Fates 06 - Totally Spellbound

by Kristine Grayson

  “You know that prophecy couldn’t have been about Marian if they wanted to tell you after she had already died,” Zoe continued.

  The bedroom door slammed shut. It took Rob a moment to focus on Zoe.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “The Fates,” she said. “They only give out prophecies of the future, not portents of the past. If they wanted to tell you after Marian died, then they thought you hadn’t met your true soulmate.”

  Two days ago, he would have yelled at her for that. But after this afternoon, he was beginning to realize there was a lot in this world he didn’t understand, either.

  “You think Megan is his soulmate?” Travers asked.

  “My people fall in love fast,” Zoe said. “Rob is hooked. I can tell.”

  “Well, you’ve got a way to go with Megan,” Travers said to Rob. “Because right now, you just fit into her classic pattern. You seduced her and hurt her. And I don’t care who you are. Hurt her any worse, and you’ll pay for the rest of your long and unnatural life.”

  Twenty-seven

  Megan leaned against the closed door and stared at the rumpled bed. The scene of the crime, as it were. Only it hadn’t been a crime.

  As she had so forcefully told her brother, she had consented. She hadn’t just consented, she had initiated. She had pulled off Rob’s clothing, brought him into this room, and jumped him.

  They hadn’t even pulled down the coverlet—something she always did in hotel rooms because who knew what other people did on top of those things?

  She winced.

  Other people probably just did what she and Rob had done.

  Her clothes were scattered around the room, and so were his. Some of his still had to be in the entry, but she hadn’t really noticed, not as she hurried in here — her stomach twisting and her eyes so dry that they hurt.

  Ironic that her eyes were dry now. The way her heart was feeling, she would have thought those eyes would be filled with tears.

  Yet, if she looked at things calmly and rationally, she had no reason to be upset. She knew about Marian. Hell, she had known about Maid Marian as Robin Hood’s Truest Love since she had been a little girl, reading books of legend and lore.

  She had known; she had always known.

  So why did it hurt?

  Because, for about two hours, she had felt cocooned in such a deep love that she actually believed it when a man who had known her for less than twenty-four hours had said that he had fallen in love with her.

  A man with an amazing and unusual accent and a deep, sexy voice had told her in no uncertain terms that he could love her, and then he had enumerated the reasons.

  A man who was the most attractive man she had ever met, a man who had decided that words weren’t enough and that he needed to use his body to convince her.

  She had been convinced.

  And then he had made it a lie.

  Although he had never said she was his soulmate. He hadn’t said she was his true love.

  All he had said was that he loved her.

  Which should have been enough.

  She sighed and grabbed her clothes. She tossed them on the bed—as far from the rumples as she could get—and dropped the robe. Time to come back to reality. Time to figure out what was really going on.

  What would she counsel her patients to do?

  Wait, that wasn’t fair. Kids often didn’t have life experience to make good choices. Both she and Rob had life experiences—he a few thousand more than she had.

  What would she counsel an adult?

  She would ask: What do you want in this relationship?

  And she would answer: I’m not sure it is a relationship.

  All right, she would say, do you want it to be a relationship?

  And her heart answered for her: Yes.

  Do you love him? she would ask.

  I don’t know.

  And she didn’t. That was the center of it. Because this had happened before. She had gotten overwhelmed by desire, desire that seemed to radiate from the man, desire that she would reciprocate—and then that desire would fade. Friendship or respect or a sense of fun might replace it. But that feeling, that warmth, would be gone for good.

  Only she had felt that strong, overwhelming sense of belonging when Rob had pulled her close in the middle of the discussion with Zoe and Travers. His desire had continued, and so had hers.

  But did she want more from him than sex?

  The sex was pretty good. (Pretty good? The sex was the most spectacular of her life. The sex would have been enough to sustain any relationship, for anyone, for as long as the sex worked.)

  Which was probably her answer.

  She wanted more, but would settle for the sex.

  And if some teenager had told her that, she would have said it was pretty pathetic.

  But she doubted any teenager would ever, ever experience sex like that.

  She smiled to herself and pulled on her clothes. Then she grabbed her brush from her overnight bag and straightened her hair.

  Rob was a complicated man. He claimed he wasn’t controlling, but he would make blanket statements, like when he had said that he didn’t want her to go with him.

  Yet he could be sensitive and caring.

  Was she in love with him?

  She didn’t know. She didn’t believe in love at first sight.

  But if she did believe in it, would she claim she was in love with him?

  Her heart warmed. From the moment she had seen him, she had been attracted to him. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind.

  And no other man would ever compare to him.

  Was that love?

  She didn’t know.

  Unlike Rob, she had never experienced it. She had no idea what it felt like.

  Was it this confusing?

  Her patients always said it was, and she believed them.

  Hell, she had experienced the confusion part herself.

