Your Wish Is My Command Page 14

He'd changed things last night. He would have to work hard to put that behind them and reassure her that he was quite in control of himself now and that she had no reason to fear he'd make any untoward advances.

  Even if he didn't quite believe it himself.

  He motioned to the wrought-iron table and chairs arranged by a small water fountain. “Why don't you have a seat and I'll go prepare something to drink as we talk. Are you hungry?”

  This time the momentary flash in her eyes discomfitted him. Pleasurably so. He stepped away and turned toward the loggia. “I'll prepare some cheese and crackers.”

  “That's not necessary,” she said. “I'm fine, really.”

  Sebastien was already retreating. Not running, precisely, just taking the wisest course of action. “I'll return momentarily. Make yourself comfortable.”

  “Would you like some help?”

  He paused then and looked back. She was clearly disappointed not to be invited in. Her curiosity all but filled the air between them—the air that wasn't already humming with other, more-vibrant sensations.

  He was tempted to invite her in. For some reason it was vital to him that she believe fully in him and what he truly was. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit it went deeper than merely advancing his cause with her to fulfill his obligations. It bothered him that she was so resistant to believing in him.

  It was an issue of trust. And that disconcerted him most of all. For the last thing he'd ever expected from a woman was trust. And why should she trust him? In his extended life he'd always sampled freely from life's bounty. His loyalty was to the cause, whether it was with the Laffite brothers or his matching of souls. Never to something as fleeting as the pleasures one could find with a woman. Which was why he generally dallied with women who preferred a similar arrangement. Neat, tidy, and mutually satisfying. Trust and loyalty never entered into it.

  Until now.

  Her charms commanded his attention in ways he'd never anticipated. Which brought up the matter of having her in such close proximity to himself. This courtyard was intimate but not nearly as private as the interior. Given that, it was wise to answer her questions while keeping her at a distance. Perhaps their talk today would enlighten him as well, help him find some logic in the surge of emotions he was feeling.

  “I can manage,” he said. “Look around if you'd like.” He forced a smile in the face of her obvious disappointment. “Why don't you formulate your questions? I'll answer them all as soon as I return.”

  “I have them all lined up.” She smiled sweetly. “And yes, you will.”

  He left, smiling to himself. She was quite the match. A beguiling sauciness underscored with that thread of uncertainty that always caught him so off guard. This should be interesting. Very interesting.

  Jamie nosed around the small burbling fountain while waiting for Sebastien to return. There were several fat koi meandering lazily through the water. Her thoughts weren't on them, however. She was none too happy at being held at bay out here. She was dying to see the inside of the small row house. How would it be decorated? Was he a slob or did he tend toward the compulsive? Did he have any memorabilia of his supposed former life? Tables and mantels cluttered with plundered antiquities?

  Or, worse, would the interior only prove that he was a regular guy, with dirty socks strewn about, men's magazines in the bathroom, and some delusional problems he kept swept under the rug?

  Maybe it's better to stay out here, after all. Which meant she wanted answers but only if they were the ones she wanted to hear.

  Then he was back, looking incredibly male in his pleated trousers and white linen shirt. The cuffs were rolled up, exposing tanned forearms with crisp curls of black hair sprinkled lightly over them. She wondered briefly if he had hair on his chest, then immediately yanked her thoughts away as she found her eyes drifting speculatively in that direction.

  She half-rose to take the tray from his hands, but he shook his head and lowered the platter to the table.

  Two icy glasses of lemonade and a small plate of cheese and crackers, along with a small bowl of sugar and some napkins, filled the tray.

  “I wasn't sure if you liked your lemonade tart or sweet,” he said, explaining the sugar bowl.

  “No sugar for me, thanks.”

  “Tart, then,” he said with a smile. “Like your tongue.”

  Now, why did he have to go and say words like tongue? Didn't he know what kind of images that would instigate in her way-too-fertile brain?

  It was all the jungle flora in this courtyard, she decided. Way too earthy. Perhaps being alone with him like this had been another tactical error on her part.

  She studiously focused her attention on taking her glass and a napkin. She could feel the heat of his smile like a ray of sunshine beating down on the top of her head, but she resolutely refused to look up. She went about choosing her cheese and crackers as if it were a life-and-death decision.

  And perhaps it was. She hadn't felt such a moment of consequence since she'd made the decision to leave racing.

  He settled across from her. “What would you like to discuss first?”

  Jamie decided she'd question him from the stance that he was what he claimed to be. Perhaps he'd slip up. Perhaps not. She wasn't sure which result she'd rather have, but she didn't have to worry about that right now.

  “Where do you go when you're not here?” She waved a hand toward the town house.

  “It depends on what my goals are for the day. Some days I spend doing research, some days—”

  “No, you misunderstood me. I mean when you're not here—as in, on earth. Alive. Living, breathing. Where are you between assignments, as it were?”

  “Ah.” He leaned back and rested his icy glass on his knee, heedless of the trickles of water sliding onto his trousers. “I'm not sure I can explain that to your satisfaction.”

  She smiled. “Try.”

  “I do not have any real cognizance of when I'm not here. It is as if, when I complete my work, I go to sleep.”

