Angie stopped chewing. He would rather eyeball her than eat his lunch. How could a man wipe her chin without appearing disgusted by her lack of manners? Yet Ross Costello’s gesture had felt extremely sexy and suggestive, like the expression on his face now as he leaned his chin on his fist.
“You’ll never cease to surprise me, Angie,” he murmured. “I like that.”
She considered this, her sandwich inches from her mouth. “Even though you can channel stuff about me while we’re in that bungalow?”
“That’s the amazing part. When I go into flow, I can ascertain almost anything I want about every woman I meet,” he admitted. “But you I want to know right here, right now, straight up. That’s a first. And frankly, it scares the hell out of me.” He picked up his sandwich, groaning with satisfaction as he bit into it.
Angie snickered. “Will I still like you that way: scared, with no hell in you? What’ll I use as my excuse for a relationship gone sour?”
Ross shoved an entire French fry into his mouth. “Guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
DESPITE the gray mist that drifted over the beach, Angie had never known a sunnier day. As Elvis and Celine tussled with their Frisbee, she trotted to keep up, her sandals dangling from one hand. Ross looked so cool—so damned hot—as he played with his dogs. His shoulders stretched his shirt and his tanned face creased with laughter, and even from behind his pricey sunglasses, she felt the intensity of his gaze. Her laughter mingled with his as they splashed through the lacy waves that licked their bare feet.
Was this guy as good as he looked, as fascinating as he sounded when he talked about his band and such subjects as numerology and clairsentience? If he was a loser, he was in a much higher class than any of the others who’d jerked her around.
Hey, what happened to positive thinking? To living without limits? If you limit your vision to what you knew with Gregg, you’re already doomed.
There it was again, that voice in her head—that challenge from a higher source. It spoke so clearly, Angie turned to be sure Ross wasn’t talking. But he was clutching the battered Frisbee, gleefully tugging it from his border collie’s jaws. Celine danced on her back legs, yapping to get into their game.
Angie stopped, awestruck. How long had it been since she’d witnessed such unadulterated happiness? Such simple bliss? She didn’t know exactly, but she was too engrossed in this present moment, in the present of this moment, to care. When Elvis bounded down the beach with the pink disc, coaxing his owner to chase him, she knew what reckless abandon looked like. And she longed to try it again for herself.
Ross jogged up alongside her. Before she had time to think, he was kissing her and she was giving as good as she got. The first time it was playful and light, an exuberant smooch that smacked of sweet chocolate and salty fries. Then Ross sent the Frisbee flying several yards down the beach and caught her up in a kiss that tapped into her soul. It was slow and deep, a mapping of her mouth, as she tasted and tested him. They were out here where anyone could see them, yet she surrendered to his passion as though she had no qualms whatsoever about what came next.
They both knew what that would be. It was just a matter of time.
“Angie,” he rasped, clutching her close. “This is way too good.”
“And?” She gazed into his eyes to ascertain whatever motives hid behind them, now that he’d shoved his shades up into his tousled hair.
Ross laughed. “Who says you’re not every bit as clairsentient as I am?” He glanced at his watch with a sigh. “I need to prep for my radio show, and I—”
“What type of show?”
He brushed a wisp of hair from her face so tenderly that she didn’t care what he’d say on the radio. She was mouthing words mindlessly, caught up in the wonder of Ross Costello even as she felt her fears edging in.
“I broadcast a weekly numerology show, where I sometimes host a guest who talks about how our numbers affect our everyday lives.”
Angie blinked. “There’s an audience for that?”
“Huge,” he stated matter-of-factly. “And thanks to online radio, my message streams through computers all over the country. All over the world!” He grinned like a kid. “Tonight, though, I don’t have a guest. I’ll be talking about how to know whether messages you receive are real or your imagination, and I’ll be taking call-in questions. Usually I do a quick reading or two, or answer e-mails I’ve received since last week’s show.”
