by Theresa Weir
“Maybe his mind and his mouth were awake—and even his body—but his heart was asleep. It still pumped blood, but the place where love and hope and wonder should have been was closed and locked up, with a large Keep Out sign tacked on. The only one admitted was Sonya, his enchantress.”
“Is this the pre-Grimm version?”
Hot tears came to her eyes. She blinked them back, sorry she’d started this story, but she kept going, compelled to finish. “No, this is the real-life version.”
“What about the happy ending?”
“Have you forgotten that you prefer the unhappy ending? Besides, this isn’t a real fairy tale. It’s more like real life. And things changed during real life. Even though Sonya had stolen his heart and locked it away, the prince didn’t always obey her. And without his heart, he was known for producing films without emotion. Films with violence. Films with intelligence. Films that opened the darkest and rawest emotions. But the heart of his films was missing.”
His jaw clenched, and his eyes glittered icily.
She didn’t know where all this came from—except gossip Internet sites and IMBD—and she thought that maybe she should keep her mouth shut. But that train had already chugged out of the building, so now all she could do was continue and hope it didn’t crash and burn.
The only problem was she didn’t know where this train ride would end.
“Though Sonya retained her beauty, the meaty roles she craved were going to women with less beauty and less years. Every birthday was like a stab in her heart, which, to be honest, had never been that big. She took precautions that her looks didn’t change, so she was as beautiful as ever. But the freshness was gone. She still glowed, but it was artificial. Too bright and too harsh. And no matter how much she tried to disguise it, the darkness in her soul showed like smog in the air. So she did what enchantresses did everywhere.”
She looked expectantly at Logan, who stared stonily back, not blinking. She sighed. “You must be a hell of a poker player.”
Still, he stared. Still, he said nothing.
“This was a bad idea,” she said. “Very, very bad.”
Chapter 8
He wouldn’t let her see that anything she said bothered him. “You’re getting away from the story. Why was the prince in the woods? Sleeping?”
“Not asleep. In a coma. He’d wandered into the woods on his way home to his grandmother’s house, and being so far from the keeper of his heart, he’d fallen into a coma. But when Jazlyn fell on top of him, it woke the prince—”
“The jolt did it?” he asked.
“Her legs fell across his naughty parts. That part of his anatomy had never been frozen.”
“So now the prince is minus a heart but plus an erection.”
“Yes.” Her voice flattened. “He told Jazlyn if she had sex with him, he would buy her a house.”
“This story is starting to sound familiar.”
She avoided his eyes as she continued. “Jaz immediately saw his heart was frozen. She’d recently been with a weasel disguised as a man, and the weasel had stolen from her. So she wasn’t falling for another pretty face—”
“Not to mention his naughty parts.”
“Forget his naughty parts.”
“So far, that’s my favorite part of this story.”
“I’m not surprised. Anyway, she refused him. She told him she would only have sex with a man whose heart wasn’t frozen. And then she ran away from him.” Stopping, she looked down at Ginger, still on her lap, and drew her hand down the cat’s spine.
“He chased her?” he asked, wanting now to know the end of the story.
She looked up at him. “You weren’t listening. I told you in the beginning that she was a marathon runner. He was a dilettante who hung around at parties with his dark goddess, acting cool. How could he catch up to her?”
Ginger meowed, as if in agreement, and jumped off her lap.
“He turned back,” she said, “and went to search for his enchantress to reclaim his heart.”
“What about her? Jazlyn?”
“The next day, she ran the marathon, and she came in tenth. Number eleven was a hunky contractor, and they started to date.”
“She’s not Princess Charming then?”
“She’s a commoner, and commoners don’t end up with princes.”
“Not even when the prince wants the commoner?”
“Princes always want what they shouldn’t have. In any case, the story’s about him, not her. She woke him from his coma, but he has to find his heart himself. But I can’t tell you the rest tonight. It’s a long story.”
“Shorten it. You promised a story a night.”
She yawned, and her eyes watered.
He stood. “Forget what I just said. Finish it tomorrow.”
She stood, and her expression reminded him of a bulldog’s. “I’ll keep to my agreement and finish it now. I’ll just say he had many adventures, including ones with a midget, a hooker, a singer, a pie maker, a yoga instructor, and finally, he met Sonya, his enchantress, again. And he looked at her, and it was like looking at an acquaintance. And only then did he realize the truth.”
As she stopped, he had a hard time keeping his eyes on her face, because her breasts were heaving, and she was still upset. And so many women he’d known in California had breasts that no longer heaved. So he thought, what the hell, why not look? And he raked his eyes down to her breasts and thought about holding them in his hands, how soft they would be and how their weight would feel in his palms and fingers, and how he would put his mouth to one and then the other.
“What is the truth?” he finally asked, raising his eyes to hers that sparked with anger.
“The truth,” she snapped out the words, “is that he had the power to unfreeze his heart all along.”
