Flashfire Page 16

  The light flickered at that window, as if someone had moved the shade. Cassie swallowed and braced herself to run back to the Jeep. She expected dogs to be released, or guns to be fired, or security men to chase her away.

  What she saw instead was the other camera freezing in place, its view fixed on the distant road.

  The shade opened abruptly, and the entire square of the window was illuminated. Cassie saw the silhouette of a figure.

  It beckoned to her.

  She wasn’t sure who it was or what that person wanted—much less how that person had seen her—but Cassie wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She ran for the fence, unable to see whether it was electrified or otherwise booby-trapped.

  Was she just being tricked into exposing herself? Lorenzo had taken measures to ensure his privacy.

  Who was in the window anyhow?

  She looked back at the silhouetted figure. The man pointed and Cassie followed his gesture. There was a service gate disguised in the pattern of the fence. She never would have seen it if it hadn’t been pointed out, not at night anyway.

  It had an electronic lock.

  But there was no light on the display.

  No power.

  Cassie looked up. The man in the window beckoned once more. She touched the gate with a cautious fingertip and it swung inward.

  Unlocked.

  Deliberately, she was sure.

  Okay, she had an ally, and maybe a source of information. Cassie slipped into the courtyard. She glanced at the window, just as the light winked out.

  The man was gone.

  The closest camera clicked as if it was going to start moving again.

  Unable to stifle the sense that she was stepping right into a trap, Cassie raced toward the house. She was wondering which door exactly she should target when one opened, throwing a patch of light into the yard.

  A man gestured from there, urging her to hurry. It looked like the same man. She realized as she got closer that he was older, although he still stood tall. She ducked into the house and he closed the door behind her, sharing a conspiratorial smile.

  “So, you are safely inside the lair,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling. He had an accent, maybe Italian. It sounded exotic. His hair was silver, a luxuriant wavy mane. “Lorenzo will have a surprise!” He laughed at the prospect, so delighted with himself that Cassie was tempted to smile. He surveyed her, then turned with surprising speed, beckoning her again. “Come, come.”

  Her unexpected accomplice looked to be quite elderly, but he moved with the spry energy of a young man. The twinkle in his eyes made him look irrepressible.

  “You turned off the cameras?”

  “Of course. Lorenzo would be notified the moment there was a trespasser noted on the premises.” The older man shook his head. “He likes to know everything. He thinks he knows everything.” He rolled his eyes, showing his opinion of that.

  Cassie instinctively liked him after that comment. “But he doesn’t.”

  “He knows nothing! But we shall teach him, you and I together. Every man learns what he needs to know either from a woman or from his father.” The older man laughed, and Cassie had to admit that the prospect of teaching Lorenzo anything made her smile, too. Then he offered his hand. “I am Salvatore di Fiore. Lorenzo’s father.”

  Cassie was surprised that Lorenzo’s father lived with him. She admired that Lorenzo took care of his father, and that the fact had never once been mentioned in any of the biographies and articles she’d read. She respected that he did the right thing but didn’t expect credit.

  She liked that. A lot.

  “Cassie,” she said with a smile. “Cassie Redmond.”

  Salvatore bowed low over her hand, a courtly gesture, and touched his lips to its back. Then he looked up at her, that mischief dancing in his dark eyes.

  “You are the one,” he said with a confidence that made Cassie’s heart skip. “I like you already. It is time Lorenzo had a woman who challenged him, made him work. The others make it too easy for him.” He shrugged. “He does not respect them.”

  Cassie appreciated the idea of being different from the other women Lorenzo seduced, the ones who used his limo service. “Is that why you helped me?”

  He smiled. “What do you think?” Salvatore gave her a look then, one that hinted at a considerable measure of determination, then gestured her onward.

  “Welcome,” he said as they stepped into a large and gracious room.

  Chapter 9

  Cassie was astonished. It could have been a living room, but like everything else about Lorenzo, it far exceeded any expectations. The room was large, partly because the ceilings were so high, but sparingly and elegantly furnished. A pair of velvet-upholstered sofas with curved backs faced each other, beneath a massive glittering chandelier. It must have been hung with a thousand faceted crystal teardrops.

  The floor was dark wood inlaid with a circular flourish that could have been ivory, and the plaster moldings on the ceiling were elaborate. For all that, the surfaces were painted in solid colors, not the gilt or filigree that Cassie might have expected. One entire wall was composed of arched windows, which faced a private courtyard. She could smell exotic flowers, which must be in bloom in that garden.

  She understood then why the house seemed so large. It probably had more interior courtyards like this one, garden spaces that provided privacy to Lorenzo and his father.

  Even she would have a hard time getting an unapproved and candid shot of the great illusionist at home. He’d sunbathe in a courtyard, secured from prying eyes.

  The room was dominated by an enormous painting that hung opposite the windows. It was framed in gilt and almost filled that wall. The paint was flaking slightly and Cassie guessed that it was very old. The colors had the luminosity that she remembered from art history class, like altarpieces by Titian.

