Haven

by Celia Breslin

  He gave me a wave and his patented don’t-worry-be-happy grin. I waved back and gave him an appreciative once-over. He epitomized the cute California boy with his tan and muscular body, shoulder-length, white-blond hair, and sky blue eyes, but his clothes were all business. Custom-made Italian suits were de rigueur for my partner, and today he wore a dark navy pin stripe with a light blue shirt. No tie. Impeccable and striking. At five-eight, he stood an inch taller than me—without my current super heels, that is—but his confident attitude made him appear taller. He was super smart, too. Our thriving club attested to his cleverness.

  I nodded at the security guards who parted to let him inside. He kissed my cheeks, hands gliding along my bare arms. “Hey, babe.”

  I relaxed at his touch. “Hey, yourself. What are you doing here?”

  His lips curled upward. “Would you believe me if I said I came for the art?”

  I rolled my eyes. “As if.” His presence meant networking with the suits, or prowling for cute playmates. I put my money on the latter. “Trolling for fling material?”

  His grin widened. “Aw, babe, you know I’m only here for you.”

  “Ha. Don’t even go there, Adrian.”

  A seductive chuckle accompanied soft kisses planted on my hand. His eyes rolled up to watch my reaction.

  Sexy man. “You look totally hot today.”

  “Thanks, babe.” He stopped the lip service—much to my disappointment—and released me. “Mark and Ren are right outside.” He motioned at the hall. “They told me what happened.”

  “You mean the witch thing?”

  The humor drained from his face. “Yeah, about that.”

  I raised a brow.

  “I think I know the witch who attacked you.”

  I crossed my arms. “Oh?”

  “I think it was Tiffany, this girl I dallied with, recently.” He ran a hand through his hair.

  “Tiffany?” I smirked. “Of course, Witch Barbie is a Tiffany. And since when do you boff witches? Especially criminal ones?”

  “That’s the thing. The Tiffany I know is a high-end wedding or event planner or something.”

  “Or something? I see you two talked a lot,” I scoffed.

  “Seriously, Rina, she’s totally upscale. Drives a Porsche. Lives in a swanky condo downtown. I had no idea she was so...”

  “Insane?”

  He gave me a rueful nod. “Guess I shouldn’t have told her about you.”

  Ignoring the pang of jealousy, I focused on the important bit. “What about me, exactly?”

  “That we’re exclusive.”

  “We’re not exclusive.”

  He rubbed my arm. “Yes, but when I told her—”

  “You mean when you lied to her.”

  “But I could be exclusive with you.” He trailed a knuckle down my cheek.

  I rolled my eyes. “Dream on, player.”

  “I could try.” He batted his pretty blue eyes, making me laugh.

  “You?” I bopped his chest. “Stop using me as your break-up excuse or I’ll kick your butt from here to Italy, capisci?”

  He grinned, a quick flash of white teeth against his dark tan. “Message received.”

  “Good.” I snaked my arm through his and nudged us toward the doorway. “Now go get your flirty groove on, ’cause I know you want to.” And I wanted to find my other friends.

  We stepped into the busy hall. The crowd around us meandered toward the café where a classical guitar quartet would soon perform. Mark hovered nearby, his attention on me, while Ren leaned over a giggling, lanky legged skirt. One of his hands rested on the wall above her blonde head, the other played with a strand of her stick-straight hair. Despite the distraction, his Rina radar still worked because he caught my stare and nodded.

  Adrian stroked my arms. “I am sorry about Tiffany.”

  His touch pleased me, as usual. “Apology accepted. Honestly, I think the fact you had a one or two-night stand with her is just a bizarre coincidence. There’s some bigger danger in play here. According to Faith and Lorenzo, anyway.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  Knowledge flickered in his eyes, secret knowledge, but I didn’t feel like pursuing it. “Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s my birthday, dammit, and so far it has been a whole lot of not fun.”

  “Aw, babe, happy birthday.”

  He leaned in for a kiss, but I pressed my hand against his mouth. I liked kissing him, but not in public with paparazzi lurking everywhere. I refused to give them a show.

  Touching his lips was my mistake. He nipped my fingertips and his tongue darted out to lick and tease. A twinge of need awakened in my core.

