Page 14 of Love Spell (Witches of London #3)

Timo sat on the edge of the tub, trousers rolled up to his shins, feet soaking in a few inches of hot water, one hand over his eyes. Every toe on his left foot was bruised and swollen. Thankfully no worse, but he might not be able to avoid a limp for a day or two.

What was happening to his life? Tonight was impossible.

Everyone knew that. The whole goddamn universe knew how tonight was going to end: two twined souls, eyes meet across a crowded room, a holiday, an overnight resort, a day of luxury, boozing, smoking, chemistry between them fogging the windows — he even had the bloody roses.

Everyone, everyone , knew how the night ended. Everyone except Noah Cerveny. So it wasn’t happening, which was impossible, defying all the laws of physics. Just impossible.

The muscles in Timo’s jaw worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth, eyes screwed up below his hand, squeezing his temples with thumb and middle finger.

What more could he possibly have done? Slower?

Kiss first? No, he was positive that wouldn’t have worked.

Pushed Noah a bit more? Noah had been correct about Timo needing his nose intact right now.

It was bad enough that it sprang regular leaks.

He wouldn’t be able to do his job of networking at the conference if he had a plaster on his nose and bruised face like he’d been in a car wreck.

Somebody more unscrupulous might already have slipped something into Noah’s drink.

Not that Timo would ever sink that low. He liked his partners at the very least conscious and ideally enthusiastic.

And he’d never do Noah any harm. Of course not.

Noah needed protecting, watching over, wooing.

What would be useful was if someone else tried such tactics on Noah and Timo saved him and executed the perpetrator and Noah saw what a hero Timo was, how devoted and selfless he was, thinking only of Noah, and be reminded that he was in the process of falling madly in love with Timo.

This scenario being unlikely, Timo wondered if he might stage something else. Could he save Noah from being struck by a car while crossing the street, for example? Or from a mugging? Or from a bear?

Yes, a bear would be the ideal thing to save someone from and earn his undying devotion as a result, looking incredibly ripped and heroic in the process. So … a trip to Russia? Not happening. Alaska then. Basically the same thing once you went outdoors.

All right. So all he needed to do was get Noah to invite him home to Alaska, get him out into the forest, find a bear, and make sure he was carrying … what? Not a gun. Nothing brave about shooting an animal. A bowie knife? Sure. Or two? Just one and a rock?

So they’d go out hiking and — was it a brown bear or black bear?

Had to be brown. Had to be big. Had to be a male.

And this was the perfect season because they would go into hibernation soon.

They were all busy getting fat as butter right now, feasting on salmon and reindeer calves and human hikers who weren’t saved at the last instant by their Russian-English lovers wielding nothing but a bowie knife and a fistful of sand thrown in the bear’s eyes.

There’d be a media buzz and they’d end up getting married and become the famous bear couple.

Better get the bowie knife in Alaska. Airline security might be fussy about that.

Trouble was, after how Noah behaved tonight, throwing the law of averages and the whole universe out of whack by his impossible behaviour, by his not being in Timo’s bed at this very moment, begging Timo for more and deeper, gasping out Timo’s name as he came, he’d probably not respond correctly even if Timo saved his life from a rampaging grizzly bear with nothing but a pocketknife.

Yeah, make it a pocket knife. Not so small that it looked stupid in the press photos, but small enough to draw gasps from the crowd — “No, you tackled a grizzly with nothing but that? ”

The whole world would be fawning over their story and Timo would be recovering from a dozen ghastly wounds in hospital and Noah would be there at his bedside saying, “Meh, whatever, dude. Leave me alone.”

Because he was an idiot. The fact of the matter was that Noah was an ungrateful, useless little idiot who couldn’t even play his part in the universe, who had no idea how the world worked or how to follow cues. Son of a bitch.

There was a knock at the main room door.

