"Well, you're very good at it."
He grinned, even laughed. “Thank you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile.
"I don't rile easily, but I'm a little protective of my legacy, Mr. Jones."
"Just Luke."
I don't particularly enjoy being under attack ... Luke."
"I'm not attacking you, Bianca. I'm just looking for the truth."
"Luke...” Something in her tone made him turn to look directly at her. She sighed. “Truth? I'm not sure you can handle it."
He scoffed. “Of course I can. What makes you think I can't?"
"A feeling."
"Well,” he stated resolutely, “your feeling's off. Way off."
Her odd smile made him think she disagreed. Very much.
"What if handling it means believing in something you don't?” she countered. The sparks Luke thought he'd seen in her eyes before played tricks on his common sense again.
He shook his head, more to clear it than to support the fact that he adamantly protested her efforts to play him the way she played everyone else.
"I'm not falling for it, Bianca. You're clearly deep into this little charade of yours, so I'll put in a nutshell for you exactly why I'm here.” He met her gaze squarely, his tone uncompromising. “I'm not here to prove you're a witch. I'm here to prove you aren't. I'm not here to tell the world the Honeywell curse is real. I'm here to find proof that it isn't.” He paused, let that sink in a moment, and then arched a brow. “Understand?"
Biting her lip, she looked away in silence. When the next rocket shattered the air, creating pink and blue chrysanthemum bursts in the sky, Bianca jumped. She dragged her gaze back to his, her eyes measurably darker. Tilting her head to one side, her steady glare penetrated him.
"When you discover that you're wrong—and, Luke, you will discover that you're wrong—I hope you find it in yourself to write a story that's fair and honest. Because so far that angle hasn't been covered."
Her words sliced through him, wrapping tight around his gut. He turned back to the fireworks, not really seeing them. Every blast of color and sound made his heart jerk and pulse wildly.
When he turned to her again, she was gone.
* * * *
Bianca watched the grand finale from a quiet spot in her garden. Perched on a boulder beside the pond, she listened to frogs serenading her between waterfall bursts of color in the sky. Her heart sank inexplicably when Luke found her there.
"So ... how many reporters have been here before me?” His voice was soft, almost kind. He stood next to her, hands clasped behind his back, and rocked back and forth, heel to toe.
"I lost count after twelve. And I don't want to talk about this right now.” She didn't look at him, but lifted a finger to her lips. “Shhh ... This is the best part."
A million multi-colored sparks lit up the sky amidst thunderous eruptions and gasps from onlookers. Children danced and shrieked with mounting excitement, as every explosion increased in vibrant color and breathtaking splendor.
"It's incredible,” Luke breathed beside her.
She nodded, exhaling on a sigh. “Yes. Like magic."
"Bianca—"
"Not now, I said."
"But there's—"
"Luke!” she snapped, hot as a bullet, her gaze firing daggers of frustration at him.
The air around them crackled, but he didn't seem to notice. Not like last time, when she'd nearly blown a hole in his bottom with the shot of electricity her anger had conjured.
Luke stood unmoving, fixing his stare at the ground beneath her feet. He seemed frozen with fear. Following his gaze, Bianca saw the snake. It wove in and out of herb beds, slithering fluidly through the grass.
Before she could explain about Hugo, the harmless garden snake that had taken up residence there just after the spring thaw, Luke snatched her from the rock.
Cradled in his able arms, she was breathless. She couldn't even formulate a gasp of surprise. The beat of her heart, heavy and hard, bounced around in her head.
The rest of her reacted madly, out of control. No man but Miles had so much as touched her in the last year. As charming and handsome as he was, Bianca's gay best friend didn't exactly elicit a libidinous response from her.
Not the way Luke did just then.
She was acutely aware of his fragrance, musky and virile, and of his warm breath on her mouth. She could feel every chiseled muscle in his arms and chest flex and release as he moved. When Bianca threw an arm around his neck and shoulders, hanging on for dear life, she felt his heart hammer against her breast.
Hormones that had been asleep seemingly forever jangled awake like a billion tiny alarm clocks, all set for that one precise moment.
