Thirteen Chances (23 page)

“You’ve no idea the strength I muster to keep from trying to touch you,” he said, his gaze dropping to her mouth once more, then back to her eyes. The very corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I can hear your heartbeat.”

Emma gave a nervous smile. “It’s kind of fast at the moment.”

“So I see.”

He still leaned close to her, and she couldn’t resist lifting a finger and tracing the square of his jaw. She noticed an intake of air, or at least the sound of it.

He’d felt that, too.

Just then, a gust of wind brought with it several droplets of rain. Emma didn’t even turn her face away. She welcomed the tiny barrage of water. Hopefully, it would douse her desire.

She didn’t want to be accused of jumping a ghost in broad daylight.

Instead of jumping Christian, Emma pulled her legs up and huddled against the back of the alcove. Luckily, it was built deep enough to provide shelter, as long as the wind didn’t whip the rain in. She scooched into the corner, legs up, chin on knees, and simply stared at her warrior.

Her warrior.

Wow.

Christian’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. “I’d love to know what exactly is going through that brain of yours, Ms. Calhoun,” he said.

She smiled. “You couldn’t pay me enough to tell you what’s going through my brain right now.”

“Interesting.”

The sexy look on Christian’s face made her heart accelerate. Then, his expression grew serious.

“A large lot of healthy, viable knights will start flooding Grimm’s gates on the morrow,” he said. “I, well …” He glanced away.

“What?” Emma urged.

After a moment, he turned back and gave her a look that made her squirm in her seat. “ ’Tisn’t fair of me to force you into a relationship where the other half isn’t … tangible. If you decide to choose another—”

Emma frowned. “Don’t tell me you’re dead
and
crazy,” she said. “First, let me assure you that I’m the last person on earth who can be forced into doing something I don’t want to do. Second …” She took in his grave features, the perfect square cut of his jaw, and those full, inviting lips. She started again. “Second, I didn’t come here to play the
Dating Game
or
The Bachelor
—or whatever.” She huffed out a breath. “Something did bring me here, Christian. But it wasn’t to find just any old knight, viable, healthy, or anything else in between.” She smiled. “I was sent here to find
you.
I know it now just as I sit here and breathe. You’re a miracle in itself, mister, and although I know our relationship is way too young to confess any sort of … long-standing feelings, I do know what my heart is telling me.”

The very corner of his mouth tipped up. Not a smile, really. But something
else.

“And what is it telling you?”

Emma’s breath came faster, mad, but not mad, her heart pounding quicker. “It’s telling me that you’re the kind of man I’d desire no matter what form you’re in.” She gently swiped her hand through his tattooed arm. “Ghost. Not a ghost.” She shrugged. “Makes no matter to me. I like you just the way you are.”

“Is that so?”

She gave a single, firm nod. “It is.”

Christian seemed to ponder that. Ponder it, albeit with a satisfied grin on his face.

“You realize, though,” he said, looking grim once more, “that I cannot protect you. Not physically, that is. I’m rather worthless in that category.”

Emma narrowed her eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t the Dark Ages anymore. There’s really not a need for protection, you know.” She held her arm up and flexed it in a show of muscle. “Besides, I took a self-defense class.” She squeezed her puny bicep. “I can take care of myself, Arrick. I always carry pepper spray. And,” she continued, “I haven’t had an enemy since, oh, second grade.”

He chuckled. “I cannot fathom what sort of mischief you could have combined in the second grade to acquire an enemy.”

“Let’s just say I’m not one to be trifled with,” she answered.

“I can barely wait to hear.”

Emma sat back and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Big Marjorie stole my lunch every day for a solid week. My mom made the best chicken salad sandwiches—you know, with little chopped-up pieces of celery? God, they were good. Anyway, Big Marjorie kept on stealing my sandwiches. So one day, I decided to get her back.” She grinned. “She outweighed me by, I don’t know—I was always kind of scrawny—but by a lot. Taller than me, too, and she could beat up most boys in my class. But I’d had enough, and I didn’t want to be a tattletale.”

Christian rubbed his jaw, then wiped his hand across his mouth, no doubt trying to hold in a laugh. “What did you do?”

