Читать книгу Daughter of the Spellcaster - Maggie Shayne - Страница 8

Lena ran into Bill Bennet, her former boss, outside the cathedral under bright sunny skies. Manhattan winters were so different from winters anywhere else in New York State. No snow on the ground here, though sometimes there was, and it rarely lasted long. The temps ran ten degrees higher than they did outside the city, because heat radiated from the pavement and was held in by the buildings and the smog, and Lena had always thought still more was generated by all the bodies, all the machines, all the frenetic human energy. Today it was warm even for January in New York City, maybe forty degrees on the sidewalk outside the cathedral.

Bill was standing in one of those little huddles of humanity that always form outside funerals. People leaning close, all dressed in dark colors, speaking in low tones about what a shame it was and how the family was doing, and who else had died in recent memory. There was never a positive conversation at a funeral. It was all about death and dying and mourning and loss, insurance and health and diseases and accidents. It put her head right into the frame of mind to attract something she did not want.

Lena hated funerals.

But not as much as she hated seeing the stunned looks on people’s faces when they got their first glimpse of her midsection, which looked roughly like an over-inflated beach ball, minus the stripes.

Bill saw her face, started to smile underneath his gray-with-a-lingering-ginger mustache but then froze when his gaze found her belly. It was comical, in a way, or would have been if the belly had been attached to anyone besides her. His blue eyes went wide, and he walked right up to her, hugged her and said, “So that’s why you left.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Are you—I mean, is the father—”

“I’m doing this alone. That’s the way I want it, Bill.” She patted his back twice, the international signal for “this hug is about to cross the boundary from friendly to awkward,” and he let go and backed a step away.

“You look wonderful,” she said before he could continue on the topic of her pregnancy. “Better than before the heart attack, honestly. You’ve lost weight.”

“Thirty pounds.” There was pride in his voice. And then he was going on about his new diet, and having given up alcohol, cigarettes and mayonnaise.

She listened, because she was not only polite but truly interested in how her former boss was doing. But she still glanced back toward the ornate doors of St. Pat’s whenever she could manage it without being rude, and on the third such peek she spotted Ryan. He hadn’t seen her yet, and she scooted around to Bill’s other side so he wouldn’t. She just wasn’t ready to see his reaction to her baby bump. Not yet. Not there.

She guessed there would be no hiding it at the graveside, but she felt she had to go. And really, she couldn’t keep it from him forever. Had never intended to. Just… well, the more time she had let slide past, the easier it had become not to call. And now there she was, and there he was, and it was time. Past time.

“Do you mind if I ride with you to the cemetery?” she asked Bill, cutting him off in mid-cholesterol count.

“Well, of course not. We’re parked back here.” He put a hand at the small of her back and steered her further away from the cathedral, thank goodness, and around a corner. It was going to be a long ride to the cemetery, she thought, as he began listing off the others from the firm, and the spouses of same, who were riding in the stretch limo they’d hired for the occasion. The thing was huge, and there was definitely room for one more.

She eased herself into the vehicle, and spent the next forty-five minutes catching up with former co-workers and trying to describe her new life in a way that didn’t sound painfully boring to them. And it was boring, really. Utterly tranquil, filled with peaceful bliss. Lonely, of course, but she had her mom. And aside from that loneliness and the odd presence they referred to as their house ghost and who was, they’d decided, harmless, their lives were perfect. Besides, Lena figured the loneliness would be gone the minute the baby arrived, so…

Yes, she thought, it was a long ride to the cemetery.

But not long enough.

She stood behind a crowd of people, wearing a capestyle coat, and holding her purse, brown knit beret-style hat, matching scarf and leather gloves in front of her belly.

It was roughly like a bear trying to hide behind a dandelion, but trying was automatic. Ryan was up front, near the graveside, which was clearly a hole in the ground even though it was decorated in an effort to keep it from looking like one. The shiny brass frame that held the casket was draped in fabric. But nothing could hide the fact that it covered a rectangular pit in the dirt.

