“This weather makes me feel quite at home,” he said with a grin as I climbed in beside Christa and Rand settled himself next to me.
Ah yes, he was embarrassed. When a business partner’s friend sticks her ass in your face, discussing the weather is the best line of recourse.
The cab pulled away from the curb, and we were off.
“Is the weather in England so bad?” I asked, knowing the answer would be a resounding yes, but I was just trying to make conversation.
“The sky can be blue and five minutes later, you’ll find yourself amid a hail storm.”
“That sorta sounds like Washington weather,” Christa said and rammed her elbow into my side, apparently annoyed that I was sitting between them. “I’ve always wanted to go to England,” she continued, her voice back to sultry, as if she hadn’t just assaulted her best friend.
Rand smiled and I felt the need to throw Christa a bone. “Christa’s a photographer,” I started. Well, it wasn’t really like she was a full-blown photographer—it was more of a hobby, but you’ve gotta start somewhere.
“Is that so?” Rand asked.
Christa nodded emphatically. “I’ve been saving up to take a trip abroad, so I can really get some great shots … you know, expand my portfolio. I was thinking Italy or Spain, but maybe I should try England.”
I didn’t respond but inwardly shook my head at Christa’s lack of subtlety. When the cab slowed to a stop, I looked out the window and found we’d arrived at our destination. The cabbie opened our door, and if he were a cartoon, his eyes would’ve bulged out of their sockets and his tongue would’ve unraveled to the floor when Christa stood up before him. I wondered, at that moment, what it must be like to have such control over the opposite sex. Christa was pretty, as I said before, but I think it was more in how she carried herself. I was just as pretty, maybe, but I guess I didn’t have any self-confidence. It was a disheartening thought, so I dropped it.
Don’t look so sad.
It was Rand’s voice in my head. The words were as clear as if he’d spoken them.
My heart stopped then sped up as if it’d just entered the freeway. I nearly tripped on my own feet, and even though they’re a size eight, they aren’t big enough to warrant tripping over them. Rand’s steel grip took hold of my arm, stabilizing me while I tilted my head and looked up into his smug face. Apparently, he thought his little trick pretty nifty.
Then I remembered Rand saying he’d sent me the vision I’d had of the vampire Sinjin. Hmm, okay, so maybe like the vision, he could send me his thoughts? My heart slowed a bit.
If Rand could read my mind, though, that meant he knew I was attracted to him. My heart sped up again.
I’m not sad. Can you read my mind? I thought, hoping and praying the answer was no.
Rand didn’t respond, but opened the restaurant door for us as Christa mouthed an exaggerated “thank you.” I followed her inside, eyeing him for any sort of sign that he’d received my thought. He just closed the door behind him and approached the hostess, giving his name. Silencing a sigh of disappointment, I turned my attention to the vaulted ceilings, red walls, and black lacquered tables in the restaurant. Hundreds of candles lit the place and threw shadows against the angular lines of Rand’s face. Talk about a Kodak moment.
“Jolie,” Christa said, and I turned to find the hostess waiting for me so she could lead us to our table. I nodded and brought up the rear. Rand withdrew a chair from the table and Christa took it, her posture as regal as a queen’s. I pulled out my own chair and took a seat even though Rand frowned at me. And here I’d thought I was doing him a favor.
Well, I guess reading thoughts only went one way—from Rand’s brain to mine. That was a bit of a bummer.
No, I can’t read your mind.
I flinched as his voice infiltrated my head again. This was something that would require getting used to.
Well, what do you call that? I thought, hoping my snarky tone would translate.
I caught Rand’s grin. I can only read whatever thoughts you send me.
A tide of relief washed over me as I figured my innermost secrets and thoughts were still safe. Phew.
I turned my attention to Christa who was chatting away about something. Her hands were so expressive, it looked like she was translating Homer’s Odyssey into sign language.
What is she talking about? I asked of my silent friend.
He lifted his menu, and a smile touched his lips. I have no idea.
A strange sense of warmth suffused me, and I couldn’t help feeling close to Rand, as if our unique ability united us in some way.
