Free Completely Smitten by Kristine Grayson Page A

reach up or bend down to kiss her. They fit together.
    And then, suddenly, he let her go.
    She staggered on her one good foot, losing her balance, but before she could fall, he had caught her again.
    “Sorry,” he said, and it felt like he was apologizing for more than knocking her off balance. “I’m so sorry.”
    “I’m not,” she said.
    He held her until she was steady and then he reached for the crutch. She wanted to ask him to join her in Hemingway’ s bed, but somehow that no longer felt appropriate.
    The mood had changed, and she wasn’t sure why.
    He handed her the crutch, keeping a distance between them.
    “Good night, Ariel,” he said.
    She nodded once. Perhaps it wasn’t as incredible for him as it had been for her. She had never felt a kiss like that. But he was a handsome man, practiced, desirable. Maybe the kiss was nothing special to him.
    She gave him what she hoped was a cheerful smile. “See you in the morning, Dar.”
    He didn’t answer her. But she felt him watch her as she made her slow and painful way down the hall toward Hemingway’s large—and empty—bed.
    As soon as he was sure she had made it safely to her room, Darius picked up the wine bottle and took it outside.
    What was wrong with him? He knew better than to mess with someone else’s soul mate. He’d learned that lesson in King Arthur’s Court, when he thought no one would care about a blond stranger’s fling with Guinevere. Well, Arthur had cared, and he’d mistakenly blamed his good friend Lancelot. And nothing Darius could do when he reverted to his short form and his then-identity as Merlin could change Arthur’s belief.
    So much for Camelot. History hadn’t remembered the blond stranger, taking Arthur’s version as truth, but Darius did.
    He never made that mistake—at least not in that same way—again.
    Darius sat down on the porch steps, extending his long legs to the pine-covered path. The air was cool and still smelled of warm pitch. In the distance, he could hear the roar of the river, and not too far away, an owl hooted.
    Darius took a swig from the wine bottle. Some of the cabernet dripped down his chin, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.
    He had been honest with her and he had no idea why. He told her his real name—something the magical never did, something not even his best friend Aethelstan (who’d met him 1500 years into the sentence) even knew. Darius had told her that he spent time alone here to think about things, and he’d told her about Hemingway.
    In fact, he’d had to cover for himself because he kept blurting so many different things. He’d almost told her about that last, stupid argument he’d had with Lenny Bruce.
    She had to leave first thing or he wouldn’t be able to lie to her any longer. And he had to lie to her, or at least mislead her, if he was going to act as her matchmaker when he returned to his short form.
    His attraction to Ariel was wrong, and he probably had Cupid to thank for it. Cupid, who might have done something to Darius while Darius had his back turned. Cupid probably wanted to humiliate Dar, as if his sentence wasn’t punishment enough.
    Or maybe Cupid wanted to make sure that the sentence continued, that Darius never successfully united the hundredth couple.
    That was probably it. Darius had assumed that Cupid had changed in the past 3000 years, just like Darius had. The old Cupid would have wanted Dar’s humiliation to continue. Cupid had even mentioned it, sounding disappointed that he didn’t find Darius looking short, squat, and ugly.
    Darius took a swig from the wine bottle. It was still half full, but it wouldn’t be for much longer.
    If Ariel was supposed to be part of his hundredth couple, he’d find her soul mate. He’d even make sure she lived happily ever after, even though that wasn’t part of what his task as matchmaker was.
    This deep attraction he had to her wasn’t real. It was a spell, designed to divert him. He knew better