Primal Heat Page 3

  Phillipa frequently got the impression that whenever she found out anything about the Cages, the information was a little skewed. Her intuition told her that the family used the truth to obscure even deeper truths.

  “What’s a genetic thing?” Marc asked, coming back into the room with four more guests.

  “Nothing,” Jo answered. She stood up for greetings and hugs. Once she’d seen Brandon safely into the arms of another cooing woman, Jo said to her husband, “You want me to help you in the kitchen.”

  Marc took this hint that his wife wanted a private conversation.

  “When do we eat?” Phillipa asked as they headed, arm in arm, out of the room.

  Marc glanced back. “Ten minutes.”

  Phillipa excused herself and headed for the guest bathroom, which was across the hall from the kitchen. Once she’d shot up and tucked her equipment back into her large purse, she stepped back into the hall.

  As she returned to the living room, she paused when she heard Jo say, “I still don’t like the idea of my sister not remembering the whole event.”

  “She’ll remember,” Marc said reassuringly. “Just not necessarily the way it actually happens.”

  “Why are you comfortable with that?”

  “Honey, you know that’s the way we have to live.”

  “She thinks she’s going to be Brandon’s godmother.”

  “She will be—in a way.”

  Philippa was so surprised by this odd conversation that she was tempted to barge into the kitchen and demand to know what the hell was going on, but she doubted that was the easiest way to get at the truth.

  “I understand the need for discretion, but—”

  “In the old days, our bondmates had to sever all ties with their own kind.”

  This was as confusing as it was disturbing. She didn’t handle confusion well at the moment. What she craved was simple, solid routine. Phillipa rubbed a hand across her eyes. She was a little dizzy. And since her head was not on too straight at the moment, maybe all this ominous-sounding stuff wasn’t ominous at all.

  “These days we’re more accommodating,” he went on, “but there are rules. They’re for everyone’s protection. You agreed to the rules.”

  “I know, but—”

  “Josephine.”

  “All right, all right. You don’t have to take that lord and master tone with me, Marcus Cage.”

  He answered with a deep, rumbling laugh. The solid, normal sound blew away some of Phillipa’s confusion. Jo laughed as well, a throaty, sexy sound Phillipa wasn’t used to coming from her little sister. After that there was a lengthy silence, which Phillipa interpreted as a happily married couple making out in their kitchen. That was sweet and all, but what had they been talking about?

  And, even more important, would their snogging delay dinner? She had to eat within half an hour of shooting up. A confrontation might be necessary, to get closer to the food.

  But before she could enter the kitchen Jo and Marc came out, their arms around each other’s waists. Jo looked surprised to see her.

  Phillipa refused to be embarrassed at being in the hall. She looked at her watch, then significantly at Marc. “You said ten minutes.”

  “You’re a slave to your stomach,” Marc said. “I like that in a woman.” He held Jo tighter. “When Josephine was pregnant, she appreciated my skills.”

  “I ate like a horse.”

  “Now she’s back to skin and bones and no appetite.”

  “He means that now I eat like a small horse.”

  “Come along, you two.”

  Marc turned Jo around, and they headed back into the kitchen. Phillipa followed, and was put to work helping to carry plates and platters and bowls into the dining room. Everything looked and smelled delicious.

  “Even if I wasn’t a slave to carbohydrate exchanges, this feast would make me hungry,” she told Marc when they stood back to look upon the laden table. She popped a pepperoncini into her mouth and sighed at the crisp heat of the pickled pepper.

  “You have a fondness for hot things.” There was a wicked gleam in Marc’s dark eyes as he put his arm around her shoulders. “And I just had a great idea.”

  “What’s that?” Phillipa asked, and speared a mushroom with a toothpick. “Spicy,” she added when she bit into it.

  “Spicy is what you need.” He gave a deep, dirty chortle. “What you need, Elliot, is a vampire.”

