"Karma? You mean like—what goes around comes around?"
"There's a law that witches live by, Luke. A law that says whatever we do to someone comes back to us three times over.” She held out her right hand and said, “Liam betrayed Celia and caused her death.” Holding out her left, to mimic a scale, she continued. “In turn, death was his punishment. Karma helps keep balance in the universe. Balance is important. That's why there's good and evil. Joy and sadness. Man and woman. And so on."
Luke sat there, watching her. Though his eyes were vacant, she knew he was processing it all.
Her voice was weary. “I know this is a lot—"
He shook his head. With conviction, he ground out, “I need to know. All of it."
"For the article,” she assumed, biting her lip and averting her gaze.
"Not for the article. For me.” He shoved to his feet and took to pacing again. Raking both hands through his hair, he looked frazzled. “Bianca, I lost my father when I was ten. No man in my family has lived long enough to die of old age.” He glanced at her briefly and she could see the turmoil in his eyes. “The wondering damn near drives you crazy..."
Bianca bit her lower lip, feeling an ache in her throat. When she spoke, it was with compassion. “I know."
He stopped. Angling his head, he examined Bianca as if seeing her for the first time. “Do you?"
She closed her eyes, drew a breath, then dipped her head, looking at her hands gripping the back of the chair again. “I'm not sure which is more pathetic, Luke.” When she lifted her gaze, she saw his austere expression dissolve, the tight creases in his forehead, and the lines surrounding his mouth and eyes smoothed over. It gave her the courage to continue. “The Halestrom men die because they find love. The kind of love that makes them lose their senses, until they don't care about the curse or the fact that they'll die. Essentially, the men in your family sacrifice themselves for the sake of love."
"And the Honeywell women?” He elevated a brow and held fast her gaze.
Her lip trembled and fresh tears burned her eyes. When she replied, her voice was hoarse, her words choked. “The Honeywell women die alone."
His face fell. “Bianca...” Luke went to her then. Eyes that were tender and understanding held hers.
With the thunder distant, Bianca still trembled, emotion whirling inside of her like a wild, unpredictable storm. Luke ran a gentle hand along her arm, his touch so comforting Bianca could hardly keep from turning into the warmth of his embrace.
It had been a long time since any man had touched her this way—with passion and desire shadowing his eyes. So purposely tender, it roused a powerful, shuddering sense of yearning inside of her.
Her heartbeat thrummed everywhere, its emphatic pounding like the steady cadence of the ocean's breakers. Needs that Bianca had spent endless hours ignoring were awakened, a response as agonizing as it was reaffirming. Luke's gentle, insistent eyes searched hers, intimately, reaching deeper, she thought, than any man had ever bothered trying to reach. She knew then that if she gave, he would take.
Bianca wanted him, desperately. But taking that leap would mean losing something. A part of herself she'd decided, after Jasper, to keep safe. Swallowing over a dry throat, she forced herself to tell him, “You should go."
In his eyes, hurt replaced desire. Disbelief slipped in, replacing vulnerable, unmasked sincerity. Honey-brown, warm and liquid, became hard, amber stones. His jaw tightened and he let his hand drop. Cramming it into his front pocket, he agreed, “You're right. I should go."
"We can talk more tomorrow,” she suggested gently, following him to the door on legs that still wobbled. “Call me in the morning."
He nodded, his expression bland and professional. “I'll prepare some questions. So we can stay focused."
"Good idea.” Her nod was stiff, her smile tense.
His hand on the doorknob, Luke hesitated, surveying her with a creased brow. “Are you going to be okay?"
"Oh yes.” She mustered a convincing tone and waved a casual hand. “My headache is nearly gone. Once I have something to eat, I'll be fine."
His head bobbed once. “Good. Okay. Until tomorrow, then."
"Until tomorrow.” Tears stabbed the backs of her eyes. If he didn't leave soon, he'd be there to watch her fall apart. Luke stepped outside onto the porch. She hardly recognized her own voice. “Drive safely. Good night."
His voice was mellow, pensive, and gritty, and it sent a thrill tumbling down her spine. “Good night, Bianca."
