TWICE UPON A TIME

by Jennifer Wagner

  She called Rafe and him angels, too, Rico remembered.

  Each twin pulled on an adult. All he could think of as he rose from his chair was how this should be a normal family evening, reading a bedtime story to their kids.

  Both children began putting off clothes as soon as they walked into the room. He was surprised at how neat they were, putting their shoes next to their closets and throwing their clothes in a big, green hamper in the corner of the room.

  Annabella must have noticed his surprise, because she commented, "I wanted to start them on this as soon as possible. Plus," she added with a brief grin, "picking up after these two little tornadoes would be too time consuming."

  Rico grinned back, and for precious seconds he felt the special closeness they shared all those years before. Then her smile slipped, and the tension returned.

  The twins scrambled into pajamas with a little help, then into their beds, pulling the covers way up to their chins.

  "All right, rascals, which story?" Annabella asked them and then added after their answer, "Your favorite, huh?"

  They both nodded.

  Anna picked up a book and looked at Rico. She was waiting for him to back out, he thought. He stuck out a hand and then smirked at the title. "Guess I should have known from the decor," he said, and quirked a brow at her.

  She looked away and hurriedly crawled onto Rebecca's bed, lying behind her and propping her head up on a hand.

  He threw himself into the story, reading to his children the way he wished his father had read to him. It wasn't long before they nodded off, giving in to the sandman's inevitable victory. He sat there, his forearms on his bent knees, and drank in the sight of his slumbering children. Never before had he understood the meaning of hope until he'd looked into his children's eyes.

  They were hope. Hope for a future without drug wars or color wars, hope for a time of peace.

  For him and the rest of the world.

  He blinked hard and caught Anna watching him. "You should have children, Gage," she said, a maternal glow in her eyes. "You'd be a wonderful father. Now, we've got to get out of here or they'll be up and ready to play after their ten-minute catnaps!" She carefully moved off the bed, tucked in covers, gave kisses and walked to the door.

  They returned downstairs, and Lina finished the last dish as they walked into the kitchen.

  "I have some coffee ready if you'd like to have some out on the porch." Lina bustled around, pulling out mugs, milk and sugar. "I'm going to take mine to my room and watch that new miniseries."

  "Oh … thank you." Rico could hear the edge in Annabella's voice. She didn't want to be alone with him.

  "Lina, thank you for a wonderful dinner. I haven't eaten so well in…" His voice trailed off as the truth of his statement hit him. "In many, many years."

  "You're very welcome, Gage," she said, patting him on the arm and disappearing into her downstairs room.

  "Well … um … I guess we should do as she says." A weak smile accompanied the strain in Anna's words.

  "Anna, I don't have to stay for coffee," he said. "I know you weren't aware that I was coming for dinner, and maybe you have work to do or want to put your feet up."

  Her hair trailed over her shoulder as she looked up at him. "No, I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a bad hostess." She turned and filled their coffee cups, adding milk to hers before handing him his mug.

  "Here you go. Let's sit out on the deck." She led the way through the sliding glass doors, not noticing his silence. "Do you sit out on your deck at night?"

  "Uh, yes, yes, I do," he muttered, leaning his hips against the railing next to her. "How did you know I take my coffee black?"

  She spun fast, the moonlight filtering through the strands, bouncing off the lighter ones as they fell over one shoulder. "Excuse me?"

  "You gave me my coffee black automatically. How did you know?" He didn't know why he was pursuing this. After all, she didn't do it because she remembered "Rico" drank it that way.

  Her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened and closed a few times. "I … I don't know. I wasn't thinking, I guess," she managed, her voice barely audible.

  "Hey, it's okay, I was just curious."

  She visibly relaxed when he let her off the hook. There they stood, watching the moonlight slither across the still water, winding to the shore. Their shoulders were only inches apart and his body was responding to her closeness. He breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring to take in the lavender scent slowly enveloping him. He wanted to touch her, slide his fingers through her hair, feel her skin.

