Third Time's a Charm

Skye squealed and Rose started. “Good grief, Skye. You scared the crud out of me!”

After handing the baby to Tristan, Skye caught Rose up in a big hug. “I’m so excited for you,” she whispered in her ear. “Try to have fun.”

Rose fought back the ridiculous tears caught in her throat. This was so unlike her. She never got emotional over silly little things, or big things for that matter. “I’ll do my best.”

After Skye and Tristan left, Jason was nowhere to be found. Thank God. It was a short walk to the bank and she had about fifteen minutes to spare. Maybe she should pop on over to Sasha’s store and see what time he wanted her ready. Being on time would be the least she could do in return.

Taking a deep breath, she pressed down on the handle. Nothing happened. She frowned. Maybe she should knock. After a couple of minutes, she quit knocking and leaned to one side to take a quick peek in the window. Well, that should’ve been her first clue. The place was completely dark inside.

Her insides danced, tripped and crashed against each other.

It didn’t matter. He lived with her. She’d see him tonight. Keeping her expression neutral, she walked up the street and made her way to the only bank in town. Rose couldn’t help but notice that quite a few people crossed to the other side of the street to avoid walking past her. A couple of guys she knew to be friends with Jason leered at her, raking her body up and down with a smirk on their faces as they grew closer, but they let her pass between them without incident.

Unlike the greeting that every other customer got when he or she walked in, Rose was met with stony stares and judging eyes. Like usual she ignored them all, holding her head high as she passed the teller’s counter and customer service desk. She didn’t stop until Harrison Collins’ secretary met her halfway and ushered her inside the president’s office.

Harrison, ever the southern gentleman, stood as Rose entered the room. He was all business and no smiles as he gestured to the closest chair. “Ms. Holland, it always behooves a person to be early. Something many of your generation have yet to learn.”

“I’m not being punctual. I’m ready to get this over with.” She sat down.

The door click shut behind her and his expression softened. “Is that any way to talk to me, sugar?” He came around the desk and held open his arms.

Fighting back the nausea, Rose stood, giving him a one-sided hug. “Sorry.”

Harrison tsked and leaned back. “Rose Holland, your momma raised you better than that.”

She stiffened. “That’s right. She raised me.”

“Rose.”

She knew what he wanted. What he wanted every damn time she came to his office and the door shut. The same damn thing she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. But now that she knew better, now that she wasn’t so eager to please him, he held the note on her loan and owned her silence.

“Let’s try this again, honey,” he said, stepping back and holding out his arms.

She hesitated and his gray eyes turned stormy. “I’m sorry I was rude.” She hugged him again and his strong arms wrapped around her. When she was younger, she would carry his hugs home with her and add them to her nightly ritual. But now she knew him, and he cared more about his standing in the community than the bastard child he’d fathered with the town’s most notorious resident, Azalea Poppy Holland.

“I’m sorry, what?” he prompted.

Why did the men in her life feel a need to humiliate her? She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of his crisp aftershave. “Daddy. I’m sorry, daddy.”

***

Sasha jogged through the woods, taking the path that veered off to the right. The trees grew thicker here and cast long shadows on the forest floor. The pungent smell of decaying pine needles greeted him as he dodge low hanging bushes and jumped over logs. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking the waistband of his nylon running pants.

As a young boy, he’d done this with his father. Getting up at the crack of dawn to go running through the forest. Maks Romanov had been a Cross Country Olympic Silver medalist in his youth and even without that accomplishment Sasha had idolized his father. He’d had drive, a purpose, and a wife that adored him. Everything that Sasha lacked.

Now running was all that they shared in common. All that kept his father’s memory fresh and close to his heart.

This afternoon he didn’t run to be close; he ran to get away. Away from the disappointment he imagined in his father’s voice and eyes. The small shake of his head and a frown was nearly enough to make Sasha turn around and reconsider every choice he’d ever made. But it couldn’t be helped.