  “And you wake up when the next person draws the sword?”

  “Oui.”

  “So when the final match is made, what do you do? Go poof?”

  “Not exactly. I retrieve the sword and present it to my master. Or mistress. Once they take hold of it, I disappear. Much in the manner I appeared before you when you drew the blade out.”

  “And if that same person draws the sword again?”

  He shook his head. “I will not appear. You can summon me only once.” He shrugged. “Beyond that, I do not know much of how or why the curse works. Only that it does.”

  “Wait. You're saying you don't even know the rules?”

  “I can only explain my existence. When I am here, I am as human as you are. I do not feel as if any special powers have been bestowed on me.” He smiled and lifted his shoulders. “Perhaps doors always seem unlocked to my touch—” He lifted a hand to stall her question. “I conduct myself as a gentleman always, mademoiselle.”

  “A gentleman who takes pleasure in giving me a heart attack by popping up unexpectedly. But at least I can stop locking the bathroom door now when I shower. Why bother, right?”

  His eyes glittered with amusement.

  Jamie glared back at him, not at all comfortable with the direction in which this was headed. “So that's it?”

  “I seem to have a heightened awareness of when two people belong together. Perhaps my powers of persuasion are more highly developed.” He grinned. “My rate of success speaks for that.”

  “So you've never failed?”

  He held her direct gaze. “Never.”

  Jamie took a sip of lemonade but found it difficult to swallow. He was far too confident, and she was well aware that she was next on his list. She shook that off. It wasn't like she believed this. Not really.

  “Some matches take longer to make than others,” he conceded. “But every match I have made endured until death claimed one, the other, or both.” He lifted a s
houlder. “And who can say of their afterlife together, yes?”

  “Do you check up on them? When you come back?”

  “Mais oui. This time it has been somewhat more difficult, in that my time away was much longer than ever before. It is more usual for months to elapse, occasionally a year or so, but this time it was decades. Edgar must have tucked the sword away so safely that no one ever came across it during the remainder of his lifetime.”

  “Yes, he did. I suppose at one time he lived in the building he left to Ree, but no one had lived there for some time. I guess none of the people he leased it to ever snooped around.”

  Sebastien grinned. “Unlike you.”

  He had an uncanny way of making her blush. She couldn't recall ever having that particular problem before. When she was with him it was almost a chronic condition. “Yes, well, I think we've already discussed my love for buried treasure.”

  The sudden flash in Sebastien's eyes was far too intimate for her comfort. The sense of connection she felt with him at times bordered on the spooky. She turned her attention to the cheese and crackers, and back to the conversation as well. “So, how many couples would you say you've matched up?”

  “Hundreds.”

  She choked on her bite of cracker but forced it down. “Hundreds?”

  “That is a fair assessment, oui.” He said it matter-of-factly, without false modesty or arrogance.

  This whole conversation wasn't doing much to reassure her. Yet. “Is it unusual for a woman to summon you?”

  “It is true I have had far more masters, but you are not my first mistress.”

  “I imagine you enjoyed those … liaisons.” She'd meant to sound wry, but it had come out a tad more accusing than she'd hoped.

  “I have found some pleasure in each of my summons.” He sat forward, looking more closely at her. “Ah, that is not what you meant. I see. Well, perhaps I can set your mind at ease. Just as I do not bed those I am destined to match, I do not dally with those who mistress me.”

  Jamie wanted to ask him what in the hell last night had been all about, then. She was both mistress and match. But she wasn't ready to go there. She did realize, however, that this was exactly why she was here today. To make some sense of what he'd said last night. To make sense of her attraction to him, a man who was so completely wrong for her that even she could see it. And to make sense of his attraction to her, a woman he'd made it clear—in more ways than her ego specifically required—he would never normally “dally” with.

  Sebastien had apparently taken her rejection rather easily, since he'd had no problems reverting back to a more platonic mode with her. She had only herself to blame for being so ridiculously disappointed. After all, she'd told him no way, no how.

  “Yes, well, I can see where 'dallying' could complicate things.” She hurried on. “So is your mistress or master always one of your matches?”

  “Many times, to be certain, but no, not always. In fact, I recall one elderly mistress of mine. Arabella DuPrais. Delightful woman. Very witty. She had me match up her three grandchildren.” He grimaced. “They weren't so delightful.”

  Jamie found herself laughing. “So I'm not alone in being less than overjoyed at the prospect of being saddled with someone for life?”

  He tilted his head and studied her in that disconcerting way of his, but only said, “These particular souls had been searching for their mates for some time. Let us just say there were some obvious reasons why their attempts were not meeting with success. Some souls must overcome many obstacles before their mates can be found.”

  He shifted his attention to the crackers and cheese, and Jamie took advantage and studied him. If this were merely a role he was playing, he was a brilliant actor. Of course, if he were merely delusional, then he truly believed he was his character. Either way, his role was picture-perfect—and very convincing. Her forehead began to throb.

  Sebastien shifted his gaze to hers, catching her unaware. She didn't look away. “You still do not believe.”

