by Jenn Bennett
Bo strolled next to her, his coat over one arm. “That’s true enough. It was your smile that did it. I knew you were a girl who liked adventure when I saw that smile.” It was an unruly, disruptive kind of smile, and was the entrance to Astrid’s unruly and disruptive mouth, which had a way of saying whatever flitted through her brain without filter. And Bo liked this quite a bit.
“My smile, huh?” she said.
“And your hips.”
“What about my hips?” she said defensively, moving her coat to cover herself. “You know I hate them.”
“Too bad, because I don’t. They are so shapely, I was instantly magnetized. And that’s why I had to meet you when I saw you at Gris-Gris. Smile and hips, a one-two combination.”
“Shapely,” she said, like it was ridiculous, but blue eyes slid toward his, and Bo did not miss the delight hiding beneath their surface.
“Like a professional dancer’s,” he assured her. “But what would a beauty like you see in someone like me?”
“The most dashing, handsome bootlegger in the entire city?”
“Well, when you put it that way . . .”
“But it was your wicked tongue that did me in. You made me laugh, and you didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.”
“Is that right?”
“Maybe it’s my Viking blood. Mamma used to say she fell for Pappa because he never hesitated to take what he wanted, and if a mountain got in his way, he wouldn’t just walk around it—he’d move it.”
Bo had spent a good bit of time with the Magnussons’ father before he died. He knew the old Swede had balls of steel to build the bootlegging empire he’d passed along to Winter, but the last couple of years, the man had struggled with a mental illness that greatly affected his moods and decisions. Bo didn’t say this to Astrid, though. She’d been through enough. Let her keep that image of her father. It was a good one.
“So that’s why you agreed to let me call on you,” Bo said, leaning against a wooden railing along the conservatory path, where Astrid had stopped to read an iron plaque that marked an old tree.
She nodded. “Because the world is filled with boring people, but you are not one of them. I knew right away you were the kind of man who’d move mountains,” she said, giving him a confident, firm nod of her chin.
And it struck him then: they were both being truthful. This wasn’t playacting. It was truth in the guise of a story. He had first been attracted to her smile. She really did think he could move mountains.
Could he?
“Anyway, we saw each other in Gris-Gris, and you marched in like a knight and drove away an unwanted suitor who was pestering me. That’s how we met. How could I resist when you asked for my telephone number?”
“You had no chance, really,” Bo said. “I was more dashing than Douglas Fairbanks.”
“And you look even better than he did without a shirt in The Thief of Bagdad.”
“Oh really?” Slowly Bo turned his head to find her staring intently into the tropical flora.
“Those arms, whew!” she whistled. “It’s going to be hard to pretend I haven’t seen those already, but I’m willing to try.”
He could practically feel his ego doubling in size. Something a little farther south would be joining in if he didn’t get control of his racing feelings. “I’ve seen some things I can’t forget, either. Like that afternoon last year in the dressing room at the department store.”
Five seconds of time Bo mentally had dubbed the Fitting Room Incident, which occurred after driving Astrid to one of her weekly shopping excursions. One moment he’d been waiting with her seamstress, Benita, while she tried on clothes, the next he’d looked up to see her stepping outside the dressing screen without a stich on.
“That was an accident!” she whispered, face turning a pretty shade of pink.
She’d argued that a thousand times, but part of Bo had never believed this. Either way, it had been a gift—one he’d never forgotten.
Astrid quickly looked around behind them before sauntering down the path. “Oh, look. Here’s the Highland Tropics gallery. Let’s go inside.”
He followed her swaying, shapely hips through the door and felt the temperature drop as they entered a misty gallery that housed plants from higher elevations. He doffed his cap to an elderly lady sitting on a bench. Her small dog stretched its leash and yapped at him as he passed. No longer alone. That was disappointing, to say the least. But Bo’s hope soared again when he heard Astrid mumbling that it was too cold in this room. They sailed down a long stone walkway that led to the last gallery on this side of the conservatory, the Aquatic Plants room.
Higher, humid temperature. Completed deserted.
The door swung shut on the dog’s high-pitched yaps.
The rain that drummed a gentle rhythm against the conservatory’s glass was reflected in a curving pool of water, the surface of which was covered in giant lily pads from the Amazon River.
“The lily pads grow to six feet across and can support the weight of a small child,” Astrid remarked as she sat along a low wall that hugged the indoor pond and set her folded coat down beside her. “I wonder if anyone’s tested that.”
Bo sat next to her and peered over the edge. “Would you like to try?”
“You’d really like to see me sink, wouldn’t you?”
“Would I get to see you naked again?”
“You might see something new. I daresay some parts of me are much nicer than they were a year ago.”
“Believe me, I’ve noticed.”
Her eyes glittered as she pulled off her gloves and reached over the water to skim the raised, scalloped edge of a giant lily pad and encouraged Bo to do the same. It was strong, but they both decided that she would, indeed, sink. “So, Mr. Yeung, since we’re on this fine date, I think you should tell me more about yourself before suggesting I jump in a pond for your entertainment—which I will not do, so don’t hold your breath.”
