Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
I walk through the door into the red-tinged light and find myself not in the familiar white room, but outside, in a beautiful garden. It’s a perfect fall day, rich with the scent of honeysuckle. I’m at the head of a grassy aisle strewn with rose petals, flanked on either side by folding chairs filled with people. For some reason, everyone’s eyes are fixed on me.
Classical music drifts through the air, the plaintive call of a violin and the deeper, answering call of a cello. The sun streams down, dappling the garden, catching the sparkles in my dress: ivory lace with a champagne underlay, the train sweeping behind me like a wave as I walk. I’m barefoot, the grass soft beneath my feet.
At the end of my path is an arched arbor, the roof made of twisting limbs twined with white-flowered vines. Beneath it stands a man with his back to me, wearing a charcoal suit, impeccably pressed. His shoulders are broad, his hair dark as a crow’s wing and gleaming in the golden light. I have the undeniable sense that he’s waiting for me, and at the thought, happiness floods me. I feel insanely, incomparably lucky that this man will soon be mine.
This is my wedding day.
The musicians strike up a more soulful tune, and the man beneath the arbor turns. His piercing blue eyes meet mine, and his face lights with joy.
Holy hell. My groom is Donovan.
Shock reverberates through me as his lips form my name. But before I can take another step, a warm, viscous liquid washes over my feet. I glance down in horror to find red waves lapping at the hem of my dress. The rusty scent of blood fills the air, drowning out the perfume of the flowers, as the tide rises, buoying the chairs, flowing relentlessly down the aisle toward Donovan.
He screams my name, his face white with shock, and I fight the current, desperate to get to him. But it’s no use. The train of my dress drags me down. I watch, helpless and desperate, as a wave sweeps over his head and the ocean of blood swallows him whole.
I’m sure the premonition lasts only a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. When I open my eyes, I’m back in the office, sitting on the edge of Donovan’s desk, still wrapped in his arms.
“Rune?” His voice is low, husky. “Are you okay?”
I shake all over, a fine tremor that runs through me from head to toe. Frowning, he takes me by the shoulders and peers into my face. “Did I hurt you?”
“N-no.” I shudder, and he frees one of his hands, stroking my hair back from my face.
“Then what? Talk to me. Please.”
“I c-can’t.” My teeth are chattering, so hard I almost bite my tongue, and Donovan’s gaze darkens.
“If it wasn’t me, then it was someone,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me. But God, Rune, I would never make you do anything you didn’t want to. You know that, right?”
At the sincerity in his voice, tears stream down my cheeks. Wordless, I nod.
“Please don’t cry.” He wipes away my tears with the tips of his fingers, his touch so careful and deliberate. Just like everything else about him, until he lost all of his control in my arms. I want nothing more than to make him do it again. But at the thought of where that will lead—at what my premonition showed me—I cry harder.
This beautiful, infuriating man is meant to be my husband. And then, on our wedding day, our marriage will somehow cost him his life.
Donovan frowns, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. “You’re scaring me, Rune. Did I—did I do something? I swear to Christ, I never meant?—”
“It’s not you.” I pull away from him, trembling, and he lets me go, stepping away from the desk. As soon as my feet hit the floor, I back away from him, giving us both some distance. That doesn’t help: now I can see him clearly, and he looks as ravaged as I feel. His chest is heaving, his lips swollen from our kisses. His hands open and close at his sides, like it’s an effort not to reach for me. The pull between us is magnetic, as if we’re two halves of a single entity that are trying desperately to find their way back to each other. To become whole.
I’ve never felt anything like it. Have never imagined I could.
But it’s the one thing I can never, ever have.
“Donovan,” I whisper, “I can’t do this. We can’t do this.”
He peers at me, his features etched with confusion, pain shimmering in those unfairly gorgeous blue eyes. “What do you mean?”
It hurts to look at him. “I mean,” I say, avoiding his gaze, “that this is wrong.”
“Because we work together?” His eyebrows knit. “I know it has the potential for…awkwardness. But I’m not your supervisor, Rune. And there’s nothing in the employee manual saying it’s against regulations. So if that’s the only reason…”
Despite the dire situation, I can’t help snorting. “You looked it up?”
“I read the manual when Smashbox hired me!” He folds his arms across his chest, looking adorably indignant. “Didn’t you?”