He backed away from the pond, eyes still narrowed on the snake, his feet moving too fast. She opened her mouth to warn him but found no voice. In his direct path was her circle of stones, where Bianca celebrated rituals and magic.
His heel struck a good-sized rock. Luke stumbled, fought to regain his balance, but to no avail. He pitched backward, falling into the circle, coming down hard on his backside.
Bianca landed on Luke's midsection and felt his breath expel in a loud, deflating hiss. “Oh ... heavens ... I...” Words shot past her lips in swift, short pants. Her insides felt shaky and her head reeled, though neither was a result of the tumble.
She scrambled to right herself but their limbs were tangled up hopelessly and every struggle seemed to bring them only closer. Nose to nose, she felt his breath on her lips again, and their eyes connected—his very dark, reflecting the moonlight, and filled with shadowy secrets that tickled her curiosity and made something hot unfurl deep in her abdomen.
Her heart punched hard in her chest and she wondered if he could feel it—a prospect that brought fresh heat to her cheeks.
He opened his mouth, his lips a whisper away from hers, and hoarsely managed, “Can't ... breathe..."
Gasping in embarrassment, she rolled off of him, an apology squeezing past her tight throat. “I'm s-sorry ... Are you...?” Her voice was shrill, anxious, and she wasn't sure what had her feeling worse, embarrassment or annoyance.
Had she asked to be rescued from a harmless garden snake?
He lay there, bringing a hand to his mid-section. “I ... think I'm okay."
Bianca slipped shaky fingers through her hair, then smoothed her disheveled dress. When she finally found her voice, her tone was sharper than she intended. “Why did you do that!"
"To save you from the snake, of course.” His winded expression gave way to a sheepish grin. “I have this ... thing ... about snakes.” He paused, cleared his throat, and then confessed, with unabashed resolve, “I don't like them."
"His name's Hugo, and he's a harmless garden snake. Not a bloodthirsty anaconda."
"Oh.” He rolled his eyes, chuckling, then winced, shutting them tight. “Damn it ... I think I cracked a rib."
"Oh, please! I'm not that heavy,” she huffed, folding her arms and eyeing him skeptically.
"Seriously. It hurts."
Bianca gently placed a hand over the right side of his chest, then the left, feeling a dull ache in her own ribs. Knowing then, she breathed a sigh of relief. “You're fine. No break, just bruising."
He opened one eye. “You a doctor?"
It was hard not to laugh at his unmasked skepticism. “Luke, you're fine.” When his distrusting gaze narrowed, she groaned irritably. “Fine. Come on. I think Doctor Moss is still here. You can have him look at it.” Pushing to her feet, she extended a hand. “But I think we should wager a bet. If I'm right, you owe me—"
He took the hand she offered.
Bianca froze. The instant they touched, she felt it. Hot and cold. Sick and strong. Crazy and sane. The storm of mixed emotions and sensations weakened her knees and stole the air from her lungs. Her head spun. Every heartbeat was an explosion inside of her chest that sent shards of apprehension slicing through her.
Her visions cam
e that way sometimes. Not always with such force, but occasionally that way. Other times what she could see came gently floating in, like a daydream, then filtering back out. The sensation of being, without the shock of what it was.
This time, it was merciless. The experience yanked Bianca out of reality, then cast her into another place and time. It happened so abruptly, she felt her knees buckle. The woozy feeling she associated with blacking out washed over her in thick waves.
Then, suddenly, there was the rope. She felt it, coarse around her neck, tearing into her delicate skin. With dull realization, Bianca knew it was fastened to the branch of a tree.
She heard the preacher's voice and the murmur of fervent prayer from the crowd. She felt panic, pain, and fear, aware that it was the end. Her end.
The smell of sweaty horses, powerful and rank, filled her nostrils. The metallic taste of blood seeped into her mouth and turned her stomach, forcing Bianca to swallow back bile that was foamy and rancid.
Her breasts and womb ached, but not more than her heart. She knew then the bittersweet joy of bearing a child and feeding the babe from her own breast. Of the passionate attachment that kind of magic brought a woman. How a love so powerful meant having to give up her only child, to be raised in secret, to be safe from harm. Knowing she would never see her precious daughter again...
