by T. M. Cromer
“Sebastian,” Margaret sighed again.
He needed to leave. Immediately. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Gently, so as not to wake her, he disentangled himself from the sheets and pulled on his jeans.
He was done being a sucker for love. While he’d never truly loved Tamara to the depth or with the ferocity he loved Margaret, he had cared for her. She’d used him, though, and he couldn’t fight the feeling it was happening a second time.
As he stalked toward the door, Margaret’s sleepy, questioning voice halted him in his tracks.
“Sebas… uh, Gabriel? Where are you going?”
The embarrassment-saving exit he’d haphazardly planned was ruined as he stomped back to the bed.
“Who’s Sebastian?” he demanded.
“You are.” Her sexy, sleepy grin punched him in the gut.
Concern quickly replaced his hurt. He squatted in front of her and cupped her face in his hands. Carefully, he turned her head from side to side to get a clear look at her eyes.
“Sweetheart, I’m worried about you.”
“Why?”
“Do you know my name, Margaret? My real name?”
She wrestled the covers to sit up, her brows knitting together and deepening her frown. “Of course. You’re Gabriel.”
Kneeling, he rested a hand on either side of her thighs. “Then who’s Sebastian, love?”
“You are.”
Exasperation set in. This conversation had him lost, and her next statement did nothing to clarify it.
“You are Gabriel, and you are also Sebastian. You’ve also been Marcus, Hugh, and a whole list of other people in the past. You can’t remember, but I do.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
She trailed her fingers along his jaw. Her wide, imploring eyes begged him to understand. “It means we’ve been together in previous lives.”
“I don’t believe in past lives, Margaret.”
“Wait.” She rifled around in the nightstand then handed him a sketch of himself. Only it didn’t quite look like him. It was more like a historical rendering of what he would’ve looked like had he indeed lived in the past.
A crystalline image of himself dressed exactly like this, straightening his tie in a looking glass, flashed through his mind. Déjà vu struck, and the sensation was dizzying. What was she doing to him?
Making him crazy is what!
This was not a topic he felt comfortable discussing when her children were about to wake and start their day. “Look, it’s getting late, and the kids will be up soon. It’s better they don’t find me here too often until we decide one hundred percent where this is going and what to tell them.”
As Gabriel cut across the lawn to his house, he half-laughed, half-snorted at the memory of Margaret’s floored expression. She’d looked like a landed trout, huffing and puffing, her mouth opening and closing.
Although he loved her, he wasn’t ready for the paranormal claptrap she seemed to cling to. First Sammy with the “premonitions,” James with his “channeling” spirits, and Annie with her “energy” receptors, now this? Yeah, it was a hard pass from him. Gabriel preferred to deal with cold, hard facts, and not “feelings” or “visions.”
After stepping through the door to his house, he tossed the sketch he’d forgotten he was carrying onto the counter and headed straight for the espresso machine. He toyed with the idea of lacing his coffee with Bailey’s or maybe something stronger. God, he needed something stronger!
He’d spent a long, rough night, tossing and turning as he stressed about the upcoming confrontation with Don. Other than in the courtroom, Gabriel wasn’t argumentative by nature. He subscribed to the do-unto-others way of life. If you treated people with kindness, you received it in return. Only the Dons and the Scotts of the world brought out his inner asshat. Or maybe it was his need to make life easier for Margaret that had caused him to be more aggressive than normal.
Gabriel ran a shaky hand through his hair and began to pace. Thinking back, he could see he’d been a borderline Neanderthal a time or two when dealing with the other men. In the case of her ex, he could admit to a bit of jealousy that Scott had met and married Margaret first. Had fathered her beautiful children. But Scott had also created hardships for her with his carelessness, and Gabriel couldn’t forgive him for that.