Her jaw dropped as she tried to fathom what this meant. Not only was Ross Costello a successful Realtor by day, he apparently held court as an intuitive adviser for hundreds—maybe thousands—of listeners each week.
“You want to go back to the lodge? I’ve kept you a long time.”
“Are you kidding?”
“And maybe all this talk about your childhood at the bungalow and my extrasensory abilities has worn you thin.”
Angie caught herself watching his mouth as his voice enveloped her in its buttery baritone lushness. Yeah, he was a radio guy, all right. Most of his listeners were women, too, she’d bet. “If I won’t be in the way, I’d love to be there,” she whispered.
“Fabulous. I’ve lured you into my lair with a totally honorable excuse.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “If you’re ready for what that might entail, I think you’ll find the show pretty interesting. Shall we head for home?”
He whistled for his dogs while Angie’s heart thudded in her chest. She had blithely agreed to go to his house without considering the consequences. But sex had been peeking around the edges of their conversations all day, hadn’t it?
It’s how men and women play, silly! Since when are you such an innocent? And what makes you think you’ll automatically end up in bed with him?
Angie blinked. That voice wasn’t cutting her any slack. If ever there was a time she needed a lesson on discerning between imagination and reality, it was tonight. Caught in the crook of Ross’s arm, happily striding alongside him, she sensed she was about to learn a lot more than the trade secrets of an online numerologist.
Eight
ROSS’s home looked deceptively modest as they walked from the beach, past a barricade of large rocks, and onto his stone patio. The dogs rushed up the deck stairs, panting and still playful. He unlocked the glass door and steered her into a tiled dining area that flowed into a sleek kitchen with stainless appliances. Was that recently grilled steak she smelled? While the place appeared spotless, the masculine colors and lack of clutter told Angela he lived here alone. A reassuring thought.
“Here we be,” he quipped. “Make yourself at home while I check my messages, okay? My office is in the back, all the way down the hall.”
Angie drifted through his living room, admiring the bold, quirky painting of a Dixieland band above his oxblood leather couch, the biggest flat-screen TV she’d ever seen, brass and glass lamps and tables. Everything looked stylish yet sturdy. Had he chosen this decor himself, or was an interior designer one of the notches on his bedpost?
Why are you so hung up on his women? Why wouldn’t he have had relationships over the years? Once again, that voice nailed her every doubt and assumption, pegging it as a relic from her past. It was time to look ahead, right? Which led to that king-size bed in the master suite—
Angie walked faster past his bedroom. The soft glow of computer lights beckoned, and she stood in the office doorway to take inventory: the wide-screen Mac, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a massive antique desk in front of the glass sliders. No curtains. This man lived and did business in close, constant proximity to the ocean and its tone poems.
She walked toward the sliding doors, aglow with the slant of the setting sun, to gaze past his Adirondack chairs to a magnificent view of the beach. What would it be like to live this way? If the worn-down bungalow on Windswept listed for nearly half a million, if Ross escorted his clients in that fancy Navigator, cutting deals for homes that listed in the high six figures, what was she doing here?
“Had I n
ot received a nice wad from insurance after Dad died, my view—hell, my whole lifestyle—would look vastly different, sweetheart. It was as though my father was making up for being such a cheapskate, and he did it in a big way.” Ross came up behind her, looping his arms around her waist. “Sometimes our lives change drastically because of one unexpected gift, one huge surprise the universe drops in our laps.”
“You’ve got that right,” she murmured. “Maybe someday a windfall will drop for me. Right now, though, it feels like I’m losing more ground than I’m gaining.”
“That’ll change, babe. If you believe it will.”
There it was again, the assurance that positive results would come from positive thoughts. Angie closed her eyes. Settled back against him. “This place didn’t come to you just from your dad’s insurance payout, Ross. You earn a fine living—”
“Most years that’s true, yes.”
“—and you’ve set yourself up in a sideline, as well. You’ve worked for all this.”
