Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (16 page)

To kiss her.

Opal stilled, too startled to react. For such a big man he was surprisingly gentle. His lips brushed hers so lightly she might have thought she’d imagined the gesture if not for the pleasure fizzing through her body. And then, while she was still deciding what this kiss might mean, he did it again—touched his lips to hers oh-so-gently, lingering a little longer, giving her dazed brain time to realize his lips were smooth. Soft. And she knew from observing him far too closely that they were full—a marker of the same genetics that had gifted him that rich, lusciously dark cocoa-brown skin and those high slashing cheekbones.

A third feather-soft kiss. And by now she was so focused on his lips that she barely registered him threading his fingers through her hair, and when she did notice, there was no accompanying dart of fear, no sickly rush of panic slicking her spine.

His lips left hers. Her eyelids had drifted closed but she knew he hadn’t raised his head, knew that his mouth hovered above hers… waiting….

For her to make the next move?

The clumsy overtures of the one semi-serious boyfriend she’d had before being put off men for life didn’t help much when it came to kissing. Her boyfriend had been too sweet to press her, and she’d been too shy to experiment. The only other man who’d kissed her had used kisses as weapons, wielding them to prove to Opal how weak and powerless she truly was—if thrusting his tongue down her throat until she choked could be termed a “kiss”. So this was unchartered territory. This was….

A gift.

Danbur wasn’t forcing her to do this. He wasn’t forcing her to do anything. Whatever happened next was her choice, her decision.

Opal could choose to embrace this moment—this unexpected gift. She could choose to immerse herself in Danbur’s kisses, hold them close to her heart, dust off the memory of them, and the pleasure he’d given her, next time the nightmares came. It was suddenly, shockingly, an easy choice to make.

She rose onto tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his. This time his kiss was everything she’d hoped for. And more. It was his lips hungry against hers, his tongue licking the seam of her lips, coaxing. His moan—or maybe hers, she didn’t know or care—as she parted her lips and let him in, tasting him, becoming bolder, sipping and licking and sucking… until her breath was reduced to little gasping pants of want and need.

When he lifted his head she was limp and wobbly-kneed, her body sparking with the awareness that she wanted more—everything that a man who desired a woman could give. Everything that
he
could give. So it took all her willpower, all her strength to say, “Y-Y-You h-h-have to g-g-go.”

Part of her desperately wanted him to refuse, to announce that he was staying and dare her to take what he was offering. And it took every last ounce of control she could dredge up to negotiate the stairs, walk to the front door and yank it open, to stand aside and not call him back when he brushed past her. If she’d been in her right mind, not devastated and miserable and already mourning his absence, she might have summoned a shred of pride that it wasn’t until his shadowy form was swallowed by the night, and she had closed and locked the door, that she dissolved in tears.

There was no logical reason to cry. This was what she wanted—him, and the complications he represented, gone. He’d only done what she asked. So why did she feel so bereft? So broken?

She didn’t remember climbing the stairs and walking to her room. Or kicking off her shoes, shedding her clothes, and crawling beneath the covers in her bra and panties. But she must have done those things because that’s how she woke the next morning. And it was only while she was helping Sera get ready for school that Opal realized she’d slept right through the night. No nightmares. No waking up drenched in sweat and shivering with remembered fear.

She raised her fingertips to lips that still felt sensitive and swollen from Danbur’s kisses. And wished with all her heart that she was a different person—one who wasn’t damaged and mistrustful of men, incapable doing normal things like dating, and getting to know a man she was attracted to, and maybe having a mutually fulfilling relationship. And she wished that Danbur was a different person, too. One whose mind was as sound as his body.

A pity such wishes never came true.

Talk about an advertisement for Monday-itis. The bus driver was communicating in grunts and refused to meet anyone’s gaze. Scowling passengers slumped in their seats. The bus was running late, and each time the doors hissed open to admit another irritated passenger, Opal winced. While she sympathized with the driver’s plight, by the time she’d glanced at her wristwatch for the umpteenth time to confirm what she already knew, she was pretty darned cranky, too. Because she was now running behind schedule, of course. Her current crankiness had
nothing
to do with a certain handsome ass of a man who’d stolen her daughter’s heart in the blink of an eye.

