Thoroughly Kissed (24 page)

“You'd like to believe that anyway,” she said. Maybe when she got her magic, she would make her face plain, so that no one stared at her. She had so many things that other people wanted, and they were such empty, useless things.

“No, Emma,” he said. “I know that it was more.”

“You can't know that,” she said.

“Oh, but I can.”

“How?”

“I thought you were crazy. I'd seen beautiful crazy women before, and I've never ever been attracted to them.”

She traced his knuckles with her finger. It was just as erotic in the reverse. She made herself stop.

“I used to wonder,” she said, “if part of Ealhswith's spell wasn't to make me irresistible to men.”

“You're saying my feelings for you are magic?” He pulled one of his hands out from under hers and caught hers. Now he was holding both her hands, gently but firmly. “How insecure are you, Emma?”

“I am about some things.”

“How can you be? You're talented, smart, and beautiful.”

“It's really quite simple.” She slipped her hands away from his. “Darnell's the only person—if you want to call him that—who ever wanted to be with me more than he wanted to be with anyone else.”

“Come now, Emma—”

“Think about it,” she said as she stood up and walked away.

***

He did think about it. He sat alone in the mall restaurant, drinking coffee and waiting for his hormones to stop jumping.

No one had wanted Emma from the beginning. Her parents had given her away. The woman they had given her to was a hideous person, one that Michael didn't entirely understand. And then she had become infatuated with a boy, who had harmed her. After rediscovering him in a time of crisis, he turned away from her and married another woman.

For the last ten years, her best friend had been a cat. An elderly cat, who, for all his feistiness, didn't have many years left.

Why would Emma believe anyone would fight for her? Even Michael had shown her, by his actions, that he only wanted to be with her under duress.

Well, it was time to prove himself now. He would help her free herself from this curse. Even if she ultimately decided that she didn't want to be with him—and why would a beautiful magical creature want to be with a stodgy professor?—she would at least know that he had cared.

And she would be free to fall in love, sometime in her very long life.

Somehow the idea didn't comfort him. The best he could hope for was that when she really did fall in love, it would be long after he was gone.

Because, spell or not, she had stolen his heart—and only now had he realized it was missing.

When Michael returned to the hotel nearly an hour later, Emma had already moved them to a new room with two queen-sized beds. Fortunately the desk clerk had caught Michael or he would have gone to the old room. He went up three flights of stairs, feeling slightly cranky and oddly uncomfortable that Emma had touched his things.

The new key card the desk clerk had given him worked like a charm, and Michael opened the door, only to find a growling Darnell. Even regular-cat-sized, Darnell looked ferocious, his incisors bared and his eyes flashing yellow.

“It's me, buddy,” Michael said as he slipped inside.

Darnell's hackles fell. He backed away, and then walked to the window as if he had meant to growl at the man who had defended him two days before.

“At least we avoided a pizza moment,” Emma said.

“A pizza moment?”

“He used to attack the pizza delivery guys.”

“Charming cat you have there.”

Emma shrugged. “I told you. He likes me. And that means he defends me, whether I need it or not.”

Michael closed the door and stepped farther into the room. It was much bigger than the one he had left, and actually had a tiny view of the Black Hills in the distance.

Emma had all the lights on, even the bathroom lights. The TV was tuned to CNN Headline News. She was sitting on the bed closest to the window wearing a thin blue-and-white striped robe and dark blue socks. Her hair was pulled away from her face, which had a fresh-scrubbed look. The room smelled faintly of bath oil, and Michael wondered what he had missed.

He didn't want to know. Or rather, he didn't want to think about it. He had promised, after all.

“You didn't tell me we'd move before I got back.”

“I figured when your key didn't work, you'd go downstairs and found out where we were.” She sounded matter of fact, but she hadn't looked at him. She was staring at the television. Her right hand was toying with the remote.

“What's Darnell think of this?”

To Michael's surprise, the cat yowled. Darnell was standing in the middle of the floor, legs spread, shaking his little feline head.

“Is he saying no?”

“I told you he could communicate without having to say the words.”

“He really wants out of here.”

“Well,” Emma said. “I really want a good night's sleep.”

She still hadn't looked at him. Apparently the conversation embarrassed her. Or maybe the situation did. Michael wondered if she had ever shared a room with anyone—at least after her coma—and he would wager that she hadn't.

“It's awfully early for lights out,” Michael said, sitting on his bed.

“What do you want to do?” Emma asked. “Play a game of Parcheesi?”

