 Dark Savior
  Prologue New York 1922 Awakening to brilliant sunlight streaming through the lace-curtained window of his penthouse, Foster rolled over, looking at the vision lying naked beside him. Rays of light cast across her milky-white, flawless skin. They were a near perfect fit. Making love to her had always been fun and passion filled. But sex had never been the problem. After dating just shy of a year, he wanted more and the word love had yet to cross either’s lips. Her chin length, golden blonde hair, lay in perfect finger waves even after their ardent night. She had been a wildcat and certainly knew how to please a man. Smiling, his gaze dropped to the cherry-red of her lips that had been thoroughly kissed hours before. Parts of him stirred just thinking of her skilled mouth and what it could do. Stretching on his back and crossing his arms behind his head, he stared at the white cotton canopy and pondered his decision to move west. She’d likely be pissed. But then again, he had never promised her a lifetime. They both needed to move on. As he lay there contemplating the right words, Ashley rolled over, coming to rest on his chest, snuggling against his warmth. He pulled her into his embrace, leisurely stroking the smooth skin of her back. She sighed and smiled lazily. Leaning forward, he placed a tender kiss upon her forehead. This was going to be much harder than he had anticipated. How the hell would he tell her he was leaving in only a few hours? “Going to the office today?” She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. “No.” He shifted beneath her. “I’ve made other plans.” “Something we can do together?” She placed small kisses on his chest, tickling the sparse black hairs. “I get so lonely hanging around here all day.” “No.” He answered her question. “Ashley, we need to talk.” “What is it?” The warmth of her blue eyes was nearly his undoing and had him second-guessing his well-laid plans. “You know we don’t love each other…at least not in the way husbands and wives should.” She shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. What is it, Foster? What has you speaking such silliness?” “Don’t overly worry yourself, my sweet.” He leaned down and briefly kissed her. “What’s bothering you, Foster?” “There is no easy way to say this. I’m leaving later today.” “Leaving? To where?” She sat up, taking the sheets with her. “How long will you be gone?” Foster made no effort to cover himself as she left the bed, wrapping the sheets around her. He sat against the headboard, crossing his arms behind his head. “I’m moving to Denver.” “You’re what?” The last word came out more of a screech, causing Foster to grin. She was even more beautiful, if that were possible, when her azure blue eyes flashed in fury. “What the hell are you grinning at?” “Do you know you’re more radiant when you’re angry?” Ashley picked up a pillow from the settee and threw it at him. A chuckle erupted from his chest. Her anger quickly deflated as she sat on the edge of the bed. “Will you be coming back?” “I don’t know.” And the truth of it, he didn’t. “I’ll miss you.” She looked to her hands clasping the sheet loosely around her. “And I’ll miss you.” Foster used his forefinger to tip her chin so that their eyes met. “But, it’s time for me to move on.” “We could still get married, you know.” Her grin grew wicked. “We’re great together in bed.” “You don’t want to be my wife, Ashley. You don’t love me, nor I you. We would make each other miserable once the passion died. Besides, I’ve never concealed the fact I don’t wish to be trapped in that institution.” “Trapped?” She laughed. “You may not love me. But someday, Foster, you’ll find that someone and you will get married. Mark my words.” “I have no desire to tie myself to any one woman.” He crooked his finger toward her. She crawled to him, easily falling into his embrace. “Besides, then I wouldn’t be free to come visit you whenever it pleases me.” Ashley slapped his chest. “Who says I will wait for you, Foster Taylor? Unlike you, if the right man comes along, I do wish to marry. Lynette’s been gone for three years and you can’t die because she did.” Anger coursed through him, his body tensing beneath hers. The last thing he wanted to discuss while in bed with Ashley was his dead fiancée. Foster got up and put on his boxer shorts left discarded by the bed. “I have to go.” “I’m sorry, Foster. I didn’t mean to anger you, but it’s not healthy to carry around your grief for so long. Lynette wouldn’t have wanted you to die with her. I know you loved her and she loved you, but she wouldn’t have wanted you to stop living because of her.” Foster whirled on his heel. “Not only did I lose her that night,” he stated in a unwavering voice, “but I also lost my child she carried. I will never stop looking for who did this to me the day before we were to wed. She is the only woman I will ever love.” “I’m sorry, Foster.” Ashley placed a hand on his cheek. “I only wish I could ease your pain.” “You know,” Foster leaned down to briefly taste her cherry-colored lips, “I wish you could, too. But it’s time for me to move on.” He pulled on his woolen, blue pinstriped trousers. After donning his pants and a shirt, he slipped his arms into a matching vest and jacket, leaving all unbuttoned. His hair, he finger combed back and tied into a queue at his nape. He turned to face her again. “My train leaves in two hours. I’ve sent most of my belongings ahead. I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. You’re my best friend.” “I know.” Ashley encircled his waist and laid her head on