That male voice must be my boss. My boss. And I’m drenched. I was already worried enough about showing up where I’m working wearing shorts and a T-shirt. But with the heat, I rationalized I couldn’t show up in business attire. There’s no way I would have made it up the driveway in a suit.
“Leopold?” It’s a second man. His voice is deeper than the first. “Where are you?”
There’s a tick in Leopold’s chin. “Stay here. I will return.”
Sure. Leopold seems to be helping me out. If it’s my boss, there’s no way I want some recluse billionaire to see me for the first time looking like a drowned rat. Thirty seconds in the rain, and even my underwear is soaked. And my bangs are plastered to my face. I’m dripping. There’s water squishing out of my sandals.
And then it hits me: this isn’t the same plain stone floorfrom the other room. Nope. All around me is a mosaic. Delicate cut tiles in sepia tones. I jump back, knowing what damage water can do to a delicate piece like this. It’s exquisite, thousands and thousands of cut squares all making up a picture. Around the border in late Gothic revival style, there’s a ribbon with burnished gold and smokey-gray blue shading, leading the eye to the center, perfectly balanced, where a blue-gray dragon flies over a snow-covered mountain. Phenomenal. And possibly a clue that the inhabitants of this place are shifters. Dragon shifters?
My eyes trail up the oak panels on the walls, carved with scenes. It would take me weeks to even take it all in. Thick tapestry curtains cover three of the six arches in the room. They’re tied back to the thick oak columns on the other three. One, we came through, the other has a heavy closed door, and through the third I can see the other stairs that Leopold was referring to.
I can’t help it. The floor is so beautiful. I take my phone out and take a half-dozen shots, sending a few off to Wren.
Wren: Wow. Why is there water on the floor?
That’s Wren. She notices everything.
Me: Got caught in a rainstorm.
I turn the camera lens back on myself to send her a selfie, and holy hell, it’s bad. My mascara has run. I try to wipe it, but it’s no use. I’m in raccoon mode. Nothing I can do about it now. This place has enough beauty for both of us. I pivot around. It’s amazing. This foyer rises up two and a half stories. To reduce the damage, I spread the wateraround with my palm, and the bumps of the tiles send chills over my skin. How many people have stood here? Who were they? Did they feel the same awe I do?
The heavy tapestries call me over to them. The fabric is handwoven, with a thick border of velvet on the sides. From the wear on the edge of the velvet, it’s easy to see which are moved more often. I part the velvet and peek in between the two. It’s a bad trait—I’m far too curious for my own good. There’s another heavy oak door behind this panel. But the door has an amazing carving on it. I step through the curtain, and it closes behind me.
Heavy steps thud into the atrium.
“Give her a minute,” Leopold says.
“What in flaring sky has gotten into you, Leopold?”
Panic sears up from my toes, but I’m behind the tapestry curtain. Already hidden. Tucking my sandals back as far as I can, I place my hand on the handle. And swallow. I shouldn’t be hiding. So what if I’m wet? There’s no need to hide.
I’m about to step out from behind the curtain when Leopold’s voice echoes in the hallway in front of me. “I’m taking her upstairs. She’s weary from her travels and the rain.”
“I’m well-aware it’s raining, Leopold.”
“Yes, sir, I imagine you are. Perhaps you could get ready before you meet her?”
The metal of the curtain hardware far above me scrapes on its rod as the tapestry is yanked aside. The man holding the curtain has me trapped with his stare. I’m prey, and I’m frozen between wanting to run and not being able to. Both are ridiculous. His gaze has my body disconnected from my brain.
I’m tall, but he’s taller. He’s got to be a good five to sixinches taller than me. The scowl on his face gives him some extra height. Though, it might be his square jawline too. Or the depth of his blue eyes. He’s so striking it takes me a minute to notice that he’s not wearing a shirt.
But then he drops the curtain with a look of disgust. “Another girl, and an American at that?”
And the layer of lust pushed to the surface vanishes. Why do the pretty ones always have to be assholes?
“Get rid of her,” he says, and his footsteps echo down the hall.
Leopold clears his throat. “Miss Fischer?”
“Yes, I heard. I’ll get my... Has Percy come back? Do you think he would be able to drive me into town?”
“Percy hasn’t arrived yet. But I’ll show you up to your room now.”
“But he said?—”
“Yes, he’s always had quite the quick temper.”
“I don’t know. He didn’t sound like he was flying off the handle. He was rather calm when he said to get rid of me. And I’d prefer leaving to being locked up in the dungeon.”