As the priest spoke, Lena caught Ryan looking for her, his probing eyes scanning the crowd as she tried to shrink into herself. Eventually he spotted her, as she had known he would. Their eyes met, and just like that her heart flipped in her chest. Was he really more beautiful than he’d been before? Was she really that hungry just for the sight of him? Emotions started hurling themselves, like rampaging waters demanding release, against the floodgates that had been keeping them where they belonged for the seven months since she’d left him. Her eyes filled with tears and some of them leaked through. Pregnancy hormones, she told herself. Damn them.

She shifted sideways, breaking the eye contact and silencing those raging waters inside her—for the moment. There was a chest-high tombstone right beside her, and she moved to stand behind it. But all too soon the mourners were filing forward one by one, shaking Ryan’s hand, wishing him well. Some threw dirt. Some laid flowers on top of the shining wood of the casket.

Lena didn’t get into the line. She stayed where she was, feeling trapped. The shielding crowd of bodies around her had dissipated. If she stepped into the open, she would be fully exposed to Ryan’s eyes. So, like a coward, she stayed where she was and just waited.

And soon they were all gone. Even the priest. Bahru met her eyes and gave her a silent nod, and then he, too, went to a waiting car.

The only car left was clearly Ryan’s. A sporty little black thing that she had no idea how to identify. He ignored it, brushed the dirt from his hands and came closer. Lena leaned her folded hands on the tombstone, as if that would explain why she was still standing behind it, when she knew it wouldn’t. She just looked dumb. But soon enough he would understand why.

“I’m really glad you came.” Blinding sunlight streamed from the January sky. There was only a little snow in the cemetery, tufts and puffs clinging to the shadowy places. The rest of the ground was sticky with mud, more like spring than late winter.

“Of course I came. I loved him.”

A corner of his mouth pulled upward. “He loved you, too.”

He’d lost weight, she thought. There were harsher angles to his face now. As if he’d been sick, maybe, or just getting over the flu. And she noticed, too, that his whiskers were coming in. Ryan had a beard that just wanted to grow. Every morning he shaved, and every night he looked like he hadn’t bothered.

She’d loved that about him. By midnight those bristles were just the right length to give her chills when they rasped over her skin in bed.

Her heart skipped; her belly tightened.

“Are you coming to the mansion?”

He was getting closer, taking a few steps, then stopping as if he expected her to move toward him, looking more and more puzzled that she didn’t.

“For the reception?” she asked, knowing that wasn’t the right term but thinking there wasn’t one. Food, alcohol, stories about the deceased, traditional post-funeral activities… what did you call that? “I don’t think so.”

She didn’t want to put herself through the pretense, much less parade her belly around for the world to see and wonder about, maybe even ask about—at least the rude among them.

What she wanted to do was to rush into Ryan’s arms. At the same time she wanted to run away without giving him a glimpse of her belly or an answer to what had to be his countless unasked questions.

She didn’t do either. She just stood there.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t want to go, either.”

“Then don’t go. You need to take care of yourself first.” It was automatic, that answer.

Ryan smiled softly. “I’ve missed those affirmations of yours. Your positive-thinking tips of the day, I used to call them. You always seemed to have one for every occasion.”

“And you always thought they were cute but useless.”

“Or so I said at the time. Truth is, they stuck with me. I’ve even put a few of them into practice.”

“Oh yeah? And how’s it going so far?”

He shrugged. “I guess I ran out. I’ve been wondering what you’d say about today, about how I’m supposed to deal with things. I couldn’t come up with anything for this.”

She drew a deep breath. “Try to find something to focus on that feels just a little bit better. Try to do whatever will help you feel a little bit of relief. If you don’t want to go to the gathering at your father’s mansion, then don’t go.”

“That wouldn’t look very good.”

“Ryan, since when do you care how things look to other people? You drove your own car today instead of riding in a limo, for heaven’s sake.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “That’s a good point. But what about my father?” He turned to look at the casket as he asked the question. “Wouldn’t he expect me to be there?”

