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“Ryan,” Lena said, and the name whispering from her lips sent shivers down her spine.
“Ryan. He’s in the tabloids a lot, you know. Player. Big-time player. Irresponsible, spoiled, self-centered—you know the type.”
“I do.”
“But if he’s your prince, then, baby, gird your loins and go for it.”
Lena stared into the mirror. Her wide eyes had returned to their normal size and shape. Her lips stopped quivering and pulled into a little smile. Her spine straightened. Her cleavage rocked. “You always know what to say, Mom.”
“Well, of course I do, sweetheart. It’s my job. Have a great time. Call me tomorrow.”
“I will. Thanks, Mom.”
“Blessed be, Lena.”
Lena snapped the phone closed and slid it into her handbag, then pulled out her compact and touched herself up. Then she smoothed her hair, popped a breath mint, plumped her “girls” and turned decisively to head out of the restroom.
Ryan McNally was waiting on the other side of the door.
She smiled at him. “Men’s room is over there,” she said, pointing.
“I was waiting for you.”
“I know you were.”
His brows went up. “Confidence. I like that. Would you like to get out of here?”
She smiled. “If by that you mean, would I like to go somewhere for sex, then no. But I would like to dance.”
“Dance?” He turned toward the ballroom, where the band was playing something fast, then back to her. “Can we wait for a slow one?”
“Oh, no. Slow dancing must be earned. You have to make an idiot out of yourself in public first. But don’t worry about looking bad, Ryan. Sometimes my dancing causes people to dial 9-1-1 and report a woman having convulsions.”
He laughed. He smiled, and not that suave “charm the lady’s panties off” grin he’d been wearing before. This one was real, with tiny laugh lines at the outer corners of his eyes that made them seem even bluer and a flash of white teeth. He had a thick layer of beard coming in, shadowing his jawline in a way that made her stomach knot up.
“If that’s the price of a slow dance, then it’s worth paying.” He held out a hand, and she took it, and then he led her out onto the dance floor just as the band jumped from one very old song to the next: “Twist and Shout.”
“Ah, the dance gods love me tonight,” Ryan said. “Twisting I can do.”
“Shouting, too?”
“Ask me later.”
He had a twinkle in his eye, and she had to laugh, because he was clearly kidding, not hitting on her. Though maybe a little of that, too. They twisted, and she felt ridiculous, but she kept hearing her mom’s voice telling her that if he was her prince, she should go for it.
She had never gone for it with a guy in her life. But it felt like now was the time. And she thought it was working, because he seemed to be enjoying himself.
They twisted to the end of the song, and then, when he went to get them drinks and asked her to scope out a table, she chose to join his father and Bahru at theirs. Ryan didn’t look too pleased when he returned, but he tried to cover it as he put down their drinks and asked, “Dad, can I you get something? Bahru, a carrot juice or anything?”
That was slightly nasty, Lena thought. But Bahru only held up a hand and shook his head.
Ernst said, “No, I’m fine.”
Then Ryan returned his focus to her. “Lena. Is that short for anything?”
“Magdalena,” she told him.
“Magdalena.” He nodded slowly. “It’s an old-fashioned name.”
“Very. My mother said it just came to her the first time she held me, and she never questions things like that.” She leaned forward. “She’s a witch.” Normally she wouldn’t bring that up in front of a client, but she knew Ernst was a spiritual seeker. She wasn’t worried about judgment from a guy who traveled the world with a guru at his side.
“The Wiccan kind?” Ernst asked.
She nodded.
“So you were raised…?”
“Casting and conjuring since I was four,” she said.
“Delightful.” The billionaire really seemed sincere.
“You just get cuter and cuter,” Ryan said.
“One’s belief system is sacred,” Bahru said softly. “Not cute.”
She sent Ryan a “so there” lift of her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes.
“What’s your belief system, Bahru?” she asked.
“I was raised Hindi, but I have learned from countless holy men, shamans, priests, priestesses, swamis, monks, nuns and more, all around the world. I am an eclectic, I suppose.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I have never studied with a witch,” he said. “I would love to talk with you about your path one day.”
