Thoroughly Kissed (23 page)

She shook her head. The suggestion made her nervous. “Open, just a crack.”

“So that the spirits that visit you will also visit me?”

Her gaze met his for a moment. He seemed more abrupt than she expected. She had no idea why that was. “I guess it wasn't a good idea.”

His gaze still hadn't left hers. It looked like he was struggling with something. “The best way to protect you,” he said softly, “is to be in the same room with you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. She didn't want to be alone with him, did she?

Of course she did. And that was the problem.

“Michael, I can't.”

“Why not?” he asked. “Are there some deep, dark secrets I don't know about you?”

She got up abruptly and put her coffee cup on the counter. The waitress looked over her shoulder at Emma, who then asked for a glass of water. The waitress gave it to her and Emma walked back to the table.

“Should I take that to be a yes?” Michael asked.

“I could hurt you,” she said. “In my dreams.”

“You could do that from across the country,” he said. “Someone'll put it right.”

“You have a lot of faith in us.”

“No,” he said. “I'm gaining faith in you.”

She smiled into her water, unable to look at him.

“Now,” he said, “why don't you have some faith in me? We'll transfer to a room with double beds and I'll sleep in the one nearest the door. I won't try anything funny.”

She felt a pang of disappointment then, but kept it from registering on her face.

“And,” he said, “I'll guard you as best a mortal man can.”

It was so tempting. But the problem wasn't really him. It was her. She wanted to be in his bed, beside him, touching him. And she didn't want to tell him. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea.

“I know you will,” she said.

“Then what's the hesitation?”

She raised her head. He was watching her, his blue eyes so intense that she could barely breathe. “Did I ever tell you how I slipped into that magic coma?”

Michael frowned. “No.”

She rested her face between her hands. Her fingers clutched at her hair. “Aethelstan kissed me.”

“And then you fell asleep?” Michael's frown deepened. “Isn't it supposed to be the opposite? Aren't kisses supposed to break someone out of a magic spell?”

“Some spells.”

“But not that one?”

“No,” she said. “Not that one. At least, not so far as I know. And if a kiss was supposed to get me out of it, Aethelstan was the wrong man to try it.”

“So,” Michael said slowly, “you haven't kissed anyone for a thousand years?”

“Aethelstan, once,” she said. “When he captured Ealhswith, my evil stepmother. I wanted to prove to myself that she was gone.”

“And nothing happened?”

“I didn't slip into a magical coma, not then.” Emma took a shaky breath. “But it wasn't a real kiss.”

Michael hadn't moved. “What do you mean?”

“There was no passion,” she whispered. “No real caring. It was a thank-you.”

“On both your parts?” he asked.

She nodded. “Aethelstan was in love with Nora by then. I don't think he felt anything for me at all, except maybe friendship. And at that point, I'm not even sure he felt that.”

Michael glanced around the mall as if he too were trying to find sanity in its normalcy. “What kind of spell did she put on you?”

“We think it was a kiss-and-tell spell, which is really potent and long-lasting, but we're not sure. She never did confess. And she stirred up the waters more than once. She told Aethelstan that it hadn't worn off, but he'd kissed a number of women in the meantime—”

“While you, his so-called beloved, were under a magic spell?”

Emma nodded. She had tried not to think about that. “It was a thousand years.”

“My God, Emma, if it were my beloved, I don't care if it were a million years. I'd be doing everything I could to get her out of it, awake, and at my side.”

“I think it was pretty clear to Aethelstan from the start that I wasn't his beloved.” Her heart twisted. She hadn't spoken of this to anyone.

“Was it clear to you?”

She shook her head. That kiss—that first kiss—had been the center of her world. And then the end of it.

But when she had seen him after she had awakened, she had thought that he had been there for her in just the way Michael described. Then he had looked over her shoulder at Nora and Emma had known, right then, that he had never cared for her the way he cared for his future wife.

“It's all right,” Emma said. “It worked out for the best.”

“For him, maybe,” Michael said. “But it sounds like you got nothing. Less than nothing. He stole a thousand years of your life and didn't even have the integrity to stand by you.”

“It wasn't his fault.”

“It sounds like some of it was.”

“Michael, you don't understand—”

“I understand enough to know that this man treated you terribly. How can you defend him?”

Emma shrugged. “He's my friend.”

“Some friend,” Michael muttered.

She didn't know how to explain this to him. “Michael, I need him right now.”

“Isn't there someone else you can train with? What about that list he gave you? Surely someone on there can train you.”

“Not someone I trust.”

“You trust him? After all that?”

She slid her hands out of her hair and folded them in front of her. Her heart was pounding hard. She hadn't expected Michael's strong reaction.

“Aethelstan stood by me. He didn't have to. He could have let Ealhswith have me. But he didn't, even though after a hundred years, he barely remembered me.”

“He should have remembered you.”

“No.” Emma grabbed a napkin and tore a corner off it. “He remembered what had happened, but he couldn't remember what I looked like, or sounded like. You know how that is, how memories fade.”

Michael put a hand over hers. Beneath them, the napkin was in shreds. “You wouldn't have faded in my mind.”

She slipped her hand away from his. “You don't know me.”

“I know you better than anyone else has,” he said. “I'll wager you haven't told Aethelstan how much he hurt you.”

She smiled. “I yelled at him a lot.”

“It's not the same thing.”

Michael was right. It wasn't.

“I don't blame him,” she said. “I can't. He and Nora did all they could to make it up to me.”

“But she married him.”

Emma raised her head. “Because I didn't want him.”

“What?” Michael leaned back as if she had surprised him.

