The pang in her chest was blunt, throbbing. Her voice was thick with an awakening she hadn't expected, but should have. Because she spoke with her heart, the words came easy. “I want you to do this article, Luke."
He pulled back, his brow quirked in question. “Why?"
She smiled, shrugged and answered, “Because I think you can.” Before he could respond, and before she risked revealing the contents of her heart, Bianca squeezed his hand. “I want to show you Liam's letter."
He tilted his head, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “The deal is we do that tomorrow night."
She winked. “I trust you to keep your end of the bargain."
Eyes shadowed by fresh desire penetrated hers. He shook his head. “I don't want to look at it tonight, Bianca."
Need spurted through her, hot and welcome. In a sultry voice almost not her own, she purred, “Then what do you want to do, Mr. Hale?"
"I want to be with you, Miss Honeywell.” He tugged her close and nuzzled his face into her neck. “Again. And now.” She exhaled a low, sensual moan, head arched back, as he nipped moist, fiery kisses on her throat. Her pulse began to thrum at her temples, hot and hard.
Was it possible she felt more excited this time than the last? Her heart thumped erratically, her breath coming in small ragged gasps as he worked his way lower, indulging in the soft peaks of her breasts. It may have been minutes or hours. Bianca lost track of time, sliding fluidly into an ocean of sheer pleasure.
When his hands skimmed over her taut stomach to wrap around her hips, she let herself go completely. He filled her, the sway of his body, his intimate strokes. She writhed beneath him, grappling to hang on to a meager strand of reality. If she lost herself entirely, what then?
When the real world spun and careened on its axis, Bianca realized it was too late. A moan of ecstasy slipped past her lips and Luke brought her to the point of sweet agony again.
* * * *
She drifted off toward sleep in Luke's arms feeling totally contented and loved, even if the latter was merely a fantasy Bianca had permitted herself to indulge in.
The vision crept in slowly this time, dissolving the dark curtain that typically separated dreams from waking moments...
Liam watched her, his eyes dark, his expression a startling combination of shock and outrage. Nevertheless she felt strangely liberated. Casting the spell on him as well as those to come, she promised both love and death, the two inseparable.
The colonists assembled in the crowd watched, some with somber sobs and the low chant of prayer, some with an inscrutable wild fervor flashing in their eyes. The preacher bellowed the word of God. Above her, clouds pushed across an angry dark sky that rumbled while the wind blustered and wailed in her ears.
The order was given. A whip snapped. Horses grunted and brayed.
It was the end.
In that fleeting moment of panic, Bianca turned to the preacher. A hand raised to heaven, he pivoted. Facing the witch, he bestowed upon her a final blessing.
When he lifted his eyes, Bianca felt the air in her lungs turn to ice. Every explosive heartbeat pumped chilled blood, fast and furious, to roar in her ears.
The preacher was Luke Hale.
* * * *
Luke had finally drifted into a sound sleep when Bianca bolted upright in bed. Screams of “No! no! no!” erupted in the silence. She gasped as if someone's hands were wrapped around her neck.
Panic, like a red-hot bullet, shot through him, making his heart race and his head throb. He called out her name, grasping her shoulders, forcing her to make eye contact with him.
Frenzied, she shoved his hands away, her eyes wild, frightened and confused. With cold determination, she shook her head, warning Luke to leave her alone, when all he wanted to do was hold her. Chase away whatever had her so scared.
It took him a moment, but he finally realized she wasn't having a nightmare. It was a vision.
She jerked out of bed, choking as if she couldn't breathe. Snatching up her robe, she bolted out of the room, tugging the garment on as she ran.
Cursing, he fell out of bed, hopping on one foot then the other as he yanked on his jeans then raced after her. He found her outside, pacing the inner circumference of her stone circle.
Luke knew what that was now. A circle of stones. It was a sacred area for rituals and magic. He'd read about it in a library book when he'd been looking for information on Celia's curse.
