A Touch of Magic, page 7
part #8 of True Mates Generations Series
A flush crept across his cheeks. “You … you invited me to watch you paint in your studio. After that day in the park.”
“I did?”
He nodded. “When you finished painting in the park, you gave me your number. I messaged you a few days later and then you invited me to your place. You were playing cello music. Said it’s the only thing you could listen to while you painted.”
Now she felt heat creeping into her cheeks. No one had ever watched her paint, except when she was studying. It had felt oddly intimate. A lightheaded feeling passed over her. “I can’t believe …” She broke off as music began to play from the speakers. Familiar music. “Le Cygne,” she breathed.
“The Swan,” he added.
“Well, it’s about a swan dying,” she said wryly. “The Greeks and Romans thought the swan was the most beautiful creature on earth. It’s mostly silent but—”
“When the swan is about die, it supposedly sings the most beautiful song,” he completed, as those stormy blue-green eyes looked at her, seemingly seeing right into her soul. “You thought it was wonderful. And I must have looked at you in horror, but you smiled and told me, ‘Everyone dies, Cross. But isn’t it lovely that in the end, that swan made beautiful art after being silent her entire life?’”
“How …” But nothing else came out of her mouth as she stared at him, listening to the cello swell in the final bars of the song before concluding and fading out. God, how could he possibly know all that, unless …
A new song began to play on the speakers. She stood up as she recognized the arpeggiating G major chords. “That’s—” She stopped as her head throbbed. But she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred. Cross was saying something—calling her name, maybe—but he, along with the rest of the world, faded away.
Three years ago …
“Cello music is all you ever listen to while you paint?” Cross asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I don’t know … something about the strings … it’s so soothing and relaxing.”
He glanced down at her music player. “Hopefully you’ve got other songs that doesn’t involve animals dying?”
She chuckled. “No more swan songs, I promise.”
“I’ll let you get back to your work, then.” He strode over to the windows. “What?” Cross asked.
“Mm-hmm?” She was sitting down at her stool, facing her current work in progress, but for some reason, she couldn’t keep her mind on the painting, not when her gaze kept going to Cross. The way the sunlight was playing off his golden hair was distracting, among other things.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“What? Nothing.” She ducked behind the canvas, hoping he wouldn’t see her blush. What had possessed her to invite him here? While she really did enjoy his company at the park while she painted, she would never in a million years have thought she’d have the courage to ask him over to her studio to watch her paint. It had felt oddly intimate.
But that day at the park, there was just something about him … something compelling that she couldn’t forget. And it wasn’t just that he was handsome, either. She’d been so giddy when he messaged her, and she quickly invited him over.
“I like your plants,” Cross murmured as he touched a large monstera plant she had in the corner of her studio by her desk. “I noticed you had a lot, especially in your living room.”
“Yeah, my mom loved plants,” she said. “Orchids especially. They’re difficult to keep alive, but I love caring for them. It kind of makes me feel like … well …”
“What?”
She blew a breath to push away a lock of hair that had fallen on her forehead. “It kinda feels like she’s here with me, you know?”
“I think I understand.” He remained quiet, but looked out the window.
After a few seconds of silence from him, she went back to her painting. As she always did, she was lost in her own world while she painted. However, she didn’t ignore him completely. His presence was something she couldn’t ignore, and she could feel it the entire time he was there. It was not demanding, but more like a steady pulse in the background.
Finally, she was satisfied with the progress for today. When she glanced at her clock, she realized that hours had passed since he arrived. Her music playlist had cycled back and it was now playing the second song on her list—the prelude from Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 in G major. It was another favorite piece. She loved how it started with those quick arpeggios with the open G note grounding the entire section. “You must be so bored. You’ve been standing there for hours.”
“Not at all,” he said quickly, then began to walk towards her. “I just hope I’m not distracting you.”
“Well, you kinda are,” she said.
“Me? Distracting?” His brows drew together. “Why?”
“Oh Lord,” she muttered under her breath. The way he seemed so unconscious of his attractiveness was cute. “Has anyone ever told you, you look like a Viking?”
“It makes sense. My father was from a small village in Norway.”
She put her paint brush down and stood up. “Really?”
He nodded. “Yes. He was born near some fjords, actually. But he … moved away when he was small and went to live … elsewhere.”
As the cello piece began to shift to the dominant D chord, her finger tapped on her chin. “Hmmm … I can definitely see you as a Viking from old times. Actually, I was thinking I could paint you by the fjords.”
“Oh?” A blond brow shot up. “Would you paint me as a warrior, then?”
She thought for a moment, tracing her gaze down from his face all the way to his feet and back up again. My, he was so tall. And how did he come to stand so close to her? “No, I don’t think so. I could see you as … a farmer maybe?”
“A farmer?”
“Yes. A warrior, no.” The cello’s strings deepened even further, getting lower and her lips twisted in distaste. “I couldn’t imagine you carrying an axe and pillaging villages and … you know, the other stuff that Vikings supposedly did.” No, definitely not. Cross seemed so gentle and kind.
