“Clever,” she commended, taking a step back. If she stayed close to him, she’d never make it to the shower. “What are you going to do?”
He stiffened as the color and pace of his aura shifted. “I’m going to go tell your grandparents what’s going on, then go home and get cleaned up. I’ll come back to make sure you’re ready before having them come over.” He took a few steps toward the door then turned. “Sound okay?”
Though he was looking at her, waiting for her reply, Layla could tell he was distracted. “Sure,” she answered.
He resumed his trek to the door, but when she called his name, he paused once more. “Yeah?”
“What’s the dark green?” she asked. “Like forest green, but murkier.”
He flinched then squarely faced her. “It represents concern.”
“Hmm…” she hummed, watching the dark green eclipse the other colors in his aura. Only the emerald green could compete. “Would you like to tell me why you’re so concerned?”
He hesitated, looking at the ceiling as he rubbed his tense jaw, and after ten seconds of silence, Layla grew concerned. She hadn’t seen him this way since he revealed she was a witch. “What’s going on, Quin?”
He released a heavy sigh and met her stare. “Your grandparents might not be too happy with the way I’ve handled the situation.”
“Why?” she blurted, shocked by the explanation.
“They might find my behavior inappropriate,” he answered, “considering the circumstances.”
“I don’t understand,” she pressed, so he elaborated.
“I doubt they would approve of me sitting here kissing you while you’re going through something so difficult.”
“Oh,” she breathed, feeling like a fist had thumped her in the chest.
“I don’t want you worrying about this,” Quin insisted. “It’s my problem, not yours.”
She looked down, swallowing a lump while wiggling a toe into plush carpet. “Do you feel guilty for kissing me?”
He retraced his path and pulled her into a firm hug, encasing her more completely than ever before. His arms covered her entire back, and one of his hands nestled her head, holding her cheek to his chest.
“I probably should,” he answered, “but the time I’ve spent with you has been too good to regret. I just don’t want to upset the people who care about you.”
“I see,” she whispered, crumbling in his warm embrace. “Should I keep my mouth shut? I don’t want to cause problems.”
“No,” he objected. “You do and say whatever you want. This is my problem, one I was willing to face for just one kiss. I’ve spent more time with your lips than I deserve; I’ll gladly deal with this issue in return. It was well worth it.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, but I’m sorry it’s gotten you into trouble. If it’s any consolation, you’ve made this easier on me, not harder.”
“Good, because I would feel guilty if it were the other way around.”
“Are you going to tell them?”
“No, but they’ll know something’s up, and if they come right out and ask, I won’t lie.”
“I’m sorry, Quin. I didn’t know this was an issue.”
He leaned back and found her face. “Don’t be sorry. That’s the last thing I want you to feel about our kisses.”
“I’m not sorry about the kisses,” she clarified. “They were perfect.”
“Good,” he approved, taking her cheeks in his palms. “Now stop worrying about me and go take your shower.”
“Okay.”
He kissed her forehead then walked to the door, flashing a smile at her before rounding the corner.
Unnerved by his absence, Layla watched the empty hallway long after she heard the front door close, foolishly hoping he’d forgotten something and would need to return. He didn’t, and she eventually gave up, rolling her eyes at her immaturity as she headed for the bathroom.
Chapter Six
Layla stepped out of the shower feeling refreshed, alert and a little more prepared to handle an emotional situation. And if she couldn’t handle it, at least her face would be clean when she buried it in her hands.
She glanced around the bathroom, finding two fluffy, white towels hanging nearby. They were huge and felt bulky under her arms, so she dried with one. Then she wrapped it around her waist so she could bunch the other around sopping hair. With over two feet of curls, it took a long time to stop dripping, so she kept them clasped in cotton as she opened the door and entered the bedroom.
“Whoa,” Quin blurted.
Layla snapped her head up, finding him jolting from the bench at the foot of the bed, his wide eyes on her chest.
Oh – my – god. Heat flushed her entire body as she looked down, struggling with the towels in a race to cover up.
“Shit, Layla, I’m so sorry. But wow.”
“Um . . .” she mumbled, still fighting towels. There, all the important stuff was hidden. She did one more scan, front and back. Then she slowly raised her gaze. He’d turned his back on her, so she relaxed, but he stayed rigid.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I had no idea you’d walk out of there like that. The bedroom door was open, and it didn’t even occur to me to wait in the living room.”
“I don’t believe you were purposely waiting to catch me in a towel, Quin. It’s just embarrassing.”
“You’re not alone in that regard. I should have known better.”
“Did you already go home and shower?” she asked, noting he wore different clothes – kaki shorts and a brown t-shirt.
“Yes,” he confirmed.
“You’re fast,” she observed. “Did you already talk to my grandparents?”
“Um, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his tense neck then pointed toward the door. “I’m going to go wait in the hall. Let me know when you’re dressed.”
He flew toward the hallway, his aura racing as he tried not to look her way, but she caught him sneaking a peek as he reached for the doorknob. “Damn,” he whispered, closing himself out.
Layla quietly laughed as she moved to her duffel bag. Seeing Mr. Smooth so flustered made her feel better about the awkward ordeal.