Emma grinned. “You know, in the South, where I live, we have an abundance of these teeny-tiny marsh snails—no bigger than my pinky nail”—she held out her nail to show—“and I peeled a bunch of them off the marsh grass and stuck them all in my sandwich.” She grinned.

“Crunchy?” Christian asked.

“Very. When she discovered they were in there, after she’d eaten a good three-quarters, she barfed all over the cafeteria.” Emma sat back and smiled smugly. “Big Marjorie didn’t bother me or my sandwiches ever again.”

Christian chuckled, his blue eyes gleaming. “You are indeed a force to be reckoned with, Ms. Calhoun.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes, simply being in each other’s company. The gray skies began shifting, turning darker. That familiar time of day settled in, that space of time that was neither daylight nor darkness.

“I love this time of evening,” Emma said, staring at the sky. “It’s … magical.” She looked at him. “You’re proof of that.”

Christian gave a soft laugh. “ ’Tis the gloaming hour,” he said, and returned her stare. “Indeed, ’tis a magical time of day.” He shrugged. “If you believe in that sort of thing.”

“I would say there’s something to it,” said Emma. “There’s two men in the castle whose lives were very different at one time, and another pack of them showing up tomorrow.” She leaned closer to him. “If something magical—something miraculous can happen to them, Christian, it can happen to you, too.”

He looked at her, his gaze fixed and penetrating.

“It can. You have to believe,” she said, then shook her head. “I know I keep saying this, but a couple of weeks ago I wouldn’t have believed any of this,” she said, making a sweep of her hand toward the castle. “You, Jason, Gawan, Justin, Godfrey, the ladies—I would not have believed a single soul, had they approached me to say you existed.” She gave him a warm, hopeful smile. “I believe now.” She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t say for sure why you chose
me,
but the rest I totally get.”

Christian slowly shook his head. “Mayhap I’m better off with you not realizing how breathtaking you are. Surely, if you knew, you’d pick someone else—mayhap a live someone else—over me.”

Emma stretched and climbed out of the alcove, where she stretched again. The rain had subsided, and the sky had grown dark. She threw him a grin.
“Live schmive.
It’s highly overrated, methinks.”

Christian threw back his head and laughed.

Together, they walked back to the great hall, allowing the gloaming to surround them. They didn’t speak; they just … existed. It felt comfortable, relaxed.

And somehow, familiar.

Emma wondered about that.

She also couldn’t help but wonder how sudden it all seemed. She’d not been in Wales long, yet it felt as though she’d known Christian her entire life.

Weird.

She slipped a glance at the tall, lumbering warrior beside her. His legs, clad in those medieval britches with medieval boots, were nearly as long as she was tall. Leather straps crossed his chest and back, holding in place the double swords over each shoulder.

He was still shirtless.

Emma’s mouth suddenly went dry.

He ducked his head—something she noticed him doing more than once when with her, probably to accommodate for her lack of height—and grinned. “Will you take photographs of the tournament?” he asked, innocent in that he obviously had no idea what his presence did to her.

Fine with her. For now.

“Absolutely,” she answered. She noticed how his crazy hair swung forward, yet remained shorter in the back. She loved it.

“I fear I won’t show up in any of them,” he added.

“Don’t worry,” Emma said. “When I get home I’m going to see a friend of mine—an artist. She’ll certainly be able to paint a portrait based on my description.” She smiled, happy about that.

Christian, though, now wore a solemn expression. “Indeed,” he said, then coughed and cleared his throat. “Those bloody Dreadmoor knights will no doubt be quite the photo hogs once they realize you’re taking pictures,” he said. “Not to mention you’ll get to hear the story of their
return to the living
at least a score of times before the tournament’s over.” He grinned. “Arrogant lot, they are.”

Emma smiled. “I’m beginning to think that was the norm for the medieval era.”

Together, they laughed.

As they grew closer to the hall, the shadows stretched and swallowed everything in their path. Emma’s senses soared with the newness of the budding relationship with Christian. As they neared the west wall, she stopped. Christian followed suit.

Together, without words, they simply stared.

