Spying a radio on the kitchen counter, she turned it on and set to work, boogying around the kitchen to a cla.s.sic rock station.

It was a screechy death shriek from an animal that woke Lucern. At least, that was what he thought. He sat up abruptly as the sound brought him awake, then paused to listen to the noises in his home.

Someone was banging around in the kitchen, and he could hear the tinny sound of music playing somewhere downstairs. But the shriek that had awakened him hadn't been either of these. Had it been Kate crying out in pain? he wondered, feeling himself tense. Was she being attacked by some madman who was even now destroying his kitchen?

"Rahhhh-cksanne!"

Lucern's eyes dilated in horror as the screechy voice sounded again, dragging along his nerves like nails on a chalkboard. Dear G.o.d, it was Kate attempting to sing.

He fell back with a grunt of disgust, exhaustion overwhelming him. He hadn't got to sleep until dawn. He was not ready to wake up yet.

"Roxanne!" the screech persisted.

It seemed Kate was ready for him to wake up, however.

Muttering under his breath, Lucern rose and stumbled into the shower. There he attempted to wake himself up and wash his bad mood away. He kept telling himself that he was getting rid of her today; he could sleep after that. It didn't help much. He was feeling incredibly grumpy as he staggered downstairs.

Kate heard Lucern on the steps and stopped singing. Whirling toward the stove, she grabbed pot holders, whipped the door open and quickly began retrieving breakfast. She was just setting the plate of hash browns on the table when he came into the kitchen.

"Good morning!" she sang cheerfully.

Lucern winced and groaned; then his gaze settled on the table, and some of the grouchiness left his expression, replaced by surprise. "Did you make all this?"

"Yes," Kate breathed. She gave a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to be too terribly difficult about her waking him up.

Just a little difficult. "Sit down and eat before it gets cold."

He sat and surveyed the offerings, then finally dug in. Kate poured coffee for them both, then joined him to eat. She allowed Lucern to eat in peace, deciding that she would broach the subject of doing an interview after he was full and happy.

Much to her surprise, however, she didn't end up having to.

When Lucern had finished his meal and pushed his plate away, Kate stood and grabbed the coffee pot to refill both their cups. She was working out what she would say as she set the pot back when Lucern suddenly said: "One event."

Kate turned back to the table in confusion. "One event?" Lucern nodded. "If it's the only way to get rid of you, Kate C. Leever, I'll agree to one publicity thing."

"Really?" She tried to still the hope that leapt inside her. She waited for the catch.

"Yes. But this is the deal. I do the one event. One only. After that you have to let me alone."

"Okay," she agreed.

Lucern eyed her suspiciously. "You won't call and hara.s.s me anymore? No express letters? No camping on my doorstep?"

"No. I promise," Kate said solemnly.

"Very well." He sighed. "One event-preferably the R.T. thing my mother mentioned."

Kate's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "The R.T. thing?"

"Yes. Would my doing that keep your bosses happy?"

"Oh, yes," Kate breathed, hardly able to believe her luck. She'd mentioned the conference to Marguerite at the wedding, and admitted that she wished she could convince Lucern to attend, but she'd never guessed he would agree.

It seemed the woman had taken up the cause. Kate decided she loved Marguerite Argeneau. Marguerite was a wonderful woman.

"Good. Then arrange it. I'll do the R.T. interview. Now, when are you going to leave me in peace?"

Kate glanced at the kitchen clock. It was almost noon. She had called earlier and found out there was a one-o'clock flight, a three-o'clock and a five-o'clock. She had thought she would have to take one of the later flights, and she still could if she wanted to spend more time with him. But then his words clicked. "Good. Then I'll do the R. T. interview." R.T.

hadn't asked to do an interview yet. The only R.T. event was the conference. Had Lucern's mother led him astray?

Deliberately?

"Er... Luc, what exactly did your mother say about the R.T. thing?"

Her author shrugged. "She said, 'I suggest you tell her you'll do R.T.' She thought it was probably the best option for both of us."

"And that's all she said?" Kate asked carefully.

Lucern nodded, then added, "Oh, and she said it was a magazine."