And as for Don, well, the guy was majorly off. No one with innocent intentions showed up in the middle of the night and threw rocks at a window. He stopped short. Well, no one but him anyway. And Gabriel wasn’t so sure his own intentions had been innocent at the time. Regardless, he wasn’t going to let Don get close enough to hurt a hair on her head if he could help it.
The beep of his coffee maker signaled a completed brew cycle. As he sipped his drink, he calmed down and allowed his mind to go back to his conversation with Margaret. As for her past-life declaration, he didn’t know what to believe. Didn’t know if he wanted to. His eyes drifted to the sketch lying face up on his granite countertop.
Yes, he’d been attracted to her from the moment they met. Yes, he felt as if he’d known her forever. Yes, she held his heart in the palm of her hand. Had from day one. If she wanted him to jump through hoops for her, that’s what he’d do. But not without some grumbling. And dealing with this type of hokey belief deserved some serious grumbling.
A tap on the glass slider dragged his focus away from the sketch.
Margaret.
There she stood, beautiful and contrite.
When he opened the door, she said, “I’m sorry.”
He could no more resist her than the oxygen his body needed to breathe, the food he needed to fuel his body, or the water he needed to drink for hydration. All were necessary to his existence. Especially her. But he didn’t have to like it.
Moments passed while the two of them stared. Each waiting for the other to speak. As he watched, the light of hope started to fade from her eyes. It felt like he’d told a small child there was no Santa. As she gave a resigned sigh and turned to leave, Gabriel reached for her. “Don’t go.”
Her face lit with her relief, and desire grabbed him by the ’nads. Would he ever not want this woman? All she had to do was crook her little finger and he came running.
He bent his head to hers. “No more talk of past lives. It freaks me the fuck out.”
After two heartbeats, she agreed. “Done.”
“Seriously? You’re giving in just like that? You?” He nipped her lower lip.
“If it’s going to get me in your bed again tonight.” She grinned and reached up to pull his head down to hers for a deep, drugging kiss.
When he could gather his scattered wits, he said, “Margaret, there isn’t anything you could do or say that would keep you from my bed.” He felt her appreciative tremor and grinned. Yeah, they had it bad for each other.
“I love you, Gabriel.”
His heart rate kicked up a few notches, and placing fingers on the underside of her jaw, he gently tilted her chin up.
“I do. I love you.” She met his stunned gaze head-on.
He anchored both arms under her ass and lifted her until they were eye level.
“Say it again,” he ordered before she could yelp her surprise.
A giggle erupted from her pink, kiss-swollen lips. “I love you, Gabriel.”
“Again.”
“I love you, Gabriel.”
He lowered his mouth to her neck, nipping lightly. “Again.”
She gasped and complied.
“Again.” His mouth moved to pay tribute to her jawline.
“Mmm. I love you, Gabriel.” Each time she said it, her voice became huskier, thicker with emotion, and his heart became lighter.
“I will never tire of hearing that. I’m going to make you say it all day, every day,” he promised.
Later in the evening, after Margaret’s children had been bundled off to their father’s, she invited Gabriel back over. He’d had the bulk of t
he day to think about the sketch she’d created. The longer he studied it, the more he felt the rightness of her claim.
As he approached the screened deck, he noticed the small table for two. In the center, atop a white linen tablecloth, was a hurricane lantern set to low. White china dishes, gleaming silverware, and crystal champagne flutes completed the setup. Floating candles peppered the pool, and it backlit Margaret.
She was dressed in a mouthwatering side-wrap dress, and the way it hugged every curve of her body made his mouth dryer than dust.
“What’s all this?”
“Our New Year’s celebration.” She sounded tentative and slightly breathless. In other words, completely adorable and sexy as hell.
As he opened his mouth to comment, Grey walked out, dressed like a server for a Michelin-starred restaurant, with a bottle of wine in one hand and a white towel folded over his arm. He ruined the look with a wide-ass, mocking grin. “Hello, sir. If you care to take a seat, I’ll bring out the first course.”
