“Do you want me to take you to the emergency room? Or should I call for the police?”
“No, please, don’t do that. I’m all right.” She moved away from him, a separation he felt keenly. “I didn’t see his face, so I couldn’t describe him.”
That wasn’t why she’d refused, but Michael wasn’t going to press her for the truth when she still seemed so shaken.
“You’ve been living in the park for some time now, haven’t you?”
Beauty stared at him before she slowly nodded.
“And you’re the one who’s been watching over me.”
Michael stood up, bringing her with him. For a moment he could only stare. The young woman he’d seen from afar was as enchanting as he’d imagined. It took every ounce of will he possessed not to wrap his arms around her again. But when she swayed unsteadily, he took hold of her shoulders.
“The man who attacked you may return to try again.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I want you to come with me so I can keep you safe, until I can arrange a place for you to stay.”
Her lower lip trembled, as she stared up into his face. He could only imagine how that must sound. But she’d already guessed that he’d been watching her. They’d nearly met earlier in the day.
“You would do that?” she whispered.
“I think you know I would.”
“I do.” Like a trusting child she put her hand in his. “Somehow I do. Thank you.”
“It’s nothing.” He took a moment to brush away some of the dead leaves clinging to her jacket. “I’m Michael Charbon.”
“I call myself Summer,” she said, “but I don’t know what my real name is. I can’t remember anything about my life, or what happened to me before I woke up here in the park three months ago. It’s all just one big blank.”
CHAPTER THREE
RIDING IN MICHAEL Charbon’s sports car as he deftly made his way through Manhattan made Summer wonder just how wealthy her savior was. She didn’t know a great deal about cars, but the sinfully comfortable leather upholstery and polished chrome and mahogany dash had to be custom-made. Michael didn’t wear any jewelry, but his clothes were made too well to be off the rack. Then there was the dagger he’d slipped into the glove box before they’d left the park. Aside from the blade, which appeared to be razor-sharp, a blue jewel as big as her thumbnail had sparkled from the center of the artfully carved golden hilt.
He can’t be a cop. So why would a rich man even bother watching a homeless woman?
Summer wanted to ask him, but she had the distinct feeling he wouldn’t tell her the truth––a certainty that also made her feel annoyed with herself.
So besides making people generous and bringing gardens back to life in the fall, I’m also psychic. But if I am, then why didn’t I sense that maniac was going to jump me?
Michael gave her a sideways glance.
“Why did you choose the name Summer for yourself?”
“I took the name one day when a man saw me picking up some trash in the park. I guess he assumed that I worked for the Conservatory.” The memory of that day made her smile. “He said he’d never seen the park look so good in summer. I thought it made a good name.”
“Did you realize you’d lost your memory right away, when you first woke up in the park?” When she nodded, Michael asked, “Why didn’t you get some help?”
“I was afraid.” Summer thought of the blood-stained clothes in the bottom of her backpack. “I didn’t know what had happened to me, and when I tried to remember it gave me an awful headache. I wasn’t sure who I could trust, either.”
Michael drove into the entrance of the parking garage of a towering private building, and parked in a numbered slot by the elevator. Once he shut off the engine he turned to her.
“Why are you trusting me?”
“You saved my life.” Summer wanted to tell him about the strange wave of pleasure she’d felt sweep through her from the first moment she’d seen him, but then he would think she was crazy. “Why are you protecting me?”
He gave her a narrow look. “Perhaps I’m like all the others who have been drawn to you.”
“So you know about that.” Of course he did. He’d been watching her for weeks. “You’re not like them, you know. If you were, you would have walked away after saving me.”
“Indeed.” His mouth flattened. “Is that part of the enchantment?”
“Trust me, Mr. Charbon, this thing that makes people give me stuff is not enchanting. It’s scary, and strange, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop it,” she said, and then immediately regretted her sharp tone. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I wouldn’t have survived this long without the generosity I’ve been shown. It’s just…”
She lifted her shoulders.
“Unnatural?” he suggested, but before she could reply he climbed out of the car and came around to open her door. “Come.” He held out his hand. “You must be exhausted.”
Summer had never felt more alert or energetic, and when she placed her hand in his the warmth and strength of him seeped into her, racing up her arm and into her breasts. She watched his face, and saw the grim line of his mouth soften as he helped her out of the car. He released her hand almost immediately, making her wonder if she was reading too much into his reactions, and then she saw him surreptitiously open and close his hand by his side, as if he was trying to shake off something.
He feels it, too, she thought as he ushered her into the elevator, and pressed the button for the penthouse level. But he doesn’t want to.
Once the elevator stopped, Michael escorted her down a strange hallway with white, unadorned walls and a flat, black carpet to the only door, where he entered a code on a keypad. She heard the door unlock itself and watched it swing inward.
“That’s pretty neat.”
“It saves time, and discourages thieves.”
He gestured for her to walk ahead of him, and then followed and closed the door, which locked itself. As he switched on the lights Summer took a moment to look around.