“Damn. What would you like to know?”
“You are single, I assume, or you would not be here.”
“I am very single.”
“Have you ever been in a serious relationship?”
“I’ve been in a seriously deranged relationship for years with someone who left me behind for higher learning in the Hollywood Hills.”
She clucked her tongue. “You poor thing. Maybe you should have given her a reason to stay instead of putting her up on a pedestal where she couldn’t be reached.”
“It’s very complicated. Or, I thought it was. She has these two brothers, you see. And one of them adopted me when I was younger, and if he knew I so much as touched her, like this—” He ran a finger along the side of her hand. Once, twice. He stroked over her delicate wristbone and traced along the inside of her arm, back and forth, watching goose bumps spread across her skin. “He might smash my head into a sticky pulp. Or he might do something else, like send me away from the house in which I now live. I would lose my job and my family.”
“He would not,” Astrid whispered. “If he did, I would—I mean, I’m sure this girl you speak of would pack her bags and never speak to that brother again.”
“It’s easy to say that now, but what would she do for money? Where would she live?”
“With you, of course.”
With him—him! He couldn’t believe they were talking about this, no matter how remotely. It was like everything that hadn’t been spoken over the last few years was suddenly out in the open. Or was it? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that his pulse was pounding in his temples and his mouth was dry.
He licked his lips. “What would I do for money? And I don’t think she’d want to live in my old apartment in Chinatown. This girl likes the finer things in life.”
“She’s not the only one,” she said, slanting him a critical look. “And the two of you c
ould temporarily live with her nicer brother on Telegraph Hill.”
“You’re assuming he wouldn’t stand behind his older brother’s wishes. And even if he took them in, that might risk dividing the entire family, and this family has already been through a lot of tragedy. I am certainly not worth the injury this could cause.”
“You should let her be the judge of worth,” Astrid said, brow lowering.
“It’s not the only complication, I’m afraid.” He continued stroking her arm; touching her was like the patter of rain above them, seductive and relaxing. As long as he could continue touching her, their Pretend Conversation would continue. “Even if the family could be mended, there are other things dividing them. She is high class, and I am low. She is college educated, and my uncle forced me to drop out of school when I was thirteen so that I could earn him money by robbing people—”
“Lazy bastard.”
“—but most of all, she is a privileged white woman. I am Chinese.”
She leaned closer. “I’ve heard from a reliable source that the xenophobes plaguing our society have got it all wrong—that the Chinese are beautiful, resilient people with a rich cultural history that spans thousands of years. And that they came here to Gum Shan—”
“Gam Saan,” he said, correcting her pronunciation as he leaned closer.
“Gold Mountain, then. The reason they came to California was the same reason my parents came here from Sweden. Because life was hard at home, and though they loved their land, they came here to seek their fortune. How were they supposed to know that a bunch of idiots with power were already out here, and that they’d be jealous of their hard work and make life miserable for them?”
Bo chuckled. “Your reliable source seems to have strong opinions about history.”
“He’s smarter than every single one of my professors.” She tucked a lock of misbehaving blond hair behind one ear at the same moment her knee moved and touched his. “He knows a hundred Chinese fables. Do you know any, perhaps?”
“I know a few.”
“Tell me one about a cunning fox spirit. Those are my favorite. I like that all the female fox spirits are beautiful seductresses and make men do stupid things.”
“You just described my life.”
She laughed.
“Let me think of one I haven’t told you.” He paused to think and said, “I know one that doesn’t have a fox spirit outsmarting anyone to make them do stupid things, but she’s still quite extraordinary,” he assured her. “So extraordinary, that it’s believed she must be descended from the old foxes.”
“Tell me about her.”
With his knee touching hers, he leaned closer and told the story.
“A young scholar in a small village pined away for his childhood sweetheart for many years, but he didn’t dare touch her because her family was wealthy and respected, and his family was poor. When she was finally old enough for them to be together, he spent his savings to buy fine clothes and a horse and went to her family home to ask for her hand in marriage. But when her father answered the door, a loud celebration was going on behind him. The scholar asked what they were celebrating, and the father told him that another man from a respected family had proposed to his daughter and they were to be married.”
“That’s awful,” Astrid murmured. Her hand dropped between them and settled on the stone wall.
His hand followed hers. He continued.
“Heartbroken and sick with grief, the young scholar left his village and went to the capital to find work. On the hilly road there, he heard the sound of someone running behind him and found his childhood sweetheart had raced two miles up the hill to catch up with him. She loved him, not the other man, and was willing to run away from home to be with him.”
“I like her already,” Astrid said. Slender fingers slid over his. Her thumb rubbed circles into the heel of his palm. “Was he happy?”
