by Angel Smits
Her stomach knotted. She refused to let her fears win. She’d taken two steps down when suddenly the door burst open. David stood on the threshold, his shoulders nearly brushing the doorframe as he gulped in air.
“Clarissa.” His voice sounded breathless, as if he’d been running.
She ran up the steps. He grabbed her, pulling her into his arms and away from the stairs. She vaguely heard the door slam shut behind her as she stepped into the kitchen.
His grip tightened, and she buried her face against his chest. The thundering of his heart matched her own.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, slipping her arms around him, clinging to him. “It’s you. It’s you.” She couldn’t stop the litany. Her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. His arms tightened even more, and he buried his face in her hair, breathing deeply.
“I can’t . . . ” she said, her words muffled by his chest.
“You’re okay,” he whispered. He smoothed his hands up and down her back, and she realized they trembled.
“Where were you?” Her voice sounded faint and pleading.
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he pulled away slightly and before she could ask where he’d been, his lips were on hers. Urgent and demanding, he molded his body to hers. Filling all the empty spaces with heat.
She leaned into him. He felt so good. So alive. So real. She knew her emotions were out of control. The panic and fear fed the adrenaline that raced through her veins. She didn’t care why she felt this way. All she knew was it was right and wonderful and safe to be in his arms again.
The urgency of his touch told her something had happened to him while he was gone. She promised herself she’d question him later, but then all rational thought fled as he slid his hands up her sides and under her loose sweater.
His callused fingers trailed over her ribs and encountered the edge of her bra. He didn’t hesitate to reach behind her and twist the clasp free.
Anxious to be free of her clothing, to have no barriers between them, she leaned back to give him easier access and inadvertently pushed her hips against his.
He groaned, the sound coming from deep in his throat. He swept the sweater and bra over her head and filled his hands with her.
His mouth brushed hers as he cupped her breasts. “I want to live inside you,” he whispered before he kissed her. His tongue swept inside, tasting and teasing until she moaned in answering pleasure.
Jumbled thoughts ran through her. All she was able to focus on was the heat of his lips, the insistence of his hands as they roamed over her, and the joy that exploded within her.
Momentary doubts tugged at her, but they were banished as his fingers played over her body. She could only breathe and enjoy. There was no more thinking.
The room warmed. David’s head dipped and the damp heat of his tongue slipped across her skin.
“You’re okay,” he repeated.
Clarissa buried her fingers in the hair that hung low on his neck. The thick, silky strands teased her and she never wanted to let go. She urged him closer.
Suddenly, David lifted his head and slipped his arms beneath her knees. He scooped her up and walked to the living room and the wide, brass bed. As he gently laid her across the rumpled covers, the springs groaned softly.
She reclined against the pillows, enjoying the wanton feel of the air on her bare skin and the heat that flared in his eyes. Gently, hesitantly, David caressed her. He still wore his clothes, but as he knelt on the bed beside her, she reached up to unbutton his shirt.
As the fabric fell open, it shadowed his chest. She wanted to see him, all of him, and shoved his shirt off his shoulders. It whispered down on top of the covers.
His fingertips skittered across her bare skin. From her collar bone, down over the enticing slope of her breast, across the sensitive skin of her abdomen. When he reached the clasp of her jeans, he slipped his fingers underneath the band. He teased the tender skin below her navel until she longed to rip the rest of her own clothes off.
He unsnapped her jeans and slid the zipper down slowly. When her panties whispered past his hands, he stopped as if surprised.
Slowly, teasingly, he rubbed the soft silk, sending shivers throughout her entire body. When he gently cupped her, laying the heated palm of his hand against her, she moaned aloud. This kind of pleasure was more than anyone deserved, more than she dared to take. She wanted more.
A dull ache settled in the pit of her stomach and radiated outward. She wanted him there, to ease the ache.
He moved away for an instant, just long enough and far enough that she could slide his pants down over his hips and legs.
The soft swish of his jeans as they landed on the floor sent the ache within her into high gear. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could bear this exquisite torture.
Bare skin to heated skin, David moved against her. The hair of his chest and legs rubbed against her, setting her aflame. She gripped his hips and guided him to where the ache was most intense.
“Now, David. Please. Now.”
Without further invitation, David thrust into her, filling her and nearly sending her over the edge with that single act. For several long seconds, he lay still, letting her grow still.
“I want this to last,” he whispered, his lips traveling gently, pressing against the heated skin of her brow. Oh so slowly, his lips moved over her eyes, down across her cheekbones until his tongue traced a tantalizing path over her lips. He traced a path down where he tasted the pulse that beat at the base of her throat.
Slowly, he moved within her. The heat and size of him astounded her and she responded by lifting closer, but she couldn’t get close enough.
Her arms slid up around the tight muscles of his back, and she traced the taut ridges. She wanted to possess him—with her mouth, with her hands, inside herself.
