Completely Smitten (8 page)

He slid around so that he sat properly in the chair. “Actually, I think civilization gives people the opportunity to test their limits. Otherwise, they’d simply be struggling to survive. Life has improved a lot over the last few thousand years.”

“There wasn’t civilization three thousand years ago?” she asked.

“Of course there was,” he said. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant.” She smiled sleepily. She could banter with him all night, but the day’s events were beginning to take their toll on her. “I just wonder sometimes if we forget why we’re here.”

He bent over, resting his elbows on his knees and turning the wineglass around in his fingers. “Do you think people should always do what they’re supposed to do?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Too much wine. Now I’m not only serious but maudlin. You don’t need that tonight. You need to laugh.”

“Actually,” she said, “I need to go lie down. My brain wants to keep going, but my body has had enough for one day.”

“Found its limit, huh?” Darius asked with a smile.

“Oh, I suppose I could push it farther, but I’ve never had the chance to sleep in Hemingway’s bed before.” Then she blushed. She usually didn’t say things like that. What had gotten into her?

Darius set down his wineglass and stood. “Let me help you.”

“No.” She sat up all the way and reached for the crutches. “I can’t haul you back to civilization and have you carry me from place to place. Imagine how that would look.”

He studied her for a long moment, as if he were imagining that. “We’d attract attention.”

“That we would.” She picked up the crutches, got them into position, and somehow got to her feet. She had no idea how people who weren’t athletic did this. It was hard enough for her.

Darius hadn’t moved. His gaze met hers, and this time the sadness was gone. She got a sense of deep loneliness and strength.

He cupped her face. His touch was gentle. He ran his thumb over her lips. She opened them just a little. She wanted him to kiss her. She’d never wanted anyone to kiss her like this before—so much that her entire being felt the longing.

He leaned toward her, sliding his hand to her shoulder and bracing her. Then his mouth brushed hers. It felt as if he were going to move away, but she caught his lips. They parted and the kiss deepened. He took a step closer to her, putting one hand on her back to help her keep her balance.

Then he pulled her against him.

She almost dropped the crutches. The kiss took something from her, and made her feel as if she’d found something as well. She was no longer just her—she was part of a them, part of something greater than herself.

She let go of her right crutch and slipped her hand in his golden hair, feeling the softness of his curls. The crutch fell sideways, knocking against his chair before clattering to the floor.

His hands slid down her back, pressing her against him. His body felt marvelous against hers. For the first time, she was kissing a man who was the right height, who didn’t have to reach up or bend down to kiss her. They fit together.

And then, suddenly, he let her go.

She staggered on her one good foot, losing her balance, but before she could fall, he had caught her again.

“Sorry,” he said, and it felt like he was apologizing for more than knocking her off balance. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m not,” she said.

He held her until she was steady and then he reached for the crutch. She wanted to ask him to join her in Hemingway’ s bed, but somehow that no longer felt appropriate.

The mood had changed, and she wasn’t sure why.

He handed her the crutch, keeping a distance between them.

“Good night, Ariel,” he said.

She nodded once. Perhaps it wasn’t as incredible for him as it had been for her. She had never felt a kiss like that. But he was a handsome man, practiced, desirable. Maybe the kiss was nothing special to him.

She gave him what she hoped was a cheerful smile. “See you in the morning, Dar.”

He didn’t answer her. But she felt him watch her as she made her slow and painful way down the hall toward Hemingway’s large—and empty—bed.

As soon as he was sure she had made it safely to her room, Darius picked up the wine bottle and took it outside.

What was wrong with him? He knew better than to mess with someone else’s soul mate. He’d learned that lesson in King Arthur’s Court, when he thought no one would care about a blond stranger’s fling with Guinevere. Well, Arthur had cared, and he’d mistakenly blamed his good friend Lancelot. And nothing Darius could do when he reverted to his short form and his then-identity as Merlin could change Arthur’s belief.

So much for Camelot. History hadn’t remembered the blond stranger, taking Arthur’s version as truth, but Darius did.