“He was happy beyond belief,” Bo told her. “They went to the capital together, where they were married. He found work in the emperor’s library. It didn’t pay much, but he still had all his savings, so he was able to buy them a meager home—”
“I thought he spent all his money on fancy clothes and a horse.”
“He sold those to some dupe in the village for twice what he paid.”
“Very savvy. I like this scholar. What happened next?”
“He and his new wife were living out their dreams. Good work, a roof over their heads, and a nice big bed where they spent all their free time—”
“Oh my.” Her circling thumb moved a little faster.
“—and they had five children.”
“Five? That must have been one very big bed.”
“The biggest.”
“Stars.” Pink dots swelled on the apples of her cheeks. “How did they have any free time with all those children running around? One or two sounds nicer to me. And I’d think that maybe the wife was a famous dancer in the emperor’s court, because she isn’t going to sit around the house all day. So they should probably have a nanny, too.”
“All right, maybe they only had two children. A boy and a girl. And the wife dances, and they have a nanny. And even though the scholar worries how they can afford all this, they somehow make it work, and for five wonderful years they live a joyful, humble life together.”
He slipped his fingers around her wrist and stroked the tender skin there. All this closeness and touching and talking of big beds was funneling all of his blood down between his legs. He vaguely thought he should be careful before he embarrassed himself, but another part of him didn’t care.
“One day, the happy couple decided to return to their village to introduce their families to the children, so they gathered up their kids and traveled the long road back home. On the last stretch of road, the scholar set out ahead to meet her father, because he was afraid the man would be upset and wanted to prepare him. But when he got to their home, her father was not only surprised to see him, he called the scholar a liar.”
“Why?” Astrid’s cheeks were very pink now.
This gave Bo a little thrill.
“Well, you see,” he told her in a low voice, “the father took the scholar back to his childhood sweetheart’s old bedroom. And there, the scholar sees what the old man was talking about. His childhood sweetheart had been sick for the last five years, lying in bed, nearly dead. At this moment, his wife walked into the house with their children, and saw her sick body lying in bed, and they merged together.”
“I don’t understand,” Astrid whispered.
“His childhood sweetheart had loved him so much that five years before, her spirit left her body to meet the scholar on the road to run away with him.”
Astrid’s mouth curved into a little O shape.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Sometimes, while you were in Los Angeles, I’d lay awake at night and imagine my soul breaking away from my body and flying across the state to be with you.”
She made a small noise and squeezed her eyes closed.
At some point, all the gentle stroking they’d been doing had stopped. They were now gripping each other’s hands so tightly, he worried he was crushing her fingers. But she wouldn’t let go. And he couldn’t let go. Because if did, some part of him worried that he wouldn’t be as lucky as the scholar, and that she would float away like a lost balloon, never to be seen again.
Beyond the gallery door, he heard the muffled sound of the yapping dog. Astrid heard it, too. And they both knew what it meant. Their private jungle was being invaded. How long before the door swung open and broke the bewitchment that had Astrid clasping his hand like he was the most important thing in the world?
“Bo,” she whispered. Damp eyelashes fluttered and left small streaks of mascara on the skin beneath her eyes. And those eyes were now fixed on his mouth.
He hear
d the yapping dog.
He felt his heart hammering wildly.
He saw Astrid looking at his mouth.
And then he saw nothing.
One hand instinctively lifted to cup the back of her neck as he pressed his mouth to hers. It wasn’t a sensual kiss. Not skilled or erotic or knee-weakening. He kissed her like he was the heartbroken scholar in the fable and she’d just appeared on the road to run away with him. He kissed her like it was all he’d been dreaming about doing for the past few years.
He kissed her like the man that Pretend Astrid wanted him to be—like a man who could move mountains.
And the way she kissed him back (warm mouth, fingers digging into his arms, desperate moan, scent of roses) . . . it made the Real Bo believe he actually could.
THIRTEEN
Hours after the kiss, Astrid continued to walk around in a daze. She could still feel the thrill of it cascading over her, and was halfway afraid Bo had rewired her nervous system, because everything she touched—her coat, the car door, the silverware at the dining table—set off small fireworks beneath her skin.
Bo had kissed her.
She’d kissed Bo.
This repeated inside her head, over and over, as though her brain was afraid she might forget. Impossible. She’d never forget. It was a desperate and crazy kiss, and when his lips touched hers—lemon bright and frighteningly sultry, all at once—she struggled with the shock of it. He was so sure of himself and she was not. She worried she felt awkward and inexperienced to him. Worried they’d waited too long or built up too many expectations.
But her body had known better than her brain in that moment, and when she’d let it take over, it had roared up like a beast and devoured Bo. Maybe there was some truth to his fable about souls separating from bodies, because she wouldn’t be surprised if her beast of a soul had taken a big bite out of his.
She saw him differently now. There was the Bo who drove her to the conservatory, and there was the Bo who drove her back home and dropped her off while he went to work. The new Bo was far more dangerous to her erratic feelings, because now that she’d had a taste, she wasn’t sure she could go back.
