by Kris Starr
Incredulous, Nicholas stared at the specter. “He didn’t fight for you? From the newspaper column, it sounded like he worshiped you.”
Gram smiled weakly. “Oh the first few months he came to the bordello regularly, but the other girls turned him away. And when he met my ‘husband’ on the street, the poor man acted so convincingly that Arnold could do nothing else but believe him.” She shook her head. “It was a short time later that his body was found. And,” her voice lowered to an emotional rasp, “it was after that that I learned he’d been spending so much time at Whitfield Plantation because he was negotiating the purchase of the property. He’d meant for it to be our home. He wanted to take me far away from the bordello, where I could forget about living that life.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she cleared her throat before continuing. “He was going to surprise me—that’s why he hadn’t said a thing about it. Cecily herself had spread the rumor of their elopement, the jealous bitch.” Gram hmphed eloquently. Her voice softened. “The worst part of all, though, was that Cecily was pregnant at the time. She got Arnold liquored up and seduced him in an attempt to take him away from me.”
Nicholas’ stomach knotted. “I’m so sorry, Prunella. I’m not sure I understand what that has to do with why you’re here though.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, Gram sighed. “Yep, a little thick, but not much we can do about that.” She leveled a piercing stare at him. “I destroyed my own destiny, young man. I turned away my true love because I believed he didn’t truly love me. That child should by rights have been my own. Cecily died in childbirth, and I vowed then and there that I would keep watch over his child, do whatever I could to make that baby’s life happy. I died of the fever four years later, and my vow kept me here on the earth instead of letting me move on. Since that time, I’ve tried to play matchmaker for all of those descendants.”
Nicholas swallowed thickly. “You mean Jessie.”
“Congratulations, darlin’. I think you’re finally catching on.”
He frowned. “But what about the generations between your time and Jessie? You weren’t successful with them?” He hesitated for a moment. “And forgive me for prying, but if you died at twenty-five, why do you…” Nicholas gestured vaguely toward Prunella, unable to speak the words.
Gram snorted with laughter. “Why do I look like an old biddy? It’s because I wasn’t truly successful with those generations. There were…shall we say…setbacks. Divorces and such. And it pains me to say that each time a marriage failed, my spirit aged ten years.” She pursed her lips. “So I’m running out of time, darlin’. I don’t know what will happen to me if there’s another failure. But I think I’m finally on the right track with Jessie.”
Nicholas bit back a rough laugh and rubbed his temples, a tension headache beginning behind his left eye. “Why haven’t you just told Jessie all this? And what’s with the sudden rush?”
“Because I can’t, darlin’. If she suspects anything, the matchmaking will be tainted and the pairing won’t be true. And unfortunately, this needs to happen before her twenty-fifth birthday—before she’s the same age I was when I died. Her birthday is in a couple of days.” Gram pinned him with a steely stare. “I’ve been doing this for the past six years, darlin’. ‘Rush’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
“But what am I—” A sudden thought gripped him, and he felt as though he were on a roller coaster, approaching the initial dramatic descent. “Oh…oh.”
“Do you love the girl who should have been my great-great-great-great-granddaughter, Nicholas Federov?” Gram’s stare pierced him through and through.
It was as though his lungs were suddenly deprived of oxygen. Did he love Jessie? He’d only known her for a couple of days, but it was true—he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her for even one minute. He’d never felt that way about anyone before, and he could swear he’d stop at nothing to find her again. With a sudden ballooning sensation inside his chest, Nicholas felt his mouth curve into what he was sure was a rather goofy smile.
“Yes,” he said, grinning foolishly. “Yes, Prunella, I believe I do.”
Gram clapped her hands together, the sound oddly muffled. “Well, that’s that, then. Now you’ve got to convince her.”
The reality of the situation brought Nicholas to a screeching halt. “That’s going to be tricky, because I don’t think she’ll want to speak to me right now. I don’t even know how to get a hold of her or where she might be.”
Gram shrugged in such a casual, practiced way that Nicholas was positive she’d rehearsed it.
