Blade's Lady. Fiona Brand

my fault.”

      Blade stared thoughtfully at the door, which Milly hadn’t quite slammed. He knew that she already had three grown children from a previous marriage. “Takes two to tango.”

      “Amen to that. It was the tropical honeymoon that did it. She said I ought to be able to control her baser impulses. What can I say?” he murmured, picking up the papers Milly had brought in. “I tried.”

      Restlessly, Blade paced the length of his office, halting in front of another bank of windows, this one facing into the city. He stared in the general direction of Joe’s Bar and Grill, the name that had been emblazoned on the front of Anna Johnson’s sweatshirt.

      He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to keep a lid on the wild impatience that was eating away at his usual control. He should forget about her and turn his mind back to work—God knows, there was enough for him to do.

      After spending several years with the Special Air Service, Blade had decided it was past time for him to take his place in the family business. He was almost thirty-four, and while he’d been injured twice on operations, once seriously, he counted himself lucky. No point in pushing that luck any further.

      The construction of the casino and a retail complex was a massive undertaking. He and Jack were splitting the load between them. The risk involved in setting up the casino and the huge propensity for trouble it represented appealed to Blade far more than becoming involved in some of Lombards’ more conventional enterprises, and his family knew it; by nature, he was more conqueror than manager. At the same time, Blade was building his own dream further north, a quarter-horse stud on a wild piece of country caught between high, muscular hills and the Pacific Ocean. The property was remote enough—courtesy of the physical barrier of the hills—to be its own kingdom, yet close enough to Auckland to make for a reasonable commute. After years of travelling, he needed his own base. He was ready to settle down.

      Instantly, his thoughts turned back to Anna. He frowned at both the way his mind had made the switch and the string of coincidences she represented.

      She would probably be at work now, despite the fact that she should be resting. Her head would be throbbing, feet aching. She would be working for a damn pittance. He should let her get on with it.

      If she was still there.

      The thought slid into his mind as slick and easy as a knife. Anna was using a false name. She was as jumpy as a cornered cat, and she had been attacked. He was certain that she was on the run from something. Or someone.

      She could be married and running from a husband.

      The thought curled into his mind with the sour, savage taint of sexual jealousy. Blade’s jaw tensed. If he’d walked into a brick wall in broad daylight, he couldn’t have been more astounded. Jealousy. The emotion was alien, unsettling. As intrusive as the dreams. He enjoyed women, and he was naturally possessive, but he had never been jealous.

      He remembered the softness of Anna’s breasts pressing against him when she’d scrambled out of that storm drain, and the thought that she might be tied in some way to another man filled him with fury.

      He came from a long line of males who were used to taking what they wanted, and right now he wanted Anna. His genetic heritage was underlined by his name. Every few generations in the Lombard family, someone lost their head and named one of their sons Blade, after the original marauding rogue who had reaved and plundered, carving out the basis of the first Lombard fortune with raw muscle and the help of his trusty blade.

      He fingered the ancient earring that pierced his lobe. The small cabochon ruby was said to have belonged to the first Blade and was traditionally passed down to whoever carried the name. He doubted this was the original gem—that had probably been lost in the mists of time—but it was certainly old.

      Grimly, he wondered if his ancestor had had the same trouble with women that he himself was now having. If so, he could understand why he’d carved such a bloody swath through history. He had been a frustrated man.

      Blade surveyed the bustling cityscape and let the irrational urgency that had chewed his patience to the bone have its way.

      What if she was the woman in his dreams?

      For the first time, he allowed himself to examine the possibility. He remembered how she’d looked last night: eyes wary with secrets, the exquisite curve of her cheekbones, and that pale, sultry mouth.

      The primitive hunger that persistently invaded his dreams stirred to life. His jaw clenched against the hot flood of arousal and, more, an intense need to simply have her near.

      He might have difficulty believing in anything with a supernatural bent, but he trusted his instincts, and he trusted his body’s reactions. He had never felt such a powerful physical response to a woman outside of his dreams. He fiercely resented the loss of control—giving in to the hunger went against the very essence of who and what he was. And yet, he was honest enough to admit that, in part, that was where the heady excitement lay.

      The dichotomy should alarm him. It should scare the hell out of him. Instead, he felt a savage exaltation. He wasn’t prepared to admit that he had found his dream woman, but he had found a woman who touched him on some primitive level in a way he needed to be touched.

      He might not understand much about what was happening, or why, but for Blade the problem had just been simplified. He understood his own burning sexuality very well, and when he needed a woman, his approach was time-honoured and straightforward: he went out and got her.

      He spun on his heel. Jack was still lounging in a chair, watching him with an amused grin. Blade had forgotten he was in the room. “I’m going out.”

      “I can see that.”

      Blade’s smile was rueful, edged. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

      “Believe me, I understand. Take all the time you need.”

      Chapter 4

      Anna hung up the pay phone, relief making her weak. She had finally found a room in a boarding house, although the cost of the bond would come close to cleaning her out financially.

      She checked her watch, saw that she’d exceeded the fifteen minutes she had for a break, and started back toward the restaurant, her mind swiftly calculating all that she had to do and how quickly she would have to move. Just a few more hours and she could leave.

      Sunlight flashed, diamond bright, off the side mirror of a nearby car. Her eyes squeezed shut to ward off the stab of pain and what it did to the throbbing at her temples.

      As she reached the staff entrance of Joe’s Bar and Grill, the sunlight was abruptly smothered by heavy gloom. She glanced at the purplish-black thunderheads seething above, rain-rich and roiling with violent energy. She could smell the moisture in the air, feel the tension of the approaching storm.

      More rain. Great, just what she needed when she had to shift out of her flat, she thought, as she strode inside, automatically bracing herself against the mental assault of working at Joe’s.

      At least the lunch rush was well over. If Joe’s ever had a lull, this was it, the brief hiatus before the evening trade picked up, although the liquor licence ensured that the huge barnlike restaurant and bar was never empty.

      Joe’s specialised in bad coffee, fast food and even faster beer, and attracted a clientele that was definitely on the seamy side. The sweeping wooden counter lined with stools emphasised where the money was made. The companionable wail of rhythm and blues soothed patrons into parting with that money even faster, and the pool room off to the side enticed swaggering groups of brash young men to stay until they were flat broke.

      The mock saloon doors swished open on a low rumble of thunder, and Anna was glad her tray was safely set down on a table as Blade Lombard stepped into Joe’s as casually as if he ate there every day.

      He was dressed for business in a suit made of some dark, fine material. The jacket fitted his broad shoulders like a supple, expensive