“I suppose not.” He stood next to her, looking at the canvas. “You really are talented. This landscape … it seems to come alive. How is it that you can capture the sunset so well? It’s like I’m looking at the sky, and not at a canvas and paint.”
“I … thank you.” Those ocean-colored eyes held her gaze, and she couldn’t turn away.
“Sabrina …” He reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Air caught in her throat as she waited for him to pull his hand back, but he didn’t. Instead his fingers dug into her nape and his thumb touched her cheek. Her heartbeat swung back and forth, following the rhythm of the bariolage passage in the latter part of the cello suite prelude. Her knees weakened as he leaned down and touched his lips to hers in a soft kiss.
He pulled back, his mouth barely hovering over hers. A breath escaped her, and he swooped in again. This time, his other hand came up to caress her jaw. Both hands cupped the sides of her face preventing her from moving; not that she wanted to. Oh, no, it felt like she’d been waiting for this moment forever, and it was oh so worth it. His mouth moved over hers in a gentle caress, teasing and coaxing her to open for him. A thrill of desire shot through her when his tongue licked against the seam of her mouth …
“Sabrina! Sabrina!”
Strong hands gripped her arms and she felt herself being shaken gently.
She sucked in a breath. “Oh.” After a few blinks, her vision came back into focus. The continuing notes of the prelude hummed through the speaker as the cello went up the chromatic scale, returning to the G major chord and finally resolved.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” Cross asked, concern marring his face.
“I remember,” she croaked. “I don’t know how …” She braced herself on the table with her sweaty palms.
“Remember what?”
“Painting in my studio …” She took another deep breath, taking in as much air as she could. “You … that first day … we …” Her fingers touched her lips. She could still remember the way he tasted. It was like her lips were still swollen. Oh, it had felt so real. Maybe because it was real and it did happen. Slowly, she looked up at him. “We kissed. That day.”
An inscrutable look flashed across his face. “Sabrina …”
“You didn’t answer me when I asked if we were more than friends. I thought …” A heat coursed through her body as more memories flashed through her mind. His large, warm hands on her skin. His breath on her neck. His tongue tracing a path between her breasts…
A dizzy wave passed over her. “Oh God …” She sank on the chair and buried her face in her hands, shutting her eyes tight.
“Sabrina, I’m sorry …” he choked. “I’m just ….”
Focus on breathing. Her left hand immediately went to her ring, twisting it around as she focused on the smoothness of the silver under her fingertips. Slowly, the nausea and dizziness faded away. Her body still felt hot, but at least she didn’t feel like fainting anymore.
A few more seconds passed before she lifted her head. Of course he was gone. “Coward,” she muttered. But why did he leave? And why was he so reluctant to tell her about that kiss?
She massaged her temples with her fingers. The headache had faded, but it was still there. The memory had been so clear in her head, like she had just lived through it again, that it couldn’t have been her imagination. Did he not want to kiss her? It couldn’t have been—he was the one who kissed her first. Maybe they broke up before the accident and he didn’t want to tell her?
Confusion, sadness, and anger swirled in her brain like a whirlpool, threatening to overwhelm her. She crossed over to the bed and lay down, hoping her mind and body would calm down
Chapter Five
Her memories were coming back.
Cross didn’t even know that was possible. They weren’t supposed to come back. But somehow, it was happening. He saw that look on her face—the sadness, surprise, shock, and confusion. That musical score always brought him back to that first kiss, but he never imagined that after all that happened, it would do the same for her. Was there a way to stop it? And more important: did he want to stop it?
Hope soared in his chest, but he quickly squashed it. Of course he didn’t want her to remember. They didn’t work this hard only for things to come crashing down again. His inner wolf, on the other hand, whined in displeasure.
“Jesus Christ, you gotta warn me if you’re going to just show up like that.”
He looked up from where he sat on the leather couch in the main cabin. Ransom was on the landing, staring down at him, his face drawn into a scowl.
“Sorry. Just needed to clear my head.” He didn’t really think about where to go, so he teleported himself back to Ransom’s. His first priority was getting out of that cabin when she started asking questions he couldn’t answer.
Ransom trudged down the stairs. “I thought that’s why you came here in the first place, to clear your head.”
“Yeah, well …”
“She’s got your mind all twisted up.” It was a statement, not a question. “Women. They’re all the same.”
He raised a brow. “You sound like you’re talking from experience. Didn’t see you as the commitment type.” Actually, he didn’t really know anything about Ransom’s love or sex life, but from what he’d seen, the prickly Lone Wolf tended to keep everyone at arm’s length, even his own sister.
Ransom grunted. “Women are good enough for a short while, but you can’t let them mess with your brain.”
“I’m sorry if Sabrina’s made things difficult between you and Silke.”
He plopped down on the couch next to him. “Silke always has to have her nose in someone’s business. She ain’t happy until she knows everything. Besides, this is her place. She’d have torn me a new one if I kept your girl from her. She’s always helpin’ out bleeding heart cases. Broken people have always been her thing.”
