Ever Fallen in Love Read online

  It was a piece of paper. It wriggled and jerked, crumpling up a bit as a silver blade shoved it through.

  Was that a table knife? Theo had a knife? Panic wanted to return, wanted to grip me in its breathless, heart-pounding grip, but the white, crumpled thing lying halfway under my door seemed so out of place, it drove me to stand up, instead. With a glance to make sure the door was still locked, I approached it silently, holding my breath in case he could hear me.

  There was no noise. I examined the white thing. It appeared to be an envelope. With my fingers twitching a little, I gave it a tentative pull. It gave without much of an effort. I looked at it, turning it over. Scrawled on the front in a bold script was my name.

  “Theo wrote me a letter?” I whispered aloud. “Is it a formal demand that I leave?”

  I really didn’t want to read it. I knew what I’d find there: slurs, angry words, condemnation, and finally a demand that I take myself off. He might even threaten to call the police on me. “Mercury. Venus. Earth. Mars.”

  Calling myself all sorts of names, I sat on the bed and tore open the envelope, several sheets of paper spilling out from it onto the blanket.

  The first thing I picked up was some sort of a picture. I looked at it in surprise. It was a photocopy of a Greek driver’s license issued to Theodor Christos Orien Papaioannou, with an address in Athens. The picture of Theo wasn’t great, certainly not doing his handsome face any favors, but it was obviously him.

  “What the ...” I looked at the next sheet. It was a printout from some sort of a financial company, giving a biography of him. The picture there was better, but his smile in it smacked of an awareness of himself that raised all sorts of warnings in my head.

  A third sheet appeared to be a bank statement from a New Zealand bank. The account numbers had been blacked out, but the amounts were enough to make my eyebrows rise. At the top, someone had written in the same bold hand as the envelope, Just in case you have concerns about my solvency.

  “So much for me offering to pay for my share of dinner,” I said to myself before turning to the last page, the one that was filled with that unique handwriting.

  Kiera, I’m more sorry than you can know that I frightened you. You have every right to make sure I am who I said I am, and it’s my deep regret that I didn’t think of that earlier. I’m enclosing a few printouts that I hope will reassure you that I’m not an ax murderer, or rapist, or cult leader determined to have you join my harem of twenty-two nubile wives, even though I would make you my prime wife, and would even dismiss the other twenty-two if you insisted. I am happy to provide further proof of my identity if you would like it. You don’t have to see me—you can just write on the back of this that you want more. Peter and I are going to sleep. My door will be closed, but not locked. I’ve left my wallet out on the table in the living room. You may go through it to your heart’s content. Just in case you wonder about the pictures in it, the one of the woman is my sister, Elena, and the babies are my nieces and nephews. Thank you for taking care of Peter. He’s in his crib with the chew toy, making adorable little sleepy noises.

  I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.

  Theo

  I blinked back tears that pricked my eyes at the first few sentences, more than a little amazed that he wasn’t furious with me, not even the littlest bit. He’d understood. And, what was more amazing, apologized. “Dammit, he’s being nice, and I don’t want that,” I said, angrily wiping my eyes. “I can take everything but him being nice.”

  I read the note again, sniffing back the runny nose that always seemed to accompany tears. After thinking for a few minutes, I wrote on the back of the paper, Don’t let him sleep with the chew toy. He could choke on it.

  It took a few deep breaths, and a review of all the round brands of crackers that I could think of, but at last I unlocked the door and peeked out.

  The living room was empty. Theo’s wallet sat in solitary splendor on the table. I grabbed it and tiptoed to his door before kneeling and placing my note on the ground. The wallet sat on top, just in case Theo wouldn’t see the note alone.

  It took me a solid minute of psyching myself up to do it, but I tapped twice on his door, then raced back across the living room to the safety of my own bedroom, closing the door and locking it before eyeing my suitcase. I’d left it packed, so it was ready for me to sneak out in the middle of the night, but now ... I sat on the bed again and touched the page with Theo’s driver’s license. “I much prefer this picture, where you’re delightfully tousled and informal, over the suited, well-groomed you in the financial report.”