  "You know, when Lina and I found this house, I was so happy." Annabella's voice was like a bucket of cold water. "The kids and I had been living in an apartment in Spokane, and there wasn't a lot of room for them to run and play."

  She took a sip of coffee, heat lancing through him as her pink tongue slid over her lips, catching the last drops. He breathed deeply and concentrated on her words.

  "I grew up in Miami." She didn't look at him, her eyes unfocused on the lake. "There was no grass or trees and certainly no lake. I wanted more for them, and I know their father would have wanted the same."

  His desire melted away, replaced with self-disgust.

  "Anna…"

  "No, I'm sorry, Gage." She faced him fully, and he could see her clearly in the white-blue light. "I shouldn't be talking bout Rico with you."

  She shouldn't? "Why not?"

  She made a move to turn away and he touched her shoulder, his hand curving around it. "Anna, tell me why not?"

  "It doesn't seem right."

  Her eyes implored his for understanding, but he wanted to make sure he understood her.

  "Why? Do you feel like you're betraying him somehow?" Frustrated satisfaction had him gritting his teeth. She obviously still felt strongly about him, but he couldn't tell the truth. He couldn't be sure it was safe yet.

  "No, not exactly. It seems … inappropriate for me to talk about him right now."

  "Why? Because we're all alone, surrounded by moonlight? Because you also feel this attraction between us? The attraction we've both felt since the moment we saw each other?" He reached out and touched her cheek with a trembling finger. Her dark eyes widened and her pink lips parted on her rushing breath. God, she's so beautiful!

  "I'm going to kiss you, Anna," he said quietly, waiting to see her reaction. Her gaze slid from his eyes to his mouth, giving him his answer.

  He pulled her closer, their bodies barely brushing, sliding his hands down her upper arms, the silk of her blouse heated from her skin and his hands. The material provided a barrier that only heightened his senses.

  "Last chance. Last chance to tell me you don't want this," he murmured roughly, inches from her lips. "Don't want to taste me…"

  She moved toward him, erasing all space from between their bodies.

  "I can't tell you that," she whispered, and lifted her mouth to his, giving him breath even as she stole it back.

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  «^»

  Anna felt her body come into contact with Gage's in slow degrees, chest cushioned against his ribs, hips cradled against upper thighs. The heat flowed from him into her, sending shivers through her as her cool limbs warmed. His hands slid farther down, fingers inching to her inner arms and wrists until they brushed against her trembling palms, awakening nerve-endings she hadn't known existed. His strong fingers traced each finger, then slipped between hers. Seconds passed as their fingers slowly joined and their palms pressed together, linked as tightly as the hearts now beating together in heavy cadence.

  Anna felt a wonder at the rightness of the dual embraces and couldn't hold back the surprised cry that erupted as he rubbed the sides of his fingers along the sides of hers, sending streaks of fire to the pit of her stomach. Desire coiled there and ringed outward in pulses, heating guarded places that had been cold far too long.

  She blinked, focusing on his tightly drawn face, marveling at the hunger burning i
n his eyes. She caught her breath, anticipation filling her as his head lowered to hers, not sure she could take more than the maelstrom of feelings already burning inside. Her heavy lids closed and she breathed deeply, his scent mixing with the woodsy, night air around her.

  His lips, heavenly soft, brushed her forehead, right temple, warming her skin with his breaths. He took his time, grazing her cheekbone, the slope of her nose, chin and traced her jaw-line back up to the other temple. Her breath shattered at his tender assault, needing more even as she trembled from her already overloaded senses.

  His hands released hers and he looked deeply into her eyes. He pulled her impossibly closer with a light pressure against the small of her back, then ran his thumbs along the hollow of her cheeks, his hands resting against her neck. He shook his head and she could hear as much as feel the breath shudder through his body.

