Gypsy Magic

by Rebecca York; Ann Voss Peterson; Patricia Rosemoor

  In the bedroom, he turned and pulled her fully against him, and the feel of his hair-matted chest against her breasts made her knees buckle.

  She sat down abruptly on the bed. He was still standing, and she pulled him close so that she could skim his slacks down his legs. Apparently his borrowed outfit hadn’t included underwear, either.

  His body was all taut muscle and magnificent arousal. With a low moan, she pressed her cheek and then her open mouth against his abdomen, feeling his muscles ripple under the intimate touch.

  Then he was beside her on the bed, his hands stroking up and down her sides, sliding over her ribs, her hips, her thighs, then gathering her close.

  His eyes were still tightly shut as he learned her body with his fingertips and his lips. And as he caressed her, he told her how much he had missed her, how much he wanted her, the hot, sexy words fueling her need.

  Joyfully, she cradled his head against her breasts as his lips found one taut nipple and sucked it. The sensations were almost too exquisite to bear.

  As she ran her hands down his back and over his taut buttocks, his fingers found the slick, hot core of her, and his knowing touch drove her wild.

  “Wyatt…I need you now,” she gasped. “Please, now.”

  He rose over her, claiming her, and for a breathless moment they both went very still as they absorbed the reality of their joining. Then he began to move with slow, gliding strokes that quickly became more urgent, more demanding. Gladness surged through her as she matched his rhythm.

  His hand slid between them, stroking and pressing, and she was lost in a tight spiral of pleasure that built toward a burst of ecstasy. Crying out, she clung to the slick skin of his shoulders.

  He was there with her all the way, his own glad cry mingling with hers as they held each other in the midst of the storm.

  He shifted his weight off her, but she kept her fingers knit with his as he lay back against the sheets.

  “Thank you,” she breathed. “That was beautiful.”

  His fingers tightened on hers, but he said nothing, and she turned her head, seeing that his eyes were squeezed closed as though he were trying to shut out pain.

  “You don’t agree?” she whispered.

  He didn’t answer at once, and she died a little inside. Then he heaved a sigh. “Alessandra, I’m a blind ex-cop who lives in Les Baux on his pension and works cold cases to make himself feel useful. You’re a fortune-teller with a carnival. When the midway packs up and moves, you’ll go with your family.”

  “No!”

  They weren’t touching now, but he turned his head toward her, his eyes wide open for the first time since they’d arrived at his house, and she felt as if he were looking into her soul. “Which part did I get wrong?”

  “You don’t have to put it in those terms.”

  “I’m trying to be realistic.”

  “You’re trying to make me feel like making love with you was a mistake—when I know it wasn’t.”

  “You may see things differently in the morning.”

  “Wyatt, please…don’t…” Maybe he was right. But she wasn’t going to admit that now. And if he was right, if they indeed had no future together, then she was going to grab every scrap of happiness she could. Rolling toward him, she pressed her lips to his and gloried in the response that he wasn’t able to hide.

  ALESSANDRA SENSED it was still early when she woke up alone in the double bed. The night before, she had seen the room only in shadow. Now she sat up and stared around. The furniture was charming—old, polished oak pieces that had either been in this house for years or that he’d purchased at antique shops. There was no rug, only a wide-planked wooden floor.

  She was about to climb out of bed when she heard footsteps. Automatically, she snatched the covers over her breasts, then went very still as Wyatt stepped into the room.

  He was naked. His dark hair was damp, and it was obvious he’d just showered and shaved.

  “You’re awake,” he said without looking in her direction as he crossed to the dresser and opened a drawer. She saw him take out a pair of briefs and step into them. “After breakfast we can start looking around my father’s office—at the stuff I told you he brought home.”

  She watched him pull on a navy polo shirt and jeans, only half listening to what he was saying. She’d come here to look at his father’s papers. But she found herself focusing on the man who had made passionate love to her the night before. He was so handsome, and so sure of his movements here in his own home that you wouldn’t know he was blind. Yet blindness had changed his whole life—in ways she couldn’t imagine. He’d tried to tell her that last night. She hadn’t wanted to listen. But she knew she would have to deal with it, because it was what he dealt with every day.

  “He was very meticulous. He wrote up notes for himself. And maybe he’ll be willing to talk to you about Carlo when I tell him I think someone tried to kill us to keep us from digging into the case now.”

  She forced her voice to work. “Where is he?”

  “In a nursing home not far from here. He had a stroke last year. So you may have trouble understanding his speech. It’s a bit slurred.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s been rough for him.”

  Alessandra saw the pain that stiffened his features. There had been times when she’d cursed Louis Boudreaux. When she’d wished that something terrible would happen to the man. It seemed that she’d gotten her wish, but it didn’t give her the feeling of satisfaction she’d imagined.

  “I’ll fix breakfast while you’re getting dressed,” Wyatt said, his tone and his expression smoothing out.

  “All right.” Telling herself that he couldn’t see her anyway, she climbed out of bed, then snatched up the dress Wyatt had apparently retrieved from the stairs. Holding it in front of herself, she grabbed the bag Sabina had packed for her.

