Accidentally...Over?: Accidentally Yours 5 (6 page)

But not one single item had been disturbed. Nothing.

Quietly she tiptoed down the hallway. When she got to her room, she pushed open the door and held out her knife, quickly releasing a breath. “No one’s here. And you’re an idiot.” Why was she so determined to spoil this wonderful day? Her first day off in a year.

She would take a shower, put on her favorite little hang-out dress, make poached eggs with the handmade tortillas she’d bought yesterday, and sit out on her patio reading a book. She’d ordered five new historical romance novels, the ones with the hunky kilted guys, and had yet to dig into any of them.

Shaking her head, she placed the knife on the dresser and began shedding her sweaty clothes. Naked, she trotted down the hallway to her bathroom. She reached inside the shower stall to turn on the water and heard a crash. Her head flipped in the direction of the sink where her perfume bottle lay.

That’s funny
, she thought. Hadn’t she left the perfume on the other side of the sink?

You’re imagining things. Stop. Trying. To ruin. This day!

Ashli slipped inside and took the longest shower of her life, carefully shaving all of those places that needed shaving since she planned to go swimming later, and then wrapped herself in her robe. She went into the kitchen, turned on the kettle and music—salsa always put her in a
good mood—and began heating her frying pan to warm up her tortillas.

“My day. It’s my day,” she sang over the peppy Celia Cruz tune. “Nothing’s going to ruin it. Nothing’s going to—ouch!” She slapped her neck. A burning sensation spread through her shoulder and down her arm.

She glanced down at the twitching bee next to her bare foot. “Crap, crap, crap.”

She leaped to her refrigerator and dug through the top shelf. Dammit! Her syringe! Where the hell was it? It didn’t require refrigeration, but it was where she always left it. Maribel, her cleaning lady, must’ve moved it.

“No. No. No.” Ashli rushed to her purse on the kitchen table, but when she opened the hard plastic case containing her epinephrine pen, it was cracked.

Empty. But how?
She’d just checked the damned thing a few days ago.

She gripped her throat and began wheezing. Her head began to spin.

Car!
She kept an extra epinephrine shot in her glove box.

She stumbled through her living room and fell to her knees only a foot from her front door. She could make it. She knew she could.

“Holy fuck, woman!” The heavenly deep, masculine voice filled her ears. “I only left you alone for three minutes.”

Her brain couldn’t process where the sound had come from or who spoke, but she suddenly felt grateful for another person’s presence. She pointed toward her car. “I… need… my shot,” she said, gasping her words.

“
Sanguine ad infernum
,” said the voice.

She felt her body lift into the air and float outside. Head spinning, the air to her lungs becoming shorter and shorter, she tried to focus on his face. Who was carrying her? And had he just spoken Latin? She hated Latin.
It sounds so weird.

“Sonofabitch!” the deep voice screamed. “Where the hell did I leave her keys?”

Her body was suddenly on the gravel next to her car. The rocks were warm on her back and bare calves. Was she imagining all this? There was no one there. No one at all.

She watched a large rock float from the edge of her driveway and smash into her car window. The driver’s side door flew open.

She must be losing her mind, she thought as she blacked out completely.

Five

“You have
got
to be joking Máax!” Cimil barked. “That was, what, fifteen seconds?”

Roberto removed his hands from Cimil’s waist. “It was twelve seconds. Twelve. What exactly is your brother’s problem?”

Cimil sighed. “Please don’t tell me she died again. ’Cause this time, I might not laugh, and then where would you be? Huh? It would be just plain sad without my laughter.”

Máax pressed his palms to his temples and paced the floor in front of Cimil’s cell. “I left her alone for two minutes!” He didn’t think that a few fucking minutes would be a problem, but the moment he’d seen her strip off her clothes—those perfectly shaped golden-brown breasts and rosy nipples; the firm, smooth ass; and lean, long legs—well, he’d never seen a more delicious woman. He’d nearly given himself away when he turned and knocked
her perfume bottle clear across the counter with his erection.
Christ,
he’d thought,
I can’t very well spend the day like this, bumping my cock into everything.
After all, he wore no clothes. (What was the point? So humans could watch them miraculously float through the air?) So as soon as Ashli had left the bathroom, he decided he’d take care of business. Two minutes tops, he was ready to go off like a bolt of lightning. But before he knew it, he’d heard a strange sound coming from Ashli’s living room.

“What was it this time?” Roberto asked with a bored tone. “Did she fall off a cliff, trying to escape you?”

“No. A fucking bee. I gave her medicine, but it was too late. She never woke up.” If only he hadn’t had to waste time smashing the window, he probably could have saved her. Where the hell had he left her car keys?

“Dammit, Cimil,” Máax groaned. “What aren’t you telling me about this woman?” He could swear the Universe wanted to snub her out, which seriously pissed him off. Ashli belonged to him in theory, and it was his job to protect her. His.

Then there was the tiny detail of the Universe trying to take something that theoretically belonged to him. Not that he wanted Ashli. But nevertheless, where the hell did that bitch of a Universe get off trying to take something that belonged to him? Not that he would keep Ashli. Because he was a god. And didn’t need a mate. Especially when his destiny was carved in stone, because he was a man of honor and would never betray one of his brethren only to save himself. Even though they should never have put him in such a position to begin with. Not that he cared. He was tough. Tougher than all of them. Usually.

