Page 52 of Company of Thieves
I stopped writing, glancing at him for a moment, but shook my head. I must have imagined it.
Octavia dashed into the room, panting slightly, “Hallie has facial blindness. She doesn’t recognize faces. At all. That’s why Jack always says her name whenever he approaches her. She doesn’t see faces!”
“Actually, I see them just fine,” I said, frowning at Octavia. I didn’t mind people knowing about my weird quirk, but I didn’t think it was anything to get excited about, either. “I just don’t process the information the way other people do. Faces don’t stick with me.”
“She uses cues to recognize people. Isn’t that right?” She turned to Jack, who nodded. “She uses people’shairandclothingto recognize them, and if they change those things, if they look different, then she has a hard time recognizing them.”
“Ah,” the diplomat said, looking thoughtful. “That would explain a lot. Hallie, stop writing.”
Should I tell Alan in the letter? No, that news was probably best kept for an in-person telling. Plus there was the fact that I didn’t know for certain. I gave the diplomat short shrift while I was pondering what to say to Alan. “Look, I know I just asked you to do me a favor, but I am writing an important letter—”
“Hallie.”
The word was said in a voice that held a deep, rich timbre, one that sent a shiver down my back. I knew that voice. I knew that shiver. I stared at the man standing next to me. He had dark hair cut short, much shorter than Alan’s. This man’s hair had clumps of it standing on end as if he’d been running his hands through it. He was dressed in the standard sort of suit that other gentlemen wore in this world. There was nothing exciting or dashing about him. He certainly couldn’t hold a candle to Alan, and yet ...
His eyes glittered at me. I stood slowly, my gaze on his.
Blue eyes. He had beautiful blue eyes, like gemstones in a river.
“Alan?” I asked.
“Why didn’t you tell me, little dove?”
An electric charge seemed to skitter down my skin as I realized the truth. It was Alan! My Alan, not some nondescript diplomat. I stared in disbelief for a moment, then shrieked and flung myself on him, kissing every bit of his face. “How did you get here? What ... why do you look so different? Why did you sound different? Where is your father?”
He kissed me, his lips warm and soft and so wonderful, I wanted to get on my knees and cry from the joy of it all.
“Hey, now,” I heard Jack say. “What’s all this? Why is Alan molesting her with his mouth? When did she meet him? I don’t remember them meeting. Now he has his hands on her ass! Dubain! Take your hands and your lips off my sister!”
“I believe it’s my turn to tell you a few things, my love,” Octavia said, and I heard their footsteps retreat as Alan, my delicious, warm, wonderful Alan, proceeded to check out every one of my teeth, his tongue doing a little dance around mine while his hands were on my behind, pulling me closer.
“He’s WHO? Bloody hell, Octavia!”
“Jack’s mad about something,” I said, pulling my mouth reluctantly from Alan’s, not because I wanted to tell him that information, but because I needed to come up for air.
“Ah. Yes. About that.” He made a face, looking over my shoulder when Jack burst into the room, his face twisted.
“You!” he snarled, pointing at Alan. “You’re that bloody prince! The one who tried to kill us!”
“I don’t believe I ever tried to kill you,” Alan started to say.
I spun around in front of him, my arms wide when Jack stormed over to us. “Now, Jack—”
“You stole my sister! You had your hands on her ass! You’ve probably had them all over her, defiling her! Mysister!”
“Jack, calm down,” I told him.
“I will not! I have every reason to be angry! Do you know how much trouble that man has caused us? It’s not bad enough I have to put up with him hanging around leering at Octavia, clearly trying to sway her back into another relationship with him, but now he has the nerve to seduce my sister!”
The little happy feelings that were swamping me suddenly shriveled into a cold, dried thing. I turned my gaze upon Alan. “Relationship?” I asked him. “With Octavia?”
“It’s not like that at all,” the woman herself said, hurrying over to us. “We were lovers, yes, but it was several years ago, and as I’ve told Jack many times—really too many times given that he knows I love him beyond all others, and always will—but as I’ve told him, Alan and I are simply friends now.”
I stared at the man I loved. I didn’t even shy away from that realization—I loved him. He had my heart, and my soul, and all the other bits of me that even now were clamoring to be delivered unto him. We were likely going to have a miracle together—and yet, something burned deep in me, a hot, thick emotion that I realized with shock was rampant possessiveness. He was mine! the possessiveness wanted to cry out to the world.Myman,mylover,mymate. I allowed that feeling to well up in me, and used it to pierce him with a look that should have melted him on the spot. “You dated Octavia?”
“As she said, it was a long time ago—” He took my hands in his.
I pulled them from him, then fought my way through the insidious need to rail at the idea that he had, for a time, belonged to someone else, and thought for a moment. A few years ago, I was still in my own world. I dated other men. I had lovers. I might not have thought myself in love with them, but perhaps Alan had that same light, easy relationship with Octavia that I had with the men in my past.
