At last he spoke. “Have you looked up the meaning of those two cards you have lying out in the den?”
Diana’s shoulders drew up and he felt the tension emanating from across the boat. “Of course not. I told you, I don’t pay any attention to those things.”
“Would you like to know what they mean?”
Diana didn’t respond. Ethan continued to paddle, debating with himself. Was he pushing her too hard? He’d looked up the two cards when he got home after mowing the lawn yesterday. They’d still been sitting out in the den today when he picked her up for the barbeque, and he knew although she wouldn’t admit it, she’d been messing around with them.
“The Wheel of Fortune indicates a turning point in one’s life,” he spoke quietly, suddenly realizing that he very possibly was broaching the subject of her relationship with Wertinger. It gave him the determination to gently persist. “It suggests that one is experiencing a change—such as in a relationship—or becoming aware of a larger picture … or even learning one’s true role or purpose in life.”
When Diana didn’t speak, he continued, trying to keep his tone conversational. “The interesting thing is that the Two of Swords is an opposing card—it’s very odd that you should pull those two up together.”
“I didn’t pull them up.” Her words were defensive, but he detected a note of uncertainty in them. Her body language confirmed it, as her shoulders rounded and her hands fidgeted, drawing the sweater closer about her.
“The Two of Swords alludes to someone being at a stalemate, or having blocked emotions and denying one’s true feelings. It can even mean that someone is avoiding the truth.” He let those words sink in for a few moments, struck again at how oddly appropriate those two cards could be for her now. A little zip of excitement skittered down his spine. There could actually be something to this. Were the cards actually guiding her without her conscious participation? “What were you concentrating on when you drew those cards, Diana? Think about it.”
She bent forward, resting her head on her raised knees. “I didn’t draw them, Ethan.” Her voice wavered, muffled in her skirt. “I didn’t!”
He noticed with a shock that her shoulders were quaking. “Diana, are you all right?” he asked, setting the oar aside and moving toward the other end of the canoe. He balanced himself with one foot on either side of the gunwale, holding onto the sides of the canoe. Crouching, he took careful steps until he reached her. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Any other words he may have uttered froze in his throat as he became wholly, startlingly aware of her—her nearness, her scent, the soft brush of her skirt against his legs. Ethan tentatively touched her head, his fingers sinking into the depths of her hair and sliding down the back of her skull. “Diana, I’m sorry.”
She raised her face, inches from him, and he could see tears glittering in her eyes. He was shocked that the cool facade had been stripped from her face, and naked emotion—fear, pain, confusion—shone in her moonlit features.
“My head hurts,” she managed to say, agony lacing her voice. “It’s pounding … so badly … and I think I may be going to get sick.”
Guilt surged through him. All the time he’d been badgering her, the migraine had been working its way to the surface. Why hadn’t she said anything? “Honey, I’m sorry,” he said again, taking another excuse to touch her. “Can I get your meds out of your purse? Can you take them without water?”
She shook her head, huddling back into her lap. “No.” Her voice was muffled with pain.
Ethan turned quickly, gingerly, and hurried back to the end of the canoe as the boat rocked with his haste. But he was careful—the last thing she needed was to get dumped in the lake. He picked up the paddle and began to make clean, strong strokes. The boat surged through the water.
Fortunately, they weren’t far from Belinda’s dock and only moments later, he was helping her out of the tipsy canoe. “This way,” he said, putting an arm around her warm, bare shoulders.
Through a haze of pain, Diana made her feet move in the requisite direction, and she stumbled as they started up the gravel path. Before she could protest, Ethan swept her up, gathering her against a solid chest. As his strong arms encircled her, she allowed her head to drop onto the front of his shoulder. His steps were sure and smooth, and she closed her eyes, trying to relax against the pain.
She felt the bob and sway of their progress up the path, the easy ebb and flow that jolted her close to him then lifted her away. Her cheek rested on the nubby material of his shirt, and when she drew in a deep breath centered on diffusing the pain from her temples, she caught his scent—that deep, masculine essence that seemed comforting and invigorating all at once. She was huddled in his arms, one arm around the back of his neck and the other flat on his chest, and she felt his stride changing as they neared the top of the incline.
“Almost there.” His voice was quiet and steady in her ear, unencumbered by labored breaths, and whispering over the sensitive skin of her cheek. Diana shivered as a sensation zipped down her spine, causing him to ask, “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” was all she could say. Her mouth almost brushed the warmth of his neck, and she turned slightly away, acutely aware that beneath her overriding misery was a strong flare of attraction toward him.
“I’m going to have to set you down,” he said, stepping onto the porch. “Do you know where your keys are?” His voice was more gentle than she’d ever heard it, and he set her carefully, as if she were made of the most fragile glass, on the porch swing. “Are they in your bag?”
