The Darkest Hour

Chapter 4

They left the club. Royce nodded at Mistress Aria and the serious-looking bouncer beside her before they walked out to the parking lot.

"My car," she said as they passed by the Mazda.

"Leave it. I'll send someone to collect it. Tonight we're taking mine." He nodded to the red-and-black Lamborghini Aventador parked in a reserved spot. Royce opened her door, and it lifted up rather than out. Wow. He'd never driven this to campus before. He noticed her eyeing him and then the car before he shut her door. The man looked far too smug at her open appreciation.

Royce walked around and got into his seat to start the car. The engine had a throaty purr, like a big jungle cat.

"Where's your motorcycle?" she asked as she buckled herself in.

Royce chuckled. "Sometimes I don't go home alone, and the women here are dressed for straddling me, not a motorcycle."

The thought of straddling him made her insides quiver. Stop it. Don't think about him or s*x. She'd managed to be his TA for a whole yearshe would not blow it now by letting herself get carried away. She changed her focus to something much safer.

"So what's the plan?" she asked.

Royce didn't speak for a long moment as he drove them down the winding New York's Gold Coast roads back to Devereaux House. She'd never been there, but she'd seen pictures on the internet. The Gold Coast was famous for sweeping American castles and 1920s era oil baron mansions. Royce's home was part of that historical legacy. The sweeping lawn, the lavish gardens, the white ashlar stone a sunny beacon amid the green foliage on summer days. Of course it would be different by night, but she felt safe now that she was with Royce. She smiled as she let the anticipation build inside of her. Would it look more like an antebellum-era ghost in a pale white gown drifting from the dark woods?

"We'll go to my office tomorrow morning and check things out, but I don't want you going home. Not until we learn more. I know a guy who has some connections with the police. He can do some digging to see what's going on there. I also want to make a few calls to some friends and colleagues."

Kenzie angled herself in the passenger seat to look at him. "Oh?"

"Yeah. There's only one kind of trafficking anyone could try to connect to me."

"What kind?" She held her breath, but she couldn't stop her heart from pounding wildly.

"Fossil smuggling."

The answer caught her off guard. "Fossil smuggling?" She knew about it, of course, but she'd never really given it much thought since it didn't relate to her work directly.

"It's a bad business. Easy to get into, and it pays well for those involved. Big finds go for hundreds of thousands in legitimate auction houses. Some steal fossils from museums and sell them on the black market. Sadly, it happens quite often, and the public never knows. Museums rarely ever publicly acknowledge the thefts. I've consulted for the New York Natural History Museum in the past to assure them that their collections are indeed legitimate and not replicas. Occasionally during that process I find out a fossil isn't from where the paperwork says it's from. Fossil smugglers lie about the country of origin if that country doesn't allow fossils to be sold." He turned the car down a narrow gravel road. Two white stone pillars marked an entrance to an estate. Iron Ds in cursive script were carved in the stone.

"Wow." Kenzie had never really focused on the dark side of her chosen field. She'd focused on the joy of discovery and the research of the animals' lives, not how much you could sell it for at an auction block.

Rain was coming down hard on the front windshield, making it hard to see as Royce pulled the car into a circular drive in front of a large house.

"You're shaking like a leaf," Royce said.

Kenzie's body was shaking, but she pushed aside her discomfort. There was too much at stake right now. He exited the car and came around to open her door. She had never wanted a guy to open a door for her before, but there was something sweet about the gesture. She couldn't help but wonder if that was part of Royce's charm. He was the guy who'd open your door, hold an umbrella over your head, protect you, but once you were in his bed, he would be wild, uncompromising, and rough during s*x. Like a god delivering pleasure to his devoted worshipers. A man like that could own the world, could own her.

She got out of the car walked up to the house, blinking away the rain that still fell. The house was lovely, the stones almost pearly white in the dim light. It was built in the style of one of the chateau mansions in Newport, with a mansard roof and eaves with decorated brackets below. Simple, elegant, and old-world. Her father had a thing for architecture and was always talking about the East Coast mansions.

Royce started up the steps and unlocked the front door. "My butler, Mr. Lansdown, will be asleep. I'll get you a room and something to wear to bed. You hungry?"

Kenzie shook her head. After the scare she'd been through, she wouldn't be hungry for a long time.

