Dangerous Lover

by Maggie Shayne

  Thick swirls of fragrant smoke wafted from the bundle. She smiled, satisfied, and walked around the room, wafting the smoke high and low and blowing it into the corners.

  She felt his eyes on her within a minute or so. He’d come out of the bedroom, a shirt on, but unbuttoned, thank the Gods. He stood there in the bedroom doorway, flipping the cuffs of the flannel shirt’s sleeves back, and watching her.

  “Is it just me, or is that stuff as illegal as the hawk feather?”

  She grinned, knowing sarcasm when she heard it. “It’s sage. I’m smudging the place to get rid of negativity.” She continued around the house, moving into the kitchen, back through the living room and into the bedroom before ending where she had begun. “You move counterclockwise when you’re getting rid of things.” She leaned close to the fireplace, and dropped the remaining piece of sage into the fire. “For the spirits. Thanks.”

  “You’re an interesting woman, Selene.” He sat on the sofa, took his bowl of stew from a coffee table that was made of one huge slab of a giant tree.

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  She sank onto the sofa beside him, reaching for the apple she’d stashed in her bag. “Vegetarian,” she said. “I found the beef stew in the kitchen.”

  “It has to beat hospital food.” He took a bite, nodded. “Not bad. So what do you normally do after smudging the place with stinky smoke?”

  “Refill it with positive energy.”

  “Aha. And how do you do that?”

  “Lots of ways. Play music you love, fill the house with laughter, with joy, with friends. Or do something powerful and positive in the space you’ve cleansed. Like singing or dancing or—”

  “Or sex,” he said.

  She met his eyes, held them. “How did you know that?”

  “Lucky guess. Why, was I right?”

  She had to look away. “Yeah. It’s…probably the best way of all.”

  “Well, what do you know?” He ate in silence for a while.

  She tried to do the same, but her stomach was doing odd things inside her. She would like to get to know this man, to ask him about himself. Hell, it made sense, didn’t it? Shouldn’t she get to know him a little before taking him to bed? Shouldn’t she learn something about him before she let herself fall head over heels in love with him?

  Or was that lust? And what difference did it make, because she would certainly love him sooner or later, either way. He was her destiny.

  But it felt kind of cheap to be this hot for him, even if he was her soul mate, when she knew nothing about him: where he was from, what he did for a living, what he liked, what he believed in. If he was her destiny, she ought to know those things. And so much more. But he couldn’t answer those questions right now. In fact, he probably knew less about himself than she did. He knew nothing about his past. He was pretty sketchy on his present—wasn’t even certain whose side Selene was truly on. And he knew nothing about his future.

  She did. She knew all about that. He was hers. Forever.

  “You’re staring at me again.”

  Yeah, at his mouth this time. Imagining what it was going to be like the first time he kissed her. She told herself not to rush things. After all, he didn’t know he was her fate. She didn’t want him to think she was easy.

  “Sorry.” She returned her attention to her apple and made an effort to eat it, but gave up after only a few bites.

  He set his bowl down. Empty. “So you’re not hungry?”

  “Too nerved up to eat, I guess.”

  “Yeah, I figured you might be wondering what the hell you got yourself into here, about now.”

  She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Just that you must be realizing by now that you’re up here in the middle of nowhere with a complete stranger. And that ought to scare you, if you have any sense.”

  “Well, I must not have any sense, then, because it doesn’t.”

  “No? Well, just in case, Selene, I’ll tell you what I can. I don’t know much about myself, but I can promise you’re safe with me. At least—I wouldn’t hurt you. I don’t feel the slightest inkling to do you any harm.”

  She nodded. “I know I’m safe with you.”

  He lifted his brows. “You do?”

  “Yeah. I’m not stupid enough that I’d have brought you up here if I thought otherwise. You’ll learn, in time, that I’m pretty…intuitive, Cory.”

  “And you trust that intuition, even when common sense disagrees?”

  “Absolutely. It’s never failed me yet.” She took his empty bowl, and handed him her apple. “Here, finish this.”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Okay.” She took the bowl and half-eaten apple back into the kitchen. He got up and followed her, stood leaning in the doorway while she tossed the remnants of the apple into a garbage bag, carried the bowl to the sink.

  “So what’s got you so nervous, then?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” she said. And that was a lie, so she tried to backtrack and tell the truth. More of the truth, at least. “I imagine part of it is being hauled into the police station and questioned like a criminal last night. And part of it is having my family know I’m a Witch and my mother’s reaction to that.” She turned and leaned back on the sink. “It’s odd, I’ve always been completely open about what I do. Just never told them that it had a name before. It’s the word that’s throwing them. Witchcraft. You’d think they could see that, wouldn’t you? It’s just a word. A widely misunderstood one.”

  “Uh-huh.” He came to where she stood, reached past her to work the hand pump that was mounted to the sink until water flowed into it, icy cold. He was very close to her. His shoulder brushed hers, and she didn’t move away. “So what sorts of things do you do? Besides dancing naked in the moonlight, I mean.”