The only thing stronger than that love was her fury. It coursed through her, blistering and wild, when she saw the man. Tall and strapping, dark and handsome, his eyes were shadowed by the hat on his head. He stood with a dark-haired plain woman dressed in the colors of her colony and their two children, who watched in sadness and horror.
Bianca was paralyzed with the pain of betrayal. Like a hot blade, it sliced straight through her heart. The agony made her welcome death with stunning relief.
She heard someone bellow, “Hang the witch!"
And everything went black—
Slowly the herb and floral scents of her own garden filtered in, nudging away the smell of horses and the stench of death. She looked down. Luke's hand still clasped hers, though she had yet to help him to his feet. He watched her with a bewildered gaze, his eyes dark, piercing.
Bianca released his hand, gaping in stunned silence from her palm to his face. Her stomach pitched and her heart thrummed in her throat. She felt breathless and dizzy.
Finally, when she could speak again, the words were forced past a tight throat. They sounded harsh, panicked and reproachful, but she spoke them anyway.
Holding fast to his gaze, her pulse throbbing madly, she demanded, “Who the hell are you and what do you want?"
* * * *
Somehow, in the madness and mayhem of departing guests, after the grand finale of the fireworks show, Luke Jones managed to disappear.
Bianca had turned her attention to Mr. O'Malley, helping the elderly man find the cane he faithfully misplaced. The walking stick was discovered where he had placed it earlier, as usual. He thanked her profusely, promising, as always, to be less forgetful. With infinite patience Bianca reassured the kind old gentleman that she didn't mind helping him find his cane, then gave him a peck on the cheek and helped him to his car.
By the time Mr. O'Malley was happily on his way home, Luke Jones was long since gone.
After what she'd seen when she had taken his hand, Bianca's brain was in a tumult. One thing was apparent. Luke had something to do with her little trip to the past, where Bianca had found herself tethered to a hanging tree. Just like Celia Honeywell.
How dare he just leave the way he did, with her burning questions unanswered? Who was he? And what had he come here for? Bianca had the uncanny feeling that what he wanted was more than a story for his magazine.
"Okay ... Either you have laryngitis or something's wrong,” Miles said after spending a wordless half-hour on post-party clean up. “Spill."
Bianca groaned, falling back against the solid, bumpy trunk of her favorite oak tree. Fallon flashed her a cheeky grin from where she sat on a tabletop, plunging a huge serving spoon into a five-gallon tub of rocky road ice cream. She crammed too much into her mouth, but rolled her eyes, as if the brain-freeze was pure enjoyment.
"You'll regret that tomorrow,” Bianca warned, but not without a smile.
"Won't be the first ‘morning after’ I've regretted.” She plucked the marshmallows out one by one. “At least this mistake won't be hogging half the bed. Or leaving his underwear on my nightstand."
"Sheesh, Fallon, so you're the reason why my rocky road never has marshmallows!” Bianca's stern reprimand was pointless when she couldn't keep from laughing.
"Oops. Busted again.” Fallon shrugged and licked her fingers. Snagging a bottle of fudge sauce, she squeezed a fair amount into the container of ice cream then tilted her head back and squirted more into her mouth.
Miles gaped at his sister, shaking his head in disgust, but made no comment. Instead he tossed messy, sticky environmentally-safe paper bowls into a plastic garbage bag as if he didn't mind, when Bianca knew full well he despised getting his hands dirty.
"B, you're dodging the subject,” he finally said.
"I don't want to talk about it, so stop, you relentless hound.” Bianca tossed a handful of plastic spoons his way. They landed with a loud clatter that echoed her annoyance.
"I've been called worse.” He shrugged. “So I'll just draw my own conclusions. This is about that hunky Luke Jones, isn't it?” When Bianca glowered at him, Miles didn't bother waiting for a verbal reply from her. “You're hot for him. Can't keep your mind out of the gutter when you think of him. Want to be naked and alone with him.” A satisfied smirk curled his handsome mouth and his eyes twinkled. “I'm warm, right?"
