Mistletoe and Magic (18 page)

He didn’t know how. He assumed it was obvious. But he couldn’t admit that to her or she might go back to thinking he was a deranged stalker. “Is there a problem?”

“I don’t have a guest with that name.”

Ridiculous. “She checked in yesterday.”

The woman returned to the computer and did a little more typing, then shook her head. “No, sir, I’m sorry. Nothing under that first name or last name. Are you sure she checked in here? Perhaps she’s at the Polska Hotel?”

No. He’d left her here yesterday, and met her outside this hotel four hours ago. Was she registered under a different name?

“Can you tell me if any single women checked in here yesterday? She’s about this tall…” He held his hand level with the top of his chest. “…strawberry blond hair, blue eyes. American.”

“We only had two Americans check in yesterday while I was on duty, and neither of them come close to that description.”

He scratched his scalp, revitalizing his brain cells. So maybe she checked in when someone else was behind the desk? On second thought, he’d never actually seen her check in. She’d gone into the lobby last night and then, didn’t he sense she was watching him walk away? At the time, he’d chalked it up to attraction. Because his ego wouldn’t permit him to think anything else.

But what if she’d exited the lobby immediately after he’d gone because she didn’t want him to know where she was really staying? Panic clutched his chest with icy talons. She could be anywhere in the city.

The reservations clerk stared at him, her eyes alight with curiosity, and he forced a bland expression. “You’re probably right,” he said slowly. “I must have screwed up the Pulaski with the Polska. I’m sorry to trouble you.”

She offered him a tired smile that suggested such a mix up was a common occurrence. “No trouble at all, sir. Have a nice day. And good luck.”

Good luck. He’d need it to find her now. He turned away from the reservations desk, his mind reeling. Polina had tried to ditch him this morning by leaving before the time they’d set up to meet. That was no accident and no simple run for coffee. What did he know about her anyway? Whether or not her name really was Polina Kominski, that was pretty much the summary of his knowledge. She hadn’t even told him
where
in the States she hailed from.

For one brief day, less than twenty-four hours, he’d held a treasure in his hand. Now, it seemed that treasure was simply fools’ gold.

Chapter 4

Hours of stomping in her too-big boots on a twisted ankle caused an inordinate amount of agony. Blisters abraded her heels, her toes ached, and her left leg silently screamed with every step. By five o’clock, Polina had no choice but to head back to the hostel in the hopes she could talk someone into taking pity on her and giving her a place to warm up and prop up her foot for the night. Around the corner from her destination, she found a pharmacy and picked up an Ace bandage and hot/cold pack.

After paying for the purchases, she checked her wallet. Her insistence on not allowing Rhys to pay her way today had put a serious dent in her finances. The coffee and
paczki
were nothing; the admission to the cathedral, on the other hand, had cost her more than she’d anticipated. Adding in this unexpected expenditure, she’d have to find something super-cheap for dinner tonight if she didn’t want to be out of cash with days left still stuck in Krakow.

Maybe she shouldn’t have fought so rabidly when Rhys objected to going Dutch, particularly since he’d kissed her anyway. In paying her own way, she’d established a boundary. At least, she
thought
she’d established a boundary. Either Rhys thought differently, or he hadn’t cared. Still, it had been a wild kiss, full of electric promise—the kind of kiss that her mom would have followed through to its inevitable end: in bed with a handsome stranger. But not Polina. She would not become her mother just because the same passionate blood pumped in her veins. She had control over her emotions; they didn’t control her.

The fast food place near the hostel wafted the smell of old grease into the evening air. Dinner called. Too exhausted and aching to even sigh in disgust, she limped into the scorching light of the restaurant. While her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she could only discern shadows of customers huddled in the booths and standing on line, waiting to order.

“You’re hurt.”

The two words came from behind her, and she whirled. Voice and physical outline confirmed what her tired eyes refused to believe. Rhys sat in the corner booth, a cup of sludgy coffee in front of him.

“I’m fine,” she bit out.

“It’s those boots,” he replied as he slid out of his seat. “You should know better than to run in boots like those.”

