Opal's Wish: Book Four of The Crystal Warriors Series (21 page)

Opal couldn’t speak, couldn’t force the words from her throat. Not that she had a clue what to say to Annie in any case. She opened the refrigerator, hoping the cool air would dispel the heat from her flushed face. And somehow, she set aside the insistent throbbing of her needy body, and the shocking tingles of arousal still arrowing through her veins. She’d transferred the mousse-filled ramekins from the freezer to the refrigerator, and now she gave one an experimental wobble.

She blinked. And checked another ramekin. Well, look at that. They’d set. She pointed to the dishes and beckoned Annie closer.

Annie pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Don’t tell me the mousse has set?”

Opal nodded. And hunched her shoulders as Annie crowed her delight. The huge hug Annie gave her was lovely, though—made the extra hours she’d spent helping out worth it.

She heard the thrum of a car engine and quickly pulled away.

“Oh my God, that’s Conrad.” Annie’s eyes rounded, her expression a mix of excitement and dread. “Which means our guests aren’t too far away.”

“I sh-sh-should go.”

Annie nodded. And then held up a finger. “Give me one sec. Don’t leave until I get back. Promise?” She raced from the kitchen before Opal could respond.

Conrad called out from the entranceway and, thankfully, headed straight upstairs. Opal glanced around the kitchen, mentally ticking off each task. One last peek at the dining room confirmed the table setting was perfect. There was nothing more she could do. It was all up to Annie now.

She heard Annie’s heels on the stairs again and went to meet her, painfully conscious of how badly her legs wobbled, like she’d… she’d…. Been thoroughly kissed. She shoved the thought away.

“Here.” Annie thrust a fat envelope and the promised Vogue magazine into Opal’s hands, and squeezed her in another hug, this one so tight that Opal squeaked.

“And I don’t want to hear any BS about it being too much,” Annie said, mock-frowning. “You deserve it, Opal. I learned more from you in two hours than I’ve learned from years of watching cable cooking shows. Thank you sooo much. You’re the best friend ever.”

Opal blinked. Friends? That was… startling. She had always been careful not to read anything into Annie’s friendly behavior—it was just Annie’s way.

Annie seemed to intuit her thoughts for she grabbed Opal by the shoulders. “I’d very much like to be your friend, Opal—if you’d let me. You must know by now I don’t give a toss where you live, or what clothes you wear, or how much money you earn and how you earn it. I know it’s hard for you to believe but—”

Conrad yelled something about a shirt. Annie groaned. “God, he’s hopeless. Look, I know it’s a lot to lay on you all at once so we’ll talk later, okay?”

A car horn sounded a series of short staccato beeps, and Conrad yelled again, his voice muffled.

“That’ll be the taxi I called for you,” Annie said, towing Opal toward the door. “I included extra to cover the fare, so don’t you dare send it away and take the bus or I’ll be really pissed with you.” She scrunched her brows in what she probably imagined was a scary face. “And you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry,” she intoned in a truly terrible attempt at Bruce Banner on the brink of morphing into the Hulk.

Opal couldn’t help her smile, despite being dragged unceremoniously to the front door.

Annie brushed Opal’s cheek with her lips, removed the resulting lipstick smear with a swipe of her thumb, and gave her a gentle push. “I’m not shutting this door until you get in that taxi,” she called. “So if Conrad’s still shirtless when our guests arrive it’ll be all your fault!”

Yikes. Opal broke into a run and climbed into the taxi. She returned Annie’s wave as the taxi driver roared off. And then she collapsed against the seatback, mentally exhausted by the conflicting emotions and thoughts roiling in her brain.

It wasn’t until the car pulled up to the curb outside her house and she had to pay the taxi driver his fare that she realized just how much “extra” Annie had stuffed in the envelope. Two hundred cash in total.

Opal didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Surely a “friend” would understand Opal didn’t expect to be paid for showing her how to cook a damn meal? That it was kind of insulting? Opal wasn’t a charity case. She didn’t need handouts, didn’t want to be Annie’s cause.

A little voice told her she was being too hard on Annie. She would have to sit Annie down and explain a few things. Maybe then they could start being real friends. As for this wad of cash….