“Right now, Ryan, your father understands everything. He’s at complete peace, at complete oneness. He’s achieved enlightenment and would no more put any expectations on you than he would… jump out of that box and dance a jig. He’s not there, Ryan. He’s in bliss. He’s with your mom. And they both understand everything you ever did, felt or thought, and it’s okay. It’s all okay.”

“That’s good. That actually helps a little.”

“I’m glad.”

“Anything else? Other bits of witchy wisdom for the infidel to try?”

“Yeah. When the things that have your attention are very bad, the be-all and end-all solution is to get distracted.”

He stared at her, even tried for a lecherous leer. “Are you… offering to distract me?”

“Yeah, just not in the way you think.” She drew a deep breath and stepped out from behind the headstone. She had unbuttoned her coat, so her belly was in plain sight.

“Son of a—”

“Or daughter. I didn’t let them tell me. But I’m pretty sure she’s a girl.”

He was dead silent, just staring at her belly. Then, all at once, his expression changed, and she knew he was asking himself the obvious question and doing the math in his head, counting how many months since she had left.

And then his head came up and he stared into her eyes. “Is it mine?”

“Yeah.”

He gaped, then clamped his mouth shut, looked up at the sky, clapped a hand to his forehead, turned in a complete circle and faced her again. “My God, Lena. My God, why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Do you really need to ask me that?”

He frowned at her. “Uh, yeah. I really need to ask you that.”

She said, “Think about it, Ryan. Think about our last night together and then ask me why I didn’t tell you.” Suddenly she realized how pointless this discussion was, that they were never going to see their way across the chasm between them. She yanked out her cell phone and flipped it open.

“Who are you calling?”

“A taxi. It’s not like I can flag one down out here in the middle of nowhere, is it?”

“I’ll drive you back.” He lowered his eyes to her belly again, shaking his head in bewilderment. “It’ll give us time to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Ryan. It is what it is, and trust me when I tell you, I don’t want, need or expect anything from you. I can do this alone.”

“Well, that’s fine, but I get some say in this, don’t I?”

“You had your say already.”

“Bullshit.”

Angry, and knowing she shouldn’t be—he had every right to be upset—she accepted defeat and walked toward the car, pulling her coat closed and doing up the buttons on the way. She was wearing flats, but the ground was wet. She was almost there when her foot slid on a patch of slick mud and she started going down, her arms flailing like some cartoon character.

He was behind her instantly and caught her before she fell, so she landed against his chest, with his arms around her above her beach ball and below her boobs. He stayed that way for a second, his palms turning to rest on top of her belly, and her helpful progeny chose that moment to kick hard, three rapid-fire, Jackie Chan-worthy thrusts directly where his hands were.

Automatically she looked up at his face for his reaction to what he’d just felt and then wished she hadn’t. Because his expression went from stunned to rapturous in the space of a heartbeat, and when he met her eyes again his were wide and delighted, like a little kid on Christmas morning.

She understood it. When she had first felt the baby kick, that was the moment when the whole thing took on a new level of… of realness. Up until then she’d thought of the baby more as a concept than a reality. But once it had kicked, it was real. That’s when it became a she—or he, she admitted, but probably she—wiggling around inside her body, just waiting to come out.

Ryan’s smile was the biggest, most genuine smile Lena had ever seen.

Okay, kid, she thought, good call. You made him smile on the day he buried his dad, so I guess it was worth it.

His smile died as he stared into her eyes, and his expression softened. “Are you okay?” he asked, straightening her up again but keeping one arm around her shoulders as they turned toward the car.

“Yeah, fine. I didn’t fall.”

“I mean—I mean, you know… overall? You’ve been pregnant for…”

“Almost eight months now. And yes, I’m fine, and the baby is, too. Healthy. Growing like a weed.”

“I’m glad.” He opened the passenger door and stood holding it while she got in, then went around to get behind the wheel while she fastened the seat belt in what had become her customary fashion, with the lap belt behind her, and the shoulder harness across her chest.

