Twisted By Love, Reincarnation Tales, Book 1 (20 page)

Clare was the first out on the porch. “I’m so
glad you made it. Nothing special for dinner, just lasagna, salad,
and garlic bread.”

She gave him a hearty hug. Clare was a
pretty, petite blonde who seemed far younger than her forty years.
He liked her, but he’d always thought she tried too hard, as if she
had to make sure everything was perfect, the perfect wife to Wade,
the perfect mother to their daughter Amber. Clare never got angry,
always smiling, yet a tension ran below the surface. When Amber
left for college at the end of August, he’d seen the first crack in
Clare’s façade. Now her blue eyes seemed almost manic.

Livie hung back at the bottom of the steps.
Bern leaned down to take her hand. He had the sense that if he
wasn’t touching her, she’d run. Then he was making introductions.
Wade had come out, along with Jake, Mom, Nana. Clare’s grandmother
didn’t top four-eight.

Instead of mounting in the midst of all the
enthusiasm, Livie’s tension seemed to recede, and she answered
everyone at once, not forgetting a single question or name.

“It’s nice to meet you. Lasagna sounds
wonderful. No, the drive wasn’t bad at all. And gosh, yes, Freedom
is a lovely little town. Very quaint, sort of New Englandish with
all the trees starting to change color.”

Christ, he was proud of her. His mom squeezed
his hand, gave him a pointed
mother
look which asked,
Is
she the one and when can I expect grandchildren?
She only had
Susan’s two boys and Amber. That wasn’t enough for his mother. He
had her smile, or so he’d been told, Wade had her brown eyes, Jake
had her sandy hair—though his mother’s was white now and curled
into a tight perm. And Suze, well, hell, she could have been a
foundling.

“Oh my goodness, Myra.” Nana grabbed Livie’s
hand in her gnarled fingers and peered up into her face. “It’s been
years and years and years.”

Livie smiled, letting Nana call her whatever
she wanted. But Clare stooped to put her arm around her
grandmother’s shoulders. “This is Livie. We don’t know anyone named
Myra.”

“Don’t be silly, girl.” Then she looked
straight at Bern. “Tell them, George.”

“That’s Bern, Nana,” Wade said. “You know
him.”

“Of course I know him, young man. George. He
went away to war.” She tipped her head, peered up at Bern. “I
thought you’d died. Didn’t know you’d made it back.”

The last time she’d called him George, it had
been a joke. But now Livie was Myra, and Nana was convinced they
knew each other. A week ago, he would have said she was having one
of her senior moments.

Jake was giving him a penetrating look.

Bern felt something skitter across his nerve
endings. Suddenly nothing was a joke anymore. Not since Livie had
said her name was Chad and called him Hadden.

* * * * *

Bern sat at the opposite end of the table
deep in conversation with his brother Wade about the project they
were working together. Livie was actually enjoying herself. She
came from a small family, just her sister, Mom, Dad. They didn’t
have any relatives. They’d moved around a lot and the family on
their father’s side was back in England. Mom was an orphan. But
Bern’s family was…God, they were amazing. Livie loved it. They all
talked at once, over each other, laughed, joked. They asked
personal questions. And they accepted her. Even though she’d had to
admit that she’d only known Bern for a week.

The house was old but well maintained, with
hardwood floors throughout. The kitchen door swung back and forth
every time Clare nipped out to retrieve some new tasty dish or
bring a fresh basket of bread. The oak dining table was massive and
fit them all with room to spare. And the food was excellent. Livie
had paid her share of compliments.

“Bern said you work in San Francisco.” Clare
was seated on the end, to Livie’s left.

“Yes. I’m in customer service.”

“That must be exciting.”

It wasn’t, but Livie appreciated the
throw-away comment.

“Clare’s never worked in her life,” Nana said
across the table.

“Being a mother and a housewife is hard
work,” Bern’s mom said in defense. Her heart-shaped face matched
her name, Valentine, though she used the shortened version,
Val.

“I know that,” Nana groused. “I was
making”—she air-quoted—“conversation.”

Clare just smiled, seemingly unoffended, as
the two elderly ladies nattered at each other.

“So Myra, how’s your sister doing?” Nana
asked.

