by HR Moore
'Okay,' said Callie, taking Leila's hand. 'Are we going to get cake soon?'
Amari laughed. 'Soon, I promise.'
After Talli and Christa departed, Caspar went back inside the hotel. He slipped past the concierge, walked boldly towards the function room, heard the loud buzz coming from rows of seated wedding guests, realized he was being an idiot, and turned around.
His feet navigated to a secluded corridor where he paced distractedly, trying to decide what to do. Should he go to Amari's room? Should he intercept her before entering the function room? If he did either of those things, what would he say? At least the smell of his cologne was comforting, although, knowing his luck, even if he did see her, it wouldn't do any good. Why did Raina have to be so God-damned stubborn?
Urgh, this was madness. She'd just called to say she could start work tomorrow; why was he here, jeopardizing that? Because every fiber of your being wants to stop this, that's why.
It would be too late now anyway; the wedding was almost certainly underway. Short of standing up in front of a hundred hostile guests and asking her to leave with him, there was nothing he could do.
He headed for the exit. But as he reached the corner of the corridor, a vison in white silk appeared, almost colliding with him. Caspar got his hands up just in time, catching Amari's arms, absorbing the impact of their collision.
She looked into his eyes, almost level with him in her heels, saying, 'Sorry,' reflexively, before recognition turned to confusion, then rage.
'You? What are you doing here?'
'I … um … you … you look …' Her perfume hit him. '… you smell like spring on the French Riviera.'
She faltered at that. She breathed deeply, about to step back, but instead, her eyes fluttered closed. 'The English countryside in late summer,' she murmured.
'Maltings,' he said, his voice low. He loved Talli and Christa more than ever before.
Amari reached up and placed a hand on Caspar's chest. She grabbed hold, pulling herself a step closer, breathing him in.
Caspar's heart stopped, his whole being waiting, hoping, wishing, praying. He would have made a deal with any number of devils in that moment, if only she would awaken. He longed to wrap his arms around her, to look into her eyes and see the flecks of gold that would mean she'd returned to him. But he was too scared to move.
'Raina?' he whispered, moving his head so their cheeks touched.
She shivered, her other hand joining the first on his chest. She leaned into his touch, resting her cheek against his, a small hum escaping her lips as she exhaled.
'Raina?' It was a struggle to keep his voice even, to stop himself from grabbing her face between his hands and search her eyes.
'Susssh,' she murmured, nudging his cheek with hers, the move small and intimate.
He heeded her, saying nothing, doing nothing. He stood there, breathing her in, reveling in the feel of her against him, intoxicated by the scents of their past lives.
'Amari?' said a voice from behind them. A woman in a white dress approached, hands on her hips, clearly about to demand what the hell was going on.
Amari pulled back, lazily opening her eyes, looking into his. 'There's something about you,' she said quietly, so the woman couldn't hear.
Caspar couldn't find the words to respond. He'd failed to wake her. He was terrified of letting her walk away, terrified of her marrying another man, terrified of losing her. But there was nothing he could do, short of kidnapping her. He studied her eyes, trying to convey the depth of his feelings, trying to wake her by sheer force of will.
Later, he would wonder if he should have thrown caution to the wind, should have kissed her. Maybe he should have thrown himself onto his knees and chanted lost incantations, aiming for a place deep within her brain. Maybe he should have declared his eternal love for her. Maybe he should have whisked her up into his arms and made a run for the exit.
'Amari,' said the woman, not unkindly, 'people are starting to wonder where you are. You're fifteen minutes late. Are you … um … coming?'
Amari reached a hand up to Caspar's face and ran her thumb across his cheek. 'Thank you, Caspar. That was exactly what I needed.'
Chapter 5
People kept approaching her, saying the most inane things. Was she having a good time? Didn't the flower decorations look lovely? Wasn't the food delicious? Didn't they make the most wonderful couple?