  She gave Marc a puzzled look. “I do not get this joke.”

  “I’m serious. What’s wrong with you boils down to a serious blood disorder, right?”

  “Not exact—”

  “If you share blood with a vampire, that’ll cure it.”

  “That’s an interesting theory,” she answered. “But it has a slight flaw in it.”

  “Vampires are very sexy,” he told her. “You’d enjoy the cure.”

  “I’m sure I would. Except for the fact that there’s no such thing as vampires.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You sure?”

  “Not in the reality I live in.”

  “I’ll introduce you to one from mine.”

  Phillipa edged away from her brother-in-law. “Okay, Marc. You find me a vampire, and I’ll let him bite me.”

  “Deal,” he said with a grin.

  “What are you up to, Marc?” Jo asked, coming into the dining room.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Jo narrowed her eyes at the false innocence of his answer. “Did I hear a bad word just now?”

  “You know I never swear.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t,” Phillipa spoke up.

  The doorbell rang before she got an answer, and Marc hastily left the room.

  “It’s kind of cute, seeing a big man look that sheepish,” Jo said, gazing fondly after her husband. She followed after him.

  Phillipa gazed fondly at the feast spread out on the table, then followed her sister toward the front door. Feeling curiouser and curiouser, she intended to find out what these two were talking about.

  But she stopped dead in her tracks when she heard a familiar British voice say, “I said I’d be your eldest child’s guardian, but I thought I’d have a few more decades before I’d have to make good on the promise.”

  Her insides curled, and her heart raced.

  Good God, what’s he doing here?

  Her first impulse was to hide, but it was already too late. All she could do was try not to look stunned as Jo and Marc came back down the hallway, Matt Bridger walking between them.

  Chapter Four

  P hillipa forced a smile. “Nice to see you again, Matt.”

  Jo said, “I forgot you two knew each other.”

  “I didn’t,” Marc said.

  “Hello,” Bridger said, stopping in front of her.

  Too close. He smiled, and everything inside her went zing. It was totally unfair of her body to respond this way three years after a one-night stand, for goodness sake!

  She took a step back, only to have him follow. He put his hand on her shoulder, and fire went all the way through her.

  She saw the fire reflected in his eyes and thought, Oh, no, it’s starting all over again! She tried to move away, but moved closer to him instead.

  Jo came forward and took Matt by the arm. “Let’s introduce you to the family.”

  Matt’s gaze didn’t leave Phillipa’s. “I’ve already met the family.”

  “Time to get reacquainted,” Jo persisted, and tugged him forward.

  Matt threw a hard look at Marc over his shoulder as he was led away.

  Then Marc gallantly offered Phillipa his arm.

  “Now that both godparents have arrived, the party can finally get started. The fireworks already have.”

  “What?”

  “You two are our guests of honor,” he said. “You’re going to have a lovely evening.”

  “I’d rather leave,” she told her brother-in-law.

  “Oh, no, there’s
no escaping it. Trust me, I know.”

  “As usual, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Dinner!” the deep-voiced Marc announced as they entered the living room.

  “A toast!”

  Oh, lord, not another one, Phillipa thought, but dutifully lifted her glass of water as one of Marc’s male relatives rose to his feet.

  Matt was seated across the table next to Octavia, who was blatantly flirting with him. He didn’t seem to mind, and Phillipa was glad he was being distracted. Really.

  But he’d seemed interested in her when he walked in, so how come he was ignoring her now?

  Probably because Octavia was vivacious and gorgeous, and obviously available. Phillipa got the impression they already knew each other in a biblical fashion. Which made Bridger something of a slut. Which was none of her business, but didn’t say much for her taste in men.

  And why should she care if he ignored her? Because her own date hadn’t been able to make it tonight? Which she hadn’t minded until Bridger walked in.

  He leaned forward now and asked, “Don’t you drink wine?”

  Phillipa was so surprised that her glass slipped out of her hand.