And rocked Opal’s world with his kisses.

She laced her fingers in her lap and pinched the flap of skin between her forefinger and thumb, willing the small pain to banish the memory of Danbur’s face, the way he’d touched her, the way she’d reacted to his touch. The way his body had shuddered beneath her hands. She’d felt powerful in that moment. In charge. She’d felt… turned on and revved up and dammit! She’d wanted him so badly she’d ached with it.

How she’d summoned the strength to ask him to leave she would never know. But with the enforced idleness of the bus journey came clarity. She didn’t want a man in her life, didn’t want to battle her painful past and have to “fix” herself to live up to someone else’s expectations. Didn’t want to care or worry or constantly wonder about the continued wellbeing of a man she’d just met.

Enough, already. She refused to fret about him—or her own reactions to him—any longer. He’d promised to leave. He’d kept his promise and walked out the door. End of story.

And she’d kept
her
promise, too, telling Sera how sorry Danbur had been he couldn’t hang around to say goodbye personally. Sera had pouted a little—and God, that lower lip wobble never failed to tug Opal’s heartstrings—but it had taken less than a minute for her to perk up and announce she would see “Dan” later, and maybe they could go get an ice cream after school, because she didn’t think Dan had ever tried ice cream. Opal chose not to disabuse Sera of that notion. Which wasn’t exactly lying—merely delaying the moment Sera would realize Danbur wasn’t coming back.

The bus wheezed to a halt at her stop. Opal dragged herself from the seat. She wasn’t looking forward to confronting her daughter with the truth—that Danbur wasn’t well. That the tales he’d told Sera were fantasies, and Sera hadn’t wished him into being from a hunk of rock.

She exited the bus and power-walked up the pretty, tree-lined cul-de-sac street. The cluster of thirty-two beautiful, totally envy-inducing carriage houses had been built five years ago to take advantage of proximity to the golf course. And Opal had been lucky enough to snag some new clients. As each new pair of homes in the street sold, word had spread, allowing her to quit her other cleaning jobs one-by-one. It had seemed almost too good to be true at the time—still did. But she wasn’t questioning her stroke of luck. Having all her clients in one street, only a ten to fifteen minute bus ride from home, was hugely convenient if she had to pick Sera up from school in a hurry because she’d become unwell, which happened more frequently in the colder months.

After selecting the appropriate key for the Mitchell home, she let herself in, and punched in the alarm code. Huh. Ten minutes to make up. She’d have to hustle to get everything done on time. And hope Sienna Mitchell hadn’t scrawled yet another note on the payment envelope detailing some extra task that she hoped Opal wouldn’t mind doing. Which would be okay except that, invariably, those little extras couldn’t be squeezed into the allotted timeframe unless Opal suddenly morphed into Superwoman. Not to mention Sienna never offered to pay extra if Opal was forced to work overtime.

As she dusted and vacuumed the upstairs floors she told herself that Sienna wasn’t deliberately trying to screw her over. It merely hadn’t occurred to the woman that if extras forced Opal to finish up later than scheduled, it had a flow-on effect to her next job, which could ultimately result in having to pay for afterschool care for Sera. And if the woman’s manicure was any indicator, Sienna hadn’t the foggiest clue how long it took for even the basics of dusting and wiping, vacuuming and mopping, and cleaning bathrooms in a three-story home.

She grabbed the bucket of cleaning supplies and moved on to the lower floor. A snort escaped as she ran the duster over photo frames, cups and trophies, and neat rows of leather-bound books. She’d eat her overalls if any of those books had ever been moved from their shelves let alone read.

Time to scrub another toilet. Her favorite task… not. If Opal’s former agency mavens could see her now they’d keel over with shock. And as for her former roommates? Well, their advice would doubtless be to book a full-body spa session
immediately
, then set about snagging some rich-as-sin bachelor and
voilà
, all her problems would be solved.

Yeah. Riiight. The only rich-as-sin bachelor Opal knew had ended up being the
cause
of all her problems.

He’d ruined her life. If he got his hands on Sera he’d ruin hers, too.