He started the engine and pulled the vehicle into motion, glancing at her as she buckled up with a puzzled frown. “When is the baby due?”

“Thirteen days past Imbolc.”

He frowned in confusion.

“Sorry. Mid-February. I’m calling her my little groundhog.”

He shot her a look. “‘Her’ again. What makes you so sure it’s a girl?”

She was surprised at the line of questioning. He actually sounded interested. “Well, like I said, I haven’t let the doctor tell me that for sure. But I have my own feelings about her, and I think she’s a girl.”

“Where have you been living?”

It was her turn to frown. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you vanished. The firm said you resigned. Your building manager said you’d opted not to renew the lease on your apartment. Your mother sold her place in Brooklyn—”

“You looked for me?”

“Of course I looked for you.”

“Huh.” That she hadn’t expected. She had kept the same cell number and he had called numerous times, but she’d chosen not to answer. And after a while he’d just stopped.

“You didn’t need to hide from me, you know.”

She sent him a quick, sharp look. “I wasn’t.”

The look he returned was an “Oh, come on now” sort of expression, as if she’d said something ridiculous.

“No, really. Bahru knew where I was the entire time. In fact, he’s the one who tipped me off about the place.”

Ryan sent her a searching look. “Bahru?”

“Yeah. I went to say goodbye to him and… and to Ernst. And as he hugged me, Bahru slipped me a note with a URL on it. Turned out to be a real estate listing. He said he had a feeling it was meant for me from the moment he’d seen the place. And when I saw it, I knew he was right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s an old vineyard near Ithaca, right on the shore of Cayuga Lake. Kind of decrepit, but we’re restoring it as we go along, and it’s just full of character. It was called Havenwood. Someday I’d like to replant the grapevines and try my hand at making wine.”

She almost added that she and her mother were convinced the place had a resident ghost, too, but decided against it. He’d never taken her beliefs seriously, and frankly, she was enjoying his interest too much to want to ruin it by eliciting his skeptical indulgence of things he didn’t understand.

“I’d love to see it,” he said.

She met his eyes but didn’t answer. Because he might be asking permission to visit, which might mean after the baby came, which might mean he was actually asking to be involved in her life. Both their lives. And she wasn’t sure she wanted that. Nor was she sure she didn’t want it. And moreover, she wasn’t sure she had the right to make that call. It was really up to her little groundhog.

In response to her silence he said, “You look tired. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. But it’s been a long day. How about you? This must have been a grueling day for you. I know how things were between you and your father. Did you ever… you know, make up?”

“We weren’t really estranged, just…”

“Cold,” she said. “Distant.”

He shrugged. “That was his choice, not mine.”

Okay, still touchy on that subject, she thought.

“I’ll be all right,” he said. “Why don’t you lean your head back. Close your eyes. We’ve got another forty minutes back to the city. Here, I’ll find something soothing.” He found a new-age station that was right up her alley—the same station she always used to tune in to during those beautiful weeks of their passionate and life-altering fling.

He remembered….

He was acting more like the prince she had mistaken him for than he ever had… in this lifetime, anyway. She took his advice and leaned her head back, closed her eyes and drifted back to the night she had first met him at that fancy-assed ball honoring his father.

It was him, it was him, it was him!

She had tried to contain her childlike enthusiasm as she stared wide-eyed at her reflection. All alone in the restroom of the posh Waldorf Astoria, she tried to come to grips with the fact that she had just met the very prince from her childhood fantasies. That vision in her mamma’s black mirror. Her prince.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lena,” she whispered to her reflection. “That was a fairy tale from childhood. A fantasy. Imagination. There’s no handsome prince, no exotic palace, no garden oasis in the desert.”

Oh, yeah? Then where the heck did she come from? she asked herself.

Because the instant she had set eyes on Ryan McNally, she had heard, very distinctly, a woman’s voice from close beside her saying “He’s the one you’ve been waiting for.” Except no one was there. Then, as she had scanned the crowd, she could have sworn she’d seen her old friend Lilia meandering through it.

