Return of the Warrior Read online

  He looked down at the dark T-shirt, jeans and low boots he was wearing. Passable, but not great. Could he get Sidney to go out with him later, after he fixed her computer?

  His hands tightened on the wheel, and he made an effort to relax his hold.

  He’d met Sidney six months ago when Carl Peterbalm had revamped his computer system. The importer had wanted to cut costs by using reconditioned units, and Luke had given him the best value for the money. But that didn’t mean the hardware was top of the line.

  As he headed for the building in the warehouse district next to Greektown where Peterbalm had his import business, he thought about Sidney.

  She was the most memorable thing about his dealings with Peterbalm. And the cheapskate had gotten better service than he should have expected because Luke had no problem going back there to visit his assistant.

  She was his dream girl. He loved the way her chin-length blond hair swung around her face when she turned her head. The big blue eyes he could drown in. The mouth he longed to kiss. And the cute little figure that filled out a sweater and a pair of slacks so nicely.

  She’d always been friendly when he’d installed the equipment and come back to the office to service it.

  But maybe she was just being polite. Why would she be interested in a guy who grew up in Highlandtown, had barely made it through high school, and grubbed around with computers? Sure he had worked hard to make something of himself. But he had no polish, while she was a college graduate who knew all about art and antiques.

  Still, he could help her out tonight. And maybe she’d like to go out for a beer after she got off work.

  He made a harsh sound as he pulled into the building’s garage and cut the engine. Sure, a woman like her would love to be seen in the working-class bars he frequented.

  SIDNEY PACED BACK AND forth as she waited for Luke to arrive, glancing occasionally at the carved chest that still sat on the table with the other antiques. It was just a box, for Lord’s sake. But the damn thing made her nervous. She couldn’t help thinking that it was going to bring her bad luck. More than anything she wanted to get it out of the office, but she couldn’t just throw it away. Carl had already seen it.

  What was she thinking? Throw away a valuable antique? Of course not.

  Instead of focusing on the chest, she turned her thoughts back to Luke McMillan. By her standards, he was a rough around the edges kind of guy. Not like the young businessmen or lawyers she’d met at church. But she’d been attracted to him from the first time they’d met.

  The problem was, she didn’t know how to get anything going with him. She had the feeling he didn’t think he met her standards. And perhaps when she’d been in college and dating a bunch of preppy guys, that would have been true. Now that she’d been working for a couple of years, she understood what an achievement it was that he’d established his own business and kept it going.

  That’s what she wanted for herself. Maybe he could even give her some pointers, if he’d loosen up and talk to her.

  She thought back over their phone conversation. He’d been flirting with her. Maybe they could keep the banter going in person.

  A noise at the door made her go rigid. When she whirled around, she saw Luke and breathed out a sigh.

  “That was fast. Thanks for coming.”

  “For you, anything.” A cocky smile flashed across his face as he strode into the room, glancing from the computer to her and back again. “So what’s going on with this puppy?” he asked.

  “It froze and now it won’t boot.” As she answered, she realized that it was after hours, and they were alone in the office together. At her invitation.

  Was he thinking about that, too?

  He went over and fiddled with the keyboard and got the same non-response that she had.

  When his cell phone rang, he pulled it out and checked the number.

  “Who’s that?” she asked.

  “A client.”

  “And you’re not going to respond?”

  “I’m busy.”

  He put the phone down on the desk, then turned the machine around, fiddling with some of the attachments.

  “I see what’s wrong,” he said.

  “Thank God. What?”

  “The plug at the computer end of the power cord is loose. It happens sometimes, when the machine gets moved around.”

  “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “Does Carl ever work in here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Well, the important point is that I think I’ve solved the problem.” Opening the briefcase he’d brought along, he shuffled through the contents, then triumphantly pulled out a cord.

  “Here’s an early birthday present.”

  “You know when my birthday is?”

  “Just a figure of speech.” Turning away from her, he swapped the new cord for the one that had been attached to the machine.

  So, had he been snooping in the computer files and looked at her personal information? Did he know her birthday was next week? She might have asked, but the rigid lines of his shoulders warned her not to question him.

  Still with his back to her, he pressed the power button, and the screen lit up.

  Profound relief washed over her. “Thank you so much. You saved my life,” she said.

  He turned and looked up at her. “So do you want to take a dinner break? With me.”

  She felt her chest tighten. He’d finally made a move and she couldn’t go with him. Not tonight.

  “Luke, I’d like to. But I have to get this inventory done before tomorrow morning. That’s why I was working late in the first place.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m not trying to make excuses. I’d love to go out with you. But I can’t tonight.”

  “What do you have to do?”

  She waved her hand toward the crates. “Unpack a boatload of stuff and record everything.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What if I helped with the unpacking?”

  “Would you?”

  “Sure.” He walked toward the cases, then stopped at the table where she’d set the objects she’d already removed. Somehow she’d known that he was going to go right to the carved wooden box.

