Dance of the Crystal (6 page)

Maybe he was better off not knowing.

Magnus looked at him with a sober expression. “What brought this on?”

Soren picked up a piece of bark and began shredding it with his fingernails. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just wondering if she’s the reason I’ve never had, you know, a relationship.”

“You mean with a woman?”

Soren sighed. “Yeah.”

A beat went by before Magnus asked, “You found someone?”

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Magnus snorted. “Well, that covers all the bases.”

“Seriously, Mags. I’ve been thinking about Mom. What she did to Pop. Remember how all the spark went out of him when she left?”

“Yeah, and then a couple of years later he has a fatal accident.”

“Think it was an accident?”

Their somber gazes met. Erik Thorvald’s truck had smashed into a railroad abutment at a high rate of speed. It had taken the Jaws of Life to pry his mangled body out of the cab. “I always wondered,”

Magnus admitted.

Soren had been nine, Magnus a year older, when Alana Hall Thorvald dropped her bomb on their family. In his mind Soren could still hear the harsh words between his parents in the dining room, could hear his mother’s raw sobs as he cowered behind the kitchen counter where he’d gone in search of a snack, not wanting to listen but afraid to move for fear of adding to the maelstrom. He’d been old enough to understand love, and the withholding of it.

He’d withheld it ever since.

He thought Magnus had withheld love, too, especially after his brief, tragic marriage.

Then Magnus had truly found love with Kat. He was a changed man. Not possessive and jealous like with the first one, but being himself only better, easygoing and confident in her love.

It made Soren wonder if the same could happen to him.

The image of Crystal D’Angelo coalesced in his mind’s eye. Her
joie de vivre
, the sparkle and snap in her eyes. Her sweet nature, her combination of innocence and unconscious sensuality. And that body…a man’s wet dream.

“So, you want me to?”

Soren roused himself. “To what?”

“Contact her. Mom.”

“Jesus, Mags. We’ve lived twenty years with the knowledge that she didn’t want anything to do with us.

Give me some time to absorb this new information. To steel myself to having her reject us yet again.”

For a while neither man spoke. Birds twittered, flying in and out of the branches overhead as the brothers sipped their tea, each thinking his own thoughts. Finally Magnus stood. “Well. Break’s over.

Let’s get this bugger on the truck.” He stashed the empty iced tea bottle in the cooler and turned to the slab of walnut.

“Right.” With a sigh, Soren heaved himself up as well.

“And, Soren?” Mags put a hand on Soren’s shoulder. “You’re as tight-assed as I used to be as far as women are concerned. Wouldn’t hurt you to take a leap of faith and let one get close enough to spend the night. There’s something to be said for waking up to a warm, cuddly body wrapped around you, even if there’s no happy ever after in the offing.”

Soren turned away. “Spare me the mushy details.”

But he was thinking about it. Oh yeah, he was thinking about it.

* * * * *

Crystal stood at the cheval mirror in her bedroom and frowned at her image. The underwired bra covered no more than a half-inch of skin above her dusky-rose nipples. And those might as well have been exposed, the ecru lace was so sheer.

“The point of a Victoria’s Secret bra, dear heart, is to enhance your natural charms.” Deirdra adjusted a strap to add a smidgen more of plumpness where Crystal thought none was needed. “And you said so yourself, you want to do the nasty with him. When he peels off your clothes, believe me, seeing you like this will bring him to his knees.”

“Well, I don’t want to hit him over the head with it.”

“From what you’ve told me about this bachelor, he needs a good swift kick right between the eyes. But more to the point, this little getup will make
you
feel sexy. So you’ll be giving out all the right signals while still acting demure. Just don’t chicken out.”

“I won’t.” She rubbed the crystal nestled between the plump cleavage. It was just barely warm, perhaps from her erotic thoughts and not from any magical message that it approved what she contemplated doing tonight. “Grandma told me it would let me know when I found The One. When I first laid eyes on Soren at the auction, it got so hot it almost left a burn mark on my chest.”

Deirdra had been with her the day Grandma had given her the amulet. The two friends had met in fourth grade when a bully cornered Crystal and demanded her lunch money. Several inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than Crystal, Deirdra had come along and clunked the kid on the head with an unabridged dictionary she was returning to the library. They’d been inseparable ever since.