“I was wondering,” Emma said, suddenly embarrassed. “I mean, it is still so new—”

Christian must have read her mind, because suddenly, he was there, crowding her against the cool stone wall of Castle Grimm, completely engulfed by shadows. A crisp autumn wind caressed Emma, cooling her skin that she knew was several degrees warmer because of the man who stood so very close, so very intimately. She backed into the wall until she felt both of her shoulder blades cool from the damp stone, and Christian loomed over her, nearly just as real and tangible looking as any man.

The tension between them snapped in the air, and Christian placed his large hands on either side of Emma’s head, and studied her, eyes boring into hers, head tilted. Her heart raced and her breath came faster, and she noticed his chest rose and fell a bit quicker, too. How that was possible, she hadn’t a clue.

She didn’t really care.

Then, his mouth hovered close to hers, and his whisper, so sensual in that deep, sexy, strange Welsh accent, engulfed her just as thoroughly as the shadows. He moved his mouth to her ear, and the tingling sensation began, first at the outer shell, then down to her lobe. Emma closed her eyes as the sensation washed over her.

“Christian,” she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

“I swear I can smell your scent,” he said, his voice ragged as it moved from her ear to her jaw. “Christ, how badly I wish I could touch you in truth.”

He moved his mouth to hers, just like before, thought better of the angle, and tilted his head a bit more, settling his ghostly, sexy lips against hers. Their essence mingled, the lines once more blurred, and there, in the shadows of a twelfth-century castle, Emma experienced absolutely the most
sensual
kiss of her life.

Without her realizing, she pushed her hands against the wall to hold herself upward, for at any minute her rubbery knees would surely give way and she’d fall to the ground.

Then, just when she thought she’d die, Christian pulled away. He smiled, and it was the sweetest, sexiest smile Emma had ever seen.

“Do you think you can walk?” he asked.

“Not hardly,” she answered, her voice just as shaky as her legs.

“In a moment, then,” he said, and she fully agreed.

“Do you think it’s working, Willoughby?” asked Maven, wringing her hands. “With them gone and out of sight, I’m so nervous!”

“I’m positive everything’s all right, Sister,” said Willoughby. “The lamb has no memories of Castle Grimm, and what recessed memories she does have of the others are insignificant at this point, so she’s in the safest of places to keep from remembering her original self.” She patted Maven’s arm. “ ’Twill be all right, love. You’ll see.”

“There’s nothing we can do besides wait?” cried Agatha.

“Aye, ’tis such a helpless act, waiting,” agreed Millicent. “At least when we were performing the steps of the spell, we were useful.”

Willoughby nodded once. “We’ve had the past seventy-two years to prepare and follow all the steps accordingly. We have done so.”

“What if the smallest of things mishappens? What if Emma discovers a way to avoid All Hallows’ Eve? Her return flight back to America is two days before!” wailed Agatha.

Willoughby grinned. “You’ve little faith in your older sister, eh? That’s already been taken care of, Sister.”

All the sisters looked her way. “Truly?”

Willoughby nodded. “Truly. I cancelled the original return date and booked a new flight, returning three days later.”

“And what if she’s resistant to staying?” probed Millicent. “What if something happens and she wants to go home early?”

Willoughby met each of her sisters’ gazes. “Now you three listen to me. This is going to work. Those two belong together, and young Christian deserves … well, you know what he deserves. The spell forbids me to say it aloud.” She sighed. “I’ve complete confidence that Emma will be exactly where she needs to be, at exactly the required time she needs to be there, and on the correct date.”

The younger Ballasters looked at her.

“Now pull yourselves together. We’ve more than two weeks left. You’ll frazzle yourselves if you don’t stop all this worrying.”

“All right,” they said in unison.

Willoughby smiled. “That’s it, girls. Now let’s get to work.”

And with that, they did.

“Have you decided to tell her?”

Christian blew out a frustrated breath. “Nay.”

Gawan glanced at him. “Nay, you’ve not decided, or nay, you aren’t going to tell her?”

“I’ve not decided anything yet. We’ve only just admitted our attraction to one another.” He kicked at a rock. His foot went straight through it, of course, but the action of it made him feel somewhat better. “Christ, Gawan,” he said, glancing at his friend. “She’s … far different this time. Harder to resist. Funny.” He shook his head. “I was actually bloody nervous about kissing her.”