Mack (King #4)(38)

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he says in a voice so deep and masculine that my toes curl inside my silk slippers underneath my gown.

Dear Lord, no. He thinks I am someone else. My heart is broken. Right then and there.

“You have mistaken me, sir, for someone else,” I say acerbically. It’s just my luck that this man, this beautiful, wild-looking man who clearly doesn’t belong at a ball, though his clothes appear fine enough, would be in search of another woman.

He holds out his hand, a very improper gesture, as we have not been introduced. “I never make mistakes.”

I glance at his awaiting hand and cannot help wanting it. He’s simply too magnificent to deny.

I reach for him, and the moment I do, images flash through my mind. I see myself and him together, though he looks different. His features are dark and the planes of his face are exquisitely sculpted like a marble statue of a Greek god. But nevertheless, I know those eyes and their endless blues. And I know how he feels when he holds me and kisses me.

“Who are you?” I whisper.

“They call me Macarius.” His eyes shift around the room as if checking for someone. “Come, we must leave quickly.”

Lucinda is now dancing and paying me no attention. My cousin Robert is occupied with a young blonde in the corner, surely attempting to convince her to meet somewhere later so he can rob her of her virtue.

“Where will we go?” I ask, knowing it doesn’t matter.

Macarius smiles, but I can see it isn’t genuine. There’s a certain darkness in his lovely light eyes. He is dangerous. I want to be with him anyway.

He pulls me by the hand out the side door leading to a large fountain situated beside a long, torch-lit garden. The other guests will likely assume we are going to do something scandalous behind one of the many large trees, and I know my reputation will be soiled. I don’t care. I follow Macarius, and we silently make our way through the grounds, out a side gate, onto the street. The sound of horse hooves clicking, pulling carriages, fills the chilly air.

As we walk in silence, my gloved hand in his, more images come crashing down on me. Jungle, rain, a small dwelling. I see this man over me, sliding his naked body between my thighs, breathing into my hair.

Dear God. What is happening? Still, I am unafraid. I want only to be with him. I am burning for him.

We turn the corner and enter the front gate of a large white house with pillars in the front. I know this home. I’ve seen it a million times. It was once owned by the governor, but he departed from San Francisco months ago. Rumor has it that a wealthy merchant from New York has purchased the estate but has not yet taken up residence. Obviously, they were mistaken. Here he is.

And he’s all mine.

We enter through the front door into a lavish foyer of white marble and muraled ceilings. Every thought running through my head tells me that my parents will disown me when word gets out that I am here. Yes, the servants will talk. They always do.

We go into his sitting room, where a fire is already lit. Cognac is set out on a small table beside the pastel blue couch.

“So this is your home? It’s lovely,” I say.

Macarius releases my hand and goes to pour himself a tall glass. “Care for a drink?” he asks, ignoring my comment.

“No. Thank you. I do not drink spirits. But can you…” I can’t seem to find the words I want to say. What in God’s name is happening to me?

He guzzles his drink and sets down his glass, staring into the fire. “Do you have any idea how long I have been looking for you?”

“How can this be if we’ve only just met?”

He turns and looks at me sternly with those deep blue eyes. “You and I both know that’s not true, óolal.”

“My name is Evelyn. Evelyn Burgess.”

“Call yourself whatever name pleases you. It does not change the fact that you are mine and that I am taking you up to my chamber.”

I am too stunned to move. I have never been with anyone.

“Why do I have memories of you?” I finally ask.

He steps towards me and places his hands on my shoulders. “Because you and I are connected. Until our last breaths, in this life and the next.” He bends slowly and presses his lips to mine. More memories flood in. I see faces of people with dark skin and black hair gathered around a fire. I think I loved them once, but they made me very unhappy. They wouldn’t let me love someone.

“I do not understand,” I say, pulling away.

“You don’t have to. Simply listen to your heart.”

Once again he takes my hand and leads me up a long marble staircase into his bedchamber where another warm fire fights the chill of the winter night outside. If there are servants in this home, I haven’t seen one yet, and for this I feel relieved.

He closes the door and locks it behind us. And somewhere, a part of my brain is telling me this is madness to walk out of a ball with a man I have never met, to go to his home unaccompanied, to give myself to him. Yet the other part of my mind tells me that I have been waiting for this my entire life.

He rushes to me and kisses me hard, his strong hands cupping the back of my head to bring me closer. His lips are soft, and he tastes like liquor. His wickedly skilled tongue slides against mine, and he enters my mouth, exploring and tasting me, breathing into me.

Before I know what’s happening, he pushes me back onto his large four-post bed, lifting up my skirts.