  “Don’t, Adrian.” My treacherous body swayed toward his. “I have to go now.” My voice sounded breathy and unconvincing. He curved his free hand around my waist, drawing me closer to take advantage of his small victory.

  Turn around.

  I froze, my moment of weakness chased away by a jolt of adrenaline. I resisted Adrian’s pull. “Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  Silence.

  “Nothing, I guess.” A wave of energy rolled into me, curled itself possessively around my body, and gave me one hell of a head rush. “Oh, wow.” I bit my lip, bracing against reaction.

  Adrian tightened his grip on my waist. “Rina?”

  Mark and Ren stalked over, faces grim.

  “Did—? Do you—?” My mouth was so dry I could barely speak. “Do you guys feel that?”

  Adrian squeezed, capturing my wandering attention, concern etched in the stern set of his jaw. “Feel what? What’s wrong?”

  I started to tell them the Invisible Man hugged me against an electrified fence, but a second wave of energy bowled into me, making me tingle from head to toe. The sensation walked the line between pleasure and pain. A moan escaped me.

  Mark took me from Adrian. “That’s it. We’re out of here.” He tried to pick me up, but I shook my head. Bad idea. Dizziness took the hall, and me, for a little spin.

  Turn around. Turn. Around.

  Was it a voice or instinct urging me on? Either way, the desire proved irresistible. I pulled away from Mark, pivoted, and forgot how to breathe.

  The electric energy pulled back. The dizziness abated. All extraneous noise and people drained out of my perception until there was only Him.

  Tall, fit, and bad-boy handsome with skin like pale honey, his thick, walnut brown hair hung tousled in a sexy, I-just-got-out-of-bed way. A hip, black, button-down shirt accentuated a sculpted upper body before it tucked into slacks painted on long, lean legs. The whole package made my mouth water.

  Hot. Yummy. Totally my type.

  “Who are you?” I whispered.

  His mouth twitched in a hint of a smile as if he heard me—impossible given the distance between us. Heat spread, loosening my muscles, and my pulse sped up. Nerves. What’s wrong with me? Guys never made me nervous, not even gorgeous ones.

  I nibbled my lower lip, mind racing to make sense of my reaction. His gaze tracked the movement then slid back up. The heat from his stare hit me full force, driving a shaft of need through me. Energy rocked me again, a warm, electric breeze bathing my skin. My eyes widened in comprehension. The energy came from him.

  Mark gripped my arm, ending my staring contest with the hot stranger. “We’re out of here,” he repeated, his posture stiff and screaming hostility toward the stranger.

  Did he feel the power, too? I doubted it. My gut said it was all for me. “No, it’s cool. I’m okay.”

  Mark remained unconvinced, but released me. I sought more Hot Guy TV, only to discover Lorenzo blocked my way, a huge scowl marring his handsome face.

  “Stay here.” His command, laced with pure steel, grated on my already over-sensitized nerves.

  Big brother overkill. I rolled my eyes, uninterested in playing. “Not you, too. I’m fine.” I sidestepped to catch a glimpse of Hot Guy before Lorenzo crowded me again. We performed the sidestep d
ance twice more. I stopped, hands on hips. “Cut it out, Lorenzo.”

  “Stay here.” His tone brooked no argument. Well, unless you were his feisty little sister.

  I stepped into him as quickly as my heels would allow, forcing him to back up. I darted around him but came to an abrupt halt.

  My stunning, magnetic bad boy had company now, and the guy standing next to him in a gorgeous gray designer suit caused my brain to wage a weird tug-of-war with itself. I know that guy, no I don’t, yes I do, no I don’t, oh yes I do, oh no I don’t.

  Prep-school handsome with wholesome, short blond hair, the new guy’s face begged to grace the cover of Nice Guy Magazine. He dealt me a dazzling smile while raising a hand in front of my guy’s chest. A not-so-subtle command to stay put.

  My stomach knotted. This man, with his good looks and trust-me expression, pushed my stranger danger button—hard. I didn’t like his too-perfect face, the apparent power over my hot guy, or the way his green eyes said he knew me, body and soul.

  Wait. How do I know his eye color? Too far away to see…

  I know him. “No.” I shook my head, trying to deny my gut instinct.