Michael laughed. “Who taught you how to play Parcheesi?”

“Nora's mother. She adored the game.”

Michael shook his head. “Parcheesi is not my idea of a good time.”

Emma plucked at the thin bedspread. Her ears had turned red. Apparently she would take anything he said tonight in exactly the wrong way.

He sighed. He wasn't about to tell her that he didn't have pajamas or a robe. He got out of bed, and opened his suitcase, which Emma had thoughtfully placed on the suitcase holder in the closet. Then he removed a pair of running shorts and a T-shirt. It wouldn't be the most comfortable outfit to sleep in, but it would work.

For a moment, he hesitated. He'd shared hotel rooms before with other adults—adults he wasn't involved with—and usually they just turned aside as he changed clothes. But he doubted Emma would do that. He took his clothing into the bathroom, feeling like a virgin bride on the wedding night.

The scent of the bath oil was even stronger in here. The tub was still slick and water beaded on the porcelain. A damp towel hung on the hook behind the door. Had Emma expected him back sooner? Or had she known that he would be gone long enough for her to take a bath?

Or was her subconscious playing more tricks on them both, this time fallible, human tricks? Whatever it was, it was working. He finger combed his hair, and let himself out of the room, wishing he hadn't suggested this arrangement in the first place.

Darnell was still pacing. He looked like a tiny black guard who was determined to keep his mistress safe. Michael picked him up. Darnell's body was rigid.

“We'll make sure everything goes okay tonight, big guy,” he said. “You need some rest too.”

Darnell squirmed out of his arms, and jumped onto Emma's bed. He laid at the foot and alternated between looking at the door and looking at the window. At least he wasn't pacing anymore.

CNN started its news cycle all over again. Michael sighed, pulled out his pillows, and settled on his bed.

It was going to be a very long night.

***

Even after she had turned out all the lights, Emma couldn't get to sleep. The room felt different than any other bedroom she'd ever been in. Michael's presence seemed stronger in the darkness—his even breathing, the rustling of his sheets, the occasional sigh. If she squinted, she could see his shape in the darkness, lying on his side, facing the wall.

He hadn't tried anything. He had promised and he had been able to keep that promise.

Part of her was very disappointed about that.

She fluffed her pillows for the six hundredth time and stared at the ceiling. She had wanted to get some sleep but now she wasn't sure it was possible, not with Michael so close. Everything had changed with their conversation. Now he knew that she wasn't avoiding him. Now he knew that she found him attractive. And, it seemed, he found her attractive too.

Michael's presence wasn't the only thing that kept her awake. She was afraid of her dreams. Michael knew to wake her up, but she wasn't sure if he'd remember in the heat of some strangeness.

Although there was a better chance of him remembering than Darnell would. Darnell, who hadn't left the foot of the bed, who continued to watch the window and door as if he expected one of them to suddenly open and something horrible to come through.

She pressed her fingers against her temple, trying to wipe out that thought. What she was most afraid of was that the something horrible would come from her very own mind.

It took nearly an hour, but she finally dozed. She had no idea how long she had been asleep when she awoke to the sound of voices. Whispering voices.

She couldn't make out the words, but the shush-shush sound of them made her hair stand on end. She was breathing shallowly, not sure if they would disappear now that she was awake.

Shapes surrounded her bed. Gray shapes that seemed to have no real substance. Over their whispers, she could hear Michael's soft breathing and Darnell's snores. They were asleep.

Or maybe she was dreaming.

She willed herself to wake up, but nothing happened. No changes, nothing. So she propped herself up on her elbows. The shapes moved like oil on water.

“What do you want?” she asked in her most menacing voice.

Darnell's snoring stopped. She had at least awakened the cat. Then she realized that Michael's breathing no longer held the even rhythm of sleep. He was awake too.

“I said what do you want?” She spoke even louder this time. Michael shifted on his bed. She heard the creaking mattress, but she couldn't see him through the shapes.

The whispering had stopped when she had first spoken, but it started up again. This time it was louder.

Loose
magic…

Loose
magic…

Loose
magic…

Darnell's fur was standing on end. He had risen to his feet and he was growling.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked.

So
easy
to
take…

So
easy…

“What the hell is this?” Michael asked. Just the sound of his voice reassured her. But it didn't reassure Darnell. He was still growling.

You
don't want it…

Don't want it…

“What are you talking about?” Emma asked.

A
simple
gift…

A
simple
gift…

A
simple
gift—

Darnell yowled and launched himself at the shadows. He went right through them, although he was yelping as his fur met with their grayness. They shredded like fog in a breeze and then they vanished as if they never were.