“Not in its entirety. And even if I had, I don’t think I’d remember that little detail.”
“I may have revisited it last night. Just out of curiosity.”
My snort becomes a full-out laugh, only slightly impeded by my tears. “And here I thought dishonesty was one of your pet peeves, Donovan Frost.”
“Yeah, well, until ten minutes ago, I thought I was one of yours.” He takes a tentative step closer to me, and then, when I don’t retreat, one more. “What just happened between us, Rune…I want you to know, I’ve never done anything like that before.”
His eyes are wide, filled with wonder, lit with hope. I have to extinguish it. But I don’t want to. All I want is to taste him again. It’s intoxicating.
“What?” I tease, against my better judgment. “Almost have sex in your office? Disturb the order of your pristine desk? I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific, Mr. Frost.”
“All of that. Any of it. I’ve never felt anything like that.” He prowls a step closer, his eyes on my face. “Tell me it’s not just me, Rune. Tell me you felt it too.”
I should tell him I didn’t feel anything at all. That what happened between us was a mistake. That it meant nothing more to me than a meaningless, random hookup. It’s the only way to save his life.
But God, the scorching look in his eyes, the memory of those big hands of his gripping my hips, his body moving against mine…
“Rune,” he says again. My name is an incantation, a plea.
I can have this, just for tonight, can’t I? It doesn’t mean I have to marry the guy. I can just…not. What’s he going to do, drag me to the altar by my hair?
I know better. But, as if driven by a force as inexorable as the one that powered my premonitions, I take one step toward him, then another. He meets me halfway, and I stand on my tiptoes, grabbing his shirt collar and tugging him down to me. The moment our lips touch, I’m done for.
My mouth opens under his, inviting, and his tongue traces my lips, then sweeps inside. One of his hands plunges into my hair, anchoring me to him. The other grips my hip, guiding us backward until he cages me against the door. He kisses the tears from my face, then trails hot kisses down my neck, his tongue flicking along my collarbone. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” he murmurs against my skin. “I’ll stop, I promise.”
I should tell him exactly that. But Donovan Frost is a man who hates liars. And just once, I want to tell him the truth and have him believe me.
“I don’t want you to stop,” I say, slipping my hands under his shirt. His skin is an inferno under my hands, like he has a fever. “I want?—”
“What?” His hand leaves my hip, hitching my leg so it wraps around him. He presses against me and we both moan. “God, Rune, just tell me.”
It’s like I’ve drunk some kind of truth serum, because when I open my mouth, what falls out is something I’d hardly dared to voice, even to myself. I’ve been numb for so damn long. But now the monster is dead, and maybe, just maybe, I can let my armor fall.
“Donovan,” I whisper, knotting my fingers in his dark hair. “I want you to make me feel.”
He draws back at that, looking down at me. His pupils are blown wide, his irises only a rim of blue. “Jesus Christ. What are you doing to me?”
“I—”
“Whatever it is,” he says roughly, “do it some more.”
He lifts me then. I wrap my legs around his waist and we move together against the door, still, somehow, fully clothed. His mouth devours mine, his tongue licking at me and his teeth biting gently into my lower lip, nipping along my jaw. He presses against me, moving me how he wants me, and I dig my nails into his shoulders, gasping.
“Feel this,” he whispers, one hand braced on the door above my head and the other supporting me, holding me up. “Feel me .”
And, oh God, I do. I feel everything.
In that moment, I see our future, unrolling like a scroll in front of me. Nights spent twined around each other. Days spent trading banter and creating a life of our own design, my chaos and his obsessive organization somehow folding seamlessly together into a beautiful whole. We’ll argue and we’ll fight but we’ll always come back together. Until one day he’ll propose and I’ll say yes and then…and then…
My premonitions always come true. And if Donovan and I give in to the attraction between us, it will only end one way.
In his death.
Seeing the future is my gift. And my curse.
I refuse to let it curse him, too.
Gathering every bit of my resolve, I flatten the palms of both hands against his chest and shove. Startled, he drops me to the floor and stumbles backward, his blue eyes dazed.
“Rune, what?—”
“I don’t want you to stop,” I say again. “But we have to.”
I yank the door open, snatch my purse from the hook beside it, and flee.