by Misty Malloy
Her phone rang, jolting her into a state of alertness. One glance at the caller ID had her heart plummeting again. Dad.
What could he possibly want? To scold her for ending the call so abruptly? To demand she apologize?
She considered ignoring the call but, on a whim, answered it. Whatever it was, she could handle it.
“Mia.” Her father’s voice retained its usual gruffness but had softened a notch. “I am…I’m sorry. I was harsh. Please forgive me.”
Mia, taken aback, was unsure of what to say. Tremaine Carmichael did not often apologize to others.
“Your mother and I have spent some time talking.” He cleared his throat, pausing, as if carefully selecting his next words. “In the pride, we value our duty. This involves strength, leadership, and making choices that benefit all members of the pride over the individual. However, it also takes strength and courage to follow your heart. This is a trait of a true lion. We are proud of you, so proud to call you our daughter.”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice but a whisper.
“You were right. True mates are truly rare. If I ignore this and continue to deny you this opportunity, I don’t know that I could ever forgive myself. I fear I would drive you away.”
Mia tried to process all this information. Her dad had apologized to her. He didn’t want her to leave the pride. And…she was free to be with Tristan?
“So, let me get this straight. No more Mr. Preppy Pants?”
“Er…?”
“Asher. No more Asher?”
“No, no more. The Sewells won’t be happy about this, but we’ll figure out a solution.” Her father laughed. “If you believe Tristan is your true mate, then we trust you. We give the two of you our full blessing.” Her dad sighed loudly. “So, he’s a jaguar, hmm? Your mother and I can’t say we’re excited about that, but what the hell. When do we get to meet him?”
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Chapter One
Wiccan Haus
Can I really earn a living at this?
Daphne Wells stood, knee-deep, in a warm mineral pool at the Wiccan Haus, an island off the coast of Maine. The whole place catered to healing, not just these hot springs. When she’d received an invitation for free hydrotherapy training classes, she’d packed her bikini and jumped on the ferry. Time had flown by since her arrival a few days ago.
After losing her job as a financial analyst in suburban Maryland a year ago, she’d take any freebies she could get. Fed up with corporate America, she’d decided to change careers to one that actually helped people instead of screwing them over.
She inhaled crystal-clean air while cool mist from a waterfall caressed her face. This place had a comfortable lodge, a dining room serving health food, and even a beach. It sure beat living in her car or with her bitchy sister.
Cemil, one of the four Rowan siblings who ran Wiccan Haus, taught the class yet another floating maneuver. His long, blond hair looked damp on the ends from helping the students find the right position. So did his white linen tunic. After he waded over to her in the horseshoe-shaped pool, he appraised her with icy-blue eyes, planted his hand on her bare belly, and pushed it down a few inches.
“Trust the water,” he said.
She gulped, hoping she wouldn’t drown. The nearest underwater bench—naturally formed—lay too far away to grab. Trust didn’t exactly appear on her list of strengths at the moment.
Is he single? She could hear her sister, Loretta, now. To heck with the classes, Daph. Find yourself a man while you’re here. Preferably, a rich one.
Loretta just wanted her out of the apartment so they’d stop fighting over the bathroom and everything else. Do this. Have you tried that? You’re not applying yourself enough. Well, you’d better think of something. I can’t support you forever on my small salary, you know. Daphne barely had a moment’s peace under her roof. It was as if her sister thought failure was contagious and she’d catch it any minute.
In any case, the tall blond did nothing for Daphne. She preferred dark-haired men with brown eyes—intense ones that sucked her in with the force of a whirlpool. The way Giovanni’s had the day he’d interviewed her in his office. He’d gazed at her as if time—or the stock market—had stopped. Of course, later, he hadn’t bothered to tell her in person she’d been laid off.
Cemil sprinkled some droplets on her face. “Ditch the negative energy. It will make you sink.”
She’d forgotten about the water until some drifted into her mouth, choking her. After recovering, she relaxed and closed her eyes, “trusting the arms of the warm water to embrace and shelter her” as Cemil had instructed. In fact, he’d repeated the mantra so many times she’d probably be saying it in her sleep tonight. Apparently, what the healer told the client was as important as the physical ministrations. Words had a lot of power.
Embracing water was enough for her. She didn’t need a man. She needed a self-employed career that earned enough to keep a roof over her head. The worst part of unemployment was the maddening boredom. Frequent trips to the library kept her sane. After tripping over a book on the floor about hydrotherapy, she’d actually read it and found it interesting. And, voila, her new career had been born.
Following the floating exercise, Sage, Cemil’s sister, arrived to teach the class which herbs to sprinkle into the water to cure various ailments. She waded into it, her long, flowered skirt billowing around her like a cloud.
“For stress, use chamomile, lavender, and valerian.” She swept back her waist-length blonde tresses. “Trust me, most ailments you’ll see are related to tension somehow.”
Daphne grabbed a pinch of herbs from her basket and sprinkled them into the natural pool. Maybe she should grow her dark hair long, too, and exchange her business suits for bohemian clothes.
