Just Fooling Around(51)

The girl’s brow lifted, as if that somehow made him legitimate. “Can I see the bellman’s receipt?”

“Of course,” he said, relieved that this was going to get all worked out. He fumbled in his pocket, came up with a few scraps of paper, a dollar coin and a paperclip, but didn’t find the bell ticket. “Damn.”

The clerk’s eyes rose. “Are you sure you’re in the right hotel?”

He bit back a particularly nasty curse, then calmed when Anne’s hand pressed softly on his forearm. “You know what this is,” she said. “Why don’t you stay the night at my house? By tomorrow, I bet your hotel situation will be all worked out.”

“I don’t know,” he said. Already her nearness was messing with his head, not to mention his body. He’d never wanted to cut her out of his life. Hell, for many of the past years, he’d been trying to end this curse, not for the family good, but for her. Because he wanted her so desperately.

So desperately, in fact, that he’d gone all the way to England to escape the desire.

And yet here she was and here he was, and if anyone should realize it, a Franklin should know that you can never escape Fate. If something is meant to be, then it simply is.

Once upon a time, he’d thought that he and Anne were meant to be, and seeing her now, he still thought so.

What he didn’t know how to do was reconcile his need to keep her safe with his need to touch her, to make love to her, to have her once again in his arms and in his bed.

Dammit all, he was a wreck.

“Reg.” She was tugging on his arm, her fingers slipping down and twining with his as she pulled him away from the counter, the clerk eyeing them both suspiciously. Reg barely noticed the clerk’s confused looks, though. All he could think about—all he could feel—was Anne’s fingers pressed soft against his.

“Anne.” Her name came out raw and desperate, which was exactly how he felt, but he wished it weren’t so obvious. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Her eyes were wide and guileless. “You need a place, and my house is huge. And unlike a hotel, if you break something expensive, I’ll understand it’s because of the curse. I doubt the manager here would be so accommodating.”

Her words made him grin, her easy acceptance of this curse that he had to bear making him feel normal. More than that, making him feel like he could beat it.

He knew better, though. This was April first, and that meant if she was with him, she wasn’t safe, either.

He should leave her now and follow this lead by himself. He should stand right there and very firmly state that this was his problem, and his alone.

But he didn’t have the strength. Now that he saw her again—now that he’d touched her again—he couldn’t walk away.

Selfish, but he had to have at least a few more moments with her.

A few more moments, and, maybe, if they broke this curse, if she still wanted it, just maybe those moments could grow into a lifetime.

And if they didn’t break it?

Well, then at least he would have those precious minutes to add to his memories of Anne.

“Reg,” she said, her voice taking on a firm, no-nonsense tone. “You need to come with me. You’re exhausted. When was the last time you slept?”

“I can’t sleep,” he countered. “I need answers.”

“You do. But you’re not going to find them in a hotel.” Her fingers tightened on his. “Please. Let me take you home.”

Hope flowed over him, because this was what he wanted, and what he couldn’t have unless the curse was abated. He wanted to push back the hope, and Anne along with it. Because hadn’t he thought he could beat it before? And hadn’t he failed?

Today, though…

Today, for the first time, he had a lead that felt right. The amulet.

And if it really was the solution…if Anne really did still want him…

“Reg?” she pressed.

Maybe it was a mistake. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he couldn’t stand walking away from her again now that she was beside him. Whatever else he did today, he was going to end this damn curse.

He was going to end it, and he was going to win back the woman he had never stopped loving.



PROFESSOR REGINALD Franklin, the esteemed archeologist currently drawing a paycheck from the illustrious Oxford University in jolly old England, sucked on his knuckle while he slept.

It wasn’t as cute as if he actually sucked his thumb, but Anne thought the habit was absolutely charming. She’d forgotten about it, but seeing him now, leaning against the window of her Camry, his knuckle pressed against his mouth, her heart did a little flip-flop as she thought about all those nights she hadn’t seen him. Enough nights lost to give her sufficient time to forget.