  Silence filled my room for another ten minutes; then I made a decision.

  “I’ll stay,” I said, feeling suddenly very brave. Swami Betelbaum would be proud of me, I thought when I nodded to myself, just as if he could see me connecting with another human being. Swami Betelbaum was very big on connections with others. “Theo apologized. He wasn’t angry after all, and he was sorry for misunderstanding what I did. That’s a good sign. That’s a sign that he doesn’t think he’s always right, and can’t ever be wrong.” I sat for another minute before I said the words that I’d never thought to speak again. “I trust him.”

  But for how long? an inner voice asked.

  I ignored it, not wanting to let it taint this strange new feeling of being in control, and climbed into bed fully clothed. I knew most people found it odd to go to bed ready to leap up and dash away at a second’s notice, but I’d found it reassuring to know that if I had to run from Misha in the middle of the night, I would be ready to do so.

  “Twenty-two nubile wives.” I snorted, thinking about Theo’s note while looking at the light from the city that snuck in through the curtains and flickered on the ceiling. “In your dreams, Theo.”

  Portentous words, as it turned out.

  It started just as it always did when I was exhausted: a vaguely unpleasant dream, one with random images that flitted across my mind’s eye, morphing and changing, before it settled into a replay of the scene in Wellington. The whoosh of the air-conditioning in Misha’s apartment provided background white noise, above which he screamed at me, punctuated by the sounds of breaking glass while he raged, destroying anything that came within his reach.

  The dream me cowered before him, trying to understand why he was so angry, my question about that receiving a backhand in response that knocked me backward into the wall. Before I could shake the stars from my head, he was on me, one hand around my neck, throttling me as he shoved his face in mine, spittle flying when he told me in exquisite detail what he would do to me if I dared ever betray him.

  The fear that swamped me in the dream was awful, but it was nothing compared with what I had felt at the time: fear and the sick knowledge that there was no way to break free from Misha. He had too many friends, too many people who owed him favors.

  The dream shifted to me snatching up my few precious possessions—a couple of books, clothing, the tiny Zen garden rocks I used because they were round—all of that went into a duffel bag. There was no sense of the futility, the hopelessness, that I’d felt when I crept out of the apartment, praying I’d be a long way away before Misha found me gone, but I’d felt it at the time. And I had felt it two weeks later, after my time at a shelter for battered women had come to an end. I still felt dregs of it even now.

  A shadow fell across me, and in my dream I knew—I knew without a shred of doubt—that Misha had found me. He was going to cut me up the way he’d promised if I ever left him, and a scream rose within me, one filled with the knowledge that I had failed to escape after all. He had found me, and now I would pay the price.

  I thought at first the pounding was the blood in my ears, but suddenly I was awake, blinking and looking wildly around the room. It was empty.

  “Kiera? Dammit, open the door!” The pounding sounded again over Theo’s muffled voice. I rubbed my face.

  “What? What’s wrong?” I called at the same moment that a horrible fear
gripped me, one that was every bit as terrifying as that in my dream.

  Without thinking, I ran to the door, twisting the lock before jerking it open. “Is it Peter? Is he all right? Dammit, I told you to take his chew toy away from him while he was sleeping!”

  Theo stood before me, one hand raised to pound on the door. I flinched and took an instinctive step back at the sight of the raised hand, but for once my panic was directed outward. I pushed past him and ran to his room, my heart beating a frantic tattoo as I stood next to the crib, panting slightly.

  Peter lay on his back, one little fist next to his face, sound asleep. I searched the crib, but didn’t see the chew toy. “What’s wrong with him?” I asked in a quiet voice, lifting the light blanket to make sure that his little chubby legs weren’t twisted. He looked perfectly fine.

  “Nothing that I know of. Should there be?” Theo’s face was a study of worry as he twitched back the blanket I’d dislodged in my search. “I put him on his back. I thought that’s what I was supposed to do?”

