“No more fantasy.” Her open impatience shook him from thought to action. “How about we check out something real now?”
He couldn’t help himself. In two long strides, he stood a breath from her, so close he could see the tiny vein pulsing in her slender throat. “How’s this for real?” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. She stiffened for the briefest moment before giving herself over to him. Her arms wound around his neck, fingers playing with the edge of his hairline. Tongues danced, hearts pounded, and the world melted away.
She tasted sweeter than cotton candy. Her soft curves pressed to the hard planes of his chest and flat stomach in a dance of flirtation. His hands settled on her waist, and he intensified the kiss. A low moan from deep inside her mouth landed on his tongue. She melted into him, her legs between his.
As suddenly as she’d accepted him, she repelled him. Her hands pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss. When he finally came down from the incredible high, the first thing he saw was her frown.
“Your two hours are up,” she said with lethal quiet. “Goodbye, Rhys.”
He didn’t even have time to form an argument before she turned and fled down the stairs.
***
He’d kissed her! In front of everybody in the tower. She should have known. She might be in another country, but when it came to men, only their accents changed.
Really, it was her own fault. She’d practically thrown herself at him. How many times had Uncle Leo warned her to always be on her guard?
As she stomped down the narrow wooden steps, she tried to find the humor in the situation. At least, she could cross number eight off her mother’s list. Kiss a stranger. She made a giant checkmark in the air at the same time her feet hit the ground floor of the cathedral. Been there, done that.
Even before the wind outside bit into her face, her eyes stung and tears shimmered. Dammit! She wasn’t her mother and wouldn’t become her mother. She had plans, plans she might finally be able to accomplish. All she had to do was get through the next two weeks. Last time, Mom.
“Polina!”
Hearing him call her name, she took off at a run across the busy street, ignoring the car horns that blared at her. Nearly blind from tears, she headed for the square. She hit the sidewalk, dodging Saturday afternoon tourists left and right. Her boots, a little too big, clumped awkwardly, impeding her pace. She dared a quick peek over her shoulder and found him racing toward her, closing the distance between them.
“Polina, stop!”
Fat chance. She needed to get far away from Rhys Linsey and whatever he wanted from her now. She reached the square and immediately realized her mistake. Too open. Nowhere to hide. No cafés or museums here. Just barren, snow-covered gardens, steel fencing, and a fountain. Where on earth could she go to shake him off her tail? The hostel wouldn’t allow her into a room until eight p.m.—seven hours from now.
She pushed herself harder, cutting across the square, hoping to become invisible in the crowd. People she zipped past turned to watch, but no one offered help of any kind. Her heart thudded against her chest, and once again, she found breathing difficult. She veered around a tight corner toward an alley between two buildings, hoping for an outlet on the other end.
Her boot skidded on a patch of ice, and she stumbled to one side, wrenching her ankle. Pain shot up her leg. Great. He’d catch her now, for sure. Frantic, heart pounding, and out of breath, she scanned the crowd, searching for someone—anyone—to help her.
And suddenly, there she was: the gypsy girl from last night, still garbed in her rainbow scarves, beckoning from a new alcove in a different square than yesterday’s. “Hurry! This way!”
With no other choice, Polina hobbled toward the fortune teller. “Thank you,” she huffed out as the girl slid sideways to create a hiding place between the wall and her shelves of glittery geegaws. Protected by the gypsy’s voluminous skirt, she sank to the frigid ground and watched Rhys stop short in the middle of the square.
He turned a slow circle, scanning the throngs of people who loitered to take pictures or point out items of interest. When he didn’t find her among the crowds, he sped off in the opposite direction of where she hid.
Still struggling to catch her breath, Polina clambered to her shaky feet. “Thanks,” she told the gypsy again.
The dark-haired girl shrugged. “It was just a kiss, you know.”
Polina sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”
Her eyes took on an other-worldly luster. “He only kissed you. Why did you run?”
“Because…it’s…he…I…” she sputtered. How could she possibly explain her past to this child? Then anger took over. Why did she have to explain anything? To anyone? “If you know so much,” she retorted, “you tell me why I ran.”
“Because the last man who kissed you thought you were like your mother,” she replied without hesitation or emotion.
“H-how did you…?”
“This one doesn’t know your mother. He kissed you because you’re you.”
Polina didn’t want to hear this, wasn’t sure how some rogue gypsy girl guessed the truth, but she didn’t have to entertain her lunacy. “Well, thank you for your help, but I have to go now.”
“Of course.” The girl stepped out of the alcove to allow Polina room to pass. When she did, the gypsy grabbed her hand. “If you weren’t ready for your future, you shouldn’t have followed the dog last night.”
“Yeah, great, thanks,” she grumbled and yanked away. At least she could walk through Old Town at a more leisurely pace for a while now, until she decided where to go next.
“The cemetery,” the gypsy called after her. “Your mother wants her ashes interred with her parents.”
Polina never turned around again, never questioned how the girl knew what she knew. She simply waved a hand in dismissal or acceptance over her shoulder.