She closed her eyes and concentrated. “Lilia was an imaginary friend. She was not—I repeat, was not—out there. Because she does not—I repeat, does not—exist.”

Soft laughter came from behind her. Oh, hell, she wasn’t alone in the restroom after all. She opened her eyes and stared into the mirror again—and saw Lilia standing right behind her left shoulder, all decked out in white robes like a desert angel, shoulders bare, skin like copper, hair jet-black and blowing in a non-existent breeze like a model on a magazine cover. And glowing. She was definitely… glowing.

Lena spun around, but of course there was no one there.

All right, this is ridiculous.

She pulled out her cell phone, flipped it open, hit the listing marked Mom.

“I was just going to call you,” Selma said without even a hello first. “I had the oddest feeling—”

“My imaginary friend is back, Mom.”

Selma was silent. Lena could see her as clearly as if they were on Skype, frowning and fingering her oversized pentacle the way she always did. Her mom wasn’t a broom-closet sort of woman. She was more an in-your-face witch. Or had been until they’d moved to the country. She’d been a lot more discreet since then.

“Well? Say something, will you? I’m freaking out here.”

“Where are you?” Her mother was calm, composed, like always.

“At the Waldorf Astoria. The reception for my new assignment, Ernst McNally, eccentric, world-traveling billionaire. Any of this ringing a bell, Mom?”

“Yes, of course, just calm down. Take deep, cleansing breaths. Come on, now.”

Lena nodded, closed her eyes and set the phone down. Then she inhaled nasally, raising her arms over her head, and exhaled thoroughly, lowering them in front of her body. Three times was the charm. She was calm, centered. She picked up the phone again.

“Better?” her mom asked, uncannily knowing she had returned.

“Yes.”

“Now tell me what happened.”

“I was at the reception. Chatting with Mr. McNally and his spiritual guide, a really eccentric-looking man called Bahru. Wait, I snapped a pic when he wasn’t looking.” She took the phone from her ear, located the picture and emailed it. “I like him. He’s very wise.”

“Ernst or Bahru?”

“Bahru. Ernst seems more sad and searching than wise.”

“Oh, got the pic,” her mother said. “Wow, he is eccentric-looking. He wore that to the Waldorf Astoria?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Lena said, seeing again the red-and-white sari-style getup. “Ernst says he wears it everywhere. And the dreadlocks are all the way to his butt.”

“Go on, what happened next?”

“Okay. Okay, this is… this is…”

“Just tell me, Lena.”

Lena nodded again. “This man came over. Ernst introduced him as his son, Ryan. I looked up at him, and—and I swear, Mom, he was the prince from that silly fantasy-vision I had when I was a little girl. You remember the one, the first time you let me try mirror-scrying?”

“The Arabian prince who was going off to war but promised to return to carry you away. How could I forget? You wrote an entire collection of storybooks about him. I didn’t let you scry again for two years. But, Lena, you do realize that was the same summer Aladdin came out, right?”

She sighed. “Yes. But there’s more. Just as I thought it couldn’t possibly be him, a woman whispered right into my ear—not my head, Mom, my ear. Out loud. ‘It’s him. The one you’ve been waiting for.’ And I turned fast, but there was no one standing there, and it was clear no one else had heard her but me.”

“Huh,” her mom said.

“So I scanned the room and I thought I saw Lilia.”

“Your imaginary friend?” Selma asked. Now she sounded worried.

“And then I came into the restroom and she was right here. Standing right behind me in the mirror, laughing.”

“Hell’s bells,” her mother whispered. “Honey, maybe you’d better come home.”

“Soon as I can. But I have to go back out there. This is my biggest assignment so far, taking over the McNally account while Bill recovers.”

“All right, then,” her mother said. “Here’s the thing. None of this sounds dire. I mean, it’s odd, but… you always insisted Lilia wasn’t imaginary. I was obviously wrong in not accepting that. She’s clearly some kind of otherworldly guide. That’s nothing to be afraid of, honey. It’s a blessing, actually. Later, when you’re alone, talk to her. See if she can tell you why she’s come. And as for Ernst’s son—”

“Ryan,” Lena said, and the name whispering from her lips sent shivers down her spine.