“Isn’t that what the good witch said to Dorothy in Oz?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “And the good witch was right. Now if you’ll excuse me, the story is over, and I’m going to bed.”
He watched her march out of the living room, and he thought there might be some truth in the story, but it wasn’t the bit about his heart that was the truth, it was the bit about his naughty parts.
Or, as he preferred, his fun parts.
They had awakened big-time.
* * *
As Maddie entered her bedroom, she was shaking, and her skin was hot. She looked at herself in the dresser mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, and her pupils were dilated like an addict who’d just had a hit. But her hit was the man who owned this house, breathing the same air with him, being so close to him that she could smell the scent of musk and man. And if she concentrated hard, she could even feel the heat.
She’d started the story to make him uncomfortable. A petty revenge for making her tell him a story tonight.
It had backfired on her, karma biting her in the ass. She’d ended up making herself uncomfortable, while he’d been as cool as a Popsicle.
She sat on the edge of her bed and put her heated face in her hands. Oh God, not a Popsicle. That was not an image she wanted stuck inside her mind.
Obviously it was time to date again. She was fairly young, her body had needs, and Logan was…Logan. He made her think of jaded heroes from romance novels, radiating cynicism and pheromones. Any straight woman her age would be excited by him.
On her break tomorrow, she needed to make a list of all the unattached men in the right age range who she knew. Or perhaps she should talk to friends and let them know she was on the hunt. Or maybe the best idea was to join an online dating site.
This time she would choose her lover carefully, with her mind and not her body. She would make lists of what she wanted in a man. This time she would do it the smart way.
* * *
His human’s scent had disappeared. Dog wanted to howl, but too many other dogs would hear him. Though it was dark, he kept running in the same direction, hoping to catch the smell again.
Freezing air and sno
w pellets gusted at him, and still he ran. Faster and faster, to keep the blood rushing inside him, warming him.
Another smell came to him. He recognized it, all his hunting instincts on alert.
Earlier today, he’d eaten a mouse. It had not tasted good, but it was food and filled his belly. The snow was his water.
He knew should find a place to sleep where it was warm and safe, but a stronger need overwhelmed him, pushing him to run faster.
This need had been an open ache inside his heart since he could remember. First there had been his mother and his brothers and sisters. He’d been happy with them. Yet there had been the ache in his heart that cried out for something more. For him, Dog knew now. The human whose smell was gone. No other man or woman would be the right one.
Another gust whipped at him, colder than before, and he realized the pads of his paws were freezing.
He couldn’t wait. He needed to find shelter. Now.
He took another step, and that’s when his front paw came down on a rock covered with snow. The stone rolled away, and he fell down hard.
Something in his leg pulled and twisted.
He howled, a cry of pain.
He stopped his howl—too late. Any predator within earshot would already be racing toward him, looking for easy prey.
Pushing up with his other three legs, he struggled onto his feet. He stood in one place for a moment, wobbling, before taking a step forward.
He fell again. Pain burned through him, and he whimpered, unable to stop himself.
Then he pushed up to his feet again and stepped forward.
When he fell again, this time he held back the whimper.
He took a step and another step. The ground was uneven, and he lurched forward. A smell of cows drifted to him, and he angled toward it. Where there were cows, there was a barn. Shelter. Heat.
Dog reached the barn finally, though it seemed to take a long, long time. There was a light on inside the building. He smelled the scent of human. Before he could investigate, a door opened. Light spilled out over him, and a man turned to look at him. Scents of cows and cats and wheat came out of the barn as the man stared at him, and he stared back.
Then it began to snow harder and faster.
He took a step forward.
The man didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.
He took another step forward. And another. With each step, his body staggered.
Then he was inside, on the barn floor, and he heard the man on a phone, saying “hurt” and “dog” as he tumbled to the floor, and pain streaked through his leg.
He was aware of eyes on him, the cows placid, the cats streaking away then stopping, realizing he wasn’t any threat.
But most of all, he was aware of the heat that blanketed him, coming off of the cows, and he was aware of the human looking down at him.
And he was tired. So tired. His eyes closed despite the danger, despite the strangeness, despite the pain. So he laid his head down and, not knowing what was going to happen, he slept.
Chapter 9
MUST HAVES:
Enjoy children
Be single
Be under age 35 30 35
Work—have a job or own a business
Kindness
Gentleness
Sense of humor
Cleanliness
Honesty
Loyalty
A one-woman man
Be there when I need him
Love cats
WOULD LIKE TO HAVE:
Good-looking (or not really ugly—though ugly cute is okay)
Tall (but shorter isn’t a deal breaker)
Great body (or just take care of himself physically)
Healthy
Lots of money (hahaha)
Be generous with his money (hahahahahaha)
Give great massages
Give foot rubs
Be an equal partner in raising children (move to ‘must have’ list?)
