Miles hoisted an intrigued brow. “Interesting. Maybe he's not so dim-witted after all."
Ignoring her brother's remark, Fallon pensively cocked her head to one side. “So I suppose that explains why he left so fast this morning. He's probably too afraid to sleep with you.” Lifting her shoulders in a casual shrug, she grinned. “Just cast a love spell on him."
Bianca shook her head, her reply steady and determined. “I don't want him falling in love with me."
"Wow.” Miles whistled sharply, then turned to his sister. “Did you see that?” The two exchanged sly glances.
"What?” Bianca's cheeks warmed as she looked from one twin to the other.
Fallon reached across the table to give Bianca's hand a patronizing stroke. “Sorry, darling, but that was a lie. Your mouth twitched."
Bianca gasped, her jaw dropping. Her voice reflected shock and denial. “What in the world are you talking about?"
"Your mouth twitches when you lie, B. Always has,” Miles told her with a wave of his hand. “Sorry, but we've known for years."
Bianca shook her head insistently. “My mouth doesn't twitch."
Fallon shrugged. “Whatever."
Taking a deep breath, Bianca evenly managed to say, “Okay. Whatever. Twitch or no twitch, I meant what I said.” She sank her teeth into her lower lip, to prevent any further possibility of lip twitching, then almost giggled at the absurdity. “There's too much still unknown about the curse. I'd never forgive myself if—"
—If something happened to Luke.
Bianca swallowed the end of her sentence, but knew the moment she set eyes on Fallon and Miles that they understood what she'd been about to say.
"So have sex without love. Have sex with like. I do it all the time,” Fallon rambled eagerly, a playful twinkle making her dark eyes shine like polished onyx. “I even have sex with dislike. That can be fun, too."
Miles slapped his hands over his ears. “Stop!” he griped, frowning at his sister. “The less I know about your sex life the more I like you."
Fallon cackled shrilly, wagging her head. Sinking back in her seat, she folded her arms over her chest then stretched her legs out in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. Watching her brother from beneath ebony brows, she mused, “For a gay man, you're awfully prudish, brother dear."
"I'm old-fashioned. And refined. There's a difference."
"You forgot dull,” she supplied with a badgering grin.
He disregarded her insult. “B, the man's here to complicate your life. Don't let him string you along."
"Maybe she wants to have a normal life, Miles, have you thought of that?” Fallon threw in with some defiance. “Maybe she doesn't want to die a lonely old biddy, like the rest of the women in her family. Maybe—"
"Maybe she's sitting right here, wishing you'd stop talking about her as if she wasn't,” Bianca snapped in frustration.
"Whoops, sorry.” Fallon bit her lip and lowered her eyes.
Bianca sighed. “It would be less annoying if you weren't right.” Her heart grew heavy as Fallon's words rolled around in her head. “A normal life ... I'm beginning to think that's a hopeless dream. Much less marriage and children. As long as Celia's curse is alive, I'll never have normal.” She slumped back in her chair, drumming anxious fingers on the tabletop. She was frustrated and needed to blow off some steam.
With a wave of her hand, she could have sent things flying through the air, angrily crashing them against the walls. It would have felt exhilarating. In the end, the burst of anger would solve nothing, and she'd have one heck of a mess to clean up.
"So...?” Miles baited her.
"So ... I've got to find a way to end this stupid curse."
It sounded simple enough. If only...
Miles rolled his eyes. “Here we go again."
"Shush!” his sister snapped testily. “Maybe this time it'll work."
"Why will this time be any different?” he challenged, both brows arched, his smile slightly twisted.
"Because ... I think Celia might be trying to tell me something.” Bianca's nod was slow, purposeful. “It's why Luke is here. And why I see Celia's hanging when I hold his hand.” With a knowing, reflective smile, she surveyed her two closest friends. “It's time for a change. I feel it. It might be the chance to end Celia's curse once and for all. And you can bet it's a chance I'm going to take."
* * * *
When the telephone in his room rang, Luke answered it, knowing it was Bianca.
"You're getting awfully good at quick exits,” she stated in a flat tone.