  But never the all-enveloping warmth. Never the complete and total merging with another person. Never the certain knowledge that no other person would ever measure up to this one.

  She sighed.

  Her training had made her analytical. This was a question for her heart.

  And her heart was hiding, terrified of being hurt.

  Twenty-seven

  Megan leaned against the closed door and stared at the rumpled bed. The scene of the crime, as it were. Only it hadn’t been a crime.

  As she had so forcefully told her brother, she had consented. She hadn’t just consented, she had initiated. She had pulled off Rob’s clothing, brought him into this room, and jumped him.

  They hadn’t even pulled down the coverlet—something she always did in hotel rooms because who knew what other people did on top of those things?

  She winced.

  Other people probably just did what she and Rob had done.

  Her clothes were scattered around the room, and so were his. Some of his still had to be in the entry, but she hadn’t really noticed, not as she hurried in here — her stomach twisting and her eyes so dry that they hurt.

  Ironic that her eyes were dry now. The way her heart was feeling, she would have thought those eyes would be filled with tears.

  Yet, if she looked at things calmly and rationally, she had no reason to be upset. She knew about Marian. Hell, she had known about Maid Marian as Robin Hood’s Truest Love since she had been a little girl, reading books of legend and lore.

  She had known; she had always known.

  So why did it hurt?

  Because, for about two hours, she had felt cocooned in such a deep love that she actually believed it when a man who had known her for less than twenty-four hours had said that he had fallen in love with her.

  A man with an amazing and unusual accent and a deep, sexy voice had told her in no uncertain terms that he could love her, and then he had enumerated the reasons.

  A man who was the most attractive man she had eve
r met, a man who had decided that words weren’t enough and that he needed to use his body to convince her.

  She had been convinced.

  And then he had made it a lie.

  Although he had never said she was his soulmate. He hadn’t said she was his true love.

  All he had said was that he loved her.

  Which should have been enough.

  She sighed and grabbed her clothes. She tossed them on the bed—as far from the rumples as she could get—and dropped the robe. Time to come back to reality. Time to figure out what was really going on.

  What would she counsel her patients to do?

  Wait, that wasn’t fair. Kids often didn’t have life experience to make good choices. Both she and Rob had life experiences—he a few thousand more than she had.

  What would she counsel an adult?

  She would ask: What do you want in this relationship?

  And she would answer: I’m not sure it is a relationship.

  All right, she would say, do you want it to be a relationship?

  And her heart answered for her: Yes.

  Do you love him? she would ask.

  I don’t know.

  And she didn’t. That was the center of it. Because this had happened before. She had gotten overwhelmed by desire, desire that seemed to radiate from the man, desire that she would reciprocate—and then that desire would fade. Friendship or respect or a sense of fun might replace it. But that feeling, that warmth, would be gone for good.

  Only she had felt that strong, overwhelming sense of belonging when Rob had pulled her close in the middle of the discussion with Zoe and Travers. His desire had continued, and so had hers.

  But did she want more from him than sex?

  The sex was pretty good. (Pretty good? The sex was the most spectacular of her life. The sex would have been enough to sustain any relationship, for anyone, for as long as the sex worked.)

  Which was probably her answer.

  She wanted more, but would settle for the sex.

  And if some teenager had told her that, she would have said it was pretty pathetic.

  But she doubted any teenager would ever, ever experience sex like that.

  She smiled to herself and pulled on her clothes. Then she grabbed her brush from her overnight bag and straightened her hair.

  Rob was a complicated man. He claimed he wasn’t controlling, but he would make blanket statements, like when he had said that he didn’t want her to go with him.

  Yet he could be sensitive and caring.

  Was she in love with him?

  She didn’t know. She didn’t believe in love at first sight.

  But if she did believe in it, would she claim she was in love with him?

  Her heart warmed. From the moment she had seen him, she had been attracted to him. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind.

  And no other man would ever compare to him.

  Was that love?

  She didn’t know.

  Unlike Rob, she had never experienced it. She had no idea what it felt like.

  Was it this confusing?

  Her patients always said it was, and she believed them.

  Hell, she had experienced the confusion part herself.

  But never the all-enveloping warmth. Never the complete and total merging with another person. Never the certain knowledge that no other person would ever measure up to this one.

  She sighed.

  Her training had made her analytical. This was a question for her heart.

  And her heart was hiding, terrified of being hurt.

  Twenty-eight

  Megan wasn’t coming back.

  He had hurt her and he hadn’t meant to.

  “Excuse me,” Rob said, and headed toward the bedroom. Neither Zoe nor Travers tried to stop him, which told him that they agreed: He had screwed up.

  He stopped outside the bedroom door, half expecting sobs. The women from his past, with the exception of Marian, would have been wailing by now.

  But it was silent in there, except for a quiet rustling. What was she doing?

  He knocked.