  Picking it up, he turned it over in his hands. “What’s this?”

  “A friend of mine says it’s from an old religious cult. The Moon Priests.”

  “Never heard of them.” He began moving his fingers over the sides of the chest. When she’d done it, she’d gotten absolutely no results, but when Luke pressed the lower right side of the box, a panel sprang back.

  “Hey!” he exclaimed, then propped his hips against the table as he turned the box, holding it up to the light and looking at the design. Then he pressed a flower on the left side. Again, a panel opened, and she felt a jolt of alarm.

  “Don’t.”

  He looked up and then back at the chest. “I’m not going to break it.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

  “What, then?”

  “Put it down.”

  “In a minute. I think it’s interesting.”

  “And I think it’s dangerous.” Even as she said it, she felt silly. How could an antique be dangerous?

  “Maybe they hid some jewels inside.” He shook it, listening to the faint sound. “Let me find out what’s in here. I’m good with my hands. And careful with delicate things.” His gaze flicked from the box to her. He held her eyes for just a moment, then went back to the task.

  Now she knew he was flirting.

  Any other time, she would have enjoyed the give and take, but this evening she was desperate to stop him. She considered crossing the space between them and snatching the damn thing out of his hand. Instead, she tried another approach. “You remember that chest in the Raiders of the Lost Ark?”

  “What about it?”

  “When the Nazis opened it, something bad happened to them.”

  “This isn’t
the lost ark.”

  “It is from an ancient religion.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s giving me the creeps.”

  He laughed.

  “Don’t make fun of me. I’ve had a bad feeling about that thing ever since I unwrapped it. And Carl did too. I think that’s why he left.”

  “Um hum.” He ignored the warning and kept working on the box. More panels opened, and then the top sprang up.

  As Sidney watched in horror, a white mist blasted out of the box like it had been fired from a cannon and struck Luke in the face.

  Chapter Two

  Sidney gasped.

  The whole room seemed to go cold as the white vapor enveloped Luke. He made a strangled sound and staggered back, the fingers of his right hand clamped around the chest. With his free hand, he scrabbled at the edge of the table as he tried to steady himself.

  His face had turned pale as death, and a shudder raced across his skin.

  “What the hell…” The sentence ended in a wheeze as he tried and failed to fill his lungs.

  While Sidney watched in horror, his body began to jerk, like someone having a grand mal seizure. But she was sure it wasn’t because he had any illness. It was from the white mist.

  “Luke!” she screamed as he toppled forward, knocking the pitcher off the table when he fell.

  The delicate china shattered, and Luke’s body continued to shake as he hit the floor.

  “Oh Lord.”

  Sidney dropped to her knees, quickly pushing the shards of porcelain out of the way as she knelt beside Luke.

  His eyes were closed, and his body was still shaking, his muscles twitching and contracting.

  Finally, the quaking stopped, and she whispered a silent prayer.

  He lay deathly still, his face pale as salt and his breathing shallow. But at least he was breathing. When she pressed her fingers to the artery in his neck, she felt his pulse beating and also the warmth of his skin.

  “Luke?”

  He didn’t answer. What had that awful white mist from the box done to him? Was it some kind of poison? It couldn’t be a virus or a bacteria, could it? Not and hit him that fast, she told herself.

  But she couldn’t help wondering if she was going to start gasping, then go unconscious.

  “Luke?” she said again. She shook his shoulder gently, but he didn’t move. She glanced toward the phone on the table, thinking she should call 911. He needed medical help—help she couldn’t provide.

  But when she started to get up, his hand shot out and captured her wrist, holding her in an iron grip.

  Her gaze shot to his face as his eyes blinked open and focused on her. They were Luke McMillan’s dark eyes, the eyes that had given her an admiring look when he’d first come strolling into the office. Yet, at the same time they belonged to someone else. A man who was more assessing. More commanding. More dangerous than Luke McMillan had ever been.

  That was impossible. But she couldn’t shake the conviction that the man clamping her wrist in his hand had changed in some fundamental way when that mist had hit him.

  He was staring at her mouth with an open lust that Luke would never have let her see. Or had she been fooling herself about him all along? Was he really a lot less civilized than she’d assumed?

  His lips moved, and he said a bunch of syllables that made no sense to her. It was like he was suddenly speaking in a language she couldn’t understand.

  “What?”

  He didn’t reply.

  When she tried to pull away, he kept his iron grip on her wrist, but his gaze had turned inward, and it looked like he was listening to some voice she couldn’t hear.

  Then his lips moved again. This time, he murmured her name, although the accent was strange, as though he had spoken some other language all his life.

  “Sidney.”

  “You recognize me?”

  “Yes. You were with him when he opened the box. He was thinking about how much he wanted to make love to you.” Again, his accent was unfamiliar.

  “What do you mean—him? It was you,” she said in a voice she couldn’t keep steady.

  “It was me,” he said slowly, apparently considering the statement. Then his gaze focused on her again.