Keeping his mother safe was his drive, finding that damned spring was his purpose, and as for a wife or rather woman who adored him...Rose had been that woman last night. Her eyes had been luminous and when she’d smiled, he’d felt like he could conquer anything.

In reality he was nothing more than a pawn of his uncle. A small piece of a global chessboard that could be sacrificed—no, not sacrificed, that would imply he was actually worth something. He could be discarded to win the game.

A branch smacked his bare chest, catching one of his nipple rings. “Shit.” He stopped to see if the ring was still in place, wiggling it back and forth. No blood was a good sign.

He bent over at the waist and retied his laces. This is what he got for thinking of her. For touching her. For losing his damn mind when it came to her.

Last night, he hadn’t come back. The temptation of seducing Rose in her own house had been too great of a temptation. Instead he’d driven around for hours, until the pinks and golds of another sunrise had him wincing and craving shelter like a vampire. On the outskirts of Wilmington, he’d found a motel advertising clean rooms and free Wi-Fi.

Sleep eluded him, guilt his constant companion as he’d counted tiles in the ceiling. He supposed he could’ve chalked it up to actually living with his victim. When he’d begun to develop a conscience, he’d quickly stunted it by reasoning that the people whose business or lives he’d helped ruin had it coming. That their hands, while not as dirty as his, were not perfectly clean.

But what crime had Rose committed? She didn’t smile or laugh enough? She’d helped too many people without asking anything in return? She hid behind hocus-pocus and her family’s reputation, keeping everyone at a distance?

Until him.

A winter goose honked in the distance.

Sasha knew what must be done. He needed to keep his hands (and every other body part) off of Rose, find the spring, visit his mother and go on a bleedin’ holiday. Easier said than done since he had absolutely no self-control when it came to Rose. None.

He kicked at a rotted stump, hitting one side and it fell apart.

This ridiculous need to elicit smiles, to make her laugh and for her to know him had to be slashed and burned from his heart. Wrenched out of his soul.

Wasn’t he waxing all poetic?

Leaves rustled and the scent of jasmine drifted to him, filling his senses. His mouth watered and his cock stirred. He took off. Faster and harder than before, his lungs straining and his thighs screaming. But he couldn’t stop. Her scent was all around him, taunting and tempting. He needed to escape—

A rock caught the toe of one of his trainers and he crashed to the ground, pine straw and dirt filling his mouth and nose. Stunned, he laid there.

Slowly, he lifted his head and spit out a wad of dirt. He scrunched his nose and blinked, clearing his vision. Rolling to a sitting position, he tentatively patted his face with the tips of his fingers, checking it for blood. A small dash of red appeared on the pad of his forefinger. Of course a spot above his eye waited until then to begin throbbing.

He reckoned it could’ve been worse. There could’ve been an audience with their camera phones videoing him going arse over tip. A small sound caught his attention. A blur of movement to the left and a cat meowed. He knew it well. It woke him up from the nightmares that threatened to suffocate him.

“Blackbeard, you cur, come back here!” Sasha jumped to his feet and pushed at a thick hanging of vines.

Vines?

He wasn’t a botanist, but he for damn sure knew these weren’t evergreens and that North Carolina in the fall wasn’t a tropical climate. The vines parted easily and what he saw almost made him fall to his knees and kiss the ground.

Almost two stories high, a waterfall cascaded over mossy rocks to splash down into a pool roughly half the size of Trevi Fountain in Rome. Flowers of every size and color bloomed along each side, while butterflies and hummingbirds zoomed in and out of focus.

He wanted to shout out his triumph.

Then he wanted to roar in frustration, because he was unsure if this was the spring she’d taken him to before, or the one he was supposed to find. His memory was suddenly fuzzy and he couldn’t picture the specifics of his time spent with Rose. All he could recall was the pleasure of her kiss and his hands on her body, making him forget who he was and what he had to be.

He did neither.

Instead, he ambled over to the water and dropped to his knees at the edge. His wavy reflection greeted him, but he looked past it, down to the sandy bottom glinting with smooth pebbles. Nothing swam within its depths. What looked to be the entrance to a cave played hide and seek with the waterfall as it fell in wide sheets. That definitely called for some spelunking.

