Aribelle wrinkled her nose and glanced at the iPod. “You do know this song is about a man who cheated on his girlfriend.”
“No good?” He stopped the dance and changed the song before picking up her hand again. The first strains of Foreigner’s I Want to Know What Love Is came through the speakers.
“Much better,” she said, her hand on his shoulder.
He began moving once again, and he had to admit he was showing off a little as they danced across the floor. Her cheeks flushed pink and she smiled at him. “You’re a good dancer.”
“So are you.”
“I didn’t peg you to be a fan of 80’s power ballads.”
“Are you making fun of my choice in music?” He couldn’t quite stop his lips from curling up into a grin.
“No.” She laughed as he spun her around. “Sounds good to me.”
“What kind of music do you listen to?”
“My father brought me up on the old country greats, but I listen to a lot of different music now.”
“What was your car radio tuned to?”
She laughed. “Country.”
“I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Guess not.”
They didn’t speak for the rest of the song, and as the notes faded, he stopped. His gaze fell to her lips. Was she wearing lipstick? They looked fuller and more inviting than he remembered them being. He let go of her hand.
She stood there, staring up into his eyes. He wondered what she was thinking. Was her throat constricting like his? Did she feel breathless, too?
He cupped his hand over her cheek, unable to resist touching her skin any longer. She closed her eyes, snuggling into his touch. Her skin felt like satin against his rough palm. He was powerless. He could not move away from her.
She looked up at him. On impulse, he leaned over and brushed his lips against hers. It was so light, it almost wasn’t a kiss, but the sensations that washed over him were overpowering. The smell of her and the feel of her lips were too much, and he kissed her again, this time with more determination.
He grew dizzy from the kiss, as if the room was spinning. He pulled her closer, wanting to never let her go. All the feelings he’d been pushing aside, brushing off, and burying came rushing at him at once. How could he live without her? He no longer wished to breathe. He only wanted to stay there, wrapped up in her arms. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and he felt his control slipping.
He groaned and pulled away, cutting off contact. She stared at him, a look on her face like she regretted what she’d done. Without her lips on his, he came to his senses. “I’m sorry. I can’t…”
Her gaze on him suddenly felt heavy, her eyes wide. He couldn’t stand there anymore, so he turned and stalked out of the room.
She didn’t follow.
Aribelle stood in the middle of the ballroom, too stunned to move. Thaddeus had kissed her. Oh, and it had been the most amazing kiss she’d ever experienced. Not that she’d kissed a lot of men. Greg in third grade didn’t even count. But this kiss…the world had stopped, which was totally cliché, but she now understood what that meant. She couldn’t breathe normally now. She felt like flying and screaming at the same time.
But he’d jerked away from her, and left. Why had he done that? Was she that bad at kissing? Didn’t he feel even a little of what she’d felt during the kiss? Why was he always shoving her away?
She reached up and touched her cheek where his hand had been. It still tingled. The speakers made a crackling noise and she turned to realize Thaddeus had left his iPod. She picked it up and unplugged it. She supposed their evening was over.
In a daze, she shut off the lights and closed the doors to the ballroom, then tiptoed up the stairs to her room. As she dressed for bed, she heard the front door slam and Thaddeus’s motorcycle come to life.
A sinking feeling started in her gut. So much for keeping him safe and in one piece. She sighed and hung his mother’s dress up in the armoire. If he wanted to go get himself torn up, it wasn’t her place to stop him. He was going to do it no matter what.
She brushed her teeth feeling like a robot on autopilot, and then got into bed. But sleep did not come. Her mind kept mulling over the events of the evening. Had she been misreading him? Had she been the one to tip her head too close? She’d been dreaming of kissing him. Was it her, rather than him, who had closed the distance?
The pillow felt hot under her head, and she flipped it over, punching it until it was soft. Was he angry with her? Was that why he’d stormed out of the room and left without saying a word? When was he going to come back? She listened for any sounds outside, but all was still.
She picked up Thaddeus’s iPod and pushed ‘play,’ turning the speakers down. It made her feel better to listen to his music. Gave her a connection to him, even though she’d rather have him there with her. She closed her eyes, letting his music soak into her.
Thaddeus sped down the highway, gripping the handlebars. He was a coward. And a fool. Aribelle could never love a beast. Not if she saw how he truly was. She couldn’t.
He had spent too long pretending there could be something between them. Ignoring reality. Even though he kept telling himself they couldn’t be a couple, in the back of his mind he was allowing the fantasy. Letting his attraction for her grow.
He turned toward the city, using his speed to numb his senses. He had to shelter Aribelle, but he didn’t have to make up a pretend relationship between them. He needed to be more careful around her. He had to school his thoughts and how he acted. There should be less touching, and he should stop sharing as many personal details about his life.
The smell of blood caught his attention and he slowed to try to figure out where it was coming from. When he caught the scent, he followed it north until he saw the car in the ditch, the front end smashed in by a lamp post. He pulled off the highway and carefully approached.
