Forbidden (30 page)

“Why are you always so hot?”

He grins. “Perhaps it is the fire you ignite in me.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, please.”

“This is true.” We stare for a moment, and then he says, “Are you ready?”

“For what?”

“For me to reveal whom you breathe for.” His lips part, hesitating just inches from mine. Familiar warm cinnamon caresses my mouth, making my head sway.

I blink out of it and cock my head. “I think I’ll decide for myself, thank you very much.” This makes him laugh.

“I had no idea you would be so stubborn.”

I stop dancing. “What does
that
mean?”

“Oh, nothing. But I am being very patient, no?” He smiles proudly like a child
who has resisted the cookie jar. “I have never been so patient for …” He clamps his mouth shut and looks away, embarrassed.

“Are we thinking the same thing?” I ask as my stomach knots. I realize we are dancing too close for being “just friends.”

“Definitely not,” he murmurs.

I don’t think I understand.

I stare until he looks back to explain the cryptic remark. But his eyes shift to my mouth, and he returns to his one-track-hormonal mind. He breathes across my face again and sends blood pushing through my veins. My arms feel heavy like forgotten convictions. Weak and immobile, I lean in for support, and he takes advantage, pulling me tighter against his chest.

I don’t want this. Michael, where are you?

“Dante, please,” I whisper hoarsely. His eyes are a straightjacket binding me in place, keeping common sense out of reach. His lips press against my ear.

“Are you begging me to kiss you,
cara
? Because I will. I am happy to please you. Always.” His breath is fire against my skin and carries a hypnotic airborne drug like numbing nectar. His words cast doubts on my heart; my thoughts swirl and my vision tilts. It’s too hot;
I’m
too hot. I feel blood thumping at my wrists and throat. I can’t breathe.

Maybe I should let him kiss me. Maybe that will help me get over Michael
.

The music fades and muffled clapping filters through my foggy brain. I feel detached and far away from those around us. When Dante relaxes his arms, I am forced to regain my balance. I didn’t realize how much I was relying on him for support.

Bailey’s voice cuts through the chaos, and Dante slips away; the heat between us dissipates and leaves my arms empty and cold.

“Well, shit, Sophia.” Bailey laughs and elbows Rachel. “We’ve heard of sleep walking but not sleep dancing.”

“Huh?” I exaggerate a blink to clear my head.

“Looked like you passed out and Señor Smolder was holding you up.”

My mind is blank and I look around for Dante. He is walking toward Wolfgang and Vaughn, who are lounging against the railing. They are smiling, and Dante has a cocky grin that worries me. My lips feel scorched but I can’t remember if he kissed me.

“Need something to drink?” Rachel asks, her voice like sweet tea. I nod and she loops an arm through mine.

We stop at the refreshments table where Miss Minnie hands me a bottle of water before I ask for it. I take a long, exaggerated draw. She stares with a strange look of
determination.

“Since the band is on a break, maybe you could get some shots of the town square under the lights.”

I pop my mouth from the bottle and suck air.
She’s upset that I’m not working?

“Okay.”

“Third floor of the courthouse has a perfect view. It’s unlocked.” Her suggestion lacks the usual cheerfulness and sounds more like an order, as she hands over my camera. I want to say something but she turns to Mayor Jones, who is announcing that, “Under no circumstances is Duffy allowed near the punch bowl.” I tell the girls I’ll be back in a few and take off across the street.

The courthouse. The one building I’ve condemned without probable cause. My childish imagination about the clock being an all-seeing eye is unwarranted and promptly dismissed, pending further investigation. I suck in cold air laced with reason and open the door.

It’s a vast, echoic building with hardwood floors and an overstated staircase. Thirty feet back, a lamp on the receptionist desk sheds triangular light on a stack of papers. Beyond the desk are hallways with closed doors; tall, leafy plants; and heavily framed Colonial portraits lining the walls. The overstated staircase with white spindles and a dark handrail winds up the right side to the second floor and beyond. No elevator in sight, so I start up.

My footsteps reverberate in the spooky silence, so I peer over the handrail to ensure that mine are the only footsteps I hear. I shudder with apprehension but press on. The second-floor landing is colder and dim with a narrow light around the corner leading to the next floor. I swing the camera strap around my neck like a soldier gearing up for battle.
Why am I so nervous?

