"Did you enjoy the show?" If there had been any doubt in his mind that she had been talking to him, it was erased by her next words, "I know you're there, Nottingham, Irons used to tell me stories about you. He used to compare us." Her voice lowered slightly and she mimicked an English accent, "At your age, young Nottingham was already a completely accurate marksman. Work harder, Li ... "
She stopped before revealing her given name, and Nottingham decided then and there that he would somehow find out what it was. He stepped into the alley to face her and she turned around to look at him. They both froze at the same moment. Blue eyes clashed with green and caught.
Her eyes were the color of the Mediterranean Sea on a clear day, not just blue, but not quite blue-green, either. They were stunning and it took entirely too much effort to drag his own eyes away from hers to sweep the rest of her body. If her eyes were stunning, the rest of her more than matched. She had full, pink lips and high cheekbones, and a straight, pert nose that went perfectly with the rest of her face. Her hair was pulled back in a French braid that was as thick as her forearm, and the innumerable strands were a rich brown shot through with natural highlights of deep red.
The impression he got of her body was one of grace and athleticism and he had the uncanny feeling that it would fit perfectly against his. That thought brought to his attention the fact that she was a good 7 or 8 inches shorter than his full height of six feet five inches, the perfect height to hold her close with her head tucked under his chin. Why he kept having these intimate thoughts about her was beyond him, but he was beginning to enjoy them.
Maybe she would be the first person he touched in a non-life-threatening situation. As soon as he had the thought, he knew he would do whatever it took to make it true. He would touch her. He didn't care that she was from another time, that she was someone Irons would want to control, that she was too young for him, that he didn't even know her name. Somehow he felt that he knew her.
His gaze traveled to her hands. She had a ring on every digit but her left ring finger. Good, she wasn't married. That was the one thing that would have stopped him from following his chosen path. He studied the rings. They seemed familiar somehow, but he couldn't quite place where he knew them. They were all the same metal, silver looking but with a sort of matte finish. They were all Celtic looking in design, intricate knot work. And two of them, the ones on each of her middle fingers, had a red stone. Red stones that seemed to swirl and wink with light, even though they were in the shadows of the alley.
"The Witchblade," he breathed.
The strange feeling he had had earlier suddenly made sense. He must have been waiting for her. But how? And why? His voice seemed to snap her out of her own study of him, and she took a defensive posture. He took a step forward, out of habit rather than an intention to do anything to her. The Witchblade immediately became a gauntlet on each of her hands and forearms, stronger looking and with more coverage than Sara ever got out of the thing. What happened next shocked him.
Pieces of the metal, which had shredded the sleeves of her sweatshirt, continued moving up her arms in a pattern that vaguely resembled veins. The veins of silver colored metal continued their journey over the rest of her body in a lightning quick move that covered basically only the essentials. As it did, the sweats were shredded to bits and fell to the ground. She was left standing in what he could only describe as a metal bikini, knee high boots, and the gauntlets, as well as strings of the metal the Witchblade was made of crisscrossing here and there.
It had also moved up to her face, framing her hair and forming a small silver dragon above her right ear. Now he knew for a fact that her whole body was magnificent. There wasn't a whole lot left to the imagination. The blade appeared last. Her blade was much bigger than Sara's, forming a separate claymore where her mother's was more of a thin shortsword that extended and retracted directly from the gauntlet.
He took a step back and raised his gloved hands to show her, and it, that he meant her no harm. The blade immediately disappeared, but the armor stayed.
She frowned at him and muttered, "Great. What did you do that for? Those were my only clothes!"
She gestured to the tattered sweats lying on the alley floor. She began pacing and talking, and it took him only a second to realize she was now talking to the Witchblade and not to him.
"Now what are we going to do? I have to find Marcus and make sure he stays out of trouble, but I can't exactly go prancing around New York City dressed like a science fiction prostitute." She gestured to her own body and the Stones on her gauntlets glowed blood red. "You just had to get defensive right away. And of course we were in such a hurry to get here that we didn't even stop to think about money!"
Mac made a sound of frustration. Nottingham let her pace for a minute, enjoying the play of her muscles as she moved. He surprised them both when he spoke.
"I'll replace them."