"For heaven's sake, no, Miles.” She shook her head emphatically, though her heart raced. A fleeting reminder of how she'd felt in Luke's arms that night passed over her in a telltale wave of heat. “You're colder than Fallon's ice cream. You're frozen solid. I can't stand the guy. He gives me the willies. Especially after tonight."
"Oh ... okay.” Fallon set the tub of ice cream down with a thud, tossed in the spoon, then nudged toward the edge of the table. “Now this is starting to sound interesting.” She dangled her legs and hiked her skirt up knee-high, obviously settling in for a juicy story.
Although what she had seen that night had been alarming to say the least, Bianca couldn't help laughing at her friend. Shaking her head in amusement, she said, “You've got such a colorful life, Fallon, I don't know why you find my uneventful little existence so enthralling."
Fallon shrugged. “I like to see how the other half lives. Besides,” she continued, inclining her head, her dark eyes glowing in the combined light of the moon and an outdoor lamp they worked by, “no one with an ancient curse hanging over her head has an uneventful little existence."
Bianca needed to mull over what had happened that night, and she knew another perspective might help. Miles and Fallon were her best friends. Confiding in them was almost an instinctive decision.
Miles watched her reach for the rocky road and a spoon, then hop onto the table, yank her skirt up mid-thigh, and plop the bucket of ice cream between her knees. “Oh, this is serious.” He dropped the trash bag and pulled up a seat at the table beside her.
Swallowing a gooey, frozen mouthful, Bianca drew a deep breath, then blurted, “Tonight, when I held Luke's hand—"
"Whoa. Back up. Why were you holding his hand?” Miles asked, passing the tub of rocky road to his sister. “I thought you loathed him."
"Maybe you'd better give us some background,” Fallon suggested, plucking a marshmallow before offering the ice cream to Bianca.
"We were by the pond, watching the fireworks finale."
"All alone?” Miles sang breathlessly. “You're giving me goose bumps!” He held out an arm for her to inspect.
Bianca rolled her eyes. “Spare me the melodrama, please. We were practically at each other's throats and—"
"At each other's throats? Now that soun
ds promising,” Fallon chirped with a puckish grin.
"Can you both put a cork in it?” Bianca didn't bother disguising her exasperation, which extracted apologetic gazes from both Miles and Fallon. “There was a snake. Hugo,” she continued.
Fallon groaned. “Perfect timing, as usual."
"Anyway, I guess Luke was trying to save me and—"
Miles gasped, brought a hand to his chest, and tapped his heart. “He's a knight in shining armor!"
"Hardly,” Bianca ground out between clenched teeth. “He snatched me off the rock I was sitting on then toppled over backward into my circle of stones. I fell on top of him."
"Please tell me clothes flew off and you finally got a little action,” Fallon begged over clasped hands. Tilting her head to one side, she pondered, “It's been—what, like a year since Jasper?"
Bianca lungs deflated. When she found her voice, it was thick with disappointment. “Please, Fallon. I think I've suffered enough embarrassment tonight. Let's not talk about my nonexistent sex life on top of everything else, okay?"
Jasper Rockstad, the jerk who'd wooed her for two weeks just so he could find out what it was like to be with a witch whose ancestor fancied placing killer curses on men. With the twisted information he'd gathered in the short time they were together, Jasper went to the sleaziest tabloid he could find, giving them the headline, “Connecticut Witch Lives in Celibate Solitude, Thanks to Three Hundred Year Old Killer Curse."
Miles clucked his tongue at Fallon, his expression grave, and shook his head in reproach. Fallon squinted defiantly, then flashed him the bird.
"Nice. You have no class.” He lifted a haughty chin in blatant disgust.
Bianca cleared her throat, swallowing hard over the remnants of humiliation Jasper had left behind.
"Before this turns into another family feud, can I finish my story?” She lifted a critical brow at the two of them.
With sullen child-like expressions, they nodded, and Fallon apologized. “I'm sorry for—you know—mentioning Jasper. The jackass.” She wagged her head, moaning, “Just one hair on his head, Bianca. That's all I needed to make his life a living hell. Just one little hair. Or a fingernail. Just one little—"
Bewitching the Bachelor Page 4