Lorelei Read online

  I started at the bottom, wanting to save the face for last so that I could look at her reaction instead of the work in front of me. As I carefully peeled away the layers, all that could be seen were the boulders that lay upon the banks of the Rhine and the dainty feet that dangled over the edge. Lorelei leaned in closer and I caught a whiff of her delicious scent. After all this time, in another reincarnation, she still smelled faintly of water mixed with the sweet scent of May Bells. I inhaled her scent that smelled like home, calming me as I worked my way to the big reveal.

  I heard Lorelei gasp as the face in the portrait was finally unveiled. I watched her face as shock and then wonder crossed her features. I wanted so much to take her in my arms and tell her our story, make her remember me and our love.

  “It could be your twin sister,” her assistant said in awe. I missed his name, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be there for much longer, anyway.

  Lorelei remained speechless, her eyes roaming every detail of the painting. She held out her hand as if wanting to touch the face, be sure that it was real. It reminded me of the first time ever she saw the painting, after I had finished it. A smile played on my lips as I remembered the way she jumped into my arms and peppered my face with kisses, professing her love for me and my artwork. Her laughter rang out as I swung her around. I couldn’t leave her again. “Dr. Nixen, I could stay for a few more days and share with you the information I have on this painting. A working dinner perhaps?” I waited with bated breath for her answer.

  .

  Dr. Klaus Hoffman was a man that I had heard many things about. I hadn’t been able to find many photos of him, and one of his lectures that I found online was shot from so far away that it was impossible to make out any details. With his reputation in the art world, I was taken aback by how young and handsome he was. I had been expecting someone much older. His umber hair, pushed back in tousled spikes, reminded me of the brown earth. His eyes reminded me of the sky, and despite his obvious lack of sleep, they glowed and pulled me in. I blushed and had to turn away as I thought about how his five o’clock shadow would feel against my hands.

  I felt as if I had seen him somewhere before, yet I knew I hadn’t. A face like that, the masculine lines that could have been painted by the great masters of art, it was a face that I wouldn’t have trouble recalling. As I introduced myself and held out my hand, I was disappointed that he didn’t take my hand right away, wondering if he was repelled by me. His grasp was solid and his hand warm, which sent butterflies to my stomach.

  I managed to stay professional and hid my attraction, hid the sense of familiarity that he brought. I focused on the painting that I’d longed to see since first hearing of it. I couldn’t wait to finally lay my eyes on it and get to work on unraveling the mystery of where it came from and who the artist was. I could see the beauty as the paper was pulled back, the exquisite strokes expertly done in a manner that I had not seen in an amateur artist before.

  The excitement I felt increased as more and more was revealed. I wanted so much to be the one to find this mystery artist and I studied the simple signature. The word Nixie was the simple title, a word that meant siren if I remembered my German correctly. Though, I could hold a conversation in German, there were words that were not often used and slipped my mind. I would have to ask one of my colleagues or my parents. I studied the signature, which was simple initials of K.H. which wouldn’t be of much help.

  My excitement rose as I saw the body of the woman, her tanned skin not usual for Germany, especially in the time period that Dr. Hoffman had claimed. Her outfit was made of intricate beads that seemed to curl around her and left very little to the imagination. It reminded me of modern depictions of goddesses and warrior women, not something that would have been around three hundred years ago.

  I started to doubt the Louvre’s curator. Though he was highly respected, I just couldn’t see this painting as a part of German history. I needed to get his research and find out where he got his information from. It was my job to make sure that this art was legitimate before displaying it to the public.

  Finally, Dr. Hoffman carefully peeled back the final piece to reveal her face. I gasped as I took her in, stunned at the face looking back at me. She looked like me and there was no way it could be real. When my assistant, Hans, said the words that had been in my mind out loud, it became real to me.

  My head spun with all the possibilities. Could it have been a prank? Could the model have been a relative very far removed? Maybe it was just a coincidence. I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off the face, my face, staring back at me as if I were looking in a mirror.

  I was thankful when Dr. Hoffman offered to stay longer to go over the information he had on the painting, breaking me from my shock. I wanted very much to spend time with him, and more importantly, to find out what he knew. Seeing the face had just made it more of a priority.

  “That would be wonderful, Klaus. I’d definitely like to learn everything you have about this painting. I’m very interested in how you were able to determine the estimated age,” I barely managed to keep the accusatory tone from my voice. Even if I thought he might be a fraud or mistaken on this painting, he was still the lead curator for his department at the Louvre. I would have to tread lightly to keep my own reputation intact.

  “Great,” he replied, and then paused. An uncomfortable silence settled between us.

  Hans was not one to beat around the bush, his gruff voice and deep accent coming out, “Lorelei, it’s been a long day. Go get some evening bread with Dr. Hoffman, and I’ll finish what needs to be done here. You can take him to the cafe, get him some good German food.” He left no room for argument. While most of the time I would have an issue with his commanding way, I appreciated it this one time.

