The Lebrus Stone (27 page)

I leaned back. "But why? I mean you've kind of explained it was because you were afraid of letting me down, but what really was more important than how you felt?"

"I don't know. Pride. Maybe I had too much of it to give in."

"You make it sound like it was immoral to get to know me."

"Maybe it was."

"Had I done something…bad?"

"No." He grinned. "No, the bad person is me. I've done something wrong, and I won't let you pay for it."

"What have you done?" I asked.

He brushed back a strand of my hair. "Fallen for you, I think."

I beamed inside at his admission. He was feeling the same way as me. It wasn't just lust. It was something deeper, even now, this fast, and it would continue to get deeper still. I just knew it. It wasn't every day, event or occasion that felt this way.

"And that's a bad thing?" I stuttered.

He laughed, a colicky, sad laugh that didn't reach the corner of his eyes. "Yes. But only because it means you're stuck with me."

"Maybe I want to be stuck with you."

"You should be careful what you wish for."

"I'll always wish for you."

"You can't take that back," he said, all too serious.

"I won't want to."

He frowned. "Then I hope you know what you're agreeing to."

"I do."

"I hope you realize you'll have to put up with a lot from me." His expression grew stern, testing.

"I already have that accomplished." I smiled.

He smiled back, weakly. But I was glad of some expression that wasn't so sullen. "I guess I should be flattered."

"I know." I kissed him before he could say anything else.

He crawled into bed and showed me again how he felt.

"Cray."

"Hm?"

"Before we…well…earlier, there was something…wrong with you."

We had taken what we'd finished in the bedroom to continue in the shower, a place that in the past I hadn't found remotely erotic. In normal cases, and when I wouldn't have been so swept off my feet and feeling so…extremely attracted to someone, I wouldn't have done so much so soon. But here I was, standing next to a shirtless Cray in the bathroom, with just a small towel wrapped around me.

I was a different person from who I had been a short while ago. The girl who arrived here would never have allowed a guy to kiss her so much and so easily, never mind sleep with her at every given opportunity. Just thinking about what we had done three times now, made me blush and tingle. I wanted to be with him over and over again. I kept wanting him, even now, as I thought about it. I mean, what girl in her right mind wouldn't.

We were careful this time and used protection, but I had to admit I might have risked being careless just to be with him as close as possible. He was becoming addictive. The feelings he conjured up were out of this world. It was no wonder he likely had so many admirers begging for more of him. But that thought only made me afraid of how reckless he could make me, how self-conscious again. And I wondered if he was or had been comparing me to the others girls he'd slept with, whether I satisfied all his needs like they had or maybe more. I only knew from the way he reacted to my touch how difficult it was for him to contain himself. His reactions couldn't be faked, and neither could mine.

As for the headache from earlier, it was now more like a prick of pain between my eyes and temples. But everything still sounded above the level it should be. A brief whisper caused what felt like a brain seizure. Cray tried to speak quietly, but his voice was too deep not to rumble through my ears. And thinking back without reliving the tantalizing moments, I recalled how I'd found Cray in my room.

"Something wrong?" He frowned. I could tell by the way he was standing slanted that he was wary of asking me.

"When I found you in my room, Cray, you were sitting in the rocking chair."

He nodded.

"Your eyes were open, but you weren't awake. And they…"

His eyes turned a rare monochrome. I wondered what that meant. If it was a good thing or something dire for me to notice.

What was going on with him? I couldn't be imagining his eyes changing colors to every emotion he hid so well. I hadn't imagined him look hypnotized like he was sleepwalking last night.

What was wrong with him? Did he have some kind of rare condition?
I wasn't ready to ask just yet.

What bothered me the most right now was that I was likely to be okay with whatever it was, even if it was beyond human understanding.

"Your eyes were white…completely coated over like…" I couldn't think of a word to describe them.

Cray simply washed his hands at the sink.

I pulled the towel from my shoulder and brought my hair over to one side to dry it.

I wasn't overly concerned about the discussion. If Cray didn't want to tell me too much yet, I didn't want to push him. I was just too curious to give in until he told me…something.

