’s letter said the house was being used for a gala to raise money for the Southern Belles Charity.”

      “A.V. Lafayette adores you,” Eve added.

      “He’s a good friend and a great attorney. He’d suggested I wait an extra day before I came back, but I’d gotten the dates turned around and somehow came in the day of the event,” Beau said.

      Beau never told Eve that A.V. had been in love with him, wishing Beau would see him as more than a friend, a wish that blossomed when they were pubescent boys, or what had transpired between them the night of his parents’ death.

      “I remember you dressed in that crisp white shirt and blue slacks,” Eve said.

      “I found them in my closet and that old blue jacket somehow still fit well enough to finish off my ensemble.”

      “That jacket fit tight as a kid glove and you looked like Adonis descending.” Eve said with a smile and held an old photo of a much younger Beau. “You definitely filled out from your days as a slender youth.”

      Beau smiled and they shared a kiss.

      “I’m glad you liked what you saw,” he added.

      “I never had a chance. I was smitten from the moment I laid eyes on you,” Eve said.

      Beau talked about how he’d found his way down the curved entry stairs and stepped over the velvet rope put in place to keep the lookie-loos from exploring the upstairs. He had been starving and in search of food and drink. A passing waitress flirted and made it her business to keep him satiated with his favorite poison; a glass of scotch, neat, that went straight to his head. He talked about foraging the buffet tables for food, nibbling from the delicious display of Southern delights he’d missed so much in his travels. Their scents, spicy and sweet, ignited his olfactory nerves and had his mouth watering. He’d made sure to sample everything.

      “I never tasted a bit,” Eve said, remembering her terrifying entrance with a laugh. It was good for her to remember those last hours before the coma. She liked talking about them and so did Beau.

      “I’d been gone a long time and I certainly didn’t look like the twelve-year-old boy who left New Orleans. I watched as several women eyed me like a steak dinner on a plate and whisper between them about who would get first bite.”

      “They were wondering who you were,” Eve added.

      “One or two of the bold ones sashayed up and did their best to say clever things about the night or the house, blatantly flirting, but none of them got the satisfaction of discovering who I was, where I came from or why I was there,” Beau explained and laughed.

      “You are a wonderfully wicked trickster. And, I have to say, I like your lack of humility,” Eve said.

      “Hey, I was looking for you. I just didn’t know it,” he replied.

      Again they kissed.

      “So, how did you say you found me?” Eve asked, knowing the answer.

      Beau smiled as he told her again how he’d found a shaded corner near the entrance to the main living room between the large, exotic plants the decorator had brought in for the party. They stood majestically and filled the space and gave just enough covering for him to sit, eat and drink undisturbed, allowing him to watch the night unfold from the shadows.

      “The same men, ever Southern pompous and arrogant, and the women with too much make up bored me. Add to that the scotch, great Louisiana cooking and the fatigue from my jet lag and I was so relaxed I was falling asleep in my secret hideaway. That’s when I gave up, dragged myself to my feet and was just about to head up the stairs when I saw an awkwardly adorable and very beautiful stranger with a river of long, honey hair standing at the entrance trying to convince herself to find the courage to enter the room,” Beau laughed.

      “I wasn’t talking out loud,” Eve said, horrified at the thought.

      “Your honesty radiates like the sun and you become a piece of glass, so transparent I can see your every perfection, my darling almost wife,” Beau said.

      Eve melted into his arms. He’d told her the story a thousand times, but each time she heard it, it made her smile.

      They kissed and talked about how the music from the DJ changed to a slow, sensual ballad called “Will You Remember Me?” by Brenna Whitaker. A title they each thought appropriate in hindsight – a song that had become their song.

      “It was the music that pushed me forward until my arms slipped around your waist,” he said. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you with power that defies explanation.”

      “You know you touched me and the room and everyone in it disappeared,” Eve added.

      “And when we danced, we floated across that room,” Beau told her, cuddling and kissing her neck.

      They each recalled their versions of dancing gracefully out onto the veranda and into the garden or when it was she’d lost her shoes.

      “I felt as though I was holding living, breathing electricity,” Beau said. “Somehow I captured this ethereal, energetic light; beauty and grace inside of one being and I wasn’t ever going to let it go.”

      “I felt the same,” Eve said with a nod. “You held me in your arms and when your lips touched mine and it turned into that first kiss – so sweet, gentle, innocent and yet… Fireworks.”

      “No, it was the second kiss I gave you,” said Beau, “That kiss made me feel like I was a God being driven by some insatiable, indefinable hunger. You made time stand still and the world melt away.”

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