6. Chapter Six

Rose

Even though I've taken my time airing out his room and changing the linens, he's still in the bathroom. After showing him the magic of modern plumbing and instant hot water, he asked for scissors. I imagine he's struggling with his beard.

I should have hurried to beat him into the bathroom, but I figured after a hundred years he needed a shower more than I needed to pee.

While I sit on the mattress waiting for my turn in the john, my mind bombards me with questions I don't have answers for.

Is this for real? How on Earth did he survive? Nothing makes sense. Not only the big question of how a man could sleep, survive, and come out looking good as new after a century. But there are so many niggling little details, like how no one in all these years discovered this room, no matter how tiny. Or even how the bedding and his pajamas survived for all these years. Only one thing explains it.

Magic.

I'm over all my this-couldn't-be-happening thoughts. There really is a tiny room with a bed in it behind the bookcase. More importantly, there's a man in my bathroom humming a song from the turn of the century—the turn of the last century.

Finally, the handle turns and the door swings open. I rise, intending to do my business, but I don't wait long enough and almost run into him outside the bathroom door.

The man who emerges is definitely not the same one who went in.

Rip's caramel-brown hair is freshly washed and combed. I've never loved long hair on men, but on Rip, the thick, glossy hair that cascades halfway down his back looks amazing. His strong jawline is now smooth-shaven. He must have found my pink razor.

To complete the picture, he's wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. My mouth goes dry when I take in the sight of him. The washboard abs carved into his slender frame make me gulp for air as I mumble my apologies for practically mowing him over on my way to the bathroom.

I can't begin to fathom the magic that allowed him to sleep for over a hundred years, kept his body working and muscles toned without food or water. Why did his hair keep growing but not his nails? It's unbelievable, but the proof is standing right in front of me.

A flush of awareness races through me as our eyes lock, sending heat coursing through every nerve ending in my body. I can feel my breath quickening and heat pooling deep inside me until I can barely contain my arousal.

He steps closer and reaches out to cup my chin with gentle fingers, sending sparks of electricity radiating down my spine. His gaze is magnetic, drawing me closer until my toes are almost touching his bare feet on the cold wooden floorboards.

"What do you want from me, Rose?" he asks softly, his voice a warm caress.

I have no idea what I should say. All I know is that whatever this is, it feels bigger than either of us. Bigger than anything I've ever felt before.

"I'm sorry," Rip says finally, his voice still barely a whisper. He blinks hard, twice, as though he's returning from a dream. "I didn't mean to…"

What is he apologizing for? Being here? Barging in on my quiet, solitary life? Looking so freaking delicious I'll dream of him all night long?

He steps back, but his hand remains warm against my skin. "It's just… things are cloudy in my mind from when I followed the instructions on the amulet. One thing is certain. I was yearning so powerfully for something that I risked everything, my very life, to find it. Now that I've found you…"

He shakes his head, refusing to say anything more. Smart move. I don't think I could tolerate whatever was going to come next.

My heart skips a beat as I mentally finish his sentence for him. He thinks I'm his one true love. That's ridiculous. I grew up in a cult and when I walked away from them, I thought I'd quit believing in fairytales.

I find myself gazing up into his brilliant blue eyes. In this moment, I understand something: what's between us is larger than anything we can define with words or even comprehend. It's an ancient energy, something both inexplicable and powerful, and it's brought us together despite time itself trying to keep us apart.

Reluctantly, I step back and force a chuckle, pretending nothing is happening between us. Then I pointedly look at his bare chest and say, "We're going to go to town tomorrow to get you some clothes."

"Looks like it. As soon as I removed my pajamas they disintegrated into nothing. I guess the magic that held them together isn't required anymore," he replies with a smile, meeting my gaze. "We'd better get some rest then."

I nod wordlessly and turn away, feeling his glance on me as I head toward the bathroom. It's only when I notice the pile of sheets from his bed that I left by the washing machine has now disappeared that the situation really hits me. I feel woozy and reach out to hang onto the wall when the truth becomes undeniable. Magic is real.

As I drift off to sleep, I can't help but wonder if my life will ever be the same again.