Tonight and Forever Magical Romances Boxed Set

by D'Alessandro, Jacquie

  The elderly woman smiled. “You may be right. I’m Martha, and you must be Miss Delacourt. I am a longtime fan of your music and so honored to meet you.”

  They shook hands. “Thank you. And please call me Kris,” she said, once again feeling silly for her panic.

  “Well, then please come inside, Miss Kris. I’ve tea ready.” She led the way into the castle.

  Awestruck, Krisana followed the maid past a number of rooms—foyer, library, parlor, and more she couldn’t name. The interior of the castle was astounding. She might as well have been walking into Versailles when it came to the décor of the walls and artistry of the gilded molding. Even the marble floors and massive, antique rugs might have been found in an authentic castle. The difference came in the eclectic collection of art and the mix of somewhat modern furniture amid priceless antiques.

  “Lord Daniels usually has morning tea in his study. I’m afraid he’s had a bit of a rough morning, but should be able to join you shortly.”

  “Oh, no. I am sorry to hear he is unwell. I can come back later.” Krisana stopped, suddenly aware of how rude her response to Lord Daniels’ gift to her was. Her cheeks burned.

  “He wouldn’t hear of it. He is so anxious to meet you that it’s what likely set him off kilter.” Martha led the way into a darkened study. “Please make yourself at home. Do you wish for me to pour tea?”

  An elaborate silver tea service and a three-tiered tray full of delicate pastries sat on a polished table. The scents of bergamot rind and strawberry preserves teased her senses and her mouth watered. She hadn’t realized that she was hungry. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for fixing this for me.”

  “You’re welcome. It is a delight to have you here.” Martha left and Krisana took a minute to explore the room before sitting down. She decided she liked the odd mingling of antique and modern. The art seemed to be from all over the world—jade figurines, African masks, porcelain vases, and masterful paintings from Degas and Manet, among others. This kind of wealth was as daunting as it was intriguing.

  She could spend the day in just this one room, but the tea and the baked goodies kept luring her their way. Fifteen minutes and three heavenly treats later, including a scone with jam and clotted cream, she looked up to see an elderly man on a motorized wheelchair enter the room. He wore a misting oxygen mask and his breathing appeared slightly labored.

  Her heart squeezed and guilt smacked her. She really had been incredibly rude in her reaction to his generous gift to her, demanding to see him immediately without any consideration as to what might be happening in his life. Gray hair stuck out in tuffs from beneath the black hooded jacket he wore. He had a scarf wrapped around his throat and gloves on his hands. His pale face and blue eyes were blurred by the misty oxygen. His clothes hung loosely on his slumped frame, telling her that time had stolen more than years from this once big man.

  “Anya,” he rasped, rolling across the room to her.

  Krisana’s teacup clattered to the saucer as she set both on the table before she dropped them. “My name is Krisana, Lord Daniels. I am the singer you have generously given part of an opera house to.”

  He shook his head as if confused. “Yes, of course. You just surprised me. In person you look so much like Anya, that I forgot myself for a moment.” He coughed harshly then seemed to have difficulty getting enough air into his lungs to speak. “Anya was the woman I loved many years ago and lost.”

  “Then you are James?” Krisana whispered.

  “You remember?”

  “Remember? I don’t understand what you mean.” She stood, unwilling to meet the man’s gaze. Her mind raced. Were the passionate dreams filling her nights of this man when he was younger? She walked to the velvet and gold-draped window and looked out over the lake, as flashes of her dreams of a dark-haired lover in the opera house played through her mind. She had dreamed of Anya and James, but what did that mean? It was too much to so suddenly absorb.

  “There’s a plaque at the entrance to the opera house with the name Anya and James on it. I saw it this morning. So, when you called me Anya, I assumed that meant you are James.”

  “I am Jameson. Anya called me James. Looking at you is like seeing her alive again.”

  The pain in his voice forced her to face him. “Is that why you’ve given me part of the opera house? I resemble a woman you once loved?”