Christa then faced me, and I intercepted. “What are you going to have?” I asked.
She frowned and glanced at the menu. “I don’t know. I haven’t had a chance to read it.”
My attention turned to my own menu. My appetite was almost non-existent, and I browsed the menu with indifference. I couldn’t help but wonder if my less than stellar appetite had to do with the butterflies that swarmed in my stomach every time Rand looked at me. Butterflies or not, I guess I had to order something.
As soon as I’d decided on an albacore roll, the waiter appeared, and I wondered if this was another Rand mind-control stunt. After taking our orders, the waiter disappeared as quickly as he’d come.
“Let me brief you,” Rand started. “We’ll leave at eight tomorrow morning to get a taxi to the location of Jack’s murder.”
“Jack is the ghost,” I whispered to Christa, wanting to make sure she was included. I’d made the agreement with Rand, albeit he’d been less than enthusiastic, that Christa should be included every step of the way. I trusted her implicitly, and if I were doing anything that might be considered dangerous, I needed my best friend looking out for me.
“Was he the ghost who came to the shop?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered, “he was killed in the 1920s in Chicago, and Rand was hired to find out who did it.”
Christa clapped her hands together with a wide smile. “A murder mystery! I love it!” After a good thirty-second pause, her smile dropped, and her eyes narrowed as she faced Rand. “Why don’t you just ask Jack who killed him?”
I couldn’t keep the snicker from my lips. That was a great question. Rand frowned and took an extraordinarily long swig of his water.
“Well, Sherlock and Watson, Jack never saw the person who killed him. He was shot from behind.”
“Oh, that would explain it,” Christa said with an enthusiastic nod.
Rand continued. “Once we’re at the location …”
“Is Jack’s house still there?” I asked abruptly.
“Yes, and I’ve ensured the current residents will be absent.”
Christa leaned forward, her eyes wide. “How’d you do that?”
“With the help of a little mental persuasion. They’ll wake up feeling as if they need to take a drive in the country, which will turn into a weekend away. I’m hoping we’ll complete the task by the weekend but, if not, perhaps they’ll need a longer vacation.”
Well, at least he hadn’t disposed of them. I was worried such might be the case. It was a scary thought, since I didn’t really know anything about Rand. He had incredible power, but I didn’t know to what capacity. My gaze slid to his large and sinewy hands. Even without magic, he could easily overpower me. Not like that would be hard to do even if he weren’t a warlock, but anyway …
“We’ll carry out the spell in the living room,” Rand finished.
“What will I have to do?” I asked, twisting the napkin in my lap. Once I caught myself, I forced my hands to the table, not wanting anyone to realize how nervous I was. I’m definitely not someone who wears her heart on her sleeve.
Rand looked about himself and gave an arrogant nod—to whom I had no idea. Within moments, a waiter was at his side, bent on refilling his wine glass. Both Christa’s and my glasses were still full. I smiled to myself as I considered that maybe Rand did have a flaw. My lips widened
as I further considered it. An alcoholic warlock …
“You won’t have to do much. I’ll carry the bulk of the spell. You’ll just need to focus on Jack’s spirit, and if the charm works, you’ll find yourself as a spectator in 1922 when someone shoots Jack in the head. All you have to do is find out who did it, and Bob’s your uncle.”
“What?” I frowned.
“Bob who?” Christa asked.
Rand chuckled, and his whole body shook with the effort.
“It’s something we Brits say—similar to … and that’s it.”
“‘The only thing separating Americans and Brits is a common language,’” I quoted with a grin, forgetting exactly who’d said it. Maybe Churchill? I wasn’t sure. I’d have to check my quote dictionary when we got back to LA.
Rand’s smile was wide enough to touch his eyes, and I wondered if it might turn into a laugh.
“Well, what if the killer doesn’t say his name?” Christa asked.
Rand ran his fingers up and down the stem of his wineglass, sending a wash of heat straight through my body. “That’s why I wanted a psychic for the job.” He faced me. “Jolie, you’ll have to use your ability and your intuition.”
