by Angel Smits
“How’s your injury?”
“Fine. See?” He pulled his shirt up, exposing the smooth, tanned skin of his abdomen. Three cuts and a couple deep gouges marred the skin but looked as if they were healing fine.
Forcing herself to come back to earth, Clarissa shook her head and cleared her throat before she could speak clearly. “You . . . It looks good.”
His laughter, rusty though it seemed, sounded warm and sweet in the quiet shop. Clarissa found herself smiling in response. It was a good sound. He should laugh more often.
“Thanks. For the first time in months, I slept. Peacefully. I’m not sure if you’re responsible, but thank you, Clarissa.”
Letting her gaze take in every detail of him, now that she’d adjusted to the devastation of his smile, Clarissa noticed the other differences. His eyes were light, the shadows, while not gone, were faded and distant. His jaw was scraped clean, looking smooth and strong, tempting her fingers to touch.
He looked rested and at peace with himself and the world.
“I don’t know how I could possibly be responsible.” She let her gaze drop, her finger tracing a pattern on the smooth table surface, though she realized she wanted to trace the contours of his lips instead.
“I don’t either. Maybe just talking and someone else knowing helped.” He reached out and covered her hand, stopping her nervous motion. “But whatever you did, I’d like you to do it again.”
His big hand easily covered both of hers. The long fingers felt warm and comfortable across her knuckles. She almost turned her hand to slip her fingers between his, but stopped herself.
She looked into his eyes. “What can I do to help?”
He took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around hers. “I don’t know. I don’t know how any of this stuff works. Any suggestions?”
“This stuff?” She was aware he was talking about her psychic powers, but she knew better than to put her words into his mouth. She’d learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago.
“You know, how you saw the future.”
“David, I can’t control my visions. They don’t ask my permission to mess up my life. I warned you about that last night. There isn’t anything else for me to do.” The shadows slipped back into the corners of his eyes, and she found herself wanting to shove the darkness away, mourning the loss of his smile.
“There has to be more.” The frustration in his voice vibrated through the entire room, bouncing back at her with its intensity. “You know about Rachel.” The pain had returned to his eyes, and a responding ache took hold of her chest.
“Y . . . yes.” Why did she feel the trap closing around her? “But what does she have to do with this? Isn’t she . . . dead?” Clarissa dreaded the coming conversation.
“Yes . . . sort of.”
A sick sensation slammed into her gut, leaving a wavering void. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the sordid details of his marriage, especially when realizing she’d just been fantasizing about another woman’s husband. Quickly, she stood and walked over to the warmer where a fresh carafe of coffee sat on the burner. Pouring a big cup, she laced it with a heavy dose of chocolate and cream.
She didn’t really want the coffee. She’d had enough today to float a battleship, but she had to do something—anything—to occupy her hands and her mind.
Appearing calmer than she ever hoped to feel inside, she turned to face him again and found him staring down into the dark recesses of his cup. What did he see there, in his mind’s eye?
“Explain.” She didn’t dare say any more for fear her emotions would turn her words to mush.
“I can’t—not very well anyhow.” His head snapped up and his stare pinned her in place. “Will you come with me? I can show you better than I can explain.”
As if to punctuate his request, the door opened and several college students came in, their voices shattering the emotion-laden quiet. As two young men and three women seated themselves in a corner booth, Lindsey went to take their order. The illusion of privacy was shattered, and Clarissa knew she couldn’t escape, knew she’d have to agree to his suggestion.
Her heart trembled at the thought of being alone with him. If the darkness of his eyes wasn’t deterrent enough, the feelings she experienced whenever he was around should be. She had difficulty thinking straight. Even now, her eyes continued to seek his image, and she fought against the desire to feel his skin beneath her fingers. No, she did not want to go anywhere with this man.
“I . . . I’m sorry, I have to close tonight. I’ll be here until late.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. From the looks of the mess still on her desk, she’d be here half the night trying to get payroll figured out by tomorrow.
“That’s all right. I’ll wait.”
“Not everyone’s a night owl like you,” she snapped. Why did he make this so difficult? What did he really have in mind?
He sat there for a long time, silence leaden between them in contrast to the students’ laughter.
He stood and stepped away from the table. As he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, she felt his anger vibrating through the air. His eyes finally met hers again as he tossed a couple of dollars onto the table. Clarissa cringed in the wake of his heated glare and focused on clearing the table.
Hot coffee from his cup splashed across her hand. Instinctively, she dropped it, and a puddle formed at her feet as it broke. The dream from a couple nights before flashed through her mind. She felt the hot spray of the liquid on her toes and sharp scratches as the pottery shattered and fell across her legs.
“Here, let me help.” David’s anger evaporated and he moved with agile speed. Taking her burned hand gently into his, he guided her to the sink, shoving the tap on and slipping their joined hands beneath the cold stream.
The sting of the burn faded as the water cascaded over their fingers, but the heat of his palm scorched her in another way. She couldn’t speak, though she knew she could do this for herself. She couldn’t seem to move away from him, couldn’t pull away from the warmth reaching out from him to envelop her.
