She glanced over toward the street, following an urge she couldn’t quite explain. As she did, she noticed the yellow cabs lining the road. That was nothing out of the ordinary for the city. Neither was all of the honking and shouting as people moved at a snail’s pace in traffic.
One of the many cabs was breaking from the pack and causing quite a stir as it attempted to blaze its own trail through the congestion. The passenger in the backseat turned his head to look at her and their gazes locked.
It couldn’t be.
York?
How?
As she stared at the man with shoulder-length dark, wavy hair, his closely cut beard, and his dark eyes, her mouth formed an “O” and she shook her head in disbelief.
Whoever the man was, he looked identical to York.
For a second, the man appeared confused, and then his eyes widened. He threw his hands in the air and hit at the barrier between himself and the cab driver before he was suddenly out of the cab. He narrowly missed being hit by another taxi in the process but paid no mind to it all, his gaze locked firmly on her.
“Morgan?” he asked, his deep, Southern-tinged voice sounding like music to her ears.
She didn’t know how it was he was in the past with her. All she did know was that he represented her real home—Hedgewitch Cove.
She ran toward him, and he met her at the curb, grabbing her and lifting her off her feet in the process. Her feet dangled in the air as their bodies pressed firmly together. He spun her in a circle, holding her in a death grip, his body shaking slightly.
“Darlin’, you scared years off me,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.
The act of his warm breath skating over her skin sent a shiver of delight racing through her. Gasping, she squeezed him tighter, the tears breaking free in the process.
He set her on her feet but kept her close.
He cupped her face with his warm hands and stared down at her. Confusion knit his brow. “What happened? Did someone from the Collective hurt you? I’ll kill them.”
“What?” she asked, breathless.
He wiped the tears from her cheeks and then rubbed her exposed arms, clearly sensing she was cold. “Darlin’, you’re crying.”
A choked laugh came from her. “I think it’s a result of a lot of emotions but at this very second, I’m crying because I’m happy you’re here.”
Relief shone on his handsome face. “You are? With what I said and what I accused you of, I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to see me again.”
“I was very hurt by what you said. I still am to a degree,” she admitted, putting her hands to his steely chest as she did. “But blinking and finding myself trapped in the past kind of sucked the wind out of my offended sails.”
He chuckled slightly. “You’re freezing. Come on.”
The cab he’d jumped out of was right where he’d left it, blocking traffic and earning a lot of honks and curses from fellow drivers. The door York had exited was still wide open. He led her back to it and helped guide her in.
The warmth of the vehicle hit her at once, helping to stop some of the bone-chilling cold she felt. She strongly suspected a large amount of it was shock and stress related. That, and it was clear to her that she wasn’t as she had been in Hedgewitch Cove. She wasn’t in spirit form.
No.
She was flesh and blood.
York eased into the cab next to her as best he could considering just how tall he was. The sight of the alpha male shark-shifter cramming himself into a city taxi for her sake only made her cry more.
He touched her chin lightly, directing her gaze to his. The next she knew, his lips were pressed to hers. Gasping, she gave him the opening he needed to take the kiss to another level, and he didn’t disappoint. By the time he was done, she was a breathless puddle of hormones and tears.
His lips curved into a smile against hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for years. Pretty much since I was old enough to realize girls weren’t icky.”
“York?” she asked. He’d wanted to kiss her for years?
He put his finger to her lips, silencing her as he looked forward at the driver. “She’ll tell you where to take us now.”
Morgan’s mind raced and the same urge she’d had since arriving in the past was there. She needed to get to the contract, and if she knew her father at all, that was something he’d keep in the home safe, not at the office. “Home. He can take us to my parents’ home.”
“That the address on your identification?” asked York, pulling a billfold that looked suspiciously like the one she used to have from his back pocket.
Surprised, she touched it lightly, as if it might bite. “How did you get this?”
“Long story. The address the same?” he asked.
She nodded.
He inclined his head to the driver, who finally stopped blocking traffic and began to go.
Morgan grabbed York’s T-shirt and fisted it as she looked him up and down. “How are you here? How did you find me? What’s happening? Am I deader than normal?”
The cab driver glanced at the rearview mirror but didn’t look shocked by her words. He probably heard a lot in his line of work.
York smoothed a strand of hair back from her face. “You are unbelievably gorgeous, darlin’.”
A blush stole across her cheeks, heating her face.
He kissed the tip of her nose. “Best I didn’t learn that until now though. I had a hard enough time focusing when I was only imagining what you looked like. Now that I know, I’m done for.”
“York, be serious,” she pleaded, her hands finding his.
“I am,” he returned. “And to answer your question, Luc and Betty are behind the hows and whys. And you’re the opposite of deader than normal. Not that dead was even your norm.”
“What do you mean?” she questioned.
He leaned over, nuzzling his face to the crook of her neck. When he spoke, it was a soft whisper against her ear. “You’re a real girl, Pinocchio.”
