The Firstborn

“Tell me more about the place you work,” he encouraged.

“I’d rather hear about you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. I’m making conversation here. Where did you get the dragon tattoo?”

“Thinking of getting one yourself?”

“You’re being deliberately impossible.”

“Years of practice,” he agreed.

“Is it some big secret? Some gang tattoo or something?”

“Interesting opinion you have of me.” But the set of her jaw told him she intended to be stubborn on this issue. “If you must know, I woke up after drinking all night and there it was.”

He knew his words sounded clipped, but he hated thinking about that period of his life. Not that he could remember much of it, including how and where he’d gotten the tattoo, much less why. He’d been drinking heavily in those days.

“Oh.”

She traced a finger over one dragon wing. Her touch was featherlight, yet it activated every nerve cell in his body. Desperately, he tried to think of a safe topic, but looking into those wide, innocent eyes seemed to be robbing him of coherency. He should not be noticing how soft and kissable her lips looked.

“You, uh, said your father and uncle were both blacksmiths. Is that how you got your start?” she asked, fidgeting.

That wouldn’t have been his conversational choice, either, but if it helped divert his current thoughts, he was all for a discussion of his work.

“Yes. My uncle used to work with real iron, like they did back before car manufacturers discovered they needed a metal with a more uniform strength.”

He droned on in his best lecture mode, conjuring up nearly forgotten facts on the subject that he remembered from his youth. As a boy he’d watched his father and uncle work the forge for hours, absorbing their tales.

Hayley surprised him by actually listening. Even after she closed her eyes and her head began to nod, she’d throw out a sleepy question to indicate she was paying attention. He was running out of things to say when he realized her breathing had slowed and deepened. Her head slumped against his shoulder.

Unable to resist, he stroked the fall of hair running over his chest. He’d been right, it was as soft as a river of raw silk. Inhaling the light scent of her shampoo, he was pleased to note she didn’t favor heavy perfumes. There were far too many things he liked about Hayley.

Jacob snored lightly across from them. Reaching for the afghan, Bram spread it over Hayley and surrendered to the urge to make her more comfortable. He snugged her tightly to his side.

Instead of waking, she nestled against him as if she’d been doing it all her life. Her head fit almost perfectly in the crook of his arm, while her long hair drifted whisper soft against his bare skin.

Something inside Bram tightened—not just with desire, but with a remembered longing. He’d forgotten how good it could be to simply hold a woman like this. While he didn’t welcome this protective feeling swelling inside him, he didn’t know how to turn it off, either. But he couldn’t afford to get involved here. That road led to a pain he had no desire to repeat.

Hayley stirred without waking. Carefully, Bram slid his arm around her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. She was young. He had to keep reminding himself that he was too old and too jaded for the sort of thoughts he was trying not to have about her.

His father had told him that he’d never really be free until he faced the ghosts that haunted his soul. Funny, he couldn’t help thinking that perhaps the time had finally come.

DUST MOTES DANCED amid the sunlit rays filling the room when Hayley woke. She lay on the couch, covered in the familiar afghan. The house no longer felt empty—but the library was.

Where was Bram? Had she really fallen asleep in his arms? She’d felt his lips brushing hers as he’d stretched her out on the couch. Memory? Or a dream-induced fantasy?

Glancing around, she realized her overnight case was no longer on the floor nearby. Jacob must have seen it and carried it upstairs for her. Bram wouldn’t even know where her room was.

The thought of him seeing her bedroom was unsettling. She folded and replaced the afghans before stepping into the main hall.

The first thing she noticed was the door to the former parlor still standing open. She needed to use the bathroom, yet she was drawn across the hall by something she couldn’t explain. Even in daylight, the room’s atmosphere was depressing.

“Looking for something?”

Bram’s voice sent her spinning around. Her heart gave a leap at the sight of him. Last night, shadows had dimmed his features, but this morning there was nothing to soften the impact of that firm jaw and those dark brown eyes that seemed capable of reading her innermost thoughts.

He was powerful rather than handsome. Now that she was feeling more objective, it was easy to see why Jacob had looked to him for guidance. There was an aura of leashed power, a sense of confidence, that made Bram a natural leader.

He’d changed into clean jeans and a fresh T-shirt and had even shaved. He looked younger than he had last night, despite the tiny lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. His hair was freshly combed and still damp, the ends curling, darkly wet against his neck. He must have just come from a shower. He looked perfectly at home and incredibly sexy.

Abruptly, she realized several seconds had passed. Flustered to be caught staring at him, she gestured at the room in general. “I, uh, wanted to see this room in the light.” She stepped forward briskly, though it was the last place she wanted to be.

A row of formal chairs gathered dust beneath the drape-shrouded windows that lined the outside wall. The Danish-modern receptionist’s desk looked ridiculously out of place in the formal room, but it did serve to restrict access to the heavy double doors that had once led to the old ballroom and now opened onto Marcus’s exam rooms. She had sensed the unseen watcher standing there last night.

“Hitchcock would have loved this place,” Bram muttered at her back.

Hayley couldn’t argue. Even in daylight there was a disturbing wrongness about the room. Moving around the desk, she reached for the door handle. Locked, just as Bram had told her last night. Hayley felt inexplicably cold.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Searching for proof that I wasn’t imagining things last night?”

Bram touched her shoulder, causing her heart to flutter foolishly. “Do you think you were imagining things?”

“No.”

He nodded without expression. What was he thinking? That she was a foolish, emotional young woman?

“I carried your bag upstairs for you.”

“You did?”

“Mrs. Norwhich told me which room was yours.”

He’d seen her bedroom, still decorated with posters from her high school days. “You’ve met Mrs. Norwhich then?” she asked, to keep from wondering what he’d thought about her room.

“Uh-huh. She came in around six this morning. Didn’t seem at all bothered or surprised to find unexpected company in the house. She told me to help myself to a shower, and offered to fix me some breakfast.”

“How did she know which room was mine? I’ve never even met the woman.”

“Beats me. I put them in the third bedroom down, on the right-hand side.”

“That’s my room,” she acknowledged. “Where’s Jacob?”

“He went out—after suggesting to Mrs. Norwhich that she should count the silver.” His lips curved faintly. “I don’t think your friend Jacob likes me very much.”