  “No. Come with me,” he said, turning his chair to leave the room, not even looking back to see if she followed. At the end of the corridor, he went through double doors and she found herself in a ballroom. Across the room was a larger than life portrait of a woman dressed in white silk, seated at an ebony piano. The woman was her…but not her. The dress and the hairstyle were different. Krisana’s eyes were brown not blue and her hair a little lighter, but the features were uncannily the same.

  A vision of her swirling around the dance floor in the arms of a dark-haired man at a grand ball flashed through her mind. It wasn’t here, and it wasn’t at the opera house. The style of clothing and military uniforms placed the event in the nineteen forties. The vision was so real that she could feel the heat and press of his body against hers. She could hear his laughter and the seductive lure of his deep voice—and she could almost…almost make out his features, but the vision disappeared. She blinked, wondering what had just happened. Was it a memory of the past? Or a figment of her imagination?

  “You see how much you resemble her,” the old man said, calling her attention back to him. “She, too, was an accomplished pianist with an incomparable voice. I loved her more than life itself. As to why I’ve given half of the opera house to you and half of it to my nephew, JD is a long story.” He coughed again, so hard that he made her wince in sympathy. “I must rest now and talk later. Will you stay here? Be my guest until I can tell you my story.”

  She sucked in air. She and the blue-eyed devil on the phantom bike owned the opera house together? “I don’t know,” she whispered. She wasn’t going to let her mind go wild with Rocky Horror Picture Show scenarios, but staying here seemed too much of an intrusion. Yet, it was such a simple request from a man who was apparently very ill.

  Could she really leave this house without finding out the answers to her questions and her dreams? Why were she and Anya so connected and so alike?

  He sighed deeply and turned away, seeming to shrink even more into his himself. “I’ve handled this all wrong. I’ve upset you.”

  “No. I just don’t understand any of this.”

  “Neither do I. But when I saw you perform seven years ago, I couldn’t walk away. After seeing her portrait, can you leave now?”

  “No,” Krisana whispered.

  “I’ll have Martha fix you a room and JD can show you the opera house. I’m sure you’ll want to see it and perhaps Anya’s ghost will speak to you while you are there as well. Everyone thinks I’m crazy.” Then on the increasing notes of another coughing attack, the man wheeled from the room.

  Anya’s ghost? The suggestion didn’t disturb her at all. She felt as if she’d been living with Anya every night in her dreams for years.

  CHAPTER THREE

  After Lord Daniels left her, Krisana stared at Anya’s portrait a little longer, then returned to the study. She had another cup of hot tea in an attempt to digest everything that had just happened, but wasn’t sure that it helped.

  Martha found her and escorted her to an amazingly beautiful bedroom on the second floor. Decorated in shades of burgundy, deep amber, and forest green with a balcony that overlooked the lake, it was a room fit for a queen. On tour, Krisana stayed in five star hotels. She was used to a certain level of luxury, but this place went beyond anything she could have imagined. Fresh flowers, fresh fruit, and chocolates sat waiting with bottled juices on ice. The accompanying bathroom was like a mini luxury spa. She sat on the chaise lounge for a moment and gazed across the lake, but thoughts about Anya and James/Lord Daniels bombarded her mind.

  She couldn’t relax and she couldn�
��t think any more about the situation. Lord Daniels seemed to think she was Anya reincarnated who’d returned to him just as he was reaching the last years of his life. How cruel could a fate be? Surely her dreams were Anya’s ghost haunting her and not memories from a past life. The portrait made her wonder, though.

  Rather than wait for someone to help her with her bags as Martha suggested, Krisana left to get them herself. She even contemplated just going ahead to the opera house alone. She had just unlocked the door to her car when she heard the sound of a motorcycle roaring up the driveway.

