by Ciana Stone
Morgan was stuck by her perception of the photo. “You see a lot.”
“Only what’s there,” she replied.
“No, I think you see a lot more. In fact, I’m starting to think that there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”
Lola looked away. Oh yes, there was more. More than what she wanted him to know. Such as the fact that she’d been secretly lusting over him for years. Or that she possessed a gift, the ability to be taken by the Sight and paint things that had happened or would happen. Or that she had no idea where she came from. That she was a foundling. Found on the side of a road. Or that she’d been recruited by a woman nearly as old as time to find and save him.
“Did I say something wrong?” Morgan asked.
She shook her head. “No. It’s just…just that my life hasn’t exactly been normal.”
“Whose has?” he asked.
She turned to look at him and saw that he wasn’t teasing. His eyes bore that haunted expression she’d seen when he first opened the door. Suddenly she was filled with deep sadness. Tears welled up.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“For what?”
“For your pain.”
Morgan’s eyes widened. “What makes you think I have pain?”
She swiped at the tears. “Your eyes.”
This time it was Morgan who looked away. She didn’t know what to say so she leaned back, folded her hands in her lap and waited. Several minutes passed. When he spoke, it was in a low, flat tone.
“On my twelfth birthday, my father said my life was going to change forever. He was taking me somewhere. I don’t know where. There was an accident. An overturned RV and a tractor-trailer. A fire. He tried to help. He pulled a woman from the RV. She said her daughter was still inside. He went back for the child. There was an explosion. I never saw him again.”
Lola’s breath caught in her throat and in the next instant, all conscious thought fled and darkness claimed her.
Morgan heard the thud and whirled around. Lola was lying on the floor. Fear sprang to life like bitter bile inside him. He clamored over the chairs, knocking them out of the way to get to her. The pain in his ankle was forgotten as he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his study.
He laid her gently on the sofa and sat beside her. “Lola?” he called softly, patting her face. “Lola? Can you hear me? Lola?”
Her eyelids fluttered then opened. “Oh my god,” she whispered.
“Are you okay?” He cupped her face in his hands. “Should I call an ambulance? Do you need food?”
“No,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”
“Someone who’s fine doesn’t just keel over,” he argued in a soft voice.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Really.”
“Then why did you faint?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head fractionally. After a moment, she looked at him. “I’ve seen what you described.”
Something jolted inside him. Something that made him break into a cold sweat. His hands moved away from her face to grip her shoulders. “What do you mean you’ve seen it?”
“The accident,” she whispered.
“That’s impossible!” he barked, sharper than he intended. “Why you’re…what, twenty-two? You weren’t even…”
“Twenty-eight,” she interrupted softly and pushed up into a sitting position. “I’m twenty-eight.”
“Well still, you couldn’t have seen it. I was twelve which means you’d have been…an infant, if you were even born.”
“I didn’t say I was there, Morgan. I said I’ve seen it. I drew it. And I can show you.”
“You…what? No.” He got up and stepped back from the sofa. “This is crazy. You’re having a…I don’t know…a stroke or something. I need to call an ambulance.”
“No, please!” She got to her feet. “Just let me show you.”
“How?”
“My phone,” she replied. “I have it on my phone. It’s in my purse.”
He wasn’t sure what was going on. Was she crazy? He would have been sure that was the case except for a funny feeling in his gut. “Fine,” he said and headed for the kitchen.
Lola took a deep breath and followed. She wasn’t at all sure this was wise, but everything inside her was telling her to show him the image she’d created. It was too much to be a coincidence. The pieces were all there, waiting to be put together to form the picture.
She felt a little detached at the moment. Maybe it was shock. But the Sight had never lied to her before. She believed what she’d been shown. The question was, could she make Morgan believe, and could she fit together the missing pieces?
She took the phone from her purse, accessed the image and then handed him the phone. When he looked at it, his face turned chalky and she thought he was going to fall. She grabbed his arm and helped him to a chair.
“What the hell is going on?” he whispered, his eyes glued to the screen. “What are you trying to pull on me? How did you know about… Is this some kind of con?” He jumped up and towered over her. “That’s it, isn’t it? You got information about me from one of my shrinks and thought you’d use it against me. Sashay in here looking like the woman I’ve been dreaming about and con me out of…of money or…or sell me on some bill of goods to rob me blind…or…or…”
The moment he jumped up, fear spike inside Lola. His face was flushed with rage. But the moment the words “the woman I’ve been dreaming about” emerged from his mouth, all fear fled. In its place was amazement and excitement.
“You’ve been dreaming about me?” she asked in wonder. “Really?”
Her question and the innocence on her face stopped Morgan dead in his tracks. He wanted to hang onto the anger. It was far easier to deal with the idea that she was a con artist than to believe she’d drawn the most traumatic event in his life. But there was no dishonesty in her eyes.
“Lola,” he sighed and took hold of her upper arms. “What’s going on here?”
“Fate?”
“I guess that’s as good an explanation as any, but I really need more. Can you explain to me how you drew this?”
