"Not by choice."
Odd answer.
Paul led her away from the antique shop.
"Did you know that the Bastille was a prison in France?"
Paul cocked a look down at her. “Yes, I did know that."
Kate nodded. “Me, too."
Paul laughed, obviously mystified. He unhooked their arms and linked their hands instead.
They walked on. A breeze kicked up again, ruffling through Kate's hair with intimacy. It was as if she had never felt the wind, until today.
They came to a window packed with hand-made chocolates. Kate leaned in and read the calligraphy label. “Double chocolate truffle with framboise cream."
Paul made an appreciative noise deep in his throat. “That might make me rethink vanilla as my favorite flavor."
That shop didn't open until noon. Kate looked at her watch. Maybe, by then, she could manage something as rich-looking as that. Maybe they could share it. She conjured up a vision in her mind: a picnic blanket, a bottle of chilled champagne, Kate taking a bite of the truffle as Paul held it just a little high, so that she had to stretch to put her lips against it.
"Do you like that?"
Startled from her reverie, Kate focused and found they were standing in front a jeweler's window. Paul was pointing at a display of estate jewelry.
"The choker,” he said. “Do you like it?"
It was a delicate braid of gold links, burnished into the deepest, richest color, each link cradling a sparkling point of a diamond. From the center hung a teardrop yellow gem, its facets winking in the display lights.
"What kind of stone is that?"
"It's a topaz, I think.” He gave her an appraising look that raised a blush to her cheeks. “It would catch all the lights,” he took a curl between two fingers, “in your splendid hair."
Kate turned away from the compliment. “It's lovely."
"Come on, I'll buy it for you."
The price tag was not hidden, and there were four figures before the decimal point. “Don't be crazy.” She laughed, warmed by the compliment and the gallantry of his offer, and pulled him away from the window.
He allowed himself to be led away. “I could get it for you,” he said, after a while. “It would be an honor."
She grinned and squeezed his hand. “It would overpower the understatement of my ensemble."
He laughed, deep and hearty, and put his arm around her shoulders. Kate settled against him, wondering if, in his history, there had been women who would have giggled in delight and let him buy that necklace for them.
He confirmed it by saying, “I knew lots of women who would be wearing that necklace right now, in my wicked, wicked past.” The laughter drained from his voice. “Of course, they all had husbands who should have bought it for them. I specialized in brightening the lives of women with dull, unaffectionate husbands."
"How naughty,” Kate teased, trying, again, to let him know that his wicked, wicked past meant nothing to her. Whatever secret he was hiding, whatever mistake or sin he'd committed, she really didn't care. Not under this honey-smeared sky and the tickling gusts of wind. “You would have been good at brightening the lives of women with dull, unaffectionate husbands."
"I was good at it, very good at it. Until at one of my mother's ridiculous costume balls, I met a woman named Alina Wald.” His voice trembled when he said the name.
Children had assembled under the big maple tree in the middle of the park—a kindergarten class, all dressed for Halloween. Superheroes and princesses, firemen and fairies.
"What was your costume?” Kate asked.
"I wore a chain mail shirt, told everyone I was Lancelot."
"What did she come as?"
Paul paused for several breaths, then said in a rough voice, “I can't remember. But her husband didn't come in costume, which was against my mother's rules.” His lips quirked in a rueful smile. “My mother was not often denied anything. So Wald was hustled off to be given a costume that suited her."
"And you moved in on his wife.” Kate flicked him a sideways glance. “Bored and unloved as she was."
"I danced one waltz with her.” His hand spasmed once on Kate's shoulder, and she wondered if he was remembering how it felt to hold this Alina woman. “She asked me to meet her, privately. In three nights time, when the moon was full."
"And you agreed."
"I assumed for a tryst, and agreed. I was dressed as Lancelot, for Christ's sake, how much more obvious could it be?"
There was a ragged, desperate edge to his tone that unsettled Kate. She tried to move the story along. “Her husband came back, though, and ruined your fun?"