  “Cazzo,” Lorenzo cursed. “Adrian. Keep her here. Right here.” The two men exchanged a we’ve-got-a-secret look.

  Adrian slipped his hand into mine and gave it a little squeeze, meant to be reassuring, but I wasn’t buying, nor were Mark and Ren. They hovered on high alert, bodies primed for battle, gaze flitting from my brother and Adrian to the two strangers across the way.

  “Lorenzo, do you know those guys?” My gaze latched onto my bad boy. His hungry eyes called me. I took a step in his direction. Anticipation flitted across his face and my stomach clenched, longing for him. Adrian and my brother pulled me back.

  “What’s wrong with you guys?” I hissed.

  Lorenzo adjusted his suit jacket, though it was already perfect. “Per favore, Carina, for once in your life, do as I say. You do need to meet, but I hadn’t planned for it to be here. I didn’t expect them both—”

  He broke off, hand fisting. Worry passed through his brown eyes. “Wait here. I mean it.”

  He gave Adrian a hard look and stalked off to join the other men.

  I started to follow, but Adrian spoke up. “Don’t do it, babe.”

  I rounded on him. “What’s going on with you and my brother? And those guys?”

  Adrian shrugged, avoiding my questions and gaze.

  “Why don’t you want me to go over there?” Not that I wanted to go near the green-eyed devil, but the other one? Definitely.

  I pivoted and scanned the hall. My handsome bad boy was gone. “Damn. Where did he go?”

  “Where did who go?”

  My jaw dropped. “Are you seriously going to pretend there wasn’t another guy over there? A super hot guy checking me out? And throwing some freaky—” and orgasmic “—power my way?”

  Adrian ran a hand through his hair and over his mouth. “Look, Rina, I—”

  He froze, face blank.

  “Adrian?” I snapped my fingers in front of his face. No reaction. Empty blue eyes. I grabbed his shoulders and shook. “Adrian.”

  No response.

  Mark and Ren stood frozen, too, eyes glazed and vacant.

  Heart pounding, I made a one-eighty, searching for the source of the spell because it had to be magic, what else? I half expected Tiffany, though I knew the police detained her. I spotted the security guards, a couple of art lovers, and a server with a tray of champagne glasses, all immobile. Living statues.

  This is bad. I made a beeline for my brother, who argued with Mr. Preppy judging by my brother’s many sharp hand gestures. “Lorenzo.”

  He took one look at my worried face and surveyed the hall. His expression darkened. “Dammit, Thomas, don’t do this.” He strode over and hugged me. “Sorellina,” he murmured. “Mi dispiace di non avertelo detto prima.”

  Again, his loving display stunned me. I stepped out of his embrace. “I don’t understand. What’s happening? Why are you apologizing? Did you do this?”

  “No.”

  I gestured at the stranger my head told me wasn’t a stranger at all. “Did he mess with my friends? And those other people?”

  “Carina...”

  “He did, didn’t he? Shit, he’s a warlock.” It explained the Popsicle People. Hands clenched into fists, I stalked up to him. My plan was simple. Knock out warlock, break spell. Easy.

  I rushed him and swung a hard and fast right cross at his jaw. In my mind, I scored a KO but in reality, I hit air. I spun around to spot him several feet away in the Italian gallery entryway.

  He raised a champagne bottle. “Come, cara mia. Vieni qui.” He disappeared into the gallery in a superhuman blur of speed. The unnatural movement startled me, but not enough to deter my anger.

  Yeah, I would come, but first, “Gun. I need a gun.”

  Mark and Ren were armed. Given their current state of gone-fishin’, they wouldn’t miss their weapons.

  Lorenzo shook his head. “No guns. He’s not a warlock and he won’t hurt you.” He gestured at the gallery but I refused to budge.

  “No one can move that fast. That’s not normal. We need weapons.”

  “Trust me, sorellina.”

  I brushed off the calming hand he placed on my shoulder. “Only if you tell me your security goons have this place surrounded.”

  “We don’t need protection,” Lorenzo insisted. “Well, not from him. My men will ensure our privacy, though.”

  “But wait, what about my boys?” I couldn’t leave them vulnerable.

