by Hazel Hunter
With a giant expulsion of air from her lungs, Natalie tucked her chin hard against her collar bone and pulled her arm over the top of her head.
Conleth bent down next to her, his voice a whisper. “Will he be at the performance?”
For a moment Natalie froze. “What?”
“Will Matteo be at the show?”
As the blood pounded in her head, she started her work on the belts. “I don’t know,” she gasped.
With her one arm able to slide around inside the sleeve, she reached behind her and gripped one of the buckles through the fabric. She started to pull the leather belt loose.
“Of course you know,” Conleth said.
Maybe she did. Somehow this morning he’d appeared from nowhere. It was his casino after all.
“Fifteen seconds!”
The belt finally slid free of the buckle, allowing some slack in the other sleeve. Both hands moved to the next buckle along her spine. She didn’t have to undo them all, but the jacket was still too tight to take it off over her head.
“The ropes are beginning to fray!”
She couldn’t get hold of the second buckle.
His heels clacked on the floor as we walked around her.
“Five seconds!”
There was the buckle! Through the thick canvas, she gripped the belt and pulled. Over and over, a fraction of an inch at a time, the leather strip slipped through the clasp. She was panting now and also overheating. In the real show she’d be transforming.
“Time!” Conleth said.
“No,” she gasped, just as the buckle came loose.
Although it was too late, she wriggled and bounced, letting the fabric fall up her torso. She ducked down into it, then pulled it off over her head. With a grunt, she threw it aside.
“Going down!” Conleth called.
As Natalie did a stomach crunch and curled into a ball, the hoist whined. She put her hands down on the floor and gracefully uncurled into a sitting position. The small board and her boots settled to the stage. The hoist shut off.
Still breathing hard, Natalie shut her eyes and covered them with her hands. The straitjacket escape was something she could do in her sleep. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d failed.
Conleth’s footsteps approached and stopped.
“You hesitated,” he said. “That won’t do, my girl. That simply won’t do.”
She almost had to laugh at the understatement. But when she uncovered her eyes and looked up at him, she was startled by the look on his face. It was almost one of pity.
“You have to be able to concentrate,” he said quietly.
She only nodded. He’d managed to distract her—even rattle her. As she took a deep breath and let it go, his bony hand appeared in front of her face. She took it and he helped her to a standing position on the board.
“We’ll try again,” he said.
11
MATTEO CHECKED HIS watch before he stepped out of the elevator: six p.m. sharp. Right on time. The wide hallway that led to the presidential suites was empty, except for the two security guards. After the altercation this morning, Matteo wasn’t taking any chances. Natalia had to be safe, and Conleth too. The two guards stood a little taller.
“Everything quiet?” he said to the one in front of Natalia’s door.
Barrel-chested, thick-necked, and looking like he could wrestle a rhinoceros to the ground, the man only nodded. Matteo glanced quickly at the other guard, who also nodded.
“Good,” he said.
He unslung the garment bag from over his shoulder and handed it to the guard. The hanger hook looked like a string between the man’s thick fingers.
It’d been a busy day. Although Naldo had tried to keep it to a minimum the paperwork couldn’t be avoided. He’d also reported that Natalia and Conleth had spent extra time at the rehearsal.
As he turned to the door, he buttoned his coat and then paused. It was still hard to believe she was here.
He knocked.
As the seconds ticked by, he listened intently, but there was no sound. He’d had lilacs delivered with a card that said only “6 pm.” Could she have changed her mind? He recalled her in his penthouse the previous night, the tears glistening in her eyes. Although she had said she would go to dinner, it had obviously not made her happy.
The lock bar on the other side of the door creaked as it was moved. Then the bolt on the handle clicked, and the door opened. She was a vision straight out of his dreams. For several seconds, images of the past overlay the present. Their first meeting had not been unlike this one. She wore a shimmering, scooped-neck, sleeveless green dress that fell to mid-thigh. Her hair was up, accentuating the gentle curve of her neck. Simple pearl earrings dotted her lobes. Her emerald eyes glittered, and he realized she was taller than normal. She was wearing stiletto heels.
She’d dressed up.
For him?
He smiled as a flicker of hope bloomed in his chest.
Poca favilla gran fiamma seconda. A little spark is followed by a great flame.
“Will I need a jacket?” she asked.
He smiled down at her, wondering if she knew what he planned.
“Yes,” he said.
She went to a side table, revealing the dress’s plunging back, and her flawless olive skin. As she came back with her coat, he quickly averted his eyes.
“May I?” he said, holding out his hand for the coat.
Though she handed it to him, she’d paused just enough to let him know she’d thought about it.
When he took it from her, she turned her back to him, waiting. He handed her matching green jacket to the guard. As Matteo opened the garment bag and slipped the fur coat from it, Natalia looked over her shoulder. He quickly brought the coat to her back before she could turn around. Although she tried to get a look at it, he held it close to her, and low enough for her hands to slip into the arms. As she dipped her hands into the openings, he slid the garment up, the silk lining gliding soundlessly. Then he settled its light weight on her shoulders.
