“Well it smells amazing on you. What’s it called?” He inhales again, lingering next to my ear.
It takes me a second to gather my thoughts and remember the name. “Um, Prada Candy, I think.”
“Good choice. Though, now it might be tough to keep my nose away from you.” He nuzzles my neck again, laying a gentle kiss in his path before retreating.
“I don’t mind. You’re welcome to smell me whenever the mood strikes you.” I hook my fingers in his belt loops, enjoying the smoothness of his fresh shave against my neck.
“Oh really? Is that all? Just smell you?” His throaty laugh reverberates against my ear, sending chills down to the tips of my toes.
“No, you’re welcome to do whatever you like. Smell me.” I breathe against his chest.
“Touch me.” My hands slide from his waist to his chest.
“Hold me.” I squeeze him firmly against me.
“Kiss me.” I lean up to find his lips, lingering there for a few seconds. “Whatever your heart desires.”
He tightens his grip, burying his face in my neck again. “Well, I just might have to take you up on that.”
“Well, don’t be writin’ checks your body can’t cash, Mr. Payne,” I reply with a playful pat on his butt.
He releases his hold, pulling his head back to look me in the eyes. “You’d better be careful what you wish for, Miss Chloe.”
I raise my eyebrows and laugh. “Bring it on.”
“Lord, help me! Sometimes you make it impossible for me to not rip your clothes off.” He shakes his head, reaching down for my hand. “Are we ready then?”
“Ready when you are, Mr. Fireman,” I say with an enthusiastic tone.
He walks me to his glistening Edge, opening the door like a true gentleman. “So are you hungry?”
“Are you kidding? I’m always hungry.”
“Perfect. We’ll eat first.”
“Will you tell me where we’re going?”
“Of course I won’t.”
“Okay, have it your way.” I cross my arms over my chest, looking out the window.
“Oh, come on now. Don’t pout. But I’ll tell you this much. We’re going to the city—and you’ll be very happy at the end of the evening.”
“I can’t wait.” I lean over the console, getting closer to him as he drives.
Once he realizes what I’m doing, he switches hands on the steering wheel, reaching down to hold my hand.
I don’t know what it is about Hunter, but when I’m with him, I often feel like I’m in an old movie—like Gone with the Wind.
The way we speak to one another.
The respectful way he treats me.
I love it. It would be cheesy coming from most guys. But from Hunter, it’s sexy.
We spend most of the hour-long drive listening to my favorite Pop music on Sirius Hits 1. Every now and then, a song comes on I like and I sing along—just like I do in the shower. He doesn’t say a word, so it must not hurt his ears too much. Either that, or he’s just being kind.
Yeah, that’s it. I’m pretty sure I’m tone deaf.
Once we turn onto Eighty-Sixth and First Avenue, my gut tells me I’ve been here before.
He drives slow, scanning the area for an open spot. To my surprise, he finds street parking right away. Does perfection ever end with this guy? Gees!
He yanks the keys from the ignition. “So, does anything look familiar?”
I glance to my right—then to my left—and I know it does. It’s not the same though. “Sort of.” I shrug.
“I’m sure it will come to you.”
I reach for the handle.
“Don’t you dare,” He says, “I’ll be right there.”
In about two seconds, he makes it to my side and opens the door, then offers his hand for assistance.
“Thank you. I’m not used to such treatment. I guess California boys are bit too laid back.”
“Then I guess that makes it easier for me to impress you.”
He reaches for my hand—locks the doors—then waits while I check out the neighborhood.
“Here, maybe this will help.” He begins leading me across the street.
As I look at the various storefronts, I recognize a familiar liquor store and Mexican Restaurant. “Wait a minute. Now I know where we are. Isn’t this where my favorite restaurant used to be?”
“As a matter a fact, it is. I did a little research and it just so happens, the guy who owned Andiamo, also owns this place. He did a little redecorating and changed the name to Sotto Cinque. They say the food is just as good, but it’s a hundred times more romantic.” He squeezes my hand.
My stomach flutters. “Seriously? This is so amazing. They used to make an Ahi Tuna dish I loved. And don’t even get me started on the Baked Clams Oreganata.” My stomach growls just thinking about it.
He holds out his elbow for me. “Shall we?”
“Yes, we shall.” I do a little hop in place before we walk through the ebony double-doors the hosts are holding open for us.
Oh my god, he’s so right about the decorating. Before, there where obnoxious abstract swirls in every color of the rainbow. Literally. It put me in the mind of a horribly decorated Mexican restaurant in a way.
Now, however, it’s welcoming and soothing the second you walk in. There’s a long bar just inside the door to the right with a ceiling high liquor wall, backlit with five-by-five panes of staggered stained glass in coral and gold. It takes up the entire length of the bar.
The restaurant itself is quite narrow, super long, and dimly lit with wall sconces and candles on each table, adding to the exquisite, romantic atmosphere.
The walls are the shade of warm honey, complemented by mahogany trim, tables and chairs. Accent pieces at every table welcome you—from the merlot tablecloths—to the abstract-patterned throw pillows in gold, muted green, chocolate and burnt red.
