“What did she say?” I asked, my curiosity stirred.
“I’ve got it written down.” Petra bounced up and dug in the pocket of her skintight jeans. She pulled out a square of paper and unfolded it. “The old lady said, there’s two people who’ll come looking for you. They want something you’ve got in a suitcase in the attic. There’s a poem, which they already know, and a book, which the man needs to save the lives of loved ones.” Petra looked at each of us in turn. “Does that make any sense at all?”
“I think it does,” I told her. “Is that everything the old woman said?”
“No. There’s more.” Petra peered at her scribbled notes. “She said, when they come, tell your friends to remember it’s twice now. All of it. Not just what they think, but every single verse.” She looked up again. “Does that make sense?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ll have to think about it.”
Miles leaned back in his chair, silent, deep furrows across his brow.
“There’s one more thing.” Petra gave me a triumphant smile. “Miles already knows this, because I could remember this bit. The old lady laughed a little, sort of cackled at me, and then she said, I’ll put something else in for you. Just for you, my darling. She called me darling. I remember that clearly. She said, they took away love, and they must bring back love. It won’t be over unless they bring love to you.” Petra folded the piece of paper again and rose to cram it into the pocket of her jeans. “That’s what she said, but I’m not sure it makes any sense.”
“It certainly does.” I contemplated Miles, my chest clenching as comprehension hit me. He believed that for the curse to be broken, he had to bring love to Petra. The only way he could think of doing it was by offering himself to her. I was being sacrificed for a greater purpose. With that insight, his unwillingness to talk about the situation became easier to tolerate. No doubt he assumed that I would think he was using the additional rider to the prophecy as an excuse for dumping me.
And perhaps he was.
My hands curled into fists in my lap. So far, I hadn’t really made up my mind if I believed in the Layton Prophecy or not. Now, I embraced those haunting verses, told myself they brought mortal danger to me, and to Cleo, and possibly Petra. The curse was real, or at least Miles truly believed in it. He was protecting us at all costs—even sacrificing his happiness, and mine.
To think otherwise would have hurt too much.
Beside me, Petra fidgeted with her empty glass and raked an impatient glance over the thinning crowd. “I’d like to go dancing,” she said, her tone petulant. “This place dies down after ten.”
I gave her a nod, my shoulders tense. “I’m afraid I need to get back to the hotel. But I can take a taxi, and Miles can go with you.”
“I’m sorry,” Miles cut in, sounding a little rough. “I have business calls scheduled with America.”
“It’s past nine. Almost four o’clock in the afternoon in New York,” Petra said, her eyes narrowing as she contemplated him.
Miles didn’t move a muscle. “My business is with the West Coast. It’s only midday there.”
Petra seemed unfazed. “I’m driving out to Happy Valley tomorrow morning. Do you want to hitch a ride with me, or do you want to come in your rental car?”
“I think we’ll take the rental car,” Miles said, gesturing at the waiter to get the bill for the drinks. “That way we’ll have more flexibility, in case Alexandra wants to do her own thing.”
Petra rewarded him with a bright smile. He couldn’t have stated more clearly that I was the odd one out in our group.
****
Miles and I drove back to the hotel in Constantia in silence. He parked the car, and we got out. The wind had picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees around the courtyard, the sound whispering around us in the darkness. In the distance, a dog howled, a forlorn cry of a lonely creature for a mate. It wasn’t until we’d walked to our neighboring Skylark and Swallow doors that we both burst into words.
“I know about—”
“It’s not—”
Miles turned to me. The lights on the edge of the roof made him into a dark silhouette. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t risk Cleo’s safety, or yours.”
“Do you really believe in the prophecy?” I shook my head at him, unable to shake my doubts. “Even in that addition that says you need to bring love to Petra?”
He gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I know it sounds like nonsense to you. It would to most people, but I can’t take any chances. There are things I’ve seen...” He paused to draw a breath and then continued in a lowered voice. “As part of my research, I’ve studied primitive religions. Voodoo, Santeria, Quimbanda. I’ve seen a man make a mouse die by just touching it. I’ve seen healthy fruit turn rotten before my eyes. I can’t discount the possibility that the power of evil can be harnessed and directed to certain individuals and their descendents. I must accept the possibility that the Layton Prophecy is real, a powerful threat to your safety, and that of Cleo’s.”
By now, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I could see the haunted expression on his face. “And that’s not just an excuse to soothe your conscience for dumping me and moving on to someone else?”
His jaw tightened. “You should know I don’t want to do that.”
“Is this what you meant earlier today, when you said it’s not always easy to make the right choices?”
He nodded again.
“Have you slept with Petra?”
“No. Not yet. I haven’t even kissed her.”
I stepped toward him. “In that case, it’s all right for you to sleep with me one more time.”
He enveloped me in fierce a hug. “Do you really want to?” he asked. “I’ve been a bastard to you, not writing, not calling. Not offering any explanations.” He yanked the tote bag from my shoulder and set it down on the cobblestones, so he could haul me closer. He spoke into my ear, his breath warm against my skin. “I did it on purpose. I thought it would be easier for you if you hated me, so I set out to act like a jerk.”
“The role seemed to come easily enough to you.” Despite the tart comment, his explanation eased my hurt. It didn’t change the situation, but it helped to know that I hadn’t just been callously cast aside when a more attractive woman came along.
“It really rattled me when you turned up at the hotel yesterday.” He exhaled a deep sigh. “I felt guilty as hell. But I’m glad you came. I’m glad we had today together, and that we’ve talked before...before anything happens between me and Petra.
I buried my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scents of salty sea and outdoors on his skin. “I’m glad too that I came,” I told him. “And that we had today, and tonight, even if that is all we’ll ever have.”
His muscular body shifted against mine in a helpless shrug. “I have to do the right thing to protect Cleo, just as I have to protect you.” His arms eased around me, and he cupped my chin with one hand, tilting up my face. “There’s no confusion in my mind about who you are, and what you mean for me. Do you understand that?”
“Yes,” I said.
His mouth came down to mine, and he cradled my face between his palms to hold me still while his lips roamed over mine in a gentle, reassuring kiss. Impatient, I reached up to slide my fingers into his hair, tugging him closer. My tongue thrust into the warm recess of his mouth, dueling with his, eager and bold. Making a harsh sound low in his throat, Miles deepened the kiss, his arms reaching around my shoulders once more, crushing me to his chest, so hard that I could feel the steady thud of his heart against my breast.
Endlessly, he kissed me, the whisper of the wind in the tall trees and the harsh rasp of his heavy breathing the only sounds that broke the quiet of the night. When he finally straightened and let me go, he unlocked the door, and I followed him inside. He flicked the switch on the wall. Only a dim bedside light came on. He turned to me. We stood in the middle of the room, facing each other. His fingers fisted in the
fabric of my knitted dress and drew the garment over my head.
“I can’t promise you anything,” he said. “You know that?”
“Yes you can,” I told him. “You can promise me tonight.”
He reached behind me to unclasp my bra. “What do you want?” he whispered. “Tonight I’ll give you anything you want.” He drew circles around my nipples with a single fingertip, one side first, then the other, scraping across the tender peak with the edge of his nail, making me flinch as pleasure arrowed inside me.
“I want you.”
He paused, stepped back, quickly undressed, searched in his duffle bag and took care of protection while I slipped out of my underwear. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he reached his arms out to me. I stepped into him. He guided me up on the bed, my knees straddling his muscled thighs. Slowly, he helped me to descend over him. I began a smooth dance of rising and falling, teasing him to the brink, and then slowing down again, making him mine, even if only for tonight.
Outside, an owl hooted.
I knew the soft sound would forever remind me of that night.
