“You’ve a piece of something caught in yer hair,” Patrick said, his voice lowered as if he hoped to avoid attracting attention when he spoke to Gino.
“What is with you?” Gino asked, his face crinkled in disbelief. “That’s my comb, man. You don’t know that? You just land on this planet or something?”
“Patrick isn’t from around here.” Clint didn’t make a move physically, but something in his voice made him appear closer, larger than he had a moment before, almost protective of the man standing at his side. “You might be surprised at the differences you can find around the world, if you take the time to look.”
“I don’t find too many real surprises in the world. Or in its people,” Gino replied, his arm tightening on Syrie’s shoulder.
“I should introduce my friend,” Syrie began, hoping to fill the uncomfortable silence that followed the initial exchange. “Gino Williams.”
“Nice to meet you, Gino. This is Clint Coryell and Patrick MacDowylt,” Rosella said, finishing the introduction as she lifted a hand to indicate each man. “Syrie told us that you work with her and that you’re a student at the university. Clint’s also going to school there.”
“You at one of the houses on campus?” Gino asked.
“Could you help me in the kitchen, Syrie?” Ellen leaned in close to ask her question, having arrived silently sometime during the earlier introductions. “They’re eating us out of house and home over there. Everything needs refilling and I’m short a couple of hands.”
Syrie nodded, reluctant to leave Rosella’s fascinating cousin, but not willing to ignore her friend’s request. She dipped a shoulder to move out of Gino’s grasp and followed her friend.
They’d been in the kitchen pulling containers out of the refrigerator for only a few minutes before Ellen spoke again.
“I have to admit, Syrie, I’m a little surprised you’d bring someone like Gino to the party as your date,” Ellen said, arching her eyebrow as she spoke. “He’s not at all what I expected.”
“Why is that?” Syrie asked. “Because his skin is a different color?”
It was something she had heard Gino claim repeatedly after confrontations at the restaurant. Though she hadn’t noticed it, apparently people always judged him differently because of his skin color.
“Not at all,” Ellen denied quickly before she paused, tipping her head to one side as if lost in thought for a second. “Okay, if I’m being completely honest, that might play a small part in my surprise. But only a small part. I don’t really care about that. Mostly I question him being your choice because he’s so loud and confrontational. It’s as if he’s daring us not to like him. Those are not at all the traits I’d expect to see in a man you’d end up romantically involved with.”
“Romantically involved?” Syrie echoed. “I have no romantic feelings for Gino. For a fact, I’ve not met a single man since my arrival here to whom I feel the least bit of physical attraction.”
There’d been no one. Not one single man who left her as weak-kneed and wanting as the mystery man in her dream. A mystery man whose face she couldn’t even recall.
With the possible exception of the man who she’d just met, Rosella’s cousin.
Ellen stopped piling little pastries on the platter and turned toward her, a confused expression wrinkling her brow.
“Then why on Earth would you ask that man to be your date for our party?”
“Because you told me to ask someone I was interested in and, without a doubt, Gino is the most interesting person I’ve met here. From his manner of speech and the way he dresses, right down to the way he thinks. Though I’m continually at a loss to understand his perspective or reasoning, I never tire of watching and wondering what he’ll do next. He is quite interesting. Don’t you think so?”
Ellen stared at her for a moment longer, her expression one of a woman examining a never-before-seen insect on her counter. After a moment longer, she began to chuckle, finally turning back to the business of filling the platter.
“What is so funny?” Syrie asked, not at all sure she was comfortable with her friend’s reaction.
“Oh, Syrie. I keep forgetting that your understanding of the words I say to you is frequently nowhere close to what I meant when I uttered those words.” Ellen sighed and handed the now-filled platter to Syrie. “And I still find it surprising that you’d be interested in a character like Gino simply because he behaves so differently from everyone else.”
Syrie accepted the platter and started to leave but stopped. For some odd reason it was important to her that her friend understand.
“It’s not just that his behavior is different. He’s struggling to find his place in the world, much as I am. There’s something about him, Ellen. Something I see deep in his eyes. It’s almost as if I’ve known him before.”
Though she knew her reasoning sounded foolish, she wasn’t at all prepared for her friend’s shocked response.
Ellen gasped, her fingers flying to cover her lips as her eyes rounded. “Are you remembering things? Remembering him? Can he tell you anything about your old life? About who you really are?”
“No, I didn’t mean…” Syrie stopped speaking, shaking her head as she realized her mistake. “When I said I feel as though I’ve known him before, I didn’t mean that as if it were a returned memory. It’s more like he houses a familiar soul. A soul I’ve known in another lifetime.”
“Oh,” Ellen said, confusion coloring her expression. “In another lifetime, you say. Let me make sure I understand. You’re not talking about this particular lifetime, the one where you can’t remember anything but your name. Not this one here and now, but some other lifetime.” She shook her head, a little frown wrinkling her face. “Have you thought about how, since you can’t remember anything from before Danny found you, you can be so sure about that? I mean, maybe you did actually know this guy and that’s why he feels so familiar to you.”
“It’s not that kind of familiar.”