The driver sat hunched over an airbag. The smell of alcohol was too strong not to have been the cause of the accident. But the blood wasn’t coming from him. A child sat in the back seat, unconscious. He was young, maybe four or five, but was not in a car seat and wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. A trickle of blood slid down his face.
Thaddeus carefully opened the passenger door and reached for the child. He could only barely touch his arm without climbing in, but it was enough. It would do. He felt the smooth skin of the child and let the healing flow out of him and into the boy.
Most of the time, if the injured were unconscious, they didn’t wake up. Never knew he was there. But the boy opened his eyes and their gaze connected. Waves of pain washed through Thaddeus, and he clenched his jaw to keep from crying out. The boy was hurt worse than he thought. Internal damage of some kind. The head injury was nothing.
When the healing had finished, he patted the boy’s hand, slipped his arm out, and closed the car door. The boy’s big brown eyes stared at him. “Are you Jesus?”
Thaddeus held in a laugh. “No,” he said simply.
The sounds of sirens started in the distance. Someone would come to help. He mounted his motorcycle and started down the highway. About a mile from his home, he felt sick and pulled over, getting his helmet off in time to empty the contents of his stomach in the grass by the side of the road. Blood colored the vomit red. He knelt in the weeds, heaving again until there was nothing left.
He waited for a while, not wanting to get back on his bike right away. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken on internal injuries that he hadn’t been aware of. He’d heal from this as well. He lay down in the ditch, closing his eyes. If he rested for a bit, he would be half-way healed by morning.
Chapter 18
When Aribelle awoke, the sun was up and the fall wind was rustling the tree outside her window. She lay in bed a moment, listening to the sounds of the dry leaves skittering along the stone sid
ewalk. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Panic closed her throat and she jumped out of bed. Had Thaddeus even come home last night? She hadn’t heard him come in.
She rushed down the hallway and peered into his bedroom. The bed was made. He hadn’t slept there. She ran downstairs. “Thaddeus?”
He wasn’t in the kitchen or living room. She ran outside to check if his motorcycle was there. The spot where he usually parked was empty.
Fear clawed at her throat, choking her, making it hard to breathe. He hadn’t come home yet. What time was it? Was he hurt somewhere, unable to make it back? Would she have to go looking for him?
She ran inside and checked the time. Ten till seven. She tried to calm her breathing. It wasn’t horribly late. He might still be riding his motorcycle. He had come home after nine o’clock before. She needed to settle down.
Pacing the living room wasn’t helping, so she ran upstairs and showered. When she had dressed and gone back downstairs, he still wasn’t back. She checked her phone, but then realized that was stupid. He didn’t have her number, did he?
The sound of a motorcycle approaching flooded her with both relief and anger. She stormed outside and met him as he pulled up. “Where have you been?”
He dismounted his motorcycle and immediately fell to his knees, removing his helmet. He coughed, a deep sound, and then blood dripped from his mouth.
A fresh, new panic enveloped her and she bent down. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”
He waved his hand at her, his face drawn up in pain. “I’m fine,” he said, but it came out more like a croak.
“You’re not fine!” She wrung her hands, unsure if she should even touch him. “Can you stand?”
He nodded, reached up to his bike seat, and pulled himself to a semi-standing position. She put his arm around her and helped him limp into the house. Her mind swirled with all of the things she wanted to say. Most of them sounded nagging and accusatory, so she kept her mouth shut. She had to remember that whatever had happened, he had done this to save someone else. She needed to stop reprimanding. That wouldn’t help.
She sat him down on the recliner and eased the seat back. “I’ll get you some water.”
“Thanks,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper.
Nerves and worry fought inside her as she grabbed a glass and filled it from the tap. What was wrong with him? She shook her head. That wasn’t the question she needed answering. It didn’t matter what was wrong. He was injured and would keep getting injured unless she convinced the old woman to break the curse.
Slipping a straw into the glass, she walked into the living room and held it out for Thaddeus. He took a couple of sips and laid his head back. His breathing was labored. A thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead. It physically hurt to see him like this. She turned away.
He wouldn’t be well enough today to take her to see Catherine, that much was obvious. Had he done this on purpose? She immediately felt guilty for the thought. He’d gotten upset after their kiss, but he wasn’t the kind of man to do this to spite her. He was a healer. A protector.
He coughed up more blood and she handed him a box of tissues and a trash can. She couldn’t stand there all day watching him in pain. “You rest. I’ll clean up the house.”
She left him to sleep while she fixed herself some breakfast, knowing he wouldn’t be eating anytime soon. The rest of the day she spent doing laundry and cleaning and checking on him occasionally. He slept most of the day. When she entered the living room late in the afternoon, he was sitting up in the chair, gulping down the rest of the water she’d left for him.
“You must be feeling better.” She didn’t want to admit the relief she felt. He healed quickly. She shouldn’t worry so.
