Heroes Live Forever (Knights in Time) (45 page)

“Truly?”

“Truly.” She slid her arms down until her palms rested midway between his chest and abdomen. Her nails dragged back and forth along his ribcage. The tension evaporated as he envisioned all the other places those lovely hands could linger.

She ran her tongue along the exposed portion of his throat. "I thought you were going to dance with me," she said, her lips tickling the skin over his Adam’s apple as she spoke.

"Your wish is my command, milady.”

His hands rode low along the curve of her spine, the heat of her body warming his palms through her summer dress. She nestled her hips against his. With every intimate sway of Miranda's, Ian responded with the same effortless grace he’d demonstrated in the sword fight. Their two bodies moved as one.

The words of the song blended with the music. A pleasant but indistinguishable sound he listened to only so he wouldn’t miss a beat.

“Will you answer some questions, even if you don’t want to?” she asked in a soft voice.

The question surprised him. He revealed the most pertinent information. What remained?

"After what I've already told you about myself, you think there's something I'd hold back now? Whatever you want to know I'll tell you."

She took a moment seeming to gather her thoughts.

"I'm ready. I had to sort out what to ask first. You and Alex came back together, right? How? Was it some kind of...," Miranda hunched her shoulders and looked a little sheepish, "I'll apologize ahead of time here for any errors in verbiage, some kind of package deal?"

The language of the question didn't bother him. Ian contemplated how to answer. He hadn’t discussed the details of their return when he talked to Miranda on the drive. He planned to explain everything later, after she found out about Elinor.

"I wouldn't have used that terminology, but yes, for lack of a better phrase."

For the next few minutes he described how Alex's destiny had become entwined with his. He didn’t elaborate, feeling no pressing need to relive his centuries of guilt.

"How long had you known each other before Poitiers? I'm fascinated by a friendship so strong death couldn't affect it."

Maybe not death, but unwarranted mistrust and petty jealousy could, he thought, ashamed.

"Since we were nine years old."

Miranda stopped dancing and drew back. "Ian, the two of you didn’t worship...I mean...you didn’t make some kind of pact?"

“No. We never needed a pact.”

“I don’t mean with each other. With...um...”

“What? What are you trying to ask?”

“Did you sell your soul to the devil? Because, I don’t know if I could handle that.”

Miranda blurted the question out so fast, Ian wasn’t sure he heard right. One look at her anxious expression confirmed he had. Ian’s jaw dropped, appalled by the suggestion.

"No, I did not! Where would you get such an idea? Good God! I've been accused of many things in my life, but never of being one of Satan's minions.”

"Think about it. One day you’re both living, breathing jolly fellows then bam.” Hand like a guillotine blade, she chopped the air. “You’re dead, fini, sayonara, ciao-,”

“I get it. Dead.”

“You’re not just dead, though. Your fates wind up meshed. You roam the earth disembodied for centuries. Then poof, magically, everything is made right. I think it’s a logical question.”

He rolled is eyes at her bizarre rationale. "I told you, there was a life lesson involved or did you forget?"

“No, I’m only clarifying the facts. Sorry if I offended you. You said ask anything.”

Ian started dancing again. Either that or shake her like a rag doll. His ego still smarted at the idea she could suspect something so outlandish. He pushed aside the uniqueness of the real truth.

"Since we've established I'm not Lucifer's vassal do you have any other questions?"

"Yes, but I'm trying to find a diplomatic way to phrase it."

"You weren't hampered by diplomatic concerns when you accused me of being a soulless bastard. Pardon me, if I find your timing regarding diplomacy less than sterling."

"You needn’t be so testy. I never accused you of being a bastard. I figured you had to be legitimate to be an Earl."

"Thank you for that. You can forgo delicacy. Get on with your questions."

"You’ve been very successful since you've...how to say this...been back. How? You didn't fall from the sky. What about identification, legal paperwork, the documents people need to prove who they are?"

She watched him closely. Did she expect him to hedge on the details?

"I was offered two choices. One was unsuitable. The second was a young man, twenty-six, and an attempted suicide.”

Miranda stopped dancing. As if seeing him for the first time, her gentle fingers smoothed his brows and trailed along his cheekbones down the bridge of his nose and the line of his jaw.

He didn’t know what to make of her reaction. “Whatever you may think, I’m the same man inside I’ve always been.”

Her hands dropped to his shoulders. “I wasn’t thinking anything negative. I wondered what you looked like before. What changed? I wish I remembered Basil.” She smiled. “I was thinking he couldn’t have been more handsome.”

“The resemblance is, or rather was, close. Until the time came, I hadn’t realized how important it was to me. Not to sound ungrateful, but returning to mortal life after, well, after such a long time, is a difficult adjustment. I didn't want to see a stranger's face in the mirror too. You probably see that a silly vanity considering the opportunity.”