“I’d like that, too,” she told him.
“Hey, don’t you owe me a slow dance?” Ryan asked.
She studied him. He was bored with their discussion. Strike one, she thought. But maybe he would come around, given time. “All right,” she said, getting to her feet, “but I can’t ignore the man I’m supposed to be working for tonight.” She nodded at his father.
“Consider yourself off duty, beautiful Magdalena,” Ernst said. “Enjoy the party. I think I’m going to call it a night anyway.” He rose as well. “I am very much looking forward to working with you, my dear. I’ll phone you in the morning.” He opened his arms for a hug.
The feminist part of her thought he wouldn’t be hugging a male PR person. But the rest of her was touched. She hugged him briefly, and he took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Be careful, my dear. He’s a heart-breaker, my son.”
“He’s the one who’d better be careful,” she whispered back. “I am my mother’s daughter.” She kissed him on the cheek, knowing they were going to be close, whatever happened between her and Ryan.
Then she extended a hand to Bahru. “It was lovely meeting you. I look forward to those talks.”
“As do I.” He clasped her hand in both of his and bowed over it twice.
Then she was swept into Ryan’s arms, and she forgot all about his calling witchcraft “cute,” along with his rudeness toward Bahru and apparent boredom with spiritual discourse. None of it compared in the least with the feeling that swept over her when he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and held her close. She inhaled, breathing him into her, and then closed her eyes against an inexplicable rush of dizziness, as if his aura was a drug and she had no resistance to it. Lowering her head to his chest, she let him move her around the floor as visions raced into her mind.
There was a bubbling spring, very small, shaded by a trio of exotic palm-like trees that all seemed to grow from the same roots. The ground around the spring was nourished by the nearby water and sprouted plants in gratitude. They had thick, fibrous stalks and coarse, sharp-edged leaves, and yet they bloomed in tiny pink and purple flowers. She did not know what they were called.
And there in that beautiful miniature oasis, she was in the arms of a handsome prince. She felt his chest beneath her head, his arms around her waist. She breathed him in, and it was the same. The same essence. More than a scent, it was an energy. An aura. The same man.
Fantasies I spun when I was a little girl, under the influence of Aladdin and I Dream of Jeannie reruns. I’d had the Jasmine and Aladdin dolls. I’d created an entire life for them in which Aladdin was the prince and Jasmine the slave girl. I’d drawn pictures, made little chapter books that told their love story, their adventures, with construction paper and Crayola crayons. It wasn’t real.
Then how can he be the same? she asked herself.
He can’t, that’s the answer. This is some kind of break with reality, and I’d better get a handle on it, because I cannot afford a mental breakdown at this point in my life. My career is about to take off, for Goddess’ sake!
She closed her eyes and tried to keep her head in the moment. Which was, after all, a pretty amazing moment, because Ryan was gorgeous and…
And his hand was trailing down her spine, lightly, gently, slowly, lower, over the ultra-sensitive small of her back to just above her tailbone, and then, just as exquisitely, back up again. She shivered, and she knew he felt it. He dipped his head a little lower, and his bristly cheek brushed over hers as he whispered near her ear, “You seem so familiar to me. Are you sure we’ve never met before?”
It’s just a line, said her brain.
Oh, God, that warm breath on my ear, said her body.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said her voice, because she didn’t like to lie. She never had. “But I’ve decided not to worry about it. I’m just going to enjoy the moment.”
“I think that’s a very good philosophy.”
“It’s the only one, really. All your power is in the now. The past no longer exists, and the future’s not here yet. Now is really all there is, and since it is always now, it’s endless. The eternal present.”
“Deep.”
She shrugged. “I take it you’re not all that into deep, philosophical discussions?”
He angled his head downward. “I’m afraid I’m guilty.”
“Why? Your father is such a spiritual man.”
“Exactly.”
She frowned, searching his eyes. “Meaning?”
He smiled, a charming, killer smile. “Let’s not go there. Let’s be in the moment. You’re in my arms, you’re beautiful, you smell good, and I’m not going to think about anything else right now. Okay?”