"And your skin, Cray…" I touched his arm as he rubbed soap between his hands. The action, I noted, was way too slow and deliberate.

"It was so white you looked…" I didn't want to say it.

He peered at me from under his wet lashes. His eyes were now a metallic blue. He was so beautifully handsome it was hard to believe he once looked so…zombiefied.

"Dead?" he finished, not seeming to care.

"Well…drained, I guess, like you had no blood under your skin. Like you were…made from…salt rock."

"Salt rock?" He chuckled.

"Yes. Salt rock."

"And then what happened?" His voice was too casual, joking rather than being interested. He turned to me, shaking his wet hands.

"Then I shook you until you actually woke and saw me." I passed him the towel.

"What else?" he persisted with a jocular smile.

"And then…you pounced on me."

I remained serious.

He licked his lips all too seductively. "And?"

"I think you know the rest."

I snatched back the towel. He mockingly frowned.

"Just forget it," I said coolly

"Forget what?"

I tsked and walked out of the bathroom, throwing the towel on the back of a chair as I sat and combed the knots out of my hair at the vanity table.

I tried not to look too much at myself. I looked kind of like salt rock, except blotchy and sallow, and in need of a facial.

Cray stepped up behind me and massaged my shoulders. I stopped brushing my hair and closed my eyes. He massaged well, as good as a fully trained masseuse. He knew just where to place his thumbs; his fingers hit the muscles that felt twisted.

"Sorry," he said. "I just don't know what you described could mean. I've never seen myself that way."

I let my head hang back until it pressed against his stomach. Even his face upside down took my breath away. But he wasn't smiling. He wasn't looking at me either, but ahead, into the vanity table mirror.

"Maybe I've exaggerated," I said. It didn't seem to fix his grave expression. "I could have been dreaming again."

He smiled, trying to thank me silently for the attempt at explaining it.

"Maybe," he said, contemplative.

I turned and put my arms around his waist, hooking my fingers onto the belt of his pants. "Let's not talk about the past so much. Let's just move on."

His smile became more flippant as he trailed his finger down my nose and onto my lips. "Sounds good to me."

I kneeled on the chair so I could put my arms around his neck. "Where would you like to start?" I asked, trying not to grin crazily.

"Ditching dinner?"

"You read my mind." I giggled.
Me. Giggle

"No, I think you read mine." He winked, but for a second I thought he knew something about me I hadn't mentioned: that I could read people sometimes. At certain irrelevant times anyway.

"Do you think Isobel will be angry if we do," I asked, trying to concentrate as he began feather kissing me.

"She doesn't have to know," he breathed against my neck

"About us or missing the meal?" I was losing my concentration and my ability to stay upright.

"Both," he said, kissing me harder.

"I think she should know." A moan escaped.

"If you insist," he muttered against my lips.

"When the time's right," my voice shook

"Okay."

"When I'm feeling ready."

"Fine with me." He kissed my chest, causing shivers to ripple through me.

"Then that will be it." I said, lifting his head and kissing him back, and as usual, without a care for how fast we were moving. "It will be our new start."

~ * ~

I wanted to see Elandra, but decided going somewhere with Cray was a good enough excuse to delay facing something so daunting.

We were about to leave when Isobel recommended, well commanded, that we all have a good, home cooked, family lunch; a first.

It was clear she was back to showing me she wasn't overjoyed about us dating. Maybe she was worried I was going to get pregnant. Maybe like me, she was afraid of my trip being ruined even more than it had been. Things had only just started looking up.

Had she heard everything?

The rest of the Lockes slept on the upper level. Surely they hadn't heard Cray and me being intimate. I suddenly felt awkward, especially after the conversation I had with Isobel on the porch last night. I didn't want to disrespect her by not at least trying to comply with what she asked. I just couldn't think of anything other than Cray when he was around and so close.

Isobel ordered our plates to be prepared and brought to the table. Syd put a reassuring hand on my shoulder as she placed my food on the table, smiling over at Cray with a seal of approval that didn't look all that honest.