“Does that feel better?” His voice was soft and low and she lifted her head to look into his face. He tilted his head toward her, bringing his lips so close . . . so tempting . . . so real.
“Yes,” she whispered, her gaze glued to his enticing lips.
“Why are you afraid of me?”
“I’m not,” she said entirely too quickly.
“Then come with me.” His whisper brushed over her lips, crept past her hastily erected protections. In that instant, she wanted to go with him, wanted to help ease the hurt she sensed pulsating within him. She longed to see him smile and hear his laughter again.
He was so close, she could almost taste his words. “Yes.” The answer slid unheeded from her lips.
He smiled then, sending frissons of warmth all the way to the depths of her soul.
“Thank you. Go ahead and close up. I’ll wait.”
Bending his head, David’s lips met hers in a brief kiss. When he turned and stepped away, Clarissa couldn’t move. It was as if her brain ceased to function. Images formed in her mind—images of evil, of pain, of an imprisoned beast.
She trembled. David Lorde equaled danger, but she knew with certainty that she’d just been tied to him. But what frightened her even more was the realization that she didn’t want to break those ties.
WHAT WAS WRONG with her? For the zillionth time since she’d agreed to go with him, Clarissa questioned her sanity. At twenty-eight years of age she’d been swept off her feet with a simple kiss. If it were physically possible, she’d have kicked herself—hard.
Yet here she stood, hiding in her office. The register was totaled out. Tomorrow’s first brew was set to go off at four a.m. She’d even managed to correctly figure the payroll and fill out everyone
’s checks. Now all she had to do was head to her car, tell David she’d changed her mind and drive home. Simple.
So, why didn’t she do it? She didn’t know the answer to that question and that bothered her. All she knew was every time she thought about leaving, she saw David’s eyes, felt the warmth of his kiss. All over again, she felt his pull.
A knock sounded on the office door, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Clarissa? Are you ready?”
She swallowed hard. She grabbed her jacket and slipped it on. She opened the door, and David stood silhouetted in the hall. He must have been outside. The damp scent of the night air clung to his hair and jacket, and Clarissa breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the essence of David and the dark.
“Ready?” he repeated, his hands shoved into his jean pockets.
He turned and walked down the hall, looking like the caged animal she’d thought of last night. More like an animal pacing behind bars of confinement than a man walking in a room. His hand slid through his hair, much as he’d done in his office.
“I’m ready.” She grabbed her purse and turned back to follow him. “Are you?”
He hesitated just a fraction too long. Glancing over his shoulder, he answered. “I don’t know.” Again he raked his fingers through his hair and resumed his pacing.
All this movement was getting on her nerves. She reached out and touched his arm, halting his progress. “Stop. You’re making me seasick.”
He didn’t smile at her attempt at levity. He scowled and she swallowed the apprehension in her throat.
“Did something change your mind?” What had he wanted her to see? Curiosity almost outweighed her common sense.
“Not changed my mind exactly.” His gaze met hers. “This feels a bit odd. I’m used to handling my problems by myself.”
She suppressed the smile tugging at her lips. It wouldn’t ease his discomfort if he thought she was laughing at him. She wasn’t really laughing, but she doubted she could convince him otherwise. Pleasure at his trust flew wild through her. Why did this man affect her so deeply?
“Look.” She touched his arm again, this time leaving her fingers on the warm hard muscle near his wrist. “You don’t have to say or do anything you’re not comfortable with. Maybe you should rethink whatever you were going to tell me.”
“No. I can’t. I can’t go back to the way things were before you knew. Come on.” He grabbed her hand and led her outside.
The rain had stopped and a crisp dampness filled the night air. He waited for her to lock the door and then ushered her to his car before either of them had the time to rethink anything.
“I can follow in my car,” she offered.
“I’ll drive.” The coolness in his voice left no room for argument, and yet for some strange reason she didn’t feel like running from him. Slipping into the car seat, she only slightly flinched when the door slammed in her wake.
The tone of his voice, and his stiff body language, left no doubt that she would do as he said. If anyone else had spoken to her in such a way she would have railed against it. She would have fervently informed them of her independence and capabilities, but she sensed the reason behind David’s insistence. He cared about her safety. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, but she did.
A sense of well-being, embedded in the feel of rich, soft leather, reached out and held her close. When David opened his door and climbed in, the scent of the leather, his aftershave and the night combined into a heady mixture. The stumbling beat of her heart alerted her to its spell. Straightening, she moved closer to the door, as far away from him as physically possible in the small space.
Bright headlights reflected back at them from the picture window as David backed the car out. The loud rumble of the powerful engine was muffled by the luxurious interior, but Clarissa felt the vibration beneath her feet.
The night quickly swallowed them, and Clarissa watched the last of the city lights grow distant in the side mirror.
As David shifted gears, a surge of power and raw machine vibrations shot through her. That same power emanated from every pore in David’s body.