  “Come on in, Rob,” she said.

  He opened the door. “You knew it was me?”

  She was fully dressed. Her lips still looked swollen from being kissed, but her hair was combed and her clothing was straightened.

  “Who else would it have been?” she asked. “Travers hates strong emotion, and I don’t know Zoe all that well.”

  “She’s a good person,” Rob said.

  “I’m beginning to figure that out,” Megan said. “Did she send you here?”

  It was a trick question, and fortunately, he’d had enough experience with women not to admit that Zoe had told him he was an idiot.

  “Coming after you was my idea.” He held out his hands in a what-was-I-thinking gesture. “I’m sorry.”

  Megan shrugged. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I overreacted. You’ve lived for centuries without me. To think that I’m the most important person you’ve ever met is arrogant, particularly since the whole world knows about Marian.”

  He sighed. She sounded so reasonable, and yet he worried that she wasn’t. “You are important.”

  “You told me that,” she said.

  Which wasn’t the answer he expected.

  “But do you believe it?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Oddly enough, I do. And if you’d asked me at noon yesterday would I have believed that people could come to mean so much to each other that they were as involved as longtime lovers, I’d say not outside a wartime situation.”

  “A wartime situation?”

  “You know, like being hostages together or being the only two survivors on a battlefield.”

  “Wow,” Rob said sarcastically, “you have a romantic view of love.”

  She smiled. “I was raised to be practical.”

  “But you’re not practical, Megan,” he said, “or you wouldn’t have spent time with me this afternoon.”

  She met his gaze. Her green eyes seemed clearer than they had before. “Oh, yes, I am. What I felt today is something I’ve never felt before—and I liked it. So I asked myself: Did I want to experience that again or ruin it by having the wrong expectations?”

  He frowned. He had never heard anything like this.

  “And I realized that I’d rather be with you as long as I can, and experience whatever it is that we have until we’re both tired of it, rather than letting John’s rather blanket statement about me being the best for you and all this talk of Fate and soulmates make me overreach the relationship.”

  “Overreach the relationship?” he repeated. He’d never heard anything like that.

  “This relationship is going to be what it’s going to be,” she said. “No amount of wishing can make it anything else.”

  There was a certain amount of logic to her statements, but there was no logic in how he felt. And there had been no logic in how he’d felt about Marian, either. At some point, a man had to realize that sometimes he lived through his heart and not his mind. And that living through the heart was just as valid—if not more valid.

  “Did they train you to think like this in your profession?” he asked.

  Her smile widened. But it looked cooler than he’d ever seen it.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s my job to see what’s beyond the emotion, to understand it, and to help the patient understand it as well.”

  “And in this case, you’re the patient and the therapist?” he asked.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “And they call economics the dismal science,” he muttered.

  “What?” Megan frowned at him.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. It just seems like a sad way to look at the world, analyzing each emotion good and bad, and figuring out the logical approach to that emotion. Sometimes, it’s better to follow your feelings.”

  “Says the man who once defied the Fates,” Megan said.

  “I don
’t regret that, even now,” Rob said. “I followed my heart.”

  “And they could have imprisoned you for it.”

  He smiled. “I’m beginning to understand why they didn’t. They knew how I felt about Marian.”

  Megan nodded. “We all know.”

  He felt his cheeks heat. He wasn’t going to get past this. “Megan, I have been honest with you from the beginning.”

  “I know that,” she said. “And I think that we have tremendous potential.”

  The word stung him, and he wasn’t sure why. It was a dismissive word, one that undercut what he already felt. He grabbed his pants, which were in a pile on the floor, found his shirt, and tossed them on the messed-up bed.

  Then he took off the robe.

  Megan’s cheeks heated. She wasn’t as dispassionate as she pretended to be.

  He grabbed his pants and slid them on, then put his shirt over them, buttoning it quickly. He preferred not to feel naked any more.

  “For the record,” he said as soon as he finished dressing. “What I feel—and have felt—for you since I met you is the most quick and intense emotion of my life. Is it true love? I don’t know. But I do know that two weeks ago, I would have told you I had already experienced true love.”

  Megan watched him, her eyes glittering.

  “I don’t know how you feel, but I do know you don’t value yourself much,” Rob said. “You’re willing to settle for whatever I have to give, where me, I want this to be the best relationship of our lives. And since I’ve already had a fantastic, deep, and mutual love with a marvelous woman, I know I’m asking a lot.”

  He opened the door, finally identifying what he felt. Anger. He didn’t like the way she had somehow dismissed him.

  “But I’m asking a lot,” he said, “because I don’t settle. I never have.”

  He stepped out of the room, grabbed his suit coat, and headed back into the dining room.

  Megan wasn’t following him, and he pretended he didn’t care. He had made a promise to get that silly wheel.

  And he would.

  Twenty-eight

  Megan wasn’t coming back.