She smiled. “Okay.”
He twirled her around, pulling her even closer.
And she let herself surrender to the moment, which became another moment, and then another, all unfolding one after the next until the moment when he was carrying her, with her arms linked behind his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist, her black velvet dress bunched up around her hips while he kissed her, into his apartment.
They’d danced again and again, and she’d had several more drinks, probably a few too many. Enough so that she’d stopped questioning the wisdom of sleeping with the son of her firm’s most important client. Enough so that she stopped wondering how he could be so identical to the man in her childhood fantasies—Aladdin to her Jasmine. Enough so that she just fell into those stories and let herself believe in them. Like a little girl, she was making believe that her fantasy prince had finally come to take her away, because really, there was no better way to fully relish this particular moment.
She let everything go and allowed it to just flow over her. His mouth fed from hers as hungrily as if he adored her, even though she knew he didn’t.
Shut up and enjoy it!
As he kicked the door closed behind him, his fingers found the zipper low on her back, and he slid it smoothly downward, his hands following its path, hot fingers trailing over her spine, rubbing delicious tiny circles right at the base, then slipping inside her silky panties. He squeezed and pulled her harder against him at the same time.
They moved through his place in the dark, their way lit only by moonlight, which she saw when he mouthed her neck, making her tip her head back in pleasure. He nipped, and her eyes opened wide, startled and delighted at once. She saw the gibbous moon high above, through skylights in the ceiling, and realized this was the penthouse. Of course it was.
They stumbled through another doorway, and then he swept aside the blankets on a king-size bed and lowered her onto satin sheets, his knees between her thighs, his hands sliding the unzipped gown from her shoulders just before he laid her down on the plush nest of pillows. Then he was leaning over her, caressing her breasts, teasing their peaks, making her gasp and pant and want him. Her hands slid over his chest, and she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off. She kissed his naked chest, his magnificent shoulders, his belly, where she couldn’t help but touch him again and again, because he had the kind of abs you only saw on fitness-club commercials.
He groaned, then backed up enough to make her reach for him. When he returned he was naked. He helped her wriggle the rest of the way out of her dress and panties, and then he was touching her where she so, so wanted him to, teasing her from “ready” to writhing and whimpering before he finally lowered himself between her thighs and nudged just a little.
Impatient, she reached to guide him in, closing her hand around him and smiling with evil delight at his size. He tore open a wrapper with his teeth, sheathed himself in latex. And then he was sliding into her, stretching her, filling her.
There was a flash of light before her eyes, and she thought there had been heat lightning outside. And then a voice whispered, As the rod is to the God, so the chalice is to the Goddess. And together they are one.
She wondered if he’d heard it, too, but by then he was moving inside her and she forgot all of it, forgot everything but the pleasure he was creating inside her. She moved with him, clinging to his back and holding on for dear life as he drove her beyond sanity, beyond reality, into momentary, mind-blowing, blissful release. In her mind she saw swirling desert sands and heard her beloved prince saying to her, “I will return for you, my love. Never doubt it. And when I do, you’ll be my bride.”
She snuggled closer, embracing the fantasy, a fantasy that lasted for several more hours of pleasure. Until, a few hours before dawn, just as she was falling into blissful, sated sleep in his arms, he bent to kiss the top of her head and said, “Would you like a snack before you go?”
Before I go? Before I go where? she wondered.
“I can make us some microwave popcorn.” Instead of holding her, basking in the afterglow of what had been the most powerful and meaningful lovemaking of her entire life, he jumped out of bed and walked naked toward what she assumed was the kitchen. “I’ll call down and have the doorman start the car for us, so it’ll be nice and warm by the time you’re ready for me to drive you home.”
“How… thoughtful.” She frowned and thought, So much for my fantasy.
3
“Lena?”
His voice was soft and close, and as she let it swirl around inside her head it melded with the dream, so that she thought they were back there, in the past, still dating. And that nothing in between the day she’d left him and now had ever happened.
And then she realized she had fallen asleep and dreamed all that.
“We’re here,” he said.