Arms crossed over her chest, Bianca embraced herself, managing, it seemed, to bring her breathing back to normal. He stood there watching her and feeling useless. Shifting his weight, he crammed fingers through his hair. Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets, tapping his foot, fidgeting. All he really wanted to do was grab her, pull her close, and hold on until her fear passed.
Clearly, she didn't want him near her. But why?
What seemed like hours was probably just minutes. Finally she acknowledged that he was there by fixing an angry, distrusting gaze on him that made his skin crawl.
"You need to tell me, right now, everything you know about the hanging and Celia's curse,” Bianca demanded. She stopped in the middle of her circle, arms wrapped tight around her.
He paused, opened his mouth, then shut it. A million jumbled thoughts bounced around in his head. “I'm not sure what you want to know."
"I said everything. You've obviously done research, Luke, and, to be honest, I haven't. So fill me in.” She watched him with a critical gaze.
His eyes widened. “Are you serious?"
"Do I look serious?"
"It's dark out here, I'm not sure. Can we go in?"
"The moon's full. You can see me."
He watched her carefully. “Bianca, you're scaring me."
"I'm scaring you?” she shot back at him. “Well, what I saw tonight scares the hell out of me, Luke Halestrom!"
He raised a brow. Calling him by his full name was probably not a good sign. “If you tell me what you saw—"
"No.” She shook her head resolutely. “First I want to know what you know."
She really didn't trust him. This sudden insight was like a kick in the gut. “Bianca, I'm not trying to pull anything over on you."
"You know, Luke, if I had a dime for every reporter who's said that to me—” She lowered her eyes, shaking her head.
"Damn it, Bianca!” he shouted in frustration. “I thought we'd already established that I'm not every reporter!” He waved a finger toward her house, every inch of him shaking. Exasperation mingled with something that felt a lot like intense disappointment. “And after what just went on in there—” His voice cracked and grew hoarse, though he managed to finish in a dull tone, “...I'd think you could trust me by now."
"Don't be so naive, Luke. Sadly, you aren't the first guy who's sweet-talked me into bed just to get a good story.” She looked away, her voice trembling. “But you'll be the last."
He felt as if the sky had just fallen on him.
Speechless, myriad emotions flooded him. Loathing—for those who had come before him, taking advantage of a woman who had so much to give. Resentment—because Bianca had let them in. Regret—at having allowed himself to feel something for this woman, when he'd promised the both of them that he wouldn't. Apprehension and dismay—...since the curse he'd thought was a myth seemed to be real after all.
With nothing left to lose, Luke went with his gut.
Bianca didn't want him near her but he crossed those lines she'd drawn, and her barrier of stones. He entered her circle in three strides, then worked her arms free. Wrapping his own around her instead, relief came in powerful waves when she didn't push him away.
Letting go, she went limp, choking on harsh shuddering sobs. His heart convulsed, shattered and burst, all simultaneously, and the hurt was agonizing.
He kissed the top of her head, then her face. When he thought she was ready, he brushed his lips over her mouth, every breath matching hers. She moaned, parted for him, letting him deepen
the intimacy, and he drank of her. Something inside of him swelled, ached, frightened and elated him. He pushed it aside, but it only came back stronger.
"Luke...” she breathed, warm and sweet on his mouth.
He stroked her face, her neck and shoulders, blurting, “I'm sorry, Bianca. Sorry for whatever happened."
"I have to tell you something. It's important.” She placed her hands flush against his chest until there was an inch or two of space between them. He kept his arms around her waist, feeling safe and centered when he held her. “I went back to the hanging tree tonight, in my dreams...” Her voice was slow and purposeful.
"God, Bianca—” His gut twisted. “Why?"
"I didn't try. It just came.” Her eyes were wide, somber, fearful, and it scared the hell out of him. “Tonight I saw the preacher's face.” She looked away, shut her eyes tight, gulped air, then gasped, “It was you, Luke. The preacher was you."
He shook his head, confusion assailing him. “That makes no sense."
"It doesn't have to make sense. It just is. Now we have to figure out why.” Peering at him, one eyebrow curved skeptically, she persisted, “Can you handle this? I mean really handle this?"