He set the glass down on the end table. “Yes.”
“Do you want any dinner? I’m making soup.” She hadn’t been planning on soup, but now that he looked like he could eat something, she figured that would be best for him.
“Sure, I’ll eat your reheated canned stuff.”
She gave him a sour expression. “I’ve come to realize that when you tease me about my lack of cooking skills, you’re really complaining.”
He shook his head, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Not complaining. Wishing I felt up to making us a real meal.”
He probably wasn’t lying about that. “Sorry.” What else could she say? He had made his own bed by deciding to go out last night and find someone to heal.
Man, that sounded selfish, and she hated herself for it. But that was how she felt. If he would ignore that side of him, he could live a normal life. Well, almost normal.
She fixed the soup and brought it out to him in the living room.
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes apologetic. “Sorry I didn’t take you to Catherine’s today.”
She decided not to make a big deal out of it. “It’s okay.”
“I’ll take you tomorrow.”
She nodded, hoping he meant he wasn’t going out tonight. They ate in silence for a while until her curiosity got the better of her. “What happened last night?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “Car crash. Little boy wasn’t seat belted in.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“Don’t know. Apparently a lot of internal injuries.”
She hated thinking of what might have been broken inside of him. “How long until you’re healed?”
Shrugging, he said, “Tomorrow. Maybe later tonight.”
That would have to do. She continued to eat, ignoring the other question nagging at her. Why had he run from her after the kiss? She wasn’t about to ask that one. What if the answer was, ‘Sorry, you had horrible breath’ or ‘Kissing you was like kissing fungus’? But probably more accurate was ‘A relationship would never work between us.’
So she left the question unspoken and cleaned up the dishes. After supper, she curled up in the library with another book. She knew Thaddeus wouldn’t be coming in to snuggle in the chair with her. He’d probably go upstairs and lock himself in his room. Either that or fall asleep on the recliner.
The book she picked was not drawing her in. She tried several times to get into it, but in the end, she sat there looking around at the library. One section of shelving had cupboards on the bottom. She hadn’t opened them when she’d dusted the shelves because it had felt like snooping. But now things had changed between them. It didn’t feel like an invasion anymore.
She slid the book back on the shelf and crouched down before the cupboards. When she first opened them, she was disappointed. All that was in there were some old board games: Sorry, Candy Land, Monopoly, and others stacked up on the shelf. But when she saw Clue, she smiled and pulled it out. She’d always wanted her dad to buy Clue, but it was a three-person game, and had been just her and Dad.
The box was in mint condition, which made her suspect Thaddeus hadn’t played it much. She took off the lid and unfolded the board. The mansion displayed on the game wasn’t unlike the house she was currently sitting in. She took out the little weapons, examining the details on the candlestick.
Thaddeus walked in, and she jerked her head up. Heat crept up her cheeks. This was twice now he’d caught her doing something embarrassing. “Hi.”
He gave her a curious look. “What are you doing?”
“It’s Clue.” Oh, boy. That was brilliant. Like he didn’t already see it sitting there on the floor. She was sure letting her genius show today.
“You playing by yourself?”
Nice. He thought she’d be dumb enough to try to play Clue by herself. “No. I was just looking at it.”
He got a funny look on his face. “Do you want to play?”
“With you?” She didn’t mean it to sound the way it came out, like that was a ridiculous idea. She ducked her chin.
“Sure.”
“We can’t.
We need three people.”
He leaned over and picked up the board. “No, we don’t.”
She gathered up the rest of the game and stood. “How can two people play?”
“There are two-player rules.”
She followed him into the dining room and set the game down on the table. “Are you kidding me? All this time I thought you needed three or more people.”
“I’ll show you how to play with two players. My friend Lance and I used to play after school.” He motioned for her to sit, so she did. He separated the cards out in three piles, the characters, weapons, and rooms. He shuffled and put away one of each card in the yellow murder envelope, then shuffled them together again.
“Now we set aside four cards before we deal them out.” He laid down four cards, face down. “These are for when you or I can’t answer a question. The person asking gets to pick one of these cards to look at, but must put it back where it was, and must then remember which card was where.”
“Brilliant. How did you learn to play that way?”
“The newer games have two-player rules in them. Lance taught me how to do it. This game is old enough that it doesn’t have the two-player rules included.” He dealt the rest of the cards and handed her a clue sheet and a pencil.
They each picked a game piece and put it on the board. “You can go first,” he said.
She rolled the dice. “Were you friends with Lance all through high school?”
“Not really. He joined the chess team and started hanging with the smart kids. You know how things go.”
“Yeah, kind of sad how we grow apart sometimes.”
He rolled the dice and moved his piece. “It was probably my fault. I was kind of a self-absorbed jerk in high school.”
“I’m sure you weren’t that bad.”
“Yeah, I was.”
“We’ve all had times in our lives where we’re not proud of how we’ve acted.”
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