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  MYSTICAL SIGNS: AQUARIUS

  “OPPOSITES ATTRACT”

  BY

  BONNIE DEE

  The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  MYSTICAL SIGNS: AQUARIUS: “OPPOSITES ATTRACT”

  Copyright © 2006 by Bonnie Dee

  ISBN: 1-59836-106-6

  Cover Art © 2006 by Croco

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  For information, you can find us on the web at

  www.VenusPress.com

  Dedication:

  I want to thank my family for being supportive of my writing career even though none of them ever have or ever will read what I write. I couldn’t write what I do if they did. Know what I mean?

  Chapter One

  The Sun is in Aquarius between January 20 and February 18.

  Intelligent, concise, clear and logical, your meditations on abstractions can drive you into an ivory-tower existence. Detached to the point of aloofness, Aquarians don’t give themselves easily and are sometimes accounted cold. But once they decide that someone is worthy of their friendship or love they become tenacious friends or lovers, ready to sacrifice everything for their partners and be faithful to them for life.

  ***

  Kelly Berman was used to lugging her cello through the streets of the city. She had carried it to classes from the time she was ten–the lessons her mother’s one extravagance on Kelly’s behalf. She had carried it to Junior Symphony when she was a teenager. She had carried it back and forth from her dorm to one of the practice rooms in Gherke Hall when she was in college. And for the past five years she had transported it to rehearsals and performances in the city orchestra where she was third chair. She had even carried it to her mother’s funeral and played the Cadman Requiem dry-eyed and note perfect during the service.

  Sometimes it felt like the bulky instrument was her best friend.

  Tonight she struggled up from the subway and along the two blocks to her apartment building through crowds of holiday shoppers. She stepped carefully on the icy sidewalk and entered her building cold, exhausted and relieved to be home. All she wanted was to collapse on her couch in comfy sweats with a cup of hot cocoa. She would read an inane romance novel and live vicariously through the heroine those exotic amorous adventures that never happened in real life.

  Ascending the stairs to her second floor apartment was tricky. She must maneuver the heavy cello case up when gravity wanted to bring it, and her, tumbling down. She was almost to the top when it happened. A huge box came at her out of nowhere.

  “No! Wait. Watch out,” Kelly yelled.

  The man attached to the box was moving too fast and couldn’t see where he was going. If she hadn’t been there for him to run into, he probably would have fallen down the stairs. As it was, he knocked her backward.

  She caught herself on the wall and landed on her ass a couple of steps down. Her cello case banged to the bottom of the stairwell.

  “Oh shit!” The guy dropped the box in the hall and bounded down the stairs to crouch by her. “Are you all right? Fuck, I’m sorry!”

  “Yes. I’m fine.” She got a brief impression of vivid blue eyes and a shock of spiky black hair before she pushed his helping hands away, stood up and went to check her instrument. She flipped the clasps, opened the lid and examined the glossy, red wood for cracks. It looked all right but there could be more subtle damage that would show up later.

  The man followed her and stooped over the cello next to her. “Fuck,” he repeated, forehead furrowed in concern. “I should’ve looked where I was going. Is it okay?” His body generated heat like a furnace and his proximity made Kelly uncomfortable.

  Again she glanced up into unnaturally blue eyes. Her attention caught on the silver hoop piercing the edge of one dark eyebrow. Her crotch tightened in unexpected arousal, which made no sense at all since Kelly was not attracted to hip, edgy guys with piercings. Ever.

  “Yes. It’s okay.” She swallowed and forced her gaze back down to the cello. Closing the cover, she stared to lift the heavy case.

  The stranger took it from her. “Let me carry it.” His hand brushed hers.

  The brief contact sent another frisson of desire through her. “No. That’s okay.” She reached out protectively toward her instrument.

  “Please. It’s the least I can do.” He wrapped one hand around the case and extended the other to shake hers. “Hi, I’m Ren. I just moved in.”

  “Ron?” Her hand buzzed like low electrical voltage was coursing through it even after he let go. She could feel the phantom impression of his grip.

  “No. It really is Ren. My mom had a thing for Kevin Bacon in Footloose.”

  Kelly had no idea what he was talking about. Again she wanted to protest him carrying her precious cello, but he had already started up the stairs with it.

  “I’m in 2B,” he said over his shoulder. “I was living in a house with five other guys. Bunch of animals. Not that I’m neat myself but there’s levels, you know? I’m glad to finally have a place of my own.”

  He reached the landing, walked down the hall and stopped in front of Kelly’s door. “This must be you. I read the mailboxes downstairs. I already met B. Whitely. Nice old guy. You must be K. Berman. What does K. stand for? Kristen, Katharine, Katie?”

  “Kelly.” She fit her key to the lock. Opening the door, she turned to take her instrument, but Ren walked straight into the apartment.

  “Nice place.” He nodded appreciatively as he looked around. “You’ve got to help me fix up my apartment. I’m shit at decorating and it’ll end up looking like a dump if I’m left to do it on my own. Either that or things’ll still be in boxes a year from now.”