Amari could barely remember a single moment. She'd floated into the wedding, down the aisle, through the vows. When Dean had kissed her, it had felt … foggy. There had been no special sensation or emotion at their joining. Indeed, the kiss had been less remarkable than any other they'd ever shared.
Dean had led her back up the aisle. He'd whispered in her ear about how much he wanted to slide his hands into the back of her dress. Usually, those words would have sent a thrill up her spine, set her on fire, especially with an audience watching their every move. But she was floating, numb. So she ignored him, barely registering where she was, who she talked to, the passage of time …
Dean hadn't noticed she wasn't really present, or at least, that's how it seemed. There had been shards of clarity throughout the day, moments of pure focus: the jasmine scent in the lobby, Callie dancing with Leila, the color of the roses in the flower arrangements, the music accompanying her down the aisle, the poem someone had placed in her order of service. But since she'd walked away from Caspar, she'd been hazy.
Her mind kept jumping back to him. The French Riviera. Maltings. His eyes. It was all so familiar, but like a memory just out of reach, she couldn't piece it all together. Did she know him? He'd said the word Raina twice. Was she supposed to know what that meant?
Dean came up beside her and took her hand in his, leaning in to kiss her cheek. 'Ready to go, Mrs. Sanderson?' His voice was gravelly, husky, and she finally felt the fog abate, burned away by a searing prickle of desire.
'Hmmm,' she sighed, relief flooding her. The haze was probably some weird wedding day thing. It was over. She raised a hand to Dean's muscular neck, pulling him down so she could kiss him. 'Lead the way.'
They slipped away, Dean hoisting her against the elevator's handrail even before the doors had fully closed. She pulled up her dress, wrapping her legs around him, his fingers climbing her inner thighs as their mouths devoured each other.
They pushed into the honeymoon suite, neither of them so much as glancing at their surroundings. Dean's hands roamed down her bare back, slipping inside the fabric covering her backside.
'I've been dreaming of doing this all day,' he rasped, pressing her body against his. 'As soon as I saw your back … Jesus, this dress.'
'I knew you'd like it,' she said, smiling into his mouth as his hands massaged her.
He moved them towards the bed, one slow, connected pace at a time, but her dress hampered his movements. He halted their progress, hands moving to the fastening at the base of her neck. He undid the clasp, letting the top section fall to her waist, her small, round breasts exposed. He growled, but she placed a hand on his chest before he could close the gap between them. She watched him closely as she slipped the dress to the floor.
He loosed a breath at the sight of her suspenders, skimpy underwear, and towering stiletto heels. His eyes went black and his hands roamed over her, tracing her silhouette, lingering on her nipples, rolling them in his fingers. He pushed her to the end of the bed, where a padded bench butted up against the mattress. He turned them as he sat, so she came down on top, straddling him.
She slid his jacket off his shoulders, down his arms, then took his face in her hands, kissing him, her body moving against him of its own accord.
His hands went to her hips, pressing her into him as she kissed and sucked her way down his neck, licking the hollow at the open neck of his shirt. He shivered, then rolled her over, pushing her back to rest on the bed. He bowed over her, sucking a nipple into his mouth.
She arched her back, pressing her head into the mattress, moani
ng at the unexpectedly intense pleasure.
Dean chuckled. 'Like that?' he said, moving to the other side. 'How about this?' He ran his fingers up her inner thigh.
She writhed underneath him, but then, as his fingers reached the apex of her thighs, a sudden, sharp, debilitating crack of pain shot through her head, a terrible sense of wrongness filling her.
Every cell in her body screamed at her to get away. She cried out, pushing Dean off as a million tiny daggers stabbed at her mind.
'Amari?' said Dean. 'What's wrong? What did I do?' He pulled back, removing his weight, helping her sit.
She doubled over, clutching her head.
'Amari, talk to me!'
Dean's tone was frantic, but in that moment, Amari didn't know how to speak, couldn't remember words, didn't know her mouth could form intelligible sounds. Apart from one. She knew she could scream.
