Stay the Night by Lynn Viehl Read Free Book Online

reputation and an immediate end to her partner’s bachelor status, if the woman’s father didn’t demand other, more lethal forms of satisfaction.
    Not that dancing with this mortal was completely safe. As his seneschal so often reminded him, he was Robin of Locksley, immortal Darkyn lord and suzerain of Atlanta. Becoming personally involved with a human and interfering in the business of the mortal world, however superficially or justifiably, endangered him and his jardin .
    Ever since returning from the Realm, however, Robin had felt restless. He shouldn’t have gone to the Kyn’s annual tournament, at which the Darkyn gathered to spend a few weeks away from humans in order to live as they had during medieval times. Usually Robin enjoyed the challenges and celebrations that had long ago been their only form of entertainment, but this year too many old tragedies had come back to haunt him. The unhealed wounds of the past had nearly cost him his friendship with Aedan mac Byrne, suzerain of the Realm, as well as Jayr, the woman they both loved.
    Entangled with the ugly plots, brutal confrontations, and attempts on the lives of Jayr and Byrne had been the tragedy of Robin’s past and his darkest secret. No one but Dr. Alexandra Keller, the sygkenis of the American seigneur, Michael Cyprien, had guessed why Robin so loved Jayr, the only child of his long-lost lady, Marian, who had died in childbirth. God willing, no one else ever would discover that Robin was Jayr’s father.
    Once on the dance floor, Robin guided Chris around to face him, encircling her waist with his free arm while lifting their entwined fingers to hold her hand over his heart. She was tall for a woman; if she moved two steps closer she could tickle his mouth with her curly red eyelashes or kiss the hollow of his throat.
    Chris did neither of those things, but stepped back until several inches separated their bodies.
    Undaunted, Robin spread his free hand over the gentle curve of the small of her back, where a delicious amount of body heat permeated the thin material of her dress to caress his palm and fingers.
    â€œYou feel very warm,” he said, bending his head so that his breath stirred the smooth strands of hair coiled above her ear. If he could get her alone with him, he could question her about the manuscript, discover where it was, and learn what sort of security the gallery would be using to guard it. “Are you uncomfortable?”
    â€œI’m fine.” Chris did not press herself against him; nor did she strain away as she followed his lead. She maintained that respectable distance between them as she danced. She did not look up at him, however, but kept her eyes on the band’s gray-haired singer as he crooned the words to the gentle tune.
    â€œIt’s pretty, isn’t it?” she asked. “I think it was the only hit Spandau Ballet ever had.”
    â€œSpandau Ballet.” He’d heard of many dance troupes, but never that one. “I cannot say that I am familiar with them.”
    â€œBefore our time,” Chris said. “My mother loved this song.” Her eyes shuttered and her voice changed, growing crisp and impersonal again. “How did you know what I was drinking? Did you ask the waitress or the bartender?”
    â€œNeither.” She guarded herself more carefully than a Scotsman did his purse, Robin thought, while asking questions better left unanswered. He decided to tell her the truth and see what she would make of it. “I could smell the ginger ale on your breath.”
    â€œYou couldn’t have done that,” she told him flatly. “You were sitting at least ten feet away from me.”
    â€œAlas, I’m cursed with a sensitive nose.” He took in the scent of her on a slow, deep breath. “You also smell of rain, herbs, honey, and”—he bent his head close to her mouth—“maraschino cherries. Did you steal them when the