Opal grabbed a glass from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with tap water. She emptied it in large gulps and set the glass down on the countertop very carefully. Her fists clenched—the only way she could stop her hands from shaking—as she leaned against the counter, staring out the windows at the immaculately landscaped, soulless garden.

Stop this, Opal. Stop this right now. Rick doesn’t know about Sera. There’s no reason for him to know about her if you stick to the plan.

Except she hadn’t, had she? She hadn’t kept her head down and stayed mute and hidden. She’d put herself squarely in the public eye again. Risked being noticed, identified, gossiped about. What the
holy fuck
had she been thinking?

The thirty minute alarm on her watch beeped, thankfully yanking her from what could easily have segued into a full blown panic attack. Crap. Time was short if she was going to finish up here and finish up her next job in time to meet Sera off the bus. She stuck the glass in the dishwasher and whirled through the rest of the work like a dervish on loan from hell.

It was all done in the nick of time, helped along because fortunately there had been no “extras” requested today. Opal knew she was going to have to confront Sienna about those increasingly frequent “extras” at some stage in the very near future. Might be best to draft a polite letter over the weekend and leave it out for Sienna next time it happened. Yeah, right. If only it would prove that easy.

Before resetting the alarm code she went through the ritual of patting her pockets, confirming the envelope with the cash was safely tucked away. Mislaying her pay really would be a disaster.

As she walked to the next house she gnawed a snack bar and examined her feelings about the weekend’s show. There’d been a time she’d adored everything about being “reinvented” by skilled hair and makeup artists. She’d thought it the best job in the world being
paid
to show off beautiful, edgy designer clothes. But even dream jobs had a dark side. Like constantly monitoring your weight and every morsel of food that went into your mouth. People not respecting your privacy. Always having to be conscious of how you were portrayed in the tabloids, never truly being able to kick back and relax for fear someone would misrepresent something you’d said or done, and it’d blow up in your face.

Did she truly miss the dramas?

Cleaning houses was drama-free, at least. She and Sera got by, even if they didn’t have money for luxuries. If she was modeling again—even though at her age she would surely never be as sought after as she’d once been—she would have to sacrifice things she’d rather not sacrifice.

Opal entered the next house and firmly shut the door on that part of her past. This was who she was now—a single mother who cleaned other people’s homes. There was no room for a man like Danbur in her life—no room for any man. And there was no going back to her old life.

~~~

A painfully young Magda Bliss had gotten her first big break interning for a woman whose acerbic tongue would make The Devil Wore Prada’s Miranda Priestly want to curl up and die of humiliation. And Magda could thank that ball-breaking bad-tempered bitch for making her the woman she was today. Focused. Driven. Successful. Highly respected in the fashion industry.

Even after the health scare that had prompted her to leave the NY rat-race behind, Magda hadn’t sat around feeling sorry for herself for long. It wasn’t boasting to say she was still a mover and shaker. She’d worked her butt off to promote Philly Fashion Week and help it become a go-to event to rival New York or Miami. And she’d been an advocate for the Philadelphia Fashion Incubator from the get-go. Not to mention secretly proud of her inclusion as one of the industry leaders co-opted to mentor the designers-in-residence. Magda’s opinion counted, and a murmur in the right ear could make or break a budding designer’s career.

Or a model’s.

Magda placed her coffee cup on its saucer and leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers. Sherriam Lindsay, for example, hadn’t yet learned the valuable lesson that divas were a dime a dozen. The people who mattered would soon tire of her outrageous behavior and tendency to run off at the mouth when she got a drink down her. Not to mention her regrettable habit of becoming embroiled in juicy scandals that, Magda suspected, Sherriam herself leaked to the tabloids.

It was getting… tiresome.

And perhaps more so because Magda wasn’t wholly convinced Sherriam was the perfect girl for this launch. Her photos were gorgeous, but they weren’t anything people hadn’t seen before. They weren’t new and exciting and different. Or perhaps that was a little harsh. When you’d been around as long as Magda had, it often felt like there was nothing new under the sun. Few things surprised her anymore—including Sherriam’s latest escapade that had involved YouTube videos of her stripping off at a party and jumping naked in the pool. Yawn.