She stopped her pacing and studied him for a second. "Why?"
Nottingham looked away and answered, "It was my fault. I surprised you. You don't have any reason to trust me, but you yourself said that I died trying to save your parents. Is it so hard to believe that I might want to help you?"
Since he was looking at the ground as was his custom, he felt more than saw her carefully consider his words before nodding her head.
There was an awkward silence for a minute, broken when she asked, "How are we going to escape the attention of people at the precinct on the way to your car?"
Nottingham sighed with relief that she had accepted his offer and looked up at her again. By himself, he could escape detection whenever he wanted, but he wasn't sure he could take her with him the way he usually went.
"How did you escape notice in the parking lot when you were stopping Marcus from killing Sara?"
Mac shook her head, "That wasn't me. Marcus has ... special abilities, and escaping the notice of others is one of them. I'm surprised you saw us. I can only detect him when he's hidden because of the Witchblade, and even then not every time."
As he filed this new information away to mull over later, Nottingham took off his gloves and put them in the pocket of his pants. From a belt loop he unhooked the chain that held his wallet and put it in the same pocket. His beanie was next and he smoothed his hair, which hung in jet-black waves several inches past his shoulders, back and into a ponytail. He quickly secured the ponytail with a leather thong that had been in his pocket. He then took off his overcoat and held it up and open for her.
After a moment's hesitation, Mac turned around and put her arms in the sleeves. He pushed the garment up to her shoulders, and she gasped and shivered, far from cold, when his warm hands lingered for a moment, flooded with sensation even though his hands were on top of the thick fabric of his coat. He let go and walked around to face her. The change in him was amazing.
He had a masculine beauty all his own that wasn't hard to see even when he was all bundled up and facing the ground. But like this, in a black sweater that was almost form fitting on his warrior's body, black pants and boots, and with his hair unhidden by the hat, he was magnificent. His facial bone structure was classically handsome, strong and proud. She had never liked facial hair on a man before, but his mustache and beard gave him character, and added to the air of danger that surrounded him.
She liked it. It made her pulse and breath quicken. It made her feel the way Jarod had explained how he felt when he first saw Elaine when they were reunited as teenagers after being separated for years. If her life wasn't quickly approaching it's expiration date, she would have wanted to get to know him better, to see if the feelings only he aroused in her were mutual. But she couldn't start the only relationship of her life with only twenty-eight days left in which to exist. As soon as he helped her get some clothes, she would avoid him as much as possible.
But as she looked into his eyes, large light green orbs surrounded by thick, enviably long black lashes, she wondered if she'd be able to. His eyes were so beautiful and intense that for a moment she felt anchored to him and his world. But he lifted a hand toward her face and she flinched, breaking the spell.
His palm hovered half an inch away from the side of her face and she could feel heat emanating from it. Her nostrils flared slightly and she caught his masculine scent coming from the overcoat now wrapped around her own body. The effect he was having on her was overpowering and she closed her eyes for an instant, her lips parting slightly. Exerting all her will, she re-opened her eyes and licked her suddenly dry lips.
His eyes followed the movement and something flared to life in the moss green depths that knocked the breath right out of her. This time it was Nottingham who broke the connection, asking softly, "Can you make just this part go away?"
From the placement of his hand she knew what he meant and willed the Witchblade to retreat down to shoulder level. He lowered his hand and for an insane moment she wished for it back. Tearing her gaze away from his, she tied the overcoat snugly closed. He reached down and lightly grasped her gauntleted hand in his bare one.
An intense wave of sensation swept over them both and his voice was gruff as he asked, "What about these?"
"No, it would all have to disappear, including the boots." Somehow the thought of only being covered by his overcoat, still warm from his body, was intensely erotic and she flushed slightly. "The gauntlets are the first thing to appear and the last to disappear."
"Okay, you'll just have to put your hands in the pockets." Nottingham turned away and started walking out of the alley. Mac caught up with him and walked beside him through the precinct's parking lot. Jake McCartey walked out to his car as they were passing through, and Mac froze.