With a heavy heart she pushed the door closed then collapsed against it. Clamping her eyes shut, she let a hot, agonizing tear squeeze out and sear a path to her jaw. She swiped at it, knowing more would follow.
Bianca could have taken him to her bed. She could have given her libido a much-deserved vacation from playing it safe the last twelve months. Like Fallon had argued umpteen times, there was nothing wrong with superficial sex. One-night-stand sex. Just to satisfy a relentless craving. She swallowed hard over the ache in her throat.
Too risky. Bianca's heart didn't have an on/off switch. What happened when meaningless sex turned into something more? Maybe she just wasn't ready to take that leap.
Just when she'd gloomily resigned herself to being alone again, there was a firm rap at the door. Drying her damp cheeks with a hasty brush of fingertips she then wiped on her shorts, Bianca yanked the door open.
It was Luke. His deep, penetrating eyes caused a flutter of awareness in her abdomen and made any chance of a verbal response freeze in her throat.
His gaze traveled over her face, then searched her eyes. In a voice that was solid and unwavering he said simply, “Bianca, I don't want to go."
Chapter Ten
Luke grabbed Bianca's shoulders, drew her into his embrace, and placed his lips over hers. His kiss was persuasive and came without hesitation, as if what he wanted had been pent up for centuries.
A single sob escaped her, muffled against his mouth. She melted in his arms. Tides of yearning swelled and rippled inside of her as she matched his hunger, thrusting her body closer. Dragging her hands over his back, every muscle flexing beneath her touch, she stroked a path to his neck then plunged her fingers into his thick, wavy hair.
He moaned against her mouth, reaching arms around her slender waist to cup her bottom. Pushing his body against hers, he maneuvered them back inside the house, his hot, tormenting kisses never ceasing. Kicking the door shut with his foot, Luke then pressed Bianca against the wall. His hands, in desperation, raked over her hips, to her waist, then her breasts, where he tortured each swollen, throbbing bud beneath the thin cotton of her shirt.
When he dragged his mouth away, it was to breathe her name against her ear, where he trailed moist, fiery kisses from Bianca's jaw to her neck. She combed fingers through his hair, gasping for every breath, wanting so badly to move into her bedroom, and scared to death that it was more than either of them could handle.
"Luke...” His name was a ragged breath from her lips.
It took tremendous emotional strength to gently urge him away. When she did, Bianca cradled his face in her hands, forcing his eyes to connect with hers. Those eyes of his were dusky, wild, and fierce with desire that made her tremble.
She might die if she didn't take Luke to her bed.
"What is it?” he demanded almost frantically.
"I'm afraid,” she choked, her cheeks flaming.
He shook his head, his breathing raspy. “Don't be."
"You say that now, but—"
"I don't care about the curse."
"I'm not sure I believe that, Luke.” Tears stabbed the backs of her eyes again.
"Bianca, this—what's happening between us—we can't fight it. It's stronger than we are.” Tenderly he stroked the hair from her forehead, his fingertips crossing her temple to her jaw then her chin. There he tucked a finger, lifting, until she could feel his breath on her lips. “The curse is for men who fall madly in love, right?"
&
nbsp; Dismay ballooned in her throat when she realized what he meant. She nodded in silent understanding.
"This is different,” he reassured her, running a tongue over her lips. The thrill it caused zipped straight down to the pulsing heat between her legs. “This is passion. Desire. Two adults who know they can't deny a physical attraction any longer."
She swallowed hard, again only nodding.
Yes. This wasn't love. It was just attraction. Physical attraction. Intense physical attraction. They were adults. Capable of separating love from lovemaking.
Then why the sudden bleeding pain in her heart as if a razorblade had just been drawn over it?
A slow easy smile played over his lips. “For one night,” he said in a voice husky and low as he nibbled at her mouth, “let's pretend there's no curse. No article to write. Just ... the two of us. Here. And now."
He took her mouth again, with more insistence than before, and Bianca felt her head spin. Heat consumed her. There wasn't an inch of her that didn't ache to wrap herself around this man. She wanted him. Enough to lose herself. Enough to forget.