“Ryan. He’s in the tabloids a lot, you know. Player. Big-time player. Irresponsible, spoiled, self-centered—you know the type.”

“I do.”

“But if he’s your prince, then, baby, gird your loins and go for it.”

Lena stared into the mirror. Her wide eyes had returned to their normal size and shape. Her lips stopped quivering and pulled into a little smile. Her spine straightened. Her cleavage rocked. “You always know what to say, Mom.”

“Well, of course I do, sweetheart. It’s my job. Have a great time. Call me tomorrow.”

“I will. Thanks, Mom.”

“Blessed be, Lena.”

Lena snapped the phone closed and slid it into her handbag, then pulled out her compact and touched herself up. Then she smoothed her hair, popped a breath mint, plumped her “girls” and turned decisively to head out of the restroom.

Ryan McNally was waiting on the other side of the door.

She smiled at him. “Men’s room is over there,” she said, pointing.

“I was waiting for you.”

“I know you were.”

His brows went up. “Confidence. I like that. Would you like to get out of here?”

She smiled. “If by that you mean, would I like to go somewhere for sex, then no. But I would like to dance.”

“Dance?” He turned toward the ballroom, where the band was playing something fast, then back to her. “Can we wait for a slow one?”

“Oh, no. Slow dancing must be earned. You have to make an idiot out of yourself in public first. But don’t worry about looking bad, Ryan. Sometimes my dancing causes people to dial 9-1-1 and report a woman having convulsions.”

He laughed. He smiled, and not that suave “charm the lady’s panties off” grin he’d been wearing before. This one was real, with tiny laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes that made them seem even bluer and a flash of white teeth. He had a thick layer of beard coming in, shadowing his jawline in a way that made her stomach knot up.

“If that’s the price of a slow dance, then it’s worth paying.” He held out a hand, and she took it, and then he led her out onto the dance floor just as the band jumped from one very old song to the next: “Twist and Shout.”

“Ah, the dance gods love me tonight,” Ryan said. “Twisting I can do.”

“Shouting, too?”

“Ask me later.”

He had a twinkle in his eye, and she had to laugh, because he was clearly kidding, not hitting on her. Though maybe a little of that, too. They twisted, and she felt ridiculous, but she kept hearing her mom’s voice telling her that if he was her prince, she should go for it.

She had never gone for it with a guy in her life. But it felt like now was the time. And she thought it was working, because he seemed to be enjoying himself.

They twisted to the end of the song, and then, when he went to get them drinks and asked her to scope out a table, she chose to join his father and Bahru at theirs. Ryan didn’t look too pleased when he returned, but he tried to cover it as he put down their drinks and asked, “Dad, can I you get something? Bahru, a carrot juice or anything?”

That was slightly nasty, Lena thought. But Bahru only held up a hand and shook his head.

Ernst said, “No, I’m fine.”

Then Ryan returned his focus to her. “Lena. Is that short for anything?”

“Magdalena,” she told him.

“Magdalena.” He nodded slowly. “It’s an old-fashioned name.”

“Very. My mother said it just came to her the first time she held me, and she never questions things like that.” She leaned forward. “She’s a witch.” Normally she wouldn’t bring that up in front of a client, but she knew Ernst was a spiritual seeker. She wasn’t worried about judgment from a guy who traveled the world with a guru at his side.

“The Wiccan kind?” Ernst asked.

She nodded.

“So you were raised…?”

“Casting and conjuring since I was four,” she said.

“Delightful.” The billionaire really seemed sincere.

“You just get cuter and cuter,” Ryan said.

“One’s belief system is sacred,” Bahru said softly. “Not cute.”

She sent Ryan a “so there” lift of her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes.

“What’s your belief system, Bahru?” she asked.

“I was raised Hindi, but I have learned from countless holy men, shamans, priests, priestesses, swamis, monks, nuns and more, all around the world. I am an eclectic, I suppose.”

