It was New Year again. Her third in five days.
Bea hadn’t meant to branch worldsit that way, but her heart was overriding sense. That very first New Year with Turner had been a brief moment of bliss. She’d never have it again. She knew that. Even with her abilities, it was impossible to cross back into her own past. Still…she ran through parallel worlds, picking out similar New Year parties like jewels against the rest of space-time.
She lifted her chin and let the swell of this new party wash over her. The scent of perfume, cologne, and the lingering odors of dark chocolate and strawberries filled the warm air. The chandeliers gleamed, pooling lights on white table-clothes and shining cutlery. Round tables filled the glass-walled space, people mingling now that the main meal had finished. A group moved past her, the casual, lingering stroke of a man’s fingers down the bared spine of the woman in front of him. His leaning in, lips brushing her ear, spoke of a wantonness Bea had never experienced.
The scent of perfume, cologne, and the lingering odors of dark chocolate and strawberries filled the warm air. BeaShe toyed with the stem of her flute, watching the glass sparkle from the candlelight. Every New Year seemed to smell the same, overlaid with anticipation. And more than a hint of lust.
She sipped her champagne and let the tart taste and bubbles distract her. The sexual heat in the room meant nothing to her, even as it rose with good food and free-flowing alcohol. Only one party—so similar in style to the one she now attended that it was almost a physical pain in her chest—had ever found her caught in a rush of want.
And she wasn’t thinking about that night. Or him. Much.
Commander Farris Turner. A bodyguard to the Royal House of Denys-Ilona. Her bodyguard.
Bea traced a droplet of moisture down the glass and pulled in a slow breath. The tightness of her corseted gown pressed against her ribs, and for a second, she felt the ghost-memory of his large hand against her spine.
He’d guarded her for six years, following her into other worlds as they gathered resources for their hidden city. His humor, often twisted, could make her groan. Make her laugh. He’d stood in front of her as she—and others—held open the bridge between worlds to get their people home. Sometimes so close to touching her, she could feel the heat from his skin…
No. Enough. It was time she found something more sane than branching from event to event, hunting for the fleeting sensation of joy. Of finding a hint of the party from which she’d fled and imagining that Turner was there, somewhere in the laughing crowds.