Timo flew off the bath edge, didn’t bother to towel his feet, didn’t pause, spraying water everywhere. With no trace of a limp he ran for the door as if to disable a bomb.

He’s come back. He’s figured it out. Noah had realised his mistake and knew how the night would end and all was forgiven.

Of course Timo would welcome him back with open arms because everyone made mistakes and their bond would be all the stronger for the traumas and missteps they’d endured along the way.

Noah would be begging for a second chance. Timo should be stern with him after his mistake. Of course, he wouldn’t be. He was too much of a softy. One look at Noah pleading for Timo’s forgiveness and Timo would melt.

Timo ripped open the door, catching his breath against the wild throbbing of his heart.

“Hey.” Arthur held something out. “You left your car keys downstairs.”

Timo stared at the hand, at the keys, at the face, red with intoxication.

Arthur rattled the keys impatiently at Timo to get him to take them.

Timo still stared.

Arthur’s gaze travelled to his rolled trouser cuffs, landed on his mud-stained knees, and his own stare grew fixed, eyes widening.

A slow grin spread over Arthur’s stupid face. “So … how’s your night going?”

Timo snatched the keys out of his wobbly hand. “You’re lucky I don’t have a knife.” He slammed the door.

* * *

On Sunday morning, Timo breakfasted alone aside from unknown guests and Ranveer, the two of them likely being the only ones of the party not hungover and getting up at normal operating hours.

Timo meant to go for an early ride since there was no way he could run for a few days but his foot should be manageable on the bike pedal. He didn’t want company, only a race with himself. Up the slopes? No, head for the sea and perhaps he could drown himself by mistake.

Ranveer didn’t believe in small talk. It was one of his many charms. He was also technically vegetarian and tee-total. Although technicalities sometimes met in the great, dirty crossroads of Real Life and things happened. He’d had a drink with the rest last night but you’d never know it now.

“Ranveer?” Timo looked up from his coffee in the sunny breakfast room.

Ranveer arched a brow at Timo, his default instead of a “What?”

“Did someone pinch the keys out of my pocket last night at dinner? So they’d have an excuse to come knocking on the door later?”

Ranveer finished chewing his bite of toast, giving the question careful consideration. “Do you want them to have pinched your keys? Or you to have dropped them?”

Timo tapped the tabletop with one finger.

He was irritated to discover he’d not thought of it that way.

Ranveer was the kind of person who was always pointing out things Timo hadn’t thought of.

One of the very few people Timo knew who managed to do this, and not the least of the reasons that Timo was convinced Ranveer was the smartest person he knew.

He looked past Ranveer when he spotted a big, broad-shouldered guy enter the room who wasn’t Maksim. Nearly as big as Maksim, but this man had a ponytail and — “Lars?”

Ranveer looked around.

Timo hadn’t spoken loudly enough to carry across the room.

Lars found a window table and pulled out two chairs, turning to look back the way he’d come.

Sure enough, Rhys followed, carrying a card he’d picked up with menu specials.

Before he sat, he pointed out something on it to his husband and Lars grinned, nodding.

Timo sprang up.

The two men had hardly dropped into their seats before Timo was at their table. “Rhys? What are you doing here?”

His eyes widened to see Timo. “This is a surprise. Why shouldn’t we be here? I am the one who introduced you to this place.”

“You just got married. You should be off on your honeymoon.” Timo’s mind was spinning, pulse racing, and he wasn’t sure why.

Something about Rhys, something critical, life or death, was sparking around in his brain, but what was the problem?

He hated this sensation, loss of control, unsure where to turn or what he felt, and it made him snappish, though it wasn’t as if he minded Rhys being here.

“We were. We’re back, had a few days to spare, and I’d been meaning to show Lars this place for ages. We thought it would be nice to spend the days here before we return to work.” Rhys frowned. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Are you okay?” Far from annoyed by the interruption, Lars looked worried as he watched Timo.

“I have to talk to you,” Timo snapped at Rhys. “Right now. Alone. It’s urgent.”