Nottingham put his hand at the small of her back and led her past. Jake looked over at them and smiled. Nottingham, relieved the man didn't remember him from their first meeting and grateful to him for giving the woman beside him life, nodded in response and escorted Mac the rest of the way to his car. She slid into the passenger seat and Nottingham realized that it was the first time anyone had sat in that spot. Irons always sat in the back, and no one else had ever ridden in the vehicle with him.
She was already so many firsts for him. He hoped she would be a lot more. Again he was struck by the depths of his feelings for Sara Pezzini's daughter, who he had just met and barely knew. Closing her door, he walked around the car and got in. As he drove to the upscale department store he purchased his own clothing at, he remained silent, letting her sort through her feelings over seeing her father on her own. They were almost there when she finally relaxed and let her head fall back onto the headrest.
Giving her time to rest for a few minutes, Nottingham circled the block a few times. After they had circled six times, she lifted her head and turned to look at him. "You can park now."
He nodded almost imperceptibly and turned the car into the store's underground lot. She lifted a gauntleted hand and suddenly it had only rings on. She looked surprised for only an instant before laying her hand on his sleeve. The sensation that had swept them both in the alley was nothing next to the heat and electricity of this touch. He stopped the car, unable to concentrate on driving, and they both turned their heads to stare at each other.
Mac removed her hand from his arm, her voice barely a whisper, "Thank you."
After a moment a muscle in his jaw tightened and he nodded. He let the car roll forward again and found a spot near the elevators. Trained in courtly arts but rarely having a chance to use them, he came around to her side and opened the door for her. Bare feet swung out, and when she was standing, she frowned down at them.
"Don't worry about it."
She looked doubtful at his words, but followed him into the elevator. They rode up in silence, each in their own corner, thinking over the day's events. When they got off, they were in the women's shoe department. A man in a suit rushed over to them.
"I'm sorry, but we don't allow people in who are not fully dressed."
He had directed his comment at Mac, but when Nottingham stepped in his path and looked down his nose at the man, Ramon, as his small gold badge decreed, gulped.
"M-Mr. Nottingham, what a surprise. If this young lady is your ... friend, we can help you with anything you need."
"My wife," Mac was hard pressed not to gasp in surprise, and the emphasis Nottingham had placed on the word caused Ramon to gulp again, "needs two pairs of running shoes, a pair of boots like the ones I get, and a pair of black dress shoes. Also, however many pairs of nylons you think are appropriate and several pairs of socks."
"Of ... of course. Mrs. Nottingham, will you come over this way so I can measure your feet?"
Mac followed the man and knew a moment of pure panic when Nottingham disappeared from view. Then she spotted his dark head in a department on the other side of the store and relaxed. Maybe there was something he needed, too. Ramon set about measuring her feet and bustled away to bring her the things Nottingham had ordered. She understood the need for socks, running shoes, and even the boots, but what did she need dress shoes and nylons for?
But when Ramón brought out a pair of velvet, strappy heels that tied after winding halfway up her calves, she fell in love with them and didn't care that she would never get the chance to wear them. They were hers from the moment they were on her feet. She had just finished tying the black steel-toe boots when Nottingham rejoined them, a bulging bag in one hand. Setting the bag on a chair, he bent down on one knee to check the fit for himself.
Her heart pounded as she studied the top of his head. It seemed the Fates really had it in for her. He made her feel so much, but she didn't belong here with him and even if she were able to go back to her own time, even if he somehow would want to wait that long for her, he would be dead anyway. Her heart constricted painfully and she resolved to somehow ask her mother to look out for him when she was gone. She was already considering the possibility that talking to her mother about the situation was the easiest way to resolve it without anyone unnecessarily dying. The only problem now was how to approach her, and seeing if Sara would believe her.
Satisfied with the fit of the boot, Nottingham looked up at her, "Take those off, we're going upstairs to one of the personal fitting rooms."
Barefoot once more, she waited as he picked up the bag and instructed Ramon, "We'll take all of it."
"Yes, sir. Do you want me to put these on your account? Perhaps we can set up a separate account for your wife?"
"Not today," Nottingham snapped. Mac wondered why for an instant before reminding herself that after today she probably wouldn't see him again. "I'll pay cash."
He took a large wad of hundreds out of his pocket and peeled off several. Dropping them in the short man's outstretched hand, he bit off, "Keep the change."