  When she brushed past Wyatt, he stopped her with a hand on her bare shoulder.

  “Wait!”

  “I’m embarrassed to be standing here naked,” she murmured.

  “I know that.” She saw him swallow. “I just wanted to say what I should have said last night. Making love with you was…the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”

  “Thank you for…sharing that with me,” she murmured.

  “I never was much good at expressing my feelings,” he went on, “and it hasn’t gotten any easier in the past few years. I mean, if you’d lost something important, if you’d suddenly found you couldn’t tell people’s fortunes, you might have some trouble with your self-image.”

  She put aside her own embarrassment and turned to embrace him, knowing that what he’d said had taken guts.

  He clasped her to him, his hands traveling up and down the length of her back. “I can’t make myself believe there’s any way we can stay together,” he said.

  “Maybe if we want it enough, we can make it work,” she answered, praying it was possible.

  He nodded tightly, and she knew he couldn’t let himself believe there was any hope for the two of them. Partly it was her fault. She’d used the harshest possible terms when she’d sent him away five years ago. That was bad enough to overcome. His being blinded had made their chances much worse. Not because she thought any less of him. Actually, just the reverse was true. She was astounded by how well he’d adapted. But she knew his altered self-image might not let him reach out for happiness.

  And then there was the problem of Carlo. What if they couldn’t find something that would prevent his execution? Then she and Wyatt would be right back where they’d started. On opposite sides of an earthquake fault.

  She voiced none of those thoughts but simply said, “I’d better get dressed.”

  “Yes.” His hands fell away from her, and she made a speedy exit from the room.

  Down the hall, she took a quick shower, brushed her teeth, then decided that she might as well put on last night’s dress, since she hadn’t worn it very long. The
n she’d call Milo. She needed to find out about her trailer, and maybe the carnival owner would be willing to give her a few days off. Sabina could fill in for her. Or even Valonia.

  Thinking of the old woman gave her a little chill. She and Valonia were close. Yet there were people who never understood why. There was something dark and secretive about the woman. A strange component to her personality that put people off unless they got close to her. It was even whispered that she had the ability to curse the lives of her enemies.

  Louis Boudreaux had been one of those enemies. Maybe that was equally true of Wyatt. What would Valonia do if her niece and the man whose father had helped convict Carlo got back together? Was that dangerous for Wyatt? Would fear for his welfare be the reason she would have to walk away from him?

  A shiver traveled over her skin and sank into her flesh, all the way to her bones. She clenched her teeth, but couldn’t hold back a low, frightened sound.

  Something bad was going to happen. She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was coming. Maybe it had to do with Valonia. Maybe not. But Alessandra had learned to believe in the flashes of precognition that came to her at random times. And learned to dread them.

  WYATT SET UP the electric pot to brew Kona coffee, then opened the refrigerator and took out Cajun sausage and a carton of eggs. Might as well impress Alessandra with his cooking skills.

  Working by feel, on a cutting board with a rim, he sliced some sausage, along with onions and peppers, then put them in the skillet with olive oil. The heat control had special markings so that he could tell the temperature.

  When he’d first been blinded, he’d sunk into despair. Then he’d vowed to do almost everything he’d done before. There were frustrations, of course. Like having to rely on cabdrivers like Henry Beaver. Thinking of Henry made him wonder what had happened to him last night. From memory, he dialed the cab company and asked for last night’s driver.

  Henry happened to be in the office.

  “You need a ride somewhere?” he asked.

  “No. But I want to ask you about the carnival. Why did you leave when I asked you to wait for me?”

  “You told this guy that I didn’t have to. That you wouldn’t be needing me.”

  “Who was this guy?”

  “Some guy leaving the midway with his kids. Said somebody’d told him to speak to the cabdriver waiting at the entrance and tell him he could leave.”

  Wyatt felt a surge of anger, but there was no point in taking out his frustration on Henry. “I guess somebody was playing a prank on us. Next time, wait until you hear from me directly, okay?”

  “Got it.”

  Hanging up, Wyatt stood thinking about the incident. Then the aroma of the heating sausage reminded him he’d better pay attention to what he was cooking.

  Still, his mind kept working as he tested a piece of onion with a fork. Dad had sent him to the carnival last night to get information, and he should report back. But he was strangely reluctant to make the call. He hadn’t told Henry that leaving him stranded had almost gotten him killed. And he was even more reluctant to tell his father about the murder attempt. That would only upset the old man. In addition, he didn’t want to talk about his relationship with Alessandra King, Carlo Mustov’s cousin.

  He knew his father wouldn’t approve—or be thrilled at all by his offer to help Alessandra save her cousin.

  His features were pensive as he cracked eggs into a small bowl and added salt and pepper before scrambling them. He’d always admired his father. In fact, his dad was one of the reasons he’d gone to the police academy. But now, when he thought about Carlo Mustov, he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  He’d just finished pouring the eggs into the pan when he heard Alessandra on the stairs and quickly rearranged his features.