Bending slightly at the waist, Grey poured the wine into the glasses and placed the open bottle on the table. He pulled out a chair for Margaret to sit down, gesturing to the other for Gabriel. “Do you need assistance, sir?”
“Bite me,” Gabriel said, good-naturedly. He wedged himself between his brother and Margaret to steal a kiss from her smiling mouth. “Hello, love.”
“Do you like our surprise?”
Her hopeful expression played havoc with his heart. His Margaret only ever wanted to please people, and right now, him most of all.
“Yes, I do. Very much. Thank you.” Her relieved grin filled his heart to bursting.
“It was Grey’s idea. I was going to order a simple meal for us. He’s the one who convinced me this setup and the catering of it would be fun.”
Gabriel straightened and cuffed Grey on the shoulder. “Thank you.” It meant more to him than he could say to have his brother go to these lengths for Margaret and him.
“My pleasure, bro. Now sit down, or you’re going to kill the timing and ruin all my hard work.”
“Pushy much?” he teased.
“Timing is everything if you don’t want dry salmon.”
“A true crime.” Gabriel laughed as his brother disappeared into the house. “You should’ve chosen someone a little more chill to cater your meal, love. My brother will be removing our plates for the next course before we finish the first.”
Margaret laughed. “It’s all good fun.”
“It is at that.” He glanced around. “This is really great.”
The mood was light, and their conversation flowed throughout their dinner. As their meal came to a close, Grey placed a cherry pie slice in front of each of them. “This is from Chez Margaret,” he stated with a hideous French accent. After scooping out a dollop of whipped cream for the top of each slice, he smiled. “Everything is cleaned up and put away inside. Enjoy what’s left of your night.”
Margaret clasped Grey’s hand between both of hers. “Thank you. This means the world to me.”
His brother’s expression softened as he stared down into Margaret’s lovely face, and Gabriel had a small flare of envy that her bright, happy smile wasn’t focused on him.
“It’s entirely my pleasure, Margie. We all owe you for being so wonderful to our aunt while she was alive.”
“Opal was an easy woman to love.”
Both Gabriel and Grey scoffed their disbelief.
“What? She was!” Margaret insisted.
“We loved her, too, but let’s be real. She was a cranky busybody,” Gabriel corrected.
“As much as it pains me to agree with Gabe, he’s right,” Grey said. “And on that note, I’m off. ’Night. I’ll be sure to lock the front door on my way out.”
They ate their pie in relative silence with Gabriel’s deep moan of appreciation filling the quiet night air. When he finished, he sat back and sipped his wine, watching as the lantern’s flame accentuated the soft planes of Margaret’s face. Another wave of déjà vu hit. Perhaps her theory of past lives wasn’t far-fetched. This was their first semi-formal dinner date, and yet, he would swear this was familiar to him, as if they’d done it multiple times before.
“Okay, I know I said I didn’t want to hear it, but could you explain the past-life thing? How does it all work?”
She watched him, not answering right away. Probably worried he’d ridicule her. Coming to some sort of internal decision, she said, “I’m not sure of the science behind it. Or the religious ramifications, for that matter. I just know I have memories of us throughout history. Sometimes my family is the same, sometimes they aren’t related at all. But we all rotate around one another throughout time. Family, friends, business associates. In our case, lovers.”
The hairs on the back of his neck lifted after she gripped his hand and explained why she’d called him Sebastian. He felt what could only be called a transference of energy, a surge of electrical heat between them, and he could see the past as clearly as if he were currently living it. Their instant attraction, the pursuit of a relationship, making love for the first time. Then profound sadness.
“What happened? I get the impression we were on a ship.”
“Titanic,” she said softly.
When he was a small child, Gabriel had had an unreasonable fear of water. If a single drop touched his face, he’d experience the sensation of drowning. His father had believed it was a brilliant idea to help him conquer his phobia by throwing him into the ocean and shouting, “Swim or drown, boy.” Adulthood and counseling sessions eventually helped him get beyond his aversion. After a time, he learned to enjoy the water. Now, he suspected he knew where the fear had originated.