  Kelly wanted to shove him out into the hall. She didn’t like the intrusion of this talkative man into her quiet space. But it was not in her nature to be rude. She took off her coat. “If you’re moving into your apartment, why were you taking a box out?”

  “Some of my roommate’s stuff got in with mine. Which means that all my music is probably with him. I haven’t seen the vinyl yet. Damn, I’m never going to get them back.” He turned in a circle with the big, black cello case clutched to his chest. “Where do you want this?”

  She gestured. “In the corner.” She wasn’t about to have him carry it back to her bedroom where it actually belonged.

  He set the case down and looked at the art prints on her ecru walls. “This is really nice. Clean.” He ran a hand through his shaggy, dark brown hair.

  Kelly’s apartment was orderly and pristine. Her new neighbor looked like a blot in the magazine cover perfection. His blue jeans were oil-stained and his scuffed black boots had left marks on her beige carpet. He wore a black T-shirt with a ripped neck-seam through which a pale slice of skin showed. His arms were lean and sinewy but with enough muscle to prevent them being skinny. He had a fine-featured face; straight nose, sharp cheekbones, a deeply bowed upper lip and full lower one.

  The silver ring in his brow and the one in his ear glinted as they caught the light. His bright eyes glinted too as the corners crump
led into laugh lines. He revealed even white teeth and a flash of dimple on the right side. “Hey, I want to apologize again for knocking you down, and if there’s any repair work that has to be done to the cello, let me know. I’ll pay for it.”

  Kelly started to decline then realized that there might in fact be a bill she would be happy to have him pay.

  “Why don’t you let me take you out for dinner to make it up to you?” He was standing too close. She hated people who invaded her personal space. And those lively eyes made her feel like he was standing even closer. Like inside her.

  “No thank you.” She stepped back.

  “Please. My place is a mess, boxes everywhere, no furniture, no food and I’m starving. Go out to eat with me.”

  She shook her head. “It’s been a long day. I just want to relax.”

  He glanced toward the black window. Hard chips of icy snow, glittering in the streetlight, pelted the glass. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s too nasty outside. I’ll order in. What’s nearby and good?”

  “There’s a deli around the corner that delivers.” The words slipped out before Kelly knew she was going to say them.

  “Great. What’ll you have?” He grinned again and the dimple flashed.

  “Uh. I…” She was starving, and it might be easier to eat with this guy than argue with him.

  “Come on. You have to eat anyway.” He appeared to read her mind.

  “A vegetarian sub and pasta salad.” Kelly surprised herself. She didn’t do spontaneous.

  She told Ren the deli’s number and he called in the order on his cell. “They’ll be here in twenty,” he said as he hung up. “I’m going to go home and get cleaned up. I’ll be back with dinner soon.”

  As she closed the door behind him, Kelly tried to figure out what had happened. She’d been swept along on Ren’s enthusiasm and suddenly they were about to have a date. Was takeout food with a stranger considered a date?

  “Stop it,” she murmured aloud. “It’s not a big deal, just a meal.” With my ridiculously hot new neighbor.

  But she changed into her best jeans and a clinging, white gauze shirt instead of her usual after-work sweats. She checked her apartment to make sure everything was tidy and was annoyed to find herself doing a quick once-over of her bedroom. As if they would possibly end up there.

  ***

  Ren threaded his way through the maze of boxes and piles of junk in his apartment. He kicked things aside and moved stuff from one place to another, looking for his wallet. His keys were in his jeans pocket. Why the hell wasn’t his wallet with them? First he’d run down his beautiful new neighbor, now he’d lost his damn wallet…again. He only had eighty cents and a pack of gum in his pocket. Kelly was going to think he was a freeloader if he had to ask her to pay for the meal he’d suggested. This was not good.

  “Damn it!” He kicked the box containing his pathetic pieces of cookware. It skidded across the floor and there was his wallet pressed into the carpet underneath the box. He picked it up and jammed it in his back pocket. Rummaging through boxes, he found almost-clean jeans and a T-shirt. He hadn’t had time to do laundry before moving day, but he sniffed the shirt and it didn’t stink.

  He dug up a towel and soap, stripped and headed for the shower. The water pressure alone was worth the high rent. He was used to standing under a lukewarm trickle in a mildewed cubicle where it was better not to look into the corners. It was amazing what comforts a little success could buy. He hoped the band’s CD sold as well as the record company expected.

  The deli delivery arrived in a prompt twenty minutes. Ren was still toweling his hair dry when the buzzer rang. After paying for the food, he slid his bare feet into a pair of sandals and walked across the hall.

  When Kelly opened the door, his breath stopped for a moment. She was as pretty as his first impression of her. Her straight, wheat-colored hair was pulled back into a ponytail which emphasized her fine features and long neck. She blinked pale gold lashes over hazel eyes and stared at him.

  Ren was transfixed by her cool elegance.