  But this was no altarpiece. There were no saints shown in this image and not a Madonna to be seen. The painting showed a room remarkably similar to this one, so similar that she wondered whether this room was supposed to be a replica. The main difference was that the windows in the image opened onto a canal lined with other houses, not onto a desert courtyard. She recognized the architecture characteristic of Venice, but this time from her own travels.

  The scene seemed to be one of a house of pleasure, for the women—with their splendid long hair and rosy breasts—were naked. They wore only jewels, at their ears, on their fingers, pearls around their necks and waists. The men—who admired them, fed them, were fed by them, lounged on couches—wore Renaissance garb. There was food on every surface, as well as great goblets of wine, dogs, parrots, a monkey, and a group of six musicians. The night sky beyond the windows was filled with stars, and Cassie thought it was probably quite a party.

  There was a date inscribed in one corner—1586—and a signature she couldn’t decipher. Whoever had painted it had been very good, though.

  The composition was unusual because one woman, a great beauty with a knowing smile, stood to one side of the painting. She was almost life-sized and looked out at the viewer as she apparently pulled a velvet drape aside. With her free hand, she gestured to the room behind her. Her expression was daring and mischievous, as if she revealed a secret. She wore only a long string of fat pearls, a golden bracelet set with rubies, and embroidered slippers. Her hair was long and red-gold, hanging in glistening waves past her hips.

  That figure’s pose created an intimacy with the viewer, putting Cassie right in the scene—as if she were a guest in that house, being shown its true business.

  And being invited to join the festivities.

  Cassie thought it an odd choice for a room where one received guests, and gave her accomplice a considering glance.

  What exactly were Salvatore’s expect
ations?

  She realized that she’d been staring and he’d been watching her.

  And he didn’t look so mischievous anymore.

  Had she made a big mistake?

  Salvatore laughed heartily as if he’d read Cassie’s thoughts and found them ridiculous. Then he gestured to the couches in invitation. “Prosecco, perhaps?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Prosecco is always nice,” he said, moving to a silver champagne bucket filled with ice.

  And one bottle. There were two flutes there, as if he’d expected guests.

  Expecting her?

  How?

  Salvatore eased the cork out of the bottle with his thumbs, a man who had performed this task a thousand times, then poured the sparkling contents. He offered one glass to Cassie with a slight bow.

  “And so we drink to the successful seduction of my son,” he said, eyes dancing with merriment. “Yes, Lorenzo is my son.” He indicated the painting, his smile fading as he eyed the figure on the right. “And this, this is his mother, Angelina.” He raised his glass to the painting and toasted her image.

  He drank a great swallow of the Prosecco and Cassie felt obliged to do the same. It was cool and effervescent on her tongue, the perfect refreshment after her time in the desert.

  “Lorenzo was born in that house,” her companion said gruffly, turning back to retrieve the bottle.

  Cassie eyed the date in the corner of the picture, confused. “When?”

  “In 1585,” Salvatore said, as if there was nothing unusual about it at all.

  Cassie didn’t want to be rude, but she’d heard enough propaganda in her time. She smiled at Salvatore to soften her words. “But that’s impossible.”

  He was unruffled. “It cannot be impossible, for it is so.” He smiled. “I remember the night very, very well.” His gaze slid to the painting again, locking on the image of the woman who held the drape.

  Cassie sipped her Prosecco, keeping silent while he visited his memories. Whatever they were. She didn’t believe for one minute that Lorenzo was four hundred years old, or that he was the son of a Venetian courtesan. That made no more sense than him being a dragon shifter. It was just part of his patter, part of the illusion of his show. And his father, evidently seeing which side his bread was buttered on, helped support the illusion.

  She got that far in her thinking before Salvatore turned his bright gaze on her. He glanced up and down, then inhaled slightly, as if he did not like what he saw.

  Then he met her gaze steadily. “You think I am old and confused because I tell you something you choose not to believe. We shall have honesty between us.”

  Cassie was startled that he would be so direct. Were her thoughts that obvious? “Okay.” She agreed cautiously, not certain she had much choice.

  “I am old but not confused.”

  Cassie smiled at his indignation. “Fair enough.”

  “While you are young and beautiful, but hide your truth. Why do you dress like a boy? Do you not wish to win my Lorenzo for your own? Are you ashamed to be a woman?”

  “No, of course not.” She gestured to the painting. “Jewelry and slippers isn’t a very practical outfit in my line of work.”

  Salvatore moved quickly to flick the clip out of her hair while she was looking at the painting. She was startled, but he fluffed it loose around her face.

  “Better,” he said, approval in his eyes. He gestured to the painting again. “You must understand a secret. This place is in Lorenzo’s heart. This is what he knows. And femininity, raw and potent, is his weakness.”

  Cassie considered the painting, and had to admit that what she knew of Lorenzo certainly included a taste for luxury.

  She recalled his admiration of her lingerie.

  “You cannot catch a fly with water, Cassie Redmond,” Salvatore whispered close beside her. “It has never yet been done. Honey is how you must bait the trap.”

  She wasn’t sure what to say to that, but by the time she was ready to look the old man in the eye, she turned to find him gone. She was alone in a beautiful room, alone except for the knowing gaze of the woman in the painting.

