Third Time's a Charm

Page 15

“Of course.” He helped her to her feet even as his body told him to sweep her off of them. Sasha could still taste her. He wanted to lose himself inside of Rose’s sweet body. Over and over, until he found…something. Shaky hands buttoned his shirt and fastened his trousers.
A pink stain infused her cheeks as she smoothed her green sweater over the top of her hips. “I—um, we…” She knelt down and picked up the monitor, black curls skimming the floor.
He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drew her close, and kissed her once last time. “We’re not finished.”
“I’ll come to your room later.” Rose gave him a sweet smile, slipped out of his arms and walked down the hall.
“I’ll be waiting.”
Sasha listened as she washed up at the sink, as she soothed the baby, as she walked out of the kitchen and up the steps of the grand staircase.
Blowing out the breath he’d been holding, he rolled his shoulders. What had he done? All he’d intended to do was take her out to some place nice. Where no one knew her name or her family’s history and could make her uncomfortable. Where no one gave a damn about hidden springs.
Except he couldn't forget about it.
Turning, he eyed the staircase, unable to do more. "Quit being a plank and bloody move.” He started toward the stairs.
Blackbeard appeared out of nowhere, purring and rubbing against his legs. His eerie blue eyes stared straight through Sasha and a shiver rippled down his spine.
“Fine, you win. Damn cat,” he muttered, and headed in the opposite direction. He grabbed his coat and keys. “I’ll be back,” he shouted and bolted out the front door before he could change his mind. Before he stopped this madness overtaking him. Making him want to be that man. The one who always did right. The one who was killing his mother with every minute it took him to find this damned spring. With every attempt at being a hero.
Gravel crunched under his boots as his long strides ate up the distance between the house and his Mercedes. He couldn’t start his car fast enough. He couldn’t pull out of the drive fast enough.
It didn’t matter that the leather seats were ruined and the interior smelled like chicken shit. It didn’t matter that David Turner would haul his ass to jail for even thinking about speeding. Glancing up at the rear view mirror, the lights of the dashboard gave him an evil glow. This was why he’d never be a hero. Heroes left in defeat and smelling like chicken manure.
While villains…villains snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat. They got the job done and went off to their lair to plot their next moves while minions awaited their decisions. And villains never, ever worried about getting the girl in the end.
Not even one who smelled of jasmine and let him chase her with chicken feathers. Not even one whose greatest desires in life were uninterrupted sleep, friends and cheesecake. One whose infrequent smiles made his gut clench and his heart beat faster.
Looming on the right was the familiar red octagon whose message he wanted to ignore, but he stopped anyway and let his head fall to the steering wheel. His cell vibrated and he picked it up, touching the screen and scanning his latest messages. The last one made his blood run cold.
Time’s running out.
The picture attached was of his mother, lying unconscious and helpless in a hospital, while his Uncle Vladimir sat by her side, somehow managing to look menacing and caring all in one.
Lead coated his guts and his palms began to sweat. His vision blurred and he couldn’t take in enough air, his throat closing.
Breathe, he silently ordered.
“Bugger it.” He stomped on the accelerator.
Chapter Eleven
Unlike her baby sister, Rose had never been a morning person. She was, for all intents and purposes, a creature of the night. Long after the moon made its journey in the midnight sky, she would still be hard at work in their basement kitchen, adding and subtracting ingredients until it was perfect. Whipping up creams and lotions to keep a woman’s skin glowing, smelling heavenly. All to capture the object of her desire.
As a small child she had learned that every Holland woman was practically born with the knowledge. Still Rose was completely grateful that in 1885 the fourth Poppy Holland had decided to preserve her most successful concoctions for future generations and had written down the recipes in a large, heavy tome. There were two main ingredients for every Holland product: the first, specially grown flowers and herbs from the forcing house. The second was such a well-kept secret that only Rose knew of its existence. Not even Skye and sure as hell not Summer.
Four nights before her sixteenth birthday, Rose’s mother had taken her down to the basement kitchen and into the passage ways carved by former slaves and the third Poppy Holland to assist in the Underground Railroad effort. There were three different routes that shot out from the house. One led to the greenhouse, the second to a cottage and the third to a place Rose had never been.