He never made that mistake—at least not in that same way—again.

Darius sat down on the porch steps, extending his long legs to the pine-covered path. The air was cool and still smelled of warm pitch. In the distance, he could hear the roar of the river, and not too far away, an owl hooted.

Darius took a swig from the wine bottle. Some of the cabernet dripped down his chin, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.

He had been honest with her and he had no idea why. He told her his real name—something the magical never did, something not even his best friend Aethelstan (who’d met him 1500 years into the sentence) even knew. Darius had told her that he spent time alone here to think about things, and he’d told her about Hemingway.

In fact, he’d had to cover for himself because he kept blurting so many different things. He’d almost told her about that last, stupid argument he’d had with Lenny Bruce.

She had to leave first thing or he wouldn’t be able to lie to her any longer. And he had to lie to her, or at least mislead her, if he was going to act as her matchmaker when he returned to his short form.

His attraction to Ariel was wrong, and he probably had Cupid to thank for it. Cupid, who might have done something to Darius while Darius had his back turned. Cupid probably wanted to humiliate Dar, as if his sentence wasn’t punishment enough.

Or maybe Cupid wanted to make sure that the sentence continued, that Darius never successfully united the hundredth couple.

That was probably it. Darius had assumed that Cupid had changed in the past 3000 years, just like Darius had. The old Cupid would have wanted Dar’s humiliation to continue. Cupid had even mentioned it, sounding disappointed that he didn’t find Darius looking short, squat, and ugly.

Darius took a swig from the wine bottle. It was still half full, but it wouldn’t be for much longer.

If Ariel was supposed to be part of his hundredth couple, he’d find her soul mate. He’d even make sure she lived happily ever after, even though that wasn’t part of what his task as matchmaker was.

This deep attraction he had to her wasn’t real. It was a spell, designed to divert him. He knew better than anyone how real spells could feel.

And how much they could hurt.

Six

Ariel awoke to the sound of someone clearing his throat, and not in the polite way that folks had when they were trying to get a person’s attention, but in that obnoxious way they had when they were trying to clear phlegm.

She opened her eyes, saw the log beams run across the ceiling, and smelled the crisp air of the mountains. She hadn’t dreamed the day before. She was here, injured, in Darius’s house.

And he had kissed her.

The throat-clearer—and it couldn’t be Darius, because this didn’t sound like him—continued for another moment, then stopped abruptly. There was a faint curse—and this time, she could have sworn that was Darius—followed by whistling.

The tune was familiar, and almost as annoying as the throat-clearing. It was “Whistle While You Work.”

After one verse, the whistling ended, and more throat-clearing followed. Then a nasal male voice said, “Testing, one, two, three.” She heard a deep sigh followed by a faint “Dammit,” and the whine of a radio.

The voice started to recite call letters.

She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes. If anything, she was even more sore than she had been the day before. That made sense. Muscle aches got worse the second day, peaked on the third, and then started to recede.

She should have been used to aches by now—although these were excessive.

“Variance to Emerald Aviation,” the nasal voice said. “Come in, Emerald.”

Outside, the birds chirruped. Rose-tinted sunlight fell across the antique desk. Ariel glanced at the clock beside the bed. It wasn’t even 7 A.M. yet.

A crackle of static with a voice buried in it made its way to her. She frowned. What was this? Who was this? It certainly wasn’t Darius.

“Have an injured hiker at Variance,” the voice said. “Need a plane today.”

She felt her heart sink. She wanted to stay longer. Although Darius had been worried about getting her out quickly. He was afraid that she might have internal injuries—at least, that was the impression she got.

He’d been somewhat worried. Ariel put her fingers to her lips. A man didn’t kiss a woman like that when he was completely worried.

“If I were a doctor, then that’d be a different matter.” The nasal voice sounded belligerent. “But I’m not.”

Static.

“What do you expect, me to grow wings and fly her out of here?”

