Third Time's a Charm (Holland Springs #3)(62)
“Because I was trapped in mangled steel for ten hours and had to be cut out of my parents’ car. Confined spaces are not—” his voice cracked slightly and he cleared his throat even as hers thickened in disappointment. “—let’s start moving again before I do something quite ridiculous.”
As soon as his hands fell away, she stepped back and turned around, striding to the flashlight. She wasn’t falling for his routine. No matter how sincerely anxious he sounded. But she stopped and waited for him to catch up anyway.
“Idiot,” she muttered. She should have left him to curl up in a ball in the middle of the tunnel. However, being cruel had never been in her nature.
“I hear water,” he said and her sweater grew tight against her breasts. He had to be holding on to it. “Does this mean we’re close?”
Unable to stop herself, she reached back and grabbed his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Almost there.”
“Thank you,” he said softly.
Ducking under a particularly low formation of rock, she entered the main room, then turned right and pressed an old-fashioned light switch. Several bulbs connected by a series of cords glowed brightly, chasing away the shadows.
Behind her, Sasha took a deep breath and let go of her sweater. “It’s smaller than I expected.” He brushed past her, carrying a box the size of a large cosmetics case in his left hand. He skirted the edge of the spring, then turned to her. “How deep is it?”
Rose hit her collar bone with the edge of her hand. “Here, but you have to be careful on the left side. There’s a sudden drop-off and you can feel it sucking at your feet like a drain.” She joined him and stared at the deceptively calm water. “Whatever gets pulled down shows up at the legendary spring. If I know a couple will be there on a certain day and time, I send flowers to them.”
“What about the temperature?”
Shrugging, she said, “Not everything can be explained away.”
He grunted. “The herbs?”
“That I can explain.” She pointed to an over-sized chest in the corner. “It’s a mixture I add three times a week. One that’s been passed down from generation to generation. Hollands have been adding herbs to the springs for over two hundred and fifty years. Supposedly, the mixture can cure everything from toothaches to burns. But not broken hearts, and it can’t make anyone fall in love. Or tell the truth.” Clamping her mouth shut to keep from rambling even more, she turned to face him. He looked resigned. Soon he’d be free. To go wherever he wanted. See whoever he wanted. A little pinch in her heart made her rub the vee-neck of her sweater.
Sasha’s perfect lips parted, and the hand at his side clenched into a fist as he took a step closer to her. All that separated them was the box he held in his other hand. “I never meant to hurt you.”
But he had anyway. Over and over. She stepped back and ignored his quasi-apology. “Ready to get this over with?” she managed to ask with a completely straight face.
“Absolutely.” The smooth line of his jaw clenched and he knelt on the floor, setting the box down and opening it. He pulled out four empty vials and scooped up some water. “I’ll need some time to find out what I can add to this that will seem like a natural impurity.”
“Why bother?”
“I don’t want him to win.”
She didn’t need to ask who “him” was. Shifting her stance, she clicked the flashlight’s on/off button a couple of times as he capped each one off. “Was I payback? A big you-can’t-tell me-what-to-do experiment?”
“No.” He didn’t elaborate and she refused to ask him anything else. After storing the vials and closing the box, he stood and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
Rose swallowed, remembering his hands on her body last night, this morning. His fingers teasing and making her cry out in pleasure. His palms gliding over her back and pulling her closer. Holding her, making her feel safe and wanted.
That was all it had been—a feeling. Fleeting and bruising her poor heart more than she’d ever imagined.
Sighing, she took his hand and they began the dark trek back to the house.
Chapter Eighteen
Sasha stood at the front door, wishing Rose would give him a proper send off. Hell, he didn’t care if it involved a knife or a rock. The need to see her alone ate at him, but Skye had shown up fifteen minutes after they’d emerged from the tunnel. He knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t get another chance.
And as if God was in a really good mood, or out to let the Devil torture him, Rose appeared at the top of the grand staircase and his heart turned over.
“Leave your house key on the table, and I’ll get the remainder of your rent back to you on Monday,” she said, staring right through him it seemed.
“Keep it.”
An elegant brow arched. “For services rendered?”
His jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Quit thinking of yourself like that. You’re not Poppy Holland for Christ’s sake. You have a choice and—” She whirled away from him and disappeared down the hall. “Rose, come back.” He strode to the stairs and put one foot on the bottom step, poised to chase after her. But self-preservation, male ego or whatever he wanted to call it stopped him from making a complete arse of himself.