I make my way to the third-floor landing and wander down a long, narrow hallway with paneled walls and gold sconces. Passing through an arched doorway, I enter a large room with a black-and-white checkered floor, oversized chandeliers on open crossbeams, and giant gilded mirrors. It looks like an ancient ballroom that has seen better days.

I flick on a light switch and look at the chandeliers. They remain dark but a single dim lamp in the corner sputters to life and illuminates the recesses where boxes and crates labeled
HOLIDAY TRIMMINGS
have been dragged from storage. A scattering of tables, chairs, and holiday wreaths wait to be useful.

As I walk forward, I shiver as though passing through a freezer. I hug my arms and glance around. No open windows … just my overactive imagination. Step by step, I
bring myself to the far wall and set the camera on a table. I push open a tall window that faces the square and look down. No screen, no surprise. I’m thinking that none of these old buildings have any.

Miss Minnie is right; the view from here is perfect. The entire town square is visible and twinkles with lights. The gazebo is layered with pearl lights like a giant, illuminated wedding cake. Dr. Seuss would’ve been proud.

I adjust the setting on the camera and bring it to my eye, searching for light, shadows, and shapes. I frame various subjects and click. Again and again, I change angles and shoot, absorbed in my work—and then it hits me—the second heartbeat in the center of my chest. I catch my breath and grip the camera with sheer excitement. The beating grows stronger as though deliberately banging for my attention. I close my eyes and welcome the violent thumping as I welcome the meaning. A smile plays on my lips, and my shoulders ease down. I lower the camera.

“Hello, Michael.”

The room behind me is quiet but I know I’m not alone. Feeling an absurd sense of calmness and confidence, I place the camera on the table and turn around.

Michael is standing in the doorway trying to conceal his surprise. An epic failure because he is gaping the way he did the last time he saw me. We stare in eerie silence, time precariously balanced on the point of discovery.
Does he know I know?
We don’t breathe; don’t stir the air more than a thought could.

And then Michael’s jaw snaps shut and he marches over in hard, powerful strides. The throbbing is blasting away in my chest because I’m filling up with excitement.
Finally, I’ll get my answers!

“Michael, I—”

“What are you doing here?” he demands, cutting my question in half.

I’m taken off guard by his outburst. “Um, taking pictures, but—”

“I don’t mean that! What are you doing here with him?” He points toward the square.

“Huh?”

His eyes narrow, hands digging into his hips. “Don’t play games with me. What are you doing here with
Dante
?”

My anger is percolating and I hold back my temper. “Michael, I don’t want to talk about—”

“I thought you were smarter than this!” The insult is a slap in the face and I want to retaliate, but Michael’s anger seems greater than mine. He starts pacing like a caged animal; his hard body is taut with restrained rage. He whirls on me, hands clenching like
he wants to shake me. “Good grief, Sophia! What does your intuition tell you?”

“My what? Listen, you have no right to be mad at me. If fact, I should be mad at
you
!” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You know something has happened between us, Michael. You know I want answers, and you’ve been deliberately avoiding me.”

He closes the distance between us so smoothly that I don’t see him take a step. He is glaring down at me and growling through clenched teeth. “I’m warning you to stop. Now.”

Maybe I should be afraid; maybe I should back down, but I feel unusually composed and focused. I draw upon confidence I rarely posses and push forward. “I know something about you, Michael.” I search his face for any telltale signs of awareness. His eyes soften. He is curious but not sure what I might have discovered.

I lift my chin and stroll around nonchalantly, like someone with far more style and coolness than I have, someone in the movies … Lara Croft, who flirts too close to danger and doesn’t know when to quit.

Michael turns, scrutinizing me as I circle him. His eyes become hooded as they drift up and down my body. He licks his bottom lip and I know he likes what he sees. My cheeks burn and I shiver deep inside. Michael can make me throb without even touching me.

Please don’t let him see his effect on me
.

“Sophia,” he says in a deep, warning tone. “I think you’d better go home now.”

I throw out a laugh, more from nerves than humor. I’m not missing this opportunity with talk about Dante, so I continue as though he hasn’t spoken.