"I had someplace to be,” he lied, dragging stiff fingers through his hair. He paced the room, holding the phone, yanking the cord when it wouldn't give. “What's going on?"
"I have something you might be interested in seeing."
"And that is...?"
"Liam's suicide note."
His heart dipped, then swelled. When it took to beating at his temples, Luke struggled to keep his voice casual and steady. “Yes. I'd like to see that."
"You'll have to come here. It doesn't leave this house."
Too eager to see the suicide note, Luke didn't even hesitate over the prospect of being alone with her again. That note was important. He needed it for the article. For his future, too, if he planned to have one.
"Can I photograph it?"
A pause, then she heaved a resigned sigh. “Yes."
Even better. His pacing turned to an exalted jaunt.
"But I need something from you in return."
His happy little jig came to an abrupt end. “What?"
"I need you to help me go back again. To the hanging."
He shook his head. “No. No way.” Damn it! He really needed to see that suicide note...
Her voice was decisive. “Then forget it."
"You've got to be kidding me.” Frustration slithered into his belly, curdling the pleasure that had been there seconds before.
"You've made deals before, haven't you, Luke? This is the deal—help me go back to the hanging once more and I'll let you see the letter. Those are my terms."
He stomped a foot, bit back a cuss word and held his breath. He didn't want to speak until he was sure his voice wouldn't come out sounding like a rabid growl.
Bianca had him right where she wanted him. He'd spent the better part of the day touring libraries and checking records at county offices, certain there had to be another copy of Liam's suicide note somewhere. It was the only recorded documentation of Celia's curse. After eight hours of investigation, the only thing Luke had learned was that Abigail was right. Bianca Honeywell had the only copy.
He had to see that note. Without it, he might as well start preparing a letter of resignation to The World Today. Not to mention drawing up his last will and testament.
"What you want to do is dangerous.” His even tone was a great disguise for the cyclone of emotions reeling inside him.
"Maybe. But it's my decision. The only way I can find out what Celia is trying to tell me is if I go back again."
"So you think she's trying to talk to you?"
She sighed. “I'm too tired for your sarcasm."
"That wasn't sarcasm. It was a question."
"Fine. Yes. I think Celia's trying to tell me something."
"She's dead, Bianca. Dead people don't talk."
"You really are obtuse, aren't you?” she snapped irritably. “Try not to think in terms of the one limited plane you're living in, but realize there are many planes of existence out there. Some beings can travel from one plane to another with veritable ease."
"Some beings ... like dead people?"
"And sometimes people who aren't dead.” Her voice reflected exasperation. “But this could take hours to explain. And that's not taking into account the time you'd waste ridiculing me.” She paused long enough to let her words sink in and make him feel like a first class jerk. Then she blurted, “I just need a yes or no, Luke."
"And what will all of thi
s achieve?” he asked.
"I'm not sure. But I do think that, whatever I'm meant to discover, might be helpful in ending Celia's curse."
His heart was in his throat. “Really?"
"Yes. Really.” She sighed again, this time wearily. “So ... do we have a deal?"
"When you're in the middle of this ... this vision thing you have ... can you stop it? At any time?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"I mean I don't know,” she repeated, sounding perturbed.
"How can you not know?” His exasperation rose a notch.
"This time it's different.” Her voice was quiet, pensive, and it made him a little nervous. “I've never had to stop a vision. I just have them, quickly, then they're done."
"I'm not sure I can agree to this if you're not able to come out of it, if you have to, if it's too much for you—” He stopped himself because, damn it, he cared. And he didn't want her to know. She didn't need to know. He cleared his throat, mustered an even tone and continued, “I don't want to have to call the paramedics and explain to them what's going on if you—"
"Jeez, Luke, if something happens, just shoot me,” she retorted. “Hide my body in the basement or something."
His face burned and a fist-sized lump of regret swelled in his throat. “Bianca, that's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean, Luke?"
"I don't want—” He closed his eyes tight, knowing it was a mistake to continue, but he spoke the words anyway. “I don't want anything to happen to you."
