The Reincarnationist

Chapter 47

New York City-10:30 p.m.

Rachel arrived at Harrison’s apartment after walking up and down the block outside his building, fighting with herself for almost fifteen minutes about whether or not to meet him as planned. The sound of his voice on the phone, inviting her over, worked on her like a magnet. It was so damn stupid, but she’d never felt that kind of pull to a man before. Her uncle teased her about it and she regretted confiding in him. Maybe she should stop being afraid, give in and see where it took her. Chalk up her fear to naiveté-certainly not with men, not with relationships, but with love.

As she paced she mentally listed off all the reasons she’d logically be drawn to him: he was an art consultant who dealt with paintings, sculptures, antiques and jewels for collectors. All beautiful things. He reeked of taste. Of culture. He was good-looking. And perhaps more than anything else-even though it made no sense-Harrison was elusive. She couldn’t quite reach him-not the secrets of him that she sensed were many and were buried deep. And Rachel found that more attractive than she would have imagined.

Upstairs, Harrison greeted her at the door with a chaste kiss on the cheek that was somehow erotic because of the way he held her upper arm so tightly. As if he was holding back, but barely.

“I’m just finishing up a meeting. Come in, it won’t take too long.”

Rachel thought he was going to leave her in the living room while he returned to his office, but he brought her with him.

His apartment was both his home and office. Smart and sleek, decorated in tones of gray with silver accents, the penthouse boasted large floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a nighttime city that sparkled like diamonds.

Harrison poured her a Scotch just the way she liked it: expensive and neat. He gestured to a chair to the left of his desk while he returned to the phone call he’d interrupted to let her in.

She sipped the drink, caressed the seat’s baby-soft leather and tried to keep her eyes off of him. At one point, he caught her staring and smiled.

After a few volleys of conversation that referenced an expensive painting, Harrison opened his top desk drawer and pulled out some papers, and in the process Rachel spotted a very small black gun.

The crazy sensations assaulted her. The humming and the music that wasn’t really music lulled her, pulled her from the sights and sounds of his office in that moment and took her somewhere else. Instead of sitting in the glass-and-chrome library looking out over the city, she was suddenly in a wood-paneled library with windows that faced a hillside. On the wall were Renaissance paintings, good ones, and the man who sat at the desk, exactly where Harrison had been sitting minutes before, was someone very different.

He was attractive, but in his fifties. No jeans and Armani jacket, but rather some kind of formal, old-fashioned suit. And they weren’t alone anymore. Standing to the other side of the desk was a poorly dressed young man with mean eyes and greasy hair.

The man who had taken Harrison’s place looked at her seductively. On the desk in front of him, on the tooled-leather blotter, a small black revolver gleamed in the lamplight. He never looked at it while he carried on his conversation with the thug, but it was a bigger presence than any of them.

“We can’t be responsible for a robbery, can we? In fact, we should offer a substantial reward for any information leading to the capture of the thief or the thieves.” He nodded knowingly.

She needed to get away. From both of the men. From the gun. But she felt trapped, as if time had turned into metal straps that were holding her back. She tried to speak, but it felt like she was pushing rocks out of her mouth. All that she managed was a mangled cry, and then everything changed back to the way it had been before, except for the panic she was experiencing.

Harrison was worried. Solicitous. Talking to her softly, asking what he could do, how he could help. Rachel asked him why he had a gun, and he convincingly said he needed protection with all the paintings and jewelry that he brought in and out of his office. It made sense. But the feeling that she was in danger, in a very real way, stayed with her even as she sat there and drank with him and talked with him.

When he reached for her again and kissed her, she was surprised to find herself moving toward him, not moving away. Wary but pulled by a curiosity and force she didn’t understand. How could the darkness in him and the shadows that surrounded him work like an aphrodisiac?

When, smoothly and expertly, he proceeded to seduce her, she didn’t stop him.

With his head on her breast, whispering to her, touching her so lightly his fingers felt like feathers on her skin, she convinced herself that she was being crazy. That there couldn’t be anything wrong with a man who could make her feel that way. And then it happened.

A quick flash.

The other man had taken Harrison’s place again. He was making love to her now. But not as gently. Not as carefully. He was greedier, hungrier. In the background, distracting her, were colors-but connected to what? She couldn’t tell. She saw the deep verdant emeralds, night-sky blues and rich-wine reds, all so beautiful she couldn’t stop looking at them, not even for the man who was inciting pleasure and pressure between her legs. But what were they? She tried to focus, to figure it out…and then she was back in the present, with Harrison, as he brought her to a finish that shook her whole body and she slipped back into the colors and vanished inside of them.