took her wrists, lowered her hands, and led her to the couch.
Her living room was sparse and functional, like the rest of the house. He sat on one end of the couch, pulled Skye down next to him.
“Close your eyes, Skye,” he said.
Skye felt so out of balance, but here, sitting with Anthony, she was regaining her footing. Her bottom lip trembled. Slowly, she closed her eyes.
His thumbs pressed her temples and his fingers grasped the back of her head. For a fleeting second she pictured Spock performing the mind meld, but as soon as Anthony started rubbing, his fingers moving in firm circles, all thought ceased and she relaxed for the first time since walking into the mission massacre twenty-four hours ago.
The pain faded, from sharp and burning to dull and throbbing. She relaxed and sighed in relief.
“Turn around and put your head in my lap.”
His deep, European voice sounded far away, as smooth as butter, as exotic as a tropical rain forest.
She lay on her back, Anthony turning to a forty-five-degree angle on the couch to hold her head and shoulders comfortably. He continued to massage her temples, moving down to her cheeks, behind her ears, and her body gave up all its tension from sleep deprivation and drugs.
“Do you really believe in everything out there?” Skye asked, keeping her eyes closed.
“You mean in demons?”
“Demons and Heaven and Hell and everything in between.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen the gates of Hell. I’ve felt the presence of evil. It’s real. I can’t conjure up a spirit to prove it to you, I can only tell you that you had a visitor, you smelled him, you sensed him, but you’re only thinking with your head, not listening with your heart. You want a logical explanation, but there isn’t one.”
He paused, and she opened her eyes. His eyes held hers, strong, deep, fathomless. She whispered, “And?”
He leaned down, kissed her forehead. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
Skye didn’t know what to think anymore. Anthony was so ethereal and real at the same time. One minute she had everything sorted in her mind, knew exactly what she needed to do; the next, she wanted to place her entire faith in a man. In this man.
She’d never fully trusted anyone but herself. Even then, she doubted. Worried over her decisions. But always, she had her reasoning. It had gotten her this far in her life and career, how could she place her trust in someone else now? That would be like turning her back on herself, on the very thing that had kept her sane and whole during years of loneliness.
What would she have if she listened to Anthony? She’d be just like her mother, wanting to believe in fantasy because real life didn’t satisfy her.
As if he could read her mind, he said, “You can’t live in the past. Your mother hurt you, and then she died and you couldn’t tell her how much she hurt you. It’s easier to be angry with her and God than it is to acknowledge you miss her, that she killed your trust.”
She closed her eyes, trying to trap the tears that came, but they slid out the corners. Anthony brushed them away with his thumbs.
“It’s the drugs,” she said, not wanting to admit that after twenty years she still ached for her mother.
“It’s your heart, and it’s okay.”
His lips touched hers so lightly, so tenderly. Her heart skipped a beat. This quiet intimacy, the emotion, was difficult for Skye. She choked back a sob.
Anthony pulled her into his lap and held her, rubbing her back, his chin on her head. She could stay here in his arms forever.
“My mother abandoned me,” Anthony finally said. “And while I knew it was for a higher purpose—that I had a calling—there were times, especially at night, especially when I was young, when I cursed God for giving me this life. For forcing my mother to sacrifice me. But in the end, it had been her choice.”
“You never had a real family,” Skye said, feeling a kinship with Anthony she didn’t
Her living room was sparse and functional, like the rest of the house. He sat on one end of the couch, pulled Skye down next to him.
“Close your eyes, Skye,” he said.
Skye felt so out of balance, but here, sitting with Anthony, she was regaining her footing. Her bottom lip trembled. Slowly, she closed her eyes.
His thumbs pressed her temples and his fingers grasped the back of her head. For a fleeting second she pictured Spock performing the mind meld, but as soon as Anthony started rubbing, his fingers moving in firm circles, all thought ceased and she relaxed for the first time since walking into the mission massacre twenty-four hours ago.
The pain faded, from sharp and burning to dull and throbbing. She relaxed and sighed in relief.
“Turn around and put your head in my lap.”
His deep, European voice sounded far away, as smooth as butter, as exotic as a tropical rain forest.
She lay on her back, Anthony turning to a forty-five-degree angle on the couch to hold her head and shoulders comfortably. He continued to massage her temples, moving down to her cheeks, behind her ears, and her body gave up all its tension from sleep deprivation and drugs.
“Do you really believe in everything out there?” Skye asked, keeping her eyes closed.
“You mean in demons?”
“Demons and Heaven and Hell and everything in between.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I’ve seen the gates of Hell. I’ve felt the presence of evil. It’s real. I can’t conjure up a spirit to prove it to you, I can only tell you that you had a visitor, you smelled him, you sensed him, but you’re only thinking with your head, not listening with your heart. You want a logical explanation, but there isn’t one.”
He paused, and she opened her eyes. His eyes held hers, strong, deep, fathomless. She whispered, “And?”
He leaned down, kissed her forehead. “I’m asking you to trust me.”
Skye didn’t know what to think anymore. Anthony was so ethereal and real at the same time. One minute she had everything sorted in her mind, knew exactly what she needed to do; the next, she wanted to place her entire faith in a man. In this man.
She’d never fully trusted anyone but herself. Even then, she doubted. Worried over her decisions. But always, she had her reasoning. It had gotten her this far in her life and career, how could she place her trust in someone else now? That would be like turning her back on herself, on the very thing that had kept her sane and whole during years of loneliness.
What would she have if she listened to Anthony? She’d be just like her mother, wanting to believe in fantasy because real life didn’t satisfy her.
As if he could read her mind, he said, “You can’t live in the past. Your mother hurt you, and then she died and you couldn’t tell her how much she hurt you. It’s easier to be angry with her and God than it is to acknowledge you miss her, that she killed your trust.”
She closed her eyes, trying to trap the tears that came, but they slid out the corners. Anthony brushed them away with his thumbs.
“It’s the drugs,” she said, not wanting to admit that after twenty years she still ached for her mother.
“It’s your heart, and it’s okay.”
His lips touched hers so lightly, so tenderly. Her heart skipped a beat. This quiet intimacy, the emotion, was difficult for Skye. She choked back a sob.
Anthony pulled her into his lap and held her, rubbing her back, his chin on her head. She could stay here in his arms forever.
“My mother abandoned me,” Anthony finally said. “And while I knew it was for a higher purpose—that I had a calling—there were times, especially at night, especially when I was young, when I cursed God for giving me this life. For forcing my mother to sacrifice me. But in the end, it had been her choice.”
“You never had a real family,” Skye said, feeling a kinship with Anthony she didn’t
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