  Bridger plucked it out of the air before she even saw him move. He smiled.

  Her heart turned over, and she forgot to breathe.

  “The last time we met,” he said, “you tasted of champagne.”

  His words had no business feeling like a caress, yet memories registered on her skin.

  “To Matthias and Phillipa, the child’s guardians!” the man giving the toast exclaimed.

  She was aware that everyone’s gaze was now on her, but Phillipa could only look into Matt Bridger’s eyes. The connection was still there, stronger, even after three years.

  She dimly heard applause.

  Then Bridger said, “We’re supposed to bow to the parents of our goddess child now.”

  “Not to follow our custom would be rude, mort-miss,” Octavia added.

  Phillipa managed to drag her attention to the other woman. She had her hand possessively on Bridger’s arm. She didn’t look at all happy that he was talking to Phillipa.

  “We wouldn’t want to be rude,” he said. “Come, Phillipa.” He stood.

  So did she, and it felt as if she was drawn to her feet by the force of his will. This is distinctly not normal, she thought.

  “Like so,” he said, and bowed from the waist.

  After all the years she’d studied martial arts, she had plenty of practice at this. She bowed politely to Jo and Marc, and this signaled the end of the meal. Most of the guests headed toward the living room. Octavia put her arm through Matt’s and led him away. Phillipa stayed to help clean off the table.

  She took a stack of plates into the kitchen, and Jo pounced as soon as the door closed behind her.

  “So, you know Matt?”

  Phillipa didn’t like her sister’s suspicious tone. “We’re not exactly friends,” she answered as she set the plates on the counter next to the sink. “I don’t know him—except in the biblical sense,” she admitted at Jo’s withering look.

  “So I gathered.” She put her hands on her hips. “When?”

  “At your wedding reception.”

  “I didn’t know he made it to the wedding.”

  “I’m told brides don’t remember much about the wedding. He was there. Briefly. Then he and I—sort of had a brief encounter.”

  “Sort of? How brief?”

  Phillipa winced. “Okay, we fucked like bunnies.”

  “Oh, good lord, no.” Jo pressed a hand to her forehead, then touched the side of her throat. “Please tell me he didn’t—do anything kinky.”

  “That’s none of your business. Besides, being grilled on my sex life by my little sister is not my idea of a good time.”

  “I don’t have to be a good hostess with you.” She turned very serious, very concerned. “You can’t get involved with someone like Matt Bridger, hon.”

  “I’m not involv—”

  “You’ve been radiating lust ever since he arrived.”

  “That’s not—”

  “He’s a very dangerous man.”

  Phillipa bridled. “I’m a dangerous woman.”

  “Not at the moment, you’re not. You’re—vulnerable—right now. You couldn’t handle someone like him.” She put her hands on Phillipa’s shoulders. “Promise me you’ll stay away from him. Besides, aren’t you seeing a local cop?”

  “Not exactly seeing.” She sighed. She couldn’t be angry at her sister’s concern; she was glad of the reminder. “We’re friends—with potential. He’s nice, normal. I doubt Matt Bridger is either one.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “But Bridger makes me feel all unfocused and fuzzy—and hot.”

  “Like champagne zinging through your bloodstream.”

  Exactly. Phillipa eyed her sister suspiciously. “How’d you know about that?”

  Jo laughed. “I’ve made love to Marc a few times. The males of his family are intoxicating.”

  Phillipa stepped away from Jo’s gentle grasp. “I don’t need to be intoxicated right now.” She glanced toward the kitchen door. “Besides, Octavia’s reminding Bridger of their old acquaintance at the moment. She’s welcome to him.”

  Something primal deep inside Phillipa growled with jealousy, though, and the strong feeling scared her. “I just don’t want to watch the seduction, and I’m getting pretty tired anyway,” she told her sister. “Is it okay with you if I kiss my peacefully sleeping nephew good night, then head back to the hotel?”