She opened her eyes, blinking things into focus and looking out the window at the familiar shape of his father’s Westchester mansion. And then she frowned. “I thought you were taking me back to my hotel?”
“I am. But, uh—even if you want to skip the socializing, there’s the meeting first. I thought you knew.”
“Meeting…?”
“Dad’s attorneys. The will. You’re named in it.”
“Oh.” She blinked softly. “I didn’t know. That Ernst was going to do that, I mean. It’s not something I was looking for. I don’t need—”
“Did he know?” Ryan asked. “About the baby?” She met his eyes, saw the hurt in them at the thought that his father would have kept something like this from him. A hurt he’d once worked very hard to convince her he was incapable of feeling. “I honestly don’t know, Ryan. We haven’t been in touch since I left. But…”
“But?” he prompted when she trailed off.
“Bahru knew,” she admitted. She felt as if she was tattling. “He knew before I left.”
“Bastard could’ve told me.”
She shrugged. “He might have assumed, like I did, that it wouldn’t have mattered.”
He slapped his palms on the steering wheel, not violently, but in frustration. “Why the hell would you assume that?”
She frowned at him. “How can you ask me that? Do you really not remember the last conversation we had, Ryan?”
He looked as puzzled as if she’d lapsed into ancient Babylonian.
She rolled her eyes, sighed deeply. “It doesn’t matter anyway,” she said. “Bahru did mention that I would have to be present when the will was read, but he didn’t say when. So you’re saying it’s now?”
“Yeah.” He looked at his watch. “Right now. In Dad’s den.” He looked toward the house, the people wandering in and out. Then he popped the clutch and drove the car around to the back.
The wide stone deck was devoid of furniture. The umbrella tables had been put away for the winter, and the pool was sealed tight. Even so, the back of the house had a much more relaxed feel to it than the front.
“Come on, we’ll miss the crowds this way.”
Lena got out. She was feeling pretty pissed that he hadn’t yet figured out why she had left him, much less apologized for it. Or, God forbid, taken it back. But what the hell? It was water under the bridge. They had tried. And they had failed. She would never regret it. And maybe the whole thing—the vision, the fantasy, his resemblance to her prince—maybe all that hadn’t happened to fulfill their star-crossed love affair from the long-ago past lives she was convinced they’d had. Resolving that, might never have been the reason. Maybe it was all about the baby. She’d found him, been drawn to him, and he’d given her a baby. Perhaps that was the purpose all along.
He came to her side quickly, his hand on her elbow irritating her for no good reason. She jerked it away from him before she could stop herself.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m pregnant, Ryan. Not injured or weak or fragile. I’ve been waddling around just fine without you holding on to me for months now. I think I can make it to the back door without help.”
“Oh.”
He stood where he was while she headed up the three broad stone steps onto the deck and across it to the French doors. And then she paused, because she wasn’t sure whether to knock or wait or what the hell to do.
He came up beside her and reached past her to open the doors, and they headed inside. The French doors led directly into the den, which had been Ernst’s favorite room in the house. And no wonder. From it you could see the entire back lawn and the gardens, and you could walk straight out to the deck and then to the pool off the far end of it, any time you felt like a break. It was a perfect place to work.
Bahru was sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, holding on to that quartz pendant around his neck. Another man sat at Ernst McNally’s big desk, shuffling papers. They were the only people in the room.
Must be a small will.
“Ahh, Ryan, good. And you must be Lena,” said the man behind the desk, getting to his feet and coming around with a hand extended. “Ernst spoke very highly of you.”
“Thank you, that means a lot to me, Mr.…?”
“Aaron Samuels,” he said. “Please, have a seat.”
She nodded and headed for the two chairs that were situated in front of the desk. Bahru was sitting just past them. As she drew closer he opened his eyes, and they flashed red as they met hers. She sucked in a breath and stumbled backwards, crashing into Ryan’s chest. His arms came around her fast.
“Hey, I thought you said you could walk without help, sunshine?”
Turning her head, she looked up into his eyes. Her heart was pounding, and she opened her mouth but didn’t know what to say.