Chapter 6
When Amari woke, the sun was high in the sky, streaming in through the windows. All she knew was that she was in the honeymoon suite, and her head felt like a cymbal being hit with a hammer. Big, belting shots of pain seared through her, followed by lesser shocks of reducing intensity, but then, with no seeming regularity, the hammer would come down, walloping her once more.
She was alone, but could hear angry voices outside the door. She wanted to get up and see who was there, what they were arguing about, but every time she prepared to pull back the covers, another hammer blow hit.
She closed her eyes and focused on breathing, on remembering what she could from the night before. Everything had been fine—better than fine … until it hadn't.
Dean had freaked out and called a doctor, then had pulled one of his big white t-shirts over her head, removed her shoes, and put her under the covers.
Agonizing pain had radiated out from everywhere their skin touched, so she hadn't let him touch her, or even sit near her after that. He'd kept trying to move closer, saying he just wanted to hold her hand, wanted to help, but he felt wrong, alien, dangerous. Every part of her found him repulsive.
The doctor had arrived, and Dean had told him—in embarrassing detail—what had happened.
He'd given her a sedative. That was the last thing she could remember, aside from waking once to a burning pain on her arm and forehead. She vaguely recalled Dean's face hovering above her as she screamed.
There was no sign of him now. No clothes, no case, no watch or cufflinks. His client was evidently more important than his wife … but then again, his absence provided a strange relief. It had never been like that before …
The door to her room opened, and Leila slipped in. She closed the door behind her, scowling at whoever was on the other side. 'You're awake. Finally,' she said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed.
'I wish I wasn't, given the pounding in my head.' Although she was glad to find Leila didn't have the same abhorrent effect on her as Dean.
'What happened?' asked Leila, scrutinizing her with both suspicion and concern. Amari marveled at the combination.
'Honestly, I have no idea. One minute we were enjoying our honeymoon suite, the next, it felt like there was something inside my head, clawing to get out. It was worse when Dean was near.'
'How are you feeling now?'
'Like I've got the worst hangover of my life.'
Leila smiled. 'You and everyone else. The bar was hit hard last night …'
'Did Dean go to work?'
Leila's face dropped. 'Yeah. Arsehole.'
'Leila!'
'Sorry, but when your wife has a fit, you don't get on a plane and fly away.'
Had she had a fit? Was that what it was? 'I wouldn't let him touch me, or be close to me. It was worse when he was near.'
'That's kinda crazy. You know that, right?'
'I know. Maybe I'm losing it.'
'You have always been a bit questionable in the head …'
'If I were feeling less delicate, I would shove you off this bed.'
'I'd like to see you try.'
'Who were you arguing with outside? Mum?'
Leila laughed. 'No. Neither of your parents are up yet. They danced until dawn.'
Amari started to laugh, but had to stop when another bout of pain hit. She waited for it to pass.
Leila sympathetically patted her leg through the duvet.
'I'm glad someone had a good night,' said Amari. 'Who's outside, then?'
Leila took a deep breath. 'That guy you were with just before the wedding. What's his name?'
Amari's blood sang. 'Caspar? Let him in.'
'What?' Leila's tone was stern. 'You rejected your husband, but want to see him? The two of you looked pretty cozy when I interrupted yesterday.'
Amari pulled a face. 'Don't be dramatic; I've only met him twice. He works for the government and there's a project he wants me to help with. I need something to distract me until Dean gets back.'
'You're going to work? You can't! You need tests, and rest, and … and … time to work through whatever's going on.'
'No, I need a distraction, and he can provide one. Are you going to get him, or are you going to make me do it?' She made to pull back the covers and found, to her surprise, no accompanying stab of pain.
'Okay, okay,' said Leila, pushing Amari back down. 'I'll get him. But promise you'll agree to some tests.'
Amari nodded. 'Fine.'
Leila huffed. 'You never were a good liar,' she said, walking to the door. 'This is going to get messy; I can feel it. Don't come crying to me when it all blows up in your face.'
Leila opened the door, gestured for Caspar to enter, and then left, closing the door forcefully behind her.
