by Kris Tualla
He lowered himself on the edge of her bed. “I was thinking about you.”
“Thinking about me?” A chill doused all remnants of her earlier flames. “Thinking about me how, exactly?”
His gaze fell away. “I was thinking about how beautiful you looked in your undergarments. I thought about taking them off for you.”
Hollis stared at him, her pulse now surging for an entirely different reason. “No.”
“And then I closed my eyes,”—he did now as well—“and I imagined I was in your bed with you. And that I was finally free of these leathers and fur. There was absolutely nothing between us.”
Hollis grabbed the extra bed pillow and pressed it protectively against her chest. “No!”
Sveyn looked at her then. “And then I imagined that I was loving your body with mine.”
“Oh, my God!” This can not be happening. “You went into my head? Into my dreams?”
He twisted to face her. “Did you dream this? Is that why you awoke? And moaned?”
Hollis groaned again, this time with anger. “You invaded my mind, my private thoughts? On purpose?”
“I did not know that this could happen!” Sveyn looked and sounded frantic. “This has never happened before.”
“You never manifested to a woman before!” Hollis framed her face with her hands. “Oh, my God!”
“I did not intend to do such a thing. You must believe me, Hollis.” He reached for her, but let his arm fall slack, remembering the futility. “I am so very sorry.”
She jabbed an angry finger toward him. “Did you—finish?”
He gave a quick shake of his head. “I have no body.”
Hollis tapped her temple with the same stiff finger. “Not even here?”
Sveyn looked defeated. “I—imagined that I did.” His head tilted and his expression turned wary. “Did I? In your dream?”
All the air left her lungs. Her shoulders slumped. She stared blankly at the hands which lay limp in her lap, cradling her pillow armor.
This was entirely too weird.
“Hollis?”
Only her eyes moved, shifting back to his. “Yes.”
His brow twitched. “Yes?”
She huffed an irritated sigh. “Yes, Sveyn. You did. Quite loudly, in fact.”
Startled by her answer, Sveyn’s eyes widened. He moved his hands over his body; a body which he said he could not feel. His cheeks hollowed under the scruff of his beard.
“Couldn’t you tell?” she pressed.
He didn’t answer her. His gaze lowered and ricocheted around the bottom half of the room. The Viking seemed to be as gobsmacked by what happened as she was.
“I… there was something… not anything that I can describe in physical terms.”
“Did it feel good?” she taunted.
He drew a long, non-existent breath and blinked slowly. “I know you are angry with me, and you have every right to be. But I beg of you, Hollis. Do not be cruel.”
Hollis recoiled. He was right, her comment was intentionally cruel. She wanted to hurt him. “I’m sorry. But I’ve been violated.”
“Yes. You have. I understand.” He met her gaze. “But I would never intentionally hurt you. You must believe this.”
She set the pillow aside and leaned toward him. “Do you swear—on whatever you believe in—that you had no idea that I would dream your thoughts?”
“I do.”
“And you will not do it again?” Without asking me.
What in God’s name was she thinking?
He raised one hand. “I will swear on your Bible.”
Hollis didn’t want to go looking for the battered and dog-eared copy that was somewhere in her closet—and get out of bed half dressed in front of her dream lover.
Lover.
The startling possibilities revealed this night prompted a fountain of unwanted affection toward the man, and Hollis blushed again. “I’ll take your word. You claim to be a man of honor.”
“I am a man of honor, Hollis.” He slid off the bed and kneeled in front of her. “And I pledge you my eternal loyalty, the benefit of my ancient wisdom, and my protection—in any way that I am able.”
Hollis felt that a sword was needed to make the Viking’s solemn oath official, but of course she owned nothing like that. She did have an engraved silver letter-opener on the kitchen counter, a gift from her grandmother who still believed in snail mail, but still didn’t want to leave the modesty of her bed just yet.
Besides, it was too small.
And she couldn’t actually touch his shoulders with it anyway.
She settled for, “I accept your oath, Sir Hansen.”
He dipped a nod, and rose to his feet. “Sleep well, Hollis. I will not disturb you this way again.”
As she switched off her light, Hollis angrily squelched the idea that someday she just might ask him to.
Monday
September 28
“The Egyptian artifacts must be repatriated. There is no question about that. International law states it clearly.” Miranda dropped the large volume on her desk. “What is not clear is whose responsibility it is to move the items.”
“Would you like me to call the embassy in Los Angeles?” Hollis offered.
“No, thanks. That’s my job.” Miranda waved her hand toward her computer. “What’s today’s Item of the Week?”
“Dick Turpin’s tri-corn hat.” Hollis grinned. “That is quite the find, isn’t it?”
Miranda shot her a sharp look. “Will you make it clear this isn’t proven?”
“Of course. And, we’ll also post links to the various tales of his infamous life.” Hollis shrugged. “Benton wants the collection to get attention. We’ll see that it does, even if we have titillate a little along the way.”
The tall brunette nodded her agreement. “How was your double date with Stevie and George?”
“Pfft,” Hollis huffed. “The guy had a thing about redheads. That was all he had going for him.”