  At that moment she would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

  Lowering his head, he touched his lips lightly to hers once … twice, before changing the angle and brushing again and again until she lost count and patience with the endless teasing. She needed to fill the clamoring need within her, and slid her hands up his muscled back to his wide shoulders, pulling him down closer and arching into him. The emptiness in her was nothing compared to the need for a deeper kiss, a harder kiss that would quench her desire to know his taste. He remained unmoving, and she wasn't aware of the frustrated cry torn from her throat.

  Rico almost lost control hearing her need for him. Never had he thought they could ignite a desire more consuming than before. All the time he'd been a prisoner, he'd refused to let them drive her image from his mind, and during his long recovery he'd dreamed of holding her again, loving her again. She was even sweeter than his dreams and memories combined.

  He didn't know how much more he could take, and they'd only just begun.

  Still the delicate, skimming kisses continued until Anna wanted to scream at him to kiss her, really kiss her, but she couldn't find the breath or the will to break even their smallest contact to speak. They were balancing on the edge of fire, and Anna wanted nothing more than to be burned by him.

  Finally she heard him groan and felt his teeth close on her bottom lip, the caress making her release her breath on a soundless moan.

  His tongue touched the seam of her sensitive lips. She parted them eagerly, like an arid desert during its first rain, and felt his mouth fuse completely with hers, the heat and taste of him buckling her knees. He caught her up against him, lifted her high and set her on the porch railing with him as an anchor between her legs. Seeking his mouth once more, she lost herself in the velvet warmth as ribbons of flame twisted through her.

  His hand caught up the hair at the back of her head and held her willingly captive, and Anna's only thought was that she didn't want this to end. This learning of tastes and textures tangled together. This intimate game of penetration and retreat in which there were no losers.

  Timeless kisses later Anna found other curiosities needed satisfying. Her newly sensitized fingers discovered his collarbone, the points and dips a provocative playground. Feeling Gage's shiver, Anna's sense of feminine power surged forward. Her fingertips abraded the slight stubble on his neck and jaw, and she withdrew from the kiss, wanting to see him in a way she'd craved from the moment she'd first seen him. She "saw" him with an artist's knowing fingers, measuring him and finding him everything she imagined.

  Rico could see a desire matching his own in her brilliantly dark eyes and swollen, moist mouth. Her fingertips against his skin were bad enough on his control, but combined with the seductive look in her eyes, it was all he could do not to throw her onto a lounge chair and give in to the throbbing need in his body.

  "Oh, Anna," he growled and encouraged all at once.

  An almost reverent look mixed with the desire in her eyes as she studied his face. She touched him in much the same way his mouth had touched her, light, grazing touches across his brow and cheeks that excited as much as they soothed. She unraveled him entirely, though when she cradled his face between her hands and leaned to press a kiss on the scar slicing through his lips, he stiffened, feeling the flick of her tongue, and he struggled with the tender desire threatening to consume him.

  This was no girl in his arms. This was a woman. A woman who would command her own passion and his. Another wave of excitement hit him, and his hands dropped to her upper thighs, digging into the jean-clad flesh. Her back arched, and he raked his short nails up and down the long limbs. He repeated the caress from knee to the crease of jean against her upper thigh, not sure who he tormented more.

  Coherent thought fled when her body molded to his, a surprising feminine strength holding him securely. But deep down, under the layers of hot need lay a bed of guilt, one he'd made a long time ago, and he couldn't let this go on. He was deceiving her as surely as he was loving her, and it was going to be hard enough for her to understand.

  Anna felt his withdrawal before his lips left her own. And even as she mourned the loss, the rational part of her awakened, making her realize where they were and the intimate position they were locked in. She concentrated on untangling her limbs from his, accepting his hands on her hips to help her off the railing. She wondered where the flood of embarrassment and humiliation was, but only felt regret that the kisses ended.

  "I think I should go," he said, his voice huskier than usual, a slight question woven among the words.