Caspar didn't seem to notice, his eyes locked on Amari. 'Are you okay?' he asked, picking up a dining chair and moving it to her bedside. He perched nervously on the edge of the seat, like a wary bird ready to take flight.
'I don't know,' she said, noting her headache had entirely abated since he'd entered the room. Was that a coincidence? 'What are you doing here?'
'After our phone call yesterday, I was hoping you'd be happy to start work today, so I came to ask you.'
'You could've called for that.'
'I heard Leila talking to the receptionist. She said you were ill. She wanted to extend your stay so you wouldn't have to move. I asked Leila what happened, but she wouldn't tell me, so here I am.'
'Again, you didn't have to come in person. You could've called.'
'Our work is extremely important; it's better to do things in person.'
'You haven't told me what you need me to do yet.'
Caspar smiled. 'Will you be fit to work today, Miss Conti?'
'I am,' she said, throwing back the covers, revealing her stockings and suspenders, the t-shirt having ridden up around her waist.
Caspar inhaled sharply and Amari stifled a laugh. 'Sorry,' she said, pulling the t-shirt down as she stood.
'I'll wait for you outside,' said Caspar, standing, which put him squarely in her personal space.
Amari laughed again, astounded to find that her head felt clear—refreshed even. 'Don't worry, I'll change in the bathroom. You can wait here. But it's Mrs. Sanderson now, remember?'
Amari put a hand on his shoulder as she squeezed past. Caspar's hand came up in a flash to hold hers.
'Amari,' he said, their faces inches apart, 'are you sure you're okay?'
Amari's eyes flicked to Caspar's lips, then back to his eyes. 'Honestly? I have absolutely no idea.'
Caspar led Amari into an old townhouse in Kensington. The building had no identifying markers on the outside and the receptionist was somber, giving nothing away. They entered an office on the ground floor, and Amari nearly gasped at the mess. This was not at all what she'd been expecting: bookshelves piled high, chairs covered with papers, lamps propped up at odd angles.
Caspar laughed at her expression, removing a pile of papers from a wood and leather chair, and gesturing for her to sit. 'I like to think it's organized chaos,' he said, moving r
ound to the other side of a large, mahogany desk. 'As a general rule, my friends think otherwise.'
'First impressions put me firmly on the side of your friends,' said Amari.
'That doesn't surprise me at all,' said Caspar.
He pulled out a small gold key and strode towards a wooden floor-to-ceiling cabinet at the back of the room. It contained hundreds of little drawers, and Amari had the distinct feeling she'd walked into a sweet shop. He unlocked two drawers and retrieved an artifact from each: a gold ring, and something that looked like a tiara.
Amari sucked in a breath, frowning as he put the tiara on the desk. No, not a tiara—that's what you called sparkly showy things—this was a Celtic headpiece, made only of metal and designed to sit low on a person's brow.
Something about the jewelry sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn't pull her focus from it, barely noticing that Caspar had perched on the desk's edge, and was picking up her right hand. She forced her eyes up, watching as Caspar slid the ring over the knuckle of her index finger.
She should have protested, but the movement felt so natural, soothing even, that she did nothing but watch. Caspar ran his thumb across the plain, hammered gold band, then stilled, holding her fingers, waiting for her to make the next move.
'I … ah …' Amari pulled her hand back. This was all so bizarre. Yesterday she'd married the love of her life. Today, when she should be on her honeymoon, another man caressed her hand. And she felt more at home here, in this mess, than she'd felt anywhere. She was fonder of the plain gold band sitting on her index finger than she was of the large glittering rings adorning her left hand. Fond … that's how she felt. How could she be fond of something she'd only just set eyes on?
Amari frowned again. 'I feel like I've seen this before, and the headpiece too. Have they been on display?'
Caspar smirked. 'Not recently.'
'It's so strange …'
'Try the headpiece on; it'll suit you.'
'I can't! How old is it? It should be in a museum.'
'Come now, not everything with a bit of age should be entombed behind glass.'