  “Okay, Hans, I am quite tired and ready for a meal.” I turned to Dr. Hoffman, “Is there anything you’d like in particular? There are a lot of restaurants to choose from.”

  He smiled broadly, and it made him even more handsome. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to have schnitzel. I haven’t had that dish in such a long time. The French are known for amazing dishes, but I have yet to find a decent German restaurant there.”

  I gave the last instructions to Hans, who rolled his eyes at me, and then gestured for Dr. Hoffman to follow. “I know a perfect place. They make traditional German food that is to die for.” I heard his steps falter and looked back to make sure he was alright. His brows were furrowed, and he seemed to be upset by something. “Are you alright, Dr. Hoffman?”

  “Yes, yes. I just tripped over my own feet. Nothing that a good meal and a little sleep can’t cure.” Though he grinned, it seemed strained.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to do this tomorrow?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t agree. I desperately needed more information from him. Not to mention that I wouldn’t mind a chance to sit across from him and imprint his face in my mind for when I was alone. It was hard to be a single woman with a job that required a lot of time and attention. Not many men wanted to be my second love.

  “You don’t have to be formal with me, and I’d rather spend as much time with you as I can before I leave,” he spoke earnestly, but seemed to catch the meaning of what he had said. “To share all my research with you,” he amended.

  I wish he had left off the second part because my hopes soared for a moment. The French were known far and wide for being sexually free. I would love to test that out with the hot man that walked beside me. “Klaus, that sounds more like a German name than a French one. Are you originally from France?” I asked casually, hiding my disappointment.

  “My family roots are German, and I was named after my father. I’ve lived all around the world. Paris has been my home for quite a long time. My father worked at the Louvre before me and I took over his job not long after he retired. It’s been probably ten years that I’ve been back in Paris. I was in New York for an internship at the Smithsonian before that.” Klaus was being open, yet I sensed that
he was uncomfortable talking about it.

  “What a coincidence. I was an intern at the Smithsonian, also. We weren’t there at the same time.” I tried my charming smile as I looked at him. I felt the need to impress him. I tried lying to myself that it was just because he was so well respected in the art world, yet I knew it was because I found him so attractive that I kept wondering what was hiding under that suit.

  “America was so wonderful for an extended visit, but I don’t think I could live there full time. No offense, Lorelei.” I swooned at the way he said my name, not caring that he didn’t like my home country. “I love Europe too much to leave.”

  “I have to agree. The only thing I miss about America is my family. Something about Germany feels like home to me. I don’t think that I will ever leave it,” I admitted honestly. I couldn’t explain how my heart felt something I had never felt before the moment I stepped off the plane. I didn’t understand the feeling, a sort of attachment to this country that I’d never been to before. I’d love for it to have been simple, that it was in the rich history of the buildings mixed with the modern, yet that didn’t seem to be it. It was almost like a mother’s warm embrace, not something that I could ever say out loud without looking like a quack.

  We entered the cafe and I led him to the seats in the back. At such a late hour, the normal crowd was light, and we were able to secure a private table where we wouldn’t be bothered. On a normal day, customers sat wherever there was room. It wasn’t uncommon for a perfect stranger to settle themselves down at your table. Really, the tables didn’t belong to any customer, which was a far cry from American restaurants. Even though traditionally, speaking was saved for after the meal was done, I had met a lot of interesting characters at the various bars and cafes that I frequented.

  The waitress was quick to come and take our order, another perk of eating so late. Normally, it was a long wait to get a drink and food ordered in any cafe, a far cry from the fast service in America. I was relieved that I had a few more moments to ask all the questions that I wanted of Klaus. I found it so hard to question his methods when everything about him dripped with sexy, from his looks to his deep husky voice. I needed to calm my ovaries before I was sitting on his lap and begging him for babies.

  Luckily, it was he who started the conversation. “I’m sure you have many questions about the painting. It’s uncanny how much she looks like you.”

  I gulped and nodded. “It is. I’m not sure how I feel about seeing my face in a painting that is estimated to be three hundred years old.”

  “I can’t imagine how you feel. You did say you are of German descent, so it isn’t impossible to have had a relative long ago that looked enough like you that it came out in the art. In all the research, we have yet to positively identify the artist, and therefore have no way of knowing if his art was true to the model.” Klaus was kind to try and help alleviate the discomfort I felt.

  “I’m very interested in what you have found and the methods used to determine the age of the piece,” I told him evenly, trying not to sound like I was questioning his position.

  “Ah yes, that is a legitimate question. We had a small sample sent out for independent testing. It’s interesting how the artist used mediums that were made of the earth, instead of mixed paints, on the entire piece,” Klaus laughed off my question, and I was thankful he hadn’t seemed offended. “This leads me to believe that the artist was quite poor.”

  I laughed nervously, “Many artists were poor and didn’t receive the acclaim they deserved until after death. I suppose that is a logical conclusion. Even the so-called starving artists used paints.” I leaned my chin on my hand and thought for a moment. “I wonder if this K.H. was in a remote area that didn’t have access to the proper materials. Tell me, what did he use?”