His throat tensed and his jaw was pulled so tight he thought it might snap. Nodding, he answered, “You ask as if I have a choice."
"But you do, Luke.” In the moonlight, her eyes shimmered and her lip quivered. “You can leave. Walk away right now. No hard feelings. I swear.” She sank her teeth into her trembling lip then drew a shaky breath. “You're safe from the curse. We'll just call this a ... a meaningless little fling. It's not too late."
His heart felt cumbersome, a weight in his chest that pulled and ached. God ... She was strong. So much stronger than he was, Luke thought.
He pressed her close, while she sighed and relented against him. Stroking her hair, he kissed the top of her head and whispered that everything would be fine. Even if he wasn't sure that it would be.
Sometimes there were things a person just couldn't plan for. Like where lightning might strike next. Surprises. Curses. Discovering fairytale magic was real.
And falling in love.
Bianca was sexy, smart and beautiful, but she was wrong about one thing ... It was already too late.
Chapter Thirteen
Bianca hadn't expected Luke to be there the next morning, yet she wasn't surprised when he was.
He'd made her breakfast. The meal consisting of burnt buttered toast, an assortment of diced fruit and coffee was served up on a platter decorated with rose petals. He was even kind enough to pretend he didn't notice when tears sprang to her eyes. Or that her voice trembled with emotion when she thanked him.
Glimpsing the small bandage on his left index finger, she asked, “Did you cut yourself?"
He lifted the patched digit, blushing handsomely, his grin disarming. “Fruit dicing injury. Kitchens are hazardous to my health."
Leaning over her breakfast, she placed a tantalizing kiss on his mouth. “Thank you for risking life and finger for me."
"Anytime.” His wink was harmless enough. Then, slowly and seductively, his gaze slid downward. There was a tingling in the pit of her stomach and her cheeks warmed.
She bit into the overdone toast, pretending it was the tastiest she'd had in years, while he cleared his throat. “I think we should hit the books today,” he said. “Maybe pay Abigail a visit. There are volumes I didn't have a chance to look at. Maybe we can find something on the preacher—"
"William Samson."
"Excuse me?” He watched her with wide, bewildered eyes.
"The preacher's name was William Samson."
Sipping her coffee, which ranked somewhere between lukewarm and cold, she tried not to pucker. Bianca drank it light with no sugar. Not only had Luke found her stash of sugar cubes, but it seemed he'd used half the box. Still, the gesture warmed her from head to toe. No man had ever served her breakfast in bed.
He eyed her with a deadpan stare. “You know his name."
Bianca nodded, reaching for the fruit, deciding it was safe to assume a grape would taste the way she expected it to. “Yes. But it just came to me."
"When?"
"Now. Just now.” She ate another grape. Shrugging, she explained, “It's probably a remnant."
"A remnant?"
"Of last night's vision. Sometimes I get remnants."
He lay on his side, propped on an elbow. “Do you know how strange that sounds?"
"I imagine it does.” She grinned, shrugging again. “But I've gotten used to it."
"Any other remnants you want to share?” He reached for a slice of banana and popped it into his mouth.
"I'll let you know when they come to me."
"Okay...” He took a piece of toast, bit into it and muttered, “Burnt. Sorry."
Smiling, she nibbled at her own charred triangle, glad he'd gone heavy on the butter. “It's perfect. I like it well done."
"This is charcoal, Bianca."
She laughed and he did, too. It felt elating to enjoy a moment of spontaneous humor with him. Eyeing his finger, she offered, “Want me to fix that for you?"
He shook his head, winking. “I don't want to zap your energy for a tiny cut. It'll heal fine."
An unconscious smile curled her mouth and she lifted a brow. “Are you sure it's not deep?"
"I don't think so. Want to have a look?” He tugged at the Band-Aid, but she merely grabbed his bandaged finger and held it a split-second.
Experiencing a tiny sympathy pang in her own index finger, she reassured him, “It's fine. More like a paper cut."
"Hey, it was a sharp knife. A big sharp knife."
She winked. “Okay, tough guy. But it's fine."
He stared at his finger, murmuring, “Incredible.” Peering at her, he asked, “How can you tell?"
