by Nora Roberts
She felt the powdery grit of the sand under her bare feet, and the teasing way her thin silk wrap fluttered around her legs.
She walked to the water, then along its edge, basking in the beauty of the solitude.
She could go wherever she wanted, or nowhere at all. All those years of responsibility and work, of schedules and obligations, were behind her now.
Why had she ever thought they mattered so much?
The water rolled toward shore, foamy lace at its edges, then waltzed back into its own heart with a sigh. She saw the silver flash and leap of dolphins at play, and beyond, so far beyond, the delicate line of the horizon.
It was perfect and peaceful and lovely. And so liberating to know she was completely alone.
She wondered why she’d ever felt compelled to work so hard, to worry, to care about what should be or had to be done, when all she really wanted was to be alone in a world of her own choosing.
A world, she understood without any sense of surprise or wonder, that she could change with a thought or on a whim.
There was no heartache unless she wished for it, no company unless she created it. Her life could spin out—color and movement and quiet and sound—like the pages of a book that never had to end.
If she wanted a companion, she had only to imagine one. Lover or friend.
But really, she needed no one but herself. People brought problems, responsibilities, baggage, needs that were not her own. Life was so much simpler in solitude.
Her lips curved with contentment as she wandered along the sickle curve of beach where the only footprints were hers, toward the lush green shade of palms and trees heavy with fruit.
Cooler here, because she wished it to be. Soft, soft grass beneath her feet, sprinkles of sunlight through the fronds overhead, and the sharp, bright flash of birds with feathers the rich colors of jewels.
She plucked fruit from a branch—a mango, of course—and took the first sweet, juicy bite.
It was chilled, almost icy cold, just the way she liked it best, rather than warmed by that streaming sun.
She lifted her arms, saw they were tanned a smooth and dusky gold, and when she looked down she grinned to see her toes were painted a bold and celebrational pink.
Exactly right, she realized. That’s exactly what I wanted.
Her mind began to wander as she roamed through the glade, watched goldfish dance in a pool of clear blue water. She wanted the fish to be red as rubies, and they were. Green as emeralds, and they became so.
The wonderful flash of bright color in the water made her laugh, and at the sound of it, birds—more jewels—glided into that perfect bowl of sky.
This could be her forever place, she realized, changing only as she wished it to change. Here, she would never hurt again, or need, or be disappointed.
Everything would always be just the way she wanted it to be . . . until she wanted it to be different.
She lifted the mango again, and a thought passed through her mind: But what will I do here, day after day?
She seemed to hear voices, just the murmur of them, far off. Even as the breeze kicked up, whisked them away, she turned, looked back.
Flowers tangled on lush green vines. Fruit dripped, glossy as gems, from the delicate branches of trees. The sound of the surf, a seductive whisper, shivered through the air.
She stood, alone, in the paradise she had made.
“No.”
She said it out loud, as a kind of test.
This isn’t right. This isn’t who I am, isn’t what I want.
The fruit she held slipped out of her fingers and hit the ground at her feet with an ugly splat. Her heart jolted in her chest as she saw it was rotten at the core.
The colors around her were too harsh, she realized, the textures too flat. Like a stage set, like standing on an elaborate set built for an endless play.
“This is a trick.” Angry wasps began to buzz around the spoiled fruit. “This is a lie!”
As she shouted it, the blue sky turned to boiling black. Wind screamed, ripping fronds, hurling flowers and fruit. The air turned bitterly cold.
She ran, with icy rain stinging her face, plastering the silk against her body.
In this wild and wicked world, trick or no trick, she knew she was no longer alone.
She ran, through the hurricane scream of the storm, through the lashing, razor-edged fronds that seemed to snatch at her arms and legs like grasping fingers.
Breathless, terrified, she spilled out onto the beach. The sea was a nightmare, walls of oily black water rising up, pounding down, eating away at the land bite by greedy bite. Palm trees crashed down behind her, and the white sand caved in on itself, like a world collapsing.