  “I think that might be for the best,” Jo said. “If I’m lucky I can get everybody to leave soon.” She gave a slow, sexy smile. “I’m in the mood for some champagne myself tonight.”

  What had Jo meant about Bridger being dangerous? The question didn’t occur to Philippa until she was in the elevator. Oh, she recognized a predator when she saw one, and Bridger was definitely one of her own kind. But what did her gentle little sister know about the man? Why was Jo so worried about her hooking up with him?

  She was tempted to go back and ask her sister what she meant.

  “Tomorrow,” she told her reflection in the copper-plated doors. She’d ask Jo when she saw her at the church tomorrow. Of course, Bridger would be there as well, but a christening ceremony was hardly the setting for lust and seduction.

  And let us not forget Octavia, and her designs on Mr. Bridger’s fine, fine physique, she thought as the elevator opened on the lobby. I’ll try to think chaste thoughts tomorrow. And think of Octavia as my guardian angel.

  She exited the building, and all chaste intentions left her as soon as she spotted Matt leaning against her car in the well-lit visitor’s parking lot.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  His gaze went over her with the same heat and intensity it had had when they’d met earlier. “I want a ride.”

  “Try Octavia,” was her instant, angry response.

  He chuckled. “I don’t normally find jealousy attractive in a woman, but you wear it well.”

  She barely caught herself from snapping that she wasn’t jealous, which would have sounded childish and stupid.

  “I want a ride to the hotel,” he clarified. “I’m told we’re staying at the same place. May I please have a lift?”

  “Saying please is always a good move,” she told him.

  He smiled, showing deep dimples. “I’ll have to remember that for future reference.”

  Suspicion kept her from moving closer to him when he turned that smile on her. “How’d you know which car was mine?”

  “Arizona plates.” He gestured around the lot. “Everyone else here seems to be from Nevada.”

  “Duh. Of course Marc mentioned I’m from Arizona.”

  He was still smiling. “I know a lot about you, Phillipa.”

  That piqued her curiosity, but she refrained from indulging it. Or him. �
��Just get your arrogant ass into the car, Bridger.”

  “It’s getting easier for them to breed with us, that’s what I hear,” Andrew said.

  “That’s disgusting! Where’d you hear that?” Britney asked.

  “We have scientists, too,” Andrew answered. “They experiment on captured ones before we kill them. The scientists are developing biological weapons to use against them.”

  “That’s fair. They’ve been using science against us.”

  “Everything’s fair in war,” Andrew declared.

  Michele Darabont did not know if there was any truth to Andrew’s claim about Purists experimenting on vampires, and she didn’t really care. She was finding this stakeout long, tiring, and boring. The fact that Andrew and Britney couldn’t seem to talk about anything but vampires was the most irritating part. Their back-seat chatter almost made her wonder why she was sitting in a van outside a Las Vegas condo building. She could have been home in San Diego—but she had a mission.

  “We have to kill the Abomination,” she said. The compulsion to wreak havoc on vampires was more overwhelming than ever. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, almost shaking with tension. “We need to wipe the half-breeds off the face of the earth.”

  “Amen,” Andrew said.

  “There’s someone coming out,” Britney said. She was the one manning the high-powered binoculars. “I think it’s her!”

  “Let me see.” Michele took the glasses from the other woman. “Where?”

  “She’s in the parking lot now.”

  It took Michele a moment to spot their quarry. Under the powerful lights of the lot, she saw a slender woman with short blond hair. “Looks like the woman from the photos.”

  “Kind of perky looking, for a vampire’s whore,” Andrew observed.

  After another moment, Michele said, “No. That’s not her. I think it’s the whore’s sister.” She handed the binoculars back to Britney and sighed as the excitement of the moment drained from her. “I doubt that one has any clue to what’s going on.”

  “Is she in their thrall too?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes—she’s hypnotized to see what they tell her to,” Michele said.