Clare and Jake, seated on either side of
Livie, both spoke at once. “She’s Livie.”

“I don’t mind,” Livie said. The old woman was
interesting. One minute she made complete sense, the next she was
off on a tangent. She was a hoot, though, with a mixture of
old-fashioned and twenty-first-century Valley-girl vernacular.

Jake leaned close, lowering his voice. “She’s
sweet and harmless.” He was younger than Bern by three years, his
skin tanned from outdoor work. On the drive, Bern had listed off
his family members’ stats for her. Jake was a contractor.

“I can hear you,” Nana singsonged.

“Have some more bread.” Wade passed the
basket as if trying to draw her attention. Perhaps he was
embarrassed. He was next in line to Bern. They looked alike, same
dark hair and similar facial features, though his eyes were brown
rather than Bern’s compelling shade.

Nana popped up to grab a piece of bread. “You
know, I never did like your sister, Myra. She could be quite the
bitch.”

“Nana,” Clare said sharply, but Livie
detected a crease of laughter on her lips.

“I’m only speaking the truth,” Nana said
defensively.

“Nana,” Wade said, his voice commanding. “Her
name isn’t Myra. And we don’t even know if she
has
a
sister.”

“I do,” Livie said. And yes, Toni could be
quite the bitch. Livie felt a little bubble of laughter. She caught
Bern’s eye. His gaze had an answering sparkle, and she knew he was
thinking the same thing, that Nana wasn’t far off the mark.

“So you have one sister? More? Any brothers?”
Bern’s mom went on with the conversation—or distraction.

“Just one sister. No brothers.”

“I could have told you that,” Nana
groused.

“And your parents?” Val ignored the older
lady.

“My mom’s in Palm Springs, and my father
passed away a few years ago.”

“Oh my dear, I’m so sorry.”

Livie smiled her thanks.

“Are you close to your sister?” Bern’s mom
continued. She asked with real interest, far from an
inquisition.

Nana snorted. “They hate each other.”

For the first time, Livie felt uncomfortable.
Nana was a little too close to the truth.

“Quit pestering her,” Clare singsonged in
exactly the same tone Nana had used earlier.

“I’m not pestering,” Nana protested. “I’m
just asking. It’s been years, and I want to get caught up on the
gossip.”

“Amber’s enjoying college life,” Clare said,
breaking the stalemate with her grandmother. “She has a very nice
roommate.”

“That’s nice for her, dear,” her
mother-in-law answered. “I’m glad she’s making friends down there.”
Val turned to Livie. “Amber’s at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo. Her
first year. She’s studying architecture like her uncle.”

“Would you like some more lasagna?” Clare
asked, noticing Livie’s plate was empty.

“Thank you.”

There was silence a moment as Clare
served.

“I’ve got a feeling Dorie’s coming home
soon,” Nana said into the quiet.

It was as if everyone stopped in midmotion.
The lasagna slid off Clare’s spatula. Jake’s knife clattered to his
plate. Wade made a noise that could have been a growl. And Bern was
looking at Livie.

“What?” Nana said like a naughty child who
couldn’t figure out exactly what she’d done wrong. She looked at
Jake. “If Myra can suddenly show up, it means things are happening,
and Dorie could be here soon, too.”

Livie glanced to her right. Jake’s face paled
beneath his tan. A muscle ticked along his jaw. Then, very slowly,
he pushed his chair back, the legs scraping on the hardwood. His
heavy boots smacked the floor as he strode from the room, and the
screen door slapped behind him.

“What did I say?” Nana asked, her eyes wide
and bewildered.

“You know what you said, Hazel, and that
wasn’t nice.” Val pursed her lips. “We don’t talk about Dorie or
any of that business.”

“I was just making conversation,” Nana
muttered.

Okay, so, dinner wasn’t going as well as
Livie had thought. She’d stepped into something, she just didn’t
know exactly what.

Chapter Nineteen

“Who’s Dorie?” Livie asked.

After Jake had left, they’d limped along with
dessert and coffee. Nana had gone to bed early, and Clare had
apologized profusely. Then Bern hustled Livie here to the top room
in Marchant’s, a quaint little B&B owned by one of Clare’s high
school girlfriends.