Miranda’s expression shifted from boss to friend. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. Besides, I got an interesting hit over the weekend—a Ph.D. whose photo is very handsome.” Hollis turned to leave Miranda’s office before her boss could notice any emotions which this past weekend’s events might display.
She walked past Sveyn, silent and scowling in the corner.
“I’ll let you know if anything comes of it,” she said over her shoulder, ignoring the Viking.
*****
“Ooh. He is handsome.” Stevie turned to Hollis. “You should message him back.”
“I did. Saturday.” Hollis ignored Sveyn’s low hum of disapproval and moved the cursor to her inbox, which had a bold three next to it. “Let’s see how he answered me.”
Thank you for pointing back at me, Hollis.
“That’s a good start.” Stevie smiled. “He even used an emoticon.”
“It’s a very short start,” Hollis replied. “Let’s see what else he has to say for himself.”
She clicked on the second message, also from Everett, and posted just fifteen minutes later. Sveyn was now standing close behind her, reading the screen over her over her right shoulder.
I will be coming to Phoenix in a week or so on an extended business trip and would love to take you out to dinner. Would you be interested?
“Where is he from?” Stevie asked.
“Denver.” Hollis moved on to the third message, posted five minutes later.
We could video chat first, if that would make you more comfortable.
Stevie leaned back and crossed her arms, looking like a cat who had recently feasted on a nest full of canaries. “He is really interested in you.”
A little surge of hope bubbled in Hollis’s chest. “Why would you say that?”
“Because he messaged you three times in less than half an hour. It’s like he couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Sveyn walked to the other side of Hollis’s office and leaned agains
t the wall, watching her like a—whatever kind of hawk lived in Norway.
Hollis turned to Stevie. “I think I’ll do the video chat. Just in case.”
“Excellent idea!” She pointed at the screen. “Schedule it for right after work tomorrow. And remember, Arizona doesn’t do Daylight Savings time, so he’ll be an hour ahead of us.”
“Oh. Right.” Hollis clicked reply and laid her fingers on her keyboard. When the text box appeared, she hesitated. “How do I start?”
Sveyn coughed, and scrubbed a palm over his mouth, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Hollis shot him a warning glance.
Stevie rolled her eyes. “If he was standing in front of you, what would you say?”
Hollis thought a moment, and then began typing.
Hello, Everett.
Stevie leaned close again. “Matching his emoticon. Good.”
I would love to video chat with you. We can move past the awkward first meeting that way, and be old friends by the time we do go to dinner.
Stevie clapped her hands. “Brilliant!”
“I’m just out of practice, not stupid,” Hollis muttered.
Will you be available to chat tomorrow, Tuesday, at seven o’clock Denver time?
Hollis turned to her friend. “Do I need to say anything else?”
Stevie shook her head. “No. You have said you are interested and tossed the ball back to him. Send it and see what happens.”
With a silent prayer, Hollis sent her message. Her reply appeared on the screen under Everett’s third message to her.
“That’s it then.” Hollis pushed back from her desk and stood. “Time to get some work done.”
Stevie stood as well. “Have fun going through that Egyptian stuff. I’ll be here, at my desk, logging in everything else.”
Hollis reached for her duffle bag of protective gear. “Do you want to come?”
“No, thank you.” The petite registrar shuddered. “It all creeps me out. I’m really glad we can’t keep any of it.”
Hollis refused to acknowledge that she felt the same way. She looked at Sveyn who nodded, shouldered her bag, and returned her attention to Stevie. “Will you go ask Tom and the other interns to meet me at the van in ten minutes?”
“Sure.”
The computer pinged.
Hollis whirled around. She had left the MatchPoint page open—probably in some subconscious hope that Everett would respond immediately—and the ping signaled a reply.
Subconscious, huh?
It was deliberate and she knew it.
“Oh. Um. I guess I forgot to close out.” Hollis plopped back into her chair.
Stevie was at her side in a blink. “What did he say?”
Tomorrow at 7pm. It’s a date.
E
Chapter Twenty
Hollis was having a hard time concentrating on the Kensington hoard with contemplations of Everett interrupting her every thought. She wondered what his voice would sound like. She imagined it smooth—like a latte with extra whip.
“This one as well.” Sveyn pointed at a wooden crate.
Startled back onto the porch by Sveyn’s deep tones and slightly accented words, Hollis nodded and stapled a post-it to the box. “At least he kept all of the Egyptian stuff in one place.”
Sveyn straightened and looked at her oddly. “This has been true in every room, has it not?”
She met the Viking’s gaze, surprised by the observation. “I suppose it has.”
Sveyn pointed as he spoke. “The things he brought from London were in the smaller room, the Nordic items were in the larger room, and the Egyptian relics are out here.”
“That’s pretty unusual for a hoarder.” Hollis shrugged. “But then, this is not the normal sort of hoard.”
Sveyn chuckled. “No it is not. The ones I see on the television at night have garbage and rotten food everywhere.”
“Thank the Lord for small favors.” Hollis climbed over the crate. “The only sin Ezra is guilty of is keeping so many worthless things.”
“But how could he know that they would never be valuable?” Sveyn wagged a finger at her. “That ugly little man in Germany who did such terrible things and started a war might have been nothing important.”
