Mistletoe and Magic

by Carolyn Hughey

  “Maybe I want you to babysit me.”

  Shaking her head, she let out an exasperated breath. “Yeah, right.”

  “Truly. I get into trouble when I’m left to my own devices. Think of it as a public service.”

  He tried to see emotions play across her face, but she let nothing show. Hers was a face made for gambling, all banality and devil-may-care attitude. Dropping his gaze, he found her Achilles heel. Literally. Her feet shuffled over the slushy sidewalk, toeing designs in the gray matter. The mute tap-dancing told him what her lack of expression didn’t. She was confused, unsure.

  Biting back a smug grin, he pushed his advantage. “A few hours. If I still make you uncomfortable, say so, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  She said nothing, but her feet picked up tempo, scraping the pavement. Finally, she sighed. “Two hours. And don’t think I won’t tell you to shove off if I’m not comfortable. I’m not a duchess, too classy to insult you.”

  “Whatever you say.” But in his mind and heart, she wasn’t a duchess. She ruled supreme. He offered her a bow, and watched the corners of her lips quirk up. Her very kissable lips.

  Game on.

  ***

  Since she had to leave the hostel every day before ten a.m. and wasn’t guaranteed a room upon her return—much less the same room—Polina had stuffed all her belongings, including her mother’s itinerary, in her backpack before heading off this morning. She had assumed Rhys would show up long after she’d disappeared for the day.

  Talk about bad timing. Seeing him dash out of the Pulaski Hotel’s lobby had jolted her. Who knew he’d not only come this morning, but that he’d get here early?

  She hadn’t really lied to him. The only reason she was still on the block was to get a quick caffeine fix. The last person she expected to run into was Rhys Linsey, sleek as a panther, from the grace of his strides to his black ensemble. Last night, he’d looked suave and sophisticated in a top coat and gray wool trousers with black Oxford shoes. This morning, in a leather jacket, snug dark jeans and black boots, he made her yearn for something hotter than coffee. Something she could never have.

  Still, if she could cross off a few more of Mom’s must-do items and enjoy this delicious man’s company at the same time, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  In the quaint, warm café, over hazelnut coffee and raspberry paczki, Polina struggled to make small talk. Growing up as she had, the art of simple conversation with strangers eluded her. Oh, she could shill money out of anyone, but attempting idle chitchat gave her hives. Someone as “normal” as Rhys could never understand the type of upbringing she’d lived through. She took a sip of coffee to keep from speaking. Or scratching at her neck. The sweet, nutty aroma helped soothe her anxiety, and holding the cup kept her hands busy.

  “Tell me about your mother,” he said casually.

  She nearly choked as the coffee made a U-turn in her throat. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Because you said she wanted you to come to Krakow. It might help me understand what I should show you first if I knew a little about why she sent you here.”

  “To recapture the magic.” Cripes, did she really blurt that out loud? She took a huge gulp of hot caffeine, looking for a way to snap her brain into functioning mode.

  “Hmmm...” Stroking his chin, he practically purred. “Magic, huh? I think I can accommodate that.”

  “Puh-leez.” She snorted. “No one can.”

  “That’s what you think.” With a screech of his chair on the tile, he rose. “Come on. Bring your coffee if you’re not finished with it yet.”

  She not only grabbed the coffee, she filched the last paczki as well before following him out the door of the café. God knew when she’d get another treat like these. It would be a shame to leave the last one behind. The cold air sliced into her bare hands and goosed her flesh, thanks to her unzipped jacket. After shoving the raspberry doughnut in her pocket, she attempted to gather up both sides of her jacket and attach the zipper tabs with one hand while balancing her unfinished coffee in the other.

  “Here, stop.” Rhys pulled her closer until her forehead brushed his chin. “Look up,” he ordered.

  She tilted her head, admiring the way the pale sunlight deepened the green of his eyes. His hands tugged near her waist, and then…

  Ziiippppp!

  “There you are, all bundled up again,” he said with a grin. “Now, give me your coffee so you can put on your gloves.”