She brushed her feet on the entry mat and then gasped when she looked up. Ahead of her was a massive staircase of walnut wood. The wall cloth bordering the stairs resembled a tapestry made to look like a forest. The ends of the banister were lit with bronze lamps nestled into the wood. The soft gold glow make Kenzie feel like she was passing between worlds, leaving reality behind as she entered a wooden glen lit by midsummer fairy lights. Dark-green carpets rippled up the stairs, adding to the effect of a forest floor. She took in the entryway and staircase, her breath caught by its beauty.

A gentle hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see Royce standing there, watching her. Raindrops clung to the tips of his dark hair, glistening like diamonds before they dripped onto his shirt. He looked so

Irresistible, like a god of storms who'd taken mortal form to seduce an unsuspecting maiden.

For the hundredth time Kenzie cursed her libido and how she longed for things, for a man, she could never have.

"Let me make you some hot cocoa at least," he offered.

If there were two things that tempted her most in the world it was hot cocoa and a hot man. Put them together and

I'm so screwed.

Royce took her to the kitchen. It could have produced enough food for a hundred people, but it had been redesigned for more modern-day uses, including an open-concept eating area. A small table was tucked in a cozy nook next to a large walk-in pantry. Kenzie sat down in one of the chairs and watched Royce as he turned the stove on. The blue gas flames lit up, and he placed a pan on the stove. He retrieved milk, sugar, and a tin of cocoa.

Homemade cocoa? This man really was the devil.

He opened the fridge again, giving her a chance to study his profile in its sharp light. His features seemed to be cut from marble. His patrician nose and full, kissable lips were a siren's call to her. Every part of him she could see was well defined, and Kenzie tried not to fantasize about nibbling him in more than one place. He had a body made for love bites. With a slight frown, he closed the door and turned back to her.

"I hoped I had a steak or cold pack for your cheek. Some ice will have to do." He put some cubes in a bag and wrapped a tea towel around it while the milk heated. He placed the makeshift ice pack against her cheek. Their hands met when she tried to hold the bag. For a long moment he didn't move his hand away. The connection made her skin burn deliciously.

"I'm so sorry, Little Mac. You must have gone through hell tonight." He let go of the pack, but he didn't move away. Instead, he brushed a wet lock of her hair behind her ear. His fingertip lingered against her skin as she shivered, but it wasn't from the cold.

Little Mac. Mac for MacKenzie. The affectionate nickname he used when they were working in his office that drove her insane and made her feel special at the same time.

He cleared his throat and stepped back. "I better check on the cocoa," he muttered, and resumed his preparations.

When it was ready, he offered her a mug, which she gratefully accepted.

"I can't believe you made homemade cocoa." She let the heat from the mug seep into her fingers before she took a sip. Taste exploded on her tongue, and a hint of nutmeg gave it an extra kick.

"My father taught me two things: to seduce a woman you need to know how to dance and how to make homemade cocoa." As he spoke, his smile was bittersweet.

Kenzie held her breath as she hurt with him. Everyone knew the story. The Devereauxs had died in a plane crash. Royce had been nineteen and an only child. She couldn't imagine how lonely he had to have felt in this house with no one but him and the servants to keep him company.

She smiled, hoping he'd smile back. "Your dad sounds like a smart man." She was rewarded with a slow grin.

"He was. Best man I've ever known. He was an architect. He wanted to make things. Create dreams, he used to say." Royce sipped from his mug, a thoughtful expression on his face. A lock of damp hair fell across his eyes, and Kenzie fought off the urge to stand and brush it away for him.

"My dad is big into architecture too, as a hobby. And your mom?"

"She was a doctor. They didn't need the money, but she loved helping people." His head dropped a little, lost in thought. She'd never known a deep loss like that. She was lucky. Her parents were a dentist and a paralegal, both still alive. Nothing world-changing had ever happened to Kenzie or her family, but they also had never suffered a loss. She was fortunate. Yet she had a feeling she'd never truly lived either.

Royce suddenly straightened and pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

"I need to make a call. Be right back." He slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Kenzie alone. She stood at the closed door, wishing she knew what to do next. She shouldn't stay here at his house, but she didn't want to go home either.

Please let no one find out about this. It could ruin his career and kill hers before it even had a chance to start.

That was assuming those men who'd hurt her didn't get to them first.