Diana had managed to unzip the small leather pouch and pulled the jangling mass of keys from its depths. Ethan took them as she continued to rummage in the bag, searching for the bottle of medication that she always carried with her. By the time he had the door open, she’d found it and pulled herself to her feet.
Diana tottered into the house, the nausea welling more strongly now that she was ambulatory. Ethan brushed past her on his way to the kitchen. “Sit down,” he ordered. “I’ll get you something to drink.”
She turned gratefully into the nearest room—the den—and stumbled over to the settee. She pressed her hand to her mouth to keep from gagging as nausea surged and roiled. By the time she’d settled herself on the sofa, Ethan was there, fitting a glass of water into her palm.
She gulped two capsules and the water and allowed Ethan to take the glass from her limp fingers. Resting her head back against the couch, she closed her eyes as she heard him turn on the lamp with a soft click. “Thank you.”
Without speaking, Ethan sat next to her, jolting the small sofa. She became aware of his hand resting lightly on top of hers, and the warm, solid weight was surprisingly comforting.
There was silence for a long while, and if he hadn’t been sitting next to her, Diana would have thought he’d left. When the pain eased and she opened her eyes, she found him watching her steadily from his end of the settee.
“Better now?”
Diana nodded, suddenly very aware of his nearness and the blatant heat in his eyes. In the low yellow glow of the lamp, he looked even more handsome than usual, his even features soft and sensual. She shifted in her seat to shake off the intense awareness, her heart thumping crazily, and looked away from him—anywhere but at those steady, deep brown eyes fringed by thick, curling lashes.
By some misfortune, her gaze landed on the two Tarot cards that remained in their places on the ottoman, and Ethan’s attention obviously followed hers, for he said, “Those cards are very interesting.”
“Coincidence,” she said firmly, leaning forward to scoop them up despite the flashes of light still blurring her vision. She bent further to pick up the mahogany box on the floor and, flipping its lid off, slid the cards into the recesses of the small chest.
“How often do you have migraines like this?”
“Hardly ever anymore,” she replied, relieved by the change of subject. “But I’ve been having
them much more frequently in the last week. And they’ve been more intense, coming on more quickly than I can ever remember. Maybe there’s something in the air up here,” she added with a little laugh that choked off when she realized what she’d said.
Ethan gave her a significant look. “I was thinking the same thing.”
But Diana was already violently rejecting the idea—whatever it was. “I’m under a lot of stress,” she explained. “With work, and … other stuff.”
“Diana … at the risk of infuriating you, I’d like to suggest something.” He grinned crookedly, but his eyes became wary.
“Infuriating me?”
“Sometimes migraines are the result of an inability, or an unwillingness, to allow parts of the unconscious to surface to the conscious mind.” His gaze searched hers as he continued, “It’s possible you have migraines because you’re suppressing something from your consciousness.”
Diana drew herself up, a hum of disbelief starting to sing through her veins. “What are you saying?”
Ethan didn’t mince words. “It’s possible you’re suppressing any precognitive abilities that you may have, and the result is your migraines. Wait, wait, wait.” He held up a hand to ward off her heated reply. “Will you just listen to me for a minute? I’ve never met anyone so stubborn,” he muttered to himself.
“Look,” he continued, “you seem to be having them more often lately, and they’re stronger. Now, take a look at what’s changed in your life. Your aunt passed away, you’ve come to the country … and you’re trying like hell to believe that what’s happening with these Tarot cards means nothing.” He leveled a steady look. “I believe it’s more than likely these things are related, whether you want to concur or not.”
“Your theory is absurd, Doctor Tannock—it has so many holes in it, I could use it to drain pasta,” she said coolly. “There are many things happening in my professional and personal life right now that could cause an excess of stress and tension. It has nothing to do with those cards, or anything here. I’ve been having these migraines for years—long before I ever picked up the Tarot.”
Just then, a shrill brrrringg! cut the silence, causing Diana to jolt. She eyed the ugly black phone, which was on the table next to Ethan.
It was either Jonathan … or it wasn’t. But it was after eleven o’clock. Who else would be calling here? She remembered the phone call from last night, when there was no one there. It could be another prank call, or the caller could be Jonathan. Either way ….
“Answer it. Will you?” she said in a rush, fully aware of what she was doing.
With an odd look of comprehension, Ethan picked up the phone. “Hello.” There was a pause, then he said, “Yes, she’s here. Who’s calling?”
Diana didn’t need Ethan to convey the message, for Jonathan’s irate tones were audible. Her insides were jumping and twisting, for she knew she’d just crossed a chasm, making a leap from which she and Jonathan might never recover.
Wordlessly, she held out her hand for the receiver. “Hi Jonathan,” she said.
“Who is that?” he demanded. “I’ve been calling you all night, and you haven’t answered your BlackBerry either. What’s a man doing at your house this late?”
