Page 28 of Lahaina Noon

Bridget sat in silence while she thought that through. It made sense in a way: don’t send out the big guns until you’re sure of your target. She guessed shadow travel wasn’t an exact science. She smirked; it wasn’t really even a science. “How do you know all of this?” she turned to him. “Is there like, a manual or something? Can I read about this to try and catch up on what’s going on?”

He glanced at her as he turned into the parking garage and waved at the front doorman. He pulled into his spot and looked over. “Yes and no,” he said. “It’s complicated.” He held up his hands as she started to protest, “It’s easier to show you.”

She wondered what that meant and followed him out of the car. She paused and looked back at the line of fancy, shiny cars. She glanced over at him and asked, “How many of these are yours?” gesturing at the millions of dollars’ worth of classic and high-powered machines.

He stared at the ceiling as if the answer was written there. He sighed and shuffled over to her like he was expecting a scolding. “From where the Rolls usually is down there at the end, to that black SUV over there.”

Bridget counted the cars, “You have nine vehicles? Who needs that many?” she mused out loud.

He grimaced.

She smirked, “You have more somewhere else, don’t you.”

He threw his hands in the air. “Dragon. Hoarding. It’s a thing. Don’t judge,” he ground through his teeth. He turned around and stalked to the door; she trailed behind him, laughing.

She took his arm when she caught up to him at the elevator, oddly relieved when he twined his fingers in hers. He wasn’t really mad, she realized. Just a little embarrassed to be called out. “I think it’s cute,” she said, kissing him on the cheek. She saw him smile and knew she was forgiven.

They entered the bedroom, where he pointed her to the little library corner and told her to have a seat while he changed. Then he would show her the material he had.

She went to the chair and snuggled into it, staring at the shelves and trying to decipher the titles. What did Mr. Hoards-A-Lot like to read? She was surprised to see such a wide variety on the shelves. He had fiction and non-fiction, studies on various religions, classics and even one romance novel paperback that was down in the lowest corner of the shelves, almost hidden.

Intrigued, she got up to examine it closer. Pulling it off the shelf, she read the spine, ‘The Miller’s Daughter’, and turned it over to see the cover.

Her jaw dropped. “I knew it!” she giggled. She had always thought Vaughn looked like a cover model for a spicy romance novel, and here was proof. He was posed dramatically on a cliff, brooding, his long black hair blowing behind him in a windstorm. A blonde woman with enormous breasts heaving from her low-cut and totally impractical gown was draped sensually in his arms. A large mill stood alongsidethe river at the base of the cliff, no doubt where the girl he was about to ravish lived.

She studied his face, his strong forearms and the planes of his chest. Oh yes, that was absolutely Vaughn. She was planning to tease him about it when she noticed the book seemed to be rather old, the edges of the pages yellowed. Curious, she opened it to the copyright page and looked for the date. Her finger trailed down the page until she found it.That can’t be right,she thought. She walked over to the lamp; surely it was the dimness of the room that was making it look like that.1974,she read. She slapped the book closed and looked more closely at the man on the cover. Maybe it was a relative? She studied his face again, the jawline, the set of his mouth.

“Bridget?” she heard.

She gasped and whirled around, clutching the book to her chest.

Vaughn was standing at the door to the huge walk-in closet. He had changed into jogging pants and a t-shirt that did nothing to disguise the strength of his chest and the bulge of muscles on his arms.

She glanced at the book in her hands when his eyes locked on it. She pulled the cover away from her body and looked again. It was totally him. “Well,” she cleared her throat, “That certainly confirms one theory.”

He walked silently to her, his face impassive, revealing nothing. He stopped inches from her and looked down at the book, gently pulling it from her hands. He arched an eyebrow at her, inviting her to continue.

“I uh, well, I, um.”Just say it, stupid! He is the one who needs to explain things,she scolded. She squared her shoulders and met his gaze evenly. “I’ve always thought you belonged on one of these covers. I thoughtthere was no way a man as handsome as you could actually be real. I was browsing your books here and noticed this tucked away like it was hiding. I was curious. Your turn. 1974? I wasn’t even born yet, and you?” she finished. She snatched the book from his hands and flipped it to the copyright page, putting it in front of his face.

He slowly pushed the book down and sighed. “Yes Bridget, that’s me. I hated that cover, but I guess you can call it vanity that I kept a copy. How do you think I have amassed all that I have at my apparent age?” He turned away and strode to the bed, sitting and staring at her with an indecipherable look on his face.

Apparent age?Bridget walked to him and ran her hands through his silky black hair. “Vaughn,” she whispered, “I don’t care about the busty blonde bimbo. I just want you to be honest with me. How old are you?”

Vaughn closed his eyes for a moment and opened them. “I was born in 1742,” he replied softly. “You asked how I know so much about the Shadow resurgence?” he met her gaze.

She nodded, her face giving away nothing of the numb feeling that was spreading through her.

“I lived it.”

Okay cool it, so he’s a little older than you, he’s really freaking hot for his age! But he’s like ANCIENT,she argued in her head.But he’s kind and sweet, he likes your jokes, he gets your jokes.

“I don’t care.” she heard herself say. “I don’t,” she continued, “I just know that I care about you. You seem to care about me, and that’s all that matters.” She ran her hand over his cheek, and he turned his head, pressing his lips to her palm.

He gently bit down at the base of her thumb. “Bridget.” he breathed warmly. “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice growing husky.

“No,” she said briskly. “You don’t, but I guess I’m willing to make an exception for my Sex God,” she said, trying not to smile.

His gaze shot up to hers, his lips curving into a decidedly feral smile. “Oh, you saucy little wench, I have a mind to bend you over and punish you for that one,” he rumbled at her.

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