“I can help you there. We had ourselves a little tiff this evenin’, darlin’. You know that big grocer’s three blocks east of here? Buchman’s, it’s called? I’d suggest you take a little nighttime constitutional.” Gram’s mouth was smug, her shoulders straight, but her eyes were weary and sorrowful. Nicholas had the sudden flash of insight that the so-called tiff had been anything but unintentional.
“You know what, Prunella?” He rose and crossed to the door of his condo, grabbing his jacket and keys. “I think I might just do that.” Hesitating at the threshold, he turned back and looked thoughtfully at the woman. “Before I go, there’s something that’s been worrying me. Can I ask you a question?”
Chapter Five
Her cart had a broken wheel. How fitting.
Giving the shopping buggy an overly energetic shove, Jessie headed to the fruit and vegetable section of the supermarket. Just after eleven at night, there were only a handful of shoppers in the store, and the usual daytime cacophony of squeaky wheels, beeping cash machines and rattling packaging was nearly nonexistent. It was manna from heaven, a balm for her cracked and aching soul.
It wasn’t that she planned on really purchasing anything, although she’d probably end up heading home with a bag or two of miscellaneous items—it was the fact that here, at Buchman’s Grocers, Jessie could be peacefully, blessedly alone. In the past six or so years, Jessie had come to feel more relaxed among the softly humming freezers, soothed by the stainless steel shelving glowing dully in the unforgiving fluorescent light—hell, she’d even found herself humming along to the cheesy eighties Muzak playing over the sound system.
Except for tonight.
Tonight, Jessie’s world was a mixed-up jumble of confusion and dismay. Time and distance had replaced yesterday’s wanton, wild abandon with logic and rational thinking. Which, in Jessie’s albeit limited experience, was never, ever a good thing. What in the hell had she done?
A pleasurable twinge of memory echoed in her pussy, and Jessie exhaled softly. Yeah, that was what she’d done yesterday. And damned if it hadn’t been the best afternoon she’d spent in longer than she could remember.
But, the little voice in the back of her head snipped, it was all Gram’s doing. Nicholas didn’t want you, not willingly. Not of his own accord.
How do you know? she snapped back at the voice. What if he really did?
Do I need to remind you about Ron Cashmore? Or Quentin White? The voice was smug. Or any of the others? They were just as smitten, thanks to Gram and her meddling. But they didn’t last long, did they?
A wave of nausea curled in her stomach. Fuck off, she snapped to her subconscious. It’s bad enough I’ve got Gram to deal with. I don’t need you too. Jessie took a deep, cleansing breath, tamping the feeling down as best she could. The worst thing is, Jessie admitted to herself, is that even if Gram did make this happen, you went along for the ride anyway. She manipulated you again, and this time you actually fell for it.
Flinching at her self-accusation, Jessie groaned. “But I wanted him so badly. Was that so wrong?”
“Lady? Is there something I can help you with?”
Jessie shot a glance at the teenaged employee restocking the apple bin and felt her cheeks heat. Great. Now she was so wrapped up in this sentimental bullshit that she was talking to herself among the pears and oranges, completely unaware of her own surroundings. Lovely.
&nb
sp; “Um, no. Thanks.” Quickening her pace, Jessie moved farther down the aisle, suddenly conscious of her completely empty cart as well as the kid’s curious stare. Trying to look natural and not like a delusional weirdo, she stopped in front of the fruit, grabbed a bunch of bananas and put them in the basket.
Hurrying around the corner, Jessie let out a short sigh of relief. This aisle was empty.
Absentmindedly gazing at the dish soap and cleaning supplies tidily arranged on the shelves, Jessie slowly continued down the row. Did she need fabric softener? Hell, at a time like this, static cling was the least of her worries.
What in hell was she supposed to do now? Swallowing around a baseball-sized lump in her throat, Jessie decided the best course of action was to just chalk the experience up as a dismal failure and try to forget about it.
She nodded her head to punctuate the decision. Despite the whole problem with Gram, she just wouldn’t go back to the clinic. That was it. The only record of yesterday’s visit was her name in the appointment book. She scrunched her eyes closed in thought for a second, then gave a short sigh of relief when she reassured herself that she hadn’t given her address or telephone number to Edie.