  She didn’t have to turn around to know that JD and his phantom bike had arrived. He halted beside her and slid off his helmet. This time the look he gave her didn’t stray from her face. “I should have recognized you, should have made the connection, but I thought he’d set this foolishness behind him seven years ago. He shouldn’t have contacted you. No matter how much he wants to believe it, you are not Anya.”

  His adamant statement came as a relief. “No. But there is a remarkable resemblance between us.”

  “Stuff like that happens over time. There are look-a-likes throughout history. You should see some of them on the Internet. I showed them to the old man, but he insisted you were different. I’m sorry. Are you going somewhere?” he asked.

  “I’d planned to get my bags from the car then go to the opera house. I’d like to see it.”

  “So you’re going through with his crazy plan?”

  “What plan is that?”

  “Putting on the opera he wrote.”

  “He didn’t mention it. What opera did he write?” She asked though she knew the answer.

  “He’ll have my head for telling you.” He handed her his helmet and took off his jacket. “Ready to ride the Phantom, Kris? We might as well see the opera house together since we own the damn thing.”

  She met JD’s challenging gaze and slid on his jacket, finding his irreverence to the opera house oddly refreshing. His heat and seductive scent wrapped her like a cocoon. He wore a black shirt with metal studs, similar to the studs on his black boots. His shirt hung loose from his leather pants, which were torn—a grim reminder of their near disastrous accident earlier. “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

  He shook his head. “It’s a warm enough day if we go now. I’ll help you with your bags when we get back.”

  Minutes later, they were zooming down the drive. She clung to every part of him she could with every part of her that would cling. Surely, she was going to end up flying through the air and land in a ditch somewhere. No seatbelt, no metal or glass to stop the elements, just him for protection as he flew through the air without a care in the world—she loved it!

  A freedom and exhilaration she’d never known before grabbed her spirit, as the seductive feel of his body against hers heightened her senses, stirring desires she’d always held in check. Her whole life had been a regimented discipline of training, practices, and performances. She’d never let herself stray from her passion to sing.

  The longer they road, the more she clung to him. Not because of fear, but because of just how good he felt. Her thighs hugged his, her arms wrapped him tight, and her hands splayed across his chest, absorbing the feel of his hard muscled warmth and the beat of his heart.

  The scenery passed in a heart-racing blur, so she closed her eyes and gave herself over to the pulsing pleasure of being with him. Long before she was ready to end her ride on the Phantom, long before she was ready to unglue herself from his hard, male body, JD pulled to a stop in front of the opera house and killed the engine. Instead of getting off, he sank back against her as if reveling in the feel of her. They sat there long enough for the situation to become obvious. Any longer and they’d have to do something about the desire gripping them both.

  Krisana forced herself to slide off the bike. He didn’t help matters by keeping a steady hold on her arm. His assistance kept her hip pressed intimately to his thigh and the brush of his thumb across her wrist challenged her ability to think.