  Maybe other women would bristle at the way he took over the situation, but Polina, who’d been controlling situations for far too many years, appreciated someone taking care of her for a change. She happily handed over her coffee and pulled the gloves out of her pocket, along with the last paczki. With her gloves pinned between her torso and her arm, she broke the doughnut in half and offered one of the pieces to him.

  Bending, he took it into his mouth, brushing his lips across her hand as he did so. “Mmm…delicious.”

  A frisson of warmth ribboned through her, and she shivered inside her jacket. Was he flirting with her? God, she hoped not. During breakfast, she’d made it plain she was paying her own way today. So he must have been referring to the doughnut—which she couldn’t argue. Once she’d popped the other half into her mouth, she slid her hands into her gloves. “Where to?”

  Rhys looked first to the right, then the left side of the street. “We’re headed for Old Town,” he said and took her hand in his to lead her forward. “I admit, I’m thrilled we don’t have to visit the death camp or the Oskar Schindler factory. I really wanted to show you the less horrific places of Krakow. There are a lot of churches and museums, but for starters, you should see more than some dusty old artifacts. I want to show you the beauty and charm of the city, what makes it unique and special regardless of the heartache that surrounds it. Will that be all right?”

  She nodded. Provided he continued to hold her hand, he could take her to the royal dungeons and sparks would still twinkle inside her bloodstream.

  “We’ll start with the legend of the city’s birth. Come on.” As they walked toward Wawel Cathedral, he told her the history of Krakow’s beginnings. “Back in the eighth century, all of this land was a village on the River Vistula, with nothing but mud huts and peace-loving people who traded goods up and down the river. Set into the deep side of Wawel Hill was a cave where the residents believed a terrible dragon named Smok Wawelski slumbered.”

  She stopped in mid-step on the sidewalk and tilted her head to stare at him with disbelief. “A dragon? Really?”

  “Give me a chance to prove it, okay?”

  He gave her a pleading look that melted her polar heart to a puddle of goo. How on earth did he plan to prove a draconian legend? Curiosity overrode common sense, and with a light laugh, she agreed. “Go for it.”

  Eyes crinkled with a secret smile, he gave one simple head nod. “Thank you. Generations were warned against waking the dragon and unleashing its fury upon the poor village, but one day several young boys who, like you, refused to believe the tales, strode bravely up to Wawel Hill to see the dragon for themselves. They crept into the cave and soon came upon the enormous scaly tail of the horrible beast. Well, apparently, one of the boys was so terrified, he screamed, awakening the dragon. The children turned and fled, but the damage was done, and the horrible creature soon began wreaking havoc upon all the townspeople. The dragon would come into their village, day after day, stealing the livestock and carrying off the virgins to be devoured at its leisure.”

  He smiled toothily as he said, “virgins” and Polina reacted with the appropriate shivers, some feigned, but most from the fire in his eyes that threatened to devour her.

  “The villagers attempted several times to kill the beast, but always failed miserably. Until one day, a shoemaker’s apprentice named Krakus mixed up a huge vat of sulfur and coated dozens of sheep with the mixture. When the sheep were ready, he led them to a grassy spot where the dragon was sure to see them. The drago
n, naturally, spotted the sheep and swallowed them just as quickly. Soon the sulfur began to take its toll, and the dragon could not contain his thirst. He raced to the River Vistula and drank, but no matter how much water he swallowed, the thirst continued to burn inside him. He nearly drank the river dry until, at last, he swelled so much, he burst like a balloon. Boom!”

  As Rhys’s hands flew in front of her face, Polina jumped back with a squeal of surprise.

  Chuckling, he pulled her closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, I won’t let him devour you.”

  No, she thought. That’s for you to do. Nothing had ever felt so right as this man’s arm holding her close to his heart. Again, she shivered, but this time her reaction came from her vivid imagination, which pictured him in a bedroom, hands caressing her bare skin and eyes alight with hunger for her. She tilted her head at a slight angle, just enough so that if he wanted to kiss her, her lips were accessible. All he had to do was bend his head forward a few inches…

  “Well, of course,” he continued, apparently oblivious to her silent signal, “the village rejoiced at the dragon’s demise.”

