Immortal Billionaire, page 16
Connie reached up and placed her hands on each side of his face. The electrical charge in the atmosphere was nothing to the spark that flashed through her body every time she touched Sylvester. “We didn’t choose this magic we have, Sylvester. It chose us. I love you and I can’t turn off or redirect those feelings just because there might be an easier way. I can’t...and I don’t want to. I know my heart will be broken in a few days’ time. It breaks every time I think of losing you, but I would rather have a few precious hours with you than a lifetime with someone else.”
With a sound close to a sob, Sylvester hauled her into his arms, fitting her body so tight against his that not even a pinprick of light could slide between them.
* * *
The dawn light showed the aftermath of the storm and Connie stood beside Sylvester on the balcony outside his room, surveying the damage. Corazón had withstood much worse and, although a few palm trees had snapped in two like matchsticks, the tranquility of the island was otherwise undisturbed.
“The house itself has only ever taken a direct hit once. That was during Emilio’s time, when a fierce storm damaged part of the roof. It took a lot of work to restore it.”
Connie was wearing just his shirt and nothing else, and the sight of her long, bare legs as she leaned over the balustrade was distracting Sylvester. Her next words drew his attention back to her face. There was a slight frown in the golden depths of her eyes. “Were you Emilio?”
“I was.” He took her hand in his. “I have been here since Máximo bought this island from the Calusa king in the 1520s. Not King Yargua, of course. I doubt he would have been willing to sell me the island. But, when Cariña and I returned to Florida after we were married, Yargua was dead and his successor was happy to take Spanish gold in exchange for the most remote of his islands. I have been the head of the house of de León since that date, Connie. I have had different names, of course, but I have been the same person throughout the centuries.”
The frown deepened. “But Emilio was evil.”
“No. People said Emilio was evil. There is a difference.”
“So, the lighthouse, the wreckers...that was all just a story? But I could feel the emotion of what happened when we were at the lighthouse.”
“Oh, it happened. Just not the way history paints it. There was a time when these islands—the chain known as Corona de Perlas—although geographically miles apart, were more closely linked. The families who lived on them formed a political alliance against any outside attack. Corazón, as the largest and most strategically placed, was highly prized. As a group, the families collaborated on the building of the lighthouse. It was to serve two purposes. It would warn sailors about the treacherous rocks here on Corazón and also act as an early warning if ever the islands came under attack.” Sylvester allowed his mind to take him back to a time he preferred not to think about. The darkest time in Corazón’s dark history.
“There was a very ambitious leader on one of the other islands, a man called Marco Alvarez. I—Emilio—fell ill. It was smallpox and I wasn’t expected to live.” He laughed. “Of course I was going to live. But I was the only person who knew that.
“With no wife to nurse me, my recovery was a long and difficult one. Alvarez offered to help by assisting with the running of Corazón. I had no choice but to accept his offer. When I was well enough to take control of my own affairs, I discovered what was going on at the lighthouse.
“He had used my absence to bring a team of wreckers onto Corazón. They had already murdered hundreds of innocent people in my name. To ensure my silence, Alvarez had been placing large sums of money, spoils from the wrecks, in the Corazón coffers. It looked as though Emilio was the instigator of the wrecking activity. They were difficult times. If I spoke out against Alvarez, I allowed others to see that I wasn’t strong enough to run my own affairs. I risked a possible invasion of Corazón by one of the other de Perlas leaders. All I could do was close down the lighthouse as fast as I could. From then on, Corazón had little to do with the other islands.” His face hardened at the memory. “And nothing at all to do with Siguiente, the island home of Marco Alvarez.”
“It’s been bothering me ever since you said you had always been the head of the house of de León. I knew you must have been Emilio, yet I knew you couldn’t be evil.” Connie slid her arms around his waist. “You said Emilio had no wife?”
“Having found perfection with Cariña, I never married again.” Sylvester gave a soft laugh. “It wasn’t as if I needed an heir. I always knew who the next head of the house would be.”
When Connie lifted her face to his, her eyes were filled with tears. “So you have been alone all this time?”
“I could never replicate what we had. And I had my memories of my life with Cariña—with you.”
“But you’ve been lonely.”
He looked down into those shimmering dark eyes. Eyes that seemed to draw his soul into their golden depths. “Yes, I’ve been lonely.” He had never known how much until now.
Connie rose on the tips of her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing herself flush against him.
Sylvester shuddered, grinding his mouth down on hers as he crushed her even tighter against him. Holding her like this stripped him of every defense, of his power to think. When he could taste her and feel her, she pounded in his blood, his heart, his brain and his cock. And the centuries melted away. The hurt, the loneliness, the longing, the pain. All of those things ceased to matter. The fear of what was to come, the unknown, that step into the void, only affected him because it must tear him away from this perfection.
“God, Connie.” He lifted her, feeling the silken warmth of her buttocks beneath his fingertips, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He knew there was no way he could take those few steps to the bedroom. Not with only his zipper between her soft, wet warmth and his throbbing erection. Connie rocked impatiently against him as he fumbled himself free, found a condom in his pocket and managed—despite his overwhelming need—to hold on to her and get it on before pushing inside her. And then he was lost in a rush of sweet sensation.