A place she had considered sharing with Sasha before he’d kissed her. Before he had touched her so intimately and with such blissful skill that she could still feel him within her. His elegant fingers sliding over her thigh, not even skipping over the birthmark on the inside. Not like…She shook her head. She wouldn’t think of her former lover and his dislikes. His preferences.
Lifting her arms above her head, she stretched and sighed lustily. Morning had never been greeted so eagerly before. Sunlight poured through the French doors and long, narrow windows of her room. A room that at one time she hated. Hated what it meant. What it stood for. But now in the morning light, it looked like a woman’s room. A woman who was completely and whole heartedly in—
Ivy gurgled and rolled around in the middle of the large bed, distracting Rose and making her smile. “Oh you, sweet, sweet thing.” She scooped her up. “I’m going on a date tonight. It’s going to be an honest-to-goodness real one, with music and amazing food. Knowing his royal snobbiness, it won’t be around here.”
Ivy’s brows raised, her little lips pursed.
Rose snorted. “You’re as bad as Blackbeard over Sasha. All he has to do is walk in the room and you light up.” As did she. Even if she had to hide it most of the time. “Maybe I’ll ask him to take me dancing.” The last time she’d danced with the opposite sex had been in middle school when they were learning how to Square Dance during P.E.. It had been forced upon both parties by a man wearing shorts so tight and short that it should have been illegal, or students should have been allowed to wear blinders so as to not look at him directly.
She gazed dreamily out the window. Autumn leaves in every color imaginable greeted her and if she sat up straighter she could see the carefully tended garden surrounding the forcing house. Familiar sights. Ones that always welcomed her home, and now Sasha was a part of that.
Last night had been amazing. So amazing that she’d fallen asleep in her bed with Ivy on her chest, she reflected ruefully. The baby had fussed the rest of the evening, so much so that Rose hadn’t heard Sasha return. She’d spent most of the time pacing and patting Ivy’s back before finally settling down in bed with her. Only on what seemed like the hundredth rendition of “My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean”, a song that Azalea had sung to her and her sisters at night, had Ivy’s eyes finally drooped.
She bit her bottom lip. Sometimes she missed Azalea more than words could say. There was so much she wanted to say. To ask. What was it that had driven their mother to leave them?
There was a loud crash. One of the windows flew open. A chill permeated the air, seeping through the thin cotton of her nightgown. “What in the world?”
To Rose’s horror, a crow flew inside. It landed on her vanity and cawed, sending shivers down her spine. She turned, shielding Ivy with her body. Glancing over her shoulder, beady black eyes regarded her. She grabbed her necklace with one hand, rubbing the cross as she tried to figure out the best way to get the bad omen out of her house.
Suddenly, it flapped its wings and took off. Three inky feathers floated lazily about the room before settling on the oriental rug covering the hardwoods in front of the fireplace.
Letting go of her necklace, she clutched Ivy tighter. Her heart pounded and her stomach tightened as deeply rooted superstitions threatened her modern world. “It doesn’t mean anything,” she said, knocking on the wooden headboard three times with her elbow for good luck. “There. That should fix it.”
But it didn’t.
Even though Sasha wasn’t there to greet her with a confident grin and a cup of coffee that was more cream and sugar than anything else, she went about her daily Friday routine of cleaning and completing her own honey-do list.
All morning long, she knocked over the salt shaker, let the milk on the stove boil over; she went in one door and used a completely different one to come back inside; she found a penny and picked it tail side up without thinking about it.
But the absolute worst happened while she was gathering everything she needed to go to town. The grandfather clock that hadn’t worked in the past fifty years suddenly chimed in the sitting room.
Ivy’s diaper bag fell from her slack fingers.
Death was coming.
“Get a hold of yourself, Rose. This is why people think the crap they do about your family,” she scolded. Reputations as the town whores notwithstanding. Trembling hands grabbed the car keys, the diaper bag (again) and hefted the baby carrier into the crook of her elbow. She headed outside to her Jeep.