He tasted of heat and sweet damp. As she kissed his face, her hands roamed his shoulders, back and thighs. She urged him on, and he responded with a ferocity she hadn’t expected but which sent her spiraling toward oblivion.
“David!” she cried, her voice echoing around them, wrapping them in a cloud of passion that cushioned them as they fell over the edge and tumbled into sweet ecstasy. When the heat faded, they clung together, the harmony of their breathing soothing and reassuring.
David rose up on his elbows and gazed down at her. She wondered what he was thinking. There was pain behind the passion in his eyes. What was he worried about? Before she could ask, his lips came down on hers, nearly carrying them away again.
She felt his response and was just as surprised at her own. When he ended the kiss and shifted to hold her in his arms, she accepted her disappointment.
The night slipped in around them, and Clarissa found her eyelids growing heavy. Dim lights scattered over them, and she turned her head to gaze at his silhouette.
“Are you going to tell me where you were?” she whispered drowsily.
“Shh, later.” He pulled her tighter. “Get some rest.”
“I love you,” she whispered and snuggled up against him. The words felt so right. Her eyes drifted closed, and she let sleep claim her. She released the smile that had been born in her heart so that it could settle onto her lips and proclaim itself to the world.
DAVID SLEPT FOR awhile, but even his dreams couldn’t compete with the turmoil in his mind. Clarissa still slept and he slipped out of bed careful not to wake her. He quickly pulled on his jeans and padded to the door. He needed air.
Quietly, he stepped out onto the veranda. He breathed deeply of the cool mountain air and stared out at the view of the city lights.
Night surrounded him, cool and crisp. Inside, Clarissa slumbered between the warm covers. He closed his eyes and envisioned her as he’d left her, the golden tangle of her hair covering the pillow, the quilts pulled
up to cover the beauty beneath. He smiled as his body warmed with the memories.
She’d taught him to feel again, and he’d let himself fall into the trap so easily. Here in the abandoned town he was safe from the curse.
But he’d also been protecting himself. In the dim moonlight, he stared down at his hands. His narrow fingers looked so normal, but he knew that could so easily change. This afternoon he’d nearly lost control of everything.
The curse was growing stronger or he was weakening. Neither option sat well with him.
What had Rachel meant when she’d told him to tell Clarissa good-bye? At first he’d panicked and rushed here to make sure she was safe. In his relief at finding her, he’d wanted nothing more than to hold her, reassure himself through the only sense he knew to be reliable—touch—that she was alive and well.
She had been safe from the visions. She was safe as long as she stayed here.
But how long could they stay in this house? Life went on around them. He was sure she needed to work on her business. He had money but wasn’t so independently rich he could afford not to work.
He wanted to work. He wanted a life where he gave something to the world, where he went home each night to a family. To home.
He wanted “Leave it to Beaver” and he was living in the Osborns’ guesthouse.
A sixth sense told him someone was behind him, and he turned to find Clarissa standing in the doorway. The moonlight caressed her, her hair sparkled and the bare skin of her legs below his T-shirt seemed pale.
“Come back to bed, David. It’s too cold to be out there worrying.”
“Your psychic powers telling you that? I thought the dreams weren’t reaching you here.” One of the blessings of being here was the peace of mind she’d also found.
“I don’t need dreams to see the tension in you. What are you worried about?”
She might not be using her psychic dreams, but she was too close to the mark for his comfort.
“My mind’s too full to sleep,” he admitted.
She didn’t say anything for a long time. He heard her take a few steps and saw her stop at the table. “I’ve been avoiding this.”
She sat an old book on the tabletop. He hadn’t forgotten it. He’d merely put it out of his mind. Afraid there would be no answer. Afraid to get his hopes up. Afraid to learn his true fate.
The thick cover was old and worn. In the moonlight he couldn’t tell its color. Not black, but some shade of gray.
He watched her slim, graceful fingers open the book. She unconsciously caressed the edges, and he recalled how she’d told him of the hours she’d spent with it as a child.
He’d like to see a picture of her from those days.
“It’s here in the back.” Her words broke into his thoughts, and he realized she was talking about the book. “I remember reading it a long time ago.” The ragged pages crinkled as she turned them. “Here.” She stopped and pointed at what looked like a handwritten page.
The contrast of the thick black ink on the white page was enough to see in the moonlight. “It’s in a section labeled progressive spells. ‘The cycle of life rules both man and beast. Separating the two is no simple feat. Combining them is our goal this day. As these items we join forever to stay.’”
She had read with no inflection in her voice, as if she were in grade school reading class.
“Why did you read it like that?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“So monotone.”
“I don’t want the universe to think I’m casting it.”
“Oh.” He paused and slowly reached out and touched the page that seemed to have sealed his fate. “Forever to stay?”