Even in the dark, in the cold, she felt the shadow spread over her. The pain shocked her to her feet again, had her stumbling forward as she felt something ripping inside her.
Ripping out of her.
Gathering all her strength, all her will, she made her choice, and plunged into the killing sea.
SHE reared up, gasping, shuddering, a scream tearing at her throat.
And found herself sitting up in her tub, chilly water sloshing over the side. Her book was floating, her candles pooling in their own wax.
Panicked, she crawled out of the tub, and for a moment simply curled shivering on the bath mat.
With her teeth chattering, she forced herself up, grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her. Suddenly the thought of being naked only added to the layers of fear. She stumbled out of the bathroom, her heart still heaving inside her chest, to fumble a robe out of her closet.
She’d wondered if she would ever be warm again.
He’d pulled her in. Kane. The dark sorcerer who had challenged the king of the gods and had stolen the souls of his daughters. Because they were half mortal, Dana thought, and that offended his sensibilities. And because he wanted to rule.
He had conjured the Box of Souls with its triple locks, and had forged the three keys that no god could turn. A kind of nasty joke, she thought as she struggled to catch her breath. A rude thumbing of his nose at the god who had had the bad taste to fall in love with a mortal woman.
The spell Kane had cast behind the Curtain of Dreams had held for three thousand years. Which meant he had plenty of punch—and he’d just given her a good hard shot to remind her that he was watching. He’d slipped into her head and pulled her into one of her own fantasies. How long? she wondered, hugging herself for warmth. How long had she been lying there, naked, helpless, out of her own body?
It was dark now, fully dark, and she switched on the light for fear of what might wait in the shadows. But the room was empty. She was alone in it, just as she’d been alone on that illusion of beach.
At the hard rap on her front door the scream started building again. She clutched a hand to her throat to trap it and all but sprinted to the door.
Whoever it was, it was better than being alone.
Or so she thought until she saw Jordan.
Oh, God, not him. Not now.
“What do you want?” she snapped. “Go away. I’m busy.”
Before she could slam the door, he slapped a hand on it. “I want to talk to you about . . . What is it?” She was white as a ghost, her dark eyes enormous, and glassy with shock. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.” The shakes started up again, harder this time. “I don’t want to . . . oh, the hell with it. You’re better than nothing.”
She simply fell against him. “I’m so cold. I’m so goddamn cold.”
He scooped her right off her feet, then booted the door shut behind him. “Couch or bed?”
“Couch. I’ve got the shakes. I can’t stop.”
“Okay. It’s okay.” He sat, kept her cradled in his lap as he tugged the throw off the back of the couch. “You’ll warm up in a minute,” he comforted, and tucked the throw around her. “Just hold on to me.”
He rubbed her back, her arms, then just wrapped his o
wn arms around her and banked on body heat to do the rest. “Why are you wet?”
“I was in the tub. Then I wasn’t. I don’t know how it works.” Her hand was fisted in his jacket, kneading there as she fought to steady herself. “The son of a bitch got inside my head. You don’t even know it’s happening, it just does. I’m not going to make any sense for a couple more minutes.”
“It’s okay. I think I’m following you.” His stroking hands bumped the band that tied her hair up. Without thinking, he slipped it off, combed his fingers through. “It was Kane? He was here?”
“I don’t know.” Exhausted, she laid her head against his chest. She had her breath back at least. It no longer felt as if a hand was squeezing her racing heart. “Like I said, I don’t know how it works. I wanted to take a bath, relax.”
To give her something else to think about, he deliberately sniffed her neck. “You smell terrific. Tasty. What is that?”
“Mango. Cut it out.” But she made no attempt to get off his lap. “I did the bubble bath routine. Lit candles, got my bath book. It’s got a Caribbean setting—the book, so that’s why the mango and Buffett. I put a Jimmy Buffett CD on.”
She was rambling, but he let her talk it out.