As Natalia turned back to him, she was running her hands across the chevrons of alternating silver and black fur stripes.
“It’s so soft,” she whispered.
“Chinchilla,” he said. “The lightest and yet the most dense. Nothing in the world is softer.”
With the exception of her skin.
Before she could object, he took a step back and offered his arm. “Shall we?”
• • • • •
As Natalie watched Matteo push the elevator button for the roof, she knew they’d be taking a flight. Of course the fur coat had been her first clue.
“May I tell you how lovely you look?” he asked quietly.
For just a moment, she thought of saying ‘no,’ but there was no need to be rude. She’d agreed to this. But she let go of his arm.
“I believe,” she said, “that’s a rhetorical question.”
She dared not look to see his reaction. The moment he’d appeared in the doorway of her room, she’d found herself staring, especially at his mouth. His full lips had always been one of the most sensual things about him. Not to mention his–
Inwardly she kicked herself. It’d been so much easier to hate a memory.
The elevator dinged, and the doors silently slid open.
He held them and gestured for her to precede him.
The helipad was dark, but she could make out the large H on it. “Aren’t you worried someone will see?”
“People do not usually see what they are not looking for,” he said, stopping at her side. “Besides, that is one of the reasons it is the tallest building on the strip. Only the Stratosphere is taller.” He pointed to the east. “But it is too far away.” He turned to face her, and held out his hand. “Do you remember how this works?”
How could she forget? Since she wasn’t a flyer, they had to be in contact. It was the moment she’d known was coming, and yet her pulse jumped. But rather than delay, she quickl
y took his hand. It was best just to get this over with.
Maybe Matteo had been thinking the same thing, because he immediately took off. As the helipad dropped away and they soared into the twilight sky, Natalie yelped a little as her stomach seemed to stay behind. She clamped down on his hand and pulled herself closer.
“Stand on my feet,” he said as he gathered her close.
It was not a moment for debate. With relief at just being able to touch something solid, her toes rested on his. Though she tried to keep her distance, her hands gripped his narrow waist. Though his embrace was light, he wound an arm around her back.
“You did that on purpose,” she said, trying to be mad.
“Of course,” he said.
The chilly air whipped around them. Night temperatures in the desert dropped fast. Although she had to squint, she stole a look around them. They were traveling toward the setting sun.
“Almost there,” he said, as though he’d heard her thoughts.
Where could they possibly be going? They’d only just left the lights of the city behind. Suddenly they were sinking. Natalie hugged him hard, no longer caring how close they were. In an instant, the side of her face pressed against his hard chest. It hadn’t escaped her notice that his shirt had been open a couple of buttons. Warmth poured from the small opening, and she could smell the faintly musky scent of his skin.
“Here we are,” he said.
Natalie risked a peek, but down below was only wilderness. The orange and tan bluffs of the desert stretched out in all directions. But as the ground zoomed up, a few lights came into view.
Was that a fire?
On the end of a small, oblong mesa, bright orange flames were roaring. As they neared, Natalie could see the fire was surrounded by a low stone wall. As Matteo brought them down, she realized what the other lights were: candles. Flickering in tall glass holders, they bordered a short, winding path. Gently, Matteo landed on the candlelit walkway. The sandstone sloped slightly, and Natalie was a moment getting her balance. But in the next instant all she could do was look on in awe.
At the end of the walkway was an enormous white lean-to. Billowing folds of white fabric hung from its pale pine beams. An intricate woven carpet, mostly white but dotted occasionally with small crimson tuffs, covered the ground. At the back of the sloping structure, Natalie could make out throw pillows of every shape and size, also white. At the front was an elegantly set table for two.
“I hope you approve,” he said.
Before she replied, Natalie made sure her mouth wasn’t hanging open. “It’s lovely,” she said.
He let her go but kept his hand in the small of her back. “Then our table awaits.”
She wondered how he had done this. For miles around, the shadowed landscape was devoid of roads. There were no other lights, nor any sign of people. Had he brought all of this out here?
“May I take your coat?” he said, as they approached the table.
But she didn’t need to answer. His hands deftly lifted it from her shoulders, and then slid it down her arms. To her surprise, the air was warm. As he moved to the back of the shelter and lay the coat on the pillows, she realized there were two heaters. Stationed at the front of the lean-to, their shiny domed tops glowed with orange warmth.
Quickly he strode back to the table and held her chair. “I hope you enjoy the view,” he said.
The sun had dipped below the mountains, throwing their surroundings into blackness. But just above the horizon, a fan of paper thin clouds had come to life. Like the fire at the end of the mesa, the sky above it was streaked with vibrant hues of topaz and ruby. Like mirrors of one another, they seemed alive.
As she took her seat, his fingers on the chair grazed her upper back. An electric shiver raced down her spine, as she almost fell into her chair.
“We begin with the soup,” he said.
