Mistletoe and Magic (17 page)

Inside Wawel Cathedral, it took him only a few minutes to conclude that, lovely as some of the tombs and sarcophagi were, Polina had no interest in the various chapels or their attractions. She barely glanced at the intricate stained glass, and completely ignored the delicate effigies of deceased royals. Even the murals on the ceilings escaped her notice.

All to the better, in his estimation, since he didn’t really want their day together to focus on death. Her mother had requested she see the magic of this city, and Rhys was happy to accommodate that wish. With wishes on his mind, he had one item left in the cathedral to show her. She needed to see the magnificent bell of Zygmunt.

Without pausing to point out the stunning altar, he led her past the Zebrzydowski chapel and toward the sacristy. Dozens of other tourists—most from an American university, judging by their red and white jackets embroidered with the name of the same college—milled near the staircase, waiting to ascend the bell tower. He drew her into the group where they waited for an English-speaking tour guide to take them up.

As she climbed to the top in front of him, her hips and bottom swayed provocatively mere inches from his face. Several times he had to fist his hands to keep from gliding a palm over her thigh or clasping her waist to pull her closer. At last, they reached the belfry where the thirteen-ton ceremonial gray steel bell hung from a simple wooden frame that looked almost incomplete, jutting out from walls of ornate red brickwork.

“These days, the bell is only rung on religious holidays and state occasions,” the guide told them. “It takes ten men to sound the chime, which can be heard for fifty miles around. Legend says, the ringing bell banishes clouds and welcomes the sun.”

Rather like Polina’s smile, Rhys thought.

Following the lead of others in the tower, she reached a hand out toward the clapper that dangled long past the rim of the bell itself. “Think I should touch it?”

“Make a wish,” he suggested, “and then touch the clapper.”

She frowned, a silent rebuke at his constant allusions to magic, he supposed. He wasn’t sure why she tried so hard to deny the possibility, but he understood the need to forge a path away from parental influence. In the last eight years, he’d been home twice, both times to attend the wedding of one of his sisters. Always restless, he continually volunteered for the ex-pat jobs. After a year-long stint in India, he spent eighteen months in Hong Kong, almost three years in New York, fourteen months in Toronto, and now, Krakow. This particular job would probably last another six to eight months before he flew off to another city in another country. So far, he’d received offers to relocate to Dubrovnik, Croatia; Quito, Ecuador; or San Francisco, California: three vastly different locales.

Which one would Polina prefer? Would she rather stay in her homeland? Or did she share his adventurous spirit? Was that why he’d been so drawn to her from the start? He studied her carefully, mentally picturing her in each city. She still stood near the bell, indecisive, while dozens of other tourists waited their turn to make a wish and touch the clapper.

“Go on,” he nudged her with a head jerk.

Clouds of doubt shielded any wonder he might have seen in her eyes, but she paused, exhaled as she made her silent wish, then turned to take hold of the rod-shaped center. Her fingers brushed the bottom of the bell’s heart, and desire bolted through him. He swallowed hard as she turned to face him, her smile innocent and blinding.

“Now your wish will come true,” he said through a roughened throat.

Her blue eyes sparked neon in the dim tower. “Gee, ya think so?” Sarcasm dripped from every word.

“So legend says. It’s all part of the magic of Krakow.”

On a loud sigh, she capitulated, “Okay, Rhys, enough already. Are we done here?”

“At the cathedral, yes. But we still have to see Wawel Castle.”

Her posture stiffened, and she folded her arms over her chest, shooting her weight to one hip. “Why? What’s there?”

“The only remaining crown jewels of Poland, the coronation sword, artwork…”

She feigned an enormous yawn that her hand didn’t attempt to cover. “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”

Her reaction should have surprised him, but while they’d strolled through the cathedral, he’d drawn a few new conclusions about her. Crown jewels, sparkling tiaras, and even elaborate stained glass held no sway with Polina. The crowd, however, drew her attention again and again with more than idle curiosity. Once he’d figured out what interested her, he watched her watch the people around them. He didn’t need a doctorate in psychology to understand why she gravitated toward the interaction between parents and children. After all, she’d only recently lost her sole family member. But then, she displayed an equal interest in the smooching college youths near the bell.

