Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

beyond price.”
    Small talk. Small talk was safe. She gestured to the drawing. “Rubens, huh?”
    “Yes. I prefer his animals. They’re majestic and powerful. The essence of life.”
    Her art history class knowledge was quickly running out. “So, you bought all these?” she asked lamely.
    “A little money. A little creativity.”
    “You mean you stole them?” It was a stupid thing to say, but her foot was lodged firmly in place.
    He didn’t seem offended at all, in fact, he looked amused. “I paid people to steal them. It’s entirely different. Would you like a tour?”
    She didn’t. She wanted to wolf down whatever passed for dinner and run like hell. And where had that bodyguard gone? They were alone now, and she swallowed nervously.
    “There’s something I’d like to show you,” he added.
    That sounded ominous. “You do know this is only dinner, right?”
    “You wound me,” he said with a mocking grin, placing a hand over his heart.
    “I just want us to lay our cards on the table. I’m here because, well, because you coerced me. And because I do owe you for saving my life. But that’s it,” she said and lifted her chin defiantly. “Nothing more.”
    His eyes flashed briefly and a smile crept to his lips. “Of course.”
    With that vague assurance, he led her down the main hall. The tour was blessedly brief, and he completely ignored one wing of the penthouse. She figured it must have been his private chambers and felt a surge of relief that he hadn’t asked her if she wanted to see his etchings. King was a cad, but so far at least, he was behaving like a gentleman.
    The dining hall was formal. A long, mahogany table filled the floor space. Wingback chairs, enough for a dozen guests, rimmed the edge.
    “You must entertain a lot,” she said.
    “Hardly,” he said and held out her chair. She wished she’d been seated at the far end of the table, but the place settings were tucked together at the end furthest from the door. “Only on very special occasions.”
    That was the rub. “And what’s so special about this occasion?”
    He opened his linen napkin with the flair of a magician. “You.”
    She wriggled nervously in her chair and studied the silver salt and pepper shakers. He was actually being charming. Under different circumstances, if she weren’t already in love, if he weren’t a murdering gangster and possible vampire. But then if wishes were horses, she’d saddle one up and ride it the hell out of here.
    He leaned back in his chair confidently. “Is it really so wrong that I want to get to know you better?”
    “I guess not,” she said. Keeping the conversation neutral was probably the best idea, but there was nothing neutral about King. Besides, he seemed to appreciate her honesty. “If you’re looking to make friends, threatening them...not a good first step.”
    “Would you have come if I hadn’t?”
    She rubbed her sweaty palms on her dress and managed to meet his eyes. “No.”
    He inclined his head and reached for a crystal carafe. “Precisely. Wine?”
    She eyed the wine suspiciously. Why did it have to be red wine? Dark, red, the color of blood. “No, thank you.”
    He set the carafe down with a thud. His face tightened, and his voice was low and harsh. “If I’d meant you any harm, I wouldn’t have bothered saving your life. Don’t make me regret that decision. I suggest you drink the wine.”
    Elizabeth pressed herself back in her chair. Aside from the obvious threat, there was a cruelty in his voice that scared her even more. God, how she wished Simon were there. And what a bad idea. Simon’s temper would surely get them both killed, and the object of the game was staying alive.
    She twisted the napkin in her lap, fumbling for a way to diffuse King’s anger. If she was going to get out of here in one piece, she’d be wise to play the well-mannered guest. She forced herself to sit up straight and not fidget.
    “I suppose one glass wouldn’t do any harm.”
    As quickly as it had come, the storm cloud passed from his face and he smiled. “It’s an excellent vintage, I assure you.”
    Great. Dinner with Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde—an intimate portrait.
    She managed a small sip and an even smaller smile. “Good.”
    “I’m pleased you approve.”
    King, once again the genial host, leaned back in his chair. As if on cue, two servants appeared with silver trays. “I’m sure you’ll find the meal satisfactory. Far better then that diner you