As she dug through her bag, wondering what she should wear to meet her long lost family, she came across the skirt she bought the day she found out she was adopted. Long and white and trimmed with crocheted lace, it had tiny, satin bows adorning the ripples along the bottom hem. Layla rarely wore skirts and dresses. The only reason she’d bought the one in her hand was because the clerk had pushed it on her. Now she wrinkled her nose in defeat because she appreciated the purchase. For the first time in three years, she had a reason to look nice. Throwing the skirt over her shoulder, she reached into the bag and grabbed a satin tank top that matched her eyes.
After getting dressed and running a comb through her hair, she observed herself in the floor mirror. The straps of her bra showed, and the itchy undergarment didn’t make much of a difference anyway. The thick material of her tank top provided plenty of cover, so she stuffed the bra back into her bag and walked to the door.
Quin was leaning against the wall, looking guilty, but he relaxed when he saw her. “I’m sorry, Layla. It was inappropriate to wait in the bedroom.”
She took his hands and pulled him from the wall. “I’m not mad.”
“No?”
She looked down and fidgeted with his fingers. “Did you not like what you saw?”
Quin hadn’t given himself time to properly take in the view, but the brief eyeful he’d gotten was tempting enough to make him weak. “Honestly?”
“Yes, please.”
He pulled one of her hands to his lips, letting his confession slip over soft fingertips. “If I were a lesser man, I would have vanished your towels and taken you to bed.” He spoke the truth. He’d already visualized the scenario. What he didn’t tell her was that under different circumstances, gentleman or not, his twitching hands would have already explored a good portion of
her body. “Let’s leave it at that,” he added, watching the top of her head.
“Then I have no reason to be upset,” she replied, burying her face in his chest.
He wrapped her in a hug and tucked his chin in, smelling her moist hair. “Nevertheless, I’ll be more careful about your privacy from now on.”
After another deep breath and a kiss, he stepped back and scanned her clothed body. When his gaze slid over her loose tank top, he recalled the beauty beneath the satin, and knew his aura must be racing. “You look beautiful,” he offered, flashing a smile.
Her face reddened, but her eyes stayed on his. “Thank you.”
“Are you ready?”
She squirmed, her chest rising as her lungs quickened. “Um . . . yeah.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“I know.”
“Is there anything I can do to make the jump easier?”
She bit her lip, watching him through fluttering lashes. “What are you doing later?”
“No plans,” he answered, stifling his humor as he waited for an invite, which took her several nervous seconds to give.
“Would you like to come back over? Unless you have things to do. I’d understand if you need a break . . .”
Her babbling came to a halt when he touched her lips. “I would love to come back over. I was hoping you’d ask.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as I’ve ever been. Is there anything else you need?”
“Hmm . . .” Her pout wiggled as she thought, and he kept his finger on it, observing every tweak of her stunning features. When she raised her eyes to his, they were wide with exaggerated innocence. “There is one more thing.”
“Name it.”
She turned into the bedroom and skipped to the coffee table, picking up her empty mug. “Please,” she pleaded, flashing a pucker.
Quin laughed as he crossed the room. “More coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
“You are an addict.”
“I tried to warn you.”
“Yes you did.” He took her cup then led her toward the kitchen. “Cinnia isn’t here right now, so it won’t be as good.”
“We can’t always have perfect. I had to drink the average stuff for six years. Can you imagine how addicted I’d be if I’d been raised on Cinnia’s coffee?”
“You’d need an IV,” he teased.
They entered the kitchen, and he pulled out a chair, motioning for her to sit as he moved to the counter. While she sat and swung her legs, he magically prepared an entire pot of coffee then fixed a cup just the way she liked it.
He carried the mug to the table. Then he set it aside and pulled her to her feet. “I should feel guilty for giving an addict her fix, but that smile’s too good to deny.”
Her grin widened. “Thank you for your endless understanding.”
“You’re welcome. What else can I do for you?”
“This could go on forever, Quin. Eventually you’ll have to push me off the diving board.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath then slowly let it out. “Okay, I’m ready.”
“I’ll come back in by myself before letting them in.”
“I would appreciate that.”
“But once they’re here, I’m going to leave.”
“Okay,” she agreed, pouting and blushing at the same time. “I’m going to miss you.”
He took her cheeks and leaned close, giving her a soft kiss. “I’ll miss you, too, but as soon as you’ve had enough time with them, I’ll come back.”
He started to drop his hands, but she grabbed his wrists. “Thank you, Quin.”
He kissed her again, then again. Then he smiled. “See you in a minute.”
She nodded as she released him, letting him walk from the kitchen. Then she stood still, stomach flipping as she listened to the front door close. Only then did she grab her coffee and move to the living room.
She found her backpack on the couch and dug out her cell phone, tossing the bag aside as she checked for missed calls. There were three from Phyllis Carter and one from Travis Baker, her friends in Oklahoma. And there was one from Gerald Greene, her financial lawyer. Unsurprising since she’d neglected to contact any of them the previous day.