There was no way they could find her. Sure, they had her name, but her telephone number was unlisted, and Jessie had left no further identifying details. Pushing the cart with her elbows, she reached up and gave her temples a quick rub. A sharp pang stung suddenly in her chest. If this was such a good idea, then why did it make her feel so damned miserable?
Turning the corner, Jessie bit her lip. The frozen foods aisle. It was okay, tonight was going to be a piece of cake. She could do this. Just focus on all this shit going on, she reminded herself, and you’ll be out of here in no time.
Averting her gaze from the compartments to her left, Jessie repeated the facts to herself mantra-fashion, mumbling aloud.
“No phone number, no address. He won’t be able to find me again. Especially not in New York.” A faint smile of satisfaction crossed her lips.
“Your Gram’s not in the freezer, is she?”
This was just abso-fucking-lutely impossible. How the hell? Turning, she met Nicholas’ wary yet somehow hopeful smile.
He was dressed casually in a navy crewneck sweater, the same brown leather jacket he’d worn at the club and a pair of snug-fitting, well-worn jeans. His eyes were shadowed and the growth of stubble on his jaw proved he hadn’t shaved today.
Despite all of that, saliva flooded her mouth, and she quickly swallowed. There had to be a law against looking so damned tempting. Her cheeks heated and she felt her jaw drop open, as though her body no longer had control over it. Great, now she was gaping like a giant trout. How attractive.
Apparently her silence lasted too long. Nicholas gestured toward the glass doors that encased the frozen food items. “Uh, you were pointedly ignoring the ice cream. I thought maybe she was in there, and you were trying to avoid her.”
A flash of indignation shot to the surface, and Jessie narrowed her eyes. “Are you making fun of me, Dr. Federov?”
“Absolutely not, Jessie. I swear. You honestly looked like you were avoiding something in there, and considering what you’re dealing with—”
“What I’m dealing with? How would you know what I’m dealing with, Dr. Federov, if you don’t even believe in Gram in the first place?” Stress, frustration and, dammit, desire roiled and bubbled in her like some long-dormant volcano newly reawakened.
As though sensing her mental tightrope-walking, Nicholas spoke quickly. “Okay, you have every right to be angry with me, Jessie. I’ll admit I had my doubts about Gram’s validity in the beginning, but I’m a convert. Believe me.”
Jessie mulled over his words, studying his face for any hint of duplicity. Finding none, she exhaled forcefully, weariness slowly replacing her anger. “To answer your question, no, she’s not there. She’s not here in the store at all.” A thought struck her and she shot him a suspicious look. “Speaking of who’s here and who isn’t, what are you doing here?”
There was a flicker of something in his eyes, but it quickly vanished as he smirked. “I live down the street. I’m surprised I’ve never seen you here before, but then again, I usually shop first thing in the morning, when the store opens.”
Jessie shrugged. “I usually come here at night. When I’ve reached my breaking point with Gram. This is one of the very few places that she doesn’t like, so she won’t come here with me.”
Nicholas’ eyebrows rose and he leaned against the nearest glass door, looking every bit as though he had all the time in the world. Jessie squirmed, desperately torn between wanting to run far, far away, and wanting to take him home with her. As in right now.
“Why won’t she come here with you?”
Jessie sighed, deciding that it wasn’t worth lying about any of it. “She doesn’t like the bright lights and the metal fixtures. Or the Muzak. Says it’s too sterile, too cold for her. And then she launches into reminiscences about the local General Mercantile that was just down the street from the bordello. It, apparently, was warm, homey and inviting.” She couldn’t hold back a snort of dark laughter. “That, and she had some kind of barter system set up with Theodore Auguste, the owner.” Desperately fighting the grin that threatened to explode on her lips, she continued, “You know, gropes for groceries? Nookie for noodles? Sex for sausages?”