"He came back, yes. My mother had stuck a chicken mask on his face. He wasn't happy about it."
"He wasn't happy about you dancing with his wife either?"
"He said, ‘You will unhand my wife this instant.’ And I said,” he paused. Kate saw his throat work as he swallowed. “And I said, ‘She has very lovely hands. I do not think I would chop them off for anything.’”
Kate laughed. “Very cheeky of you."
"Well,” his voice came out oddly hoarse, “I was as cheeky as you, in those days."
"In those days.” Kate rolled her eyes. “You sound like an old man telling stories from his porch rocker."
A sigh shook Paul, a sigh so deep that Kate felt it echo through her own body and tap her heart. He led her to a black iron park bench, where they sat. He cradled one of her hands in both of his.
"So what happened?” Kate prompted.
"I insisted that Alina was such a charming creature that she must join my mother and me for tea the next day. Sander refused, of course, saying that her days were filled for the remainder of their stay. And to that I said, ‘Let's strike a deal. You may have her during the day, and I'll have her at night.’”
Kate laughed. “And you'd already planned to meet her under the full moon, you sly dog. Did she show?"
"Of course she did,” Paul sounded a little annoyed that she might think he was stood up. “They always came to meet me."
Kate watched him, grinning. “And...?"
"Alina was more than bored and unloved. She wanted to leave her husband. I thought she meant for me, but then she showed me the bruises..."
Kate felt her smile drop, and her spirits fall like a stone right past her throat, past her heart, and into the pit of her stomach. “You helped her, right?"
For most of the story, Paul hadn't even looked at her. Now, though, he met her gaze straight on. “I failed her. I completely failed her. Sander followed her to the garden. When I couldn't stop Sander, she killed herself."
Shock froze Kate's words, her thoughts. Then compassion ignited inside her. She put her hand on Paul's arm, wishing she could take him into her arms. But he sat stiffly, like a man waiting to take his punishment.
"I'm sorry,” Kate finally said.
"So am I."
Paul's head dropped. Kate watched uncertainly. He'd experienced tragedy sometime in his youth, and she felt sympathy. But none of this explained why he hadn't left his house when she'd rung the doorbell, so obviously in need.
The wind swirled brown, red, and yellow leaves in a tide around their feet. In the park, a little girl ran after a pair of angel wings caught in the breeze and tumbling over the grass.
"Paul?"
He didn't move.
"Paul?” She made it a hissing whisper, and he started, blinking down at her. “Is this your big secret?"
She saw his throat work as he swallowed. His lips parted, but then he just shook his head and looked away.
Kate took her hand from his, touched him under his chin, guided him until they were face to face.
"I don't care about your secret, Paul. You've given me more life in one day than I've felt since I was thirteen. All I care about is you."
His eyes stared into hers, eyes that she wanted to drown in forever. She brushed his lips with her thumb. So soft. It had been over a year since she'd
kissed a man. She felt her body leaning towards him.
He jerked his chin from her hand and looked away. “I have to tell you everything first."
She felt herself snap inside. “I don't care what bank you robbed, what heart you broke, what law you broke. I don't care."
He dismissed her words with a roll of his shoulders. “You're very courageous, Kate, your heart has no limits. I see that. But it isn't so simple."
"It is that simple!” She caught his hands in hers. “You have a big deep dark secret. I get it. So tell me, get it over with, and then let's go somewhere and make love!"
Chapter Nine
Paul felt his eyes widen into circles of shock, even as his body enthusiastically endorsed the idea.
"Wh-wh...” Paul was stuttering. Stuttering! He took a deep breath and snapped his mouth shut.
Kate's mouth curved in a smile of cunning self-satisfaction. Tilting her head, she said, “I bet you've never been in the back seat of that beautiful car."
Wrong, wrong, this is wrong, wrong, wrong. So his conscience said. Sternly. His body remained conveniently deaf to everything but the low, sexy tone of Kate's voice. “What would you bet?"
"If you win, you can buy me that necklace. If I win, I get to kiss you."