There. He'd said it. Hell. He was an idiot.
He kicked the bedpost, remembering a nanosecond too late that he was barefoot. Whimpering, he stumbled, fell onto the bed and held his breath until the pain subsided.
She was quiet, except for the sound of her breathing, broken and uneven. When she finally spoke her words sliced into his heart. “Please don't worry about me. I'm not used to it."
He closed his eyes, massaging them with his free hand. “Well, I'm not used to worrying about anyone, either.” His tone was thick from the ache in his throat. “When do you plan to do this?"
"Tomorrow night. There's a full moon.” She paused and drew a deep breath. “Luke, do we have a deal or not?"
"Yes,” he ground between clenched teeth. “We have a deal."
* * * *
Luke couldn't get her out of his head. He tossed. He turned. If he drifted off, he dreamed of Bianca. Felt her kiss. Her caress. The heat of her passion.
He jerked out of bed, his blood boiling, his groin throbbing. Tugging on a T-shirt and jeans, he grabbed his keys, bolted out the door, swung a leg over his bike, revved it up and drove.
He didn't stop until he was at the Honeywell place.
The porch light was on. Another lamp glowed inside. It was nearly midnight, but time didn't matter. Nothing mattered but what Luke needed.
At that moment, he needed Bianca.
She had just finished showering. Her hair was towel-dried and she was rinsing her toothbrush when the doorbell chimed.
Bianca cast a quick glance at her bedside alarm clock. Too late for a palm or tarot card reading. Shrugging into a silk robe, she fastened the tie around her waist and padded barefoot to the door as she called, “Who is it?"
"It's Luke."
Her heart beating in quick flutters, she flipped the lock, yanking the door. He stood there, holding the screen door open. Amber eyes, wild, intense, and dark with smoldering passion, made her insides quake. Ebony brows creased over those eyes, his features taut with need and, perhaps, frustration. She couldn't move and could barely think, much less speak.
In a voice both urgent and adamant, he confessed, “I ... I can't love you, Bianca."
Swallowing her longing for more, she told him what he needed to hear. “I don't want you to, Luke."
She watched relief wash over his tensed features. The lines around his mouth and eyes relaxed and he stepped inside. Bianca slid back, as he kicked the door shut with his foot.
Taking her by the shoulders, he fisted the robe, tugging her hard and swift to his mouth. He took her more fervently than before, almost savagely, his passion flooding molten lava through her veins. Her body went fluid, her knees buckling, her insides warm and liquid. She felt dizzy, almost drunk.
Luke wrapped an arm around her waist. Cupping a free hand at the back of her head, he dragged his mouth from her lips to her neck, trailing fire to her throat. She moaned, panting, breathless. Her hands raked over his torso, slid into his hair, then came back over his chest, impatiently. It wasn't enough to feel him through his shirt. She plunged her hands under the fabric, relishing the way his muscles tightened beneath her touch. He shuddered, his kisses demanding, almost bruising, but his fervor fed her longing.
In one swift motion he tore open her robe. Palming her bare breast with one hand, he held her close with the other, massaging her backside, pressing her flush against the hard, pulsing mound between his legs. She went limp as he caressed and tormented her breasts, driving her insane with a touch that made the entire universe fade away until there was only Luke.
In a frenzy she tugged the shirt over his head, knowingly bringing them a step closer to lovemaking.
"Your bedroom,” he breathed in her ear before planting a moist, hot kiss on her neck.
Bianca reluctantly wrenched her mouth from his only long enough to whisper his name. “Luke..."
"I don't want to talk, Bianca.” His lips brushed hers, retreated, then brushed again, as he told her, “There's only one thing I want right now."
His kisses seared a fiery trail along her jaw, to her neck, then lower, until he came to her breast. There, he did things with his mouth that Bianca never dreamed possible. Her eyes rolled back and she moaned, her body vibrating as he set off aches in her that throbbed like pulse beats. In desperation she cried out his name.
With a deep throaty chuckle, he guided her to the bedroom, ravishing her mouth every tormenting, tantalizing step of the way.