“That’s fascinating.”

“I have never studied with a witch,” he said. “I would love to talk with you about your path one day.”

“I’d like that, too,” she told him.

“Hey, don’t you owe me a slow dance?” Ryan asked.

She studied him. He was bored with their discussion. Strike one, she thought. But maybe he would come around, given time. “All right,” she said, getting to her feet, “but I can’t ignore the man I’m supposed to be working for tonight.” She nodded at his father.

“Consider yourself off duty, beautiful Magdalena,” Ernst said. “Enjoy the party. I think I’m going to call it a night anyway.” He rose as well. “I am very much looking forward to working with you, my dear. I’ll phone you in the morning.” He opened his arms for a hug.

The feminist part of her thought he wouldn’t be hugging a male PR person. But the rest of her was touched. She hugged him briefly, and he took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Be careful, my dear. He’s a heart-breaker, my son.”

“He’s the one who’d better be careful,” she whispered back. “I am my mother’s daughter.” She kissed him on the cheek, knowing they were going to be close, whatever happened between her and Ryan.

Then she extended a hand to Bahru. “It was lovely meeting you. I look forward to those talks.”

“As do I.” He clasped her hand in both of his and bowed over it twice.

Then she was swept into Ryan’s arms, and she forgot all about his calling witchcraft “cute,” along with his rudeness toward Bahru and apparent boredom with spiritual discourse. None of it compared in the least with the feeling that swept over her when he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and held her close. She inhaled, breathing him into her, and then closed her eyes against an inexplicable rush of dizziness, as if his aura was a drug and she had no resistance to it. Lowering her head to his chest, she let him move her around the floor as visions raced into her mind.

There was a bubbling spring, very small, shaded by a trio of exotic palm-like trees that all seemed to grow from the same roots. The ground around the spring was nourished by the nearby water and sprouted plants in gratitude. They had thick, fibrous stalks and coarse, sharp-edged leaves, and yet they bloomed in tiny pink and purple flowers. She did not know what they were called.

And there in that beautiful miniature oasis, she was in the arms of a handsome prince. She felt his chest beneath her head, his arms around her waist. She breathed him in, and it was the same. The same essence. More than a scent, it was an energy. An aura. The same man.

Fantasies I spun when I was a little girl, under the influence of Aladdin and I Dream of Jeannie reruns. I’d had the Jasmine and Aladdin dolls. I’d created an entire life for them in which Aladdin was the prince and Jasmine the slave girl. I’d drawn pictures, made little chapter books that told their love story, their adventures, with construction paper and Crayola crayons. It wasn’t real.

Then how can he be the same? she asked herself.

He can’t, that’s the answer. This is some kind of break with reality, and I’d better get a handle on it, because I cannot afford a mental breakdown at this point in my life. My career is about to take off, for Goddess’ sake!

She closed her eyes and tried to keep her head in the moment. Which was, after all, a pretty amazing moment, because Ryan was gorgeous and…

And his hand was trailing down her spine, lightly, gently, slowly, lower, over the ultra-sensitive small of her back to just above her tailbone, and then, just as exquisitely, back up again. She shivered, and she knew he felt it. He dipped his head a little lower, and his bristly cheek brushed over hers as he whispered near her ear, “You seem so familiar to me. Are you sure we’ve never met before?”

It’s just a line, said her brain.

Oh, God, that warm breath on my ear, said her body.

“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said her voice, because she didn’t like to lie. She never had. “But I’ve decided not to worry about it. I’m just going to enjoy the moment.”

“I think that’s a very good philosophy.”

“It’s the only one, really. All your power is in the now. The past no longer exists, and the future’s not here yet. Now is really all there is, and since it is always now, it’s endless. The eternal present.”

“Deep.”

She shrugged. “I take it you’re not all that into deep, philosophical discussions?”

He angled his head downward. “I’m afraid I’m guilty.”

“Why? Your father is such a spiritual man.”