Today Deirdra was still several inches taller and twenty pounds heavier, but those pounds were well distributed on her five-foot-eight frame. They’d gone to different colleges, but managed to be as close as twins during the separation. Deirdra had come back to the area and ran a successful New Age shop, Good Vibrations, in Bryn Mawr. One didn’t need to explain the power of crystals to Deirdra Zinman.

“Now. Lose those white cotton briefs. Here.” She held up a bikini bottom whose minuscule front and back patches of lace seemed held together with almost invisible elastic.

“What, no thong?” Crystal asked, only half jokingly.

“Ick. Thongs go all the way up to your waist. Yeah, they make your legs look longer, but the newest look is a pair of panties that are so low down on your hips that you can see your butt crack.”

She tossed the garment to Crystal. “It’s a visual thing. Makes him think how much easier it is to pull them down.”

Crystal groaned. “If you’re trying to convince me to wear it…”

“Just do as I say. Time’s getting short.” Deirdra reached for the outfit she had browbeaten Crystal into wearing—a cream-colored sweater cropped at the waist, a row of tiny buttons down the front, a sweetheart neckline displaying a modest amount of cleavage, and a low-rise pair of snug stovepipe jeans with high-heeled slides.

“I can’t,” Crystal gasped when she got everything zipped and buttoned. “There’s too much of my midriff showing.”

“Not.” Deirdre folded her arms across her chest like a stern librarian. “It’s just right. Don’t you browse through the fashion magazines at the supermarket checkout counter? I could have gotten you one with a two-inch rise. This one’s mild compared to some of the styles.”

The frown deepened between Crystal’s brows. “I don’t think…”

“Good. Don’t think. Just do.”

Crystal huffed out a breath that tickled a curly tress dangling down her forehead. “But isn’t this…overkill?”

“My great-granddaddy used to tell me that before you can make a mule obey, you have to get his attention. That’s why he always carried a two-by-four when he went into the mountains. Sounds like our Soren is like that mule. We’re just getting his attention.”

She put her hands on Crystal’s shoulders and twirled her toward the bedroom door. “Now go, before you’re late!”

“Okay, okay.” She descended the stairs with Deirdre at her heels. Reaching the closet at the front door, she pulled out her raincoat. “It’s supposed to get cold tonight.”

“Ew, not that ratty old thing. Here. Take this.” Deirdre scooped up her trendy vest, a rabbit-fur front and knitted back that skimmed the hips. “Just make sure to take it
off
in the restaurant. Don’t forget, you do want to make an impression on the man.”

Crystal rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mommy.”

As they descended the porch steps to their respective cars, Deirdre called out, “And don’t come back until noon tomorrow!”

* * * * *

Soren checked his watch again, then wiped down a spotless section of the bar, giving Trang a gimlet eye. “No, I’m not.”

The assistant bartender shook her head. “You’ve barked at the chef twice for burning the burgers, you damn near bit off the head of that new waitress for getting the beer orders wrong, and you’ve gone out back to pee several times. Now what gives?”

“Just being the boss.”

“You’d better adjust your attitude, or you’ll be the boss over nothing.”

When he merely raised an eyebrow, she added, “Everyone’ll quit.”

Talk about being on the horns of a dilemma. On the one hand, Soren wanted to do this right here, on his home turf, where he felt most comfortable. He knew the abundant selection of beers on tap was top-drawer and the food hearty and tasty. On the other hand, Trang and everyone else would be all over them if he brought Crystal here. He could just imagine them hovering around the booth, pretending to offer good service while eavesdropping on whatever conversation he might manage to have with her. No way, uh-uh.

So he’d chosen a Tex-Mex joint where he didn’t have to wear a tie. One night a year dressed up was more than enough for him, thank you very much, and he’d already used it up. She’d better not be late.

He’d gone out back three times to check the parking lot. After all, how many lemon-yellow VW bugs would be parking in his lot tonight? He’d specifically told her where to pull up so he could just dash out and jump in. Damn it, he should have insisted that he’d meet her at the restaurant. But she was as obstinate as a boulder about picking him up for their “date”.

