by Theresa Weir
“What was her profession?” he asked.
“A photographer and blogger. She wasn’t famous, but she burned brightly and had a devoted following who bought her picture books. And every picture had a story.”
He nodded. She was giving him images in his mind in which Rose looked slightly like Maddie, though her hair was redder and longer and wilder, and she was taller and leaner, her body hard with muscles. Not his type, but he wouldn’t mind being her takeout meal.
“They were both happy, or so Rose thought. Until she noticed that her sister’s voice sounded funny. Too chirpy. Like a bad actress. She tried to find out more, but Lily insisted everything was fine. That her prince was wonderful, and she was learning his world to fit in and be a credit to him and his company.”
She stopped to take a deep breath, and he realized that the atmosphere in the living room had changed. Three lamps were still lit, but in the last couple minutes, the room seemed darker and murkier, and her expression was stern. The face of a judge.
“Rose immediately kicked her latest meal out of her hotel room. She cancelled her appointments, bought plane tickets, and flew back to Chicago, which was halfway around the world.” She paused and raised her eyes to him. The air between them seemed to liquefy.
“A long trip,” he said, not releasing her gaze. Her face had tensed and hardened. He imagined Rose’s face had the same look.
“She had a lot of planning to do.”
“What kind of planning?”
“You can’t rush the story.” She smiled at him, and it was a cunning smile. An urge stirred inside him to describe that smile, and the block that had been inside him for too many years crumbled as if it were made out of old cheese.
Now he had a block of new cheese.
“Go on. Tell me more.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re staring at me like you’re trying to see through my clothes.”
No clothes in my mind, he thought. Though right now it wasn’t her body that was naked, it was her soul.
And they both gave him an erection. He wasn’t going to tell her, though he suspected she wouldn’t be surprised.
“It’s the nature of the devil,” he said.
“I’m not blaming the devil. I’m blaming the man.”
“I’m getting turned on by your story. Don’t stop now.” He needed to hear this story. Needed to watch her face as she spoke, to see her expression change, to see her sit in one place and make his numbed heart hammer and his muscles tense.
It wasn’t only his writer’s block that had crumbled.
She spoke, telling him about the sisters’ reunion. How Rose’s brother-in-law invited her to stay with them, his arm around Lily’s shoulders and his eyes glittering with possession. Rose smiled and acted as if she didn’t notice her sister seemed like a caricature of a 1950s TV housewife. All she needed was an apron, though an apron wouldn’t go well with the stripper heels Lily wore even in her oversized mansion.
“That night, Rose slept well,” Maddie said. “She knew she needed sleep for what was going to come. The next morning, the prince said he was thinking of staying home to escort her around—as if she hadn’t lived in the city for most of her life before her travels. But Rose put on her best smile, the one she used to disarm tribal chiefs and government officials. She told him how wonderful that would be. And then she bent forward and laid her hand on his arm, gazing up into his eyes, and told him how lucky Lily was to have found a man like him.”
Inhaling deeply, she stopped, her hazel eyes burning brighter than before. But it was an icy burning.
“He swallowed that?” Logan leaned toward her. “He didn’t guess that she was playing him?”
“He believed her. After all, it’s what his father taught him, and probably what his father’s father taught him. That women were put on earth to serve men. Especially men with money and looks and a certain amount of charisma.” Her gaze raked up and down him, and her lips pulled back from her teeth in a sneer.
A laugh built inside him, but he didn’t say anything. He wanted badly to hear the end of the story—though he already guessed what it might be.
“So the prince went off to his father’s brokerage—”
“Where he counted out his money.”
A smile flicked on her face. “Yes. He loved counting out his money. Loved it almost as much as he loved torturing his wife. While he was gone, Rose got Lily to admit that the prince hurt her in ways that didn’t leave any mark. That he had control of her money, and she’d signed a prenup that left her with nothing if she divorced him. He had to divorce her for her to get any money.
“Rose tried to get Lily to leave with her, saying she had enough money for both of them. But Lily was as stubborn as she was beautiful and as Rose was brave. Finally, Rose nodded and said she would visit old friends. She was gone for hours, and she returned before dinner. They waited for the prince who had planned to take them to a fundraising dinner. But the prince didn’t come and didn’t come. And Lily wouldn’t call him, because it—”
A yawn stopped her, a giant-sized one.
“Because it made him angry,” he said. “Go to bed. Finish it tomorrow.”
She sat up straight. “Our deal was a story a night. I’ll finish now. I’ll skip a few parts and just say that a call came from a hospital, and the prince was there. He’d been attacked and had bones broken in several places. They rushed to the hospital, and the prince’s father, the king, was there. The king said the police left already, that a slight masked man had attacked the prince with martial arts moves. The masked man had claimed that the king’s investment firm had cheated a sister with their stock transfers. Before the masked man left, he announced in front of witnesses that the prince and the king would soon be met by a demand from his sister. If they didn’t give him money, he’d return. Next time, the prince would never walk again.