  “You are. Jeezumcrow, why did you scare me like that?” I couldn’t help but gently stroke Peter’s black hair, now straight, but showing signs that it might curl.

  “I scared you?” He looked outraged, speaking in a gritty whisper. “You almost gave me a heart attack screaming. I thought someone was killing you.”

  In an instant, two things occurred to me: Theo was stark naked, and I had been dreaming again.

  “I ... I ...” I had a hard time dragging my gaze from the expanse of bare chest that stood before me. I’d seen men’s chests before, but Theo’s went beyond nice straight into the realm of gorgeous. He was muscled, but not obscenely so, his chest hair softening the definition somewhat, but not so much that it obscured any of the lovely curves and valleys. I had the worst urge to reach out and put my hand in the middle of his chest, allowing my fingers to tease the soft black curls. I swallowed back what seemed like a gallon of saliva, trying to get a hold of my wits. “I dream sometimes.”

  “Only sometimes?” One corner of his mouth quirked. I didn’t know if it was because he caught me ogling his chest, or if something else about me amused him. “I dream all the time.”

  I took a step back, looking anywhere but at the glorious masculinity that stood before me, taunting me, begging me to touch him, and making my body suddenly come to life with a demand that I apply it to Theo’s body immediately, if not sooner. I made an effort to gather my thoughts, my pride insisting that I act like the most amazingly handsome man I’d ever seen wasn’t standing before me, absolutely uncaring that he was as bare as the day he was born. “You don’t want to have the sorts of dreams I get. Shouldn’t you ...” I made a vague gesture toward an opened suitcase that sat on a rack.

  “Shouldn’t I what?” He didn’t approach me, but he didn’t have to. I could feel him pushing all his male nudity on me. And suddenly, that incensed me. How dare he stand there being comfortable with the fact that he was so gorgeous, it just about made my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth? He probably did it on purpose. He probably got naked every chance he could just so that he could make women stand there with their tongues cleaved, unable to look away from that glorious chest. And arms. He had very nice arms, not veiny and overly hairy, but solid. Muscled. The sort of arms that you wanted on a man. And his hands—I had to stop thinking about that, knowing full well I had a weakness for men’s hands.

  “Kiera?”

  “Hmm?” He was looking at me like I was the one standing there being outrageous.

  “What should I do?”

  And his thighs. My gaze skittered over his penis, thankfully not in an aggressive state, and allowed myself to take in the sight of long thigh muscles. I loved men’s thighs. And there was Theo flaunting his thighs at me.

  “Fine. I’ll wait until you’re done. If you’re finished with my chest, can I cross my arms?”

  Anger grew in me, a protective sort of anger intended to guard me from what my body wanted. And because my lust had led me astray before, I encouraged the anger, cherished it, fanned its flames higher, because if I wasn’t angry, then I’d just stand there and stare at the man, all but drooling on him.

  And that was what he wanted, the sexy-chested, nice-armed, molestable-thighed bastard.

  “Should I turn around? I’m told my ass is nice.”

  “Yes,” I said without thinking. I had to keep my anger hot. It was important that I do that... The thought dried up on my brain when Theo turned around, allowing my gaze to sweep upward from nice calves to the backs of those thighs that I suddenly wanted to lick, only to have my eyes stagger to a halt on his behind.

  Holy Mary, Mother of God, I was in trouble. My jaw sagged a little at the sight of that behind. The glimpse I had before was nice, but this ... my brain had a field day admiring it. It was lighter than the rest of him, with lovely swoops and curves that called to my hands. I swore to myself, my hands positively itching to hold the sweet, sweet line of his butt cheeks. More than a little dazzled, I let my gaze start at the top and run downward, just to see if I’d mistaken the beauty of his behind.

  The muscles of his broad shoulders tapered down to his waist, and on down to his butt. No, I thought to myself, doing a little mental headshake, I wasn’t mistaken. His behind was glorious. I wanted badly to kiss the two little dimples that sat above it. Hell, I wanted to kiss all of him, front and back.