Luke wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any woman in his life. If she turned him away now, he might go stark raving mad. His libido was recklessly out of control, unleashed, and ready for one endless night of infinite pleasure. He would have swept her up then carried her off to the bedroom. Or dragged her there, shedding her clothing piece by piece. There was no doubt that he planned to throw her on the bed and devour her from head to toe.
That was why he cursed fluently in a frustrated tone that blasted the air when the doorbell rang.
Her lips were moist and pink from his ravenous enjoyment of them. Eyes wild, the words that scraped past her throat were rasping and lusty. “We can ignore it.” Her smile was mischievous as she sunk her teeth into his bottom lip, gentle but insistent.
The bell chimed again.
"Something tells me they know we're here,” he murmured, disappointed and trying hard to be cavalier. The throbbing below his belt was almost unbearable.
The caller rapped at the door with some persistence.
"Oh, for Pete's sake,” Bianca muttered, huffing air that blew the choppy bangs from her forehead. In a tone that was clearly piqued, she called out, “Hang on!"
Luke bit back a chuckle then tugged her hip, forcing their bodies together again. He took her mouth insatiably, the way he'd dreamed night and day about, since first laying eyes on her. He enjoyed the way she melted against him and the sound she made, a gentle, relenting moan, against his lips.
The pounding at the door had him more exasperated than he'd ever been in his life.
Bianca dragged lush lips from his, looking thoroughly bothered, as she ducked out of his arms. He thought he heard her mutter, “Someone had better be dead or dying ... or they soon will be..."
Leaning against the wall, he shoved his hands into his pockets, not pleased that they were no longer exploring those sexy curves of hers. What he planned to do with Bianca would take the entire night and tempt wanton obsession for years to come.
That thought was interrupted by a sharp wail as Bianca tugged open the door.
Abigail O'Grady stood there, tears streaming down her pallid cheeks, cradling something furry and limp in her arms. Lulu. Dull realization hit him like a ton of bricks while dismay, hugely unexpected, made his heartbeat pulse at his temples.
Abigail's sobs were hysterical. She sniveled incoherently about rain, skidding cars and an accident. Several moments into her irrational recall of events, Luke was able to determine that Lulu had left the yard, crossing the road. A car, taking the corner too fast, hit the dog.
Rain-soaked and shuddering, Abigail gasped for air, all the while cooing sweet nothings to Lulu. She clutched the dog to her chest, the world clearly tumbling down around her. It took Luke a minute before he could react. The poor woman was so distraught, he stood frozen in agony and indecision, not sure how to begin offering consolation.
Abigail turned to Bianca, her eyes wide and weepy, begging for help.
With fearful clarity, Luke realized Abigail had brought Lulu for a healing. Like the dying fern, she thought Bianca could make Lulu well again.
He tugged a hand through his hair, feeling angry and helpless. Lulu was going to die. There wasn't a doubt in his mind. The dog was barely breathing and couldn't lift its head.
"Broken neck,” Luke unconsciously mumbled under his breath.
Abigail wept with more insistence. “Oh, God! A broken neck! That's not good, is it? Is it?” she demanded. Panic made her eyes unfocused as they darted from Bianca to Luke and back again. Then she pleaded, “Bianca, make her well. Please. Can you make her well? Please? I'll give you anything. Anything. It's yours. I've got some money socked away—"
With a tender hand, Bianca fondly stroked Abigail's cheek. “Shh...” She quieted the woman with loving patience. “I'll try to help, Abby, but you need to calm down. All of this isn't good...” She glanced at Luke, her forehead creased, then added to Abigail in a softer tone, “...for your heart."
Her heart? Luke winced, his chest heavy, sadness fisting in his throat.
Abigail nodded slowly. “You're right. Yes, yes, you're right.” She sniffled and bit her lower lip, obviously in a fierce struggle to hold herself together.
Luke swallowed hard over the ache in his throat. What was Bianca thinking? That she could save Abigail's dog? Lulu was damned near trotting to the white light at the end of the tunnel now.