  She hesitated, not wanting to break this new intangible bond between them, but knowing instinctively that although physically she was ready to make love with him, emotionally she was still fighting ghosts. She didn't want to make a decision that would haunt them both later on. With relieved regret, she nodded stiffly and walked inside, shutting the glass doors between them.

  * * *

  Smoke curled lazily from the cigarette, a gray cloud briefly blocking the view of the houses, but in no way interfering with the clicking efficiency of a calculating mind.

  Gage Moran. No physical resemblance to Rico Carella beyond height and hair color. The check revealed a man with a clean record, far removed from any association with the military, two Ivy League college degrees and enough inherited money in the bank to explain his lack of work.

  But masks came in all shapes and sizes.

  He could be an agent. Sent to keep an eye on Carella's family. So far there had been no indication Carella wasn't dead.

  Maybe the bastard really was six feet under.

  Unfortunately, the revenge would be less sweet, the reason behind its delay. Either way the decision had been made.

  Tomorrow Carella's children would be taken in place of the lives Carella had cost the Balangerio family.

  The Balangerio name would live on.

  An eye for an eye.

  * * *

  Rico wandered through his house, using pacing as an outlet for his emotions. Sleep, of course, was impossible. His body was strung too tight, his blood still singing through his veins as he envisioned Anna balanced on the porch railing.

  He took the steps two at a time and gazed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering how Anna hadn't known him.

  He chuckled. The possessive streak hadn't been beaten out of him. He knew how stupid it was to be jealous of himself, but he couldn't control it any more than he could control his desire for her.

  Splashing cold water on his heated skin, he dislodged a contact lens. He'd grown so used to them he sometimes forgot they were even there. He removed them and threw them in their case, a little relieved to see the golden color he'd become attached to over his thirty-two years.

  Jogging gingerly back down the stairs in sweatpants and T-shirt, he grabbed a drink out of the fridge and headed for the deck. Settling onto the lounger with a sigh, he rested his head back and let the utter peacefulness of the place seep into him. He'd actually gotten to the point where he could be outside without jumping at each cracking twig.

  Not that h
e was unaware. The familiar surge of alertness never left him. He never forgot the danger that could be lurking or the threat his presence brought his family.

  He'd weighed the possibilities in his mind so many times, but either way, dead or alive, he endangered them. His cover had been cemented by the government's best, and even his family didn't know him, but it was no guarantee. Information was leaked all the time, and there were people who were very unhappy about his being here. The same people who'd kept the knowledge of his children from him.

  As much as he hated them for it, it was the one argument they couldn't shatter. Their guilt and his stubbornness were the only reasons they'd helped him.

  Because either way he would have his family, and they'd known it.

  He stretched languidly, feeling little pangs from areas not fully healed. The doctors told him he'd never have the full range of abilities he'd commanded so easily from his body. At least not without suffering for it. He needed to get back on a daily workout schedule and continue to strengthen his muscles. He wanted, needed, to be as close to 100 percent as possible.

  He pushed his hair off his forehead, suddenly remembering Anna's hands tunneling through it. She seemed to enjoy winding her fingers in the curls, and he'd felt relief he had something different from the past that she enjoyed. He'd always kept his hair buzzed short, even before the army.

  Oh, Anna. What am I going to do about you?

  A part of him wished for the thousandth time he'd done, things differently, If he'd dealt with Rafe's death, if he hadn't been so afraid to love her and settle down, maybe he would be in bed next to her right now, holding her instead of dreaming about it.

  Maybe.

  * * *

  Anna woke the next morning anything but refreshed. Her pillow was punched into a ball so tight she wasn't sure she could rescue it. She replayed the kiss, kisses actually, a hundred times, torturing herself. At first she'd wondered at the familiarity of them. When she'd dated two other men briefly, their good-night kisses hadn't evoked any of the desire she'd felt with Rico. Obviously, her mind connected desire with him, which explained the familiar sense of déjà-vu.