Next, Sage showed the students how to swirl the herbs so they dissolved. She pointed out simmering them on a stove first worked better. So did holding them under a faucet or jet, when available.
“Serena, our hydrotherapy expert, couldn’t be here today. She’s not feeling well,” she said. “Hopefully, she’ll recover soon.”
For the discussion part of the class, they moved to the front part of the hot springs and sat on natural benches formed from the sheer rock sides. Daphne had no idea water was so powerful. In its different forms and temperatures, it could redirect blood flow and heal. Cemil listed the treatments they’d explore—baths, saunas, compresses, and douches, which made everyone snicker.
At the end, he clasped his hands around one knee. “Meditate on what you’ve learned today. If you pass the exam, you’ll graduate to the next level, and your test subjects will arrive next week.”
Test subjects. Daphne hoped her guinea pig wouldn’t have bad breath and that she wouldn’t accidentally drown him or her. She grabbed a white cotton towel from the nearest towel cabinet and draped it around her neck. Most of all, she hoped she passed the classes so her future would be clearer than the ever-present bank of fog surrounding the island.
***
Giovanni Denaro yawned as he found his way to the Wiccan Haus dining room. How had he slept for two hours in the middle of the day when he hadn’t taken a nap in ten years? Tension tugged his arm muscles, reminding him of its power.
He hadn’t felt the least bit drowsy when stepping off the ferry today. He’d been worried about taking time off work to get his health back in order. After going through security to get into the lodge, which lay nestled between some cliffs and the sea, he’d worried even more.
The flaky lady at the front desk had informed him his cell phone didn’t work here and that the island’s only phone and computer were off-limits to guests. He felt completely severed from the outside world.
Even his room key was low-tech. The custom charm looked like a cross between a rabbit’s foot and a frog’s eye. At least his lodge room had spoken his lang
uage. It was designed like a business-class hotel room with a king-sized, sleep-friendly bed. As soon as he’d sunk into it, his mind had drifted. The lodge was so quiet compared to other hotels. What kind of herbs had the staff put on his nightstand, anyway? They must have drugged him. Considering the fact his headache had vanished, maybe he should thank them.
A green-haired hostess, wearing a long, baggy dress resembling burlap, greeted him with a smile. She escorted him to the light-green side of the dining room. Fine with him, since most of the people eating on the dark-green side looked strange. As if they might eat him for dinner. Even the food was green. He glanced at someone’s plate in passing.
Is that…seaweed?
The growling in his stomach subsided. Oh, well. He’d eat worms if he had to. Anything to get his health back. He’d worked over twenty years to be a fund administrator. If he collapsed in the boardroom again—screaming for an ambulance and convinced he was dying of a heart attack—he wouldn’t keep his job very long. Luckily, the doctors at the hospital had found nothing wrong with his heart, but they’d told him that might change if he didn’t find a way to control his crippling muscle tension.
He scanned the room, hoping he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. If word got out he was sick enough to travel to this clinic, his career could be history anyway.
The hostess shot him an apologetic glance. “We’re very full tonight. Do you mind sharing a table, or would you rather wait until one opens up?”
“Do you get The Wall Street Journal here?” he asked.
“Um, no. We mostly have magazines about healing.”
Ugh. Worse than seaweed. The thought of waiting with nothing to do drove him out of his mind. This place needed a TV broadcasting CNN so he could catch up on what he’d missed today. He glanced at his watch. The New York Stock Exchange had just closed.
He wished he could call the office to see if those biotechnology securities had dropped based on a recent merger of the parent company. What if the Fund Accounting department devalued them too much? The valuation committee met tomorrow, but he’d miss it.
Then he gasped, as if a rubber band had tightened around his chest. You’re here for a healing vacation, remember? With effort, he took a slow, deep breath.
“I’ll share a table,” he told the hostess. “By the way, do you happen to know what the Dow Jones Industrial Average is right now?”
She frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind.” He couldn’t wait to sit down. Whatever they’d drugged him with upstairs had made him a little lightheaded.
When she stopped at a table for two, he was pleased to see his dining partner was an attractive young woman. At least she seemed to be, judging by the smooth hands gripping the tall menu.
He frowned. Why did those fingers look so familiar? And the amethyst ring. One of his employees had one…. That is, a former employee.
Oh, shit.
The menu lowered, and he found himself staring into a pair of gray eyes as familiar as the ring.
“Daphne?”
She blinked, her eyes turning as hard as the stone in the ring she wore. “Giovanni?”
“What are you doing here?” they both asked at the same time.
He glanced around the room, feeling as helpless as a drowning man. Where had the hostess gone? He’d rather wait an hour for his own table, with nothing to do, than sit here. Nevertheless, he took the empty seat opposite her.
The dark, lustrous hair he’d always longed to stroke brushed Daphne’s shoulders now. It didn’t look as polished and perfect as it had at work, but it was tousled and sexier. Her face had changed the most. Instead of the open, carefree one he remembered, he saw tight angles. She’d obviously been through a struggle.
As his employee, she’d been part of his life for five years. Then gone, like a death. His knee accidentally bumped hers under the small table. The reminder of cozy one-on-one meetings with her sent a warm flush spreading under his collar.