It’s exquisite. The most perfect place for a first date.
As the host escorts us to our table, I can’t help but think how sweet Hunter is, going to all this trouble to bring me here. No guy has ever done something even remotely close.
I look around the restaurant and find myself getting a bit emotional. I lower my head so he can’t see my eyes fill up. When did I become such a sap?
“Are you okay?” Hunter asks, sounding somewhat surprised.
Of course, he’d have to notice. Why wouldn’t he? “I’m sorry. I couldn’t be better. I guess I just got a bit sentimental. You’re always taking me by surprise with how thoughtful you are. I’m just not used to it.”
He grins. “Well, you’d better get used to it, baby...cuz dat’s just da way I roll.” He tilts his head to the side, sending me a wink as I giggle at his thick, lame, Italian accent.
“Thank you, Hunter. For making me laugh and for going to all this trouble. I mentioned this place to you one time in passing, and you remembered it enough to look into it.”
He reaches across the table for my hand. “It was my pleasure, Miss Chloe. You make it so easy to do nice things for you. Besides, it wasn’t a completely unselfish gesture, you know. I love your smile so much I’d do just about anything to see it.”
“Is that right? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you like me or something.” I place my free hand on top of his and squeeze.
“Or something,” he replies, slumping down in his chair.
His eyes darken, raising his left cheek in a half smile while licking his lips provocatively. There’s no way those thoughts are G-rated!
A surge of warmth rushes through me.
Just as my face heats up, the waiter appears to go over the specials and take our drink order.
Perfect timing!
Our evening is full of heartfelt conversations about our childhood, past relationships, and our dreams. Of course, I shy away from any details of my parents, and he never pushes.
I can’t get over how easy it is for us to open up to one another. In fact, I almost slipped a few times about
what’s going on in my Wiccan life. Not good.
The food is even more amazing than I remember; Ahi Tuna and sticky rice drizzled with a horseradish and dill Beurre Blanc sauce. My taste buds have never been so happy. And the triple layer mocha cake is to die for.
I leave the restaurant so stuffed, I doubt there’s even room for a tic-tac.
Once we’re back in his car, he turns to face me. “Dinner was only part of the surprise. Wait till you see where I’m taking you next.”
Seriously? Not that it’s even possible to top dinner, but I’m excited to see what he has up his sleeve.
What could it be? “Give me a hint.”
“Nope.”
“Pretty please?”
“Nice try.”
I pout, only triggering a low chuckle from him.
Hunter steps on the street and lifts his arm to hail a cab—and just as quickly, we’re on our way.
A few minutes later, the cab stops beside Bryant Park and we get out. I look around to see what’s close. He snickers, watching me break my neck trying to find a clue.
He wraps his arm around me. “This way, Miss Chloe.”
We stroll up the sidewalk, turning through an open gate leading into the park. With wide eyes, I look at Hunter and ask, “The Park at night?” Really? Is there a movie?”
He squeezes my shoulders. “You’ll see.”
We walk up the few steps leading into a stone building and he stops in front of a large sign that reads, “Directors Night Poetry – A Summer Tribute to the Greatest Poets of all Time.”
My heart skips a beat.
I can’t believe this. How could he have outdone himself?
My jaw falls open as I turn to face him. “Are you kidding me? This is the greatest surprise ever. Thank you so much, Hunter.”
I stand up on my tiptoes, brushing my lips across his for a brief, but tender moment.
“You are more than welcome.”
He leads the way, opening the door to the Reading Room.
We walk inside, taking a seat near the back. We’re a little late but it doesn’t even matter. As we sit listening to the captivating words of Yeats, it’s impossible to not be swept up in the romantic frenzy they inspire.
I slide my chair closer to Hunter, his warmth seeping onto my bare leg. He puts his arm around my shoulders, pulling me snug against his side.
If I were to die right here under the protective shelter of his arm, I could not think of a happier way to go—or a happier moment.
This magnificent guy has captured me implicitly. There’s no hope of returning from this unknown place I’ve now traveled. To hell with the future guy. I’m not letting Hunter go for anything.
For the first time in my life, I believe more than anything I’m falling for this unexpected, perfect man.
Falling. Me?
I lean my head against his shoulder, basking in the comfort of his closeness. This is my new favorite place, and I never want to leave.
I close my eyes to enjoy this rare moment of true happiness, when something beyond unwanted happens: a vision!
Chapter 17
The Betrayal
I’m thrown off balance as everything turns to darkness.
But something’s not right.
My body feels different somehow.
I lift my hand that’s holding something, but it’s not my hand. It’s manly. Calloused.
I’m somehow in someone else’s body—looking through their eyes—feeling what they feel.
I’m walking through the grass towards Gram’s house.
I go to the front door and knock—but no one answers.
I look behind me towards the cars in the driveway. I know they must be home. Perhaps they’re out back.
I walk around the house, stopping to peer through a window to see if anyone’s moving around.
As I pull my head away from the glass, I catch my reflection and gasp.
Peter Russo’s dark, haunting eyes stare back at me.
What the....
