Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)(115)

Wilhelm whistled. "So that's the way the wind blows."

"Hardly," she said sharply. "I have never even met Claude Mueller, Wilhelm, and I don't appreciate your insinuations."

"Oh, don't be so sensitive, Erin," Rachel purred. "We're all adults."

Lydia's smile was calculated and cold. "Have a lovely time this evening, Erin. Ah, youth is wasted on the young. Just wasted."

Erin fled the table and hurried out of the restaurant, gasping for fresh air. These people were awful. How could she ever have tolerated their falseness, their manipulative games? What had changed in her? She wanted to take a bath after lunch with those four.

She hailed a cab, gave the driver directions, and stared miserably out the window, pressing her hand against the sharp ache in her belly. It ate at her like acid, how bad Connor must feel: his anger and confusion and hurt. And his fear. His fear for her was very real to him. How well grounded it might be in outside reality she could not say, but that didn't make it any less painful for him. Or for her.

It felt so cruel, so incredibly wrong, to turn away from him. But she had to break out of his hold on her. She needed some air, some distance, so she could figure out where she stood. What was real.

Connor's charisma was so powerful, he warped her reality into any shape he pleased. He was so intelligent and intense, his force of will so overwhelming. She couldn't think straight when he was near her. He swept her away every time, no matter how hard she tried to resist.

Her heart and her body and her love would always betray her.

The taxi pulled up at the curbside of a beautiful turn-of-the-century mansion on Heydon Terrace. The wrought iron gates yawned opened for her unbidden as she paid the cabbie. It was time to get jerked around by Mueller and his piles of money. Oh, goodie. She would have laughed, but she didn't dare shake up her unsteady stomach.

Tamara Julian was waiting for her in the palatial foyer. Erin greeted her with wary politeness after that odd episode at Silver Fork, but Tamara was warm and friendly.

"I'm so glad we got in touch with you in time," Tamara said. "Mr. Mueller is so anxious to meet you. Come with me, please. I have to show you something before I present you."

Present her, indeed. Good grief. As if she were being taken before royalty. She muffled silent, half-hysterical laughter behind her hand as she followed Tamara through the big, lavish rooms, up a sweeping flight of stairs, and down a corridor into a plush bedroom full of freshly cut flowers. Their odor was heavy and sickeningly sweet.

Tamara opened up a safe in the wall, and pulled out a flat black velvet case. She handed it to Erin. "Take a look at this," she said.

Erin opened the box, and let out a sigh of awe.

It was a golden torque, La Tene period, but far more sumptuous than any she had seen. And it was the same style as the jewelry excavated from the ancient burial mounds that she had studied in Wrothburn.

There were dragons with garnet eyes where the ends of the torque met, their claws raised in challenge. Their serpentine tails formed a lavish, swirling pattern that extended down over the wearer's chest. The piece was exquisite. It shimmered and glowed like trapped sunlight against the black velvet.

"This is Mr. Mueller's latest acquisition," Tamara said. "He's been negotiating for it for months. This is the reason he had to rush off to Hong Kong the other day."

"It's incredible," she breathed. "Perfect. Would you show me the provenance information?"

Tamara smiled. "I could, but I won't. Not tonight, Erin. This is not for you to study. Put it on."

"God, no!" She held out the box, appalled. "That's ridiculous!"

Tamara gently pushed it back. "Why do you think I brought you up here? Mr. Mueller has a very special request of you today. He wants you to wear the dragon torque when you meet with him."

She looked down at her simple navy suit, her high-necked white silk blouse. "But I… I can't. I—I—"

"I understand perfectly," Tamara said briskly. "You need something different as a backdrop. Mr. Mueller and I anticipated this problem. We've arranged for several different gowns to be delivered this afternoon. Size eight, right?" Erin nodded. "Thought so," Tamara went on. "They're all stunning, and believe me, I'm fussy. We'll find something you'll like."

"Oh, no. It's not that," she protested. "But it's not—"

"Proper?" Tamara's laugh rang out, full and rich and beautiful. She kissed Erin's cheek. "That's priceless. I love it. You are a work in progress, Erin Riggs, but you'll be a masterpiece before you're through."

Erin shook her head. "I can't."

"Why?" Tamara demanded.

Erin closed her eyes against Tamara's probing gaze and tried to breathe deeply. She was too stressed and confused to come up with the cutting retort that she needed to fend the woman off. All she could think of was Connor's certain reaction to Mueller's request. His outraged pride.

"Don't you like playing dress-up, Erin?" Tamara's tone was lightly teasing. "It's just a harmless game. Mr. McCloud is nowhere in sight, and we're certainly not going to tell on you."

The taunt stung. "I do not need permission from anyone," Erin snapped. "I'm just uncomfortable with the idea. That's all."