She was about to question him more but thought harder on how she’d felt since finding herself in the past. A small yelp came from her as she understood what he was saying. “I’m alive?”
The comment came out louder than she’d meant and earned her a raised brow from the cab driver as he glanced in the rearview mirror once more.
Snickering, York kept his mouth where it was. “You are, darlin’. Want to have your mind really blown?”
“There’s more?” she asked, unsure she could handle anything else. Already she’d gone back in time and somehow managed to come back to life. Anything else might just do her in.
He kissed her earlobe and laughed softly again. “You’re my mate.”
A nervous giggle escaped her a second before she considered his words more. As she did, her fingers went to the coin in her pocket. She withdrew it and held it out for York to see.
He eased it from her hand and studied it. His thumb scraped over the magic symbols before he turned it and grinned at the sight of the state of New York and the Statue of Liberty. He then looked upward. “Remind me to thank Mémé when we get home.”
“York!” she shouted, causing the driver to jolt somewhat. “Sorry.”
York was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Or, in his case, the shark that munched on the surfer. He looked downright giddy that he’d been cursed by his grandmother.
She stared at him in disbelief. “We’re…?”
“We are,” he said with a wink. “This is perfect. See, I’m your man and you’re always on my mind. Plus, you have me wrapped around your finger.”
When she realized he was stringing together song titles from the ’80s, something he’d taken to doing several months back, she found herself smiling. The man got her on a level no other person ever really had.
He put his forehead to hers. “Now, what do you say we find some contract Luc mentioned and find a way back home?”
She nodded, tearing up more, overcome with a swell of happin
ess. “Yes. That.”
He slinked his arm around her and held her close as they drove through the city. She caught him giving the side-eye to more than one person walking down the street. No surprise since the era was full of a lot of colorful clothing and people.
There was a man in short shorts, on roller skates, no shirt, holding a boombox over one shoulder as he did circles on the sidewalk. His hair was permed, and he wore a yellow headband. His mustache was rather epic in a very Tom Selleck-worthy kind of way.
York’s eyes widened. “I’m not gonna be expected to dress like that to fit in here, am I?”
“No,” she said quickly, doing her best to keep from laughing outright at the look of horror on his face. “But I think a nice pair of jam pants and a muscle shirt would be hot on you.”
He jerked around to stare at her. “Really?”
She tipped to one side, laughter erupting from her like lava from a volcano. The expression on his face was priceless. “I should say yes. With all the teasing you’ve done to me over the years, it would serve you right.”
“Sweet Lord above, for a second I thought you were serious, and I’d be stuck runnin’ around town with my britches up my hind end, wheeling about, looking like a chicken with its head cut off. If it’s all right by you, I think I’ll just stick to jeans and boots.”
She could take the cowboy out of the South, but she couldn’t take the South out of the cowboy. That much was clear.
Her hand found his powerful thigh, and she put her head against his shoulder, enjoying being held by him. For as much time as she’d spent avoiding showing herself to him over the years, all she wanted to do was stay where he could see her and be close to him.
Chapter Ten
York paid the driver and stepped away from the taxi to stand near his punk-rock girl. She was as opposite as one could get from him, yet she was absolutely perfect. He felt right and whole being near her knowing the truth—that she was his mate.
He just hoped she’d be okay with being claimed by him.
They’d yet to discuss the matter in-depth and he wasn’t sure what her response would be. First, he needed to find the contract Luc said to grab and then find a way to get his woman back to the future they’d come from.
“McFly moment,” he said, as he glanced up at the large brownstone home before him. He was no expert on New York City real estate, but he knew the place cost a pretty penny. “If you’re loaded and you know it, clap your hands.” He wanted to ease some of the fear he sensed coming off Morgan.
She lifted a brow and stared at his hands. “Well? You planning to clap? Your family pretty much owns a town.”
She had a point. He clapped, and she smiled, reaching out and taking his hand in hers. She gave a gentle squeeze and took a deep breath. “We’re doing this then? We’re going in?”
“We are,” he replied.
“What if my parents are in there? They’re supposed to be in the south of France, but I don’t know anything anymore. What if they aren’t?”
A calculated smile touched his lips as he thought about all the things he’d do to her parents. They all involved pain and torture and then some more pain.
“From the expression on your face, I’m going to say you’re really hoping they are in there,” she said with a small snort. “Do me a favor, break expensive things. It will upset my mother more than anything else you could ever think to do. Or growl at her demon-dog.”
“She has a pet demon?” asked York, thinking more about it.
“No, but it’s as mean as can be.”
He knew she was stalling. “You know, I never asked what kind of supernatural you are…erm…were, no wait, are.”
She grumbled. “That made my head hurt, yet I followed it somehow. And to answer your question, I’m not one.”
“What do you mean, you’re not one?” Of course, she was supernatural. She was his mate.
“Does being a kind-of ghost count?” she asked, and he realized she didn’t know the truth of it all.
