Year One Read Online Free PDF Page A

flash and boom . Just like, well, breathing. And still, you know, a little spooky. Let’s keep it between just us, okay?”
    She looked at him through the light.
    She saw the pride and the interest on that handsome, poetic face, with the edgy cheekbones under the scruff, as he’d worked through the day without shaving.
    She saw both in his eyes, pure gray in candlelight.
    â€œDon’t write about it or anything. At least not until we’re sure it’s not a fluke, a just-this-one-time thing.”
    â€œA door opened inside you, Lana. I saw it in your eyes, just as Isaw the potential for it in your eyes the first time we met. Even before I loved you, I saw it. But if you want it to stay between us, it does.”
    â€œGood.” She rose, stepped over to place her candle with his. A symbol, she thought, of their unity. She turned, candlelight swaying behind her. “I love you, Max. That’s my light.”
    He stood, lithe as a cat, gathered her close. “I can’t imagine what my life would be without you in it. Want more wine?”
    She tipped her head back. “Is that a euphemism?”
    He smiled, kissed her. “I’m thinking wine, and we order in because I’m starving. Then we’ll see about euphemisms.”
    â€œI’m in for all of that. I can cook.”
    â€œYou certainly can, but you did that all day. You’ve got the night off. We talked about going out—”
    â€œI’d rather stay in. With you.” Much rather, she realized.
    â€œGreat. What are you in the mood for?”
    â€œSurprise me,” she said, turning to pick up the black pants and T-shirt she’d worn under her chef’s coat—sous chef to be exact—he’d stripped off her when she’d come home from the restaurant.
    â€œTwo double shifts this week, so I’ll be happy to stay home, eat something—anything—somebody else cooked.”
    â€œDone.” He pulled on the jeans and dark sweater he’d worn to work—writing in his office in the loft. “I’ll open the wine, and surprise you with the rest.”
    â€œI’ll be right out,” she promised, going to the closet.
    When she’d moved in with Max, she’d tried to limit her space to half the closet, but … She loved clothes, adored fashion—and since she spent so much of her time in a white tunic and black pants, indulged herself outside of work.
    Casual, she thought, could still be pretty, even a little romantic for an evening at home. She chose a navy dress with swirls of red that would float a bit just below her knees. And she could come upwith her own surprise—some sexy underwear—for when they got to the euphemism part of the night.
    She dressed, then studied her face in the mirror. Candlelight flattered, but … She laid her hands on her face and did a light glamour—something she’d had the talent for since puberty.
    She often wondered if whatever spark she had depended more on vanity than real power.
    That was fine with Lana. It didn’t shame her a bit to be or feel more pretty than powerful. Especially since whatever she had of each attracted a man like Max.
    She started out, remembered the candles.
    â€œDon’t leave them unattended,” she murmured, and turned back to put them out.
    She stopped, considered. If she could light them, could she unlight them?
    â€œIt’s just the reverse, right?” Saying it, thinking it, she pointed at one, intended to walk over and try.
    The flame died.
    â€œOh well … Wow.” She started to call Max, then realized he’d probably get wound up in it all, and they’d end up practicing and studying instead of having their quiet dinner at home.
    Instead, she simply moved from candle to candle in her mind until the room fell dark. She couldn’t explain what she felt, or how that door Max spoke of had so suddenly opened.
    Something to think about