“No more fantasy.” Her open impatience shook him from thought to action. “How about we check out something
real
now?”

He couldn’t help himself. In two long strides, he stood a breath from her, so close he could see the tiny vein pulsing in her slender throat. “How’s this for real?” He dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers. She stiffened for the briefest moment before giving herself over to him. Her arms wound around his neck, fingers playing with the edge of his hairline. Tongues danced, hearts pounded, and the world melted away.

She tasted sweeter than cotton candy. Her soft curves pressed to the hard planes of his chest and flat stomach in a dance of flirtation. His hands settled on her waist, and he intensified the kiss. A low moan from deep inside her mouth landed on his tongue. She melted into him, her legs between his.

As suddenly as she’d accepted him, she repelled him. Her hands pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss. When he finally came down from the incredible high, the first thing he saw was her frown.

“Your two hours are up,” she said with lethal quiet. “Goodbye, Rhys.”

He didn’t even have time to form an argument before she turned and fled down the stairs.

***

He’d kissed her! In front of everybody in the tower. She should have known. She might be in another country, but when it came to men, only their accents changed.

Really, it was her own fault. She’d practically thrown herself at him. How many times had Uncle Leo warned her to always be on her guard?

As she stomped down the narrow wooden steps, she tried to find the humor in the situation. At least, she could cross number eight off her mother’s list.
Kiss a stranger
. She made a giant checkmark in the air at the same time her feet hit the ground floor of the cathedral. Been there, done that.

Even before the wind outside bit into her face, her eyes stung and tears shimmered. Dammit! She wasn’t her mother and wouldn’t become her mother. She had plans, plans she might finally be able to accomplish. All she had to do was get through the next two weeks.
Last time, Mom
.

“Polina!”

Hearing him call her name, she took off at a run across the busy street, ignoring the car horns that blared at her. Nearly blind from tears, she headed for the square. She hit the sidewalk, dodging Saturday afternoon tourists left and right. Her boots, a little too big, clumped awkwardly, impeding her pace. She dared a quick peek over her shoulder and found him racing toward her, closing the distance between them.

“Polina, stop!”

Fat chance. She needed to get far away from Rhys Linsey and whatever he wanted from her now. She reached the square and immediately realized her mistake. Too open. Nowhere to hide. No cafés or museums here. Just barren, snow-covered gardens, steel fencing, and a fountain. Where on earth could she go to shake him off her tail? The hostel wouldn’t allow her into a room until eight p.m.—seven hours from now.

She pushed herself harder, cutting across the square, hoping to become invisible in the crowd. People she zipped past turned to watch, but no one offered help of any kind. Her heart thudded against her chest, and once again, she found breathing difficult. She veered around a tight corner toward an alley between two buildings, hoping for an outlet on the other end.

Her boot skidded on a patch of ice, and she stumbled to one side, wrenching her ankle. Pain shot up her leg. Great. He’d catch her now, for sure. Frantic, heart pounding, and out of breath, she scanned the crowd, searching for someone—anyone—to help her.

And suddenly, there she was: the gypsy girl from last night, still garbed in her rainbow scarves, beckoning from a new alcove in a different square than yesterday’s. “Hurry! This way!”

With no other choice, Polina hobbled toward the fortune teller. “Thank you,” she huffed out as the girl slid sideways to create a hiding place between the wall and her shelves of glittery geegaws. Protected by the gypsy’s voluminous skirt, she sank to the frigid ground and watched Rhys stop short in the middle of the square.

He turned a slow circle, scanning the throngs of people who loitered to take pictures or point out items of interest. When he didn’t find her among the crowds, he sped off in the opposite direction of where she hid.

Still struggling to catch her breath, Polina clambered to her shaky feet. “Thanks,” she told the gypsy again.

The dark-haired girl shrugged. “It was just a kiss, you know.”

Polina sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”

Her eyes took on an other-worldly luster. “He only kissed you. Why did you run?”