Will take care of me when (if) I’m sick
Likes to dance
As Maddie hurried into the living room with a mug of hot chocolate and one of tea, she saw Logan leaning over her netbook on the small Queen Anne desk in the corner, reading her lists. She jerked to a stop then rushed forward.
Hot liquid swished over her hands. Swearing silently, she set the mugs on a newspaper on the coffee table to soak up any spilled liquid. She straightened, her spine stiff, her chin up. He’d already turned to face her, his movements unhurried, one side of his mouth twisted up.
“That’s private.” Her voice shook, and she swore silently again. With him around, she should loop the swear words through her mind every twenty minutes.
His left eyebrow cocked. “You mean the lists aren’t about me?”
“If you really thought they were, you’d be out of here in the next five minutes.”
“Have you forgotten whose house it is?”
She crossed her arms. “I guess I did. Should I start packing?”
“You’re insecure.”
“I think I have reason to be insecure.”
“Guilty conscience?”
She felt herself flush.
“If you had to do it all over again, would you do it differently?” he asked, and his voice was different. Kinder but in an impersonal way that made her feel stupidly sad.
“Probably not. I helped a lot of people.”
“How many did you shelter here? More than three?”
“Never mind.” She held her head high. “No one harmed anything. And if you threaten to kick me out over that or anything else again, I’ll make arrangements to leave immediately.”
He stared at her, his eyelids half down, his expression unreadable. “I won’t do it again. In any case, I’m not kicking a mom and her kid out of the house before Christmas. As for your lists, if you want them to remain private, don’t leave them where I can read them.”
She walked around him to get to the desk. Though she didn’t like it, he was right. As she shut off her netbook, he didn’t move to make room for her, standing only a couple inches away. She forced her hand not to twitch.
“Did you leave your lists there on purpose?” he asked.
Her hands shook after all as she closed the lid. She snapped around. “No. Now, do you want your story tonight or don’t you?”
“Not when you’re in that mood.”
“My moods have nothing to do with it.”
“Your words are coming out like bullets. Hot and deadly.”
“If they were, you’d be lying on the floor, bleeding over the carpet.” She gestured at the tan carpet. “Yet you’re still standing.”
His eyes gleamed. “If you lay on the carpet next to me, I wouldn’t mind.”
Since he still wasn’t moving, she stepped back. “You’re in love with another woman.”
“What’s that got to do with sex?”
“Are all men like you?”
“Pretty much.”
“No wonder the world is in such bad shape.”
“No arguments here.”
“We agreed not to have any complications.”
“I know, and you’d be a huge one.”
His words stopped her. Why would she be a huge one? In a way, that was a compliment—
His smile became less sexual, more mocking. “Because of Zach.”
“Of course.” She smiled stiffly. It felt as if he could see into her mind or, worse, her emotions, and see her attraction for him—her very reluctant attraction—which he was using for his amusement. “Are you ready to listen to tonight’s story?”
He didn’t reply right away, staring at her, and she stood stiffly, taking it. This was her payback for living here for too many years.
But, damn it, she would only stand still for so long.
In that second, she made her decision. Christmas was coming in five weeks. She’d look for a place to move to in January.
“If you want to skip tonight’s story…” She reached for her netb
ook, ready to take it to her room along with her tea.
“Stay.” He stepped back. “Tell me your story.”
* * *
“This is a true story,” she said.
A smile grew inside him, and he reminded himself not to goad her too far. She amused him, and he didn’t want her to walk out before he was bored by her stories. “True stories usually don’t have a good ending.”
“That should fit your criteria of unhappy endings. Besides, there’s always an unhappy ending in fairy tales. In the original Cinderella—the pre-Grimm one—I believe the two stepsisters had to cut off their heels to fit into Cindy’s slippers. Just think of them, hobbling around for the rest of their lives.”
“I’m from L.A. If small feet were the rage, I can name you a few thousand women who’d happily pay money to have someone slice off their heels.”
She made a face. “My story does not have anyone cutting off a heel. I’m changing a few details, but it started in Chicago. There were two little girls. One watched a lot of princess movies when she was young. The other preferred to watch movies—and read books—in which the girl killed the dragon and fought off the bad people. One entered beauty pageants, the other took karate lessons and started winning in tournaments.”
“Do they have names?”
“One was Lily, and one was Rose.”
“Rose must be the intrepid girl,” he said, “because roses have thorns.”
She didn’t acknowledge his insightfulness. The name would fit Maddie, too, he thought. He settled back into the recliner. So did Maddie, who, tonight, was a mad woman.
The thought made him smile.
Her voice settled into a storytelling rhythm, her tone smooth and compelling as she told him about the two girls growing up and Lily marrying her prince. Though he didn’t have an actual title, his father was the CEO and chairman of his own commodity brokerage firm, and her husband was being groomed to take over.
While Lily decorated her lakefront mansion, Rose was traveling the world, treating men like they were takeout meals. When it was convenient and she felt the hunger, she used them. And when she was done with them…then she was done.