  She watched him. He was washing the bowl now, in the cold water, using a bit of the dishwashing detergent that stood there on the sink. He didn’t seem to mind that his side was touching hers, and she certainly didn’t. “We don’t usually do the nudity thing. It was just a lark.”

  “Hey, I’m not complaining.” She smiled up at him, and for a moment, their eyes met and held. “You’re a…beautiful woman, Selene.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” She lowered her gaze, and the moment faded.

  “So what else? Do you cast spells?”

  “Sure, when it’s called for.”

  “So if I misbehave, I could wake up on a lily pad with an appetite for flies?”

  “No. We never do harm. That’s the core tenet of the Craft.” She glanced up to see he was surprised. “Didn’t know that, did you? People think Witches are all about hexing and cursing. But it’s absolutely the opposite. We cast spells for change, when that change serves the greater good.”

  “And never for selfish reasons?”

  “Sure. We’re human. But we always have to weigh our personal wants and needs against the greater good. If they conflict, we have to let it go.”

  “I see. That’s a heavy burden. You ever get it wrong? Do something you think is for good that turns out to have been a mistake?”

  “It happens. We have to be willing to accept the consequences. You know whatever you put out returns to you threefold. Taking action for change is a risk. It’s always a risk. You mess up, you reap the karma. If we mess up, we get messed up in return.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot to think about for you, then, isn’t it?”

  “It becomes second nature. Besides, with great power comes great responsibility.”

  “That’s from Spiderman, isn’t it?”

  She shot him a look. “You remember that, huh? I guess your brain hasn’t been wiped entirely clean, then.”

  “Guess not.” He took a towel from the rack, dried the bowl and handed it to her. She turned away from him to put it in the cupboard where she’d found it, though moving away from his warmth was the last thing she wanted to do. “So do you have a plan?” he asked.

  “T
ons of them.”

  “I’ll bet. But I meant for tomorrow. Let’s start there.”

  She nodded. “I think tomorrow we should go back to the falls. Take a look around those woods, if we can avoid the cops. See if we can backtrack a little, find where you were coming from, and maybe pick up a clue.”

  “Don’t you think the police have already done that?”

  “Sure. But they aren’t me.”

  “They sure as hell aren’t.”

  She let her eyes wander down his body, then stopped short at the white bandages around his waist, visible where his shirt hung, still unbuttoned. They were splotched with red. “Cory, you’re bleeding”

  He glanced down. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. I’m going to go see what this place has for first aid supplies. Something I probably should have thought of sooner. I could run out and find a drug store if—”

  He crossed the room, put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. Use that intuition of yours, if you don’t believe me.”

  She would, if she could quiet her mind long enough to hear it. “Are you in any pain?”

  “No.”

  “Would you admit it if you were?”

  He smiled a little. “Probably.”

  She thinned her lips. He was standing too close to her to enable her to think straight. “I’d feel better if you’d let me take a look at it.”

  “You can take a look at anything you want, Selene.”

  He was staring at her lips now, and she thought he was thinking about kissing her. And probably doubting whether it was wise to tangle this thing up with sex, when he wasn’t even sure if he could trust her yet. She wanted him to kiss her. But it would lead to more, and he was in no condition for what she had in mind.

  To save him having to make the decision, she made it for him, by putting her palms on his chest to keep him from coming any closer. And that was a huge mistake, because, damn, his skin felt good underneath her hands.

  He swallowed hard. She felt his heart beating, strong and steady, and the warmth of his flesh against her palms, and she almost swayed closer.

  He put his hands on her shoulders, maybe to steady her, or keep her at a distance, or maybe to pull her closer. Before he could do any of those things, she said, “You had surgery today.” As if that were the topic under discussion.

  “Minor surgery. A few stitches.”

  “A few stitches that are already bleeding through.”

  “Just a little.”

  “It’ll be a lot more if we—” She broke off there, bit her lip because she’d damn near stated what was going unsaid here.

  “If we what?”

  The way he looked at her, the way his eyes just kept moving over her face, repeatedly, hungrily, and with an appreciation in them she couldn’t help but notice, made her respond.

  “You know what,” she said. “We both know what. It’s the real reason I’m so nervous tonight, and I think you know that, too. But it would be wise to take our time here, don’t you think? You don’t even know me yet.”

  He frowned just slightly, then nodded once. “I’m being a pig, huh? And after telling you how safe you were with me. And the truth is, you don’t know me, either. I’m sorry, Selene. Chalk it up to the amnesia. I seem to have forgotten how not to come on like a cave man.”

  “No you haven’t. The amnesia has nothing to do with….” She waggled a forefinger between his chest and hers. “This.”

  “You’re right.” He drew a breath. “It’s you, making me forget my manners.”

  She smiled. “That’s a sweet thing to say.”

  “Yeah, I’m a sweet guy. I think.”

  His little joke broke the tension that had built between them, let her relax a little and breathe again. “I think so, too.”

  “Ah…like I said, you barely know me. I don’t even know myself.”

  “I know you plenty,” she told him.

  “That intuition again, huh?”

  “Um-hmm. And just so we’re clear on this, I’m not saying no, Cory. That would be pointless. I’m just saying, not yet. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Okay. One question, though?”