“So, I’m settling in—hot bubbles, Buffett, beer and book. The book’s a romantic thriller, nice fast pace, sharp dialogue. The scene I’m reading was from the heroine’s viewpoint, during one of her breathers. She’s on the terrace of her room at this tropical resort, that’s actually a front for . . . Never mind, not important.”
She closed her eyes, soothed by the steady stroking of his hand over her hair. “So she’s standing there, looking out at the water. You’ve got the surf, the breeze, gulls. The writer paints a good picture, so I’m seeing it.
“Then I’m not just seeing it in my head, in the words on the page. But I don’t even realize everything shifted, that I’m inside the image in my own head. That’s the scariest part. You don’t know.”
She rubbed her hands over her face. “I’ve got to get up.” She tossed the throw aside and stood, then as an afterthought tightened the loose belt of her robe. “I was on the beach. Not just thinking about the beach, not just seeing it. I was there. I could smell the water, and flowers. Lilies, there were pots of white lilies. Didn’t seem the least bit strange that I was all of a sudden walking over the sand, feeling the sun, the breeze. My feet are bare, my toes are painted, I’m tanned and I’m wearing this long silk thing, just a wrap. I can feel it fluttering around my legs.”
“I bet you looked terrific.”
She glanced over at him, and for the first time since he’d come in, the dimples winked into her cheeks. “You’re trying to keep me from freaking again.”
“That’s a definite yes, but I still bet you looked terrific.”
“Sure I did. It was my fantasy. My own, personal tropical island. Perfect weather, blue sea, white sand, and solitude. I was even thinking, as I walked the beach, how foolish I’d been to ever worry about responsibilities. I could do or have anything I wanted.”
“What did you want, Dane?”
“At that moment? Just to be alone, I guess, not to worry about anything. Not to think how upset I was that the evil Joan had manipulated me out of a job I really loved, and how I’m a little scared about starting Act Two of the Life of Dana.”
“That’s human. That’s normal.”
“It is.” She glanced back at him—big, handsome Jordan Hawke watching her with those deep blue eyes. He understood she wasn’t looking for meaningless words of comfort or sympathy.
“It is,” she repeated, as soothed by his understanding as she’d been by his hands. “I walked toward this grove of palm and fruit trees. I picked a mango. I could taste it,” she paused, touching her fingers to her lips. “Basically, I just walked along thinking, boy, this is the life. But it wasn’t the life, it wasn’t my life. And it’s not what I want, not really.”
She came back to the couch, afraid her legs might go weak again when she told the rest. “That’s the thought that came into my head—and then I heard voices. Off in the distance, but familiar. And I thought, this isn’t real. It’s just a trick. That’s when it happened. Oh, God.” As her chest tightened again, she pressed her fists between her breasts. “Oh, God.”
“Easy now.” He closed his hands over hers, squeezing lightly until she met his eyes. “Take your time.”
“Storm came in. That’s a mild word for it. When I realized it wasn’t real, the world went to hell. Wind, rain, dark, and the cold. Jesus, Jordan, it was so cold. I starting running. I knew I had to get away, because I wasn’t alone after all. He was there, and he was coming for me. I got back to the beach, but the ocean was insane. Walls of black water, fifty, sixty feet high. I fell. I felt him over me, around me. That cold. And the pain. Horrible, tearing pain.”
Her voice was breaking. She couldn’t stop it. “He was ripping out my soul. I knew I’d rather face anything but that, so I jumped into the sea.”
“Come here. Come here, you’re shaking again.” He gathered her close.
“I woke up, or came back, whatever it is. In the tub, strangling for air. The bathwater had gone cold. I don’t know how long I’d been out of it, Jordan. I don’t know how long he had me.”
“He didn’t have you. He didn’t,” he insisted when she shook her head. Gently, he eased her back so he could see her face. “A part of you, that’s all. He can’t get the whole, because he can’t see the whole. A fantasy, like you said. That’s how he works. And he can’t push you into it so deep that a part of your mind doesn’t surface again and question. And know.”