“On the contrary, I can empathize.” Her warm breath teased his ear as she pressed her cheek to his. "What a phenomenal experience, both unnerving and miraculous. Tell me about him.”

The memory of the exchange washed over him. "He'd been a loner without family. Abandoned as a child by his father, his mother committed suicide while he was a teen. Afterward, he lived in an orphanage. No one at the university remembered him, but he'd gone to Cambridge on a history scholarship. Charity cases there are rarely befriended let alone remembered.”

The young man’s memory of how he was shunned spiked through Ian. It took a few seconds for him to shake off the dead man’s bitterness.

“Between his education and my experience, I made a quick name for myself."

"Do you remember the entire process? Did your spirit erase his? I'm not sure if I'm saying this right."

"I know what you're driving at. In the beginning, I experienced a constant residual sadness. His depression surfaces on occasion in a crushing wave of melancholy. I’ve learned to recognize and relegate those emotions to another part of my mind. Not to oversimplify, but he chose to die. I chose to live."

"What happened to his spirit?"

"I don't know."

"Was he different in any other way besides the sadness?"

“Yes, in little things, odd things. He was allergic to berries, for one." Miranda's brows arched unsympathetically into a “so what” expression. "I suppose you think that's not problematic."

“I don’t see how life without blueberry pie is a crisis.”

"Maybe it's not traumatic. But, it would've been nice to know before I shared a bowl of strawberries and cream with the hostess from Designer Mine." Ian recalled the unpleasant night. "I wound up in the emergency room covered with itchy hives and ugly red blotches. My nose ran. My eyes watered. Not the most romantic of scenarios, I can tell you."

"Designer Mindless, that's what my girlfriend and I call her. Jeez Ian, she's dumb as a stone."

"I wasn't planning on doing calculus with her."

"Can we change the subject? I have more questions."

"You’re the one who asked how he differed from me." Ian said with a pointed look. "Ask away, the more you know the better. It's important you're comfortable with my history." The music ended. "Would you rather sit and talk?"

"You read my mind. For the record, I’m fine with your history. I'm just curious."

Ian stretched out and propped his feet on the coffee table, his head rested against the sofa’s cushion back.

Miranda curled next to him. "Tell me about Alex."

"You want to know about Alex?" Ian repeated and not so teasingly asked, "Should I be jealous?"

"Not in the least. I know Alex Lancaster really enjoys acting like he’s The Big, Bad, Wolf."

“Don’t kid yourself, darling. He’s not that good an actor. What about me? You think I’m a big, bad wolf too?”

"You’re just a big wolf. However, I think you can be domesticated. Not completely though." She surprised him with a kiss that left no part of Ian's mouth unexplored. "The sexy bit should stay wild."

"You know, I could get untamed all over you right now,” Ian offered with a wink. “Say the word.”

“We’re supposed to be starting over. You’re going to be contrite and charming, and I’m going to be magnanimous.”

“Ahh, silly me, I forgot. Regarding Alex...” Ian said, “By a twist of fate his choice happened to be a distant descendent of his."

"Did he suffer the same qualms about a stranger's face as you?"

Ian draped an arm over her naked legs. "We never discussed the matter. The point was moot since they bore a strong resemblance. The young man was in a motorcycle accident and slipped into a coma. He wasn't destined to survive. When Alex picked him, relatives and hospital staff considered it a miraculous recovery."

Miranda scooted closer so more of her legs lay on Ian's thighs. He started slow with small circles first. As he talked, his hands journeyed higher to stop at the ultra sensitive area behind her knees.

“Since we’re talking about Alex, I have a question for you. The day I gave you the bouquet, I saw the two of you at Sound City.”

“What about it?”

“You seemed involved in an intense conversation. What were you talking about?”

“You.”

“Go on.”

“I asked if I was attractive enough for a man like him. He said, ‘any man with eyes in his head would be proud to have a woman like you on his arm.’ Even Ian? I asked. And Alex said, ‘especially Ian.’”

“I should’ve known better.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I need to make amends.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No.”

She let the subject go and their easy conversation gave way to a casual intimacy. Relaxed, they touched and stroked each other in the idle way of longtime lovers.

"You told me once you don't believe in hell. If you don't believe in it, how could you accuse me of selling my soul?"

"Ian, because I don't believe in hell doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

“Interesting logic. Is it always going to be like this?"

"Like what?"

"Will your mind forever be a mysterious labyrinth of twists and turns I'll have to navigate?"

"Probably."

He kissed her and kissed her again, and again, from different angles. Little moans of pleasure guided him as he wended his way to a vulnerable spot under her jaw. One of many trips he planned to make there.