  “You. Luke McMillan.”

  “Luke McMillan?” he mused. “A strong name. Good.”

  Then she saw him switch his attention back to her. “You’re lovely,” he said, his tone deep and rough.

  “I have to call 911. You need to go to the hospital.”

  His eyes turned fierce. “No.”

  Before she could move, he reached up with his free hand and drew her down against the hard wall of his chest.

  She managed to say, “Don’t,” before he cupped his hand around the back of her head and brought her lips to his.

  His mouth moved under hers, hungry and demanding, like a man who had been denied all pleasure for a thousand years or more. Or maybe a man released from prison and desperate for the sensations of the world.

  He changed the pressure of his lips, subtly softening the kiss, and that was sexier than his previous assault.

  As he devoured her mouth, his hands were busy, sliding down her back, molding her body to his. Even as heat roared through her veins, somewhere in her mind, she was shocked—by her own behavior and by his.

  This was wrong! Luke had just gotten hurt. And she shouldn’t be draped on top of him making out.

  If this was Luke.

  A dart of fear stabbed her as that notion lodged in her brain again. This had to be Luke. Who else could it be?

  The frantic thought evaporated as soon as it had formed. She was too busy responding to the sexy man who clasped her in his arms.

  When he realized she wasn’t going to pull away, he drew her lower lip into his mouth, sucking and nibbling. He was good at what he was doing, and she heard a small murmur of arousal rise in her throat.

  He seemed to drink in the sound as he silently asked her to open for him. She did, thrilling to the stroke of his tongue against hers. As he deepened the kiss, he slid her body fully on top of his, then swept his fingers across her back, pulling out the hem of her blouse. His hand slipped inside and stroked her skin, large and warm and firm against her heated flesh. He made a needy sound deep in his throat.

  She answered in kind as he cupped her bottom through the fabric of her slacks, pressing her against his erection.

  He was ready to make love to her. And she responded with a surge of arousal.

  “Hold me,” he said in a gritty voice.

  She did as he asked, clutching his broad shoulders as he reversed their positions, coming down on top of her, then raising up on his hands so that he could look into her dazed eyes.

  It felt like the world had vanished. Only the two of them existed in a bubble of supercharged sexuality.

  For months she had been attracted to Luke McMillan, had wondered what it would be like to make love with him. Well, now she was finding out. In the past few moments he had turned into the most exciting man she had ever met.

  She knew without doubt that he would have her naked soon, and then he would join his body with hers right here on the floor of her office.

  He moved, and his boot scraped the floor, hitting a piece of the pitcher that he’d pulled off the table when he fell.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “The pitcher. You pushed it off the table when you went down.”

  He uttered something that might have been a curse in that foreign language he’d used before. Then he levered himself off of her, stood and helped her to her feet. “We are in danger.”

  “What danger?”

  “From the thieves who want the box.”

  The answer made no sense to her, yet she heard the absolute conviction in his voice.

  He flexed his muscles, moving his arms and legs like a man stretching after a long night’s sleep.

  Again he seemed to be paying attention to some voice she couldn’t hear
.

  “Who are you listening to?” she asked.

  “Luke McMillan.”

  “You are Luke McMillan,” she snapped.

  “Yes. And also I am Zabastian, the guardian of the box.”

  “Oh come on.” Even as she spoke, she was wondering if he’d seriously damaged his brain when he’d hit the floor. Or had she damaged hers? He’d hurt himself, and she’d come down on top of him, her lips fused to his in a heated kiss.

  She could say that he’d pulled her down. But she hadn’t objected. And he certainly hadn’t been behaving like the Luke McMillan she knew. That guy was shy—at least with her.

  This man was anything but shy. He was commanding. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it.

  He interrupted her thoughts with another of his cryptic comments.

  “Luke is still here. But he is not in control. He cannot be. Not now.”

  “What are you talking about? Why do you sound so…stilted?”

  Ignoring her, he reached down to scoop the box off the floor. “How did you come by this?”

  “It arrived in a shipment of antiques from France.”

  “I do not understand the reference,” he said, standing quietly again. Then his expression cleared. “Luke has told me about France. The Coneheads are from France.”

  She laughed. “Is that what he thought of first? There are a few other things—like Bordeaux wine, onion soup and champagne.”

  “We will discuss France later. We must leave before the thieves arrive.”

  He turned toward the door, but stopped him.

  “Wait a minute. You’re not going anywhere until you explain who you are, if you’re not Luke.”

  “I already told you my name. I am Zabastian, a warrior whose spirit was trapped in the box.”

  Okay. She’d play along, try to figure out his game. “Like a genie in a bottle?” she asked sweetly.

  “I have heard of that. The genie grants wishes?”

  “Yes.”

  “I do not,” he said firmly.

  She stared at him. Maybe he wasn’t playing games. Maybe he was afflicted with a multiple personality disorder or something, and he’d hid it well until he hit his head.

  “Luke is still in your body?” she asked carefully.