Kate had to consider this. Marguerite had led her son astray all right, and the only reason she could imagine the other woman would do that was to try to help her. Kate felt a twinge of guilt.

A moment later, she let it go. Marguerite wouldn't do anything to harm her son. She must think he would go, too.

And that it would be good for him. Kate wasn't going to get into the middle of it. He'd said he would do the R.T.

"thing"; she would leave it at that.

She would also get the heck out of there before he realized it was a conference, not an interview, and tried to back out.

"Oh! I didn't realize it was so late," she gasped, peering at her wrist.w.a.tch with feigned surprise. Then she smiled at Lucern sweetly. "You asked when I was going to leave you in peace. Well, there's a one-o'clock flight that I can just make if I hurry!"

And with that, she whirled and rushed out of the kitchen.

Lucern gaped at the swinging kitchen door. He'd wanted her gone, but her eagerness to comply was a bit disconcerting. He tilted his head and scowled at the ceiling as banging and b.u.mping erupted upstairs. She was obviously rushing about like a crazywoman up there. It seemed she couldn't get out of his home fast enough. It also seemed she was mostly packed, because it wasn't long before he heard her rush along the hall overhead.

He stepped into the hall in time to see her rush down the stairs. A car honked out front at the same moment her foot landed on the ground floor.

"Oh!" Kate turned toward the kitchen, then paused. She smiled in relief when she saw him. "There you are! Good!

My taxi's here and I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."

"Taxi?" Lucern echoed with disbelief.

"Yes. I called from my room while packing. Boy, they're fast here, huh?" When Lucern simply stared at her blankly, Kate hesitated. Finally, hefting her suitcase she said, "Well. Thanks for everything. I know I was an unwanted guest, but you were pretty good about it, all things considered. And I appreciate-oh, d.a.m.n!" she muttered as the cab honked again.

"Wait!" Lucern called as his editor turned and opened the front door. She hesitated, waving at the cab to let the driver know she was coming, then turned back. Lucern didn't really have anything to say; he was just reluctant to see her go. After searching his mind for something-anything-about which to speak, he finally came up with, "What about the interview? When will you arrange it? And you should have my phone number so that you can call and let me know when it is. And my e-mail address, too," he added as the thoughts struck him.

"Um..." She winced, then admitted, "Your mother gave me both your number and e-mail address."

"She did?" He was startled, though he knew he shouldn't be. Not with his busybody mother.

"Yes." Kate sidled a little further out the door, a fascinating expression on her face. She looked torn, as if she knew she had to tell him something but didn't really want to. Lucern's fascination deepened when she took another crablike step sideways before blurting, "R.T. doesn't want an interview."

"It doesn't?"

"No, they don't. The R.T. thing your mother was talking about is a conference." A look of pain crossed her face; then, while Lucern was trying to absorb that, she added, "But don't worry. You won't regret this. I'll be there with you and will look out for you the whole time." She was still sidling and had almost made it out the door as she added on a babble, "I'll send you all the information and the tickets and pick you up from the airport and everything. So don't worry!"

The taxi chose that moment to give another impatient honk.

"Gotta go!" Kate cried, and pulled the door closed with a slam. The sound echoed through the house, followed by the tap-tap of her rush down the porch steps. Then silence fell.

Lucern was transfixed. It was as if he had been poleaxed. Conference? His mother hadn't said anything about a conference. She'd said Romantic Times was a magazine. A book club. Someone who would want an interview. Kate must be confused. Dear G.o.d, she'd better be confused.

He hurried to the door and stared through the shaded gla.s.s just as the taxi pulled away. Lucern watched it.

He stood for a moment, Kate's words playing through his head; then he turned and started up the stairs. R.T. She must be confused. He would look up Romantic Times magazine on the Internet just to make sure she was confused.

Barely three minutes later, Lucern's roar echoed through the house.

Chapter Seven.

I am not doing it," Lucern announced, fury underlying his calm proclamation.

"Yes, you are." Marguerite Argeneau filled in another word in her daily crossword puzzle. She'd been working on the d.a.m.ned thing since he'd arrived.