Bern had known Livie would want an
explanation, but right now? She straddled him, and he was buried to
the hilt inside her. He could barely think, let alone talk about
Dorie and his brother. “Couldn’t we discuss this later?”

“No time like the present,” she quipped, then
leaned down with her hands braced on either side of his head, her
hair falling around him as she captured his lips.

God, she tasted sweet. And he loved her mood.
Even the uncomfortable aftermath of Jake’s departure hadn’t turned
her sour. It was as if the regression and her sister’s break with
her had whisked away that clouds that hung over her.

She rubbed her nose to his. “You can’t run
away from me right now. You’re my prisoner.” She flexed her muscles
around him, driving him crazy.

He’d never run from her. He’d never let her
go. But she was enjoying the woman on top position too much. Bern
grabbed her hips and rolled until she was pinned beneath him.

Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight striping
the bed. “Cheater.”

He pushed a hand between them and stroked her
as he pumped slowly inside her.

Livie gasped. “Oh, that’s
really
cheating, you monster.” She writhed under him.

“Nice and slow, baby. Just the way you like
it.”

“Bern,” she whispered, trailing her hands up
his arms, gripping his biceps, digging her nails in as her pleasure
rose. He loved the sigh of his name from her lips.

“George,” she whispered with a ghost of a
smile.

“Myra.”

“Hadden.”

“I’m not calling you Chad,” he declared.

She was laughing, and his heart contracted in
his chest. Would that she always laughed like that. Would that the
ghosts and shadows of her past, both their pasts, left them forever
so that she could always laugh.

He pulled back onto his haunches, hauled her
legs over his.

“Oh my God.” She closed her eyes in her
bliss. “That is so good.”

It was the perfect position to hit her G-spot
with a slow, steady stroke. “Now what was it you wanted to know
about Dorie?” he asked.

She laughed, then groaned. “You win, you win.
Don’t stop.”

It wasn’t in him to stop. “Touch yourself,”
he told her.

It was the perfect combination. Her body
twitched and trembled. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, parted
her lips on a sexy little moan that tightened his entire body. It
was all he could do not to pound into her, but he wouldn’t, not
until she was on the precipice. That’s when she’d want it fast and
hard.

The four-poster creaked and groaned beneath
them, and her soft pleasure sounds filled the room. He didn’t care
if anyone heard, if everyone knew. There was only her, splayed
before him in the moonlight. She was a master’s painting, a
sculptor’s masterpiece.

Then she was falling, her muscles working
him, dragging him with her, and he fell on her, holding her, taking
her, going deep, straight to her heart, until he lost himself
inside her.

In the moments after, he slid to his side,
pulling her with him, staying inside her. He needed to keep her as
close as two people could be. And he relished the tiny aftershocks
that still rippled through her body.

“Did I scream?” she murmured, as if she were
afraid they’d woken the whole house.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t hear anything over
the roaring in my ears.” Sex had never been like this with anyone
else.

She nestled against him like a cat burrowing
into a soft blanket. “So should I start calling you George?” Her
breath whispered across his chest.

“Only if I can call you Myra.”

“Forget it. The least Nana could have done
was pick something lyrical like...I don’t know.”

“How about Bertha?”

She laughed aloud, then clapped a hand over
her mouth. Until she spoke again. “Okay, so tell me about
Dorie.”

“Sorry Nana brought that up. Dorie coming
back is an old family legend.” He twirled a lock of her hair around
his finger.

“Except that it really seemed to upset your
brother.”

“It always does.” He tried to tell the story
with as little emotion as possible, but Livie made murmurs of
solace as he laid it out for her. He concluded with the worst.
“Jake found her body out in the woods.” He would never forget
Jake’s face as he ran into the house. “He was only nine years
old.”

“Oh my God,” Livie whispered.

“And he’s spent thirty years waiting for her
to come back,” he finished.

“So,” she said, “reincarnation is a
thing
with your family.”

“I guess you could say that. I’m not sure
whether Jake got Suze into the idea or Suze got to him. But they’re
true believers.” Somewhere water was running, a toilet flushing
perhaps.

“Except Dorie’s never come back.”

“Not that we know of,” he conceded.