***
Rhys had no idea what had set her off, but the second he realized Polina had flown, he chased after her. On the top step outside the cathedral, he spotted her reddish-blond hair as she zigzagged through the crowd across the street. What the hell?
“Polina!” he shouted.
She didn’t even turn around. Instead she shot like a deer who’d sensed a hunter, except the ridiculous boots she wore made her a lot less graceful in flight. He scaled the steps two at a time and caught a break in the traffic to cross the street.
When she looked over her shoulder, he pleaded, “Polina, stop!”
She ducked her head and bolted into the center of a crowd of tourists who snapped photos near a fountain. He sped in that direction and nearly barreled over an elderly couple slowly strolling in front of him, their focus completely pinned on the fountain. Skidding to a halt inches from the old man’s belly, he murmured a quick apology and waited for them to pass. As soon as he had enough room to maneuver around them, he wended his way toward where he’d last seen Polina.
Gone. He stopped, slowly turned a full three hundred sixty degrees. No sign of her, her telltale hair, or ridiculous boots. She’d disappeared.
Dammit. Now what? She could’ve gone in any direction. He’d lost her. Possibly for good. No. Hope glimmered inside his brain.
He might not know where she headed now, but he knew where she’d be tonight. The Pulaski Hotel.
Destination in mind, he left the square and raced the few blocks to her hotel. He pushed into the lobby and strode straight to the reservations area. A pretty brunette behind the counter greeted him in Polish. “Good afternoon, sir, can I help you?”
“English please?” He didn’t dare trust his rusty knowledge of the native language to such an important matter.
“Of course, sir,” she replied. “Are you checking in?”
“No. You have a guest staying here, I’d like to leave her a message.”
“Do you know what room she’s in?” She lifted a telephone receiver.
“No.”
Replacing the receiver, she frowned at hi
m, eyes narrowed with open suspicion. “I’m sorry, I can’t release that information to you.”
He waved off her displeasure, and smiled to relieve the tension of her dark thoughts. She probably thought he was a psycho. “No, that’s fine. I just want to leave her a message that she can pick up later. Would that be all right?”
Her expression softened. “I think so. Do you want to leave a voice message or a written message?”
“Which is better?”
She shrugged. “I would imagine it depends on what you want to say.”
“I want to say I’m sorry.”
A brilliant smile illuminated her face. Figured. A groveling man could make the snootiest woman amenable. “Well, personally, I would prefer flowers in that case, but a voice message is probably the next best thing. I’ll dial her room and hand you the phone, and you can leave your apology. Yes?”
“Yes.” He breathed a sigh of relief. This would work. He just needed a minute or two to figure out what he’d say. He still didn’t understand why she’d run off, which made coming up with the right apology difficult, but if he had to grovel, he’d crawl on the ground for her.
“What’s her name?”
“Polina Kominski.”
The clerk turned to her computer to search for Polina’s room number. After a minute or two, she looked up, a confused expression on her face. “Would you spell the last name please?”
He didn’t know how. He assumed it was obvious. But he couldn’t admit that to her or she might go back to thinking he was a deranged stalker. “Is there a problem?”
“I don’t have a guest with that name.”
Ridiculous. “She checked in yesterday.”
The woman returned to the computer and did a little more typing, then shook her head. “No, sir, I’m sorry. Nothing under that first name or last name. Are you sure she checked in here? Perhaps she’s at the Polska Hotel?”
No. He’d left her here yesterday, and met her outside this hotel four hours ago. Was she registered under a different name?
“Can you tell me if any single women checked in here yesterday? She’s about this tall…” He held his hand level with the top of his chest. “…strawberry blond hair, blue eyes. American.”
“We only had two Americans check in yesterday while I was on duty, and neither of them come close to that description.”
He scratched his scalp, revitalizing his brain cells. So maybe she checked in when someone else was behind the desk? On second thought, he’d never actually seen her check in. She’d gone into the lobby last night and then, didn’t he sense she was watching him walk away? At the time, he’d chalked it up to attraction. Because his ego wouldn’t permit him to think anything else.
But what if she’d exited the lobby immediately after he’d gone because she didn’t want him to know where she was really staying? Panic clutched his chest with icy talons. She could be anywhere in the city.
The reservations clerk stared at him, her eyes alight with curiosity, and he forced a bland expression. “You’re probably right,” he said slowly. “I must have screwed up the Pulaski with the Polska. I’m sorry to trouble you.”
She offered him a tired smile that suggested such a mix up was a common occurrence. “No trouble at all, sir. Have a nice day. And good luck.”
Good luck. He’d need it to find her now. He turned away from the reservations desk, his mind reeling. Polina had tried to ditch him this morning by leaving before the time they’d set up to meet. That was no accident and no simple run for coffee. What did he know about her anyway? Whether or not her name really was Polina Kominski, that was pretty much the summary of his knowledge. She hadn’t even told him where in the States she hailed from.
For one brief day, less than twenty-four hours, he’d held a treasure in his hand. Now, it seemed that treasure was simply fools’ gold.