Not at all the kind of familiarity she felt when she’d been introduced to Rosella’s cousin. Being in his presence felt like coming home.
“Then what kind of familiar are you talking—”
Ellen’s questioning was cut short by a scream and angry shouts from the other room.
“And that’s without serving even a single drop of alcohol yet,” Ellen muttered as they both headed out toward the noise.
* * *
Patrick didn’t like this man, this friend of Syrie’s. Not one little bit. From the challenge of his jutting jaw to the possessive manner in which he draped his arm around Syrie’s shoulders, nothing about this Gino was endearing.
“Be cool,” Clint had whispered when the oaf had pulled Syrie’s hand from his. “Fit in.”
Fit in. Go with the flow. Do as you’re told.
All the advice Clint had given him for the past few hours warred in Patrick’s head with his instant and intense dislike for the man in front of him.
“You at one of the houses on campus?” Gino asked.
“I am,” Clint answered. “ROTC,” he finished, a note of challenge in his tone.
“Figures,” Gino said. “You hawks all stick together. But you know what I always say?”
Patrick didn’t particularly care what this Gino had to say. He only cared that Syrie had slipped away from the man’s grasp and followed another woman out of the room.
“I say make love, not war,” Gino said.
As Gino lifted two fingers into the air, Patrick turned his full attention on the man, fighting an unreasonable need to plant his fist in Gino’s face. Perhaps not so unreasonable, in truth. The idea of this man with the strange comb stuck in his hair making love to Syrie was beyond unacceptable. Jealousy was a reasonable emotion. Not an attractive emotion, but completely reasonable and distinctly difficult to control.
“Fit in,” Clint hissed under his breath, apparently sensing the emotions that flowed through Patrick. “Just go with it.”
&
nbsp; Patrick clenched his hands into tight fists and pressed them against his thighs to stave off the act that was his first and strongest instinct.
“You got something to say to me, warrior man?” Gino asked, moving closer. “I’m all ears. Sock it to me, man. I can handle it.”
Sock it to him? He obviously wasn’t talking about footwear, so it must be the other meaning. Although why someone would ask to be hit was beyond Patrick’s ability to reason. Also beyond his ability to care. It was what Syrie’s friend had asked him to do.
“Go with the flow,” Patrick said as his fist shot out to connect with Gino’s chin.
The world around them broke into a frenzy of squeals and activity as the young man’s eyes rounded before rolling up in his head. By the time his body hit the floor, Clint had pushed Rosella behind him and it seemed as if everyone in the room was shouting at him. And then, as if she’d appeared by Magic, Syrie was there, dropping to her knees at Gino’s side.
“Why would you do such a thing to the Dark Elf?” she demanded as she glared up at him, sounding so much like her old self, he was sure for an instant that her memory had returned. “Unarmed as he is, he’s obviously of little danger to you. You know they’re completely harmless in this realm.”
She froze the moment the words were out of her mouth, as if she’d just heard what she said and was momentarily stunned to silence.
Gino, on the other hand, had plenty to say.
“Dark Elf?” he asked, rolling up to sit while rubbing his jaw. “What kind of racist bullshit is that?”
Syrie reached out to help him, but he pushed her hands away and stood up on his own.
“I didn’t mean—” she began, but he cut her off.
“I think we all know what you meant. I do, anyway. Dark Elf, my ass. It’s been real, baby, but I’m outta here.”
Gino pushed through the people who had gathered around him and stormed out the door. From her spot on the floor, Syrie glared up at Patrick.
“This is all your fault,” she accused.
“I only did as he asked of me,” Patrick said, hoping to allay her obvious anger.
Her memory might be gone, but he sincerely doubted she’d lost her famously quick temper.
“I’m not having any bit of that garbage. You’re to blame and you know it.” She rose to her feet and strode toward him, stopping only when she was mere inches away. “You overgrown barbarian!” She punctuated each of her words with her index finger, poking it into his chest. “Your solution is always to use brawn first and brains later.”
Just like old times.
Only it wasn’t old times.
As if she’d caught herself again behaving in a way she simply couldn’t explain, Syrie turned and ran from him, disappearing up the staircase at the far end of the room.
“Hardly a normal, everyday little party scene,” Ellen said, her gaze traveling from Rosella to Patrick and back again. “I’m open to any and all explanations you’d care to give. The sooner the better, I’d say.”
“There might have been a thing or two I neglected to mention when we spoke about Patrick this morning,” Rosella said meekly, reaching for the other woman’s hand and leading her off in the direction of the kitchen. “Maybe I should fill you in on all of it.”
“What the hell was that all about?” Clint asked when people had drifted away from them. “Decking that guy like that. I thought we’d agreed you’d try to fit in.”
Patrick shook his head, confused by much that had just transpired. “You said I should follow along with what was asked of me, aye? He asked me to sock him and I did. I canna for the life of me understand why everyone would be so upset when I only did as the man himself asked me to do.”
Though he would be the first to admit, it had felt damn satisfying to do it.
Clint rubbed a hand over his face, a deep sigh coming from beneath the hand. “Well, I’ll say this much for you, Patrick. Completing your quest is in no way going to be a walk in the park. My Rosie has her work cut out for her.”