Throwing his head back, he murmured a soft curse. Being inside her was always incredible, overwhelming. Nothing mattered except this, here, now. The point where their bodies connected and the wild stream of heat that thrilled through him. A flood of pleasure so intense it was painful. Holding her against him, he thrust into her, losing himself in her as deep and as hard as he could. Over and over. Never enough.
Connie nuzzled his neck, murmuring his name as the first waves of orgasm hit her, and Sylvester felt his climax wash over him, taking him, claiming him, drowning him. It took forever to come back down from that high. Still inside her, he carried Connie through to the bedroom. Lowering her to the bed, he eased himself down on top of her and held her there.
“What you said just now—” her voice was husky “—was that true? There has been no one else in five hundred years? Not one of those women in the newspapers?”
Keeping his weight on one elbow, he brushed her hair back from her brow with his other hand. “Not one of them.”
“My God, Sylvester.” She reached up a hand and cupped his face, her eyes darkening with emotion. Her delicate lips were parted, her hair wild, her cheeks still flushed. She flipped his world upside down every time he looked at her. Celibacy had been an easy choice for a man who had never wanted anyone else. There had only been her for him.
“After I lost Cariña, it was as if there was a huge weight pressing down on my chest. As if from then on I carried a giant stone around with me everywhere in place of my heart. Everything was an effort. It was as if I had to remind myself to take my next breath. And the worst part of all was that I knew I would have to go on endlessly without her. I wouldn’t have just one lifetime to miss her, but so many. Those fresh waves of grief that hit you over and over? I’ve had five hundred years’ worth of them.”
“The things you did years ago, the daredevil, dangerous things...were they your way of trying to join her?” Connie placed her head on his chest, exactly where that imaginary stone had been. Except, with her soft cheek there, the centuries-old agony was magically erased.
“It sounds foolish now, doesn’t it? Climbing Everest, trekking to the North Pole, flying single-handed around the world, climbing the sheer face of El Sendero Luminoso without a rope, using just my bare hands...” He listed some of his exploits. “I was challenging fate. Pushing this immortality thing to its limits. Seeing if I could overthrow it. There are people who spend fortunes larger than mine chasing everlasting life. But all I have ever wanted was to be a normal person. To live a normal life. Die a natural death.” His chest expanded painfully as he stroked her hair. “Without Cariña, I wasn’t alive. I was merely existing.”
Connie lifted her head, the light from her eyes pouring into his, her whole heart in her gaze. Those eyes saw everything. They knew him, understood him, empathized with all that he was and all that he’d been through. The intensity of her feelings stripped Sylvester of everything, leaving him shaking and raw, leaving him feeling as though they had both walked over hot coals to reach this moment. All he could do was cling to her, murmuring her name over and over.
Gradually the storm of emotion subsided, but before either of them could do or say anything more, there was a furious pounding on the door and Matt’s voice, higher pitched than usual and slightly panicky, reached them.
“Sylvester, come quick. It’s Jonathan.”
Chapter 13
Jonathan lay unconscious near the door of his room. His bed hadn’t been slept in and he was still dressed in the same clothes he’d been wearing at dinner the night before. He appeared to have sustained a brutal and bloody beating. The windows to the balcony were open, the curtains blowing slightly in the breeze.
Roberto, having been roused from his bed, checked him over where he lay. “He’s been battered about the head and body. I’m no expert, but I’d say with something other than fists, some sort of blunt object. It looks like he’s taken several blows to the head,” he told Sylvester. “His vital signs, pulse and heart rate, appear to be fine, but I don’t know what internal damage has been done. Under normal circumstances, I’d say let’s get him to a hospital, but, since that bastard has us trapped here...”
“What can we do for him?” After exchanging Sylvester’s shirt for her own clothes, Connie had made her way to Jonathan’s room.
“Let’s make him as comfortable as we can.” Roberto set about removing Jonathan’s shoes, tie, jacket and trousers. Then, between them, he and Sylvester lifted the other man, dressed only in his underwear, onto the bed. Connie arranged the bedclothes over him and fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom. She thought his eyelids flickered slightly when she placed it on his forehead. When he showed no further signs of coming around, she decided it must be her imagination and didn’t mention it to her companions.
“What made you come to his room?” Sylvester asked Matt.
“My own room is next door. I’d just woken up when I heard a noise—a sort of loud thud—and, after everything that’s happened, I was suspicious. I knocked on Jonathan’s door. When I didn’t get an answer after knocking a few times, I decided I’d rather barge in and risk annoying him than leave it and find out later that something awful had happened.”
“It’s a good thing you did,” Connie said with a shudder. “Just imagine if you’d gone away and he’d been lying here even longer.”
Sylvester frowned. “But he must have been attacked last night. He was still fully dressed and he hadn’t been to bed. If he’s been lying here unconscious all night, what was the thud you heard?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he regained consciousness, was trying to get help and fell again?” Matt suggested.
“Is that possible?” Sylvester turned to Roberto.
“From his injuries, I’d have said not, but I suppose anything is possible.”