  She shook off the romantic goo and refroze her heart. What the hell had she been thinking? A kiss? Good God, she was behaving like her mother, acting on impulse, rather than logic. The last thing she needed right now was a love affair. Furrowing her brow, she took a step away from him to increase their distance, then tried to refocus on his story.

  “Krakus was named king and built a castle at the top of Wawel Hill where the dragon’s lair once sat. The village prospered into a city and was named Krakow in honor of their hero.”

  Outside Wawel Cathedral, he stopped in front of a large stone wall where a strange collection of bones sat chained against the rock. She noted a weird-looking snout riding above a rib cage about the size of a giant whale’s, some kind of bizarre cloven feet at the base.

  “Behold,” Rhys whispered against her ear, sending delicious ripples of warm breath across her neck. “Proof. The dragon’s bones.”

  Soft laughter escaped her lips. “Right. Good thing you brought me here. I wouldn’t want to waste my time on dusty old artifacts when I could see something as authentic as a dragon skeleton.”

  “You doubt my sincerity?” He pulled her to another wall and pointed to a plaque. “Here. Look.”

  Shaking her head at his nonsense, she read the inscription:

  KRAKUS, A POLISH PRINCE RULED AD 730-750. HERE IS THE CAVE IN WHICH HAVING KILLED THE WILD DRAGON HE SETTLED AT WAWEL, AND FOUNDED THE CITY OF CRACOW. THIS INSCRIPTION WAS MADE BY STANISLAS JABLONOWSKI, PRINCE OF PRUSSIA AND CAPTAIN OF THE POLISH ARMY ARTILLERY

  “Told you so,” he said with a wry grin. “So, Polina, are you brave enough to enter Smocza Jama, the dragon’s den?”

  Fluttering her lashes like some bad actress in a silent movie, she clasped her hands near her cheek. “Will you stay by my side to protect me?”

  “You’ll have to stay here until spring. The lair is closed in winter because the steps are too icy.”

  “Well, then we’ll never know since I’m only in Poland for two weeks.” Last time, Mom.

  A boatload of decisions awaited her return to America. Like, where would she choose to live? Having traveled extensively around the country for decades, she’d glimpsed dozens of towns, one week at a time, in forty-eight of the fifty states. Her return ticket was supposed to take her to some rural town in Texas, where the Jablonskis would be camped during the last week of December. But she didn’t want go back to the Jablonskis. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to live in a state that boasted about only having two seasons: hot and hotter. As much as she craved stability, that didn’t mean she didn’t want to see the seasons change.

  There was one item Polina had stuffed into her backpack that Mom hadn’t included on the list. Her journal. From the time she’d turned eight, Polina had written in the thick tapestry-covered book, noting her opinions and reactions to the various places they’d lived. Now, during downtime at night, she would mentally revisit those towns until she found one that would make her happy, a place to set down roots and live a normal life. Or as close to normal as she would ever get.

  “One last thing you need to see here.” Rhys’s basso tone broke through her plans, and he took her hand to lead her around to the entrance of the closed caves. On a large flat whitish-gray rock, a steel, seven-headed dragon stood sentry, towering over the people milling below. “Watch this.” Pulling out his phone, he punched in a series of numbers, then handed the phone to her. The screen read, SMOK. “You do the honors,” he told her.

  Curiosity riding high, she hit the green Send button on his phone, and seconds later, fire burst from the snout of the steel dragon. She jumped back with a squeal of delight. “Ohmigod, how did you do that?”

  “Magic.” Wrapping his arm around her again, he escorted her inside the cathedral.

  Chapter 3

  She was magic. The more time he spent in her company, the more he wanted to stay with her. Within another hour, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d chained her to his side for eternity. She was like a drug, and God help him, he was hooked. Her confusion, her laughter, her frowns, the way she regarded him when she didn’t think he noticed—open and vulnerable—all of her charms enthralled him.