Ramon was still practically falling over himself bowing and scraping when they once more boarded the elevator. They rode up in silence, Mac trying to think of how she could possibly pay him back for his generosity while simultaneously cursing her own inability to have planned ahead for all these details. Where was she going to keep all this new stuff? Where was she going to keep herself for that matter? Perhaps she could stay with her mother. But the mere thought of standing face-to-face with her mother for the first time sent her heart plummeting to her toes.
When the elevator stopped she got off and followed Nottingham down a hall to a spacious sitting room with a door on either side. A petite blonde woman opened the door on the right and ushered them inside. Two walls of the room were covered with mirrors, and the opposite corner housed two overstuffed armchairs.
The woman smiled at them both and introduced herself, "I'm Hannah. If there's anything at all I can get for you, just let me know. Now, where should we get started?"
Nottingham again took the initiative and answered, "We just got back from our honeymoon and my wife's clothes seem to have been misplaced. She needs all the basics: under things, shirts, pants, a dress or two. Is there anything else you can think of, darling?'
Mac's breath caught at his easy use of the endearment, but she pulled herself together, knowing they had an audience.
"I prefer jeans to pants, and I'd also like two pairs of sweats."
"All right, Mrs. Nottingham, is there anything I can get for either of you while I get my measuring tape?"
"I'll have a coffee, black, anything for you, darling?"
Mac shook her head and stared at him. He really was very good at lying. Had he done this before?
When Hannah had left the room, she asked, "How is she going to measure me? I'm naked under this."
His gaze became heated instantaneously and her heart rate hit the roof. But he looked towards the floor and the tension in the room eased slightly. Dipping a hand into his original bag, he pulled out a dark green silk nightgown. He held it out to her without lifting his gaze. She took it from his grasp without touching him and turned around. She could see his reflection in the mirror.
His feet were spread shoulder width apart, his hands were clasped in front of him and his head was bowed. Her heart ached for him when she easily recognized the waiting stance of the Black Dragons. She had gone through an advanced form of the training, but with the help of the Witchblade, none of the "loyalty and obedience" side effects had stuck; though her fear of Irons was at times nearly paralyzing.
She untied his overcoat and let it fall to the floor. She quickly lifted the nightgown over her head and let the cool material slide down her body. The garment fit as if made for her, hugging every curve and falling to just above the floor. She turned around and cleared her throat, somehow needing his approval. When he lifted his head she got it in spades. His green eyes devoured her from head to foot and she almost felt as though he had touched her. Almost. He took a step forward and lifted a hand toward the thin strap that had slipped from her shoulder, when the door opened and Hannah walked in. His hand dropped and he resumed his position near the chairs, accepting a steaming cup of dark liquid from the sales woman, very careful to avoid touching her hand.
Hannah appraised the gown and complimented, "It looks as if it was made just for you. Maybe you don't need a personal shopper."
"Oh, I'm afraid I do," Mac confided. "My h-husband picked it out for me. He has much better taste than I do."
"You have very good taste indeed, Mr. Nottingham." The pleasantries dispensed with, she began measuring Mac and making marks in a small notebook. "Well, I'll be back in about twenty minutes, please sit down and relax. If you think of anything else," she pointed to a small button near the door, "buzz me with this and I'll come back right away."
"Thank you," Mac smiled slightly. She wasn't used to smiling a whole lot.
The woman was gone a moment later and Mac was once again alone with Europe's top assassin. The thought gave her pause. It was how Irons had always described him to her. So if Nottingham was Europe's top assassin, who was America's? She mentally shrugged at her own question. It didn't matter.
She sat down in one of the over stuffed chairs and sighed. The chair was heavenly and, other than her small catnap in the car, she hadn't slept in more than forty eight hours. She looked over and up at Nottingham. He was frowning at a spot on the carpet.
She called to him softly, "Nottingham."
He didn't move his head, instead looking at her out of the corner of his eye.
"Come sit down," she pleaded softly.
He took the three steps necessary to stand in front of the other chair and hesitated for a full minute before lowering himself into it. Mac released a breath she hadn't known she was holding and waited silently for Hannah to return. Even though he was looking down per usual, she had the distinct impression that he was studying her. The sensation was disconcerting and oddly comforting at the same time.