  “That’s something that I thought of as well. You saw the quality of work, which leads me to believe he was not an amateur. I have been searching for the same style and have yet to find it. It certainly is a mystery who this artist is and what happened to his other works.” Klaus looked far off for a moment before he addressed my other question, “He used mud, flowers, berries, and many things from the earth. The only part he used paints on was her face and skin. It seems that he took great care to capture her striking features. I like to think that he was in love with this woman, whoever she was.” He chuckled nervously, “I’m sorry, I’m a bit of a romantic at heart.”

  I leaned back in my chair and tried to be impassive, yet my heart sped up and a strange feeling came over me. I was flattered that he called the woman, and in essence myself, striking. I held my hands in my lap to hide the fact that I was shaking. “I think it is a wonderful thought that he loved her. I didn’t get as much time to study her, as I was in shock, but I’d really like to study the painting with you. You did say you were willing to stay for a few extra days?”

  “Yes. I would love to spend more time with you,” he said, as our eyes locked. A sense of déjà vu washed over me and it didn’t register that he had implied his interest in me.

  I was still entranced when the waitress dropped our plates in front of us. “Why do I feel like I know you from somewhere?” I questioned.

  His eyes didn’t leave mine when he responded, “I’m not entirely sure, Lorelei. I’d certainly like to explore our connection.”

  Klaus’ flirting was intense but not in a way that was uncomfortable or pushy. The heat in his eyes, and desire he felt for me was flattering, and I felt drawn to him in a way that I had never felt before. It was no wonder that I ate my food as quickly as I could without looking like a slob. I wasn’t sure if I needed to get away from this attractive man or follow him back to his hostel. He also ate quickly and drank his beer before signaling to the waitress for our bill.

  My stomach did a flip when he held out his hand to help me up. I purposely let my body brush lightly against his. His intake of breath let me know that he felt the same need I did. I wasn’t one for one-night stands or falling in bed with a man I just met, yet I also wasn’t inexperienced. I brushed away any uncertainty when he asked if I’d like to see the hotel and hostel he was staying at, a modern building that I had not had the chance to see yet.

  .

  I cursed myself for the way I flirted. I didn’t want this to be a one-night stand. I needed to make Lorelei fall in love with me so that her memories would come back and as we walked up the stairs to my room, I worried that this would be it for us in this life. There would be no second chances and I would have to spend decades waiting for her to be reborn.

  Yet, as I looked at her, my heart filled with all the love that I had for her. My siren, the one I would love for an eternity. It never ceased to amaze me how she could still have the same personality no matter where she was born or who she was born to. Her nervous laughter was the same now as it had been the first time we made love in a field of wildflowers near the Rhine River.

  My hands shook as I put the key in the door, and I worried that my sweaty hands would drop them. I managed to open the door and made a sweeping motion with my hand as I bowed, wanting Lorelei to enter.

  “This is gorgeous!” she gushed, as she took in the small yet spacious room. She walked to the window and looked out at the dim lights over the city. “You have a beautiful view here. It reminds me of why I love Nuremberg so much.”

  I poured us some brandy. “Yes, it makes me want to stay. I love Paris but it doesn’t feel like home to me.” I walked over to her and handed her a glass, her fingers brushing lightly against mine. I stared in her eyes, the beguiling green enchanted me and left me breathless. I was pulled to her, my body desperate to hold my siren again.

  Unable to stop myself, I ran my fingers along her cheek, her skin as soft and supple as I remembered. Her face was angelic as she closed her eyes and leaned into my touch. My hands found their way to the back of her hair, the silky smoothness running over my fingers. How I had missed every part of her.

  Lorelei’s lips called to me and I pul
led her close, tentatively brushing my lips against hers, exploring the softness as she let out a small sound. She welcomed me, opening her mouth as my tongue slid against her lower lip and she wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling me closer.

  My cock strained against the confines of my pants. I wanted nothing more than to strip her down and drive myself inside her; to hear her call out my name and express her love for me. I wanted to take my time and taste every part of her body, every curve that I knew so well. It had been too long without my Nixie.

  I could feel the heat from her body as she pressed against me, hands roving though my hair. We caressed each other, our lips locked, for what seemed like not enough time, until we came up for air. I looked at her eyes, so full of desire, and whispered her name in an unasked question, “Lorelei.”

  “Yes, Klaus,” she breathed out her answer, and pulled me back in. Her hands wandered down my chest and I hummed in delight as she fumbled with the buttons.

  My restraint was lost, and I slid her jacket off, letting it fall to the floor before desperately tugging at her shirt. I wanted so much to pull back and admire her body, yet I couldn’t ruin the spell that had taken over us. I tenderly caressed every inch of her skin, breaking away to kiss down her neck, sucking on her pulse point.

  The moan she let out hit my ears like the most beautiful song. I freed her breasts from their confines as I sucked one nipple in my mouth, the pink nub so hard, yet soft against my tongue. Lorelei leaned into me and whimpered my name.