  “Don’t worry.” Lorenzo whistled and several men in black swarmed the area, taking charge of my ice cube friends and the frosty bystanders.

  I acquiesced. “Fine. Let’s go kick some preppy butt.”

  ~ * ~

  Thomas awaited us by a large wall plaque reading The Tranquilli Collection and the several paintings my reclusive uncle Maurizio had donated from his estate in Italy. Interesting location choice. Clearly intentional.

  “Champagne?” Thomas offered two glasses.

  I ignored him and stalked around a marble bench to put some distance between us. Thomas might have clean-cut, boy-next-door good looks, but so did a lot of serial killers. And his ability to freeze people was straight up bad news.

  I gave the man my best don’t-fuck-with-me glare. He flashed an audacious smile and his eerie green eyes glinted with amusement. The grin highlighted his sculpted cheeks and dimpled chin. I noticed the pallor of his skin—as pale as me and smooth, like he’d never grown any facial hair.

  Lorenzo took the flutes from Thomas and passed one to me. “Carina, this is Thomas. Thomas Ward.”

  “Yeah, you said that. Wait, did you say Ward? As in W-T?” That explained his familiarity but didn’t explain his evil super power and why he’d used it on my friends.

  “Yes, and—” Lorenzo downed half his champagne. A fascinating and uncharacteristic display of nerves.

  “And what?” I gestured to Thomas. “Why are we here with this guy?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  I quirked my brows, not feeling like story time while my guys were frozen man dolls and Hot Guy was around somewhere… “Make it a short one.”

  “I can’t do that, sorellina.”

  “Stop calling me little sister,” I grumbled, my patience for chitchat dissipating fast.

  “Just listen—”

  “You’re not saying anything.”

  “If you’d calm down for a second—”

  I huffed. “Calm down? Easy for you to say. You haven’t been attacked by a witch, bullied by your big brother, and accosted by a wizard, all in one day.”

  “He’s not a—”

  I raised a hand. “Don’t want to hear it.”

  Thomas observed our inability to communicate, a bemused expression on his preptastic face. I stabbed an accusing finger in his general direction. “And you. I’d like to say it was nice to meet you, but
I’d be lying. Take your hex off my friends. Then we’re done here.”

  He laughed. The sound of his delight raised the fine hairs on my arms. “Oh no, cara mia. This is the beginning, or rather, the exciting middle. Would you like to see how it all began?”

  Great. Cryptic talk. My favorite.

  I placed my glass on the marble bench. I didn’t have time for this. “Okay, Mister Crazy, I’m leaving now. You fix my boys.”

  Thomas flashed perfect white teeth. “Ah, little one, how I have missed your fire.” Smooth as silk, his voice caressed my arms, a tangible touch of power I ignored, more interested in his words.

  “What do you mean you’ve missed me? I don’t know you. I don’t.”

  Faulty memory.

  I shook my head to derail the thought and backed away. Thomas moved in a blur of speed, reappearing before me. Startled by his sudden movement, I tottered on my heels. He grasped my elbows to steady me. When I tried to extricate myself, he tightened his grip.

  My heart rate skyrocketed. Bone-crushing strength. He was unnaturally strong.

  I forgot every bit of my self-defense training. “Let go.” Fear left my palms sweaty and my voice raspy.

  He shook his head. “You know me, cara mia, and I you—better than you know yourself at the moment. But we shall remedy that soon enough.”

  My heart skipped a beat and Lorenzo protested. “Thomas. Don’t. Not like this.”

  Lost in his green gaze, I couldn’t move.

  “Admit it. You feel our connection.” His demand rang like a chime, triggering feelings with no memories to attach themselves to.

  “No.” Oh yes I do, oh no I don’t, oh yes I do. My head hurt, the pain magnified by his cold fingers digging into my arms.

  Thomas’s laugh held no humor. “I think you do. But let us start with the others. Look, little one. Look upon your family.”

  He guided me to a specific painting of a young, happy couple in evening attire. Bronzed and tall, like my brothers, with the same regal cheekbones and proud Roman nose, thick, ash brown hair and milk chocolate eyes. My parents looked nothing like me, but I recognized them.

  “Tell me what you see.” The order in his tone rang clear in the gallery.

  I bristled and refused to speak. Hate bullies.