Munching a bit of apple, she watched him thoughtfully. “I've never had to put it into words before. I guess the best way to explain it is that when I held your finger, I was able to feel your injury as if it was my own.” Setting her plate aside, she took his hand. “It's just a sensing of energy, really. Let me show you. Close your eyes."
He did, his mouth curled in a silly grin.
"Don't laugh,” she warned in a playful tone, flattening his hand on her knee. A rush of heat flooded through her when he inched his hand over her thigh slowly.
His voice was deep, throaty and sensual as he teased, “Now ... where do you want my hand?"
She swallowed a sweet tortured moan and placed her hand over his. “Luke..."
He opened one eye, his grin devilish. “Wait ... I think I'm sensing some energy right now. Is it supposed to feel ... hot?"
She giggled, gasping for breath when his hand bypassed her efforts to stop him, and dove under the sheets, skimming past her thigh, to curl around her hip. “Oh, Luke, that tickles."
She shoved with her free hand, forcing him onto his back, while he relented willingly, until half of her body had him pinned down. His breath expelled in an audible huff, eyes wide and dusky with fresh yearning.
Bianca laid her mouth on his, tasting bananas and butter, enjoying the way his moan vibrated past her lips then shivered through her, making every nerve ending snap. Slowly she tugged her lips from his mouth then kissed his chin, loving his lazy, sexy smile. “Now, Luke ... you have to behave if you want me to show you how energy works."
"I'm not good at behaving.” As if to prove his point, he reached behind, cupping her bottom and pressing Bianca into the hot, pulsing need between his legs.
She sucked in a breath and licked her lips, trying to hang on to a frayed strand of self-control. “You'll enjoy this, trust me."
Bianca pushed up, straddling his legs. He watched, his eyes smoldering, raking boldly over her. Heart racing, she relished the crazy euphoric sensation of feeling desired by this incredible, exciting man.
"Now...” she began, this time more emphatically. “Close your eyes."
He did. The rise
and fall of his chest became rapid and she felt his anticipation mounting.
Bianca placed her hands over his torso, a breath away, but not touching. “If you try, Luke, you can sense my energy. It should feel warm. It might even tingle.” The ache of wanting him again curled deep in her abdomen and she breathed, “Can you feel me?"
She moved her hands slowly over his torso, as if caressing, yet never making contact. Focused, she swirled heat deep inside of her, then directed it through her fingertips. This kind of magic was erotic foreplay and Bianca took full advantage of her craft to tempt and torture Luke.
He moaned softly, his voice a whisper, almost a whimper. “You're ... right. I can ... I can feel it.” His nostrils flared and his stomach quivered. “Softer than a touch, but very ... very real."
Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. “That's it,” she told him. “That's what energy feels like."
"Oh ... God ... Bianca...” he moaned.
Feeling naughty, she moved her hands lower, watching him writhe with pleasure, his breathing ragged. When his eyelids snapped open, powerful yearning darkened and deepened his gaze, snagging the air from her lungs.
He took her hands and jerked her close, her body flush with his. Her soft full breasts crushed against the corded muscles of his chest and their mouths merged with insatiable hunger. In a lightning-fast switch, Bianca was under him. Luke blistered her lips with kisses that took everything she had.
She cried out his name, dragged her hands over his back, begged him to make love to her again, wanting him desperately, more than air. With urgency Luke thrust himself inside of Bianca, though, for one infinite, wordless moment, he tugged his mouth from hers, and their eyes connected. In that single, powerful exchange, two souls met, and Bianca knew...
Something was happening that they were helpless to stop. In a turbulence of passion and desire that melded two bodies and two hearts, there was love.
With love would come change. It was time.
* * * *
"We'll take my bike.” Luke handed his helmet to Bianca. “You wear this."
She arched a dubious brow. “I've never been on a motorcycle before."
"And I've never had a witch on my motorcycle before, so I guess we're even.” He winked, flashed his most convincing grin and slung a leg over the bike. “You've taken me for quite a ride the past few days. Let me return the favor, okay?"
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