“Definitely not the same thing Valerie the Voracious Vixen was doing in your hotel room in Atlantic City,” Diana said much more calmly than she felt.
“Diana,” he gasped, his shock reverberating over the wire. “When are you going to let that go? I told you, I made a mistake. Is this—is this some revenge play? So you can get even with me?” He heaved a deep, wounded sigh. “I guess I can understand it, Diana-baby. And if that’s what it takes for you to get over this, then I guess I have no choice.”
She avoided looking at Ethan as she replied, “Think what you like, Jonathan.” Then she lapsed into silence—a powerful place to be. Waiting for him to speak.
“Diana,” he said again, a little more strongly this time. “When are you coming home? I miss you,” he added, his voice softening. “Please … I don’t know how you think we can work this out with you gone like this.”
“I don’t think I’ll be here for more than another week,” she said.
“Another week?” His voice rose. “What’s Merkovitz going to say about you ignoring him?”
“Merkovitz? I haven’t been ignoring him,” she retorted. Her insides tightened at the unpleasant reminder. “And what does Merkovitz have to do with us?”
“If he’s not happy, then word gets around,” Jonathan warned. “It could affect your reputation.”
“Merkovitz’s case is well in hand. Thank you for your concern,” she told him. “Now, I’m tired and ready to go to sleep. Is there anything else?”
“No,” he said flatly. Then, again, his voice softened, “I miss you, Diana. I love you. Come home soon to me. Please?”
“Good night, Jonathan,” she said, and reached across Ethan to hang up the phone. Only after the receiver settled into place did she look at him.
“Valerie the Voracious Vixen?” he asked, raising his brows.
Diana couldn’t contain a little smile. “That’s one of the more polite things I’ve called her.” She bit her lip and then, suddenly feeling utterly awkward and exposed, rose from the settee. “Thank you,” she said. “For everything tonight.”
Ethan stood, still watching her. She could fairly feel the curiosity and unspoken questions rolling off him, and appreciated it when he only said, “I guess I’ll be heading home now.”
She started out of the den, intent on walking him to the door and sending him on his way. But her palms felt damp and something alive seemed to be squiggling around in her stomach, not at all unpleasantly. In fact, it was warm and expectant, and it made her feel flushed and on-edge.
The cool air of summer night wafted in the front door, bringing the scent of lake and tiger lilies. She paused, waiting for him to walk past her and out so she could shut and lock it. But instead of walking through, he stopped next to her.
Diana’s heart began to thump harder as she looked up at him, and it was all she could do to keep from backing away. His eyes were dark, glittering with some intense emotion. “Have a good night,” she said nervously. “Thank you again.”
“Don’t you think we ought to make this mutually beneficial?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with irony. His gaze seemed to pin her there, against the wall in the narrow hallway.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, if you’re going to use me as a deterrent to your boyfriend, or a pawn in your game of revenge, I think it’s only right,” he said, reaching for her, “that I actually earn the reputation.” He closed his hands around her elbows, tugging her so close that her skirt flowed around his legs. “Don’t you, Diana?”
She couldn’t move, even when she saw that his attention had fixed on her mouth—the mouth that she knew was parted slightly, moist from the tip of her nervous tongue … and waiting in anticipation for his to close over it. “I … I ….” she breathed, unable to find the words to silence him. Her heart was ramming hard and loud in her chest, and a flush of heat surged up through her body.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his face moving closer, filling her vision.
His lips were soft and sensual, coaxing her to relax against him. They caressed her mouth lightly at first, teasing her, playing with the taste and texture of her lips.
Diana settled her hands against him, against his solid chest, feeling the warmth and firm shift of muscle beneath. That lively squiggling in her belly turned to heat and pleasure, rolling through her, spiraling down to her core. Embraced by firm, powerful arms, she turned her face up to receive his mouth fully, their lips and tongues tangling in a sleek, passionate dance. His hair felt soft and thick around her fingers, his shoulders spanned wide and muscular beneath her palm.
When he moved from her mouth, trailing his lips to the curve of her jaw, to whisper her name near her ear, Diana realized she was saggin
g weakly, her body plastered to him, the wall pressing into her spine. Shocked at the way she’d lost track of herself, she pushed against him, stepping out of the circle of his embrace.
Ethan looked down at her with hot eyes, his chest rising and falling, his lips full and damp from her. She pressed a hand to her own swollen mouth and tried to pull her emotions and thoughts back to where she was.
“Well, then,” he murmured in a low, rough voice. “That was a good start.” He started to reach for her again, but she slipped away.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked with a little bite in her voice.
“Not precisely,” he replied, still looking at her with dark intensity, and she felt her stomach flip over at the desire in his gaze. It couldn’t be meant for you, she heard a nasty little voice say. “But if that’s what’s going to happen when you use me to get back at your boyfriend, I’m not going to complain.”
The Cards of Life and Death (Modern Gothic Romance 2) Page 13