Date. The very word made him shudder.

He stashed the cleaning cloth on its rack and ducked under the counter. Skirting the tiny dance floor, he pushed open the swinging door to the kitchen. The chef pointedly ignored him, but the assistant eyed him warily as Soren made his way around the chopping table to the employee entrance.

There! His heart gave a hard thump. He looked over his shoulder and yelled, “Tell Trang to take over.

I’ve got some errands to run.”

And he was out of there as if the proverbial bats out of hell were chasing him. Just as he hit the asphalt, the VW stopped with its passenger door facing the entrance, as though it had been choreographed and rehearsed. He ducked his head, verified through the open window that it was indeed Crystal, and jumped in.

“Go.” He grabbed the seat belt and hooked it around himself.

“Which way?” To her credit, she kept the car in motion, heading toward the parking entrance, oblivious to the fact that he was pulling a disappearing act.

“Turn right. About a mile and turn right at the first light.”

When the lights from the Thor’s Hammer sign had faded from his side-view mirror, with no little amount of relief that they’d escaped with no one the wiser, he turned to Crystal. “Hi.”

She glanced over, gave him a tentative smile, and turned back to the road.

“I see you didn’t have any trouble finding the place.”

Way to go, Thorvald.Could his conversation be any more scintillating?

“No, your directions were very good. Is this the turn?”

“Yes.”

She hung a right then followed his instructions until they were parked in front of Chica’s. “It’s a down-home place. I hope you like Tex-Mex.”

“I like it fine.”

He got out of the car and headed to the entrance. Then looked back when she didn’t follow suit.

“Oh.” He guessed she’d been waiting for him to open the car door. By the time his brain had shifted gears to go back to the VW, she was walking toward him.

He scratched his head, then opened the restaurant door and made himself stand there. “Sorry. I, uh, I’m rusty at this kind of stuff.”

“That’s okay.” The smile she gave him made his eyes cross. She preceded him inside into an area with a counter and booths, then walked to the rear, where a quieter dining room awaited.

The hostess ushered them to a corner table. “Someone will be right with you to take your drink orders.”

She set menus down on the checkered tablecloth and left.

“Uh, do you want me to take your…fur thing? Or is that part of your outfit?”

“Yes, please. It’s warm in here.” She turned her back to him, unsnapping the front and slipping it off into his waiting hands.

The fur slipped all the way to the floor as synapses misfired inside Soren’s head. His eyes took in what the fur had previously covered—six inches of creamy pale skin from her tiny waist down to…he gulped.

Cleavage. The delicate bones of her spine ended at the point where the swell of her ass cheeks began.

Dammit, he thought as he snatched the fur off the floor, he’d seen women in his pub dressed in low-slung pants and hadn’t blinked an eye. What was it about this one that made him all thumbs?

By the time his head cleared, she was seated, her chair pulled close enough to the table that the cloth hid whatever was bared in front, her belly button probably, and more smooth skin. He fumbled the vest onto the back of the chair to her left and went around the table to sit on her right, arguing mentally that if he sat across from her, his back would be to the door, and he didn’t want to be in a vulnerable position.

Yeah, right.

She nudged his arm with a menu. He turned.

And zeroed in on the amulet nestled at the bottom of her neckline, sparkling with every breath she took.

Gulp.Talk about smooth, creamy skin. Talk about cleavage. He’d be less vulnerable with his back facing the door if he was a bail jumper hiding from a bounty hunter. But he couldn’t move. He knew he was staring. Knew he had to drag his eyes away and look up to her face.

“Do you have any recommendations?” She leaned forward, her cleavage shifting with the movement.

“Scrambled brains. Uh, eggs! Scrambled eggs. With salsa.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe I’ll check the menu anyway.”

Doofus! Listen to yourself!He tried to backpedal. “That was a joke. I put salsa on my eggs for breakfast.”

Her eyes widened. “Will we have breakfast too?”

He could feel the tips of his ears turning red. How could she tie him up in knots with a simple question?

“Their chimichangas are very good,” he said, trying to change the subject.

“We have a special on frozen margaritas.”