Skye was meeting her at Carolina Dreams and would be taking Ivy with her for the whole weekend. Not only that, Skye was cleaning for her, too. With Tristan.
It took her a good ten minutes to load everything she thought Skye would need. She gave Ivy a quick kiss on the nose and double-checked to make sure the car seat was secure, then got out of the backseat and closed the door.
Briefly, Rose wondered how in the world her sister had gotten the doctor to agree—and not because he gave off the impression of being too good for it. He was a war veteran and had lived in conditions a million times worse. But Tristan hadn’t been very happy with her sister yesterday.
She gave a little shrug, got in her Jeep and started it up. It would all work out in the end. And she had almost three glorious days of no responsibility. Two mornings to sleep in as late as she wanted. Two nights to stay up as late as she wanted. With a man she wanted. With Sasha.
Warmth and happiness coursed through her veins like caffeinated coffee as she turned onto highway thirteen and sped up. Desire gathered in places no longer dormant. It might be autumn, but inside of her, spring had come. Good grief. She glanced up at the rear view mirror and rolled her eyes at the silly grin she discovered on her face.
The handle of Ivy’s carrier reflected in it and immediately she felt guilty. Guilty for leaving Ivy. Guilty for wanting to have fun. To be a woman and go on a date. Was this how all mothers felt?
Her eyes snapped back to the road, tears pricking at the backs. She wasn’t anyone’s mother. She was Ivy’s aunt, and until Summer came back, Ivy’s caregiver.
She made a left on Ivy Lane, parking in front of her store and next to Tristan’s truck. As soon as she turned off the engine, Skye and Tristan immediately began to help her transfer everything.
“Anything else?” Skye asked after they finished packing the bed of his truck with Ivy’s suitcase, swing, and every accessory known to a woman that an infant needed.
Rose inclined her head to one side, hesitating to hand over the last of the baby’s things. Her sister had sounded excited when she’d talked to her on the phone last night about keeping Ivy, but this was the first time anyone other than Rose had looked after the baby.
“I don’t think—”
“Then don’t.” Skye snatched the diaper bag and squeaky bunny out of Rose’s hands.
Rose took a step forward, wringing her hands together. “She likes to be rocked to sleep. And don’t forget to do tummy time with her. Oh, and lay her on her back to—”
“Don’t worry, Rose. We’ve got it covered,” Skye said with a smile, then turned to her companion. “Right?”
When he didn’t answer Skye elbowed him in the gut and Rose’s eyes widened. Her sister was an unapologetic pacifist. Even going so far as to releasing water bugs that would sneak into the house during dry summers. Rose’s preferred method was a good stomping with the nearest heavy object.
“Right,” Tristan grunted and crossed his muscular arms.
They made the oddest couple, Rose thought. Not necessarily in looks. Tristan was as lean and tall as Skye was curvy and short. His face severely handsome while Skye’s freckled one glowed with an innate happiness.
Skye was so alive. Always in motion. She spoke with her hands, and laughed easily while Tristan’s movements seemed to be guarded and efficient. Rose couldn’t have asked for a better doctor—not for Ivy and certainly not for herself.
“What time is Alexander supposed to pick you up?” Skye gently swayed back and forth with Ivy in her arms, making little popping noises with her lips.
Rose opened her mouth to answer and then quickly shut it, her brow creasing. Sasha had never given her a time. In fact he’d never said where they were going. Heat crept up her neck. Good thing she’d worn her favorite lavender colored turtleneck today. “After he’s done for the day,” she said vaguely, then directed her attention to Tristan. “How are you going to manage your patients and help Skye?”
“Luke Ambrose joined my practice,” he said, his silvery eyes roamed over her sister. In fact he’d barely glanced away from Skye the entire time. Rose looked away before she smiled. Unfortunately, she found Jason staring at her from across the street. What was he doing down here and why was he by Sasha’s front door? It wasn’t like he needed help in the job department and Jason sure as hell wasn’t going to donate his money or clothes to a good cause. Actually, the only one he invested in was the get-him-to-the-top-as-fast-as-possible cause. A seriously worthy endeavor.