Wishing Well(37)

Except, I wasn’t sure anything we could possibly do when nobody was looking would be a mistake. I knew deep down, that even if it meant nothing, just having one moment of being with Vincent would be like dying and stepping through Heaven’s gates.

“I should go,” I breathed out, repeating his words as I pushed from my seat, careful not to touch him as I moved past. Reaching the door, I couldn’t help glancing back to see that he was still watching me. My pulse fluttered beneath my skin when our eyes met.



. . .



I wish there was a way to turn off your brain. Like a special switch, or perhaps a drug you could easily access at a corner store that would enable you not to think, not to dream, not to wonder how stupid you are.

While working the morning shift the day after meeting Vincent in his office, I found that even the physical labor wasn’t enough to distract my every thought from being homed in and focused on him. Questions lingered in hidden corners, whispering - always whispering - as I told myself that I was a silly girl for even entertaining the thought that I’d seen desire in his eyes when I’d glanced back before leaving his office.



Desire.

Heat.

Regret.

Dismay.



Was he thinking about me as often as I was thinking about him?

Returning my cart to the employee office, I said my goodbyes to Theresa for the day when she informed me there weren’t any additional jobs that needed to be done. I didn’t feel like going up to my room immediately, so I wandered the employee halls instead, eventually making my way out into the gardens. Still wearing my housekeeping uniform, I wound down the cobblestone path, continuing far past the wishing well that was a centerpiece of the gardens, and after exploring for what felt like an hour, I discovered another small alcove, one large enough to hold a bench swing.

Spring was settling into the air, the sun able to warm the breeze that softly blew past. The vines, bushes and trees were all a bright green with new leaves, and except for the muted sounds of traffic outside the walls, the garden was silent.

For the first time in two weeks, I felt peace settle over my mind, the constant whispers quieting as I approached the bench swing. Lying down, I allowed a leg to drape over the edge, the tip of my foot pushing against the ground so that the swing would rock me like a cradle. A breeze tickled up my legs, but I didn’t feel exposed with my unladylike position since the alcove provided privacy and the boy shorts I wore beneath my grey dress kept too much from being seen.

After a while, I wasn’t quite sleeping and wasn’t quite awake. Instead I was in an in-between, a place where I felt hypnotized, relaxed, drifting over a softly rolling wave that came to a sudden stop as soon as gravel crunched beside me and a heavy weight dropped down onto the seat near my legs.

“Are you enjoying the peace and quiet?” Vincent asked, his voice smooth and rich, fluid and entrancing. I opened my eyes to see him with one arm draped over the back of the bench seat, the corners of his lips tilted up just slightly, the green shirt he wore bringing out the jeweled clarity of his eyes. “Have I ruined it for you?”

Yes...but in good way.

“No,” I answered, “Not at all.” Moving to sit up, he gripped the ankle of my bent leg that I’d propped on the seat of the bench.

“Don’t move on my account. Continue relaxing. I was just out for a stroll looking for a bit of peace and quiet myself.”

Sparks chased up my leg from where his fingers wrapped over my skin. Unable to breathe, much less talk, I trembled when he gripped beneath the knee of my other leg and lifted it so that my leg would drape across his lap. The bench continued softly swinging, and I assumed it was his feet that pushed against the ground to keep the slow motion going.

“I was just getting some air after working this morning,” I finally said, searching but finding nothing more interesting to say. Vincent watched me with amusement in his eyes, his left hand still gripping the ankle of my right leg. When I realized that he had an unobstructed view down my skirt, a shiver coursed through me. Normally, I hated to be exposed, but for this man, the feeling was far different.

My heart stuttered, a pulse in my throat as his left hand released its hold on my ankle, his fingertips slowly brushing up the side of my calf.

“Does this bother you?”

“Your presence?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“My touch.” There was no waver to his voice. Fluid as water, strong as steel, as assured as any man would be, knowing he cornered his prey.

“No.” I inhaled. “Yes.” Exhaled. “Maybe.”

Dark laughter danced along the breeze. “That’s not an answer. Or perhaps it’s the most accurate answer of all.”

When I thought he would continue taunting me as the tips of his fingers stroked up and down, never reaching my knee, never going any place inappropriate, he surprised me with an unexpected question.

“Will you be attending the Masquerade Ball next week?”

“The what?” I squeaked, willing his fingers to go just a little higher, to breach the curve of my knee...to explore down. As usual, he refused to give me what I wanted. I was practically squirming when he finally answered.

“Our annual Masquerade Ball. It is one of the biggest events for the Wishing Well. Every person will be elegantly dressed, their masks concealing their faces. Everybody who is somebody will be there.”