Nicholas held his composure for a long second before he threw his head back and laughed—a rich, deep, hearty sound that echoed loudly through the nearly deserted store. Caught up in his exuberance, Jessie succumbed to the giggles too, and it was several moments before either could catch a breath. As they eyed each other—almost shyly, Jessie thought—she could swear the laughter had been more intimate, more private, than even yesterday’s lovemaking. Something intangible danced between them, something that scared Jessie far beyond any of her comfort levels.
Nicholas let out a final soft chuckle. “Interesting. But what does all that have to do with you avoiding the freezers?”
Suddenly embarrassed, Jessie shuffled her feet. “Um, it’s nothing important.”
“Sure it is, Jessie.” Nicholas paused, his expression shifting to one of intensity, of singularity and purpose. He took a step closer. “If it’s about you, it’s important to me.”
Jessie’s heart did a somersault. What in God’s name did that mean, exactly? What was she supposed to do now? Pleasure mingled with panic in her stomach, and refusing to examine what he was saying, Jessie’s flight instinct kicked in.
She forced a laugh, a brittle noise that sounded false, even to her own ears. “I’m avoiding the ice cream. Literally.” She cleared her throat. “When I first discovered that Gram refused to come here, I escaped from my apartment as often as I could. And, well, I usually ended up going home with a tub, or even two. In the first year that I started spending time in Buchman’s, I gained twenty pounds.”
Nicholas’ gaze slid over her body approvingly, the heat from his eyes burning the skin beneath her clothing.
Squirming beneath his denuding stare, her panties suddenly soaked, she coughed. “The following year, I started running and lost the weight. But I still have a fondness for maple pecan, which is why I refuse to even look at the containers.”
Nicholas’ expression was slightly bemused. “Why don’t you just skip this aisle then?”
Jessie smiled, chagrined. “Then I lose ten minutes of time spent here in the store. I have to take my time through each aisle to get the maximum escape from Gram. And any longer than that, and the store employees start to look at me like I might be some sort of psychopath.”
“Well, I can certainly reassure them that you aren’t even close to psychopathic status.” He gestured toward the end of the row. “May I walk with you? If you don’t mind, that is. I’m sure with company you can stretch your escape time even longer.”
Something unnamable fluttered in Jessie’s chest, something that closed her throat and made her fingers tr
emble. She nodded, giving her cart a shove forward. “If you’d like.”
Nicholas dropped his empty basket next to one of the freezer compartments. They walked in companionable silence for a moment.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.” Nicholas’ voice was low and gentle.
Jessie focused on the bananas in her cart, refusing to meet his gaze. She could feel her face heat. “I appreciate your apology, but truly, how can we have any sort of relationship when you don’t believe in something that happens to be an enormous element in my life?”
Nicholas placed a hand on Jessie’s arm. The heat of his touch permeated through her jacket down to her skin. “I’m trying to tell you, Jessie—I do believe. Prunella came to see me today.”
Jessie stumbled, Nicholas’ hand the only thing keeping her from falling flat on her face. She felt the color drain from her cheeks and warily met his gaze. “She what? How? I didn’t think anyone could see her—well, aside from that cab driver, but still…”
Nicholas shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how. Don’t worry about that. What matters is she did, and now I understand a few things more clearly.” He glanced around the bakery department, where they’d stopped. Slightly confused, Jessie did the same. The area was deserted.
Turning to face her directly, Nicholas grasped her shoulders in his hands. “You’ve bewitched me, Jessie LaFontaine. Since the moment you asked me to dance. I don’t know how or why, but you’ve cast some sort of spell on me. That’s all I know.”
Her worst fears had just been realized. Mortified, Jessie stumbled backward, shrugging herself free from Nicholas’ warm grip. “That’s just it!” she said, her voice tinged with the barest hint of hysteria. “You’re mistaken! It wasn’t me—it never was. It’s always been Gram. She’s the one who’s done all of the spell-casting. I’ve just been the one caught in the middle of it all.” If ever there was a time to run, now was it. Wildly, she began glancing about for an escape route. There—between the racks of dinner rolls and croissants, a sharp left past the doughnuts and an immediate right after the fruit pies…