“And you’ve paid some dues yourself, sweet lady. Keep the faith. You’ll harvest a bumper crop sometime soon. I promise you.”
His breath tickled her neck as his voice lulled her into a dangerous state of compliance. Standing here near the shore, watching the poppy-colored sunset while a handsome man held her, had to be a scene from a dream, didn’t it? Yet what he said was true: if she hadn’t allowed Ross to take her to Lenore’s, if she had walked into that cold, swirling water or driven back to Seattle this morning, this scenario with Ross wouldn’t be unfolding. Angie smiled. Maybe a few angels were working on her behalf, after all.
“Better get everything set up,” he murmured, letting her go. “Meanwhile, what’s your birth date?”
“You’re not going to announce that on the air.”
“No way! Going to run your numbers. To show you how numerology works, so you understand how I use it as a tool for advising my clients.”
“Oh. Like Lenore uses a tarot deck.”
“You got it.” He checked the hookups on his phone and computer, and then slipped on a headset with a mike. “So instead of broadcasting your age, I can send your deepest, darkest secrets all over cyberspace. Every man in the known world will be calling you then, Angie.”
She smiled wryly. “All from knowing my birth date? May twenty-fifth, nineteen seventy. Which means I’m old enough to be those guys’ mother, right?”
Ross chortled and then spoke briefly to somebody on the phone about his evening agenda. He settled into the big executive chair in front of his computer. Winked at her. “What’s your full name, as it appears on your birth certificate?”
“Angela Marie Cavanaugh.”
“Angela Marie. An angel of Mary.” He scribbled it on a piece of paper, and as a countdown of seconds flashed on his computer screen, he jotted a number beneath each letter of her names. Then his hand went still and he closed his eyes…to transition from flirting into his role as an authority on the evening’s topic.
“Welcome to Destiny by Design, here on Pacific Net Radio,” he crooned into his microphone. “I’m your host, Ross Costello, and I’ll be your numbers runner for another evening of enlightenment about numerology and how to make it work for you. Tonight we’ll discuss those vibes and intuitive flashes you’ve been receiving—and probably shrugging off—and how to tell if they’re real or imagined. The phone lines are open for your calls and questions, so let me hear from you!”
As he rattled off the call-in numbers, Angie sat behind his antique walnut desk to watch him. How cool was this, to be in the studio audience of a live show? And to watch Ross command the airways with his marvelous voice as though he could do it in his sleep. He swiveled his chair so he could look at her straight on.
“I bet most of you listening tonight recall a handful of times this week—or today—when your intuition told you to do something,” he began in a confident voice. “And how many of you dismissed these as stray thoughts, dumb, meaningless ideas that came in from left field, which you ignored because they didn’t feel like a sign? They didn’t send goose bumps down your spine or make light pulse around you, like you see in the movies. So they surely couldn’t mean anything.”
Angie reflected on what he was saying. While she’d received her share of out-there ideas recently, the voice in her head had been impossible to ignore as it directed her here to Harmony Falls. Oh, she’d tried not to follow its guidance and it had nearly killed her.
But then along came Ross and his dogs, and the rest, as they say, was history.
Or in your case, honey, the future.
There it was again! Ross was speaking to his listeners, watching his monitor, so he was not directing his thoughts her way, even though the voice’s tone was more playful this time.
You can’t lose me, Angie, so why not play along? You think it’s coincidence that Ross chose this subject when you would be here to listen? Call in! You’re connected in more ways than you know!
She fumbled her phone from her belt, grinning at this unthinkable idea. She never got through on those rare times she called in to win radio prizes or request a song, yet the phone number filled his computer screen as a blatant invitation to defy her own misgivings.
What would she say? She knew nothing about this psychic stuff or about numerology, yet her fingernails pecked the cell phone like hungry little chicks. Ross glanced at her, but he kept instructing his audience.