“I died,” he said flatly.
“You did.”
He ran a hand over his mouth and shook his head. “I find this difficult to believe.”
“I know.” Margaret rose to her feet, grabbed her plate, and blew out the lantern. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Gabriel gathered the few remaining things from the table—because Florida and ants went hand in hand—and followed her at a slower pace. Each footstep felt like a lead weight as he walked to the kitchen. He wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to see what she had to show him. If she offered proof, he’d be forced to believe in otherworldly things.
She’d already placed her dishes in the sink and had moved to the island. At the center of the granite top was a file.
The sight of the Manila folder sent a chill down his spine. “I’m not sure I want to see this.”
“You don’t have to.”
Because he’d never been a coward, and because truth was always better, he rolled his shoulders, shook out his arms, and flipped open the file. A picture of himself, similar to the one Margaret had sketched, greeted him. Gabriel sucked in his breath, gobsmacked.
“Meet Sebastian Harwick. Born December fourteenth, eighteen seventy-four.”
He gave a small, disbelieving shake of his head. “Is this for real? You and Grey aren’t pranking me, are you?”
“I wouldn’t do that, Gabriel. This is information Annie recently dug up at my request.” She shot him a fleeting smile. “It helps to have a genealogist in the family.” She shrugged. “Until I met you, I thought Sebastian was a figment of my imagination. A phantom who haunted my thoughts. Who lingered between Scott and me throughout our entire marriage.”
He glanced up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I loved a fantasy man. Any commitment to Scott was difficult to maintain when all I wanted was someone I didn’t believe existed.”
“Jesus, Margaret.”
Her eyes dropped to the file in his hand, and Gabriel followed her line of sight. He still found it difficult to comprehend, but the proof was right in front of him. Wrapping his head around reincarnation wouldn’t be easy. He flipped through the paperwork and jerked at what he saw.
Sebastian Harwick was Opal’s grand-uncle.
&
nbsp; “Margaret, did you check out the tree? Is it possible you saw a picture of him at Opal’s one day and dreamed all this up?”
Anger tightened her features, and she yanked the folder from his hands. “Look, if you don’t want to believe it, don’t. But I know I’ve never seen anything concrete on Sebastian before this week.” She whirled around, preparing to storm away. But Gabriel blocked her path, stealing the file back.
Her furious glare almost made him laugh. Sweet, darling Margaret was about to skewer him alive, and she was cute as hell when she was spitting mad.
“I’ve dreamed of Sebastian since I was a child, Gabriel. A child.” She poked his chest. “Let that sink in. Long before I knew the history of the Titanic. Long before I met Opal.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, I believe you.”
She frowned her suspicion. “Why are you giving in so easily? It’s not like you.”
“When you first showed me the sketch, I may have had a vision of us. Before.”
“An image like what?”
He felt decidedly uncomfortable discussing this, but he soldiered on. “Me. Back then. Straightening my tie in the mirror. With you sitting on the bed, covers pulled up to your chest. Your hair was longer. Curlier.” He trailed a finger down to just below her breast. “It came to right about here.”
“I’ve seen that same thing, in my dreams. Last night, as a matter of fact.”
“And I had a sense of familiarity when we first met. As if everything clicked into place, and the world was finally as it should be,” he said softly.
Her eyes lost their wary look, and love shone bright and bold for him alone. “So you truly believe me?”
“I do.” And he did. If there was such a thing as a past life, he’d have killed to find her. To find this. Despite his desire to avoid entanglements, he couldn’t. Not with her. Not anymore.
Gabriel tossed the file onto the counter without caring where it landed. A light tug pulled her close, and he smoothed back the hair from her flushed face. “This thing between us? Yeah, I would’ve always searched for it, in every lifetime. So I believe you.”