Darnell landed on Michael, kicking and clawing. Michael grabbed Darnell and held him over his head. Darnell was fighting harder than Emma had ever seen him. He was frantic, yowling and hissing and clawing and biting.

“Emma!” Michael said.

She eased herself off the bed and crossed the small space between them. The air still had a slimy feel, as if the shadows had left something behind. She grabbed Darnell, got sliced for her efforts, and cradled him, trying to calm him.

He continued to growl, but he stopped clawing and trying to bite.

“I think we're awake, aren't we?” Michael asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Emma said.

“That felt real enough. But maybe I should try to wake you again.”

She flicked on a light. “Nothing else has changed. Except that you're bleeding.”

Michael's T-shirt was ripped, and blood seeped through the holes. She set Darnell down. The cat looked up at Michael as if he were apologizing.

“Take off your shirt,” Emma said. “Let's see how bad that is.”

Michael grabbed the bottom of the shirt and pulled it over his head. “I was fantasizing that you would ask me to undress, but not in these circumstances.”

She had been fantasizing too, but her imagination wasn't up to the perfection of his muscled chest and lean torso. His shoulders were broader than she had thought.

The perfect male physique—in any century.

Except that this physique was bleeding from ten scratch marks, made by her cat.

Michael finished pulling off his shirt. She was still staring at him. She blushed.

“Um, let me wash this off.”

“No,” he said. “I can do it. Just keep that killer cat out of my way.”

He didn't sound angry. In fact, his comment about Darnell sounded vaguely amused. He got off the bed and walked into the bathroom.

“Scarred for life!” he announced.

“Is it bad?” Emma asked.

“Nothing I can't fix.”

She heard the sound of running water. She would have gone to help him, except for the memory of that chest—so very fine, even with Darnell's changes.

Darnell was still staring at the empty spot between the beds, his hackles up. He wasn't growling anymore, but he was braced, ready to attack if the things came back.

Emma gingerly reached out. The oily feel had left the air. It was as if the shapes had never been.

“What were they, do you think?” Michael asked. He had come out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his neck.

“I don't know,” she said.

“This loose magic thing. Have you heard of it?”

She shook her head.

“Wow,” Michael said. “Lack of education in your world is costly, isn't it?”

“I guess so.” She let out a small sigh. “I suppose that's the point of all this.”

“What is?”

“Making my life difficult so that I'll never disobey the rules again. Everyone says the rules are there for a reason. Only I didn't deliberately disobey them.”

“Of course not,” Michael said, sounding confused.

“I just thought I had another twenty years. I mean, I'm only thirty.”

“Yeah—um.” Michael frowned. “How do you figure?”

“I told you. Technically. I've only been awake thirty years. My body is only thirty.”

“How do you know?”

“I can have babies,” she snapped. “Do you know any thousand-year-old women who can have babies?”

“I-I guess I'd have to say that I do.”

“What?”

“You're the first thousand-year-old woman I've ever met.”

“I'm thirty!” Emma said.

Michael held out his hands like a man who was afraid of being shot. “Right. Right. You're thirty.”

She nodded.

“And I'm Henry the Eighth. Reincarnated.”

Anger rushed through her as quickly as desire had earlier. “How can you say that? It's not fair—”

“Life's not fair, Emma.” He was speaking softly. “I grant it's been particularly unfair to you, in ways I could never comprehend. But you were born over a thousand years ago. I know that women like to fudge their ages, and you can pass for thirty—”

“Pass for thirty?
Pass
for thirty?”

“But by the way we mortals count ages, you're one thousand and forty, and no amount of fudging will change that.”

“Except that I was in some kind of stasis. Except that I came into my magic before menopause. That never, ever, ever happens.”

“That's something you'll have to take up with your own people.”

“I have!” she said, getting off the bed. “And they're as stubborn about this as you are.”

“I'm not stubborn on this.”

“Well, it sounds like you are!”

“Emma,” he said softly. “I'm not the one you're angry at.”

“Really?” She put her hands on her hips. Darnell cringed. “You could have fooled me.”

“Emma,” he said in that same calm tone, “think about it. If you fight me, you'll be wasting energy. We have to find out what those shapes were.”

She made herself take a deep breath. He was right, of course. She had survived the last ten years by fighting hard for herself and for what she believed in. But the end result was that she attacked before she got attacked. Her anger was her shield. She was beginning to learn that she didn't need her shield with Michael.