I made love to him, rising and falling, and then just falling, falling, when the waves of release broke over me. My head tipped back, my back arching, a low moan slipping from my lips. Curling his hands around my waist, Miles anchored me down, so he could surge inside me, and with one final thrust, he gave himself to me.
****
I lay beside Miles on the sturdy oak bed. His weight made the soft mattress dip. I huddled against him, spooning against his broad back. After that first time, he’d made love to me again, fiercely, possessively, his body a heavy weight over mine, his jaw clenched as he kept up the pounding rhythm of his thrusts, advancing and recoiling inside me, over and over again, until I shuddered beneath him, my tremors of pleasure making me arch against the mattress so I could take him deeper.
He’d surged once more, bucking over me with a violent burst of pleasure that tore a harsh cry from his throat, and I’d felt his release inside me, a rhythmic pulsing that had given me a fleeting dream of one day giving him a child.
Spent, shaking, slick with perspiration, he’d finally drifted off to sleep, but I wanted to stay awake. I wanted to hoard every moment of the last night we’d have together, like a miser who counts the coins in his purse.
The bedsprings creaked as Miles rolled over onto his back. In the faint glow of moonlight filtering in through the thin curtains, I saw his eyes flicker, and I knew that he was awake.
“It’s only two o’clock,” I told him. “Go back to sleep.”
“No.” He wrapped one arm around me, hugging me close. “I want to talk.”
I teased the curly hairs on his chest with my fingertips. “So, talk.”
Silence fell in the darkness. It lasted so long, I thought he’d fallen asleep again. Then his body stirred against mine. “That...that nonsense you said about me using you as a substitute for Cleo...it’s just too ugly to leave it out in the open.”
“Sorry.” My face pressed against his shoulder, my voice muffled. “But you call her sweetheart, and you tell her that you love her. And why do you hate her husband so much?” I shifted on the bed, seeking to get more comfortable. “You’re an attractive successful man over thirty, and yet you’ve told me that you’ve never lived with a woman. Most men your age have had serious relationships.”
His hand rose to idly stroke my hair. “I’ve called Cleo sweetheart and told her that I love her since she was born. I’ve always been like a big brother to her, and now I’ve taken the place of her father. The reason I don’t like her husband is because he’s a good for nothing bum who went from girl to girl, trying to marry money, until he finally succeeded with Cleo. Before too long, he’ll betray her and slap her around.”
I arched my back to look at Miles. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because I had him checked out, and he’s done it before.”
“I’m sorry.” My eyes searched his tense features.
“And that last thing...”
“Yes?” I burrowed against his side and waited.
“I was in my teens when Francis got married. She was a beauty, but a real piece of work. Wild. Irresponsible. Cruel. She cheated on him and squandered his money and neglected her child. It damn near broke Francis. He turned into a ghost of himself, before he finally got her out of his system and filed for divorce.”
I tried to imagine the woman, but only managed to conjure up Petra’s features. I bit my lip, fighting the surge of jealousy. “I did wonder when you told me that Francis got sole custody. Usually courts favor the mother.”
Miles heaved out a bitter sigh. “It was every bit as bad as you can imagine. Watching that train-wreck of a marriage left me wary of relationships.”
“Have you never been in love?”
He rolled onto his side, facing me. “Yes, I have...in a way.”
The odd, hungry look he gave me sent shivers rushing over me. “What do you mean, in a way?” I asked.
“I was a quiet teenager. Introverted. Shy with girls. I went to an all male school and didn’t have any sisters. But, when I was fourteen, I was asked to choose a birthday gift for a girl. I wanted to get it just right, so I asked her father lots of questions about her, and spent lots of time looking at a photo of her. Before I knew it, I started to feel quite proprietary about that girl.”
“My polar bear on my tenth birthday,” I whispered, my eyes misting.