“Maybe not. But he sure knows how to go for the gut. I’ve never been that scared.”
“Once you move past that into pissed-off, you’ll feel better.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I want a drink,” she decided and pushed away from him.
“You want water?” He realized she was coming back fast when the question had her curling her lip at him.
“I want a beer. I never had my bath beer.” She rose, seemed to hesitate. “You want one?”
Still watching her, he laid his fingers on his own wrist as if checking for a pulse. “Yeah.”
He liked the way she snickered at him before she walked away. It was a normal sound, a Dana sound. There’d been nothing normal in the way she’d collapsed on him.
If he hadn’t come by . . . but he had, he reminded himself. He was here, she wasn’t alone. And she’d gotten through it.
He got to his feet, took his first real look around her place. Pure Dana, he thought. Strong color, comfortable furniture, and books.
He wandered after her, leaned on the wall. More books, he noted. Who but Dana would keep Nietzsche in the kitchen? “First time I’ve been in your place.”
She kept her back to him as she opened two beers. “You wouldn’t have gotten in this time if I hadn’t been wigged.”
“Despite that lack of welcome, I like it. Suits you, Stretch. And because it does, I don’t suppose you’d consider bunking at Flynn’s for the next little while. I can take my stuff over to Brad’s and hang there if that’s a factor.”
She turned back slowly. “Are you being accommodating because I was hysterical?”
“I’m being accommodating because I want you to feel safe. To be safe.”
“No need to put yourself out.”
“I care about you.” He shifted, blocking her exit before she could move past him. There was a quick flash of rage over his face, almost as quickly banked.
Where had that been hiding? she wondered. And how did he tuck it away again?
“I care, Dana. Just for a minute, one damn minute, set aside the way things ended up. We cared about each other, and if you’d feel safer at Flynn’s, I’ll get out of your way.”
“All the way back to New York?”
His mouth thinned as he took one of the bottles out of her hands. “No.”
Maybe it was unfair to pok
e and prod at him. But what the hell did she care about fair when it came to Jordan? “I wouldn’t feel safer at Flynn’s—with or without you around. In spite of my condition when you knocked on the door, I can take care of myself. I did take care of myself. I got out of it without your help. And nobody, not you, not that bastard Kane, is going to run me out of my own apartment.”
“Well.” He took a sip of beer. “I see you’ve moved to the pissed-off stage of tonight’s entertainment.”
“I don’t like being manipulated. He used my own thoughts against me, and you’re using old feelings. We cared about each other?” she shot out. “Maybe we did, but remember, that’s past tense. If you want to be such a nice guy and get out of my way, then get out of it now. You’re crowding me.”
“I’ve got things to say to you, and if I’ve got to block you in to get you to hear them, then that’s the way it is. I didn’t know you loved me. I don’t know what it would have changed, I just know it would’ve changed . . . something. Just like I know I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t smart enough or steady enough.”
“You were smart and steady enough to do what you wanted.”
“That’s exactly right.” With his eyes locked on hers, he nodded. “I was self-absorbed, broody, and restless. What the hell did you want with me, anyway?”
“You idiot.” Because she’d lost her taste for it, she set the beer aside. “You’ve just described the sort of guy every girl falls for at least once. Then you add those whiffs of recklessness, the brain, the looks, and the chemistry, and I didn’t have a chance. How can you make a living writing about people when you don’t understand half of them?”
When she tried to push past him, he took her arm. The look she sent him could have melted steel. “Buy a clue, Hawke. I said girls fall for once. Girls generally evolve into smart and steady women who put away the childish things like self-absorbed assholes.”
“That’s good. I prefer women.” He put his beer on the counter. “I’ve always preferred you.”
“Do you think that makes my heart go pitty-pat?”
“Not yours, Stretch. But this might.”
He caught her face in his free hand, allowed himself the perverse pleasure of seeing her fury leap out of her eyes, then covered her mouth with his.