“Aethelstan misinterpreted a prophecy. He thought we were soul mates. He was willing to be with me no matter what, no matter how wrong we were for each other.” Emma smiled sadly. “I wasn't that strong.”

“So what happened?”

“I threw plates at him.”

“Plates?”

“In Quixotic. He wanted me to learn a trade. I still had a medieval perspective. I wasn't going to work. I was a lady.”

Michael's lips twitched. “I see.”

“And that was the end of it. We couldn't agree on anything. So I told Aethelstan I wanted nothing to do with him. And then he married Nora.”

“Didn't that hurt you?”

Emma shook her head. “I was relieved. I was afraid I'd have to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Afraid?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It would have been awful.”

“Even though you loved him.”

“I don't think I ever loved him,” she said. She had thought about that for years. “I think we were caught up in all that excitement of attraction and first kisses. I don't think it was love, even back then.”

Michael was holding himself rigidly, as if he were afraid a movement would betray him. Attraction and first kisses—where she and he were now.

“And then,” Emma said, “we kissed, and I lost a thousand years. And when I woke up, everything was paved, and Aethelstan looked old enough to be my father.”

“Wow,” Michael said.

She nodded, then sighed. Her life, empty as it was, now open for him to see.

“So,” he said. “What has all of this to do with sharing a room?”

She froze. She had forgotten how she had even gotten on the subject. But she had been the one to bring it up. She pushed her chair away from the table, and slumped down. She didn't look at him—at least not directly.

“I like you, Michael.”

“I like you, too, Emma.”

“No,” she whispered. “I really like you.”

That smile was back on his face. She could see it out of the corner of her eye. “Does that mean you're worried about what'll happen if we share a room?”

“Yes,” she said.

“What if I swear to protect your virtue?” There was no humor in his voice. She looked at him. The smile was gone now. He seemed very serious.

“I'm not worried about you,” she said.

He took her hand. His touch was electric; she could feel it throughout her entire body. It was as if no one had ever really touched her before.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to you too,” he said, “but I can promise that I won't kiss you.”

He made it sound so easy. Maybe it was for him. She started to pull her hand away, but his grip tightened.

“Don't get me wrong,” he said, his voice slightly husky. “I want to kiss you. Very much. But I understand your fear. I'm telling you that I respect it.”

Her eyes burned and she had to look away. No one had been this tender with her, ever. Not even Darnell, who in his little catlike way, always had his own agenda.

“Now I understand why you're always pulling away.” Michael's forefinger traced her knuckles. The movement was both gentle and erotic. A wave of desire ran through her. “I thought for a long time that you simply weren't attracted to me.”

“It was better that way,” she said, watching his finger move. She wanted to stop him, to make the feeling go away, but she also wanted him to keep touching her—forever.

“Not for me.”

“Michael, we can't do anything. Nothing will come of this.”

His hand covered hers again. “Emma, people can have long relationships without kissing. There's more to—”

She put her finger on his lips. “I know. I have cable.”

He hadn't moved. It was as if he were holding himself back, as if his first inclination was to kiss the finger she pressed against him.

She dropped her hand. He tightened his grip on her other one—a squeeze, a reassurance.

“Michael,” she said. “I have no idea how deep the spell goes.”

“You said it was a kiss spell.”

“I said she often lied about what kind of spell it was.”

His face paled. “You mean that any kind of physical intimacy might trigger that coma again?”

“I don't know,” she said.

“If something happened, couldn't someone appeal to the Fates? After all, it would be wrong. She's gone. The spell should have been removed. Right? Or wouldn't they see it that way?”

“They probably would.” Emma clenched her free hand on her lap. More than anything she wanted to cover his hand with her own, feel the weight of both of their hands on top of hers. But she didn't.

She wouldn't.

“I don't understand the problem then,” he said.

“Their sense of time is different from ours. They might reverse the spell, and I would still lose ten, twenty, forty years of my life. I'm not willing to do that again, Michael.”

“I understand that,” he said. “Oddly enough, it makes complete sense to me. But it sure makes for a lonely existence.”

“I know,” Emma said softly.

He studied her for a moment. The compassion on his face was almost more than she could bear. “At some point, Emma, you might want to find out if the spell still exists.”

“You mean test it?”

He nodded.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would I do that?”

“Because right now you're operating on supposition. And you could live another thousand years—a lonely woman with a series of cats. What if, five hundred years from now, you find out that you were wrong, that the spell was gone?”

She let out a small shuddery sigh. She hadn't thought of that before.

“You see, even if you lose thirty years to a test, it will still prevent you from living alone for the next thousand.”

“Assuming someone would want me,” Emma said.

Michael placed his other hand over hers. The warmth and weight of his hands was comforting, and still arousing. “I would want you.”

“You thought I faked all my research. You thought I was incompetent and a fraud.”

“And I was attracted to you even then. God help me, Emma, even when I thought you were betraying everything I believed in, I still wanted to be with you.”

She finally did put her hand on his. A hand pile, the most physical they would probably ever get. “That's why you said no to the trip.”

“You were confusing me. I'd never felt like this about a woman before. My choices in the past were always very logical.” Her gaze met his. He smiled ruefully. “And passionless. No wonder they didn't last.”

“Anything between us would be passionless too, Michael,” she said.

He laughed. “Emma, you and I have never lacked for passion. It's physical intimacy that's the problem.”

“So the dream, that was just an excuse?”

“The dream had me worried,” he said. “I didn't want to know that you had left the world because I was attracted to you.”

“My beauty,” she said sadly. “Just like everyone else.”

He sighed. “I guess I deserved that. I even thought that for a while. But, Emma, it was more from the start.”