A veil seemed to drop over her eyes. The clear green darkened to the color of spruce. “It didn’t really make sense to me either,” she said softly. “Until now.”
“Then explain it to me. Please.”
She nodded and extricated herself from his grasp to take a seat. “I have a…gift.”
Morgan sat, facing her. “A gift?”
“It’s hard to explain. Sometimes I see things. Know things about people.”
“You mean you’re psychic?”
“I suppose it’s something like that,” she answered. “Most of the time the Sight comes to me like a…a blackout. I lose myself to visions and am not aware of what’s happening around me. I draw what I see.”
“And that’s what happened when you drew this?”
“Yes. Last night.”
Morgan stared at her for a few moments, his brow furrowed. “Do you have any idea why you drew this?”
She nodded and looked down for a moment. “I think maybe there’s a connection between us.”
“A connection?”
“Well several, actually.” She raised her eyes to meet his. “First of all. The day of this accident. You said that your father was trying to save a child. An infant girl?”
“Yeah. So?”
She shook her head and sighed, twisting her hands together in her lap. “Was this in June?”
“June 21st.”
She nodded and gave another sigh, a sound of resignation he didn’t understand. “I don’t know who my parents are. On June 21st 1988, Nanette Beaureguarde found me on the side of a road. Abandoned. She said that the only clue was the embroidered shawl I was wrapped in. It had the word Hope stitched into it.”
Morgan felt the blood drain from his face and shock jolt his body. “The woman who died in the accident. Her name was Hope.”
She nodded
. “I think she was my mother.”
“No.” Morgan shook his head, disagreeing in a harsh tone. “It’s not possible. My father went back for the child and there was an explosion. No one survived it.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I’m telling you it’s not possible. I was there. I saw it. The only way the child could have survived…hell, there isn’t a way.”
“Okay. But it’s an awfully big coincidence, don’t you think?”
“There seem to be a lot those today,” he murmured, thinking of Nanette Beaureguarde.
“What do you mean?”
Morgan rose and walked to stand in front of the kitchen sink, staring out the window. “I was running this morning and twisted my ankle. A woman stopped and gave me a ride home. She walked me to the door and then left. But a few moments after I closed the door, she knocked and gave me a card. Said to call her if I needed help. With the voices.” He took a few steps to pluck a card from a small basket on the counter, then turned to hand it to her.
“Nanette?” she asked with surprise evident in her voice.
“Nanette,” he said and nodded. “The same woman you’d gone to see and ended up here on my doorstep.”
Lola considered it. It was clear that Fate’s hand was at play. She was convinced that she was the child Morgan’s father had been trying to save. The timing fit. The problem was, Morgan claimed that neither his father nor the child had survived. Could she be wrong? Was her conviction based on need? Did she just want to believe or was it real?
Suddenly, she popped her her head up to look at him. “Voices?”
Morgan blew out his breath and leaned against the counter. “Three days after my father died, I woke with…whispers in my head. I couldn’t understand what they said. For years I only heard them occasionally. But as time passed, they became stronger and more frequent. I thought I was going insane. Nothing could stop them. I tried drugs and alcohol and sex and therapy, and running myself to exhaustion and still I couldn’t stop them. They’ve been my companions and tormenters. They rob me of sleep, make it impossible for me to sustain a relationship and scare the hell out of me. And I don’t know how to get rid of them.”
He walked over and sat in front of her, reached out and took her hands in his. “And the only time they’ve been silenced is when I’m with you.”
Lola couldn’t stop the tears that welled in her eyes. She felt his pain as if it were her own, understood the torment and fear. Every ounce of her energy became focused on one thought. To ease his suffering. To eliminate his pain. Nothing else mattered.
“Oh, Morgan,” she breathed, disengaging one hand to lay it on the side of his face. “I’m so sorry.”
Her touch created a conflicting mass of emotions strong enough to make his breath catch. He felt compassion and genuine caring radiate through him. Along with desire. He felt her desire for him. With that came wanting. Hunger so deep his gut burned and his balls ached. Something that had been smoldering inside him for years flamed to life. Primal and overpowering, it claimed him, bringing an immediate erection.
“Lola.” His voice was rough with need.
“Morgan.”
Her hand slid to cup the back of his head, pulling him closer. Her eyes beckoned him, her lush lips parted slightly, enticing him. He couldn’t resist. He didn’t want to.
Giving no thought to gentleness, he pulled her from her chair, rising in the same movement, to crush her to him. His lips were demanding against hers, taking her in a kiss that had his heart hammering and his erection throbbing.
She surrendered to him, her lips soft and yielding, her body pliant, molding to his. Morgan released her from the kiss long enough to sweep her up in his arms and carry her quickly to the bedroom.
He put her on her feet beside the bed, tangling both hands in her long hair for another searing kiss. The soft moan that came from her spurred his hands into action. “I want to see you. Touch you. Taste you.”
“Yes,” she breathed as he began undressing her, pulling her long-sleeved T-shirt over her head.