Ariel smiled. Maybe she wouldn’t fly out of here today after all. Maybe she would be able to stay a little longer.

More static followed. She could barely make out another voice raised in agitation. She wondered where the radio was and why she could hear it so clearly.

“No, buddy. I think you’re the one who misunderstands. Once I’ve notified you, she becomes your responsibility, not mine …”

Ariel eased her legs over the side of the bed. She wondered why Darius wasn’t making the radio call. Maybe it wasn’t his radio. Maybe that was a friend he’d contacted, which was why the radio sounded so close.

“… she’s clearly an experienced hiker. Which means she knows about search and rescue. Well, you don’t have to do the search, but the rescue is important…”

She grabbed her crutches and tucked them under her arms, easing herself off the bed. Her injured ankle felt like a large, puffy, painful basketball. She was grateful for the splint, which made the effort of holding her leg off the floor easier.

“… don’t really care about your schedule. The sooner you get here the better …”

Ariel made it to the bathroom. She couldn’t take a shower—not with the splint—but she wanted to dress her scrapes and to clean up as best she could. Even though she had cleaned up some yesterday, she still probably smelled like she’d spent the last few days in the wilderness which, of course, she had.

And she wanted Darius to get close to her again.

In the bathroom, she couldn’t hear the strange voice. The more she woke up, the odder the voice seemed to her. The throat clearing, the whistling, and then the radio seemed strange.

Somehow she hadn’t expected to find other people so close by, but it made sense. Even when people sought isolation, they achieved it. Human beings clustered. Besides, the regulations governing this part of the primitive area might have been different from other parts. Neighbors might have been closer than she realized.

But she didn’t realize people could travel with their radios. Showed how much she knew these days.

By the time she had gotten out of the bathroom and changed into clean clothes (and they seemed even cleaner than they had when she was hiking—as if they’d been freshly laundered and replaced in her pack), the voice had stopped speaking.

The birds were even louder, suggesting that the man had moved away from them. The house smelled of coffee and fresh baked bread. Ariel’s stomach rumbled.

Apparently being injured did wonders for her appetite. Either that or she’d really have to rethink this dehydrated food the next time she decided to take a hike.

She made her way down the hall, her heart beating in anticipation. She’d dreamed of Darius all night, of the feel of his body against hers, the way his lips had brushed hers so gently. Her cheeks grew warm.

When she stepped out of the hallway, she was surprised to find the living area empty. The kitchen was still hot from that immense stove, and the front door stood open, the screen keeping the bugs at bay.

The table, made from varnished pine, had a single place setting. The chair was pulled back slightly, revealing a footstool covered with pillows just beneath the table. There were plates of food near the single chair: muffins, a loaf of bread, and a steaming plate of scrambled eggs. A pitcher of orange juice sat next to a pot of coffee. A single red rose sat in a clear vase near the juice glass.

Ariel made her way to the table. As she got closer, she realized what she had taken for a paper napkin was actually a folded piece of paper with her name written on it in flowing script.

She picked up the paper, jabbing herself in the ribs with the crutches as she did so. Using her thumb and forefinger, she opened the note with one hand and read.

Dearest Ariel,

I’m afraid I was called away this morning on some personal business and I won’t be able to see you off. I’ve contacted a plane for you. It’ll arrive before nine. The pilot will help you board. I told him to come into the house so that you wouldn’t have to wait near the runway.

In the meantime, enjoy breakfast.

I’m sorry that we missed each other but I’m glad we met.

I shall never forget you
—

Dar

Ariel stared at the letter for a long time, her breath caught in her throat.

He was gone. He had left her here, alone. Someone else had called for the plane. Someone else would help her board. Someone else would make sure her ankle got tended.

She would never see Darius again.

I shall never forget you
was a dismissal. He really and truly was gone.

Ariel sank into the chair and propped up her injured foot. She set the crutches aside and stared at the table before her. This was not a meal a man made when he was trying to get rid of someone. This meal took a lot of time and energy. It was a meal meant to impress.