Drained, her whole leg throbbing, she snapped, “I left my track shoes behind in my other backpack.”

“That’s not all you left behind.”

Cripes, she didn’t have the energy for a verbal sparring match. Shifting her weight off her left leg, she folded her arms over her chest. It was too warm in the restaurant to leave her jacket zipped, but she needed to shield herself from his barbs and anger. Although the pain kept her from standing up straight, she fisted her hands and forced a harsh tone. “What do you want, Rhys?”

“Quite a lot actually.” He pointed to the booth. “Sit. Get your weight off your feet.”

“No, thanks.”

He leaned close, eyes narrowed to feral slits, and hissed, “Sit.”

She sat. As she slid onto the hard plastic seat, he knelt beside her and lifted her left foot until it was parallel with the bench. “Hey!”

“Quiet!” He yanked off the boot, spraying pain over her entire left side. She winced and swerved away, but he pulled her back and slid off the sock, then shoved her jean cuff up to her knee. She didn’t have to look at the injury; his sharp intake of breath said it all. “Wow. If your goal today was to severely damage your ankle, you succeeded admirably.”

Fire sizzled straight to her hip, and she folded into herself, hugging her knees against her chest. “It’s fine!” The shout erupted loud enough to cause other customers to turn toward them. For an agonizing moment, no one moved while all eyes stared at her until she wanted to squirm out of her skin.

Rhys didn’t even look up from her foot. “No, it’s not fine,” he growled. “Now knock off the martyr act and sit still so I can help you.”

Her stomach grumbled loudly, and his eyes shot from her feet to her face. “When was the last time you ate?”

Cheeks aflame, she twisted her lips into a sneer and attempted to change the subject. “What are you doing here, Rhys? Don’t you have a home to go to?”

“I asked you first,” he retorted.

Typical caveman response.

“Tough,” she snapped back, then turned her attention to the glowing board near the counter. Her mouth watered at the pictures of juicy burgers piled high with ripe tomato slices and crisp green lettuce.

“Answer me. When was the last time you had something to eat?”

“This morning.” She knew the real product would look nothing like the photo. The burger would taste like lint from a dryer, with soggy lettuce and flavorless tomatoes. Her empty stomach didn’t care.

“What the hell have you been up to since you ran off?”

Oh, well, now that was unfair. She wasn’t exactly a felon or an international spy. “Nothing.”

The fight seemed to flow out of him in one giant flood. The stiffness left his posture, and he sank onto the opposite bench, folding his arms on the table. His hazel gaze fixed on her with concern. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Polina?”

“What?” Was he insane? “Of course not.”

He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “Then, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” She removed her gloves and stared at the fleece linings, stared at the thick black coffee, anywhere but at him.

He reached out and placed his hand over hers, squeezed gently. “I’m a patient man, sweetheart. I can sit here for hours. In fact…” He gestured to the half-filled coffee cup. “…I already have. So if you want me gone, you’re going to have to answer a few questions for me first.”

Her head snapped up. “Like what?”

“What’s your real name?”

She blinked. “You already know that.”

“Humor me.”

What, like she was hooked up to a lie detector or something? Wow. He really did think she was a criminal. Or a spy. Okay, fine. The sooner she cooperated, the sooner he’d disappear. “Polina Kominski.”

“And where are you staying in Krakow?” His voice was low but an undercurrent of anger laced his words. “Because you sure as hell aren’t registered at the Pulaski. Why’d you lie about that, Polina?”

“I never told you I was staying at the Pulaski. You just assumed it.”

“You
lied
to me.”

“No, I didn’t.” She pulled her hand away from his. “Think about it. I don’t know Krakow, and I don’t speak Polish. That makes it kind of difficult to get around if I can’t ask people for directions or tell a cabdriver where to take me. So I chose the nearest landmark to where I’m staying. You can see the Pulaski’s spires from just about anywhere in this area. No matter where I go during the day, I always look for the copper spires, and I can find my way back. Last night when we met, you asked me where I was headed, and I pointed to the spires. That’s where I was headed.
You
assumed that meant I planned to go to the Pulaski.”

Deep frown lines etched his forehead. “That still doesn’t tell me where you
are
staying.”

