In Her Rival's Arms. Alison RobertsЧитать онлайн книгу.
She led him into the hallway—shadowy thanks to the obstructed light and the dark timber panelling on the walls. What saved it from being dingy was the large painting. A row of sunflowers that were vivid enough to cast an impression of muted sunshine that bathed the darkest point.
She knew that Nic had stopped in his tracks the moment he saw it. Zanna stopped, too, but not physically. Something inside her went very, very still. Holding its breath.
It doesn’t matter what he thinks. What anybody else thinks...
The involuntary grunt of sound expressed surprise. Appreciation. Admiration, even?
Okay. So it did matter. Zanna could feel a sweet shaft of light piercing what had become a dark place in her soul. Not that she could thank him for the gift. It was far too private. Too precious.
Opening the door to the sun-filled, farmhouse-style kitchen—her favourite part of the house—accentuated the new pleasure. The knowledge that Nic was right behind her added a dimension that somehow made it feel more real. Genuine. Even if nothing else came of this encounter, it had been worth inviting this stranger into her world.
* * *
The surprise of the stunning painting had only been a taste of what was to come. Nic had to stop again as he entered the huge kitchen space, blinking as he turned his head slowly to take it all in. It should be a nightmare scene to someone who preferred sleek, modern lines and an absence of clutter. It was only a matter of time before he experienced that inner shudder of distaste but at least he knew it was coming. He would be able to hide it.
Cast-iron kettles covered the top of an old coal range and the collection of ancient kitchen utensils hanging from an original drying rack would not have been out of place in a pioneer museum. The kauri dining table and chairs, hutch dresser and sideboard were also museum pieces but the atmosphere was unlike any such place Nic had ever been in. Splashes of vivid colour from bowls of fruit and vegetables, unusual ornaments and jugs stuffed with flowers made the kitchen come alive.
The shudder simply wasn’t happening. Instead, to his puzzlement, Nic found himself relaxing. Somehow, the overall effect was of an amazingly warm and welcome place to be. It felt like a place for...a family?
Abandoning his helmet on the floor, he sank onto a chair at one end of the long table as Zanna busied herself opening a can and spooning cat food into three bowls. When she crouched down, her jeans clung to the delicious curve of her bottom and the gap between the waistband and the hem of her orange top widened, giving him a view of a smooth back, interrupted only by the muted corrugations of her spine. He could imagine trailing his fingers gently over those bumps and then spreading them to encompass the curve of her hip.
Oh...Mon Dieu... The powerful surge of attraction coming in the wake of those other bursts of conflicting and disturbing emotions was doing his head in. He needed distraction. Fast.
Maybe that curious object wrapped in black velvet on the table, lying beside a wrought-iron candelabra, would do the trick. Lifting the careful folds of the fabric, Nic found himself looking at an oversized pack of cards.
Witchy sort of cards.
The shaft of desire he was grappling with morphed into a vague disquiet. It was very rare to feel even slightly out of his depth but it was happening now. There was an atmosphere of mystery here. Of eccentricity that had an undercurrent of serenity that had to come from someone who knew exactly who they were. Or something, perhaps, because he couldn’t be sure whether the vibe was coming from Zanna or the house.
Weird...
‘We keep them wrapped in black.’ Zanna’s voice was soft. And close. Nic looked up to see she had a pair of wine glasses dangling by their stems in one hand and a bottle in the other. She held it up in invitation and he nodded.
‘Sure. Why not?’
The wine was red. Blood red. His disquiet kicked up a notch.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘It just seemed like a good idea.’ Zanna wasn’t meeting his eyes. ‘A glass of wine is a nice way to wind down. We could go into the garden, if you like.’
He followed the direction of her gaze. French doors provided a glimpse of a bricked courtyard between the kitchen and a tangle of garden. An intimate kind of space.
‘I’m fine here.’ Nic cleared his throat. ‘I meant why do you wrap those cards in black?’
‘It’s a neutral colour that keeps outside energy away.’ Zanna had filled her own glass and she sat down at right angles to Nic.
‘It’s black magic, right? Witchcraft?’
The flash in those extraordinary eyes was enough to make Nic feel unaccountably apologetic.
‘I don’t believe in witchcraft,’ Zanna said, her voice tight. ‘And calling any of this black magic is an insult to my aunt. Her family can trace its roots back to the sixteenth century. They travelled around and made their living by things like fortune-telling. Aunt Maggie has a very strong affinity with her heritage. I’ve grown up with it and I love Maggie enough to respect it. I see it as another dimension—one that adds some colour and imagination to life and can help people cope with the hard stuff.’ She closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Sorry...I get a bit defensive. We’ve had people try and twist things into something they’re not and then use it against her. Against us.’
Nic said nothing. He had a feeling he knew who those people might be. But they were out of the picture now. He was the one who got to decide how things would be handled from now on. Except that he had no idea. Yet. He stared at the cards.
‘I’ve always thought of it as a load of rubbish,’ he admitted. ‘The fortune-telling, that is.’
‘Depends on how you look at it.’ Zanna reached out and touched the pack of cards with her fingertips. ‘It’s about symbols. They demand an active response. You have to think about how you really feel and trying to relate to an unexpected symbol like the picture on a card can make you consider a totally new dimension to a problem. I like to think of them as a tool for self-knowledge. A way of centring oneself, perhaps.’
‘Seeing the future?’ He couldn’t help the note of derision but she didn’t seem to take offence.
‘I don’t believe the future can be seen...but I don’t believe things are necessarily fated to happen either. There are choices to be made that can radically alter the direction you take in life. Big choices. Little choices. So many that you don’t even notice a lot of them but it pays to be aware. Some people think they have no control and they blame others when things go wrong. If you’ve made an active choice and things go wrong, you can learn from that experience and it’s less likely to happen again.’
Like falling in love with the wrong person...
Inviting a complete stranger into your home...
‘If you don’t believe the future can be seen, how can you tell a fortune and say something’s going to happen? Like a new job or overseas travel or...’ he snorted softly ‘...meeting a tall, dark, handsome stranger?’
Was that a reference to himself? Was he flirting with her? Zanna knew the rush of heat would be showing in her cheeks. Did he know how good looking he was? Probably. Nobody could be out there looking like that in a world full of women and not find it incredibly easy to get whatever he wanted. Maybe toying was a better word, then. It made her remember the way he’d been looking at her when he’d been playing with that crystal in the shop. It made her remember the way he’d made her feel. That reawakening of desire.
How far could that go?
How far did she want it to go?
‘Okay...’ She avoided meeting his eyes. ‘First off, I’d probably say that there was an opportunity of a new job or travel or something. You might not have been thinking about it but the idea would be planted and you’d be more open to new ideas because of that suggestion. You might recognise an