Marguerite disliked the smell and noise of the city. Lucern's father, Claude, hadn't liked it any better. Besides which, living in the city meant moving every ten years to avoid drawing unwanted attention from the fact that they didn't age. Lucern's parents had avoided it all by purchasing several lots of land an hour outside of Toronto, and building their home in the midst of them. They thus had no neighbors near enough to be a concern, and needed not move at all if they did not wish. At least, they hadn't had to move in the thirty years since they'd built it.

Lucern now sat in the family mansion and watched his mother fill in another word. He had no idea why she bothered with the b.l.o.o.d.y crossword; centuries of living combined with a perfect memory made it less than challenging.

Shrugging, he glared at her and repeated, "I am not doing it."

"You are."

"Am not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Are."

"All right, you two. Stop it," Bastien interrupted. He had ridden out to the Argeneau family home after Lucern had called him, ranting unintelligibly about being tricked and shouting that he was going to wring their precious mother's neck. Bastien hadn't really believed his brother would do it, but curiosity had made him rush out to see what would happen. He'd arrived just behind Lucern, entered the house on his brother's heels, and still didn't know what the man was upset about.

He really wanted to know. It was rare to see Lucern with the fire presently burning in his eyes. Grumpy, surly, impatient? Yes, Luc was often all of those. Impa.s.sioned with rage? No. Kate C. Leever had lit a fire under him the likes of which Bastien hadn't seen in his five hundred years. And Bastien was sure this had something to do with that inestimable editor. Luc had shouted her name like a curse several times while ranting on the phone. It was one of the few words Bastien had actually caught.

Turning to his brother, Bastien asked, "So what exactly is the problem, Luc? I thought you were willing to trade an interview with this Romantic Weekly magazine to get rid of Kate. What's happened to change that?"

"Romantic Times," Lucern corrected shortly. "And it isn't a b.l.o.o.d.y interview-that's what changed it. It's a d.a.m.ned conference."

"A conference?" Bastien glanced at his mother suspiciously. "Did you know this?"

Marguerite Argeneau shrugged mildly, which was as close as she would come to a confession. "I don't see the problem. It's just a couple days in a hotel with some readers."

"Five days, mother," Lucern snapped. "Five days in a hotel with some five thousand fans. And then there are b.a.l.l.s, book-signings and-"

"One book-signing," his mother interrupted. "One book-signing with a couple hundred other writers there. You won't be the focus. You'll be lucky to get any attention at all."

Lucern was not calmed. "And what about the b.a.l.l.s and awards dinners and-"

"All the functions are held in the hotel. You won't need to risk the sun. And-"

"I won't need to risk the sun because I'm not doing it!" Lucern roared. "I can't go."

"You are going," Marguerite began firmly, but Bastien interrupted her. "Why can't you go?" he asked Lucern. "It's in the states, Bastien," his brother said grimly. "I can't possibly get blood through Customs at the airport. And I can't go without blood for five days." He could, actually, but not very comfortably. Cramps would cripple him, and his body would begin to consume itself.

Bastien frowned. "I could ship blood to you once you're there. We do such things all the time."

"There. You see!" Their mother crowed with triumph. "You are going."

"Thanks, Brother." Lucern sneered at the younger man, then glared ferociously at his mother. "I am not going!" he said again.

"You gave your word."

"I was tricked into giving my word. You led me to believe it was an interview."

"I never said it was an interview," Marguerite argued. Then she stressed, "You gave your word you would go and you are going."

"I may have given my word, but I didn't sign a contract or anything. I am not going."

Marguerite jerked upright as if he had slapped her. Her words were slow and cold. "A man's word used to be his bond."

Lucern flinched, but he growled, "It used to be. Times have changed. In this world, a man doesn't have to do anything unless it is in writing."

"In this day and age, that's true," she allowed, eyes narrowing on him. "But that isn't how you were raised, Lucern Argeneau. Are you no longer a man of your word?"

Luc gritted his teeth, his fury and helplessness combining. His mother was pulling out the big guns, questioning his honor and using his full name to show her shame that he would even suggest going back on his word. Could he really disappoint her?