“Exactly.”

She frowned, searching his eyes. “Meaning?”

He smiled, a charming, killer smile. “Let’s not go there. Let’s be in the moment. You’re in my arms, you’re beautiful, you smell good, and I’m not going to think about anything else right now. Okay?”

She smiled. “Okay.”

He twirled her around, pulling her even closer.

And she let herself surrender to the moment, which became another moment, and then another, all unfolding one after the next until the moment when he was carrying her, with her arms linked behind his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist, her black velvet dress bunched up around her hips while he kissed her, into his apartment.

They’d danced again and again, and she’d had several more drinks, probably a few too many. Enough so that she’d stopped questioning the wisdom of sleeping with the son of her firm’s most important client. Enough so that she stopped wondering how he could be so identical to the man in her childhood fantasies—Aladdin to her Jasmine. Enough so that she just fell into those stories and let herself believe in them. Like a little girl, she was making believe that her fantasy prince had finally come to take her away, because really, there was no better way to fully relish this particular moment.

She let everything go and allowed it to just flow over her. His mouth fed from hers as hungrily as if he adored her, even though she knew he didn’t.

Shut up and enjoy it!

As he kicked the door closed behind him, his fingers found the zipper low on her back, and he slid it smoothly downward, his hands following its path, hot fingers trailing over her spine, rubbing delicious tiny circles right at the base, then slipping inside her silky panties. He squeezed and pulled her harder against him at the same time.

They moved through his place in the dark, their way lit only by moonlight, which she saw when he mouthed her neck, making her tip her head back in pleasure. He nipped, and her eyes opened wide, startled and delighted at once. She saw the gibbous moon high above, through skylights in the ceiling, and realized this was the penthouse. Of course it was.

They stumbled through another doorway, and then he swept aside the blankets on a king-size bed and lowered her onto satin sheets, his knees between her thighs, his hands sliding the unzipped gown from her shoulders just before he laid her down on the plush nest of pillows. Then he was leaning over her, caressing her breasts, teasing their peaks, making her gasp and pant and want him. Her hands slid over his chest, and she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off. She kissed his naked chest, his magnificent shoulders, his belly, where she couldn’t help but touch him again and again, because he had the kind of abs you only saw on fitness-club commercials.

He groaned, then backed up enough to make her reach for him. When he returned he was naked. He helped her wriggle the rest of the way out of her dress and panties, and then he was touching her where she so, so wanted him to, teasing her from “ready” to writhing and whimpering before he finally lowered himself between her thighs and nudged just a little.

Impatient, she reached to guide him in, closing her hand around him and smiling with evil delight at his size. He tore open a wrapper with his teeth, sheathed himself in latex. And then he was sliding into her, stretching her, filling her.

There was a flash of light before her eyes, and she thought there had been heat lightning outside. And then a voice whispered, As the rod is to the God, so the chalice is to the Goddess. And together they are one.

She wondered if he’d heard it, too, but by then he was moving inside her and she forgot all of it, forgot everything but the pleasure he was creating inside her. She moved with him, clinging to his back and holding on for dear life as he drove her beyond sanity, beyond reality, into momentary, mind-blowing, blissful release. In her mind she saw swirling desert sands and heard her beloved prince saying to her, “I will return for you, my love. Never doubt it. And when I do, you’ll be my bride.”

She snuggled closer, embracing the fantasy, a fantasy that lasted for several more hours of pleasure. Until, a few hours before dawn, just as she was falling into blissful, sated sleep in his arms, he bent to kiss the top of her head and said, “Would you like a snack before you go?”

Before I go? Before I go where? she wondered.

“I can make us some microwave popcorn.” Instead of holding her, basking in the afterglow of what had been the most powerful and meaningful lovemaking of her entire life, he jumped out of bed and walked naked toward what she assumed was the kitchen. “I’ll call down and have the doorman start the car for us, so it’ll be nice and warm by the time you’re ready for me to drive you home.”

“How… thoughtful.” She frowned and thought, So much for my fantasy.