“You can say whatever you have to say in front of us both.” Rhys still frowned, not budging, but Lars leaned in, perhaps nudging Rhys with his foot under the table, giving Rhys a meaningful look.

“Please.” Timo just stopped himself from plucking at a sleeve. He had to see Rhys and he had to find out — yes. All at once he understood what was buzzing through his blood and rattling his skin. Or at least knew the right questions to ask.

Exasperated, Rhys followed him around the corner to the empty stairwell.

“What’s going on, Tim?” Rhys asked. “Are you on holiday?”

Million-pound question.

“Business outing. Rhys?” Timo turned to him at the foot of the stairs. He was still striking. They must have made an incomparable couple and Timo had failed to appreciate it enough, as if men like Rhys grew on trees.

Rhys rested a hand on the newel post, waiting. “Yes?”

Timo kissed him, grabbing his face, shoving him back into the banister.

He had only a couple of seconds worth of pure surprise to work with, Rhys reacting fast, shoving violently back so hard that Timo almost fell, staggering and grabbing the opposite post. Rhys followed, his whole energy transformed, wrathful, fists bunching.

“ What the fuck is your problem? ” His lowered voice was actually shaking with rage.

Hmm. Timo gripped the post at his back, considering. No … That hadn’t done anything for him. Sure, there were moments he still missed Rhys, perhaps always would, but that had nothing to do with anything lately.

No electricity. No blinding flash to tell him that his misguided fixation on Noah was nothing more than redirected passion thanks to seeing the man Timo should have married three years ago marry someone else. Nothing.

At the end of the day, Timo was honestly happy for Rhys. Rhys deserved someone like Lars who would take care of him, who probably told Rhys he loved him every day.

So it wasn’t anything to do with Rhys? Where did that leave Timo?

It left him about to get punched.

Rhys was right in his face, lecturing him about years ago, and telling him to stay away from Rhys and Lars if he was going to act like this.

Timo had always been the volatile one in their relationship. It was kind of sexy to see Rhys so worked up. Still not sexy enough to make him revise his new conclusions.

“Well? Are you going to say anything?” Now Rhys was apparently also annoyed that Timo wasn’t defending himself.

“It’s … too hard to explain.” Timo, still leaning away from him, tried for a smile. “I’m sorry I did that.”

“No you’re not. I’m the one who trained you to say that. You’re only able to read people enough to know when it’s called for; not able to feel it.”

“Really, Rhys, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s not as if I don’t know the magic is gone and wish you and Lars every —” He stopped, mouth open, eyes blipping out of focus. Then breathed, “Fuck it …” He blinked. “Rhys … Magic?”

“What?”

Timo snatched at his arm.

Rhys jumped back. “ No. Keep your hands off me.”

Why did Timo keep hearing that lately?

“Rhys, something did happen that day.”

“What day?”

“Your wedding day.”

“Yes. I got married.”

“No …” Timo snapped his fingers several times. “Julian. His name was Julian.”

“What about him?”

“I have to speak to him. It’s urgent.”

“You said this was urgent,” Rhys snarled but Timo cut him off.

“Please, I’m begging you. I’m sorry I did that. I haven’t been myself; I’ve been … fuck … I don’t even know. Strung out and I’m not even taking anything. Something’s wrong and it started that day and I don’t … I really, really, really need to talk to Julian. Please.”

Rhys watched him, stance finally softening a bit. Still he hesitated, but something about Timo’s tone or expression must have got through to him. At last, he said, “You can reach him on his website. He’s an astrologer in London. Julian Ardenghi. Just search and he should come up.”

Timo nodded, gulping a breath, newly discovering he’d skipped several. “Thank you.”

Rhys backed away from him, his frown returned, although no longer furious. Perhaps more worried. “Sure. Look after yourself, Tim.” He turned for the breakfast room, leaving Timo alone.