The apartment was enormous, with high vaulted ceilings and a large, open living space. His furnishings were simple and minimalistic, and the art hanging on his walls was modern and graphic. What amazed her was that everything was either black, white or gray––not a single spot of color appeared anywhere––and there were no books or pictures or any form of entertainment.
“If you’d like to wash up,” Michael said as he crossed the room to open the white blinds. “The bath is down the hall, to the right.”
“A shower would be great.” Summer had been sponge-bathing and washing her clothes in the cottage bathroom at night, using the sink and some hand soap. “Do you have a washer and dryer?”
He glanced back at her.
“In the utility room, next to the bath. Use the robe hanging on the door while you’re laundering your clothes. I have to make some calls, and I’ll order some food for us as well. What do you like to eat?” He saw her expression and the corner of his mouth hitched. “Of course. You can’t remember. Perhaps some Italian––I’ve never met anyone who dislikes it.”
He took out his mobile and began scrolling through a contact list.
Summer resisted the urge to tiptoe as she went back to the bathroom, which had been done in gray and white and was so clean she could have eaten off any surface. The oversize shower with its multiple spray heads made sense––Michael was a very large man––but his cake of white soap looked handmade, and the shampoo in the unmarked bottle on the shower shelf smelled of lemon because it had actual bits of lemon peel in it.
“Maybe he has sensitive skin,” she murmured as she turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature, and began to strip out of her clothes. She paused only to glance at the door, which she hadn’t locked, before she finished undressing. “Okay. If he comes in here, he can scrub my back.”
Summer knew she was being reckless, and now that Michael had her alone he could do whatever he liked to her. She also k
new that he wouldn’t. He was big and strong, and a little scary. She knew he’d used that jeweled knife to stop the rapist. Yet from the moment he’d saved her Michael had been incredibly gentle with her. She had no illusions about herself; she was homeless and blank-brained and living like a wild thing in a public park. Her amnesia might even be a symptom of a serious mental illness.
With one phone call he could have handed her off to the police. Instead he was out there ordering Italian food for her, and making arrangements for her safe-keeping.
Summer slipped on the luxurious, black silk robe, found the utility room and started her clothes in washer. Michael was still on the phone when she slipped back into the bathroom. She hung up the robe. As she stepped inside the shower, she moaned a little as the warm water cascaded over her from all sides. After three months of bathing from a sink, being able to shower felt like pure luxury, but she only allowed herself a minute to indulge in the bliss before she reached for the shampoo and went to work on her hair. With the cold weather moving in she’d only been washing her hair once a week, so now she took care to lather and rinse her head several times before using the bar soap on her body.
Her hands and jaw and legs felt sore, probably from her struggles with the rapist, and Summer was certain she’d have some bruises on her upper arms and back from him grabbing her and throwing her to the ground. The thought of how close she’d come to being badly beaten as well as violated made her hands shake, and then without warning a flash of something loud and bright red exploded in her mind.
You fucking bitch.
The soap slipped from her fingers as she tried desperately to hold onto the fragment of memory, but pain blossomed and consumed it as it hammered inside her temples.
As Summer bent over to retrieve the soap her knees wobbled and her throat tightened, and a fearful despair swamped her. Everything around her blurred. She knelt down and hunched over, covering her mouth with her hand to stifle the sobs she could no longer hold back.
• • • • •
Michael stood outside the bathroom door and listened to the shower, which did not entirely mask the sound of his Beauty weeping. He lifted his hand to open the door, and stopped. Instead he rested his palm against the center of it. If he had been another man he would have gone in and comforted her. But if she had been another woman, they never would have met.
His encrypted mobile buzzed in his pocket, and he retreated back to the front room to answer the call. “Charbon.”
“It’s me.” Troy Atwater’s mellow tenor sounded guarded. “Safe to talk?”
“Yes.” He walked over to the window to look out at the city’s lights. “I found one of yours––a homeless woman. She’s been living in Central Park since August. Tonight I had to intervene when she was attacked by a rapist. I prevented the assault, but the bastard escaped.”
“Name?”
“She can’t remember it, or anything about her life before she woke up in the park. She calls herself Summer.” He glanced back at the hall leading to the bath. “Nor does she know what she is.”
Troy grunted. “Does she have any power?”
“She compels strangers to generosity. They give her food and clothing and a little money, but nothing that would be noticed.” He thought of the gardens. “She also makes plants and flowers flourish. She claims she’s not doing it deliberately, that it simply ‘happens.’”
“She’s probably untutored,” Troy said, “and since she’s lost her memory–”
“She is of no use to the Temple Master, “ Michael finished for him. “If I take her in, he will have her tortured and then terminated. She is young and comely, so I have no doubt our inquisitor will take his time.”
“In keeping with the Templar creed of never suffer a witch to live, but do have some fun with her first.” Troy muttered an obscenity in a dead language. “They are not worthy of you, Paladin.”
The old nickname made Michael’s jaw tighten.
“We’re not talking about me, Pagan. Can you provide the woman with refuge and instruction?”