Indeed, she did. And as for the task that lay ahead of him, Patrick suspected that he’d gotten off to a very bad start.
Chapter 14
Clearly, she was losing her mind.
Syrie stopped pacing to sit on her bed, her legs weakened at the very thought of how she’d behaved downstairs. Dark Elf? How could she have said such a thing about Gino? Where had such an idea even come from, let alone the words themselves that had popped out of her mouth? It was as if another person had taken over her body and spoken for her. Some wild and fearless person, determined to right the wrongs that had just occurred.
If her bizarre behavior alone wasn’t enough, what about her reaction to Patrick MacDowylt?
She flopped back on the bed to stare up at the ceiling, her hands rising to cover her heated cheeks.
By all that was holy, just looking at that man downstairs had set her adrift, lost in the sea of his eyes. It had done something to her insides that she couldn’t begin to explain. It was as if some invisible force had pulled her to him and stripped her of her will to resist, very like the little black-and-white kissing dog magnets Ellen kept in her kitchen window.
Syrie’s hand drifted down her neck and across her breasts to come to a rest on her stomach, as if she almost expected to find a similar magnet affixed to her body.
And when he’d touched her?
As she thought about it, a shiver ran down her spine, leaving a trail of little bumps and raised hairs all along her arms and legs.
Her hand had fit into his palm as if it were meant to be there. The memory of his lips hovering over the back of her hand heightened her physical reaction even now. His skin had barely brushed against hers, his warm breath feathering over her when he’d lifted her hand to his lips, and yet there was no denying that the feel of him had ignited a desire in her, like an old fire, never fully extinguished. Like a memory of an old lover.
What a ridiculous line of thought! Pure indulgence in fantasy. It wasn’t as if she had any memory of ever having met Patrick before, let alone any memory of having been his lover.
Not that she had any memories of anything before.
With a sigh, she pushed herself up to sit and scrubbed her hands over her face, but it did little good. Even with her eyes tightly closed, she could still see him, gazing down at her, his eyes filled with emotions she couldn’t easily identify. Self-confidence? Likely. Arrogance? Absolutely. Desire? Possession? She could almost swear she’d seen those as well.
Or was she simply imagining those last two to cover for her own feelings?
She refused to allow herself to wander too far down that particular path. Her whole reaction to her friend’s cousin had been beyond unreasonable, sending her scurrying up to her room to hide for far too long. She should have been downstairs hours ago helping to clean up after their guests left rather than pacing the length of her bedroom, berating herself for her bizarre behavior. She hadn’t any reason to be cowering up here for the whole evening. She wasn’t the one who’d behaved abominably.
Well, except for the Dark Elf comment.
Even that probably could be explained away. She hadn’t been herself. She’d allowed the newcomer to upset her. Perhaps it was the violence that had shaken her so that she’d pulled something out of some book she’d read when she spoke. She certainly hadn’t made any sense. And poor Gino. He was so offended, he might never speak to her again.
As for her bizarre reaction to Patrick, there could be a million reasons for it. Perhaps he resembled someone she’d known before. Perhaps his arrival had triggered some bit of latent memory.
“Or perhaps,” she said as she rose to stand. “Perhaps he’s just an arrogant brute who set off all my warning signals to keep my distance.”
That was much more likely than anything else she’d considered. No wonder Ellen and Rosella had been worried about telling her he would be staying here for a while. Rosella must have told Ellen how very uncivilized her cousin was and
they’d both had concerns about how she would react to him.
“Well, they needn’t worry anymore.”
It wasn’t like she was some delicate young thing. She’d show them that his presence had absolutely no effect on her. Just a quick washcloth over her still-heated face and she’d go back downstairs to help clean up after the party. And, as far as Patrick MacDowylt was concerned, she’d simply keep her distance and ignore the big Scot, putting him out of her thoughts completely.
“I so swear,” she whispered, bolstering her determination.
That determination, along with her vow, lasted for approximately the five seconds it took for her to open the bathroom door and step into a billowing cloud of steam. As the steam cleared, she spotted the man she’d vowed to ignore, standing beside the shower he’d apparently just finished using, gloriously naked and absolutely impossible to ignore.
* * *
“What do you think you’re doing in here?” Syrie demanded, her voice cracking just enough to ruin any real display of indignation.
Patrick had heard the door open and the gasp that had followed. He had forced himself to pretend he hadn’t noticed as he waited for the long seconds to pass before she spoke.
“I think it’s called showering,” he said as he cast a single glance in her direction, keeping his body angled slightly away from her. “Though I was led to believe it was an activity conducted in private.”
She actually sputtered as she stood in the doorway, forcing him to bite into his inner cheek to keep a smile from reaching his face. There were few pleasures as great as seeing Syrie flustered.
“You arrogant piece of—” She stopped speaking abruptly, obviously gathering her senses, the sound of her breath coming in erratic little puffs. “I know what you’re doing. What I want to know is why you’re doing it in my bathroom.”
“Our bathroom,” he corrected. “My bedchamber is through that door, so I was told we’re to share. You’ve a problem with that, do you?”
Anywhere in Time (Magic of Time Book 2) Page 9