  “Is that enough? I hope so, because it’s a bit boring just looking at the wall.” He turned back around, but must have noticed the stunned expression on my face, because he reached out a hand as he stepped forward.

  Instinct had me backing up until I bumped into a chair.

  He stopped, lowering his hand, the playful expression that had lit his eyes with mirth fading. He studied my face for a moment, then strolled over to the suitcase and donned a pair of jeans. He turned back to me, asking, “Better?”

  I nodded, feeling like there wasn’t nearly enough air in the room.

  “Can I come closer to you? It’s hard to whisper across the length of the room.”

  A little warmth grew in my belly. He was asking permission to come near me? I shook my head at the idea. No man had ever asked me what I wanted.

  “All right, I’ll stay here,” he said, obviously misinterpreting the gesture.

  “No, that headshake was for me,” I told him, and, calling myself a coward, moved forward until I was about a foot away from him. “No one has ever asked me if they could approach me. I’m not ... I’m not some weird germophobe, Theo.”

  “No, but I did frighten you earlier.” He lifted his hand, slowly, and I knew he’d made the movement deliberate so as not to scare me again. His fingers brushed a strand of hair off where it was stuck on my lip. “If I promised you right now that I will never hurt you, would you believe me?”

  I didn’t answer. He was making such an effort to be nice, to not frighten me, that I didn’t want to answer that kindness with the truth.

  “I didn’t think so.” His thumb brushed my bottom lip for a brief second. “Regardless, I swear to you that I will never raise my hand to you in anger. I hope that someday you will believe that.”

  I sighed, wishing that was true, but having heard too many similar promises from Misha to believe it. “I appreciate that,” I said at last, feeling I had to make some acknowledgment of his promise.

  “Do you want to tell me about the dream?” he asked, allowing his hand to slide down to my arm. He frowned as he looked at it. “Do you ... er ... this may not be any of my business, but do you always sleep fully clothed?”

  “Yes.” I made a vague gesture. “If you sleep like this, all you have to do is put your shoes on and you’re ready to go.”

  “Go where?”

  I met his gaze, then let it drop. Unfortunately, it fell right to his chest. “Wherever you have to go.”

  “Kiera.”

  I glanced up at his eyes again, marveling at just how handsome he was. He had a long, thin nose; a jaw, no
w shadowed with stubble, that was angled in such a way that made my stomach feel hot; a chin that had the barest hint of a cleft in it, which I wanted badly to nibble on; and dark blue eyes that were almost navy in color. My tongue returned to cleave-mode at the sight of the black stubble, my fingers damn near tingling with the need to touch his face. There was something about his upper lip, the way it pressed into the lower one, that seemed to hold an unholy fascination for me. Men’s lips weren’t supposed to be that delicious looking, were they?

  Dammit, he was deliberately being sexy again, even with his pants on.

  “I’m going to touch you, Kiera. I’m going to put my arms around you. I’m going to hug you. Nothing more. All right?”

  I tried to fan my anger again, feeling it was far preferable to the lustful thoughts that were filling my head at the sight of him, but that all failed when Theo closed the distance between us, his movements deliberate as he put his arms around me, gently pulling me to his chest, his hands on my back in an impersonal way that nonetheless sent a little skitter of heat down my spine and straight to my hidden parts, pooling there in a way that made me highly aware of them.

  “Why?” I asked, unable to keep from breathing in his scent. It was a combination of tangy lemon and something woodsy, like cedar.

  “I couldn’t help myself,” he said. “Mind you, I badly want to hug you in a manner that would have you looking at my chest like you did a few minutes ago, but since that sort of hug would be of a sexual nature, and I can see you don’t want any of that—”

  “I don’t?” someone said, and after a moment, I realized the voice came from my mouth. Dammit, I hadn’t authorized it to say that, and yet, I was lying if I tried to deny it.

  Swami Betelbaum had a whole lot of things to say about people who lied to themselves, and none of it was complimentary.

  Theo froze in the middle of the impersonal hug. “You didn’t like me naked.”