“As the father said that, he was shaking. The father loved two things in life: money and his son. He’d raised his son to be just like him. Rose told him that she was once a part of Chicago’s martial arts community, and she could understand why he was so fearful for his son. That, theoretically, she knew a few ways to kill a man in less than one second of time.”
Maddie paused again to sip her tea. As she sipped then set the mug down, Logan remained still, not even picking up his own mug of hot chocolate. Silently urging her to finish.
“The king was not a stupid man,” she said. “He asked what Lily wanted. Rose said a divorce, even as Lily tried to say she wanted nothing, her voice a whine as her sedated husband lay on the hospital bed. The king ignored her, and so did Rose as they hammered out a deal. The next day, there was enough money transferred to Lily’s bank account for her to live the rest of her life. She saw a lawyer in the morning, and in the afternoon, she and Rose packed up and took a plane to a town in Sicily where they moved in with a lover of Rose’s who would never let any man touch a hair on her sister’s head without Rose’s permission.”
She stopped again and frowned at her tea. “Next time, I’m going to drink wine.”
“Is the story over?” he asked.
“Not yet.” She raised her eyes to his. “Though the traditional news quickly backed off from the king and the prince, the alternative news weeklies asked searching questions about the company’s financial dealings. And what was worse was that the tabloids wouldn’t leave the prince alone.”
“They heard about the way he’d treated his wife?”
“No. They wanted to know why his assailant had chopped off the heels of his feet.”
It was good that he wasn’t holding his hot chocolate because he would’ve spit it out as he threw his head back to laugh until his stomach hurt.
If nothing else, this woman entertained him.
Though there was something else. Maybe too much to dwell on. “You said there would be no chopping off heels in this story.”
“I couldn’t have you guessing the ending, could I?” She got up, taking
her tea with her, and headed to the kitchen.
“Are you getting wine?” he asked. “Get me a glass, too.”
Not slowing, she said, “Get your own damn wine.”
He laughed again, and inside him, exultation rose. Nothing had changed…but there was a shift inside him, and it felt like everything had changed.
And then the phone rang, the one ring that he allowed, playing the first notes of a song that was as familiar to him as oxygen.
And as poisonous as fire…
Chapter 10
His ringtone sounded familiar, sexy yet shuddery. Maddie turned to see his expression close up.
Her. It had to be her. His dark enchantress. Or witch. Or whatever the hell he called her.
His jaw clenched, and hate fired through her. She stood for a moment, and his eyes met hers, and she saw hate in them, too.
Not for her, she thought, and maybe not for the caller.
For himself. An addict’s self-hate.
She could be imagining all this, but the sick sense in her throat was too real, and she snapped around and hurried into the kitchen, unable to look at him.
The phone rang twice again as she poured the tea into the sink then went to the refrigerator to pour herself a glass of wine. Adrenaline raced through her blood, as if she’d eaten too much sugar. And now that she stopped thinking about the ringtone, the name of the song popped into her mind. Witchy Woman.
Wondering if he’d answered on the last ring or if he was going to call his enchantress back, she took a swig of her wine, the refrigerator door still open. Like a guy, she thought. They stood in front of open refrigerators all the time. Why shouldn’t women?
But the cold made her shiver, and a small noise brought her gaze to the side. Logan. He was leaning against the wall, watching her as if she were a robin in snow. With his eyes half hooded and his arms crossed, he looked more than ever like a leading man in a movie. Maybe a James Bond type, ready to kill a spy.
Or make love to the spy.
Her heartbeat speeded. Telling herself not to be a dork, she said, “I’ll get you a glass of wine.”
“Not wine.” He headed to the cupboard where she kept the bottle of brandy he’d opened a previous evening. She went to a different cupboard and held a glass out to him. He took it, poured a few ounces of brandy into it, tipped his head back, and slugged the brandy down. Not saying a word, he poured another couple ounces.
Her gut twisted. She could see his torment. She reached out to comfort him—then pulled her arm back. Quietly, she set her almost half full wine glass on the counter then headed to her room.
Tomorrow she would call Kevin Spindlebottom, the local real estate agent and town board member. As far as she knew, there were no homes for sale in town except for a couple on the lake that she couldn’t afford. This wasn’t the time of year that people left their houses. They were settled in for the holidays.
She’d tell Kevin that as soon as he heard about a house for sale in her price range, he should get in touch with her. Right now she was open to just about anything. She just wanted to get out of here and away from Logan. Breathing the same air as him was bad for her heart.
* * *
A young girl entered the barn, and Dog lifted his head. “I want to see the dog!” the girl said.
The man told her to be careful, but she was already bending over Dog.
“What’s your name? Huh? What’s your name?” She rubbed the skin below his ear. Her breath smelled as fresh as her face looked.
A hunger awoke in the dog’s stomach. Not for food. He always had that hunger, as if there were a big, empty hole in his belly. For almost as long as he could remember, he’d had that. But this was different—a hunger in his chest.
He leaned into her rubbing fingertips, his first eyelids pulling down.
“Don’t pet him,” a woman said, her voice sharp as she closed a door behind her, shutting out an icy wind. “He might have bugs.”
Dog lifted his head. He smelled human food.