“Of course.” Troy sighed. “When and where can we meet?”
“Midtown, in front of the Renaissance.” Michael hated going to Times Square, but no one from the North Abbey frequented it, and the heavy tourist foot traffic would provide cover. “Be there in two hours.”
He switched off the mobile and considered hurling it across the room.
Only the chime from the entry intercom made him pocket the device and go to attend to the food delivery.
By the time he had set out the meal, he could hear the dryer in the utility room. Then Summer emerged from the hall. Her hair was wrapped in one of his white towels, and her body was swamped by his black robe. The combination of the two only served to highlight her delicate features. Her weeping had left her eyelids slightly pinkened and swollen, but her skin glowed and she smelled of lemon and castile soap.
“Thank you for letting me use your shower,” she said politely as she approached the table. Her opal eyes widened when she saw the containers he’d set out. “Please tell me that you’ve invited over a small army to help eat this.”
“I was not sure what you would enjoy.” He pulled out a chair for her and tried not to look down at the way his robe clung to her body. “There is a little of everything.”
She peered into one of the jumbo size containers.
“A little that could easily feed ten of me.” She sighed and smiled up at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Charbon. I haven’t had a proper meal in a long time.”
“Please, call me Michael.” He retreated to his kitchen. “Do you drink wine?”
“I’d rather have ice water, if you don’t mind.” He brought her a full glass. “I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach, plus I don’t remember if I like wine.”
She was nervous, Michael realized, probably because he kept looming over her. He took a seat on the opposite side of the table and helped himself to some ziti and fruit while he watched her select a simple salad and some plain bread.
“I don’t often dine at home,” he mentioned, hoping to put her at ease. “It’s always easier to pick up something while I’m out. I’m very fond of Japanese and Thai food.”
She nodded and took a sip of her water. “How long have you lived in the city?”
Michael imagined telling her the truth and smiled a little.
“Longer than I care to admit. I hated it when I first came here––so many people living so close together seemed unnatural––but in time I came to appreciate the modern conveniences.”
Her brows rose. “Where did you grow up? In the country?”
“Near Paris, actually, but I spent much of my youth traveling in the Far East.”
It was close enough to the truth.
“You don’t have an accent.” Summer studied his face. “I would never have guessed you were French. You speak perfect English.”
“You don’t have an accent either. That might be a clue.”
Her eyebrows arched at his observation. Looking into her opal eyes, he felt as though he were falling. They made other hungers swell inside him, and he pushed aside his plate.
“Why were you crying in the shower?”
“I was thinking about what might have happened, if you hadn’t saved me.” Her gaze took on an over-bright shimmer, and she got up abruptly. “I should go and check on my clothes.”
Michael was halfway out of his chair to follow her before he cursed himself. Whatever pagan powers she possessed, they were now affecting him, too.
For a moment he considered surrendering to them. He wanted nothing more than to go her, and take her in his arms, and assure her that he would never let any harm come to her. He could see himself leaving the order for her, and taking her away to a place where they’d never be found by the Templars or the Wiccans. There she would be his, the woman of his dreams, and he could live as other men. He could know love with Summer, and perhaps even have children. He could be husband and father and nei
ghbor, and never again have to bloody his hands for the sake of a mission he no longer believed in.
Temptations so often test of faith of the very purest of heart, my son, Nathaniel Harper’s pleasant voice intoned from Michael’s memory. You are burdened by so many because the Almighty intends you for greatness. Someday you will lead us all, I know, but first you must prove yourself worthy.
Michael did want to lead the order, for only as Grand Master could he change the path of Templars. Instead of hunting the Wiccans, he could guide his brothers to co-existence with them. A new era of peace and tolerance might even allow them to work together toward protecting humanity and steering the world away from global destruction. If he had a destiny, he wanted it to be that.
With his resolve returned, Michael cleared away the food and tidied the table before he went down the hall to the utility room. Summer stood folding her laundered clothes into a neat pile.
“We must soon leave,” he said.
“Oh.” Startled, she turned toward him, and one side of his robe slipped down. “I didn’t hear you.” She followed his gaze to her bare shoulder and made a face as she pulled it up. “It’s too big for me.”
Michael saw something on her shoulder, but before he could make it out the pull of her power twined around him, tugging at him as his mind filled with a sensual fog. As he moved closer to her he forgot his resolutions and destinies, and focused on the soft, sweet promise of his Beauty’s mouth. A small dent in her lower lip fascinated him. It hinted that she had been worrying it with the edge of her teeth. He wanted to soothe it with a kiss, and taste it with his tongue.
The clothing in Summer’s hands inexplicably fell to the floor as she came to meet him, her eyes filled with some nameless promise of pleasure.
“What’s happening?” she whispered.
“You’ve held me enchanted for weeks,” he murmured as he pulled her against him. “I can’t resist it any longer.” He bent his head until his mouth hovered a breath away from hers. “This once, Beauty. Only this once.”
Rescued (Book One of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel Page 2