“Sabrina’s not—” He shook his head. Ransom probably didn’t care, one way or another. “I’m glad Silke’s okay with this. I’ll owe her too.”
There was a hard set to his jaw. “Just keep your girl safe, you know that’s all Silke would want in return.”
Cross stood up. “Well, thank you to you both all the same. If you don’t mind just keeping an eye out, I need to head out for a while.”
“Where’re you going?”
“To see an old acquaintance.” With a nod to Ransom, he closed his eyes and thought of where he needed to go. Back to New York.
Unsure where best to show up, he staked out the entrance of 414 Johnson Street in the financial district of Manhattan. He waited across the street for the rest of the day until he saw his target exit through the glass doors of the shiny new modern building that housed the headquarters of Strohen Industries. The target walked toward the limo where the driver was already holding the door open. As soon as he entered and the limo was on the move, Cross followed it, grateful for his Lycan speed and the slow crawl of rush hour traffic.
A few blocks later, when the vehicle stopped at a traffic light, he made his move. He rushed toward the limo, peered through the window and checked the interior, then transported himself into the empty space next to the lone passenger.
“What in the—” Jonathan S. Strohen’s eyes widened, and he clutched his chest in surprise. “You.”
“Yes, Jonathan,” he said. “It’s me.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Jonathan glanced around, as if checking to see if anyone was watching. “I thought we agreed—”
“I know what we agreed to,” Cross said, cutting him off. “But Sabrina’s in danger. They came for her last night.”
“Goddammit!” He fished for his phone. “I need to check on—”
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of it. Taken care of them.”
Jonathan lowered his hands. “You have? How?”
“I scared them away and then took Sabrina with me.”
Color rushed to his face. “What the hell do you mean took Sabrina with you?” he blustered. “Where have you taken her, you bastard?”
“She’s safe.”
“Where?”
Cross leaned back. “If you don’t know, then it’s safer for her. You know that.”
The older man grumbled. “You’re right. But why come see me after all this time?”
“I needed to know if you knew anything about why they came to get her.”
Jonathan’s face turned redder. “Arrogant asshole. Why would I let anyone harm my own daughter? I’ve spent my entire life protecting her from them.”
Cross leaned back and waited for him to calm down. Jonathan Strohen was a man of reason, after all.
Finally, Jonathan spoke. “So, what do you want me to do? Pretend I don’t know she’s gone?”
“That would bring down more suspicion on you. You don’t have to do anything, except go about your usual routine.” Cross produced a small vial from his pocket. “And forget I came to see you.”
Jonathan’s lips pursed together, but took the vial from Cross’s outstretched hand anyway. “I’m supposed to have dinner with her tomorrow. Should I stick to that or visit her sooner?”
“No, tomorrow works,” he said.
“Fine.” He uncorked the glass vial. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”
He wasn’t, but it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that Sabrina stayed alive. That was one thing he and Sabrina’s father could agree on, at least. Besides, after he drank that potion, Jonathan would forget this conversation ever happened.
Three years ago …
Sabrina pulled away from the kiss abruptly. “I …”
“I’m sorry.” He stepped back and ran his hands through his hair. “I shouldn’t have … I didn’t mean to …” On the other hand, his wolf thought kissing her was a step in the right direction. No, I shouldn’t have done that. Gunnar—
“You didn’t mean it?” she asked breathlessly.
“I did,” he said quickly when he saw the crestfallen look on her face. “I mean, I wanted to kiss you.” He had wanted to do it the first moment he saw her.
Her cheeks bloomed with a pretty blush. “Me too. I mean, I didn’t think someone like you would ever … you know, want to kiss someone like me.”
“What are you talking about?” He took her hands into his and kissed each palm, making her shiver. “You’re beautiful.”
“But you’re perfect,” she said with a little laugh. “You belong on an underwear ad in Times Square. While I’m—” She glanced down at her body with a woeful expression.
His brows snapped together. His wolf didn’t like the self-deprecating tone of her voice either. “Stop talking like that, Sabrina.” Perhaps by society’s standards she didn’t have the “ideal” waif-like model’s body, but he loved that she was all curves and bumps. Society’s standards could go to hell for all he cared. “You’re lovely, and you take my breath away.” To show her what he meant, he pulled her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“This is crazy,” she whispered. “We’ve only just met, but I feel like … this feels right.”
His chest tightened at her words, and his wolf agreed with her wholeheartedly. He inhaled her scent, and in this moment, he forgot about everything else—Gunnar’s predictions, the ring on her finger, the fate of the world. There was only them and now, in this space.
“I don’t want to rush things,” she said. “Can we please slow down?”
Reluctantly, he released her. “Do you want to … get to know each other?”
She nodded. “I do. How about we go out to dinner first?”
“Like a date?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He’d take her out on a thousand dates if that’s what she wanted. Anywhere in the world. “All right. Will you go out with me, Sabrina?”
She chuckled. “I would like that.”