  Angelina.

  That was when she heard the throaty rumble of an approaching Ferrari.

  Cassie glanced at her watch and grimaced.

  She’d lost track of the time.

  Or Salvatore had ensured that she would still be here when his son returned. She had a feeling that the old man wasn’t entirely innocent in this—and he had said that Lorenzo would be surprised to find her here.

  She was pretty sure Lorenzo wouldn’t be happy to find her in his home, uninvited. He liked his privacy too much.

  Cassie was tempted to run. The logical way out would be just as she’d come in, but she knew she couldn’t clear the fence without Lorenzo seeing her departure. The cameras were probably back on, as well. She doubted she could get back to her Jeep, let alone all the way back to Vegas, without him catching up to her.

  Femininity, raw and potent, is his weakness.

  Okay. Maybe the best choice was to brazen it out. She liked when she surprised Lorenzo. Maybe he’d answer her questions if he was caught off guard.

  Cassie heard a door opening and the beep of an alarm system.

  Then footsteps coming closer.

  Lorenzo appeared in the doorway.

  He froze.

  He stared.

  He dropped his car keys.

  The world stopped cold as they eyed each other.

  Lorenzo was wearing a tuxedo shirt, the front unfastened, and a pair of black jeans. He had the tuxedo on a hanger, hooked over his shoulder, as if he intended to take it to the dry cleaners. He looked good enough to eat, even without his gaze dancing over her.

  Or the heat that lit his eyes.

  He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again without speaking a word. Cassie loved that she had surprised Lorenzo so much that he was struck speechless. She had a feeling that didn’t happen very often.

  Lorenzo’s hands clenched and unclenched, and she saw him swallow. There was a faint shimmer of blue around him, which was odd, and an obvious sign of interest in his jeans.

  Cassie knew right then and there that he was glad to see her. She smiled, feeling that she had more in common with the woman in the picture by the minute.

  And all the questions she’d just had didn’t seem that important anymore. Cassie rose to her feet, feeling the heat of his perusal.

  There was no doubt that she had Lorenzo’s undivided attention. He watched her hungrily, his eyes darkening.

  Cassie felt powerful and sexy, which was a pretty good combination. She was sure the temperature in the room had tripled, maybe even quadrupled.

  “Maybe you should get another glass,” she suggested. “Before the Prosecco gets warm.”

  Lorenzo flung his tuxedo on a chair and stepped toward her, his eyes gleaming with intent. He smiled that slow smile, the way his gaze roved over her so obviously appreciative that Cassie’s blood simmered. She felt tingly all over and knew that their lovemaking would be fabulous again.

  She didn’t know what had turned her into a woman who couldn’t get enough, but she didn’t care.

  Lorenzo was the sexiest man alive, and he wanted her.

  Then she understood—he was what had changed her perspective.

  And, for the moment, Cassie liked that just fine.

  Cassie’s heart had time to flutter with anticipation; then Lorenzo inhaled sharply and pivoted to look toward the courtyard. That blue shimmer around him brightened to blinding intensity; then he leapt for the windows in a blaze of light.

  Cassie had seen that weird blue light before, in his theater and again in the bar with JP. She squinted, refusing to close her ey
es completely, lest she miss something.

  She never expected to see what she did.

  Right before her eyes, inside the halo of blue light, Lorenzo changed shape. He became the same massive gold dragon that had appeared in the finale of his show. She saw the wings grow out of his shoulders. She saw his hands extend into claws. She saw the tail unfurl from his back and the scales erupt all over his body. She saw the ferocious teeth form. It happened in a flash, but she saw it all.

  There was no smoke.

  There were no mirrors.

  The change was real.

  Cassie was stunned. Even though she’d speculated that this might be his secret, it was astounding to witness the truth. It hadn’t been an illusion, not here and not in the theater. Lorenzo really was a shape-shifting dragon guy.

  He hadn’t lied in the theater when he’d said “Right here!”

  She’d uncovered his secret and it was the last one she’d expected him to have. She sat down just as her knees gave out beneath her.

  Cassie had actually found a Pyr.

  Lorenzo was astounded by Cassie.

  Again.

  He was shocked to find her in his home. She shouldn’t have been able to breach his security system, but evidently she had.

  He was also astonished to realize that she was already pregnant, just as the Pyr stories insisted. He could smell the difference in her body. Were all the old myths true?

  And he was surprised by how well it suited her. She looked relaxed and confident, aware of her femininity in a way that was new. Her hair was loose and her eyes were sparkling. Was that the Prosecco? The child?

  Or because of him? Lorenzo knew which answer he liked the best.

  Mostly, though, Lorenzo was shaken by how glad he was to see Cassie. He’d spent the evening trying to convince himself that she had no place in his life, that it was better she had left, that they had no future together. Just one glimpse of her lounging on his couch with a glass of Prosecco was enough to completely trash his rationalizations.

  And make him realize that he wanted her all over again.

  But Lorenzo had only had time to savor the fact that Cassie was waiting for him before he’d caught the scent of Slayer.