Paul couldn't stop himself from chuckling at her audacity.
"Made you laugh,” Kate said.
"You win.” The words left Paul's mouth before he could think about them. Kate smiled in a way that made his heart stumble, then gallop. She raised her eyebrows and slid slowly, slowly across the bench until her thigh rested tightly against his.
Let's go somewhere and make love. He hadn't touched a woman since Alina, since the shame of the curse. How could he? He'd sentenced Alina to death, damned himself forever, because he couldn't keep his hands from Alina's body. He hadn't dared to lay a finger on another inch of female flesh. Not even Laurie's, when she'd offered.
Kate lifted her head towards his. Her eyelids fluttered.
Paul's hand struck, snake-quick, closing on the nape of her neck and holding her still.
Kate's eyes popped open.
"Not until you know everything,” he said. She deserved to know what lived inside his body before she allowed him inside hers. His mind said that. His heart said that. His body disagreed. He controlled it, barely.
"Then tell me everything.” Her breath was warm on his face, sweet from the pastries at breakfast. “Whatever it is, it won't change how I feel, and what I want to do."
Paul saw no fear in her eyes. He saw desire without shame, and a willingness to give back everything she would take from him, and more. No woman had ever looked at him like that.
If I tell her everything, she'll never look at me like this again.
His skin ached for contact, crawled with the need to be touched. A hundred years, so alone. He could just say it, explain everything, and trust her.
If I tell her, she'll be afraid of me. She'll hate me.
As hungry as his skin was for her touch, his heart was hungrier for her love.
"Come on,” Paul stood up, escaping the conflict of having her so close. He could almost hear his nerve endings scream with frustration.
She stood, too, cocking her hips and crossing her arms on her chest. “Where are we going now?"
He saw equal parts anticipation and trepidation in her stance. She thought he was taking her somewhere for sex. “We're going back to Bonaventure.” He turned on his heel and marched back to the car.
"Back to...?” She put herself in front of him. “Oh, come on, Paul, what, are you gay again now?"
Her words slapped him. She was fighting dirty and she had a free pass to do it, because he hadn't told her any of the rules. Not trusting what response he might make, he moved past her and started walking. Faster.
"Paul! This just isn't going to work...” she practically had to skip to keep pace with him ... “if every time I come on to you, you freak out."
Paul fished in his pocket for the keys to the Mercedes. “You're right.” She was, too. “This just isn't going to work.” He couldn't tell her about Alina and the curse. He was too afraid. And if he couldn't tell her, he couldn't touch her.
His words stopped her cold. “What?"
He opened the passenger door. “Get in the car."
She crossed her arms on her chest and planted her feet. “I will not.” He saw hurt peeking out from behind her stubborn anger.
"Fine, then. Call for a ride. Or walk.” He got in and closed the door behind him.
Kate didn't get into the car until he actually started the engine and put it in gear. Then she threw herself into the soft leather seat.
Paul felt the emotional steam rising from her. Fine. Let her be mad. Let her go away mad. For both their sakes.
He kept his back and his emotions rigid as he drove out of Mapleton. Once, he thought he heard Kate make a small noise. Was she crying? Had he made her cry?
He put on the brakes, jerking them both as he stopped too abruptly at the intersection. Left went down the mountain and home. That's the turn he should take. Deliver Kate to home and safety, let her go away mad, let this stupid idea of a love affair die the death it deserved.
He risked a glance over to her side of the Mercedes, only to see the back of her head. She was staring out the side window, her body half turned away in rejection.
He looked straight ahead and gripped the steering wheel. Seemingly incongruous thoughts flashed like lightning through his head. Laurie dying. And the envelope in his kitchen. Tomorrow. Which was today.
Without using his blinker, he turned right instead of left.
"This isn't the way back home,” Kate said, her voice icy and flat.
"No.” He shifted gears. The Mercedes gathered its muscles and began climbing further up the side of the mountain.
"Do you know where we're going?"
"No.” He really didn't.