  Once off, she took a step back, but gained little distance from him. He slid off the bike in one fluid move and stood a breath away from her. He unsnapped the helmet and eased it off her head. His hand brushed her neck in the process then cupped her chin. His blue gaze studied her, searching for an answer to the sensual sparks between them. Her lips parted as his gaze dropped to her mouth, welcoming this seductive stranger who made her senses sing at perfect pitch and in harmony with his. She thought he was going to kiss her and her mouth went so dry she couldn’t even swallow.

  ~~~

  Jameson knew he’d lost all control of the situation. God, how he wanted her, needed her. The only thing that kept him holding back was the fear of losing her.

  “Enjoy the ride?” he asked as he ran his thumb across her bottom lip. The feel of her sweet body pressed tight against his throbbed inside him. She’d cranked the desire between them to a high the moment they’d met by running her hands over him, searching to see if he’d been hurt. Yeah, he hurt. Everything inside him ached—hard.

  Riding with her on the Phantom had been a mistake. From now on, any future ride would be less than perfect unless her body was enveloping his.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good,” he said, stepping back to keep from wrapping himself around her and taking them both on a different kind of ride. He wouldn’t stop at a kiss. He knew it, so he didn’t dare cross the line until she was ready for him. He was dying to run his fingers through her silky hair and sink himself deep into the heated pleasures of her body. He wanted to drive himself into her until there was nothing left for either of them to give.

  She turned to the opera house as if looking for something to save her from him. He shivered as he followed her gaze, knowing she’d find no salvation amid the mortar and glitz.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked as she slid a set of keys from her pocket.

  He smiled. “I see the old man has been talking.” He set his hand over hers, feeling the race of her pulse as he eased the keys from her fingers. “Let me usher you in and let’s just say that I believe the old man is a haunted man.” His voice wavered and he had to turn away before she saw the shadows in his eyes.

  Setting his hand against the small of her back, he led her up the stairs, his heart pounding with both anticipation and dread.

  “Haunted by Anya, you mean? Who was she? What happened to her?”

  He sighed as he slid the key into the lock. “That’s for the old man to tell,” he said. “You need to hear the story from him. Meanwhile, I think we should mark this historic occasion with a little fun. Close your eyes.”

  “What?”

  “Close your eyes. To truly appreciate the magnificence of the opera house, you need to see it as a whole. There are paintings and photographs in the lobby that will spoil the fun. I collected them to help me restore this place.”

  “You restored it?”

  “You don’t think the old man would just give it to me,” he said, grinning at the surprise on her face. He bent down and scooped her off her feet to cradle her in his arms as he pushed against the door. She gasped.

  “Close your eyes,” he warned, as he carried her over the threshold. Holding her close, he drank in the sweet, fresh scent of lavender and rose she wore, as he crossed the lobby and pushed his way into the opera house, wondering just how far his control would stretch. Setting her on her feet, his resolve crumbled and he bent to claim her lips.

  “Oh, oh, oh!” she said, not even realizing his intent as she swung away from him, her eyes wide with pleasure. He sighed as he tried to shore up his resolve to keep his distance. Being here with her again was harder than he thought it would be.

  ~~~

  Krisana couldn’t believe her eyes. The opera house was more than beautiful—it was exquisite, every detail of it. Her dreams had been fuzzy images. To see the real thing was incomparable. She could already hear voices ringing clear and true as the power and passion of music fil
led the room. She moved toward the stage and what had to be the largest pipe organ in the world. The sound would surely reach heaven. She didn’t have a feeling of tragedy or loss that she’d experienced when touching the door earlier, only one of joy.

  “You did this?” she asked, turning to look at JD with new eyes. “You restored this to such glory? It’s magnificent. Was the place in bad condition before?”

  “A fire and years of neglect had ruined it.” He shrugged as if it hadn’t been a huge accomplishment. “It’s what I do. I fix things. No miracle here.”

  She shuddered. A fire? Had that been what she’d seen when she’d touched the door? She kept her gaze on JD, drawn as much to him as to the splendor of the place. There was a great deal more to him than a phantom bike and take-me-anywhere-you-want bedroom blues.

  He turned away. “Would you like to play the organ?”

  She shook her head. “No. Piano is my forte. I wouldn’t be able to do it justice, but I can’t wait to hear it. Can you play?”

  “Some. What do you want to hear?”

  “Anything.”

  “You got it,” he said. He grabbed her hand and led her down into the orchestra pit. As she followed, she wondered if she were descending into temptations from which she’d never escape. The play of his hard muscle beneath his black shirt and leather pants when he moved had her imagining what he’d look like naked.

  She forced her gaze from his body to take in the magnificence of the place again. This time she focused on the amazing chandelier centering the stage. It appeared to be thousands of glass and silver icicles on fire with multi-colored flames. “That is beautiful!”

  He followed her gaze. “Pure crystal and silver.” He motioned to a hydraulic gearbox set against the wall closest to the stage. “Those dials control the chandelier; they dim the lighting, change the color of it, or lower it for dusting or repair.”