His heart clenches over his evil deeds from twenty-one years ago. The lies and deceit make him shudder with guilt. At the time, he thought he was doing the right thing. But now—seeing how much damage the lies have caused—is more than he can handle.
All he wants in this world is to see the faces of his grandchildren—and to apologize to Morgan for what he’d done. He wants to repent for sins he’d committed, and he knows this will be the first step towards redemption.
His thoughts continue to whirl through my head.
As he walks around the side of the house, he notices a light coming from a room near the back.
When he makes it to the window of the sunroom, he stops—watching my family and me gathered around a body lying on a table.
His heart feels like it’s bursting from his chest.
He’s confused.
Panic swells inside him as he watches.
He wonders if he’s been right all along about the Witches doing human sacrifice.
He stands there watching—frozen—but he can’t help but stare at his handsome grandsons. He’s seeing them for the first time, and his heart threatens to stop.
He can see his son etched in their features. His wife was right.
The guilt for keeping his family apart wells up in his chest. Torturously.
Without warning, his guilt turns into fear as he sees things fly through the air inside the house.
He can’t hear what they’re saying, but he can see the frightened eyes on his grandchildren.
Lightning strikes somewhere in the distance, making him leap.
As he turns his head to look behind him, a sudden downpour begins with more force than he thought possible.
As he tries shielding his face with his hands, a blinding flash of light explodes in front of him.
He blinks repeatedly, stunned by what he’s seeing.
He’s surrounded by blurry, glowing images of people.
They aren’t solid like normal people, but they’re visible enough to tell if they’re man or woman.
He scans the area around him, realizing he can’t even count how many there are.
A flash of realization crashes into his subconscious. They’re demons!
His fear is replaced by the same hatred he felt all those years ago, when he’d written those letters to his son and Morgan.
He’s more convinced than ever the family he’d come to see, are devil worshipers unleashing hell-on-earth.
He takes a deep breath—crosses himself—and runs back to his house screaming at the top of his lungs, “I knew it...I always knew it! They’re over there right now worshiping the devil and performing ritual sacrifice.”
His heart pounds so fast, and so hard.
Fear courses through his veins for himself—and for his family.
Then in a flash, the vision changes.
Swirls of light dance around him.
Where is he?
The sun shines down around him as he stands outside Starbucks.
His stomach is in knots, and he’s still upset from what he’d seen the night before. He takes a deep breath, prepared to take action.
“Mr. Russo.” A familiar male voice from behind draws his attention.
He spins around to greet the man.
“Agent Payne. Thanks for meeting me on such short notice. I finally saw the Witches in action last night. I saw them conjure demons in their back yard.” He waves his hands in the air like a madman. “Things were flying through the air, and they were surrounded by thousands of demons, just waiting for them to sacrifice the helpless person who was lying there. We have to stop them. We have to do something before they hurt my grandchildren.”
Hunter looks down, rubbing his forehead with his right hand. “Slow down, Mr. Russo, please. How did you see these ‘demons’ exactly?”
“Well, I walked over to the Crawford house because I wanted to see my grandchildren, and I wanted to apologize to Morgan for something I did a long time ago. I
wanted to put the past behind us. They didn’t answer the front door, so I walked behind the house. When I got back there, I could see them through the windows, standing in a circle as they conjured demons that appeared out of thin air. I was horrified.” Mr. Russo paces in circles on the sidewalk.
“Do you have any proof, Mr. Russo? As I’ve told you before, you need solid evidence. I must say though, I’ve spent a lot of time with these people, and I don’t believe they are what you think they are. They’re good people who would never do anyone any type of harm. Were you drinking last night, Mr. Russo?” He shoves his hands in his pockets.
“Of course not. I know what I saw.” He says in a condescending tone.
“Well I’m sorry, Mr. Russo, but without evidence, I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. In fact, I’ll be closing this case. I don’t feel there’s any sort of foul play or potential danger to anyone involved here. They’ve never hurt you...or anyone else. Maybe you should just leave them alone.”
Mr. Russo’s jaw drops. “So you won’t help me at all? The FBI won’t do anything?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Russo, but we’ve spent enough time looking into these people, and we don’t feel there’s anything here to pursue. My boss was already skeptical about taking on this case, but because of your family’s friendship with the Governor, we did him a favor.”
Mr. Russo’s anger escalates to the point it’s almost rage. I see red through his eyes.
“Fine! If the FBI won’t do anything, I’ll find someone who will!” He shakes a fist in Hunter’s face.
Then in another flash, Mr. Russo’s in a candlelit room.
He’s talking to his brother, Father Gabriel.
There’s a loud boom, then flames burst all around them.
Paralyzed by fear, Mr. Russo falls to the ground.
The flames close in around him, eager to devour his flesh.
Excruciating pain consumes him.
There’s another flash—and the vision stops.
My breathing labors as my eyes spring open.
I look around at the unfamiliar surroundings.
Someone’s squeezing me, lightly shaking my arm.
Then it hits me. I’m with Hunter at the Poetry reading.
Wait a minute. Hunter? The man I’m falling for? The man I just saw in my vision being addressed as “Agent Payne”?
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