Fairy Tales Of New York: Taming The Beast Part 11

But that wasnt true, really, was it? He didnt have a home. He never had had one. Various amba.s.sadorial residences across Europe didnt count. Nor did barracks and tents in G.o.dforsaken parts of the world. This place certainly wasnt it, even though hed been living here for years now. It was merely convenient. Citizens of the world, both he and Zel, and that had always been fine with him.

"So whats down here?" she said, turning to the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt which sent a stab of alarm shooting through him.

Too much. "Nothing."

The look she shot him was a.s.sessing. Thoughtful. "What are you hiding down there, Seb? Bodies?"

No. Just his past. His hang-ups. His memories. Very much not for Mercys or anyones consumption. "Im not hiding anything at all."

"Then whats the problem?"

The problem was him. And her. The problem was huge. "Theres no problem," he said, because what else could he say?

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes seeming to see far too much. "OK," she said eventually, removing her hand from the door handle which should have made him relax, but didnt. "If its that big a deal, forget it."

"Its not a big deal," he heard himself say. "Go on down."

And while one half of his brain was demanding to know what the h.e.l.l he was doing the other was telling him that this his hand on the handle, turning it, opening the door and drawing it back to expose his deepest fears to her somehow, had been inevitable from the start.

Why had Seb not wanted her to come down here? Mercy wondered as she hit the lights, slipped down the steps and gazed in admiration at the sight before her eyes. Just as shed suspected the cellar beneath the Madison townhouse was magnificent.

Brick walls stretched out in front of her, rising up to form an arched ceiling high above. The floor was stone, smooth and cool beneath her feet although dusty. Lining the walls were the racks that stood perhaps ten feet high and extended from where she stood right to the far end of the cellar and in between, halfway down was a round table, to be used, she supposed, for tastings.

Lovely s.p.a.ce, lovely proportions, and above all, some seriously lovely wines.

"Wow, Seb," she murmured, walking a little further into the cellar, her gaze roaming over the thousands of bottles laid on their sides, all dusty, clearly untouched for years. "This must be worth millions."

She glanced back to see hed folded his arms over his bare chest and his expression back to tonights default setting of grim neutrality. "Possibly."

"Your collection?"

"My fathers."

"How much of it have you drunk?"

"None."

She lifted her eyebrows. "None?"

"I dont drink."

"Why not?"

"I dont like the taste."

"What a waste." She ran her fingers over some of the bottles and watched the traces she made in the thick dust. "This section in particular should be drunk now, Seb. If you arent going to drink it, you should sell it. It would be a shame to see it ruined."

"Probably."

But he wouldnt. The past still held him too tightly in its grip, that much was obvious.

"Oh, look," she said, ignoring the ache that took up inside her at the thought of that, and instead bending down and dusting off a label. "Heres a Faith."

"Heres a what?"

"A Faith. Or technically a Riesling." This one a 1990 from Germany. "Beautiful, graceful, yet under-appreciated, underrated and very much undervalued." Moving down the racks in search of a Dawn, she dusted off another bottle. "And heres a Dawn," she said. "A Barossa s.h.i.+raz. Australian. Bold, clever, challenging."

"Do you have wines for all your friends?"

"Of course. Although Zeldas not actually a wine. Shes absinthe."

"Guaranteed to drive you mad?"

Mercy smiled. "Highly spirited."

"What am I?"

She stilled. Straightened. Thought she should probably tell him he wasnt a friend, especially not with tonights moodiness, but that wasnt strictly true now and she couldnt bring herself to lie. "An Islay whisky, I should think," she said casually, as if she hadnt really given the matter much thought.

"Scottish?"

"Smooth, delicious, layered, complex, difficult."

His eyes darkened as he approached her. "And what are you?"

"Me?" she said, blinking at him in surprise since strangely shed never given any thought to what she might be. "Oh, Im nothing."

"You are far from nothing, Mercedes," he said, his expression losing some of its harshness as his gaze roamed over her. "Are you done down here? Because Im thinking bed would be good place to explore next. Mines been getting cold."

Yes, yes, there would be plenty of time for that later. Right now, though, she was more interested in what else he had stashed away down here, which said a lot for the degree of her curiosity. "Whats through there?" she asked, keeping her eyes away from the broad, muscled chest that nevertheless could easily distract her.

Seb frowned. "Through where?"

"That door."

"Which door?"

"That one." Honestly.

Seb shoved his hand through his hair and sighed, and it sounded like resignation, weariness and a whole lot more besides.

"The garage."

"Full of cars you dont drive, I imagine," said Mercy with a dry smile that she expected him to return. When he didnt, when he carried on just frowning down at the floor, her smile faded as it dawned on her that that might actually be the case.

"Dont be absurd," he muttered, and she realized with a twist of her heart that there was no 'might about it.

"May I see?"

"Why not?" said Seb, and she didnt know what to make of the faint bitterness in his tone. "Youve seen everything else."