She didn’t have time to call them back now, and she had no idea what she’d say when she did. Hi. Found my family, but guess what? We’re a bunch of witches and wizards. Yeah right.
She turned to set the phone on a nearby table, and her breath caught in her chest as she came face-to-face with the large wedding photo of her parents.
Her breathing resumed, and she moved closer to the framed portrait, viewing it with new eyes, an enhanced perspective. Before witnessing the magical imprint, she’d seen two beautiful strangers. Now she saw two lost loved ones posing for a photo filled with precious memories. Emotion bubbled in her chest, and she wondered if there was any point in fighting the reaction. The impending reunion would likely launch her into an ocean of mixed emotions.
She reached up, gingerly touching the silver frame, and a flash of light caught her eye. For the first time since she’d put it on, she looked at the ring on the third finger of her right hand. She’d gone the entire afternoon without noticing it, and as she stared at the dainty, rose gold band, she realized why. She couldn’t feel it. If she weren’t staring at it, she wouldn’t believe it was there.
She looked closer, admiring the gemstone circled by diamonds. The zultanite sparkled like rich champagne, but when Layla turned her hand, exposing the gem to different light sources, she caught a flash of raspberry pink, soft peach, sage green, and canary yellow.
The front door opened, and she jolted, slopping coffee across her other hand.
“I’m sorry,” Quin offered, walking across the room. “Should I have knocked?”
“No,” she answered, setting her mug aside. “I was just lost in thought.”
Quin took her hand and magically cleaned her mess. Then he kissed her knuckles. “What were you thinking about?”
“I’d just noticed my mom’s ring on my finger.”
He smiled and lifted her right hand. “It’s beautiful.”
“I think so, too.”
“It looks good on you.”
“It feels good on me.”
He kissed that hand as well then looked to her eyes. “They’re here. Are you ready?”
Oh, the butterflies. They ran amok in her belly, flitting around the tightening knot and rising emotion. What a mess. “Yeah.”
He watched her face for a few seconds then released her hands, but she panicked and grabbed him back. “I’ll see you soon, right?”
He moved closer, pulling her shaky palms to his cheeks. “Very soon.”
“Okay.” Her voice shook, too.
“It’s going to be okay, Layla.”
“I know.”
He kissed her palm then let go, giving her a reassuring smile as he headed for the door.
Layla didn’t know what to do with herself. She was nervous and self-conscious as well as scared and emotional. Should she sit? Should she stand? Should she hug or shake hands? Would she recognize them from eighteen-year-old memories? Would she remember their names when put on the spot? Would they put her on the spot? What would she say if they did? These questions and a million more shot through her mind in the few seconds it took Quin to walk to the door. By the time he paused and looked back, her breathing was labored and her heart pounded so hard it echoed in her ears.
“Breathe,” he suggested.
Her cheeks burned as she tried to steady herself. It didn’t work. She’d never had a panic attack, but feared she was on the brink of one now. “I’m trying. Just get it over with.”
He sighed. Then he opened the door and took a step back.
Golden mist drifted into the foyer, and Layla took two stumbling steps to the couch, bracing herself on the backrest.
Rhosewen’s parents were the f
irst to enter, and despite Layla’s emotional turmoil, she absorbed several details with a sweeping glance. She was amazed by their bonded lights, which were far more impressive in person than in memory and could be felt across the room – a heart-swelling sense of love and security. Layla was also stunned by the fact that they’d barely aged. Caitrin’s straight hair remained golden as it swept across his muscular neck, and Morrigan’s caramel curls still flowed to the middle of her slender back. Their fair skin of slightly different shades remained smooth and unwrinkled, and their bodies were straight and sturdy.
Layla looked up, focusing on their faces, and her lungs emptied. Seeing them in the memories had been like seeing extras in a movie. They’d been present, but never prominent. Now their features were lucid and illuminating, leaving Layla breathless.
Rhosewen had clearly inherited Caitrin’s eyes – the aqua color, round shape, long lashes and defined lids – and she’d gotten his high cheekbones, but the rest of her facial features were found in Morrigan, in the brows arching over peach eyes, and in the small nose crowning pouty lips.
Because Rhosewen’s features were so easily found in Caitrin’s and Morrigan’s faces, Layla found herself in there, too – in her grandfather’s round eyes and prominent cheeks, and in her grandmother’s nose, lips and curls.
The golden mist flooding the entryway thickened, and Layla looked over, watching her paternal grandparents move into view.
They, too, were unmarked by time. Daleen’s hair still flowed to her waist like an ebony waterfall, and Serafin’s wavy hair remained dark brown and medium in length. They both had smooth olive-toned skin and green eyes, but Daleen’s eyes were pastel green while Serafin’s were the vivid emerald Layla knew so well.
Standing in a row, the four of them stared with wide eyes, clutching each other as tightly as Layla clutched the couch, which was pretty damn tight. She was squeezing the cushions so hard her fingernails hurt.
She tried to swallow a lump while standing up straight, but the lump barely budged and her upper body swayed. The gracious act of moving toward her guests crossed her mind, but her feet were glued to the floor. Just as well; her knees were too wobbly to take her anywhere.
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