He shoved his hands into his back pockets. Antsy, he transferred his weight from one foot to the other then back again. Silently he weighed the possible repercussions for being the one to give both women a reality check. And a ride to the nearest veterinary hospital.
"Luke ... relax.” Bianca didn't have to look at him. It was as if she had sensed his anxiety. “It's going to be okay."
"The dog needs a vet,” he blurted.
Bianca eyed him purposefully. “She wouldn't make it.” With care, she eased Lulu out of Abigail's arms. The dog whimpered but didn't move a muscle.
Luke's heart took a nose-dive to his stomach. The dog was going to die, right there, in Bianca's arms, and neither woman was prepared to accept this fact. He surveyed Abigail, watched her give him a reassuring smile through her tears as she promised, “Bianca can make Lulu well. You'll see."
The poor woman was embedded in fantasy and trying to suck him into her delusions. He had to be the voice of reason. “She can't—"
Abigail cut him off, a shaky hand lifted, frustration tightening her gaze. “Don't say that.” Her tone was stern, her eyes blazing. “She can heal. I've seen her do it.” Wagging a finger at him she ordered, “Don't you tell me she can't."
Luke sucked in a breath and realized dismally that it was useless. The scene would play out the way it would play out and there wasn't a damned thing he could do to stop it. He only wished he didn't have to watch, because he knew it wouldn't be pretty.
Lulu gazed up at Bianca with the glassy-eyed expression of a canine suffering intolerable pain. Luke let out the breath he'd been holding and asked, “Can I get you anything?” If he had to be there, if he had to watch, he might as well be of some assistance.
Bianca glanced at him, briefly, but long enough to give him a grateful smile. “No. But thank you."
"No ... candles or ... anything?"
"Not this time, Luke."
Of course not. Because the dog was going to die.
Bianca knew, too, he realized. This was a lot worse than a paper cut or a mild illness. Still, she would try to work whatever magic she had.
And the stupid dog would die anyway.
Instinctively he went to Abigail and took her hand. It was amazing, the things that went through a person's mind when they watched someone or something let go of life. Right then, Luke was feeling horrible about never liking the darn poodle.
Abigail smiled at him and squeezed his hand, watching in awe as Bianca sat on the loveseat, the limp body of fur
cradled in her arms.
Gingerly Bianca lay the dog across her lap. Again the animal whined, but remained motionless, breathing in quick, labored pants.
Luke swallowed hard, his eyes stinging. He felt a strong pull in two entirely different directions. Wanting to be there. And wanting to be as far away from there as possible. He wasn't good with things like death. Or emotions—like sorrow, that made a man feel weak and helpless.
Beside him, Abigail drew a shaky breath. Luke clasped her hand tighter, setting aside the urge to walk out the door, climb on his bike and ride far, far away. Even if being there felt traitorous to his own common sense.
Bianca began moving her hands over the dog, barely touching the poor animal. She started at Lulu's tail then worked toward the dog's head. At Lulu's neck she stopped, taking a deep breath.
Abigail whimpered quietly and Bianca turned to her. A soft, thoughtful smile curled her mouth and she brought a finger to her lips, patiently shushing the woman again.
What happened next made Luke consider having his eyes checked. And his head examined.
Initially, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He blinked, shut his eyes, opened them again, and even rubbed them with his fists. Then he leaned over, whispering into Abigail's ear, “Is she—?"
"Glowing?” she supplied. A wide, appreciative beam spread her round cheeks and put a twinkle of amazement in her eyes. “Yes, dear. Yes. She is.” Snuffing tears with the backs of her hands, her smile broadened.
The soft purple glow began where Bianca's hands rested on Lulu's neck. Then the light swirled, growing larger, ever brighter, until it completely surrounded woman and dog. The room was silent with the exception of Bianca's tranquil chanting. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but it didn't matter.
She was beautiful, ethereal, and suddenly there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Bianca Honeywell was pure magic. A witch, just like she'd said. This was more than candles and visions. This was power he'd never thought existed.
It changed everything. All that Luke had ever believed. It was ... phenomenal. Mind-boggling. Earth-shattering.
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