“Have you heard the story of my family?” His words came out clipped and cold.
“No. Mac—the cop last night—hinted at something, but he didn’t explain.”
David’s cold laughter chilled the car’s warm interior. “He would know.”
As they turned onto a narrow paved track, David fell silent again, and she couldn’t help wondering if he was unable or unwilling to share more.
A large white sign, faded by years of harsh winters, dangled from a weatherworn post, telling Clarissa they were on private property.
The air grew cooler as they ascended into the mountains. The road wound back and forth, nearly on top of itself, climbing the hillside. She could feel the height, and just as she gathered her nerve to turn and look at David, he pulled around the final curve.
She gasped. Before her stood the most beautiful yet eerie mansion she’d ever seen. Thirty-foot trees with their heavy branches hanging into the night gloom stood like sentries around the house. The mountainside’s thick forestry held the night in a tight grasp, tucking it in around the house as if to protect it from unwanted visitors.
David slowed the car as they approached black iron gates at the top of the road. He pushed a button on the car’s dashboard, and the gates slowly swung open until she clearly saw the mansion.
Built in the Georgian style, its tall white columns soared from the expansive porch up toward the sky and the second floor roof. Dried leaves from the soon forgotten autumn lay helplessly around the steps and veranda, evidence that no one had been here in a long time. Overgrown hedges, vines and a rundown lawn failed to mask the grandeur and wealth emanating from the entire building.
She wasn’t aware of David getting out of the car, until he opened her door. Recovering from the house’s impact, she looked up at him.
Every muscle in his body was as tight as a bowstring. His eyes stared coldly at the house, his hatred floating thick on the night air.
Taking a deep breath, Clarissa stepped from the car. The air was still, with none of the usual rustling night sounds. The night birds didn’t sing. The crickets didn’t chirp their mating call. Not even a breeze filtered through the thick tree branches. Was it possible for all of nature’s beauties to know they weren’t welcome here?
Where did that thought come from? Clarissa turned to David, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. “Well?”
“Do you feel anything?” Faint hope filled his eyes. “Anything?”
Did he mean emotionally? If he did, her whole body responded to his tension and wanted to wrap itself around him. She didn’t think that’s what he meant. Disappointed, she met his gaze, trying to keep the sympathy out of her eyes. “It’s not that simple.” She watched the shadows fill his eyes. “May we go in?”
David stood frozen for a moment, and then nodded. He reached out and grasped her elbow, guiding her to the wide front entrance.
The double doors creaked open. Clarissa shivered, sensing that whatever lay beyond the threshold was enough to make her quake and long to run away.
She hesitated to walk into the darkness, but the wind, absent only moments ago, pushed against her back, propelling her forward. As she stepped inside, the breeze twisted and turned around her. Then it vanished as quickly as it had come.
The moon offered little light inside, but it reflected in silver shards off the mirror on the wall. Silhouettes of David’s form fell against the white walls.
With a simple flick of his wrist, David illuminated the foyer. Crystal light from the chandelier hanging from the second floor ceiling scattered across the white marble floor. The wallpaper, the gold trim encasing the mirror, and even the brass door handles had faded with grime and time. Dust covered everything—except the
chandelier—which gleamed as if it had just recently been hung.
Clarissa sensed how beautiful this house had once been, and she felt the love someone had put into building it.
“It’s lovely,” she whispered.
David didn’t reply, but led the way through the foyer to a set of doors on the left. He paused and then turned the handle, his hesitation not lost on Clarissa. She knew before he opened the door that this was the room where the man and woman in the vision had been.
She swallowed the sudden gripping fear that threatened to overwhelm her and took a step back, unable and unwilling to look beyond the few feet the light reached into the room. The shadows were thick and harbored secrets she didn’t want to know.
David moved slowly, his hand searching the wall for the light switch.
“Not yet,” Clarissa whispered.
The suddenly new vibration coming from the room surprised her. Slowly, she moved past him, barely brushing his arm with hers. A spark of awareness arced between them.
She hurried past him, leaving him standing on the threshold.
“This room was a happy place for you once, wasn’t it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. The wood floor creaked beneath her feet as she circled the dim room. Images of Christmas trees and toy trains flitted through her mind.
Tracing her finger along the delicate edge of a serving tray sitting on a side table, she saw glasses filled with champagne, heard voices raised not in anger but laughter. She responded with a smile. “Yes, this room was happy once.”
She felt David’s pain stab through her. Pain so piercing it reached across the room to her, pushing her away while simultaneously tugging at her heart. Wanting to see his face, she said, “Okay, you can turn on the lights.”
Light blazed from another overhead chandelier. The décor used in the foyer echoed in this room. An Aubusson rug covered the middle of the floor, and two white leather couches were accented with brass and glass tables.
Over the white marble fireplace hung a large oil painting of a man and a woman. As she stepped closer to the portrait, Clarissa found herself lost in the depths of the woman’s deep brown eyes. They were so alive. So beautiful. So happy with love, and she wore a grin that was so full of life.