Ten minutes later, just as Mac's eyes were about to drift shut, Hannah came in pulling a rack full of clothes. She went out of the door and came back a second later with an empty rack.
"Here you are. You can put the things you don't want on the empty one. Ordinarily, I would stay and help you with zippers and such, but I'm sure your husband will be more than happy to help."
Mac kept her mouth shut. In for a penny, in for a pound. It was much too late now to protect her own modesty. Hannah once again exited the room and shut the door. Mac stood and walked to the full rack, pulling off a matching bra and panty set. Both items were black satin, the bottoms bikini cut. The bra had removable straps that were padded. She slipped the panties on under the nightgown before pulling the garment up over her head. She quickly donned the supportive bra and sighed. It was the most comfortable thing she had ever worn, next to the Witchblade.
Leaving a few more matching sets and several pairs of panties on the full rack, she moved the rest of the under things to the empty one. Nottingham stood up and took a white lace teddy from the stuff she had just moved and put it back on the full rack. She raised her eyebrows but didn't protest. If he wanted to buy the thing, let him. It was his money. Perhaps he had a woman somewhere that he was buying it for. The thought physically hurt her, and she turned back to the task at hand rather than analyze her feelings.
She went through the casual things first. Everything fit perfectly and she kept two pairs of sweats, one black and one gray, as well as three T-shirts, four long sleeved shirts, three pairs of blue jeans and two pairs of black jeans. Nottingham had hovered on the other side of the rack while she tried the items on, and his glowing looks of approval became more important to her than how the garments fit.
She was just about to remove the rest of the casual wear from the rack when he reached into the clothes and pulled out a pair of black leather pants, a white spandex tank, and a blue-green silk button front shirt. He handed her the garments without touching her and she willingly put them on. The pants and tank fit her like a second skin and the shirt flowed gracefully against her body as she did a mock twirl for him. The fire in his eyes urged her to take the outfit off and keep it on the original rack. Also leaving a black hooded sweatshirt on the rack, she put the rest of the casual clothing on the reject rack.
She was going to also remove the dresses from the original rack when his voice stopped her, "You need at least one dress, if you're going to follow your mother around."
"What do you mean?"
"Tomorrow night she and the rookie ... er, your father, are going undercover at a club that's had a serial killer stalking attractive young couples out into the parking lot. They only allow formal wear."
She looked unsure for a minute, and he spoke softly, "I'll take you."
Startled, she looked at him. Their eyes met and held, and she felt as if a bolt of lightning had shot through her. Oh, she wanted him to take her all right, and she had the feeling he wanted it just as badly, but they both had reasons that they couldn't follow through on the desire. Just being near him was torture, but how much worse would it be if she never saw him again?
Just the thought made her feel sick. She nodded her acceptance and turned back to the rack. After pushing things back and forth for a minute, she pulled out three dresses to try. All three were short and made of silk, but there the similarities ended. The black one was off the shoulder and fitted. The red one was loose fitting, cut in the flapper style, with spaghetti straps. And the aquamarine one had one shoulder strap that flowed smoothly into a tight fitting bodice and a full skirt.
Frowning, Nottingham took the red one from her when she held it in front of her and put it on the reject rack. Okay, no flapper style. After removing the straps from her bra, she took the black one off its hangar and pulled it up over her hips. Turning, she presented her back to Nottingham.
"Zip me."
For a moment she thought he would refuse and she would have to awkwardly call Hannah back in to help her, but then he moved closer. The heat emanating from his body threatened to consume her, and she shivered when he gently grasped the zipper tab and slowly slid it up. It took all of her will power not to lean back against him. She wondered if he would say anything about her scars until she looked up and realized he was looking at her face in the mirror and not at her back.
A moment later a knock sounded at the door and Mac called, "Come in."
By the time Hannah had the door open, Nottingham was once again at the rack, pretending interest in the stitching of a leather jacket.
"Well, that looks great on you."
"Thank you, but do you have it in a slightly different style skirt? I wanted to go dancing in it, but it's a little constricting," she took the half step the dress allowed her to prove her point.
Hannah frowned thoughtfully for a moment and said, "I'll be right back."