He took off and hung his jacket on the back of his chair. A side-table that she hadn’t seen held four covered silver trays warmed by small flames from underneath. She watched as he ladled soup into shallow, white bowls. With his back to her, she took in the broad expanse of his shoulders. His deep purple shirt tucked into a pair of dark slacks that hugged his backside. As he picked up the two bowls, she quickly looked away.
As Matteo set hers down and took his seat, she got her first whiff of the soup. Her stomach grumbled.
“That smells delicious,” she said, picking up her spoon.
“Pasta e fagioli,” he said.
Of course it would be Italian. As many centuries as he’d lived, and places where he’d been, it always came back to Italy—particularly the food.
“This was my mother’s recipe,” he said.
As she took her first sip, the flavors erupted on her tongue: like a hearty bean soup with a splash of tomato. Without meaning to, she made a deeply appreciative sound. The texture of the beans together with the tender morsels of pasta were perfect together. It was only after she’d had another two spoonfuls that she could pause.
“It’s wonderful,” she said. “Absolutely wonderful.”
“That would make my mother happy,” he said, smiling. He uncovered a small basket at the edge of the table. “Bread?”
She shook her head. “I just want to enjoy this for now.”
He tore a large hunk from the round loaf and dipped it in his soup.
“How was rehearsal?” he asked.
Though his tone was light, like dinner conversation, he’d caught her off guard. A little soup went down the wrong way, and she coughed. Though she fought to gain control of the ridiculous tickle in her throat, it wouldn’t stop. He held out a glass of water, which she took.
“Are you all right?” he said.
As she took a sip, she held up a finger. Then she took another sip. Then she coughed, but less violently.
“Just went down the wrong way,” she rasped.
He nodded, watching her.
When she finally finished, she wiped her mouth. “The rehearsal went fine,” she said, her voice still a bit breathy.
“Good,” he said. Then as an afterthought he added, “Not that I am trying to get trade secrets. Not like that magician… What was his name?”
“Alistair,” she said, her voice almost normal. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
It was the first time she’d actually looked into his eyes. “The fool is lucky to be alive,” Matteo said, without an ounce of exaggeration. He held her gaze until she realized she was staring. She cleared her throat and looked down.
“It’s not uncommon,” she said.
“That men assault you?” he said, his voice alarmed.
“No!’ she said. “No.” She laughed a little. “That other magicians are beside themselves to know how our act works.”
“Ah,” Matteo said and slowly nodded. “Some real magic is at work.” He paused, thinking. “I have never met another Wiccan with your ability.”
“Never?” she said, picking up her spoon again.
“Never,” he said, doing the same. “It is a singular talent as far as I know.”
She had more soup. “I’ve always assumed it came from a combination of my parents’ powers. One could transform metals. One could shape shift.”
Her spoon came to an abrupt stop in the soup. She’d mentioned her parents. She never did that. For a moment, she simply stared at the bowl. In all these years, neither she nor Conleth had ever brought them up. She’d been with Matteo for five minutes and…
She set the spoon down. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
“The past is not something from which we can run,” he said gently.
“I’m not running from my past,” she said hotly. “I’m running from you.”
He sat back, his eyes suddenly hard. “I am not the Corps.”
“That’s not how I remember it.”
“I tried to save them,” he said, his voice strained.
“Oh my god,” she said, standing up. “I don’t believe this.
” Her chair toppled backward but she ignored it. “Is this your revisionist history? Who’s running from the past now?”
He stood up, moving his chair aside. “I tried to help them, but they would not listen.”
“And so you executed them,” she yelled. “Because they were rogues!”
“I am not the Corps,” he said, getting louder. “And I did not kill them!”
“You or your kind,” she screamed. “What’s the difference?”
“The difference?” he yelled, stepping directly in front of her. “The difference is you are alive!”
“Because I ran!”
“You are not that foolish,” he said. “Do you seriously think the Magus Corps could not have found you?”
She cocked her head back. “Then why didn’t they? Why didn’t you?”
“Because I said you were dead,” he said through clenched teeth. “That I had killed you.”
She blinked and shook her head. “You…you what?”
“They would never have stopped,” he said. “Never. Do you seriously think that one of the oldest, most widespread, and most wealthy groups of all time could not have found you?”
“They’d already killed who they wanted,” she said, though her head was spinning.
“You were all to die,” he declared. “All of you.”
“Just because they were rogues,” she said.
“No!” he said, grabbing her at the shoulders. “Because they killed a Magus Corps officer.”
She violently shook her head. “How many times do I have to say it? They’d never kill anyone!”
“I saw the body myself, Natalia,” he said, almost whispering. “He was a friend of mine.”
“It’s not true,” she yelled, but something in his voice had pierced her fury.
“It is,” he said.
“Then why be with me?” she demanded. “If my parents killed your friend, how can you even look at me?”
“We were already in love,” he said. “It was far too late to go back.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“You do not want to believe me,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes. “But it is true.”