on the gowns, Erin. They're beautiful, and so are you. Let me show you how exciting it is to be truly glamorous. It's a kind of magic. And it's fun. Just look at this beautiful thing. I don't even want to tell you how much money he spent for it. And it's perfect for your looks. As if it were made just for you.'
Erin stared down at the inherent tension and violence in the torque's stunning design. The two dragons were locked in a state of mortal challenge. Their garnet eyes glowed red with rage. The design tricked the eye into the illusion that the twisting serpentine tails were flipping and writhing. The thing practically hummed in her hands.
She'd always privately considered this style of jewelry to be the most beautiful and evocative that existed. Sensual and savage, the designs echoed with the blood and dust and noise of ancient history. She loved Celtic artifacts exactly because they were a tangible point of contact with that mysterious culture. They made her dream, set her imagination on fire. They called to her across the ages.
A high-ranking Celtic noblewoman had worn this torque around her neck well over two thousand years ago. She had lived her everyday life in it, waking and eating and breathing and loving. If Erin put on that torque, history would fold over on itself. She could reach back in time and almost touch that woman. The torque had made her real.
It was utterly seductive. She was so tempted, her hands shook.
'Mr. Mueller did this to please and flatter you, Erin,' Tamara said softly. 'Humor him. And indulge yourself. McCloud will never know, because it's all… between… us.'
Erin broke eye contact. She was on the brink of tears again, for God's sake. What a wreck. Tamara was right. The very thought of Connor's anger made her weepy and unsure of herself.
This indulgence would be her own secret. And maybe it would serve as a liberation. She was her own woman, who made her own choices. Her passion for ancient history was all hers. It had nothing to do with Connor. He would never understand it.
But Claude Mueller might. 'All right,' she said.
She was instantly sorry. She knew the moment the words left her mouth that she had made a big mistake, but it was too late. Tamara was thrilled, smiling, leading her by the hand into another bedroom, the bed of which was covered with boxes and bags. 'I'll show you the lingerie and the shoes, first,' Tamara said.
'Lingerie?' she echoed faintly.
'Of course.' Tamara rolled her eyes. 'You can't show panty lines under these gowns. And I ordered stockings to match, of course.'
A half hour later, Tamara closed the cold weight of the golden dragon torque around Erin's neck and turned her around to face the mirror. 'Look at yourself. If Connor McCloud could see you now, he would kneel and beg for mercy.'
Guilt and pain stabbed through her. 'Please, don't.'
'Trouble in paradise?' Tamara asked. She laughed and held up her hand at the look in Erin's eyes. 'Sorry. Forgive me for asking. Curiosity is one of my little vices. Don't hate me for it. I don't mean any harm.'
'You don't know me well enough to speak to me like that.'
'No, but I would like to.' Tamara flashed her a quirky, disarming smile. 'I find you very interesting, Erin Riggs. Now take a look at yourself. Are you a knockout, or are you a knockout?'
Erin turned to the mirror, and stopped breathing for a moment.
It wasn't that she looked all that different. She was still herself, but a glowing golden haze hovered around her. Her eyes seemed bigger, more deeply colored, more shadowy. Her lips were fuller and redder, her skin glowed with earthy golden tints. Even her hair seemed glossier.
The dress that Tamara had helped her choose was a simple gown of gleaming bronze bias-cut silk with a sheer chiffon overdress. It was tight in the bodice, fluttering out in a deep, voluptuously flared skirt. The plunging neckline was designed to show off both the torque and her cleavage. The dress was off the shoulder, so no bra could be worn, but the bodice was reinforced, and snug enough to hike up her full bosom, offering it up to the eye like a gift.
The dragon torque was cold against her skin, but she felt its strange, ancient energy pulsating against her skin. Her hair flowed around her, unbound. Tamara had brushed out her French twist and run her fingers through Erin's waist-length hair with a murmur of approval. 'This doesn't need any help. You're done.'
Erin stared at herself in the mirror. She felt vulnerable and exposed, with her femininity, her sexuality, showcased for an unknown man's enjoyment. The heavy, sensual gold torque seemed to exaggerate her looks. Maybe it was enchanted, and she was under a glamorous spell. Certainly she'd never looked like this in her entire life.
She'd been a fool to fall for this, but she'd agreed. It would be silly to be difficult about it now. Now that she thought about it, that had been her exact reasoning when she'd gone to bed with her first lover. She'd forced herself to endure what had happened out of politeness, out of fear of looking silly, of being rude and childish and undignified. She had to learn to accept the consequences of her decisions without whining—that was what it meant to be grown-up, but oh, God, sometimes she felt like she'd been grown-up since the day she was born.
'Are you all right, Erin?' Tamara asked gently.
Erin started to say that she was fine. The impulse petered away into silence. She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, they were swimming with tears.
Tamara was ready with a tissue. She carefully blotted Erin's tears without smearing her makeup, and rested a cool hand on Erin's shoulder. 'At least you look fabulous,' she offered. 'That's a powerful weapon to carry into battle, no matter what problems you might have.'
Erin let out a soggy laugh. They smiled at each other. Tamara embraced her briefly. 'Are you ready to go? Do you need a minute?'
Erin straightened her shoulders. 'I'm ready.'
She wobbled on the spike heels until she found her stride. Five different sizes of designer shoes had been delivered along with the dresses. A staggering extravagance for a rich man's whim.
Tamara led her down the corridor, past the stairs and into another wing. She flung open the door into a huge, airy salon with floor to ceiling windows, many of them open. Diaphanous white curtains billowed in the breeze. The room was lit up with slanting golden beams of sunset light. Erin was dazzled by the sensation of light and vaulted space as she followed Tamara in.
And of cold. The room was oddly chilly. As if it were refrigerated.
A slender man of medium height stood with his back to (hem, gazing out the window. He turned slowly as they entered. The gesture looked staged, like an ad for European luxury cars. She brushed the thought away as silly and unworthy.
Claude Mueller smiled. He was an attractive olive-skinned man, his dark hair cut severely short, and receding over his temples. His smile was dimpled and charming, and his eyes were electric blue, striking against his tanned skin. He wore a casually elegant dove gray linen suit.
'Mr. Mueller. At last, the elusive Ms. Riggs,' Tamara announced.
He glided toward her, took her outstretched hand, and bowed over it. For a dreadful moment she was afraid he was going to kiss it, but he stopped short, his eyes flicking up as if he sensed her alarm.
'Ms. Riggs,' he said. 'Thank you for humoring me in the matter of the torque, and the dress. I know it was a great deal to ask of you, but the result is breathtaking. Nigel and Tamara told me you were beautiful, but words are insufficient. You put the torque to shame.'
He gazed into her eyes, lifted her hand, and pressed it deliberately against his smiling lips. The contact gave her a sharp, buzzing shock. For a split second, it was as if a veil before her eyes became transparent, and the luxurious room seemed as cold and hard as an ice sculpture, leached of color and life. She tugged at her trembling hand.
He did not release it. 'Thank you, Tamara,' he said, still holding Erin's gaze. 'You may leave us now.'
Erin felt abandoned as the door shut behind Tamara. The woman was her last link to the warm world of the living, and now she was all alone, in a cold, beautiful tomb. What a ridiculous notion, she told herself. Absurd. She had to get a grip, but her heart raced with sickening panic. She had that falling away feeling, as if she were about to faint. God forbid. She would never recover from the embarrassment.
She forced herself to smile, and thought about Connor.
Thinking about him hurt, but the pain grounded her. The part of her that was bonded with him was earthy