Nottingham once again moved behind her and unzipped her without being asked. As soon as the zipper was down, he backed away again. Mac let it slide down her body and picked it up to put back on the hanger. A minute later, Hannah came back in with another dress. This one was slightly longer, but as Hannah moved closer, Mac could see that it had a slit on one side that went pretty high. It was also shot through with blood red metallic threads that shone in the light.
Hannah handed her the dress and she pulled it on. Hannah took a step forward to zip it, but Nottingham was already there to do his part. Mac had the feeling that he was jealous not to be included. Her eyes met his over her shoulder in the mirror, and he nodded. He liked this one. She took it off and put it on the keep rack, and Hannah once again excused herself. That left the blue dress.
She slipped this one over her head and let the fabric swirl down her body. Nottingham zipped this one the fastest yet and Mac realized his self control was wearing thin. Hers wasn't much better. But as she stared at herself in the mirror, she knew she couldn't decide between the two dresses. If the black-red dress was seduction, the blue was femininity and sensuality. Nottingham echoed her thoughts, "Get them both."
The softness in her gaze thanked him and he said gruffly, "Pick out something to wear out of here. I need to check in with Irons soon."
Her blood ran cold at the name, but she nodded and did as he instructed, pulling on a pair of blue jeans and a black long sleeve shirt after reattaching the straps on the bra. He handed her the leather jacket after cutting off the tags with a knife and she set it on the chair as she pulled on her socks and boots. Standing, she put on the jacket as Nottingham pressed the button to summon Hannah. She was there a moment later and Nottingham gave her a wad of cash to pay for the things Mac had decided on. Hannah quickly placed their purchases in three separate garment bags and bid them a good afternoon. This last ride in the elevator was just as silent as the others, but the tension was ten times greater.
When the purchases were in the trunk and they were inside the car, Nottingham turned toward her.
"I'm going to take you to my place. It's on the way to Irons and I barely have time to stop there. I don't want to argue with you, and you're free to leave there if you have somewhere else to go, but I am letting you know ahead of time that I have no intention of letting you disappear on me."
"OK," she accepted, not feeling the need to tell him that she had had no intention of leaving.
Nottingham relaxed slightly and started the car. Mac lay her head back and soon drifted off. She woke when he softly called to her. She climbed out of the car when he opened the door for her and grabbed half of the bags, noting that he made sure to carry the first bag himself, the one that he had pulled her nightgown out of. They took yet another elevator ride, this one to the top floor and got off in a loft.
The whole top floor of the building they were in was open, except for two large rooms, one on each side. There was a king sized bed, a small, functional kitchen, and a living room area with a home entertainment center. Beyond the living room was a wall of windows with a door that led out to a balcony. But it was the greater expanse of space off to one side that held her attention; he had a full gym in his loft, as well as a dojo and an enclosed, sound proofed firing range. They had similar set ups at the Centre for herself and the Pretenders in the Black Dragons program. The thought of the Centre brought back the reasons she was here and exhaustion swamped her.
"Bathroom?" she asked softly as he set the bags down.
He pointed to the room on the left and she went into it. It was huge, with a full sized shower and a separate sunken jacuzzi tub more than big enough for two people. For an instant she wondered if he had ever brought another woman up here, but she let the thought go. It wasn't her business. He might just like the size of the tub because he was such a tall man. When she came out a few minutes later, he was gone.
An ice blue nightgown was on the bed, along with a matching silk robe. She got the distinct impression that he liked taking care of her and allowed herself a small smile. When she picked up the nightgown, there was a small square of paper under it with a phone number written in neat, bold strokes. She ran her thumb over the writing and placed the paper next to the phone in case she needed to call him later. Right now she just wanted to get clean and rest. There was no sense dying of exhaustion before her month was up.
Taking off her new clothes, she folded them neatly and put them on the couch, where the rest of the bags were. She noted with amusement that the bag he had guarded was nowhere in sight. Mac took a quick shower, leaving her hair in its braid, and put the nightgown on when she came out. The couch didn't look too comfortable and she really didn't think he'd mind if she took a nap on his bed, so she crawled in between the sheets. The left side of the bed faintly carried his scent and she buried her face in his pillow, breathing him in once before sinking into sleep.