Page 20 of Bound By Destiny

Dane

After yesterday’s fiasco – and all the fiascos that preceded it – I’m pretty determined to prove once and for all I’m not the goofball she must think I am. In fact, I’ve never been a goofball, period. I consider her warily as she sits by me on the sofa back in her apartment. Is clumsiness contagious? Because until I met Destiny I’m fairly certain I was a well-coordinated, agile kind of guy.

I clear my throat. “I’ve lived on every continent apart from Antartica, and I’ve never been exposed.”

She nods. “Cool.”

Wait a minute. Are you trying to impress her right now?

I pass a hand through my hair. Where doesthatcome from?I have nothing to prove to Destiny. I’m just her professor for three weeks, that’s all.

But she kissed me yesterday.

Even now a thrill courses through me at the memory. The instant her lips met mine, it took all my self-control not to spontaneously combust with need and urgency right on the spot. I’ve been burning to feel her ever since we made love.

How I could possibly believe that a few blissful moments with Destiny at the foot of the mountains would be enough? If anything, my lusting after her has become worse now that I’ve had a small taste of heaven.

And with every look that lasts too long, with every painful pang in the crotch of my pants when I spot the sway of her hips, guilt twists my heart.

How could I sink so low?I wonder in agony with each defeat against my will and vows. As soon as I’m in Australia, I ought to let myself burn in the sun at least fifteen times for this.

“Dane?” A voice calls me from far away.

I shake my head, only to gulp at the sight of Destiny’s lilac eyes fixating on me.

“Sorry,” I blurt, dragging my thoughts back to the present. “So we already covered the first three pages of the form before yesterday. Now we’ll focus on page four, which is the hardest one.”

Destiny peers at the blank box on the document. My gaze rests too long on the thin tendrils on her nape as she leans forward.

“Write a backstory for yourself,” she reads slowly. “Minimum, seven thousand words.” A smirk spreads across her lovely lips. “What’s this, a grade school assignment?”

I shoot her a dirty look. “You have to stick with the story for at least fifty years, so it’s a good idea to do the work properly.”

Destiny continues to look through the guidelines. “It says here the Guild will arrange adequate means to support my new identity claim. Does that mean I can tell everyone I’m a rich heiress with a passion for motoracing, and you guys will provide me with a mansion and a dozen Ferraris to back my claim?”

I snort in disbelief, images of the sunny afternoon on top of Santa Catalina mountains flooding my memory.

“Yeah, right, you’re such a daredevil I’d actually be surprised to see you at the bumper cars.”

She glares at me through slitted lids. “There’s nothing wrong with being careful.”

I nod solemnly. “Especially in the case of identity claims. Most of the time, the best thing to do is to stick to the truth as much as possible, with a few minor tweaks. Otherwise you may get your facts mixed up or come across as a phony.”

“So what’s your cover?”

“I’m just an ordinary rancher grieving his long-lost wife.”

As soon as the words escape my mouth, I realize my blunder. Destiny’s eyes go round as a pair of nickels, and something like pity floods their lilac depths. Panic seeps into my veins. I don’t want to talk about Isobel. Even Warwick and I hardly ever bring her up, because my brother knows better than anyone the agony of stirring up those memories.

Destiny’s lips part, and I can tell she’s about to ask those questions I don’t want to answer. But just in time, the shrill ringing of the doorbell cuts her short. I guess Fate was feeling magnanimous for once.

“Caleb!” I hear in the distance when Destiny leaves to open the door. “What are you doing here?”

“You’ve been calling in sick for ages now. At work they say you need time at home for recovery, but I’ve been worried.”

Every hair on my body rises at the low rumble of a distinctly male voice.How dare he?How dare hewhat, I don’t know. All I’m certain of is that he’s a low-life scum, the worst kind of bastard for even laying a finger on Destiny’s doorbell.

It so happens the intruder is a very average-looking blue-eyed blonde, who could pass as handsome if his smile didn’t ruffle my feathers the wrong way.

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