Reality came crashing down on me like a breaking window, a shard of glass ramming itself into my stomach. Maybe this was going to be more difficult than I’d anticipated. My visions were unreliable at best and now to have so much hanging on them … it left me uneasy. I guess this was different, though, because essentially, I was becoming one of my visions.
“We’ll have more than one go at it,” Rand said, as if he was aware of my inner turmoil. “If we don’t get it the first time, we’ll have more opportunities. I’m hoping we’ll have it by the end of the weekend, but again, it’s not crucial if we don’t. You can take as much time as you need, Jolie.”
I relaxed. So I didn’t have to be perfect right off the bat. There was a learning curve. Thank God.
~
I woke up in a sweat, my body flushed and an aching need pulsing through my veins. With a groan, I glanced at the clock. It was 1:00 a.m. The dream had been pretty intense, involving me going back in time to help with the mystery of Jack’s killer. To my shock, the killer had been Rand. After the discovery, we’d engaged in graphic sex, the threat of his double-sided nature adding fuel to my hormone fire.
I never have erotic dreams—I don’t think of myself as an erotic person. Seeing as how I don’t have a dating life, I guess it goes hand in hand that I wouldn’t be the most sexual person in the world.
I stood up and grabbed a bottled water from the minibar. The water was probably at least seven bucks, but I didn’t care. Rand seemed to have no problem with money, so I didn’t think he’d mind if I helped myself.
A high shrill interrupted my Evian moment and it took my half-awake mind a second or two to realize it was the phone. I debated answering it, assuming it was Christa. It wasn’t rare for me to get a call from her in the middle of the night from time to time—sometimes she drank too much and needed a ride home or maybe she got into a fight with her boyfriend, the list went on. I couldn’t imagine what it would be tonight, though, as I’d thought she’d gone to bed when I had.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Jolie.” Rand’s voice washed over me like a caress.
My mouth dropped open. Dear God! Did he somehow know about the dream? The thought brought a flush to my face, and I wanted nothing more than to hang up.
“What are you doing awake?” he asked, his voice giving nothing away.
My laugh sounded breathless and forced. “Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question or why you’re calling me so late?”
He chuckled. “Ah, yes, I guess I should’ve mentioned that I’m able to tell when you’re awake and when you aren’t.”
“And when I’ve been bad or good so I better be good for goodness sake?” I sort of sang it.
“Pardon?”
I laughed. “Like Santa Claus …”
“Oh, Father Christmas.” Rand chuckled, but I wasn’t sure if he actually thought my joke was funny or if he was just humoring me.
“So how are you able to tell if I’m asleep or not?” I asked, suddenly thinking that maybe I shouldn’t be joking when what he was telling me was pretty damned weird.
“I send out mental feelers and based on your vibrations, I can tell if your mind is active or asleep.”
It took a second for this to sink in and I wasn’t sure if I was creeped out or fascinated. Rand definitely had some strange abilities. After a long and awkward pause, I managed to find something to say. “What are you doing up?”
“Warlocks don’t sleep much. We need perhaps an hour or two every couple of days. Now, your turn: why are you awake?”
“I had a bad dream.” Very, very bad.
“Oh, sorry to hear it. You aren’t worried about tomorrow, are you?”
I shook my head and then realized he couldn’t see me. “No, I’m not worried about tomorrow.”
“You’ll do fine.”
But his statement did nothing to soothe my frazzled nerves.
“What was your dream about?”
My cheeks colored. “I can’t remember,” I answered quickly, maybe too quickly.
There was silence on the other end. “Okay, I was just calling to see how you were. I suppose I’ll say goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Rand.” I hung up the phone and dropped back into the warmth of the bed, wondering if it was possible for my dream to pick up where it had left off.
~
My palms were sweaty and itching. As we sat in the living room of what was once the home of Jack the ghost, I thought about the task at hand and wanted to throw up. Forcing my less than attractive thoughts to the deep recesses of my mind, I focused on Rand’s Roman profile. Tracing his strong nose and chin with my eyes helped to calm me.