An idea bloomed. She would give the extra to Peter, and ask him to donate it to the shelter Roth had taken Danbur to. That way she would be helping Danbur, albeit indirectly.

Danbur.

A pang squeezed her heart at the thought of him—of how he might be coping. Or not coping. She rubbed her breastbone. She would ask Peter to check up on him…. And report back. Just to ease her mind. Not because she couldn’t stop thinking about him, dreaming about him. Imagining him kissing her… and doing other things. Intimate things. Things women were supposed to enjoy immensely and that Opal had only read about in books, or remembered from frank conversations with her roommates a long time ago.

A man who looked like Danbur must have countless women throwing themselves at him. He would have had his pick of them, and he had to have learned a thing or two about pleasing them in bed. She could do worse than give in to the intense attraction she felt for him and invite him into her bed. But even as her body tightened at the prospect of making love with Danbur, fear prickled her skin. He was so big, so strong and dominant. If he chose to hurt her she would be powerless to stop him.

Just as she’d been powerless to stop Rick all those years ago.

A sob tore from her throat and she clamped her jaw shut to keep another from escaping. Danbur was not Rick. Even if Danbur hadn’t already proven himself trustworthy by leaving when she asked him to, and not taking anything more than that one mind-blowing, scorching kiss, she’d only had to witness his care of Sera to know absolutely that he was a man she could trust. He was a man she would like to get to know—intimately—if only she could find the courage to let go of the past.

In that past she’d been a victim and there was nothing she could do to change that. She’d been young and unworldly, and Rick had taken full advantage. Somewhere along the line she’d realized she was not to blame for his actions that day.
He
was to blame.
He
was the one who deserved to be punished. She’d had good reason to be scared and timid and leery of men in the years that followed. No one could blame her for that. But now? Still? After all this time?

She scrubbed her face with her hands. God. How weak and spineless she’d become. What a terrible role model for her daughter. Bad enough that she was still haunted by nightmares, still suffered the stutter that had manifested in the aftermath of the attack. So much worse was realizing that for almost a decade she’d shut herself off from even the
possibility
of a healthy physical relationship with a man.

Rick didn’t know it but he was still terrorizing her, still affecting her every thought and action. Still winning. And wouldn’t the bastard love knowing that? She couldn’t keep living like this—cowed by her fears, denying her need for companionship, for intimacy. For a man’s touch.

For a moment she was giddy, tingling all over at the thought of Danbur’s big, capable hands tunneling through her hair to gently cradle her skull, his lips descending ever so slowly, tantalizing, teasing, drawing out the moment until they pressed against hers, coaxing her to open to him and surrender. For a moment she was caught up in a daydream so pleasurable that she didn’t want it to end. And then all her old fears—the ones that had convinced her to avoid men and the complications that went with them—reared their ugly heads and clamored to be heard.

What if she was reading too much into that kiss and Danbur wasn’t truly attracted to her? What if she discovered too late that she couldn’t handle anything more intimate than kisses? What if she was wrong about the kind of man Danbur was, and she begged him to stop but he wouldn’t? What if—?

Her mobile phone bleeped with an incoming text message and she fished it from her overalls pocket and peered at the screen.

Hey! How’s things? Want 2 catch up over coffee? Better still, dinner! Need someone 2 unload on. That cool with u? It’s Des, BTW.

Funny, she didn’t remember giving Desiree her mobile number. But she was immeasurably glad to see Desiree’s text because right now a sympathetic ear was welcome. Desiree had already encountered Danbur. She would understand the allure a man like him held, and why Opal was so conflicted about him. Desiree could help Opal get everything straight in her head.

More than cool,
she texted back.
Dinner wld be great. My place?
She bit her lip, hoping Desiree wouldn’t suggest a meal out instead. The monthly budget might stretch to a halfway decent restaurant but the potential for embarrassment was off the scale. She’d probably end up too stressed to eat anything she ordered.

Sounds great. Sunday night? I’ll bring wine & dessert.

You’re on.
Desiree was great. And Sera would be hugely excited to have a real live model turn up for dinner.

BTW I pretty much eat anything. Except offal.

Will keep that in mind :)
She tried to imagine Desiree’s reaction to a heaping bowl of mac ’n cheese. Or meatloaf and gravy—another of Sera’s favorite meals. It’d almost be worth it.