“Because…it’s…he…I…” she sputtered. How could she possibly explain her past to this child? Then anger took over. Why did she have to explain anything? To anyone? “If you know so much,” she retorted, “
you
tell
me
why I ran.”

“Because the last man who kissed you thought you were like your mother,” she replied without hesitation or emotion.

“H-how did you…?”

“This one doesn’t know your mother. He kissed you because you’re you.”

Polina didn’t want to hear this, wasn’t sure how some rogue gypsy girl guessed the truth, but she didn’t have to entertain her lunacy. “Well, thank you for your help, but I have to go now.”

“Of course.” The girl stepped out of the alcove to allow Polina room to pass. When she did, the gypsy grabbed her hand. “If you weren’t ready for your future, you shouldn’t have followed the dog last night.”

“Yeah, great, thanks,” she grumbled and yanked away. At least she could walk through Old Town at a more leisurely pace for a while now, until she decided where to go next.

“The cemetery,” the gypsy called after her. “Your mother wants her ashes interred with her parents.”

Polina never turned around again, never questioned how the girl knew what she knew. She simply waved a hand in dismissal or acceptance over her shoulder.

***

Rhys had no idea what had set her off, but the second he realized Polina had flown, he chased after her. On the top step outside the cathedral, he spotted her reddish-blond hair as she zigzagged through the crowd across the street. What the hell?

“Polina!” he shouted.

She didn’t even turn around. Instead she shot like a deer who’d sensed a hunter, except the ridiculous boots she wore made her a lot less graceful in flight. He scaled the steps two at a time and caught a break in the traffic to cross the street.

When she looked over her shoulder, he pleaded, “Polina, stop!”

She ducked her head and bolted into the center of a crowd of tourists who snapped photos near a fountain. He sped in that direction and nearly barreled over an elderly couple slowly strolling in front of him, their focus completely pinned on the fountain. Skidding to a halt inches from the old man’s belly, he murmured a quick apology and waited for them to pass. As soon as he had enough room to maneuver around them, he wended his way toward where he’d last seen Polina.

Gone. He stopped, slowly turned a full three hundred sixty degrees. No sign of her, her telltale hair, or ridiculous boots. She’d disappeared.

Dammit. Now what? She could’ve gone in any direction. He’d lost her. Possibly for good. No. Hope glimmered inside his brain.

He might not know where she headed now, but he knew where she’d be tonight. The Pulaski Hotel.

Destination in mind, he left the square and raced the few blocks to her hotel. He pushed into the lobby and strode straight to the reservations area. A pretty brunette behind the counter greeted him in Polish. “Good afternoon, sir, can I help you?”

“English please?” He didn’t dare trust his rusty knowledge of the native language to such an important matter.

“Of course, sir,” she replied. “Are you checking in?”

“No. You have a guest staying here, I’d like to leave her a message.”

“Do you know what room she’s in?” She lifted a telephone receiver.

“No.”

Replacing the receiver, she frowned at him, eyes narrowed with open suspicion. “I’m sorry, I can’t release that information to you.”

He waved off her displeasure, and smiled to relieve the tension of her dark thoughts. She probably thought he was a psycho. “No, that’s fine. I just want to leave her a message that she can pick up later. Would that be all right?”

Her expression softened. “I think so. Do you want to leave a voice message or a written message?”

“Which is better?”

She shrugged. “I would imagine it depends on what you want to say.”

“I want to say I’m sorry.”

A brilliant smile illuminated her face. Figured. A groveling man could make the snootiest woman amenable. “Well, personally, I would prefer flowers in that case, but a voice message is probably the next best thing. I’ll dial her room and hand you the phone, and you can leave your apology. Yes?”

“Yes.” He breathed a sigh of relief. This would work. He just needed a minute or two to figure out what he’d say. He still didn’t understand why she’d run off, which made coming up with the right apology difficult, but if he had to grovel, he’d crawl on the ground for her.

“What’s her name?”

“Polina Kominski.”

The clerk turned to her computer to search for Polina’s room number. After a minute or two, she looked up, a confused expression on her face. “Would you spell the last name please?”