He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles one by one. “Darlin’, do you understand that no one is a member of the Collective who isn’t supernatural to some degree? And that would mean your parents are. If they are, that means you are.”
She stepped closer to him and squeezed his hand tight. “Ohmygod, what am I?”
He laughed. “My mate. And before you think too hard on that statement, you should know that in order to be my mate, you’ve got to be more than human.”
Morgan tried to wiggle her hand free from him, and he caught the impression if he dared let go, she’d bolt like a jackrabbit. He bent and kissed the tip of her nose once more. He really wanted to simply stare at her for hours upon hours, memorizing every line and curve of her face and body, seeing as how today was the first day he’d ever been allowed to see her, but he knew they had work to do.
“We need to get that contract Luc mentioned,” confessed York—a second before he got the distinct feeling they were being watched.
Playing it cool, he turned his head slightly to glance around for anyone who looked suspicious. The street Morgan lived on wasn’t as crowded as the ones they’d been on before, but that didn’t mean they were alone. While the number of people passing by more than likely seemed relatively small in comparison to the rest of New York City, it was a whole lot of folks when pitted against Hedgewitch Cove.
Then there was the glaringly obvious fact that everyone looked at least slightly suspect to York. How could they not with their choice of hairstyles? What were people in the ’80s thinking? And how did they get so many on board with horrible perms and so much hairspray? He didn’t even want to get into the clothing they wore. Did they own mirrors?
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” asked Morgan.
York cleared his throat and looked down at her. “Um, yes?”
She groaned. “Luc mentioned a contract to me the night I died. Okay, which is tonight, but you get what I mean.”
He nodded. She wouldn’t die if he could help it.
His magic stirred deep in him, making itself known. With it came the deep-set knowledge that if he dared to stop what was to happen, there would be a worse hell to endure.
He had to let the Morgan of the past die. Had to let events play out as they were meant to. Luc’s reminder that there were two versions of Morgan here was the only thing that helped York even entertain the possibility of permitting events to unfold as they once had. He didn’t understand the inner workings of time travel and having it explained in detail wouldn’t have helped him any.
Not when it came to his mate.
The woman he loved.
Allowing any version of her to be killed went against every ounce of his being. The alpha in him wanted to lash out at everything and everyone who dared to think of harming his mate, and the man in him wanted to hold Morgan and never let go.
“He said my parents signed some contract with the Collective that concerned me,” she told him, drawing him from his thoughts. “He made sure I knew that if I was ever given the chance to get the contract, I should take it.”
“Then let’s find us that contract, darlin’.”
She went up the front steps and bent, lifting a small flowerpot to expose a spare key. The key placement didn’t seem like the best security measure, especially living in the city, but what did he know? He never locked his doors back home. He didn’t have to. Anyone dumb enough to try breaking in would find themselves looking at a partially shifted shark.
Pretty decent crime deterrent.
Within seconds, Morgan was entering the home, and York kept his body behind hers to block her from who or whatever he was sure was watching them. He wasn’t sure if they were friend or foe, but he did know they were close. For now, he’d permit them to linger but if they made a move to harm his woman, he’d rip them to shreds and not lose a wink of sleep over it.
Morgan meant that much to him.
Mine.
The word
bounced around in his head before settling in his chest, warming the area. He felt like a lovesick teenager, not a grown man. In many ways, he’d always been something of a lovestruck fool when it came to Morgan. How had he not seen who she was to him years ago?
“Coming?” asked Morgan, holding the door open for him.
He entered and was instantly hit with the faint scents of other animals. If he was right, he could smell the hedgehog and bat Luc had mentioned, and something that could be the dog Morgan mentioned her mother having. Though the smell was off to the point he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Maybe Morgan’s mother put perfume on her dog.
As he stared around the ornate furnishings in the home, he had a hunch he was right about the perfume. As they went through the house, York couldn’t help but take note of the lack of family photos. There was a portrait of a man and a woman above the fireplace. The people depicted matched the picture he’d seen of her parents.
There was no sign that they even had a daughter.
How had Morgan ended up with such a big heart coming from such a sterile environment?
Sure, his family wasn’t hurting for cash, but they weren’t anything like these people. They were warm and loving. They employed a large number of the people in the town, paid fair wages, and were always giving back to the community. They weren’t fancy folks, but they were good people.
The deeper Morgan took him into the home, the more he wanted to hunt down her parents and spend a week locked away in a room with them. When he was done, they’d know just how much their daughter meant to him and how much they should have cherished her when they’d had the chance. They were Collective members, so they more than likely wouldn’t ever see the error of their ways.
There was a clanging from what York suspected was the kitchen area.
Morgan ran in that direction.
The woman had no sense. He was trying to keep her safe while she was busy running toward loud noises.
York caught her around the waist a second before she’d have made it all the way into the large all-white kitchen.
Do You Really Want to Haunt Me: A Happily Everlasting World Novel (Bewitchingly Ever After Book 3) Page 9