The Viking had a point. “That’s true,” Hollis admitted. “Hitler’s baby shoes were just regular baby shoes before he grew up to be a monster.”
Tom appeared at the porch door. “We have finished the small bedroom. Do you want us to load the boxes in the van, or start on the big bedroom?”
“Go ahead and load the van so we know how much room we still have.” Hollis stepped around a pile. “Then you guys can take a break.”
“Cool.” Tom’s gaze moved over the tagged boxes and his eyes widened. “All of that is Egyptian?”
“Yep.” Hollis rested her fists on her hips and shot Sveyn an inquisitive look. “But I think this might be everything.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “It is.”
Tom wagged his head and stared at Hollis, awestruck. “How did you do that so fast?”
Hollis opened her mouth, hoping an explanation that made sense would just fall out. It didn’t.
“Tell him that you have enough experience to know what you are looking at,” Sveyn suggested.
She did.
Tom grinned. “Man, I want to be like you when I grow up!”
When he turned to leave, Hollis almost stopped him. Grown up? Her?
You are almost thirty-one. It’s time.
*****
Hollis and the interns made it back to the museum an hour before their day ended, leaving plenty of time to unload the van and move the boxes into the collections storeroom. She left the young men to do the heavy lifting and headed toward her office. She heard arguing coming from behind Miranda’s door and slowed her pace, trying to hear what was going on.
The curator’s door swung open. Hollis stepped sideways to avoid being run over by an angry Hispanic man.
“Tony?” she yelped.
He stopped and turned an irritated face toward hers. “What?”
Hollis flinched. “Uh… Welcome back?”
The museum’s permanent collections manager snorted and resumed his striding exit, muttering in Spanish as he walked through Sveyn.
“I can feel that,” the apparition stated. “Tickles a little.”
Before she could ask what that comment meant, Hollis glanced into Miranda’s office and was beckoned inside by her beleaguered colleague.
“What’s going on?” she asked, sliding into the seat across from Miranda’s desk. Its residual warmth proved the vacated seat was recently Tony’s.
Miranda waved a limp hand. “The same argument we had before he left for Tucson. ‘Those things don’t belong in our museum!’ Blah, blah, blah.”
“Well he’s right,” Hollis offered. “If it wasn’t for the twelve million dollars or so to build the new wing, none of the Kensington bequest would be displayed here.”
“Yes, but—he was an Arizona resident for over seven decades. And a generous one.” Miranda leaned back in her chair. “And if Mr. Benton says we adjust our mission, then we adjust our mission.”
“And I think—” Stevie breezed into the office, “this new collection will bring a lot more people to see what else we have.”
“Listening, were we?” Miranda’s mouth twitched.
Stevie’s cheeks pinkened. “Tony was angry. I was ready to come to your aid if necessary.”
The statuesque curator grinned at the petite registrar. “I do appreciate that. Really. I do.”
In the corner of the office, Sveyn laughed openly, clearly amused by the idea of little Stevie trying to take down the sturdy Tony.
“Will he come around, do you think?” Hollis hadn’t worked with Tony enough to predict his actions; he had moved to the Tucson branch within weeks of her arrival in Phoenix.
“I’m sure he will. Don’t worry about him.” Miranda clasped her hands on the desk. “So what did you
find today?”
*****
Tony was in the collections storeroom when Hollis went to check on the interns. She squared her shoulders and resolved to be polite, no matter what his mood might be.
He turned to face her when her shoes clacked toward him on the polished concrete floor. “You’re taking over the whole space,” he grumbled.
“I’m not,” she corrected, smiling in spite of his aggressive statement. “Ezra Kensington the Fifth is.”
He sneered. “Same thing.”
“Not really.” Hollis pointed to the shelves lining the wall just to the right of the storeroom door. “All of that will be auctioned off as soon as the wing is opened. And all of that…” She pointed to a stack of crates at the near end of those shelves. “Is being sent to a museum in Massachusetts.”
Tony made a noise that sounded like a combination whine and cough. It was dismissive enough to raise Hollis’s already simmering irritation level.
“And then there are the Egyptian artifacts…”
That did it. Tony’s anger disappeared, blown away by shock, and he stared hard at her. “The what?”
Hollis forced her shoulders to relax. When he was acting like a normal human, Tony was actually a very handsome forty-something-year-old man. His dark eyes and black hair defined what Hollis thought of as dashing. His wife was a lucky woman—when he wasn’t being an ass.
“It appears that a young Ezra spent a lot of time and money collecting in the antiquities shops of various European capitols. And the black market for relics from raided tombs, of course, was rampant.”
“We can’t keep it…” Tony’s tone lifted just a smidge at the end of his statement, giving the idea of a question. But of course, he was as familiar as she was with A Legal Primer on Managing Museum Collections.
Hollis always thought that volume should just be called Collecting 101. “No, we can’t. Miranda is contacting the Embassy in Los Angeles to ask them to come and get the items.”
The man—who was the same height as she but much stockier—shifted his weight. His gaze followed Tom as the intern carried in a box with a black lid.
Sveyn stepped nimbly out of Tom’s path.