Technically, there was nothing out of the ordinary about this place. Well, if one didn’t count tropical plants blooming out of season or caves in a naturally flat, almost at sea level terrain. It wasn’t geographically possible. Then again, Stonehenge and Yonaguni Monument were great mysteries as well.

He thrust his hands into the water, expecting it to be cold. To his utter amazement it felt perfect against his skin. Scooping up some in his palms, he splashed his face until he washed away the dirt and grime. Almost immediately the throbbing above his eye stopped. He drank greedily, the sweet taste of the water filling his belly and cleaning his mouth. He ran his tongue along his teeth. They felt clean, as if he’d just brushed them.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out three plastic vials—which by some miracle had managed to escape destruction from his tumble. The hairs at the nape of his neck rose and he quickly glanced around. No one was there, but it felt as if he was being watched.

“Just do it,” he muttered.

Blackbeard appeared at the top of the waterfall, precariously balanced on a rock. Sasha narrowed his eyes at him and dipped all three vials in the water, capping each one off with a deliberate purpose.

“What do you say to that?” He stood and shoved the vials back in his pocket. The cat simply stared down at him. Sasha’s face grew hot and his ears began to burn. “Piss off,” he shouted, waving his arms.

Blackbeard hissed and backed away.

A man’s low laugh sounded to the left of him and he quickly moved behind a wide fern. Company—fantastic. Peering between the fronds, he watched Jemma Leigh kiss and stroke the side of her lover’s face. What was his name? Jeremy Stafford, the fisherman who no longer smelled like fish. Courtesy of Rose Holland.

Would everything in his life always come back to her?

The ring on Jemma Leigh’s left hand caught the light, reflecting rainbows on their skin as they moved into a spotlight of sunshine.

Sasha’s eyes widened when he realized they were completely nude. Quickly looking over at the spring, he concentrated on the pink blossoms floating all along the top of the water. What the hell? They hadn’t been there five seconds ago. He must have hit his head when he’d fallen. Or the water contained a hallucinogenic.

“Cherry blossoms,” Jemma Leigh sighed as she bent down to scoop a handful up, her breasts bouncing.

Holy hell! Sasha turned away, leaning against the thick base of a palmetto.

“Did you tell Rose to put in special order for me?” Jemma Leigh asked, her voice no longer the seemingly ditzy debutant.

“Darlin’, I’d reel in rainbows from the sky for you,” Jeremy said.

Sasha glanced heavenward. Reel in rainbows? Seriously? If he ever said something so stupid, so treacle as that, he hoped to God someone would shoot him.

Jemma Leigh giggled.

Water splashed.

Sasha sneaked another glance. The lovers were immersed in the spring and rubbing their noses together. Good God.

“You know what this means, JL?” Jeremy asked, his voice husky.

“Please, for the love of God, don’t start talking about your bloody feelings,” Sasha muttered under breath. He’d rather listen to them snog. It really was a shame he’d left his iPod at home—at Rose’s. He glanced up at the sky in annoyance. Wherever.

“Did you hear something?” Jemma Leigh asked.

He flattened himself on the ground. Pine needles tickled and poked at his bare chest. Not wearing a shirt was a brilliant idea.

“All I hear is you,” Jeremy said, “Now, honey, tell me what finding this secret place means for us.”

Sasha’s stomach roiled. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t.

“It means this is true love and we’ll be together forever,” Jemma Leigh sighed, sounding like the most in-love woman in existence. Well, the second most if he counted his cousin’s wife. The woman actually cooed at her husband and he seemed to enjoy it. Hell, Sasha knew Christian loved it.

“And ever,” Jeremy finished.

Christ. It was the wrong spring.

Sitting up, Sasha closed his eyes and shook his head. It didn’t matter, he’d lie and say he found it. That should buy him some time, until he could figure out his next move. He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and texted his uncle.

His phone vibrated and there were the words he’d been waiting for: ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">