Chapter 4
Hours of stomping in her too-big boots on a twisted ankle caused an inordinate amount of agony. Blisters abraded her heels, her toes ached, and her left leg silently screamed with every step. By five o’clock, Polina had no choice but to head back to the hostel in the hopes she could talk someone into taking pity on her and giving her a place to warm up and prop up her foot for the night. Around the corner from her destination, she found a pharmacy and picked up an Ace bandage and hot/cold pack.
After paying for the purchases, she checked her wallet. Her insistence on not allowing Rhys to pay her way today had put a serious dent in her finances. The coffee and paczki were nothing; the admission to the cathedral, on the other hand, had cost her more than she’d anticipated. Adding in this unexpected expenditure, she’d have to find something super-cheap for dinner tonight if she didn’t want to be out of cash with days left still stuck in Krakow.
Maybe she shouldn’t have fought so rabidly when Rhys objected to going Dutch, particularly since he’d kissed her anyway. In paying her own way, she’d established a boundary. At least, she thought she’d established a boundary. Either Rhys thought differently, or he hadn’t cared. Still, it had been a wild kiss, full of electric promise—the kind of kiss that her mom would have followed through to its inevitable end: in bed with a handsome stranger. But not Polina. She would not become her mother just because the same passionate blood pumped in her veins. She had control over her emotions; they didn’t control her.
The fast food place near the hostel wafted the smell of old grease into the evening air. Dinner called. Too exhausted and aching to even sigh in disgust, she limped into the scorching light of the restaurant. While her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she could only discern shadows of customers huddled in the booths and standing on line, waiting to order.
“You’re hurt.”
The two words came from behind her, and she whirled. Voice and physical outline confirmed what her tired eyes refused to believe. Rhys sat in the corner booth, a cup of sludgy coffee in front of him.
“I’m fine,” she bit out.
“It’s those boots,” he replied as he slid out of his seat. “You should know better than to run in boots like those.”
Drained, her whole leg throbbing, she snapped, “I left my track shoes behind in my other backpack.”
“That’s not all you left behind.”
Cripes, she didn’t have the energy for a verbal sparring match. Shifting her weight off her left leg, she folded her arms over her chest. It was too warm in the restaurant to leave her jacket zipped, but she needed to shield herself from his barbs and anger. Although the pain kept her from standing up straight, she fisted her hands and forced a harsh tone. “What do you want, Rhys?”
“Quite a lot actually.” He pointed to the booth. “Sit. Get your weight off your feet.”
“No, thanks.”
He leaned close, eyes narrowed to feral slits, and hissed, “Sit.”
She sat. As she slid onto the hard plastic seat, he knelt beside her and lifted her left foot until it was parallel with the bench. “Hey!”
“Quiet!” He yanked off the boot, spraying pain over her entire left side. She winced and swerved away, but he pulled her back and slid off the sock, then shoved her jean cuff up to her knee. She didn’t have to look at the injury; his sharp intake of breath said it all. “Wow. If your goal today was to severely damage your ankle, you succeeded admirably.”
Fire sizzled straight to her hip, and she folded into herself, hugging her knees against her chest. “It’s fine!” The shout erupted loud enough to cause other customers to turn toward them. For an agonizing moment, no one moved while all eyes stared at her until she wanted to squirm out of her skin.
Rhys didn’t even look up from her foot. “No, it’s not fine,” he growled. “Now knock off the martyr act and sit still so I can help you.”
Her stomach grumbled loudly, and his eyes shot from her feet to her face. “When was the last time you ate?”
Cheeks aflame, she twisted her lips into a sneer and attempted to change the subject. “What are you doing here, Rhys? Don�
�t you have a home to go to?”
“I asked you first,” he retorted.
Typical caveman response.
“Tough,” she snapped back, then turned her attention to the glowing board near the counter. Her mouth watered at the pictures of juicy burgers piled high with ripe tomato slices and crisp green lettuce.
“Answer me. When was the last time you had something to eat?”
“This morning.” She knew the real product would look nothing like the photo. The burger would taste like lint from a dryer, with soggy lettuce and flavorless tomatoes. Her empty stomach didn’t care.
“What the hell have you been up to since you ran off?”
Oh, well, now that was unfair. She wasn’t exactly a felon or an international spy. “Nothing.”
The fight seemed to flow out of him in one giant flood. The stiffness left his posture, and he sank onto the opposite bench, folding his arms on the table. His hazel gaze fixed on her with concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Polina?”
“What?” Was he insane? “Of course not.”
He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Then, what’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” She removed her gloves and stared at the fleece linings, stared at the thick black coffee, anywhere but at him.
He reached out and placed his hand over hers, squeezed gently. “I’m a patient man, sweetheart. I can sit here for hours. In fact…” He gestured to the half-filled coffee cup. “…I already have. So if you want me gone, you’re going to have to answer a few questions for me first.”
Her head snapped up. “Like what?”
“What’s your real name?”
She blinked. “You already know that.”
“Humor me.”
What, like she was hooked up to a lie detector or something? Wow. He really did think she was a criminal. Or a spy. Okay, fine. The sooner she cooperated, the sooner he’d disappear. “Polina Kominski.”
Mistletoe and Magic Page 14