“Mom, it’s too cold for ticks.” The girl looked toward the woman who’d come into the barn.
“You don’t know how long he’s been running wild. He smells, and he’s filthy.” The woman handed the man the food and something else. “You shouldn’t have let Kim come in. The dog might bite her.”
“The dog won’t bite her.”
“Oh, you can read dogs’ minds now?”
If it weren’t for the food, the woman’s voice would’ve made Dog slink to a corner of the barn to stay out of her way. But his stomach wanted that food. Wanted it badly.
It had been a long time since a human had given him food. A very long time.
“If it bites her,” the man said, “I’ll buy you that new fancy phone you want.”
“Am I going to bet my daughter’s life on a phone?” She slugged his arm.
A growl started in Dog’s throat, and everyone looked at him.
The girl jumped up. “Mom, he doesn’t like you hitting Daddy.”
“I like this dog.”
Dog could tell by the smile in the man’s voice that this was good. He liked the man, too. The man was coming toward him with food in a pail. He knelt and put it in front of dog. Dog’s leg hurt still, but he struggled to his feet.
“Something’s wrong with his leg.” The woman’s voice softened then hardened again. “We can’t keep a dog that’s going to cost us a fortune in vet bills.”
“I’ll do what I can to fix him.”
“What do you know about doctoring? You’ll just mess up his leg.”
Dog finished gobbling up the food and licked the bowl while the man said something to the woman, and the woman said something back, their words sounding like hard stones being thrown. When Dog looked up at the girl, she knelt next to him and hugged him tight.
Tears dripped onto the top of his head, and a long sigh whiffed through him and out his mouth. He wouldn’t be able to leave. At least, not now.
The girl needed him, and his chest hurt again. He wouldn’t be able to follow the smell and find his human. He had to stay with the girl.
Chapter 11
Olivia was his drug, but Maddie with her nighttime stories was his antidote.
Every night for five days, the ringtones of “Witchy Woman” rang out, and every night, he held back from answering. Every note was like a string pulling him. As if Olivia were whispering to him, “Come, pick it up, hear my voice, come under my spell again. You know you want to.”
If Olivia had called him during the daytime when Maddie was working, then he might weaken and answer. Anything to take a break from his struggles to write.
And without Maddie nearby, he might succumb to the pull, just to hear Olivia’s sultry voice that promised nights of pleasure.
On the fourth night, Maddie asked him why he wasn’t putting the phone on buzz. He looked at her for a long couple moments, and the color rose in her cheeks. But she didn’t break her gaze, her mouth mulish, more stubborn than her cat.
He got up finally, the phone silent now, and went to his phone in the kitchen to turn off the ring. He’d left it there on purpose since the first night Olivia had called. Farther away from the temptation that gnawed at his chest.
With the phone off, he felt a sense of victory. A week ago, he couldn’t have done that. It wasn’t the distance that gave him the incentive. It was Maddie and her stare that dared him to turn off the damn phone.
When he returned, he nodded at Maddie to go on then sipped his brandy. Oddly enjoying the dirty look she gave him before she started her story, a defense against her attraction to him. He was an expert at this game that men and woman played, and she was only an amateur.
She started her tale about trees that could pull up their roots and walk, with gnomes and fairies. It sounded a lot like L.A. to him. All it was missing was a witch.
“And then the witch appeared,” she said.
Laughter poured out of him while she glared her disapproval. His stomach hurt, an
d he slapped his thigh.
No one who knew him in L.A. would recognize him. He was known for his sophistication, not his guffaws.
That’s when it hit him.
The ice that had kept his heart frozen for more than nine years was melting.
His laughter stopped abruptly, and he found himself staring at her while she looked back at him with her forehead creased in puzzlement.
He shared her confusion. What was happening to him? His chest felt too tight. He was having a hard time breathing, his lungs constricted.
“You don’t like the story?” she asked.
He sucked air into his lungs but didn’t answer for another breath. “I found the story amusing,” he said.
“It’s not supposed to be amusing.” She snapped out the words like they were tacks in her mouth.
He slouched back in the recliner, feeling more himself. This was the man his old friends would recognize.
“I’ll tell a different one,” she said.
“I want to hear that one.”
“You’re being difficult.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been called that.”
“I bet it isn’t.” She took a slug of beer. “Nor is it the first time you ignored it.”
“I’ve gotta be me.” He grinned.
She groaned. “Okay, I’ll just quickly tell you what happened. The witch put a spell on the gnome.”
“Why?”
“Because she didn’t like gnomes in her garden.”
“I can understand that. I bet he peeped through her window when she undressed.”
“What kind of mind do you have? This is a fairy tale.”
“Gnomes are males, right? Then he’s peeping.” He shrugged. “What else does he have to do in the garden? Watch zucchini grow?”
“He can watch the rabbits hump.”
“Oh, what fun.”
“You brought it up. Actually, he and the fairy might have something going on.”
“The fairy isn’t going out with a gnome.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because she’s beautiful with her gossamer wings and her tiny but perfect body. And the gnome has a white beard, dresses funny, and is short and stumpy.”