The Megiddo Mark, Part 1 by Mackenzie Lucas Page B

doctors, needles, blood. Anything remotely dealing with healthcare.” She shuddered.
    Cullen laughed. “Seriously?”
    “No kidding. My mother suffered five months in a hospital during what was supposed to be her recovery from a double transplant. She didn’t survive. I spent every day with her until she died. I vowed never to step into a hospital again.”
    “How old were you?”
    “Fifteen.”
    “And you’ve never been to a hospital since?”
    “Nope. I have a close friend who’s a doctor. If I need anything, I call for a consultation. She obliges me at home. Enough about me and my irrational fear.” She lifted her ice-cold hand to his forearm. He covered her fingers and squeezed gently. His warmth steadied her trembling.
    “Rubbish. I understand. Fear is never rational.”
    Big Ben chimed its way to midnight. She tilted onto her tip-toes then stretched to press her lips to his cheek. Cullen turned toward her. He hemmed her in, holding the railing on either side of her. His chest grazed her. She inhaled sharply. He rested his hand on her hip then trailed his fingers up her side. Skimming her ribs, he brushed the outside curve of her breast.
    “If I were going to overcome my fear and marry, though, I’d want a woman very much like you,” he said, his deep, clear voice resonating close to her ear. “Passionate and beautiful. Intelligent and sexy.” He nuzzled her ear. She turned her face to capture his mouth in a hot kiss. He toed her feet apart, wedging his shoe between them. His knee slid between hers.
    She felt the rough abrasion of the denim against her bare legs. His hardness brushed her abdomen. She wiggled closer trying to find satisfaction. He deepened the kiss, warm lips exploring hers. His tongue touched hers in a smooth moist slide. When the bell struck midnight, he pulled back, ending the kiss. They were both panting. Sweat beaded his brow; he grabbed her hand and pulled her along the walk. “Hurry, we’ll be late,” he said.
    “Late for what? It’s midnight.”
    “Come, I have a surprise for you.” He tugged her gently after him down the sidewalk to the London Eye. All the tourists had departed long ago, the official closing hour having come and gone at nine o’clock. But the huge observation wheel glowed neon blue and turned in a slow progression as they walked up to it. She looked at the individual steel and glass cage that moved at a slow crawl in front of them then back at him in awe. She’d never ridden the London Eye. Again, she glanced between machine and man.
    “Surely it’s closed?” she said. Delighted surprise flowered through her when he opened the pod door.
    “Not for the most beautiful woman in London. And the right price.” He gestured for her to precede him into the private car. A long bench centered the enclosure . Next to it stood a ewer of ice with a wrapped bottle of champagne. The cork must have just been popped because the dark green bottle still breathed a smoky mist. She saw no evidence of an attendant outside, but someone had to be nearby. Cullen closed the door. The slow ride began.
    Atop the Eye, she looked out over the city of London. Lights scattered like speckles of phosphorescent dust, glimmering red, green, yellow, orange, and white through the glass of the enclosed pod. Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and the House s of Parliament glowed golden in the night sky–luminaries of history, sentinels of tradition, stalwart guardians of the Thames. She held a chilled glass of champagne in her hands.
    “Cullen?” He stood at her back, his arms around her. They looked out at the vast city before them in contented silence.
    “Yes?” he whispered into her ear, kissing the rim.
    “Mmmm.” He kissed down her throat, licking and nipping. She tried to concentrate on her questions. She had so many for him. Break-in. Her head felt light, fuzzy. “Someone broke into my house last night.”
    He stiffened behind her.
    She waited.
    “Anything taken?” He mumbled