Teresa Medeiros (45 page)

Arian dragged in a breath of air so cold and crisp it made her giddy. The rising sun of the winter dawn dazzled her eyes. She blinked and the pink and azure sky poured over her senses, washing away the fog of night from her color-starved mind. She felt Tristan’s fingers curl over her shoulders, heard Copperfield’s crow of triumph, and laughed aloud as the broom soared in a miracle of weightlessness.

The state of New York unfolded beneath them in all of its awakening glory. They soared over a mountain, shivering in the delicious chill of a snow-capped peak. As the broom dipped into a valley, their feet skimmed the periwinkle-blue of a lake, sending a spray of rainbow-colored water shooting into the air. They glided upward again only to find themselves lost in the marshmallow cotton of a cloud. Tristan’s arm crept around her waist. As soft as the caress of the cloud itself, his lips brushed her cheek.

They burst out of the cloud to find the vast city prawled beneath them. As Arian spotted the steel spire
of Lennox Tower looming on the horizon like the pinnacle of some enchanted castle, her heart soared. Then plummeted as she remembered she still hadn’t the foggiest notion of how to land the broom.

Before she could open her mouth to warn Tristan, the tail of the broom caught a downdraft and dove into a spin that sent them careening straight for the walled courtyard in a tumble of curses and shrieks.

The blanket of snow that broke their fall wasn’t nearly as fluffy as it looked. Arian opened her eyes to find herself cradled across Tristan’s lap. He was gazing down at her with a tenderness that melted her heart. For a stunned instant, she thought time had tricked them, sending them back to the moment when they had first met.

“Does your head ache?” he murmured.

She shook her head, reaching up to brush the snow from his hair. “My heart.”

His warm fingers glided down her throat and into the bodice of her dress in search of that elusive organ. “Does this help?”

She moaned at his exquisite touch. “Oh, yes. I feel much better already.”

“Good.” He drew her into the curve of his shoulder and brushed his lips against hers. She surrendered the softness of her mouth, inviting him inside to wash away the bitter taste of Gloucester.

A hoarse groan interrupted their sweet communion. Copperfield lay with his head in the fountain and his legs sprawled in the snow. His eyes were still closed. Tristan untangled himself from Arian’s arms with pained reluctance and went to tap him on the cheek.

“Oh, Cherie,” Cop mumbled, bringing Tristan’s hand to his lips. “You smell so good.”

“That’s my aftershave, you dolt,” Tristan replied, jerking his hand back.

Cop’s eyes shot open. “Sorry. I thought you were
someone else.” He sat up, rubbing his head. “I guess you could say our landing was a crashing success.”

Arian’s jaw dropped as she noticed the stone statue towering over him. It perched in the center of the fountain as if it had always been there. But it hadn’t.

She climbed to her feet, peering up at the snowy mane of white hair and flowing robes. The pursed lips had been frozen for all eternity in a pious smirk that would be just perfect for goldfish to leap through once spring arrived.

“Why, it’s the spitting image of Wite Lize!”

Tristan shot Copperfield a sheepish glance. “I hadn’t really noticed.”

“It was Sven’s idea to move him off the roof,” Cop confessed. “He was scaring the pigeons.”

Arian’s tinkling laughter faded as a squadron of uniformed cops burst into the courtyard, flourishing guns.

“Freeze!” shouted their commander.

Tristan rolled his eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, this is getting just a little bit redundant.”

“Shall I?” Arian whispered. She nodded to the amulet, her eyes sparkling with wicked mischief.

Tristan shook his head. “Why don’t we just let my lawyer handle it? That is what I’m paying him for.”

Copperfield tried. But he quickly discovered that it was difficult to intimidate a badge-flashing member of the NYPD when dressed like a cigar-store Indian.

“Out of the way, Geronimo,” snapped one of the officers as he slapped a pair of handcuffs on Tristan’s wrists.

“I’m Tonto, you idiot!”

“Yeah, well, I’m the Lone Ranger and I’m going to haul you down to the station if you don’t jump on Silver and hi-oh your ass into the sunset.”

Cop gritted his teeth in frustration. “Could you at least tell me what my client is being charged with?”

“Resisting arrest and skipping bail.” The officer
dismissed Copperfield, focusing his full attention on Tristan. “You have the right to remain silent …”

Arian tapped the officer on the shoulder.

“Just a minute, ma’am,” he said without turning around. “Anything you say can and will be held against you …”

Arian tapped him harder. “Pardon me, sir?”

He shot her an annoyed look. “Please do not interfere with my duties, ma’am. This man is a dangerous felon accused of murdering his wife.” He turned back to Tristan. “You have the right to an attorney.”

“But I am his wife!”

The cop did a double take. Arian crossed her arms and smiled sweetly at him.

“Shit, Eddie,” muttered one of his companions. “I’ve seen her picture. It is her.”

The officer shoved his cap back on his head. “Well, I’ll be damned …”

Tristan rattled the handcuffs at him, his smile pleasant enough to blister. “Would you mind?”

The officer’s bulldog face turned pugnacious. “No, as a matter of fact, I wouldn’t. Cuff them all,” he barked. “We’ll straighten out this little mystery down at the station.”

Ignoring Arian’s wail of protest, Copperfield’s belligerent threats to sue for false arrest, and Tristan’s resigned sigh, his men hastened to obey. As they were being led from the courtyard, the officer paused just long enough to glance up at the fountain and murmur, “Nice statue. My wife has a dwarf just like it in our garden.”

