Forbidden (19 page)

“You did great. I think the car likes you.”

They got out, and Alec led her past a patch of scrubby bushes to a nearby door tucked beneath an exterior stairwell. The gray stucco building was boxy and nondescript, a stark contrast, she thought, to the flashy automobile she’d just driven.

Alec withdrew a set of keys from his pocket and proceeded to unlock a series of deadbolts. Claire couldn’t help but notice a hint of tension in his shoulders.

“Why do you have so many locks?”

“Keeps other people out.” Alec opened the door. With a pleasant smile, he added, “Wait here a moment.” Then he slipped inside.

That’s odd
, Claire thought in sudden apprehension. Why did she get the feeling that Alec was working just as hard as she was to appear casual? She watched curiously through the half-open door as he darted from corner to corner, as if looking for something. Maybe checking to make sure his place wasn’t too messy? The heavy curtains were shut, and it looked completely dark. How could he see anything?

Alec returned to the door and opened it wide, motioning for her to enter with a cheerful, “
Bienvenida, señorita
.”

His jacket was gone, and in his fitted shirt he looked particularly handsome.
If only I didn’t like him so much
, she thought, her pulse racing.
That would make everything so much easier
.

She walked inside and Alec shut the door, leaving the three locks alone. “Put these on the table, would you?” Unexpectedly, he tossed both his car keys and house keys to Claire.

She fumbled in the dim light, trying to catch them, but missed. “Sorry, I can’t see anything.” Claire scooped up the keys from the carpet. “Can you turn on a light?”

“Aye, got it.” Alec flicked a switch and then quickly opened the curtains.

Wow
, Claire thought, glancing around the austerely furnished studio with its blank, off-white walls. He hadn’t even put up a poster. It reminded her of every featureless place her mom had moved her into over the years—except a lot smaller. It was weird to think of a sixteen-year-old living here all by himself. Her glance fell on his sofa.

“Do you … sleep on your couch?”

“Aye.”

She suddenly felt very self-conscious, knowing that this was the room where Alec slept—and that they were together and alone. Alec moved into the tiny kitchenette, muttering something under his breath.

“What?”

Alec returned to the doorway. “I asked if you want anything to drink.”

“Sure.” He seemed to be studying her intently, as if he was waiting for something … although she had no idea what it was.

“Anything in particular?” he asked.

“Do you have iced tea?”

Alec’s eyebrows lifted, as if her answer conveyed some deep, inexplicable meaning to him—and then shook his head. “Sorry. No.”

Why is he acting so weird?
Claire wondered. She felt like she was going through some sort of social obstacle course. “Water’s fine.” He disappeared into the kitchen again, and she heard the sound of ice cubes popping out of a tray.

Claire wished she could use her psychic powers to find out what Alec was thinking, but sadly they didn’t seem to work that way.
Whatever you do
, she instructed herself,
keep your hands off him
. The last thing she wanted right now was to get a vision and fall dizzily to the floor.

Claire sat down on the comfy sofa, plunking Alec’s keys onto the rectangular wooden coffee table. She glanced around, desperately searching for some detail to quiz him on. The only other items in the room were an end table with a single lamp, Alec’s guitar on a stand, and a large metal storage cabinet with a sturdy handle and a keyhole.
He has a thing about locks
, Claire mused, recalling the mysterious box in their locker.

Alec emerged from the kitchen with a tall glass of water rattling with ice.

“What do you keep in there? Gold?” Claire gestured toward the cabinet, hoping her tone sounded like witty repartee and didn’t betray her intense curiosity.

“No, strictly uncut diamonds and vials of plutonium.”

“So you really
are
James Bond.”

“I like to think of myself more as the Jason Bourne type.” He grinned.

Claire smiled and sat forward on the sofa as Alec crossed the room with her drink. Here was the perfect opportunity, she realized, to conduct a little test, to see if he had any extraordinary abilities. He offered her the glass. She reached out, wrapped her fingers around it, and then deliberately let the wet glass slip from her grasp.

“Oh!” she cried—anticipating the impending crash—but before the word had even left her mouth, Alec’s hand shot out in a blur and caught the glass in midair.

They froze, their faces barely a foot apart, gazes locked.
Busted!
Claire thought, her heart thundering.
His hand had moved at the speed of light!
Alec’s wide eyes betrayed a sense of anxiety that Claire pretended to ignore.

“Sorry,” Claire said softly. “It was slippery.”

“Can’t believe I caught it in time,” he responded with forced cheerfulness.

“Yeah, nice reflexes.” As she stared into his green eyes, adrenaline rushed through her, and it was all she could do to maintain a calm demeanor. She was right! Alec
did
have some kind of special powers.

And he was close. So close. And they were so very alone. It was scary and intoxicating all at the same time. Part of her wanted to yell at him,
What the hell are you?!
And the other part (even knowing full well that it was the
last
thing she should do) wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her.