  She shook her head, then shrugged. “Honestly, I don't know what to believe.” She tried for a laugh, but it came out sounding a bit hollow. “You have to admit you're asking for a lot. I suppose everyone else just leapt at the opportunity to have their own personal genie and didn't bother to ask questions?”

  “No, you are not the first unbeliever. As long as I can get my masters and mistresses to name their souls for matching, it is not imperative that they believe.”

  “But most end up believing, don't they?” She knew the answer before he nodded. “So why do you care what I believe?”

  Now it was his turn to shrug. “I have asked myself that. Many times. The logical response is that, because you are one of my matches, it is to my benefit to have your assistance.”

  “But that's not why?”

  “It is part of it, to be sure.”

  Jamie's muscles tightened up and she sat her glass back on the table. That inescapable magnetism was heavy in the air between them. She wanted to back away, to shift the conversation to some other path. A path without her right in the middle of it. But maybe that was the real problem. Maybe it was time to be done with it, one way or the other.

  “And the rest of it?” she asked. “Why do you really care?”

  He sat his glass down as well. “Do you really wish to discuss this?”

  “No,” she answered honestly. “But I think maybe we'd better.”

  “The rest of it is this: I am attracted to you. I told you this last night.”

  A shiver of excitement that was totally unacceptable raced over her skin. Foolish. “You also told me you couldn't figure out why in the world you were.” She raised her hand to stall his response. “But you're telling me this has never happened before?”

  He held her gaze captive. “Not like this.”

  Her ego had taken a beating last night. That one sentence made up for almost all of it. Her throat worked, but it remained dry. “And what … what is 'this'?”

  “Attraction is usually a fleeting thing, a physical thing. For me, anyway. If the woman is unattainable for some reason, I generally don't waste time pursuing her. I find another … distraction to meet my needs.”

  Jamie tried hard to ignore the images of Sebastien distracting himself with someone else. They flooded her brain anyway. And she discovered she really didn't like them at all. Not a good sign.

  “And yet, this time …” He paused, then raised his hands helplessly. “I cannot seem to find a suitable distraction.”

  Jamie wasn't sure what to say to that. She knew what her body wanted to say. Her body wanted to fling itself across the table, into his lap, and tell him to dissipate his tension at will. And at great length.

  “I-I-”

  Sebastien lifted his hand to silence her. Which was good, since she had no idea what would have come out of her mouth just then.

  “I will not pursue this attraction I feel for you. It cannot be. For many reasons. Not the least of which is my responsibility to find your match. I apologize again for not keeping this disturbing development under my own counsel.”

  “Out of curiosity, what would happen to you if we … you know, dallied.” Had she really asked that? When his eyes flared and her body reacted accordingly, she wished she could've retracted the question.

  “I've never become involved in any way with any of my mistresses or matches. Initially that was more by chance. I do not know what would happen if I did, only that I feel it is wrong. It is not my purpose.”

  “And just how do you know what your purpose is? I mean, you seem awfully accepting of this eternal curse of yours, you know?”

  “Perhaps I was not all that accepting at first,” he said, his tone sharper. “But then I came to realize that as curses go, this one is fairly bearable. It is, in a sense, immortality. Have you not wondered what will become of people, of places, of things, beyond your lifetime? Because of this 'curse,' as you call it, I have been able to discover this.”

 
; “Of course, I think we all wonder what the future will be like, but it couldn't have been that simple for you.”

  “I never said it was a simple matter.”

  “Then tell me, that day you were cursed … well, what happened, how? When did you know your fate? Did someone explain it to you, or did you just appear the first time someone pulled the sword out and know in your gut you had to match three souls?” She was bullying him a little, but maybe she was doing it more for herself. A last-ditch effort to break through his facade, if this was one. Hadn't she set out today to find out, one way or another, just what and who he really was?

  “These are not simple questions with simple answers.”

  She leaned back, terrified of what she might be about to hear, and yet she knew she had no choice. The look in his eyes was as steady as ever. But was there a warning there as well? Had she gone too far, pushed too hard? “In all this time, certainly someone has doubted you before.”

  “Perhaps once or twice. You would be surprised how unquestioning people can be when their good fortune is at hand.”

  “Well, you already know how I feel about my 'good fortune.'”

  Now he sighed and leaned forward. “Jamie, perhaps it would be best if you simply—”

  “Answer my questions, Sebastien. I want to understand.”

  When he spoke, his tone was expressionless. “Oriane was the one to place the curse, and it was she who explained, as she cursed me, what my fate was to be.” He lifted a hand when Jamie opened her mouth. “If you wish to hear this tale, then you must let me tell it in my own way. If you still have queries when I am finished, you can question me further.”

  It wasn't until that moment that it occurred to Jamie how selfish her badgering was. He was always so charming and gallant, it was easy to believe that there was nothing dark in his life, that he was truly as affable and upbeat about his eternal fate as he seemed to be on the surface. “If what I'm asking will churn up painful memories … I'm sorry, Sebastien. I wasn't thinking.”

  “I am not concerned about the pain, Jamie. I don't see why the specifics of my past should matter, but obviously they do to you.”