“So what I’m saying is, if you think it’s just your imagination, you’re right! The imagination is the gateway to your soul, your higher self, and it’s trying to get through to you!” he said exuberantly. “Those ideas and images are appearing for a reason! We’re talking destiny by design! We create our own realities, and you cannot create what you can’t imagine. We have a caller. Welcome to the show! Who’s this?”
Angie’s mouth fell open. Ross’s voice filled the office, yet he was also speaking into her ear. For a terrifying moment she sat speechless, and then the words tumbled out. She had no idea what she was saying and could only hope she sounded coherent. “This is Angie! Can you tell me about this voice that’s been speaking very clearly to me lately, even though no one else is around?”
Ross grinned and pointed to his headset, but he kept his voice controlled. “Good evening, Angie, and wow, what a great question. First, I’ll take your full name and your birth date so I can compute your numbers for more guidance about my answer. But everyone can hear your excitement, and your conviction that this voice comes from a positive place.”
“Yeah, well at first I thought I was going wacko, but—”
“And what’s your full name and your birth date, Angie?” he repeated gently.
She nipped her lip to keep from sending her grin all over the universe. Ross was fighting laughter, too, and as she spelled her last name and gave her birthday, he typed them rapidly into his computer.
“Is this voice a recent phenomenon, or have you always heard it?” He watched a chart appear on his screen, nodding as the words popped up. “You know, I see an amazing combination of traits in the numbers of your name, Angie. Your first name calculates to a twenty-two, which is a master number. So is the thirty-three that equates to your last name.”
“And what does that mean?” Angie asked softly. “I don’t know a thing about numerology. Just happened to catch your show for the first time—”
“Yet another example of the ancient statement, ‘When the student is ready, the teacher appears.’“ He paused to let this soak in—and perhaps to maintain his professional control. Ross appeared to be truly moved. Maybe amazed. “While you may be a student of these mystical teachings now, Angie, you have come to this earth in this lifetime to use your intuitive skills for the good of all. Twenty-two denotes a master builder, one who constructs new foundations for knowledge and goodness. It is the most powerful of the master numbers. And thirty-three is the most loving.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice, gazing raptly at her. “I can’t tell y
ou what an honor it is that you’ve called in to my show tonight, Angie. I could tease and ask ‘What are you doing here?’ or just turn these teachings over to you. Yet I sense you have no idea who you really are or what you have come here to accomplish at this important time in our planet’s history.”
She blinked, staring at him, clinging to her phone. How on earth did she respond to that? “So, does that explain why I started hearing this voice as I was escaping a very…difficult relationship?”
Ross inhaled deeply. “The ancients tell us there are no coincidences, that everything happens for a reason. Even very difficult relationships—which I’m thankful you got yourself away from, sweetheart! Your heart’s desire number and your personality number are both a nineteen-one, which shows karmic power from previous lives.” He eased into a more relaxed, less scholarly mode. “Sort of like payback, this karma is. You apparently misused your prosperity and great power before, so now you must learn to stand up for yourself. You’ve placed yourself in situations that teach you what it’s like to feel helpless. Victimized. Does this make sense to you, Angie?”
“Oh, yeah,” she wheezed. Her head spun with all this stuff about karma and previous lives, yet Ross meant every word. His eyes were wide and kind, even as he maintained his radio persona.
“Your chart also tells me that you reached a new pinnacle when you turned thirty-five, which explains why things have come to a head for you, have become much more intense,” he continued. “And because you are on a ‘two’ life path, you desire harmony and balance, which makes your current challenges feel even more difficult. It’s like you’ve always been a model student—the teacher’s pet—yet you find yourself serving detention in the principal’s office, and you don’t know how you got there. Conflict and confrontation are so difficult for you, you’ll do almost anything to avoid them.”
“Oh, wow. Oh, wow…”
Ross extended his hand to her, but she didn’t dare stand up. “The voice you’re hearing?” he went on in his rich baritone.
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