A lacy pink bra covered her full breasts, drawing him toward the shadowed depth between them. His hands cupped both breasts as his tongue licked down her cleavage. She tasted sweet, like jasmine-tinted honey. It was intoxicating. His mouth worked over one full mound, his fingers easing the cup of her bra down so that her breast spilled free.
She gasped when his mouth fastened on her nipple, sucking and teasing the taut tip with his tongue. Her hands moved to fist in his hair, pulled him more firmly against her breast, her back arching to press into the sensation.
A smell rose, of wildflowers and musk filled his senses—a heady scent that went straight below the belt to make his erection pulse against her belly. Morgan’s hand slid down her body to unfasten her jeans, slipping into the front to cup her wet sex.
She released her hold on his hair to assist. She slid her jeans down, and stepped free of them. He spread her labia and worked his middle finger inside her.
She gasped and pressed against him. Morgan felt her come, flooding his hand, her body quivering, tightening then growing pliant as the wave subsided.
He released her long enough to ease her back on the bed. She watched with eyes hooded in desire, lips swollen from his kisses. He started to unfasten his pants, seeing her track the movements of his hands.
Someone knocked on the door. Lola looked at him like a startled bird. His first thought was to ignore it. Whoever it was would go away. But the knocking became a persistent pounding, accompanied by a voice.
“Morgan?”
It was then that Morgan remembered. “Shit!” He hurriedly buttoned his pants. “I’m supposed to meet with a client today.”
Lola bolted up, pulling up her pants and scrambling around on the floor for her discarded shirt. “I’ll leave!” she whispered.
“No.” Morgan took hold of her arm as she straightened, shirt in hand. “Please. Don’t go.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Okay,” she agreed and slid on her shirt after he released her. “I’ll just stay here and be quiet.”
“No.” He took her hand. “This is nothing you can’t hear. Come on.”
Together they went into the living room. Lola took a seat as Morgan answered the door. A large, heavyset man in an expensive suit stood on the other side.
“I was beginning to think you were going to stand me up,” he said with a smile.
“Sorry, Dan.” Morgan gave the man a handshake. “We were tied up…going over some photos for the book.”
“We?” Dan asked and followed Morgan into the living room. “Oh!” He noticed Lola. “Hi. Dan Thomas.”
“Lola Boudreaux,” she said with a smile and stood to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“So, going over photos?” Dan directed the question to her. “You work with Morgan now?”
“N—” She never got the word out.
“Yes.” Morgan spoke over the top of her. “Lola has an amazing eye. I’ve asked her to work with me in selecting photos for the next book.”
“Wonderful,” Dan said and took a seat in a chair adjacent to the sofa.
Morgan sat beside Lola.
“So,” Dan said, “I hope you’ve decided to take the job.”
Morgan shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m the right man for the job, to be honest. Shooting political functions isn’t exactly my bag.”
“Nonsense,” Dan argued and directed his next comment to Lola. “Morgan’s been asked to photograph the Republican convention. Get candid shots of the candidates, leading up to the party nomination then throughout the presidential campaign.”
Lola nodded and looked to Morgan. “It’s your business, but I think you’d be wonderful for this. Who else would be able to capture the essence of the people better than you?”
Her confidence and quiet praise filled him with pride and excitement. Suddenly he wanted to do the job. But on one very important cond
ition.
“Tell you what,” he replied to her. “I’ll do it if you work with me.”
“Me? I’m not a photographer!”
“No, but you have the eye to pick out the best of what I do,” he argued. “Just like you did earlier with the child picking flowers. If I’m going to do it, I want to be sure that what the public sees is my best. I need you for that.”
She smiled through a wash of tears that flooded her eyes. Blinking them back, she nodded. “I’d be proud to help.”
Morgan turned to Dan. “Well, looks like we’re on.”
Dan grinned widely. “Wonderful. Then get packed. You leave tonight.”
“Tonight?” Lola asked.
Dan nodded. “Pack heavy because you’re not likely to be back home until the election is over.”
“But that’s more than a year!” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” Dan agreed with a smile and stood. “A jet will be waiting for you at the airport at seven sharp. I’ll have housing arranged before you reach Washington and a car waiting on you when you land. Get settled in and I’ll drop by tomorrow afternoon with your schedule.”
Morgan looked at Lola. “Can you arrange your schedule for this?”
She considered for a few moments. Aside from a local bar ad, she had nothing really on her plate. “Can I take some work with me?”
“Absolutely,” Dan answered her question. “Bring whatever you need or give me a list and I’ll have it waiting for you.”
“Thanks,” Lola replied with a smile that quickly faded. “Oh no, wait. I can’t do this. I’ll lose my place and I don’t have the money to pay the lease for that long.”
“Not a problem,” Dan said with a grin. “Just have the bills sent to me. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Really?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Oh, well…thank you.”
“My pleasure. See you both tomorrow.”
Morgan saw him out then returned to the living room where Lola was standing in shock. “You okay?” he asked, cupping the side of her face with one hand.