Cimil shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. Ashli
dies—I can’t tell you how, because I don’t really know—and if you save her, she saves us all. Our pathway to peace. Wow!” She elbowed Roberto. “I sound like a poet.”

“Your voice”—Roberto gripped her chin and applied a long, wet kiss—“is always like poetry to me.”

The two began to maul each other again, tearing away their clothing.

Oh, sweet gods, make them stop
! “Eh-hem. I hate to interrupt, but I cannot save a woman who is destined to die.”

Without detaching her lips, Cimil shooed Máax away.

“Cimil! In your own words, the clock is ticking! You must tell me what you know,” he demanded.

“She’s destined to live! Now go! You’re a deity. Figure it out!”

Máax groused profanities under his breath and returned to the conference room. What the hell was going on? Something strange, that was certain.

And how many times could he return to her and risk bumping into himself? Máax had always been cautious, never chancing overlaps, and careful not to alter the future in any detrimental way. But this was really pushing it.

He took a deep breath.

Options. Think options.
Okay. She seemed to be accident-prone. So perhaps he could take her somewhere safe, somewhere with around-the-clock security. And medical supplies. And no traffic. Or bees.
Hmmm… that might work.

He could have the Uchben watch over her business and home. But dammit, how would he convince her to go anywhere with him? He terrified her.

Dammit.
Why was this getting so complicated?

Getting?

He gave it another moment of thought, scratching the whiskers on his chin.
I will go back another week earlier—prior to her latest death. I will stay close to her, guard her at every moment, and learn more about her. Then, the night before she is to die from the bee sting, I will reveal myself and take her away.

But this time, he’d stay close, and never leave her for a moment.

January 18, 1993. Save Ashli. Take Three

Wearing her favorite yellow ducky pajamas, sipping a hot cup of coffee, Ashli stared at the calendar pinned to her kitchen wall. It had a photo of a chocolate lab puppy with a bow around its neck, sitting inside a basket. She’d always wanted a dog, but her hours at the café would leave the poor animal home alone all day.

Well, maybe after things settle into a quieter routine.
Which is exactly what she hoped for.

Lately, she’d been feeling the effects of years of stressful living. Long workdays, not enough sleep, and little exercise were finally catching up, and she knew it. It was definitely time for a change, and she’d already taken the first step by hiring Fernando, but it wasn’t enough. That feeling, the sensation of dread, was growing stronger with each passing day.
Has to be the stress. I need a day off.

Then there were the dreams. Vivid, disturbing, wild dreams. Some were of a faceless man and too erotic to admit she had. Then there were the ones of death hunting
her, watching her. She’d been stung by a bee, hit by a bus, slipped on a banana peel—the list went on and on. Each time she’d wake up right at the point of dying, covered in sweat, the dream having felt so real that her body throbbed with pain and tingled with adrenaline.

Maybe it was time to start seeing that therapist again to address her lingering guilt; she’d never quite come to terms with being the only one who’d survived the accident. Yes, she thanked heaven or the universe or whomever had been watching over her that day for letting her live, but that didn’t mean she was without baggage. And working fourteen-hour days, seven days a week wasn’t helping.

There. It was decided: once Fernando got the hang of things, she would cut down her hours. Who knew, maybe she’d take up photography again. Until then, however, it was business as usual.

She glanced at her watch. “Oh no.” She needed to open the café in ten minutes. She scrambled to her bedroom, stripped off her pj’s, and threw on a pink tee, jean shorts, and her favorite little leather belt with the pink flowers. She slipped on her sandals and dashed to the bathroom.

When she flipped on the light, she immediately noticed the bags under her eyes. The bloodshot whites made their greenish-hazel color look more like sad, drab army green.

“You’ll get through this,” she said to herself and began brushing her teeth.

A flitter of motion moving down the hall caught her attention. She jumped.
Holy shit.

Toothbrush in hand, she slowly peered out through the bathroom doorway. “He-he-hello?”

A burst of wind gushed through the house. Crap. She
hadn’t left any doors or windows open. Someone was inside.

Ohmygod. Find a weapon.

She looked at the toothbrush in her hand.
What are you going to do with that? Give the intruder minty breath?
She threw it into the sink and slid open a small drawer in her vanity, where she kept a pair of stainless steel scissors.

Hand violently trembling, she made her way down the hall toward the living room. “I have a… knife! So you’d better run.”

Is that the best you can do? Really?

“Fast,” she added.

Dork.

She repeated the phrase in Spanish for good measure anyway.

She glanced around the corner and quickly peeked at the living room and entryway. Her front door creaked as a gentle breeze nudged it completely open.

Strange.
Her purse remained on the small hand-carved wooden bench in the entryway. Why would someone break in but leave her purse? Her car keys were right there, too.

Oh no.
Whoever was inside the house didn’t want her valuables. So then what could they possibly be after?

She gasped.
I better get the hell out of here!
She bolted to the door, grabbing her keys and purse. She ran to her car and got inside, but when she tried the engine, nothing happened.