Rand centered his attention on me, and the feelings of calmness exploded, replaced with more primitive and unwholesome thoughts. These thoughts revolved around certain appendages on his person and I don’t mean fingers or toes.
I exhaled, hoping the images of a naked Rand would float on my breath and right out of my head. I compelled myself to take note of my surroundings, figuring that might combat my newly awakened sex drive, which was in overdrive.
I turned my attention to the entertainment center—it spanned the entire length of one of the walls and revealed an impressive DVD collection. Photos of the Fords, the family Rand had sent on vacation, smiled down at me. My heart did a strange little jerk. I wanted a family some day—a husband, two kids, and a white picket fence. I wondered, though, if that was the life for me. I didn’t have the line of beaus waiting to court me that Christa did.
“Jolie, are you ready?” I turned at the sound of Rand’s voice and found him watching me.
I nodded and slipped my hands in his as the now familiar current coursed through me. We sat cross-legged, facing one another. According to Rand, we were to concentrate on each other and envision a circle of energy around us—that was to act as a shield. A shield against what, I didn’t know and didn’t want to ask.
Jack, the ghost, was nowhere in sight. It seemed a rude thing to be late to your own séance, I thought and closed my eyes once I noticed Rand doing the same.
“When will Jack be here?” I whispered.
“He is here.”
My eyes popped open. Glancing around, I didn’t see anything. My gaze returned to Rand, who still had his eyes closed.
“He’s sitting in between us, right in front of you.”
Rand’s words jolted through me, and it was all I could do to stay seated. I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with this whole ghost thing. I closed my eyes again and Rand tightened his grip, as if he were letting me know I’d be safe and more so, that I shouldn’t be afraid of a ghost.
“Okay, Jolie, I want you to focus on Jack being here in this house, and there’s a man who will come through the door. I want you to scrutinize that ma
n, until you know his face. Then use your abilities to find out who he is.”
I tried, I really did. I concentrated like I’ve never concentrated before and … nothing. I opened my eyes and found Christa inspecting her nails. Rand’s eyes were still clamped shut, trying to get the charm to work. I closed my eyes again and focused on the ghost, trying to imagine a man shooting him in the head. All I could focus on was the intense heat of Rand’s hands on my own.
“Jolie.” His voice belied the fact that he knew I wasn’t focusing.
“Nothing is happening,” I answered with a sigh.
“Try again.”
I closed my eyes and focused again, trying to get through the darkness of my eyelids. I wasn’t sure what would happen or what I should be looking for but, undoubtedly, I wasn’t finding it.
Two hours later, I still hadn’t managed to see anything. Christa was napping on the sofa, and Rand seemed quite over the whole thing as well—stifling a yawn and tapping his long fingers on his thighs. I still couldn’t see Jack the ghost.
“Okay, let’s call it a day,” Rand said.
I didn’t say anything but nodded and wiped the sweat from my palms on my thighs. Tears of frustration stung my eyes, and I averted my gaze, not wanting anyone to witness the pathetic display.
“Jolie, you did well,” Rand said, and his voice was soft, soothing. “I think we need a bit more practice, though.”
“Practice?” I asked, not sure what we’d be practicing.
“Yes, I think I expected too much of you. I know you’re powerful, but you need to hone your skills.”
“Sure, sounds good.” Even though it sounded far from good. I just hoped this wouldn’t mean another two hours of sitting uncomfortably while I focused on nothing and had only my disappointment to show for it.
~
I closed the door behind Rand as my heart sped up. I couldn’t say I was comfortable with him, and it didn’t help that we were now alone … in my hotel room. I glanced around, my vision coming to rest on the oversized bed in the center of the room. The emerald green duvet beckoned to me, trying to tempt me into its lush, pillowy softness. Taken in, I sat on the bed but then reconsidered and moved to an armchair next to the bed.
Fire Burn And Cauldron Bubble, A Paranormal Romance (Jolie Wilkins) Page 4