“That’s the intent. But look.” She flipped several pages then turned back a couple more. “Here. Undoing a progressive spell can be done. Set a circle. Then undo the action of the joining as the lines are repeated whole but in reverse.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Clarissa smiled at him. “We have to find that music box. Some things of yours are in it. Within in a light circle we separate them and then recite this backwards.”
“Sounds too simple.”
“It is simple—if we find the music box. Impossible if we don’t.” The night suddenly seemed incredibly quiet. She stepped closer and laid her cool palm against his cheek. “We’ll find it. We have to.”
He closed his eyes for an instant, needing to savor her touch, to believe her words. Then he stepped back and reality returned.
“I went to the mansion today.” His voice was even and nearly as flat as hers had been moments before.
“You what?” Her surprise echoed in the night. “Are you crazy?” She moved closer to him. “That’s too dangerous. What made you do that?”
He moved away from her distracting touch. “I can’t stay here forever. I went to look for the music box. We have to find a way to either escape this curse or . . . ”
“Or what? Let it consume you?”
He didn’t respond.
“No,” she said. “I won’t let that happen. There has to be someone—”
“No!” He stepped closer to her. “I won’t put anyone else at risk because of me.” Anger flared between them. “It’s bad enough I got you involved.”
Her silence surprised him and stretched out painfully over the night. He looked at her more closely. She twisted her fingers together. “Clarissa?” he prompted.
She looked up then and he saw the sheen of damp in her eyes. “I’ve always been involved.” She stepped away, turning to look at the night.
His gut tightened, and he knew he wasn’t going to like the rest of what she had to say. “What do you mean, you’ve always been involved?”
She couldn’t answer him right away. She thought back over the pictures, the dank smell and the door that slammed shut. “I was in the basement today for a reason.” She shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
The night grew heavy again as David stepped closer to the spell book and stared down at it. Clarissa followed him, not letting him put too much space between them.
“The music box isn’t down there.” She’d looked down there on a hunch. “But there is an old box of pictures.”
“Pictures? Of what?”
She hesitated, unsure, then realized it wouldn’t do them any good if they weren’t honest at this stage. “Your parents. You.” Her voice shook, which surprised her.
She couldn’t look at him. The memories were too strong, too painful. She picked up the familiar book, slowly closing it and hugging it to her chest. Its familiar weight was comforting. She stepped out to the rail and watched the city lights he’d been so intent on before.
“When Faith was here, we talked about the little boys. Remember?”
“Yeah.” She heard the frown of confusion in his voice. “What about them?”
“I had a vision about a dark haired little boy, oh about five years ago. He was trapped in a dark place.” She paused and fought the shiver the vision always gave her.
“I tried to find him. I had to save him. Then a couple weeks after I contacted the authorities, they found two boys. Their bodies were in an old basement. Someone had locked them in.”
“Good God.” His revulsion wasn’t new to her.
“As I told you, I was arrested, but they couldn’t prove I had anything to do with it because I didn’t. They tried. Even got to a trial. Luckily, I had a good attorney and a fairly smart jury.”
She sighed, her hand caressing the warm, solid book in her arms as if it offered the comfort of Granny’s hug.
“What does this have to do with me?”
With us? She almost heard him think that thought.
“Those pictures. I saw one of you,” she said. “My vision wa
sn’t of two boys, or either of those boys. It was of you.”
She turned and faced him. His frown had deepened. “I saw you inside that music box in the living room. That was the dark space.” She closed her eyes, forcing her mind to face what she’d fought so hard for years to erase. “You were sitting with your knees up and your arms hugging them, weren’t you?” She didn’t wait for his answer but continued before she lost her nerve. “Tears slid down your face.” And at the time of the vision, down hers. “You listened to your parents argue.”
She opened her eyes. He didn’t have to answer her. The shock on his face was enough.
“You kept whispering, ‘Don’t fight. Please, don’t fight.’”
David abruptly sat down on the metal deck chair. It clattered from the impact of his weight and the force. He buried his face in his hands as he took a deep breath.
She hastily set the book down and knelt before him. Gently, she touched his arm. What was he thinking? What was going on in his mind? She tried to prepare herself for his anger or hatred, but she wasn’t ready for that now—she never would be.
Swiftly, his arms engulfed her, knocking her breath away. He pulled her tight and she buried her face against his chest.
“It feels as if . . . ” He breathed in deep. “As if I wasn’t alone.” Relief and an emotion she couldn’t identify—gratitude maybe—thickened his voice.
She had no answer for him. It had to have been years after the actual events. He really had been alone then. She didn’t know why she’d had a vision of the past, but right now she didn’t care. Her eyes burned, and she let the tears fall and soak into the soft curls on his chest.
She clung to him, wrapping her arms around him, her fingers curling into the skin of his shoulders. He shook as he drew in uneven breaths. She felt his cheek against her neck.
They stayed that way for a long time. She’d have stayed forever.
David moved first.
His profile was all she could make out as clouds slipped over the moon’s bright face.