  Inside Wawel Cathedral, it took him only a few minutes to conclude that, lovely as some of the tombs and sarcophagi were, Polina had no interest in the various chapels or their attractions. She barely glanced at the intricate stained glass, and completely ignored the delicate effigies of deceased royals. Even the murals on the ceilings escaped her notice.

  All to the better, in his estimation, since he didn’t really want their day together to focus on death. Her mother had requested she see the magic of this city, and Rhys was happy to accommodate that wish. With wishes on his mind, he had one item left in the cathedral to show her. She needed to see the magnificent bell of Zygmunt.

  Without pausing to point out the stunning altar, he led her past the Zebrzydowski chapel and toward the sacristy. Dozens of other tourists—most from an American university, judging by their red and white jackets embroidered with the name of the same college—milled near the staircase, waiting to ascend the bell tower. He drew her into the group where they waited for an English-speaking tour guide to take them up.

  As she climbed to the top in front of him, her hips and bottom swayed provocatively mere inches from his face. Several times he had to fist his hands to keep from gliding a palm over her thigh or clasping her waist to pull her closer. At last, they reached the belfry where the thirteen-ton ceremonial gray steel bell hung from a simple wooden frame that looked almost incomplete, jutting out from walls of ornate red brickwork.

  “These days, the bell is only rung on religious holidays and state occasions,” the guide told them. “It takes ten men to sound the chime, which can be heard for fifty miles around. Legend says, the ringing bell banishes clouds and welcomes the sun.”

  Rather like Polina’s smile, Rhys thought.

  Following the lead of others in the tower, she reached a hand out toward the clapper that dangled long past the rim of the bell itself. “Think I should touch it?”

  “Make a wish,” he suggested, “and then touch the clapper.”

  She frowned, a silent rebuke at his constant allusions to magic, he supposed. He wasn’t sure why she tried so hard to deny the possibility, but he understood the need to forge a path away from parental influence. In the last eight years, he’d been home twice, both times to attend the wedding of one of his sisters. Always restless, he continually volunteered for the ex-pat jobs. After a year-long stint in India, he spent eighteen months in Hong Kong, almost three years in New York, fourteen months in Toronto, and now, Krakow. This particular job would probably last another six to eight months before he flew off to another city in another country. So far, he’d received offers to relocate to Dubrovnik, Croatia; Quito, Ecuador; or San Francisco, California: three vastly
different locales.

  Which one would Polina prefer? Would she rather stay in her homeland? Or did she share his adventurous spirit? Was that why he’d been so drawn to her from the start? He studied her carefully, mentally picturing her in each city. She still stood near the bell, indecisive, while dozens of other tourists waited their turn to make a wish and touch the clapper.

  “Go on,” he nudged her with a head jerk.

  Clouds of doubt shielded any wonder he might have seen in her eyes, but she paused, exhaled as she made her silent wish, then turned to take hold of the rod-shaped center. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the bell’s heart, and desire bolted through him. He swallowed hard as she turned to face him, her smile innocent and blinding.

  “Now your wish will come true,” he said through a roughened throat.

  Her blue eyes sparked neon in the dim tower. “Gee, ya think so?” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

  “So legend says. It’s all part of the magic of Krakow.”

  On a loud sigh, she capitulated, “Okay, Rhys, enough already. Are we done here?”

  “At the cathedral, yes. But we still have to see Wawel Castle.”

  Her posture stiffened, and she folded her arms over her chest, shooting her weight to one hip. “Why? What’s there?”

  “The only remaining crown jewels of Poland, the coronation sword, artwork…”

  She feigned an enormous yawn that her hand didn’t attempt to cover. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

  Her reaction should have surprised him, but while they’d strolled through the cathedral, he’d drawn a few new conclusions about her. Crown jewels, sparkling tiaras, and even elaborate stained glass held no sway with Polina. The crowd, however, drew her attention again and again with more than idle curiosity. Once he’d figured out what interested her, he watched her watch the people around them. He didn’t need a doctorate in psychology to understand why she gravitated toward the interaction between parents and children. After all, she’d only recently lost her sole family member. But then, she displayed an equal interest in the smooching college youths near the bell.