Free Crimson Psyche by Lynda Hilburn Page B

frown deepened and he raised his chin. “As if I am not telling the truth?” He glared at me, his eyes darkening. “The painting is part of it. I have since gone back in time to explore the lifetime you and I shared prior to that—”
    “What?” My eyebrows shot up my forehead. “Are you talking about reincarnation? You’ve got to be kidding.” Oh, please! Time-out on the weirdness . “There’s no scientific proof of any such thing—”
    “Yes,” anger heated his voice as he interrupted me, “just as there is no proof for the existence of vampires, yet anecdotal evidence has apparently been enough to convince you of that reality.” He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his chest. “I am proof that there are more things than your science can understand.”
    He had me there, but I wasn’t interested in being logical. He’d had eight hundred years to accept all the mind-bending information he’d thrust upon me during the past five months. My brain hadn’t finished processing all I’d already discovered, and there he was, adding more straws to the camel’s back. The camel was getting pissed off.
    Taking a long, slow breath to calm myself, I withdrew my hand from his chest. I didn’t want to have the same old argument with him, but I was determined to stand my ground. My recently acquired ability to sense his emotions was both a blessing and a curse. It was easy to get distracted by what I knew, if it contradicted what he said. In this case, his heated words masked dread.
    Why does this topic upset him so much?
    “Okay.” I locked eyes with him and kept my voice dispassionate. “I’ll concede the possibility of reincarnation, and anything else you’ve got tucked away in your supernatural bag of tricks, but you’ve got to stop pushing me. You’re trying to force me to accept a role that I’ve had no part in creating, and it’s my decision to make. I understand that you’ve been around forever and you’re used to calling the shots, but I’m not one of your minions. I’m not a handmaiden to the Master. I know things were different when you were human, but in my world, a woman isn’t property. I’m a professional. I’m my own person, and I intend to remain so. Is that something you can, er, live with?”
    His expression went flat, as if all his feelings had been swept under a mental rug. “It was truly never my intention to bully you in any way. Nothing is more important to me than being with you.” His eyes softened and he slid his finger across my cheek, nudging a stray hair. “You are absolutely correct, I am used to giving orders and expecting obedience. It is only recently that I have come to realize that might not be an effective way to create a modern relationship.” He paused as an expression of sadness shadowed his face. “Often, it is like I have existed forever, and forever can be a very long, lonely time. I give you my word that I will work hard to join the twenty-first century.”
    I couldn’t help but smile: a gorgeous vulnerable, sad fallen angel was just too much for my Inner Therapist to ignore. I had asked him early on to explain why he was so stuck in the past, why he spoke with such a heavy accent, and used antiquated words. He told me he’d always preferred the past until he met me and had spent most of his time there. I thought he was talking about reliving memories, but he meant it literally. He said it was a matter of splitting his attention — of holding aspects of himself in both times and places. Uh-huh. Right . I added that to my list of things to figure out later. Soon I’d need a degree in Quantum Physics to be able to understand him.
    “Okay, oh, great and all-knowing Master, let’s kiss and make up. We’ll agree that I won’t psychoanalyze you and you won’t coerce me. Do we have a deal?”
    He lifted my hand and kissed the palm, his shining aqua eyes gazing at me from beneath long dark eyelashes. “We do, indeed.” A devilish grin slid across