his chest. “I’m going to miss you.” “If you ever get to Colorado, you’ll know where to find me.” He kissed the top of her head. “Is your new hotel completed then?” “Soon,” he replied. “Enough so, I’ll have a place to live. They’ve assured me my penthouse will be livable by the time I arrive in Denver. You’re welcome to live here as long as you wish. I’ve instructed my manager that the penthouse is yours until you no longer feel the need for it.” “I’ve lived off you long enough, Foster. It’s time I made it on my own. Besides, the penthouse won’t be the same without you. Once I get on my feet, I’ll find a place of my own.” “You take care of yourself.” He patted her derriere. “And write to me often.” “I will,” she assured him. But something told him she wouldn’t. Knowing Ashley, she’d not want to interfere with his moving forward. He buttoned his shirt, vest, and jacket. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stepped into his shiny black oxfords. The closest he’d ever get to looking like a business man. He smiled. What did he care? He’d made millions building hotels across the continent. He now owned five including the one they stood in. Without saying another word, Foster leaned down, picked up his briefcase, perched his wire-framed glasses on his nose and walked out the door. “Goodbye, Foster Taylor,” he heard Ashley say to the closing door. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Chapter 1 Denver, Colorado 1925 Standing in her small shop, Brooke wondered for the hundredth time where she was going to scrape up enough money to pay for her paltry apartment’s rent. Business had been slow for the month, and the rent on her store ate most of the profits. She could move her shop to a less reputable place, but then her sales would drop considerably, if not altogether, as she catered to the upper crust of society. So, the lobby of the highly respected Ashford Hotel had been the perfect place for her business. Her store stocked items for those who traveled—expensive soaps and toiletries, cosmetics, music boxes, lacy undergarments, and many other items designed for vanity or gift giving. Women mostly frequented her shop, though men on occasion would stop by looking for an item to present their spouses or mistresses. Although the latter left a bad taste in her mouth, working in the lobby of a hotel had proven to the unfaithfulness of men. Not catering to them would be a loss of business, one she couldn’t afford. The tiny golden bell jingled above the shop’s door, announcing a customer, bringing her focus to the person entering. Glancing toward the front of the store, her gaze collided with the most sensual pair of chocolate-brown eyes she had ever encountered. The man stopped just inside the doorway, gawking at her with familiarity, almost as if he thought he knew her. No way would she forget a face as comely as his. He wore tattered Levi’s, a white pullover cotton shirt, and work boots…not her usual clientele. His overlong black hair was tied back in a queue at his nape. Assuredly, this man would not be able to afford the luxuries of her shop. “May I help you?” Brooke asked. Ignoring her asked question, he approached the counter with a slow, sure gait. He reached across the counter and gripped her wrist within his large, work-worn hand. Electricity shot up her arm, heating her flesh from the mere contact. Brooke tried to pull free when their gazes collided. His lips curved into a lazy smile. Without a word, he leaned across the counter and grasped the back of her head, pulling her forward until their lips met. Stunned and breathless, she gasped, pulling herself free of his hold. Brooke backed into the shelving behind the counter. A menagerie of toiletries and soaps crashed to the floor, as scents of rose and lavender floated between them. Placing the back of her hand against her tingling lips, she glanced to the bottles now leaking on the floor. “Oh, my,” Brooke spoke, bewildered. “I’m sorry.” The stranger’s deep reply sent shivers dancing along her spine. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Ashley. I was just so shocked and pleased to see you. I’ll gladly pay for those.” Astounded, Brooke’s gaze flew to his. “What?” The stranger smiled. “Surely, you haven’t forgotten me so soon. I know it’s been three years, but I would never forget the taste of those cherry lips.” Obviously, Brooke was thoroughly shaken by the brief kiss, so much so she couldn’t think of a comeback. This man seemed to think they had shared a kiss before, not to mention he had her name wrong. Disoriented, her gaze flitted to the broken bottles before settling back on his full lips. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Denver?” he continued. “Hell, I would have given you a place to stay.” “Excuse me?” Brooke finally found her voice as the impact of his words settled in her muddled thoughts. He thought she was someone else. “I get it.” He smiled, his gaze taking in her shop. “You want to be independent. Fine by me. What time should I pick you up?” “I beg your pardon.” Brooke glared at him, her brows knitting together. “I don’t know who you are, waltzing in here and taking liberties with my person. But I would appreciate it if you would walk right back out that door and never come back.” The nerve of the man, assuming because of one silly kiss she would be willing to go anywhere with him. Brooke knew turning away a potential customer wasn’t the smartest of choices, not when she needed the cash. But by the looks of him, he wouldn’t be able to afford much of what she sold anyway. Touching her