17. Bella with Darius on Sunday Afternoon #2
“What does it mean?” I ask quietly.
He looks at me.
“I’ve seen you before, too,” he says.
My breath catches.
“In a dream,” he continues. “Many times over the years.”
The world narrows to just the two of us. My heart is racing.
“For how long?” I ask.
“Long enough,” he says.
“Did I say anything in your dreams?” I ask.
A flicker of something passes through his expression.
“You told me I took my time,” he says.
My pulse spikes. That line. I said it.
“And what did you say?” I ask.
A pause.
Then—
“You found your way back to me,” he replies quietly again.
The room tilts. Like a piece just fell into place. Or locked into position.
“How is this possible?” I whisper.
“I don’t know.”
“And yet—”
“And yet,” he finishes.
“In my dream, the bell always tolls and I wake up. I never saw your face. But I felt you. I heard you.”
Silence stretches between us, charged with emotion and recognition and mystery. I reach out and he takes my hand. It’s strong and cool. Hundreds of emotions are running through me.
“What could it mean?” I ask quietly.
His gaze doesn’t leave mine.
“It means,” he says slowly, “that we were meant to meet. Maybe it’s fate? Or maybe something brought you here…”
“…and it wasn’t chance.”
My breath catches.
I’m not one to believe in fate, or magic. I’m a doctor, and I believe in facts and science. But this? I can’t deny this. This feeling I have. The dreams we’ve had of each other. The feeling of, maybe, fate?
He pulls me closer. He smells so good, feels so good. I’m simply overcome.
“Bella,” he says slowly in that low, sensual voice.
Gods be damned, I lean forward and suddenly kiss him. How can I not?
His lips are soft and full and slightly salty. My lips feel like they were made for this. He kisses me back, pulling me closer to him with a small groan.
Oh, the feel of it. The feel of him. The feel of this kiss, and his body close to mine.
I pull back to catch my breath. The way he looks at me causes me to blush.
His thumb brushes softly across my cheek. Not rushed or possessive, just seductive and adoring. Like he can’t quite believe I’m real either.
“You blush,” he murmurs, and there’s something dangerously intimate about the observation.
“Well,” I reply breathlessly, “this evening took a very unexpected turn.”
A faint smile touches his mouth.
“I disagree.”
“Oh?”
“I expected it the moment you walked into this house.”
Angels above, every time I hear that voice, I rumble inside.
The fire crackles softly somewhere deeper in the room while rain starts to fall faintly against the tall windows overlooking the cliffs below. Everything about this moment feels suspended outside normal life. Outside logic.
My hand is still on his chest and we face each other, standing close. And I don’t want him to let go.
That realization should concern me more than it does. I mean, I don’t know him at all, right?
“When you first met me at the clinic, you looked at me like you recognized me,” I say quietly.
“I did.”
“And you said nothing?”
His jaw shifts slightly.
“What exactly was I supposed to say?” he asks softly. “‘Good evening, doctor. We’ve apparently been haunting each other subconsciously for years? Or ‘you’re the girl of my dreams that I’ve seen over and over.’”
A startled laugh escapes me.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly at the sound, and something warm flashes briefly through his expression. It changes him completely when he almost smiles. Warmer.
More seductive.
Because now I can imagine wanting to make him smile again.
“I might have thought you were a mental patient,” I admit. “But that would have been memorable.”
“You’re already memorable.”
The words settle low in my stomach.
Hell, the man doesn’t even flirt like normal people. Everything he says sounds like a confession whispered in candlelight, elevated, going straight into my soul.
I glance toward the enormous windows. Fog rolls over the cliffs below in pale waves while the sea crashes violently beneath the manor.
“It’s beautiful here,” I say softly.
“It can be.”
Something in his tone makes me look back at him sharply.
“Sometimes?” I ask.
His eyes hold mine.
“Sometimes it’s lonely. And sometimes this island becomes hungry.”
A chill slides through me. Not fear exactly. Awareness. The same awareness I felt the moment I stepped onto Bloodhaven Cove. Like something on the island noticed me arriving.
His eyes darken slightly.
“Bella.”
Just my name. But the way he says it sends heat spiraling through me.
“If you keep saying my name like that,” I whisper, “I’m going to make very questionable life choices.”
Darius laughs softly again.
And there it is. That strange pull in my chest.
Because for all the impossible things happening—for all the mystery and seduction surrounding him—this feels weirdly easy.
Like finding someone I somehow already knew.
His hand slides slowly along my waist, drawing me nearer until I can feel the cool strength of him against me. My pulse jumps wildly.
“You’re cold,” I murmur.
“I know.”
“But somehow you don’t feel cold.”
Something flickers across his face then. Something older. Vulnerable.
“You should be careful with me,” he says quietly. He doesn’t say it with arrogance. Just a statement.
And somehow that affects me more than if he’d tried to seduce me outright.
“Why, Darius? Why should I be careful?”