It took Copperfield nearly fourteen hours to sort out the various legal dilemmas posed by their respective disappearances. By the time Arian stumbled into the penthouse bedroom and flipped on the lights that night, she was yawning with exhaustion.

Which was why it took her a baffled moment to realize that the scraps of paper scattered across the bed
and floor were one-dollar bills. A million one-dollar bills to be exact. Lucifer came capering across the field of green to greet her.

She scooped him up with a cry of delight, astonished by how much he’d grown in two short months. His woolly little belly was rounded beneath her hand.

“He missed you. But not half as bad as I did.”

Arian whirled around to discover Tristan leaning against the doorframe, hands in pockets. He had stopped at his office to shave and change out of the quaint shirt and knee breeches he had worn in Gloucester. He now resembled the Tristan Lennox who had first taken her into his arms—a portrait of irresistible elegance in a two-thousand-dollar suit.

A wave of shyness washed over her and she wondered if he would ever truly cease to be a stranger to her. She gently deposited Lucifer on the bed and held out a handful of dollar bills. “I can see you’ve redecorated since I’ve been gone.”

He shrugged. “Since I didn’t have to waste my one phone call calling my lawyer, I called Sven. It turns out he used to be an interior decorator before he became a hairdresser and a—”

“Demolitions expert?” she finished for him. She gazed around the room in utter bewilderment. “I don’t understand.”

Tristan drew a paper from his breast pocket and handed it to her. Arian unfolded it, recognizing it as a copy of the prenuptial agreement he had destroyed prior to their wedding.

“I’m willing to backdate it if you like. You’ll still be entitled to the million dollars, the chateau in France, and the monthly stipend.” His gaze dropped to the carpet. Or where the carpet would have been were it not buried beneath a mound of bills. “Even if you should choose to remarry.”

Arian sank down on the bed, struggling to absorb his words.

His face was an expressionless mask. “I won’t contest the divorce. I can’t imagine how you could possibly want to stay married to me after I demonstrated such an abysmal lack of faith in you. I almost got you killed.”

“You also saved my life.”

Suddenly, Arian understood. Tristan was offering her a freedom he believed she desired. No matter what the cost was to him. And she knew now beyond the shadow of a doubt that it would be far more than a paltry million dollars. Reaching up, Arian drew the amulet over her head.

“Keep it,” he ordered, his voice cracking beneath the strain of maintaining his veneer of detachment. He could not quite hide the anguished longing in his eyes. “You’ve already proved you have a heart too pure to be corrupted.”

Ignoring his command, Arian drew off the amulet and marched into the bathroom. She had to give him credit. He didn’t come running until he heard the chortling flush of the commode.

Arian faced him, a wistful smile tugging at her lips as she touched her bare throat. “I don’t need Warlock anymore. And neither do you. Our love is the only magic we’ll ever need.”

Tristan’s aloof mask slowly cracked in a smile. His legendary reserve crumbled as he whooped with triumph and snatched Arian up in his arms, lifting her over his head.

Arian laughed down at him, knowing that for the rest of her life she would be content to fly only in his loving arms.

Tristan and Arian didn’t emerge from the bedroom until very late the next morning.

Still wrapped in her husband’s embrace, Arian drew the door shut so as not to disturb a napping Lucifer. “I wish …” she murmured.

“Careful now,” Tristan chided, kissing the tip of her nose.

She trailed her lips along his freshly shaven jaw. “I wish you would love me forever.”

He tipped her chin up, gazing into her eyes with solemn tenderness. “Don’t waste your wishes on what you already have, Mrs. Lennox.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Then I wish I had a million …”

“Dollars? Goats?” he offered, cringing in mock alarm.

Her eyes popped open. “Orange blossoms!”

Tristan swept her into his arms, laughing aloud at her frivolous notion. She had been right. They no longer needed Warlock. Not when he was only too eager to spend the rest of his life granting her every wish and making all of her dreams come true. But their tender embrace was interrupted when he sneezed. Twice.

They both glanced at the closed bedroom door before staring at each other, their eyes widening cautiously.

Tristan was the first to shake off the bizarre fancy. “Don’t be ridiculous. That would mean you really were—”

“A witch,” Arian whispered, unable to suppress a tiny giggle.

Tristan reached for the doorknob first, but her hand closed over his at the same instant. Exchanging a silly grin, they shook their heads at their mutual whimsy, shared another lingering kiss, then started for the elevator hand in hand to seek out some breakfast for their growling stomachs.

If they had opened the bedroom door at that precise minute, they would have seen Lucifer standing on his back legs in the middle of the bed, his tiny paws batting at the shower of orange blossoms drifting down from the ceiling in a fragrant cascade.

From the front page of the
Global Inquirer
, New York City, January 26, 1997:

After tenderly renewing their vows before a small audience of friends and family, the beaming billionaire and his squealing bride departed in a waiting helicopter for destinations unknown. The generous pair shared their joy by circling the city to scatter one million orange blossoms and one million one-dollar bills over the cheering throngs of well-wishers.

Although reports of her premature death appear to be greatly exaggerated, the bride wore black.

USA Today
and
Publishers Weekly
bestselling author TERESA MEDEIROS was recently chosen one of the Top Ten Favorite Romance Authors by
Affaire de Coeur
magazine and won the
Romantic Times
Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Historical Love and Laughter. A former Army brat and registered nurse, she wrote her first novel at the age of twenty-one and has since gone on to win the hearts of critics and readers alike. The author of thirteen novels, Teresa makes her home in Kentucky with her husband and two cats. Readers can visit her website at
www.teresamedeiros.com
.