Neither of those things happened. Alec tore his eyes away and carefully set the glass down on the table. Methodically, he lifted his guitar off its stand and brought it back to the couch, where he sat down beside her. Tension filled the air.

Claire’s forearm and bare thigh below her short denim skirt were dangerously close to Alec’s hand. She wanted more than anything in the world to reach out and touch him. Instead, she tugged her skirt down and edged over a bit on the couch.

Alec noticed her sideways move and frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Looking unconvinced, he strummed a few random bars on his guitar. “What should we sing?”

“You signed us up. Didn’t you have a song in mind?”

“No.”

He went quiet, turning to face her again. To her surprise, she saw fear and yearning mingled in his gaze, a mirror of her own bottled-up feelings. What was
he
afraid of? He reached up toward her cheek. Should she stop him? She felt certain that if his fingers came in contact with her skin, she would
melt
(for one reason or another)—but she was paralyzed.
I don’t want to stop him
, she thought.
Can’t I have this normal, simple moment, like any other girl?

Alec’s hand brushed gently against her cheek. “Claire—”

As his fingers trailed along her cheekbone and paused at the corner of her mouth, his touch seemed to ignite a delicious warmth that spread across her face and down her neck, to burn like embers within her chest. But it was a thrilling sensation, totally different from the all-consuming heat that preceded a vision.

Claire took a sharp breath. He’d touched her. And it was okay. It was more than okay. Relief flooded through her, washing away all her questions and worries. Alec’s eyes locked with hers, tentative yet smoky with desire. Claire could barely hear herself think over her thundering pulse.

She said softly, “Just kiss me, you idiot.”

Alec needed no further invitation. He set the guitar on the table, his other hand sliding around her back, drawing her close until her upper body molded against his. Claire slipped her own hands up the length of his arms to settle between his shoulder blades. She could feel every contour of his chest pressing against hers through the thin layers of their clothing. Suddenly, his lips were on hers. The gentle touch was exhilarating, wondrous—everything she’d ever imagined a kiss would be. She felt herself shudder as his lips moved softly against hers, exploring, lingering.

And then, despite herself, Claire felt a dreaded, familiar blaze building deep inside her.

Please, no! Not now!
her mind screamed, trying to will the heat away, but every inch of her body seemed to burst into flame. Her stomach churned, her head spun, and a rush of images poured into her brain.

seventeen

S
he was looking at Alec’s face. In a mirror. Through his eyes. He looked a couple of years younger, his hair slicked back but disheveled, his face bruised and bloodied. He wore a black leather bomber jacket and a bloodstained T-shirt. She felt the anger and adrenaline that was rushing through him
.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder—Alec’s shoulder—and spun him around. A gun was aimed at his face. The man who held it glared at him with hateful eyes. They were inside an auto shop full of cars from the fifties and early sixties, but all shiny and new. The signs were in French. A calendar on the wall gave the year as 1962
.

“Give it up, hunter,” the man spat out in French, but somehow she understood him
.

Alec kicked the gun from the man’s hand. The two exchanged a flurry of violent blows. Blood splattered on the concrete. Alec’s fist hit his opponent square in the chest. The man flew backward as if hit by a battering ram, slamming into a hydraulic rack, and crumpling to the oil-stained floor beneath it
.

Alec’s right hand thrust out deliberately, stretching his fingers toward the car on the rack above. She could feel an invisible flow of energy course through his arm and surge outward, wrapping itself around the vehicle. Then, as if he was moving nothing more weighty than a textbook, he sent the car hurtling downward, toward the man. The victim’s scream was cut short by the crash of the impact
.

With a gasp of horror, Claire blinked and came back to herself, sickened, perspiring, and breathing hard. Instantly, she shoved Alec away and leapt to her feet. What had she just seen? The world was still spinning, the air shimmering like heat rising from a desert road. Looking down, she saw that her entire body was surrounded by an emerald-green glow that rippled off her skin like flames—
just like she’d seen in her dream
.

“Oh my God! What’s going on?” Claire cried, staggering back in terror. “I’m on fire!”

“You can see that?” Alec returned her stare, unmoving. For some reason, he didn’t look too shocked—more … disappointed, if anything. “
Shite
. It
is
you. I really hoped I was wrong.”

Claire dropped to the floor and started to roll to put out the flames when they dissipated as if by magic into thin air. She stared at Alec. “What did you
do
?”

“What do you mean?”

Overcome by a surge of nausea, Claire curled into the fetal position, dry-heaving, and then lay there, struggling to breathe. As her stomach settled, she started shivering uncontrollably. Alec moved to the carpet beside her, but she shrank away from his touch. “I saw you!” she cried, her eyes wet with tears. “You killed that man, didn’t you?”

“Who?” Alec’s expression was unreadable.

“
Who are you?
” she whispered, staggering to her feet.

He sighed. “Don’t move.” Getting up, Alec strode to a built-in cupboard near the bathroom and swung it open.