Just Fooling Around(55)

He looked away, wishing he could be certain she was right, but unable to get the picture of her in the hospital out of his mind.

“Reg?”

He closed his eyes and sighed. He’d sold his house when he’d moved to England. There, he was renting a room from another professor. He was, by all standards, drifting.

Or he had been a few hours before.

Now, he knew, he’d come home. Anne was home.

Trouble was, he still wasn’t sure that home was a safe place to be.



HER BREATH SKIPPED IN HER throat, and she wished she could take back her words, and only keep the touches. It was the touches between them that were real. The words, though…She was afraid that with words, he could talk himself into leaving again. That was something she so very much did not want to happen.

She’d been going through the motions, living here without him. She hadn’t even realized it until he’d walked back into her life, but now she saw it. They were like two halves of a whole, and now that he was back, she couldn’t let him go again.

But she didn’t know how to make him stay.

“Kiss me again,” she said, because she was scared to let go of him, and because this was what they were made to do, to be: one. “Please,” she said, stroking his hair out of his face and looking into his eyes. “Make love to me again.”

They went slow this time, so slow that it seemed that every inch of her body fired beneath his touch. And when he slid into her, it was as if he was an extension of her body. They moved together, one mind and one heart, and she wished she could draw him inside her body and keep him safe from the curse, safe with her forever.

Her orgasm came this time not as an explosion, but as a rising crescendo. As the world floated away on color and music, the last three years evaporated.

This was the life she wanted—the man she wanted—and no matter what, she was going to keep him.

The question of how was still preying on her mind when her phone rang. He lifted his head from where it rested on her breast and met her eyes. “Libby?” she asked.

“Probably.”

She felt her pulse rate increase with excitement. If this worked…if they really could vanquish the curse…

He shifted over her to grab her phone, then glanced at the caller ID. “It’s her,” he said, then answered the phone. But he kept his hand on her thigh, as if silently saying that under normal circumstances he would ignore the phone in favor of touching her. These, however, weren’t normal circumstances, and she fully supported anything that might lead them to the end of this curse.

She listened as Reg explained about finding the amulet and about how he was trying to trace back its ownership. He searched for a pen, then scribbled an address. Finally, he ended the call and smiled up at her. “She’s on her lunch break until one-thirty, and she’s willing to meet with us.” He stood and held out his arm. “Feel like a burger from Camillia Grill?”

The quaint restaurant at the end of St. Charles was, in fact, one of Anne’s favorite places. They drove instead of taking the trolley simply to ensure they had enough time to speak with Libby. A good choice, it turned out, because Libby was a talker. And not necessarily about the amulet. No, Libby liked to talk about everything.

“I used to not eat meat,” she said, shoving a mass of mauve ringlets back from her face. “But then I went to this cook-out in my friend’s backyard, and oh my gosh, it just smelled so good, and from that day on, I was a certified burger addict all over again.” She took a big bite out of her cheeseburger. “Damn, but this is my idea of heaven.”

Anne and Reg were sitting on either side of her at the counter, and they exchanged amused looks before Reg pushed his plate of fries toward her. “I’ve always thought a burger was only as good as the fries that came with it. Want one?”

She took two and shoved them into her mouth. While she chewed, he pulled out the amulet.

“Oh! Look! It’s all shined up. A pretty trinket.”

“Trinket?”

She shrugged. “I know it’s gold—and that Jean Michel gave me a good price. But it’s kind of gaudy, you know?”

“It is a bit,” Anne said. “But it’s not the design we’re interested in. It’s the history.”

Libby rolled her eyes. “Don’t know how much help I’m gonna be. It’s not even from my family, you know?”

Anne glanced to Reg, alarmed. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“It was my stepmother’s,” she said, then took another huge bite of burger. “Oh, man,” she said, her mouth full. “Ambrosia. I swear, this is ambrosia.”