  She stopped in the kitchen doorway. “I was going to offer to help, but I see you’ve got it pretty well finished.”

  “You can set the table and pour coffee. There’s milk in the refrigerator if you want it, and the sugar bowl is on the counter by the coffeepot. The cutlery is in the drawer beside the refrigerator.”

  “Everything’s very efficient.”

  “It has to be.” He sprinkled cheese over the eggs, then put a top on the pan, listening to the clink of knives and forks on the table. The sound made him think about how solitary his existence had been since his dad had gone into the nursing home.

  “Can I use your phone after breakfast to call Milo?” she asked.

  “Of course. Feel free to use anything you want. Do you drive?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Dad’s car is in the garage. I’ve had the service station keep it in good running order, because I was planning to sell it. Now you might as well get some use out of it.”

  “I can drive out to the carnival.”

  “No!” The command came out low and sharp, taking them both by surprise.

  “Why not?” she asked, a sudden quaver in her voice.

  He filled his lungs, then let the air out in an even stream. “Because you’re in danger out there.”

  “I live there.”

  “Let’s not forget about the fire somebody set.”

  He heard her breath catch. “I can’t hide out here forever.”

  “How about until we catch the person who tried to kill you?” He took the top off the pan, then dipped a spoon into the eggs, brought some out and tested the consistency, trying to look as if his heart weren’t pounding. He felt protective, which brought with it a feeling of anger and helplessness. He wanted to keep her safe, but he didn’t know if he could.

  The eggs were done. Knowing he had to keep Alessandra here at all costs, he said, “Maybe we’ll find some clues in my father’s papers. We can start right after breakfast.”

  “You think we’ll find something?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping,” he answered as he served them each half the omelette.

  One part of him desperately wanted that to be true. But the other part was much less sure, because finding a tie-in to the old murder would call Dad’s detective work into question.

  “How long was your father with the police department?” she asked after they’d eaten in silence for several moments.

  “Thirty years. He was the best they had,” he said with conviction.

  He heard her set down her fork. “Then why do you think we’ll find anything in his papers that will change things for Carlo?”

  “Because of what I said last night. Somebody doesn’t want us to look at the evidence,” he clipped out, hoping she’d take the hint and drop the subject.

  To his relief, she didn’t try to make any more conversation as they sat at the table.

  AFTER BREAKFAST, Alessandra helped Wyatt clean up the kitchen, pleased with how well they worked together.

  She knew he was tense as she watched him rinse off the plates and set them in the dishwasher, and she wanted to go to him and slide her arms around him.

  But his clipped conversation had made her feel uncertain about their relationship—uncertain about even her presence in his house.

  After breakfast she called the carnival office from the phone in the kitchen. Milo was out, and Florica was the one who answered, so it wasn’t a very satisfactory conversation. Finally, one of the other members of her extended family came on the line. It was Lila, who had stopped by the office to report that dogs from town had been into the carnival garbage. Alessandra asked her to see if Sabina could take over the fortune-telling tent for the evening. Then she left Wyatt’s number and asked to have her sister call back.

  When she made her way down the hall to the office, she saw Wyatt had pulled several file boxes from the closet. He was sitting beside them on an old but very lovely Oriental carpet, his arms drawn around his knees, his face pensive. When he heard her footsteps, he looked up quickly and blanked his expression, but she could tell that he wasn’t looking forward to second-guessing his father.

  “Here’s the stuff,
” he said.

  “How do we work this?” she asked, keeping her own voice matter-of-fact.

  “Well, obviously I can’t tell one piece of paper from another,” he said. “I just know where Dad keeps his old work stuff. Usually, when I have an assistant working with me, I have him or her start looking through the folders—telling me what’s there. If a document sounds relevant, then I’ll scan it. Doesn’t take long, because I have special equipment that can go through text quickly.”

  She hadn’t touched him since he’d reached for her in the bedroom. Now she sat down beside him and laid her hand over his. At the pressure of her warm fingers on his flesh, he jumped.

  “We can try something else,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like what happened in the fortune-telling tent. And then in my trailer. You said you could see what I was seeing.”

  He nodded tightly.

  “Do you want to try that again—see if we can manage it?”

  “It scared you, didn’t it?” he asked.

  “I don’t think you liked it much, either!”

  He gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah, it’s difficult to handle. That’s why I’ve kept my eyes closed around you.”

  “Like when we were making love?” she murmured.

  “Yeah, like then.”

  The thickness in his voice made her turn her head, made her brush her lips against his. Just a light touch, to find out what would happen.

  His arms came around her, pulling her to him, as his mouth took full possession of hers. At breakfast he’d acted distant, and she’d been afraid he was having second thoughts about the two of them.

  The kiss told her what she wanted to know. He was far from indifferent. But circumstances were getting in the way—circumstances that tore at both of them.

  She ached to pull him down to the surface of the carpet and show him what she was feeling. But the work they had to do was more important.

  “Let’s see if we can look at the folders together,” she said.

  She pulled one of the boxes toward her, removed the top and began looking at the names neatly written on the folder tabs.