Connie had a horrible thought. “Sylvester, you don’t suppose the attacker came back again? Maybe he attacked Jonathan last night and returned this morning but Matt disturbed him?”
She had a mental image of her stalker, masked and silent. For once, she didn’t picture him attacking her. Instead he was beating Jonathan into unconsciousness. Maybe he thought he had killed him? Had he gone away, been unsure and come back to check? Finding him still alive, had he intended to finish the job but been driven out onto the balcony and into jumping over when Matt began pounding on the door?
Her skin prickled, then cooled with the sickly sweat of nausea. Her pulse seemed to take over her body, sending the blood pounding too quickly to her head, so she had to lean forward to get rid of the sudden dizzy feeling. I will not let him do this to me. He is not in control of my life. The unspoken words steadied her and she was able to look up again. When she did, Matt’s eyes were on her face and she met them squarely. Don’t you dare ask if I’m okay. He must have seen the flash of fire in her expression because he quickly looked away again.
“Has anyone checked on Guthrie and Lucinda?” Sylvester’s words raised the prospect of a new specter. What if Jonathan wasn’t the only person the attacker had visited in the night?
“I’ll go.” Matt hurried away. Seconds later they heard him knocking on doors.
When he returned a few minutes later, it was with good news. “They both slept soundly once the storm was over and didn’t hear anything unusual last night.”
With a feeling of relief, Connie turned back to Jonathan. As she ran the cool cloth over his brow again, his eyelids fluttered and he gave a soft groan. “He’s coming around!”
“Thank God.” Sylvester hurried to her side.
“What the—?” Jonathan opened his eyes, groaned louder and closed them again.
“You were attacked,” Connie told him. “Try to lie still.”
“I don’t think I can do anything else.” He gave a shaky laugh. “My head hurts like hell.”
“Can you remember what happened?” Sylvester asked.
Jonathan opened his eyes again. “I remember coming up here with Matt after dinner—”
He was interrupted as Matt gave a sudden shout and ran toward the balcony. This action drew everyone’s attention away from what Jonathan was saying.
“Stay here.” Sylvester spoke urgently over his shoulder to Connie as he and Roberto followed Matt.
That familiar prickle started to work its way up from the base of her spine, heating her flesh. He is here and he’s playing his games. She could hear the three men talking on the balcony, but couldn’t quite catch what they were saying. There was clearly no big altercation going on. They hadn’t captured any intruder.
“I don’t remember anything more,” Jonathan said. “Nothing at all.”
When the others returned, Matt looked sheepish. “I’m sure I saw a shadow on the balcony. An outline of a man’s shape. If he was there at all, he was too fast for me.”
Sylvester looked slightly skeptical, as though he thought Matt might have been jumping at shadows.
Connie gripped her hands tightly together. Whatever Matt had seen when he’d dashed toward the balcony, she had felt the stalker’s presence in that instant. It was hard to believe he would be bold enough to come back again, climbing onto the balcony in broad daylight, knowing there could be other people in Jonathan’s room.
Dear Lord, could he have been here all the time, listening to us, knowing what we were doing and saying?
The thought sent a fresh wave of fear thrilling through her and only Sylvester’s clear blue eyes, steady on her face, anchored her, grounded her and allowed her to continue with some pretense of normality.
With the immediate drama over, attention switched back to Jonathan. He was a pitiful sight, the unbruised areas of his face as white as the sheets he lay on. “I can’t remember a damn thing after I came into my room.” He winced as he tried to turn his head to look at Matt. “I can’t even remember what we were talking about before we said good-night.”
“Nor can I. It was idle chitchat, I think.”
Sylvester drew Connie and Matt aside while Roberto checked Jonathan over more thoroughly. Matt ran a hand through his already disordered hair. “Is he picking us off one by one? What’s the point of that? To frighten us, enrage us, drive us crazy?”
“All of those,” Sylvester said. “This attack was worse than the one on you, so maybe we can expect the next one, if it comes, to be worse again. We have to put a stop to his games.”
“That’s exactly what he does. He plays games.” Connie gave a soft moan and he slid an arm around her waist. “But he won’t stop until he gets to me.”
Sylvester’s fingers tightened, gripping her hard against him. “He’ll have to go through me before he can get to you.”
Even though neither of them said it aloud, Connie knew they were both thinking the same thing. Sylvester would be gone in four days.
* * *
Despite everything that was going on, there were aspects of the de León family history that fascinated and puzzled Connie. She supposed it was because, through Cariña, she was caught up in it now.
“Did you have to reinvent a new identity for yourself each lifetime so that no one became suspicious of you?” she asked Sylvester as they walked along the edge of the water watching the moonlight dance on the waves.
“Yes,” Sylvester said. “I haven’t been reborn each time. I have simply lived on...and on. But, I reasoned that I couldn’t always be Máximo de León. Instead, every seventy years or so, I changed my name. I didn’t just do it on a whim. I would change my servants, go off on a voyage for a while. Return as the new head of the family. It was easier in a world where there was no record-keeping or regulation. This time, it has been harder. Sylvester de León will disappear soon, and that will cause problems. Particularly as Sylvester de León has never actually existed. I’m trusting Arthur Reynolds to make everything right.”