short, finger waves, she glared at the ruggedly handsome man. Mere looks wouldn’t get him far…at least not with her. “Ashley,” he reached for her hand before she jerked it away, “what kind of game are you playing?” “A—Ashley?” Brooke flustered at his mistaken identity. “I don’t know who you think I am. But, sir, I assure you my name is not Ashley. My name is Brooke, but you may call me Miss Abel.” Taking a step back, the man’s smile shed his face. He appeared to assess her as his gaze traveled over her form, pausing on her legs. For the first time, Brooke wished for a longer dress, though it was more fashionable shorter. As his eyes traveled back to her face, her cheeks heated to a most assured red. She didn’t need a mirror to tell her as much. Their eyes met as his lopsided grin returned. “No,” he began in a slow, deep northern drawl, “those legs, I would remember. What kind of a game is this, Ashley? Still think you can get me to marry you?” “I assure you, sir, this is no game. My name is Brooke Abel and I certainly don’t wish to marry you.” Anger laced her words. “My fiancé, Professor Brian Thompson, would not appreciate your advances.” “Ah, the jealousy angle,” he chuckled. The pleasing sound rumbled from deep within his chest. Brooke shivered. “I’m not a jealous man, Ashley, and I don’t enjoy playing games. You know that. If you wish to see me, you know where I am.” Infuriated by his arrogance, Brooke picked up a bottle from the floor and threw it at his retreating form. Missing him by mere inches, the bottle shattered against the wall. “It’s Brooke, dammit!” she shouted. Her face flushed anew from her surprising usage of profanity. One brow rose as he gave her his attention. “Well, Brooke, you know where to find me if you should change your mind,” he said, opening the door to exit, “but I’ll be damned if I know why I’m still extending the invitation.” Brooke stared at the closed door for long moments after the outlandish man exited. She had no clue as to his identity. Whoever he was, he had shaken her to the core. Touching her lips again, she realized they still tingled, making her wonder what it would feel like to be thoroughly kissed by him and not just a mere touching of lips. Shaking off the silly notion, she glanced to her feet and sighed. No matter who he was, he forgot to pay for the damages. She frowned. Now, not only would she have to scrape up the money for her rent, but enough to pay for the broken inventory as well. Brooke knew she could always go to Brian for help. He’d gladly help pay her bills and most likely take over the business while he was at it, then insist upon getting married forthwith to avoid such occurrences in the future. Brooke sighed; she liked her independence. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry Brian, but she wasn’t quite ready to take the next step. Brooke had been on her own since her parents’ death four years ago, and wasn’t ready to depend on anyone other than herself. As she bent down to pick up the broken bottles, the bell to her shop rang again. Thinking the conceited jerk had returned to pay for the damages, she stood to battle him. “Look, I’ll pay for these myself if you’ll just...oh,” Brooke’s face heated as she caught sight of her fiancé. “Brian, how good to see you.” Brian Thompson, impeccably dressed as always, approached the counter, his mannerism stiff and haughty. “Yes, my dear. It is a delight for you to see me in the early afternoon. Now, what was it you were saying? Something about paying for it yourself?” “Oh, it’s nothing.” Brooke glanced at the pile of broken glass at her feet. “A strange man came into my shop and startled me, causing me to bump into the shelf and knock over some of these bottles.” “I do say you must learn not to be so incompetent if you are to be my wife. I can’t have you breaking my priceless antiques now, can I.” “Yes, I know,” Brooke conceded, glancing at Brian. Although she had never found him lacking before this afternoon’s incident, she now found herself comparing Brian to the stranger. “I’ll try to do better. Now, was there something you wanted?” “We are invited to a small gathering this weekend. A few intimate friends. Shall I tell them we will attend?” “Don’t you mean your friends?” “Of course, my dear, but you know my friends are your friends.” Brooke sighed, wondering if Brian ever considered anyone other than himself. He’d be a good provider and husband, she had no doubt, but his arrogance at times had her second-guessing her agreement to become his wife. “You may tell them we will attend.” “Good. Now then, will you be coming by tonight?” “I don’t think so.” Brooke picked off an imaginary piece of lint from her sleeve. “I’m exhausted and it’s been a long day. I think I’m going to go home, take a hot bath, and retire early. You don’t mind do you?” “Of course not. You look as though you could use a little beauty rest. Besides, we will have plenty of time to spend together once we are married. Well then, I’m off. I’ll see you on Saturday around sevenish.” “Saturday.” Brooke smiled, though it took too much effort. Brian exited her shop giving a final toss of his hand in farewell. Before today, she never questioned her decision to accept Brian’s proposal. He was comely, pretty even, impeccably dressed and always held in high regard by his peers. Today, however, his perfect and faultless manners weaved their way beneath her skin. The earlier stranger came to mind. She supposed he had something to do with her sour mood…and that certainly wasn’t Brian’s fault.
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