“What is it, Lena?” he asked.
“I—” She looked at Bahru again. No glowing red eyes. He was getting to his feet and smiling as warmly as ever. So she glanced back at the French doors to see the bright orange of the sunset beaming in through them and sighed. “Nothing, I’m fine.” And jumpy, she thought. “Good to meet you, Mr. Samuels. Hello again, Bahru.”
He pressed his hands together and bowed slightly over them.
She let Ryan keep hold of her and seat her in the first chair, and then he took the other chair—the one she’d been heading for, the one that was closer to Bahru—himself.
“I know this has been a miserable day for all of us,” the lawyer said. “So I’m not going to spend a lot of time on the minutiae.”
Lena glanced at Ryan as the man went on, and they shared an unspoken “Who the hell says minutiae?” moment. He even smiled a little.
The lawyer was still going on. “… right to the gist of it, which is really simple enough.”
“Ryan, you of course inherit the bulk of the estate. The holdings, the money, the mansion, the fleet of cars, both jets, the businesses—”
“I was afraid of that.” Ryan sighed and leaned forward a little, as if something very heavy had just landed on his shoulders.
Lena reached out and slid her hand over his, then tried to take back the intimacy of the move by patting it instead of holding it. “You can sell it all. You can let the board run it. It doesn’t have to be a burden to you, Ryan,” she whispered.
He nodded.
“As for you, Magdalena,” the lawyer went on, “Ernst was very specific. First off, the deed to your home has been marked ‘paid in full.’“
She blinked. “What? But I don’t—”
“The vineyard belonged to Ernst, Magdalena,” Bahru said softly. “He was afraid you wouldn’t want it if you knew. He’d bought it long ago, hoping to retire there one day with his beautiful Sarah. They had such plans for the place—but then she died and…”
“That’s the vineyard where you’ve been living?” Ryan burst out.
“I bought that vineyard from Ernst?” she shouted at the same moment.
Samuels held up both hands. “One of his holding companies, to be specific, but yes, that’s what it comes down to.”
“But I wanted to do this on my own.”
“Dad didn’t like to let anyone he cared about do anything on their own,” Ryan said. “Trust me, Lena, I totally get your indignation.” He tugged her arm until she looked at him. “But hey, it doesn’t have to be a burden on you,” he said, repeating her own words back to her. “You can always sell it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
All right, all right, she knew what he was saying. Her homilies about him being able to sell his father’s empire, about not letting it be a burden, were beside the point. The man had imposed his will on his unwilling son, and it didn’t feel good. She shared the feeling firsthand now and acknowledged that with a slow nod. His expression said that he received the message.
“If you don’t mind,” the lawyer said, clearing his throat to get their attention, “there’s more.”
She sighed but didn’t sit back down. “What else?”
“Ernst collected an impressive number of books and even some scrolls on his travels. Hundreds of writings, obscure religious texts and—”
“The sacred teachings of all times,” Bahru explained. “He said you were one of the few people he had ever known who would appreciate his collection.”
Lena blinked in absolute stunned shock, and thudded heavily into her chair again. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe he did that.”
“Wait, wait,” Ryan said. “He gives you a vineyard, you’re pissed. But he gives you a pile of musty old books and you’re in tears?”
She spared him only a quick scowl before turning to Bahru. “But you should have them, Bahru.”
He shook his head. “They were meant for you. Where would I put them, once I am free to return to my endless journeying?”
“The books will be delivered to you at your home by week’s end, Magdalena,” said the attorney. “I have people packing them up for shipping right now.”
She opened her mouth, but he held up a hand. “I promise you, these are men who know how to handle precious and rare manuscripts. They’ll be safe. Ernst also set up a trust for your child, the current balance of which is…” He shuffled papers. “Ten million dollars. With interest, it will be worth significantly more as time passes. But you are in complete control, and may use the interest at any time and in any way you see fit. The principal is to remain untouched until you deem the child mature enough to take control of it. He said he trusted you completely.”
She felt as if the air had all rushed out of her body and her muscles had turned to gelatin. “But the interest on ten million dollars would be…”