As she saved Desiree’s number to her contacts list, a memory tickled her brain. Omigod, how could she have forgotten Desiree’s upcoming date with Roth? It wasn’t hard to guess why Desiree needed someone to talk to.

Warmth curled through her. It felt damn fine to be needed—to have a real friend. Not that Annie wasn’t a friend, but it was a little awkward because she was also a client. Whereas Desiree was just Desiree—not that a woman who looked like
that
could be described as “just” anything.

A smile tilted her lips at the prospect of a full on gossip session about men… which brought her full circle back to obsessing over Danbur again. How would he react if she headed on over to that shelter, demanded to see him, and made it very,
very
clear that she wanted more than a kiss this time?

A whole lot more….

She leaned on the doorframe of Peter’s house, fanning her flushed face. Minutes ticked by before the heat washing through her body faded and she felt composed enough to rap on the door.

The dull repetitive thuds drifted to Danbur’s ears, jerking his focus from the little girl kneeling on the stool clutching a block of cheese. He tensed and cocked his head, listening intently.

“Please see who’s at the door, Danbur.” Pieter tossed the words over his shoulder while he furiously whisked the contents of the pot. “I can’t leave this sauce or it’ll go to lumps.”

“Lumpy mac ’n cheese? Yuck!”

Sera’s crinkled nose brought a smile to Danbur’s lips. The child was a rare delight—all the more perhaps because she was an unknown quantity. On his home world, as far back as Danbur could remember all newborns had been male. Without exception. It had been an unexpected side-effect of a spell cast by prideful men attempting to tamper with the natural order. Hence the need to steal females from other worlds—a drive that had become paramount when it became clear that once on Styrian sands, those women, too, birthed only male infants. And thus the confrontation that had provoked Pieter to curse Danbur… and brought him to this time and place.

“Yuck indeed,” Pieter said. “Which is why I refuse to countenance any lumps in this sauce. I’m almost ready for that cheese, Sera.”

“I’m almost done grating, Mr. Stone.” Sera paused to tuck a springy lock of hair behind her ear. It behaved for a breath or two before falling into her eyes again. She audibly sighed, and contented herself with pursing her lips and puffing a sharp breath to shift the misbehaving hair from her eyes.

Danbur observed Pieter’s lips curving upward in a fond smile. “I must insist you call me
Peter
,” the old man told Sera. “‘Mr. Stone’ makes me feel old.”

Sera giggled. “But you
are
old, Mr. Stone.”

“
Peter
,” he said. “And you’re right of course. In fact, I do believe I am the oldest person you’ve ever met.”

Danbur couldn’t help his snort and quickly disguised it as a cough to clear his throat. Out of the mouths of babes….

Sera giggled again.

“The door if you please, Danbur,” Pieter said. “Preferably before whomever it is wanders off and you are forced to chase them down.”

An order, however politely couched. And since the aroma of melting cheese was making his mouth water, and he did not wish to miss dinner, Danbur stalked from the kitchen to do as the old man bid.

As he crossed the living room he heard Sera say, “I hope it’s not Mommy already, ’coz I reeeally wanted to stay for dinner.” He didn’t catch Pieter’s reply. He lengthened his stride, his body buzzing with anticipation, thoughts of Sera’s mother swarming through his brain and shunting aside all other concerns.

He yanked open the door, and was greeted by a raised fist… that rapped smartly on his chest. Not quite the way he’d imagined this woman touching him but he would take what he could get. He cupped her fist in his, pressing her hand to his heart, patiently waiting for her to realize
he’d
replaced the door… and strangely content to stand here all night if that’s what it took.

Opal blinked up at him, her mouth forming a soft O of surprise. His gaze fastened on her lips. The way her tongue darted out to moisten those lips told him she was not unaffected by his gaze. Lust, a primal need to take and plunder, coursed through him, but it was tempered by something softer, yet even more powerful. Something unexpected. Something that he instinctively batted away because a core part of him recognized that if he grasped it, gave in to it, the pain of losing her would be his undoing.

“Wh-wh-what h-h-happened to y-y-your f-f-face?” she asked. “Are… are y-y-you okay?”