Bianca was scared to death of what tomorrow might bring. But she knew if she didn't take this leap, she would never forgive herself. Even if it meant, while they would merely be filling a moment of physical desire, she would be baring her soul.
Tears, hot and painful, sprang to her eyes. Bianca shut them tight, willing them away. Instead she stood there in her room, with Luke, enveloped in the comfort of his embrace. Her face pressed into the curve of his neck, she breathed him in, loving the way he smelled so purely male.
Gently he eased her on to the bed, his smile tender and generous, his eyes keen with awareness, warm with longing. Bianca shimmied out of the robe, tossed it aside, watching it pool to the floor, while Luke shed his pants. A breath or two later, he was perfectly naked. His skin, mildly bronzed by the summer sun, shimmered in the glow of candlelight that Bianca had willed alive and flickering.
Slowly, appreciatively, her eyes caressed him, words escaping her as thoughts raced madly through her head. He was incredible. Sexy. Virile. Dark hair, damp with perspiration, dusted the wide span of his chest, fanning out lightly over his abdomen before dipping lower, where he was very much ready for her.
Seemingly from nowhere he pulled out a tiny package of protection and grinned. “That's the only magic trick I know."
She laughed, the sound sultry and rich. It was the way she imagined a woman who felt desired might laugh. Luke Hale made her feel desired. Beautiful. Blissfully normal.
He joined her on the bed, his long sinewy frame molded to her soft slender curves as they lay side by side. His eyes embraced hers, dusky with yearning, but tender as well. He reached out and stroked the hair from her forehead.
"You're magnificent, Bianca.” He placed gentle kisses on her forehead, then one on the tip of her nose. “Incredible."
She smiled, bit her lip, swallowed hard over the tightening of her throat, and reminded herself that Luke wasn't there because he loved her. He was there because he didn't. It
was the only way he could take her to bed and not risk the possibility of death by Celia's curse.
"Are you okay?” He inclined his head, catching her eyes, his forehead creased.
She nodded. “Yes, Luke ... I'm fine."
Then she kissed him, long and hard on the mouth, enjoying their silky dance of tongues, the way it made desire crescendo over and over inside of her. Until that moment she'd never understood how it felt to want a man. Desperately. So much that it filled her, until there was room for nothing else. Not even common sense.
His mouth dipped to her neck and Bianca pressed her eyes shut, fresh tears threatening to bypass the barrier of her eyelids. She wanted him. Heaven help her, she wanted him so badly she couldn't stand it.
His mouth moved lower, nipping at her breasts, teasing and driving her mad. He tormented each bud with a flick of his tongue and Bianca swallowed sobs of pleasure that made her breath come in jagged gasps.
She would take this night, even if it was all Luke had to offer her. Bianca would take it without regret, because she deserved to feel beautiful, desired and loved, if only for one night.
Luke's tongue grazed a moist, hot trail from her breast to her abdomen. Waves of pleasure surged through her in core-caressing shudders that had Bianca choking for air, her impatience growing to explosive proportions.
When he kissed her inner thigh, Bianca nearly came off the bed. His mouth finally found the moist ache between her legs and she thought certain that he would shove her clear over the edge.
Fisting the comforter, she bucked and moaned, breathing in deep, soul-drenching drafts. Frenzied, she reached between her legs, found the hair on his head, and gently but insistently tugged. Luke's eyes, gleaming with anticipation, searched hers and found a place deep inside of Bianca that no one before him ever had. It made her tremble. “Luke, make love to me ... please.” Her thoughts were fragmented, hazy and drowned out by a need so overwhelming it swallowed her whole.
"Now?” he teased, placing tantalizing kisses on her inner thighs.
A deep ragged moan scraped past her throat, a sound Bianca never thought herself capable of. This was Luke's magic. Slow, sensual foreplay. He enjoyed it and, heaven help her, he was very, very good at it. Bianca braced herself for a long, mind-numbing ride, with crests and peaks that weakened her defenses and brought her sweet agony.
Bewitching the Bachelor Page 15