“You first.” He bowed his head toward her in a gentlemanly gesture to delay sharing his personal problems.
“I’m taking classes in hydrotherapy.” She still clutched the menu, keeping it between them. “I plan to launch my own healing business.”
He smiled and gulped some water one of the servers set in front of him. “Not exactly what I expected, but very intriguing. I knew you’d land on your feet.”
The cold look she shot him made him realize he’d said the wrong thing.
“Seeing as how I had to live in my car for a while and give up my beloved pet cat…and the business isn’t even off the ground yet…I haven’t exactly landed on my feet.” She crossed her arms. “If I ever do, though, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Giovanni squirmed in his seat. Daphne had a voice as clear and direct as a laser beam. It worked well in meetings, but, tonight, it practically flayed his skin off. Relief washed over him when a waitress arrived to take their orders. When she said the daily special consisted of seaweed soup with a side of snails, he didn’t argue. Seeing an employee he’d axed had stolen his appetite.
“I figured you’d get another job pretty easily,” he argued after the waitress left.
“Not in today’s job market. After a zillion interviews, I finally gave up.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Didn’t getting unemployment help?”
“It doesn’t pay the rent in the city where we live.” She shot him a wan smile. “Welcome to my world.”
Had the economy really gotten so bad? She was young, intelligent, and had a stellar resume. When he’d laid her off, he’d figured she’d be comparably employed in no time. Maybe it would be easier to talk about himself after all. When the waitress placed salad bowls in front of them, he nearly dove into his. But his throat tightened so much, he could barely swallow it. He sipped his water, but it went down the wrong way and made him gag even more.
Daphne simply stared at him with the cool interest of a sphinx. “Are you all right?”
“If you’re going to be a healer, you might want to practice acting more concerned.”
She didn’t crack a smile at his joking tone, so he dabbed his mouth with a napkin made of coarse brown paper while his mind churned. They needed to reach some kind of accord here.
“I guess job searches take longer these days,” he said, thinking a little logic would help. “I’m sure you would’ve gotten something if you’d kept at it.”
“Really? How long? Until I started showing up at job interviews in rags?”
Okay, logic didn’t work. She was a woman. Maybe she needed some feelings. Whatever he had to do to wash the expression of injury and hatred out of her eyes. Forget recovering from his health problem. The guilt he stewed in right now would offset any cure this place might give him. In fact, his neck muscles felt as if Rekkus, the big security guy here, had clamped a vise around them.
“I get it. You’re bitter. Look, I’m sorry you went through such a hard time. You know how business is.”
“Yeah, which is why I’m switching careers.”
They would never reach accord. The only thing he could focus on now was getting through this miserable dinner. He hoped the island was big enough so they’d never run into each other again.
The waitress brought two steaming entrees of green, white, and yellow stuff, which smelled like vegetables. The stringy things looked like noodles or bean sprouts. Hopefully, not worms. Even the green tea looked cloudy. Why was everything here green? He’d even worn that color shirt. At least it reminded him of money.
She spread hummus on a wheat roll. “So, what brings you here?”
“I haven’t had a vacation in years.” He stared at his food, deciding to try the chick peas first because they were the only items he could identify. “I’ve always wanted to see Maine.”
She arched a dark eyebrow. “Everyone who travels here is involved with healing in some way. What’s wrong with you?”
The woman
was as sharp as ever. More than once, she’d predicted what the market would do before he did. Letting her go had been a mistake.
He rubbed his neck. “Just a little muscle tension.”
A spasm—so violent it made him shake the table—shot across his shoulder blades and arced up to his ear. Holy Mother of Mary, was he having a heart attack now? His glass of green tea wobbled and would’ve fallen over if she hadn’t caught it and set it back in front of him.
“More than a little.” She reached across the table to grab his shoulder. “You’re stiff as a board.”
Her warm, strong fingers flipped a switch inside him, dissolving the tightness. Reminding him of the sleep-inducing herbs in his room.
Maybe all he needed in order to heal was her.
“Well, now you know why I’m here.” He drank some tea to prevent knocking his glass over again. “I’d appreciate it if you kept it to yourself.”
“Afraid of losing your job?” She took a bite of the long, stringy things and chewed slowly. “Don’t worry. We don’t move in the same circles anymore.”
His stomach sank so far he could only eat a few chick peas at a time.
“Muscle tension is pretty common,” she said after they’d eaten in silence for a while. “Why the secrecy?”
“I collapsed in the middle of a board meeting, convinced I was dying.”
Concern warmed her gray eyes, reminding him of the closeness they’d had while working together. Why would she give a damn about him after he’d ruined her life? She was probably just practicing the empathy she’d need as a healer.
“Massage and hydrotherapy might help you.” She pointed to his water glass. “It doesn’t hurt to drink more water, either. I hope you find healing here.”
“Thank you.” He set his fork down and extended his hand across the table. “And I wish you the best with your new career. Truce?”
She stared at his offered hand an agonizingly long time before taking it. “Truce.”