He led her towards the far end of the cellar. Through the door that hed had such trouble identifying. Down a pa.s.sageway and through another door, and then they were in the garage, full, as hed implied, of the most gorgeous cars shed ever seen.

There had to be a dozen of them, she thought, dazzled by the sight. Some vintage, some modern, all highly polished, the metal and chrome gleaming beneath the dim light that spilled down. She was no expert, she had to admit as she walked further into the garage and looked round, but even she could recognise an Aston Martin, a Porsche and a Ferrari when she saw them.

"This is quite a collection, Seb."

"I like beautifully constructed things," he said, stroking his hand over the gleaming red hood of a Mustang although he was looking at her.

"But you dont actually drive them."

"Not often."

"Why not?"

"It isnt practical in Manhattan."

Nonsense. These werent 'practical cars. "Do you drive at all?"

Seb shrugged. "I can."

"But you dont."

"I dont need to. I have a driver."

Right. "Ever sit at the wheel of one of these things?" she asked casually.

He winced at that, although whether it was in response to the idea of it or her reference to 'these things she didnt know. "Not recently."

Or ever, she surmised. "Want to try it?"

"Mercy," he said warningly.

She went round, pulling gently on the handles until one of them gave. The car was a silver one. An old one. A soft-top. A Mercedes, she noted, spying the badge on the front as she walked over to the drivers side. Appropriate. "Come on," she said, looking over her shoulder at him and seeing that he was standing just behind her, unnaturally still.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing."

His face darkened. "This isnt a game."

"No," she said. "It isnt."

Because a game wouldnt be tearing at her heart like this. Seb was in trouble and he was hurting he had been for years and she hated to think of him in pain.

Especially when she might be able to do something about it, because 'just s.e.x arrangement be d.a.m.ned, she wanted to. How could she not?

"Let me help you, Seb."

His jaw set. "I dont need help."

"You have a wine collection youre hanging on to when it should be sold and a garage full of cars you never drive."

"So?"

"Do you really not see the problem with that?" Of course he did. He had to.

"Maybe I like having a garage full of cars I never drive," he said, his eyes glittering with resolve and behind that, something bleak and sad and infinitely more distressing. "Like I like having these." He pointed to the scars from the accident that marred his torso. "Maybe I like having the reminders, Mercedes. Maybe I need them. Ever think of that?"

No, she hadnt. But that couldnt be good for him. It wouldnt be good for anybody. "So you wont get behind this wheel?"

"No," he said roughly. "I cant."

"OK, then," she said, not entirely sure where she was going with this, although suddenly it seemed imperative that she got him to take this step, because if she could just get him to do that then maybe he might start letting go and surely that had to be a good thing. "Would you mind if I did?"

"Go ahead."

She opened the door and slid in. "This is nice," she said, releasing the catches of the roof, lifting it up and pus.h.i.+ng it back. Then she sat back down and snuggled into the seat.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting comfy."

"What for?"

"This car is very cool," she said, choosing not to answer that in case he ran a mile and instead running her fingers along the s.h.i.+ning walnut dashboard. "The leather is so soft. All this cla.s.sic luxury and old glamor... it makes me feel, you know, kind of s.e.xy."

She s.h.i.+fted again and this time Sebs dressing gown, too big for her anyway, slipped off her shoulders. She did nothing to right it, although she did pick up and replace the condom that had fallen out of a pocket because while she hadnt known it was there, it might come in useful.

Sitting up and knowing now exactly where she was hoping to go with this, Mercy closed her eyes and let her head drop back. She breathed in deep and let hot, erotic images of Seb and the many things theyd done together drift into her head.

Desire began to sweep through her, making her tingle from her head to her toes. Her blood heated, her heart cantered, her nipples tightened, and Mercy could no more stop herself sliding her hand down, beneath the robe, to try and ease the ache that throbbed between her legs than she could stop wanting him.

Feeling how wet she was for him, she groaned. Unable to help herself she slid further down the seat and spread her legs as much as she could. As she circled her fingers around her c.l.i.toris and then dipped them inside she lifted her other hand to her heavy aching breast, pinched her nipple and moaned again at the sensational wave of pleasure that rocked through her.

"Mercy," said Seb, and his voice was rough, tortured, anguished.

Stilling, she opened her eyes, took in the torment etched into the harsh lines of his face and the blazing heat in his gaze, and sent him a slumberous, smoldering look. "If you want to touch me, Seb and I really hope you do youre going to have to get in."

Blackmail. That was what this was, thought Seb, desire pounding through him, his erection so hard it was painful. Blackmail. Pure and simple. Except there was nothing pure or simple about what Mercy was doing. It was wild. It was wanton. It was driving him out of his mind.

He ought to turn on his heel and get the h.e.l.l out of here. He didnt want to get in the car. She had the right of it. He hadnt sat behind the wheel of one of 'these things since the night of the accident. He had no intention of doing so now.

So why couldnt he move? Why couldnt he take his eyes off her? Why the h.e.l.l had he followed her down here in the first place? He could have left her to it, but he hadnt.