“What does that matter?”

“It matters to me. What are you hiding? Are you married? Or staying with a lover?”

“No, of course not!” Did he think she was like her mother? The idea turned her stomach. “
Definitely
not!”

“Then, why the secrecy? Why can’t you tell me where you’re staying?”

“Okay, fine.” She let him see her annoyance by rolling her eyes and heaving a sigh that sounded like air brakes on a Mack truck. “St. Tadeusz Youth Hostel.”

His jaw dropped. “That rathole down the block?”

“It’s not a rathole.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. Gentlemen overdose on heroin and ladies are beaten and raped in all the finest establishments.”

She winced but refused to apologize for her accommodations choice. “I keep my door barricaded at night.”

“Jesus.” He raked a trembling hand through his hair. “You’re serious.”

“It’s not a big deal. I know how to be careful. Besides, I’ve been in worse places.”

“Really? Where? Afghanistan?”

She clamped her lips together and reached for her sock. She’d had enough. Enough of his censure and his judgment and his unsubstantiated anger. “It’s been fun, Rhys. Have a nice life.” The pain in her foot could cripple an elephant, but she fought back tears and managed to fumble the sock over her toes with some effort.

“You are the most stubborn, exasperating woman.”

Her gaze shot up level with his. “You don’t have to stay with me. Go home.”

“I’m here because I want to be here. I care about you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

He slapped his palms on the tabletop. “Whose fault is that? If you trusted me and told me the truth, maybe I could help.” Reaching across, he clasped her hand again. “Talk to me, please.”

She hated to admit how much warmth and security he communicated with that simple contact. Could she trust him? Did she dare? What had the gypsy girl said?
He kissed you because you’re you
. Would he be able to separate her from her mother’s past? Only one way to find out. “What do you want to know?”

“Explain how this hostel works.”

“Nothing to it. I check in every night at eight and check out every morning by ten.”

“And where do you go when you check out?”

“Wherever I need to go. I told you, my mother left me an itinerary with stuff she wants me to take care of while I’m here. I keep busy.”

“Maybe you kept busy yesterday and probably today.” He jerked his head at her foot. “But by tomorrow, that ankle is going to be useless to you.”

“I’ll be okay. I bought a wrap and an ice pack. I’ll ice it when I get into a room tonight.”
If
she got into a room tonight. And of course, she’d have to find a way to freeze the pack first, but she kept those concerns to herself. Her trust only traveled so far.

“I’ve got a better idea.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a number. “Stefan? I need your help with something.”

She leaned across the table to listen in, but he immediately switched to Polish to finish the conversation.

After several frustrating minutes, he flipped the phone closed. “Let’s go get your luggage out of that place. I’m taking you somewhere else.”

Since she had no intention of going anywhere with him, she didn’t bother to argue. “I don’t have any luggage.”

“Where’s all your stuff?”

She fingered the straps of the backpack on her shoulder. “I keep it with me.”

His eyes widened. “You have two weeks’ worth of luggage in that little rucksack?”

“I pack light.”

“How light?”

“Three pairs of jeans, five shirts, a weeks’ worth of underwear and socks, an extra pair of gloves, my cell phone, my journal, passport, and my wallet.”

“That’s it?” he demanded. “That’s all you brought with you for a trip halfway around the world that will last more than two weeks?”

“What else do I need?” She sat up when she remembered something else. “Oh! I also have my mother’s ashes. But that’s temporary until I can arrange for her to be placed in her family crypt. I have an appointment with someone at the cemetery tomorrow.”

“You’ll have to cancel it. You’re coming with me—”

“No. I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m staying right here, having something to eat, and then checking into my room for the night. At Saint Tadeusz. Whatever other plans you just made,
you’ll
have to cancel.”

A superior, smug smile crept onto his lips. “I called my friend, Stefan. He and his wife, Agata, are expecting you. They have a spare bedroom that’s yours for the duration of your stay. Agata is a nurse so she’ll be able to properly care for your ankle. She’s also a great cook. And if we hurry, you can have
bigos
tonight instead of this slop. You do know what
bigos
is, don’t you?”