“Michael, you have a lot of ’splaining to do,” I tease in my best Ricky Ricardo voice. His jaw muscle twitches with agitation so I state my case. “I saw you at the accident with the nurse. I know you were there in case she needed help. And then in the cafeteria, with Casey.” I arch an eyebrow but offer no details. He knows exactly to what I’m referring. “And today when that little girl fell off the pony.” My eyes flash with excitement. I expect some reaction from the last bomb but Michael drops his scowl and puts on that bored, impatient look I hate.

Fine!

I’m willing to go all the way, so I march to a window opposite the town square and push it open. I look down on a row of hedges and the library roof across the street.

“Sure is a long way down,” I say with light reverence.

“What are you doing?” Michael sounds annoyed.

“Oh, just proving a theory.”

“Go home, Sophia,” he says dispassionately and heads for the door.

“You would, wouldn’t you, Michael?” My voice echoes across the large room and stops him like a brick wall.

“Would what?”

“Save me if I fell?” I perch a hip on the window ledge and immediately feel the familiar pulling in my chest. My heart is trying to get out. I grab the windowsill to keep steady.

Michael’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush red with anger. “I don’t have time for games!” he yells.

“What
do
you have time for, Michael?” I yell back.

He stomps over and yanks me down from the window. “Stay away from Dante!”

“This isn’t about Dante!” I shout. “This is about
you
!”

His mouth opens but he is too frustrated to form anything coherent. He jerks away, flinging his hands in the air and releasing his fury into the room.

“Aaahhh!” he yells. “You are the
most
stubborn,
fool
hardy,
pig
headed—” He cuts himself off and starts pacing and muttering. “I walked right up to her. I said her fascination needs to end. I warned her very clearly. Didn’t cross any lines. I even spoke plain
English
!”

“It’s okay, Michael,” I say reassuringly. “I trust you.” I return to the window ledge and swing one leg over. Michael freezes. His face is stone. We stare, and only I am aware that my favorite black flat just dropped forty feet to the ground below. The cool evening breeze caresses my polished pink toes.

“Sophia, please,” Michael whispers hoarsely and steps closer. “Come down.”

When I shake my head, the pulling in my chest nearly topples me back into the room. I tighten my grip.

Michael reaches out and his voice is extraordinarily gentle as he says, “Please Sophia, don’t be careless with yourself. Tell me what you’re thinking—”

“I
did
tell you, Michael. I know something about you. Several things, in fact. But mainly, I know if I fall, you will save me.”

“Please come down and we’ll talk.” He tries to smile, to sound upbeat and promising but doesn’t quite make it. Michael is nervous.

“No, you’ll just change the subject or leave.”

“No, I won’t. Let’s talk. Right now.”

“I don’t want to talk about Dante,” I warn.

“Well, Sophia, Dante is someone who—”

“Okay, have it your way.” I swing my other leg out the window, peer down at the yellow grass, and fall into the night.

I drop and yelp and jerk to a stop, my head bouncing twice against the brick building. A painful jolt nearly breaks my left arm and the pulling in my chest shoots up my body and through my arm, stretching tightly overhead. I look up at Michael leaning out the window with his hand clamped around my wrist. His beautiful face is tight with concentration. His eyes are translucent marbles, just like the night of the accident, and I am ready to burst with self-righteousness—and then his hand slips.

“Whoaaa!” I can feel my wrist sliding through his sweaty hand.

“I can’t hold on!” Michael yells, shattering my confidence into a million terrifying pieces. His hand slips off, and I fall. His other hand barely snatches me safe. I scream again, but he holds me steady. Tears gather in my eyes.

He can’t do it! Oh God, he can’t do it!

I am suspended for an eternity, my arm numb from pain. I’m breathing so hard that my chest feels bruised and my throat dries up. Michael tells me to hold still, and I do.

Inch by inch, he struggles to haul me up the building until I feel the window ledge cutting into my back. His arm captures my waist and pulls me over, and we stumble back into the room. Before I can catch my breath, Michael envelopes me in his arms, crushing his body against mine and burying his face in my hair. His heart pounds furiously against my chest, and I cling to him, trembling.