“Yes.” Miles pressed a chaste kiss to my brow. “Over the years, I got to choose a few more things for you and the pictures your father showed me of you got a lot more interesting. After high school, I went to a naval academy. There were hardly any girls, but most guys had a picture of some girl back home, and those who didn’t stuck pictures of models in their wallets. I had your picture. I think you were sixteen.”
“Not that horrible one with my hair in a perm?”
“The very same,” Miles said, chuckling. “I didn’t like the photo, but I remained loyal, instead of jettisoning you for the latest movie starlet. Then, in the navy, the opportunities for meeting women were limited. I understood you were just a fantasy, that I was using the idea of you to avoid a real relationship that could lead to a mess like Francis had made of his marriage. I had flings, but no one measured up to this mythical woman I’d built up in my mind.”
A lump settled in my chest. What had started as a lovely, whimsical tale of teenage adoration was heading into a bad direction. No real woman could measure up to a mirage someone had created in their imagination. “Did you ever think of coming over to check me out?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“I thought of it, when I left the navy, but you were engaged.”
“But he...we broke it off.”
Miles kissed my brow again, a comforting kiss that told me he knew I’d been jilted. “I oscillated between wanting to break his bones for hurting you and relief because I could keep on fantasizing about you.”
Something teased the edges of my mind—the look Miles had given me when we first met, when he’d said that he’d hurried over to England to see the other Layton heiress who needed protecting from the prophecy. It had been an odd, propriety look. Now I understood it, as well as the comment he’d made about having waited for a long time to kiss me.
I wriggled beneath the covers, trying to hide my unease. “I guess it’s been quite a disappointment to see the real article with warts and all, and three decades worth of wear and tear.”
“Not at all.” His gaze held mine. “The opposite. It’s been scary as hell to realize that what I’ve been dreaming of exists.”
“I’m not beautiful, or brave, or clever.”
“You’re all of those things,” he said. “Your beauty is quiet and understated, the kind that lasts, and you’ve proved your courage by coming out to South Africa and forcing me to reveal how I’ve carried a foolish boy’s dream into adulthood.”
“I didn’t force you to do anything.”
/> “Yes you did.” He shifted on the bed, rolling his body over mine, his weight braced on his arms. “By suggesting that there is something unhealthy in my relationship with Cleo because I’ve avoided attachments, you’ve forced me to talk about how I feel. I love her, but it’s a different kind of love.”
“How?” I murmured. “How is it different?”
His arms bent at the elbows, lowering him down until he could press a kiss to my lips. “The love I feel for Cleo is like sunshine on my skin.” He pushed back up on his arms, his biceps flexing with the motion. “What I feel for you is like dousing myself in lighter fuel and striking a match.”
“Show me.” I searched his eyes. “Show me one more time.”
He did, and I’d been wrong to believe that he didn’t have tender words.
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Chapter Eighteen
The ringing of the telephone tore me out of a dream. Then I felt the solid warmth snuggling against my back, and I realized it hadn’t been a dream at all. Miles reached for the receiver and grunted something into it. A second later, the covers flew off me, exposing me to the chill of the night as he jolted up on the bed.
His voice grew urgent. He barked out questions. I switched on the bedside lamp and looked around. My dress lay in a heap on the floor, a pale shadow against the russet of the tiles. I got up and slipped the cotton jersey shift over my head without bothering to search for the bra.
Miles motioned for me to stay with him rather than leave the room. He stood, strong and solid in his nakedness, the receiver wedged between his ear and shoulder, the phone dangling from his fingers as he tried to reach the desk by the window, an extra piece of furniture my room didn’t have. The telephone cord wasn’t long enough and Miles turned to me, his brows lifted in request as he pointed toward the desk.
I hurried to fetch him a pad and pen. He took them and nodded his thanks to me. I waited, watching as the vertical lines bracketing his mouth grew deeper. When he hung up, his face was gaunt, despair sharp in his pewter eyes.
The Layton Prophecy Page 17