Kate seemed to chew on this information for a long moment. She settled back in her seat. He could sense that her anger was still hot, but no longer scalding. She threw him a glance, and he felt it as if she reached out and ran her fingers down his arm.
"Is there some reason why you freak out when I ... bring sex into this?” She paused. “A French thing, or something?"
"No.” He had wanted to soften his voice, but the syllable came out just as rigidly as the last two times. “I mean...” He paused to collect his thoughts, so he could clarify. He didn't want to add to the tension by being ambiguous. “There's no French thing."
"But there's a reason?"
He didn't say anything. What could he say? How could he tell her? Hey, a hundred years ago this crazy magic guy put a curse on me for helping his abused wife. And now every night I turn into a demon. She'd demand he stop the car, get out and back away slowly, dialing 911.
Frustration spiraled through him, both his and the demon's. His hands gripped the steering wheel convulsively.
Kate sighed, a sound of patience running thin.
The road wound around a curve and met two others in a Y. Paul pulled up at the stop sign, wondering which way, right or left.
Kate said, “Is it because you don't love me, and you don't sleep with people you don't love?” Her voice was small, but had the ring of courage. It was the worst reason she could think of, and she was asking it, outright.
He almost just said “no” and let her find more courage to ask if he was saying no he didn't sleep with people he didn't love, or no he didn't love her. But if he was too afraid to tell the whole truth, he could at least speak part.
He pulled out, turning right again, climbing further. He took a deep breath. “I love you, Kate. I've loved you for the better part of the past year."
She let out the breath that she'd apparently been holding. “Good.” Her voice was shaky. “Because I'm pretty sure I..."
Paul raised his hand. “No. Don't say it. Not yet.” It wasn't fair. She couldn't know if she loved him or not until she knew all of it, all of
him.
Kate kicked the floorboards and threw her head back against the buttery leather. “Oh my God, are you going to ruin ALL the romantic moments or what?"
Guilt and shame ignited his own anger in response. “You don't know..."
"I don't care about your stupid secret, Paul Tristel or Paul Dumond or whatever the hell your name is—Bob or Bill or Pete. I just don't care!” She twisted in her seat, faced him full on, her hands waving. “If I want to tell you I love you, Buster, I will, and I don't need your damn permission. And if I say I want to sleep with you, then you should be humble and grateful and THANK ME instead of acting like I just farted in church."
"Kate..."
She jabbed his shoulder with his finger. “For your information, Mr. High and Mighty, I don't sleep with just anybody, and it's been a very long time since I found someone I wanted to sleep with, or even kiss. A very, very, very long time, so..."
The words broke across him like a slap. He didn't hear another word. A very, very, very long time, she'd had the audacity to claim. He hadn't kissed a woman in more than a hundred years.
The road did offer up an answer: a wide pull-off onto an abandoned driveway, nothing more than two weed-choked tire tracks. He swerved, throwing them both off balance. The Mercedes sank in the mud.
"What are you doing?” Kate shrieked. “Are you crazy? We're going to be stuck..."
He jammed the gearshift, spilling them both towards the dashboard. He came across the seat divider with his upper body, capturing her head in his hands. He held her still, and he kissed her. Sensations showered down on Paul, even though Kate held herself rigid in her anger and outrage and surprise. He breathed in the air she breathed out. Her mouth softened under his, softened and opened.
His hand tightened convulsively in her hair. It was like coming up for air after being held under the water. The demon went absolutely still.
Kate's hand ran through his hair, resting at the nape of his neck. His nerves endings exploded in quivers. Her other hand splayed against his chest, her fingers flexing in the cloth of his shirt. His heart pressed out through his skin, straining toward her touch.
He willed himself to concentrate on the kiss, the liquid hot place where he stopped and Kate began. He loosened his hold in her hair, moved his hands to frame her face. He eased back and kissed her bottom lip, sucking it gently, before smearing his mouth hungrily against hers again. She kissed him back just as hard, just as hungrily, her tongue pulling him closer and closer. His body shimmered and disintegrated into pure sensation.
Bonds of Darkness Page 10