Third Time's a Charm (Holland Springs #3)(4)
She inched closer, wanting to kiss that full bottom lip. To take it between her teeth and tug.
“You can go now, Rose,” he said, breaking the spell she was under.
Somehow she managed to straighten and walk out of the bathroom without looking back.
Fifteen minutes later, she helped him down the stairs and to the back door.
“Be sure to thank your doctor friend for the clothes and shoes,” Sasha said as he held the door open for her. Dismissing her help with a shake of his head, he limped only slightly to the sidewalk.
Despite the grimace of pain he didn’t mask quickly enough from her view, Rose knew better than to feel sorry for him.
He cursed and leaned over, resting his hands on his thighs for a moment before standing and turning to face her. The lines around his mouth were white.
Well, maybe she felt a tiny bit sorry for him. “Here’s your phone.” She held it out and he grabbed it, sliding the cell into the back pocket of his borrowed jeans. “You left it in the bathroom.”
“Thank you.”
A black Mercedes idled at a discreet distance, but in the small town of Holland Springs an unfamiliar and expensive car at any distance warranted gossip.
He took her by the hand, his eyes mysterious and compelling. “I know this is a day too late, however, I want to apologize, Rose. You deserved better than the silent treatment I gave you. It was rude and uncalled for. I—”
“Just the silent treatment?” She tilted her head to one side.
His jaw worked for a moment. “No, I’m sorry for ending our date so abruptly. But I won’t apologize for what happened before then. I enjoyed spending time with you. It was…” His eyes shifted, looking behind her and becoming hard as peridot gemstones. “Anyway, you’re an extremely generous woman to help me.”
She might have helped him, but she wasn’t ready to forgive. Or forget. “I would have helped anyone in that situation.”
He gave her a wry smile, his thumb stroking the pulse of her wrist with a continuous lazy glide. “So, this is good-bye.”
“You won’t be coming back?”
“I think two holidays spent in Holland Springs is enough, don't you?” He winked.
“Have a safe trip.” Gently tugging her hand away, she left him standing there.
She walked inside her store, closing the door and leaning against it, her heart pounding in her chest. Blowing out a breath, she nodded once and sank to the floor, the dissipation of adrenaline leaving her body limp.
It really was for the best that he wouldn’t be back. No more surprise visits or using his siren’s voice to ensnare her like she was one of those sea-faring sailors of yore. No more spontaneous dates or kissing, or…She let out a heavy sigh.
Sasha Romanov was completely out of her life. For good.
Chapter Two
Present Day
There were very few days Rose wished she were an actual witch, but today was one of them.
Thursday had started out innocuous enough: delivering packages to Alden’s; emailing confirmations for new orders while feeding Ivy; shoving strawberry yogurt down her own throat; and then, opening Carolina Dreams for business at ten.
But today.
Today, she’d been busy dusting the inside of the store’s windows and had gotten a glimpse of a tall, lean form that made her palms sweat and her knees weak.
A flash of Sasha Romanov’s killer smile as he inspected Retro Dayz, the store for sale across the street, made her jaw tighten.
If she possessed the power to poof him back to jolly old England or some other exotic location, like the deepest depths of hell—she would. Gladly.
He’d lied to her.
Sasha had said he wasn’t coming back.
But there he was.
And here she was, staring at him through her store’s front window like an Old Navy mannequin.
She threw down the dust cloth and crossed her arms. But really, what could she expect from someone like him, someone allergic to honesty and decency?
The afternoon sun slanted through the autumn leaves of the ornamental trees lining the street, highlighting his head like a halo. As if he was an angel sent to her small town. All the single women (and quite a few of the married ones) would be completely thrilled he was back.
But only if one liked disheveled golden hair, sexy green eyes and bronze skin accentuating lean muscles wrapped up in the latest Tom Ford creation. And Rose, most certainly, did not.
Liar, a little voice inside her head whispered.
Rose rubbed the gold cross she always wore, stroking it between her thumb and forefinger. It had been in her family for generations. Local legend claimed that in 1795, Poppy Holland had bewitched a visiting preacher with her violet eyes and special brew of strawberry wine. Only a woman in league with the devil would be gifted with jewelry from a married man, making the first witch with the last name Holland thusly tagged.
That had been the start of the whispers, innuendos and flat out name-calling. Just last week, Maisy Perry had referred to Rose as a home-wrecking witch for looking at her fiancé and declared that she would never, ever step foot in Carolina Dreams again.
But just like always, Maisy had been forced to eat her words when she’d needed love advice. (And her monthly supply of cellulite vanishing cream.)
Rose hadn’t gloated. She never gloated. She never cried or yelled. She never insulted anyone back. But she wasn’t a damn saint. She did it privately, where no one could hear her. Where not even her sisters could hear her. Well, Skye anyway. Summer had taken off—again.