  Her jeans emphasized her slender figure and a white, gauzy shirt alternately floated and clung to her body. He could see through it to the white camisole underneath. She looked delicate and classy, the kind of girl who came from old money. He wondered why she was living in this apartment building. It was a step up for Ren, but probably a step down for someone like Kelly. Maybe she was rebelling against her rich daddy.

  He suddenly realized that he had been standing, staring at her for far too long. “Wow, you look great,” he said honestly.

  Her pale cheeks flushed pink. “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got dinner and most of a bottle of tequila.” He held up the bottle he’d found while unpacking. “Do you have any orange juice?”

  “Um, sure.” She moved aside.

  He walked into the apartment, aware of the warmth of her body and the faint, flowery scent of her perfume as he passed her.

  “But I don’t really drink.”

  “Never?” He handed her the carryout bag from the deli.

  “Sometimes, but usually just wine.”

  “I’ll mix it light then.” He walked into her kitchen, over to the fridge and got out the orange juice. “Glasses?”

  She took a pair of glasses from a cupboard then leaned against the counter, arms folded over her chest and watched as he mixed the drinks. “You make yourself right at home,” she said dryly.

  “Sorry.” He handed her a drink and felt a ridiculous surge of lust when his fingers brushed hers. “I didn’t mean to be rude, digging through your fridge. I’m always forging ahead without thinking. Arians tend to be pushy like that.”

  “You’re into astrology?” Kelly opened one of the deli containers and forked potato salad onto two plates.

  “Not really, but my mom does charts and readings as a sideline. Believe me; you can’t live around it your whole life without picking stuff up. Give me a little time and I’ll bet I can tell you your sign.” He took a sip of his drink and watched her unwrap the subs, noting the slenderness of her tapering fingers and the efficient way she accomplished the task without dropping one vegetable or blob of mayonnaise from the sandwich to the counter. “So, obviously you play the cello. Is that what you do for a living?”

  She nodded. “I play with the symphony and give private lessons. I work at Marelli’s Music part time, too. What do you do?”

  He swirled the drink in the glass to mix it better and it sloshed onto his hand. “Until recently I worked at a supermarket and played with my band on weekends.” He licked the juice off his finger.

  “What do you play?” She added some carrot sticks to each plate.

  “Lead guitar. I can’t sing worth crap but I play pretty good. Anyway, we made a demo and it got some local air play; now we’ve got an agent and a record company. We’re even supposed to be filming a video soon. Never thought I’d sell out so fast.”

  “Congratulations.” Kelly smiled and her pale, hazel eyes shone. If she was pretty before, she was absolutely beautiful when she smiled.

  Ren wanted to put down his glass, grab her and kiss her, find out if her petite frame felt as fragile and feminine in his arms as he thought it would. “Thanks,” he said. “It all happened so fast, I don’t know if we’re really ready for it. Our lead singer, Austen has more ego than talent, but the money’s starting to flow and I got this great apartment so I’m not arguing.”

  “What kind of music do you play?”

  “A kind of funk/punk fusion. It’s hard to describe. It’s different. People seem to like it though.”

  “That sounds…interesting.” A strand of her straight blond hair had escaped the ponytail and trailed on one side of her face. She blew it back impatiently as she carried a plate in each hand to the table.

  Ren resisted the urge to reach out and tuck the strand behind her ear. He imagined it would feel smooth and cool beneath his fingers.

  Kelly set the plates down on a pair of woven mat
s across the table from one another. The silverware was lined up perfectly on either side and a small bouquet of flowers graced the center of the table.

  It reminded Ren of somebody’s mother’s house. Not his mother, who was messy and scattered, but some catalog mom who always made sure things matched and ran her house by the book. He thought he was beginning to form a picture of Kelly; more than a little uptight but with an undercurrent of passion waiting to be tapped. And, god he wanted to be the one to tap it.

  “So, you play the cello, give lessons and work at a music store,” he said. “What else do you do?”

  “What do you mean ‘what else’?” She unfolded the cloth napkin and laid it in her lap.

  He swallowed a half-chewed mouthful of sub and it almost got caught in his throat. He coughed. “For entertainment. Like sky diving or stamp collecting, that kind of thing.”

  “I don’t have time for any sports or hobbies. When I’m not working, I’m practicing and when I’m not practicing, I’m performing.” She decisively forked a bite of potato salad.

  “What about friends, parties, a social life?”

  “I have friends,” she said defensively.

  “And your family? Are they nearby? Do you get along with them?”

  “My sister, Elise lives about an hour away.” She paused a long moment before adding, “My mother died last summer.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We weren’t close.” Her voice was tense and she stared down at her half-empty glass of faux tequila sunrise. Then she lifted her eyes and fired the question back at Ren. “What about your family?”

  He set down the sub and wiped the napkin across his mouth. “When you start counting all the steps and halves and exes, it’s pretty big. My mom’s been married a few times. Weird thing is everybody gets along. Her ex-husbands still stop by to hang out or call her for advice sometimes. The brother I’m closest to is an ex-step, but by blood I actually have one sister and a six-year-old half brother, Jayce. The holidays can get crazy, but over-all its good.”