  “Sure.”

  “Why would it be pointless to say no?”

  “Because this…” She repeated the finger motion, forefinger waving between them almost as if stirring the energies she could feel there. “Is inevitable.”

  He looked surprised. “It is?”

  “I knew that the minute you stumbled out of the woods and fell at my feet.”

  He stared at her. She knew he was probably starting to question her mental stability. Hell, he probably already had been, given her claim of being a Witch, her wielding a dagger over him, her dancing naked in a woody clearing. She took her hands from his chest, finally, and, not without regret, lowered them to her sides. “Don’t look so nervous, Cory. I’m not going to turn you into an obsession or become a stalker or anything like that. And that’s why we need to go slowly here. I want you to know you can trust me. I want you to know who I am.”

  He still looked worried. “I’d kind of like to know who I am, while we’re at it.”

  “Oh, you will. I promise.”

  “Yeah? How can you be so sure?” He glanced at the room around them. “What if it never comes back?”

  “Your memory? It will, Cory.”

  “But what if it doesn’t?”

  He was scared. It made him all the more attractive to her that he was willing to let her see that in him.

  “If it doesn’t, we’ll start from square one. Hell, we can start right now. That is, right after I take a look at your belly. You game?”

  He met her eyes and nodded.

  He lay on his back on the big bed in the cabin’s only bedroom. She’d insisted, so she could check the stitches in his belly and satisfy her curiosity. Or maybe she was just trying to drive him insane.

  He wanted her. She knew it, and it was mutual. Why the hell did women always have to complicate things with all their emotional analysis and nitpicking? Why couldn’t she or any other woman deal with this sort of thing in a simple straightforward way? Acknowledge the physical attraction went both ways and engage in a night of mutual mind-blowing pleasure.

  But no. She was talking crazy, and he got the feeling she was seeing way more than was here—maybe concocting fantasies about predestination and soul mates and fate and that sort of garbage. Yeah, that was probably it—it would be right up her witchy little alley, wouldn’t it?

  And that meant he was going to have to watch his step. She wasn’t the kind who would take sex casually. Apparently, he thought, he was. Crying shame.

  Hell, what was wrong with him? He should have been watching his step anyway. And he supposed he was being a typical guy: more averse to having sex with her out of fear she might take it too seriously, than because she might have tried to kill him. That certainly told him something about himself, didn’t it?

  She was leaning over him now, looking at the little wound in his belly, checking the stitches the docs had put into it, shaking her head and frowning and bending closer. Her long hair brushed his skin way down low on his abdomen, and he thought if she didn’t notice the swelling going on inside his jeans, she must be blind. But she wasn’t blind, and he thought she knew exactly what she was doing.

  Then she straightened and met his eyes. “I’m not trying to be a tease,” she said.

  “I didn’t say you were.” But he’d been thinking it. He experienced a surreal moment where he was sure she’d read his mind, and suddenly wondered if her delusions were for real. But he brushed the thought aside and told it not to dare return.

  She stared into his eyes for a moment, then returned to her work, smearing some ointment onto a clean gauze square she’d found in the bathroom, pressing it to the wound and then taping it in place.

  “So,” she said a moment later, entirely out of the blue. “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Pizza.”

  S
he smiled. “That figures. What kind?”

  He didn’t answer though. He was too busy blinking in shock that he’d been able to come up with an instant answer to such a simple question.

  “Cory?”

  He shook himself, glanced at her. “How did I know that?”

  “You know all kinds of things,” she said. “You just have to stop looking so hard for them and let them come to the surface by themselves. You didn’t stop to think about your answer. You just blurted it as soon as it popped into your mind. If you can keep doing that—answering without thinking first—you’ll learn a lot about yourself.”

  She didn’t bother wrapping the bandages around and around his waist, as they had been before. When she finished, instead of being trussed up in layers of gauze, he bore a single clean, square patch, firmly fixed to his belly. It felt a lot better this way.

  “So what kind?”

  He frowned and tried to think of an answer. He considered and then discarded several possible toppings. Pepperoni was common, but didn’t feel quite right. But who didn’t like pepperoni? And there were other popular choices like mushrooms and onions and whatnot. But he didn’t know what he would want on his own pizza.

  She was right, he was thinking too hard. “I don’t know,” he finally said.

  “I bet you like anchovies. You know, those salty little fish—”

  “I definitely don’t like anchovies.”

  She nodded. “Neither do I.”

  He sent her a puzzled frown.

  “People react strongly to anchovies. You either love them or hate them. I figured if I threw them into the conversation you’d have an instant and honest reaction. And you did. You hate anchovies.”

  “Hate them.”

  “See how much you’re learning about yourself?”

  “I do.” He was still lying on the bed, hands folded behind his head. “You’re a smart woman, Selene. So what do you like on your pizza?”

  “Broccoli, tomatoes, onions, peppers. I’m big into veggies. Oh, and I like pineapple sometimes, just to mix it up.”

  He nodded. “No meat?”

  “I’m a vegetarian. Why? Does it sound empty to you without meat?”

  “Yeah. And the idea of pineapple made me grimace, but the peppers and onions sounded right.”