The quick spreading news of our relationship was making me uneasy. It didn't look like the added attention was appealing to Cray, either. Zella and Gal continued to pay no attention to the fact that we were even sitting there, so that was good. Although Gal did look over at Cray once to mumble, "I pity the fool."

I was so used to his rudeness that it went over my head. The same couldn't be said for Cray. His hands balled into fists and he muttered, "Then just pity yourself."

Gal tore the meat off a lamb chop with his teeth. I pitied the girl that got lumbered with him, that was for sure.

Isobel told them to behave like she was eating with disobedient children, and then asked Zella to pass the salt. We ate in silence after that. Cray looked over at me every now and again, rolling his eyes or pretending to fall asleep. I had to stifle a laugh.

"Kellice called for you, Cray." Zella said, announcing, what sounded to me like useless information about an ex or friend. I hoped she was the latter. "She sounded eager to talk to you about, you know, the current situation."

Cray looked at Isobel whose concern had creased her forehead.

"I'll deal with it," was his flat response. He continued to eat while I wondered what needed dealing with. The way he avoided my glare at this point, I had a feeling he wasn't telling me something.

"Girls like Kellice are not susceptible to being replaced or disregarded," Isobel advised him as she adjusted the napkin on her lap, confirming my doubts.

"Like I said, I'll deal with it," Cray retorted.

"You can't just drop one girl for another one." Zella looked at me like something a cat had dug up and brought home.

"She's not my girlfriend," Cray gritted. "She never was and never will be." He looked at everyone. "So, quit with the mind games."

Zella shrugged. "Your funeral."

"HA! I want front seats," Gal high fived Zella. I'd never seen him so happy.

"That will be quite enough," Isobel said, returning our attention back to our meal.

The company and conversation had made mine tasteless.

~ * ~

Later that day, Cray and I managed to go out for dinner to one of his favorite places out of town:
The Delabon
. It was expensive and prestigious, with a crowd-pleasing eminence that would have attracted any local celebrities.

It was definitely to my fashionable liking; chic and classic, all the way down to the décor and the waiters with burgundy bow ties and matching waistcoats. Even the serviettes were folded like origami; the cutlery was spotless and chromed to a silver white finish.

I felt chaste but moderate next to the fine upholstery and carved ice statues. The violinists playing something wistful and romantic melody as we dined. It was a lot grander than I imagined, classier than the Ritz. And the food was delicious like Cray had promised.

My poached salmon with lemon dressing had been cooked to perfection. My lemonade tasted more like a hint of summer fruits sun drenched in a French vineyard.

A thorough description wanted to roll off my tongue to create a vision to escape to. It wasn't that I wanted to escape my meal with Cray. I wouldn't have missed it for the world, not for a Vivien Westwood or Christian Lacroix launch party in Madrid. Those were expendable if it came to that decision, since it was crucial I got to know Cray as much as possible before my flight back to Salt Lake City. Something that was going to be painstakingly difficult.

But I had to face that it was going to happen; that I was going to have to leave and remember everything I had learned from Cray about relationships, about finding someone you wanted to connect with in every way.

I was still trying to pluck up the courage to ask what kind of relationship he had with Kellice. Why everyone seemed against Cray and me being together. Maybe Isobel had warned him not to get me pregnant. How embarrassing. I wondered if he knew about the curse, and what he thought if he did; if he believed it.

"Are you okay?" Cray sliced into his rare cooked steak and caramelized onions. I wanted to swap plates, minus the blood juices. But I had my weight to watch now that I was dating a heartthrob and all. I was having to outstare to every female old enough to ogle him, including the wheelchair bound elderly. It was tiring work.

"Fine. Why do you ask?" My poached fish crumbled in my mouth.

"Your mind seems somewhere else." He stopped eating to hold my hand across the table, giving me instant tingles. His dark long lashes created shadows on his impressive high cheekbones.

"I was thinking about leaving," I admitted.

"Now?" his voice rose an octave.

"No." I smiled to console his panic.

I had been testing him and his attention. He wasn't noticing any of the women eying him like candy. It was safe to say I had him all to myself for the moment.