He was just about to start imagining she'd had complications from that bump on the head and was lying unconscious somewhere inside, when he heard a sound from beyond the house-one loud enough to be heard above the din. The back yard? He trotted down off the porch and around back. And there she was, standing on a wobbly ladder, pouring birdseed into a feeder. Which, he supposed accounted for all the birds.
"Now that's what I call taking it easy," he remarked.
She jerked her head around, apparently startled. The ladder tipped. The bag of seed hit the ground with a thump, and Jonathon shot forward to prevent the lady from doing the same. The next thing he knew she was in his arms. She'd fallen, and he'd caught her, awkwardly. His arms were tight around her thighs, and his face was pressed to her abdomen...mostly. Her hands braced on his shoulders. A rush of desire rose up inside him like a sleeping dragon that had been poked with a sharp stick. It had been a long time since he'd been this close to a woman or held a feminine body this tightly to his. And in spite of his usually chivalrous nature, he took advantage. He lowered her slowly. His face slid over her belly, pushing her shirt up a little on the way. His five o'clock shadow rasped over her skin. He heard her catch her breath. To his credit he pulled back a little to let her breasts slide by his face without quite touching, but he held tightly enough so the rest of her was pressed to the rest of him all the way down, until her feet touched the ground.
His arms locked around her waist, her body flush against his and warm and soft, her face, only a breath away, there was just no stopping it. He kissed her. He didn't think about it first, and he didn't ask permission. He just bent his head and covered her mouth with his. Her lips parted on a soft sigh, and her arms curled around his neck. She kissed him back. Her tongue met his, stroked it, teased and tangled with it, and he trembled all over with heat and hunger and need.
God, it had been so long....
He kissed her for a long, long time. He picked her up off her feet again, and she wrapped her legs around him, hooked her ankles at his back. He cupped her head in one hand and her bottom in the other, and he fed from her lips like a man starving to death. And finally, he lifted his head just a little, and breathlessly, he said. "I don't know what this is...."
"I don't either," she whispered.
"God, I want you. It doesn't make sense. It's too fast, too damn sudden, but...."
"I know. I know, Jonathon. It's the same for me."
He kissed her again. Felt his own arousal pressed tight between her legs and cursed the clothes they were wearing as he moved against her there.
She broke the kiss this time. Panting, breathless, her eyes heavy and passion-glazed, she whispered, "There are things you don't know about me, Jonathon. Things I have to tell you, before-"
The bleating sound of his telephone ringing cut her off. He stared into her eyes for a moment longer, while it rang again. He was out of breath, and his heart was thundering against her.
She untwined from him, put her feet on the ground, averted her eyes, and said, "You'd better get it."
Nodding, never taking his eyes off her, he pulled the cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open, and brought it to his ear.
"Daddy?"
It was Rowan. And the ragged sound of her voice jerked him roughly back into his right mind again. He blinked away the haze of passion or whatever the hell had been fogging his brain. "Rowan? Honey, what is it? What's wrong?"
Mirabella's face changed too, as she searched his with worry in her eyes.
"Oh. Dad, it's awful. I mean, I'm fine, but Shauna...."
"Shauna Gordon?" he asked.
"It's awful, Dad. Just come home. Come home right now. Please?"
"I'm on my way." He wasn't even fully aware of gripping Mirabella's hand and pulling her along beside him until they were both in the car. He didn't think it had ever once occurred to her not to come along.
"What is it?" Bella asked. "Is she okay?"
"I think so. She said it wasn't her. It's something about her best friend."
"Yes, Shauna, I heard that much. She didn't say what?"
"No. Thank God we're so close."
# # #
Mirabella had been lost in his kiss, his touch, his very presence. But Rowan's phone call snapped her out of that in a hurry, and it was only moments before Jonathon was skidding to a stop in his own driveway.
It wasn't far from where her own house was, physically. Socially it was a world away. On his street, people lived in huge houses with paved driveways and swimming pools. The Hawthorne house was set apart from the others, around a curve in the narrow lane, and up a slight hill. It was bigger, fancier. Big brick fireplace chimney creeping up one side and floor to ceiling windows angling up all the way into the peak at the front. Cedar and glass. Welcoming rather than pretentious.
Jonathon cut the engine, and Mirabella drew a deep breath before getting out, wondering what was coming next. There was a distinct feeling of taking her life into her hands happening here. Not by rushing to Rowan's rescue at Jonathon's side. She couldn't help doing that. She wouldn't be who she was if she did any differently.
It was the dream. The warning. Someone was trying hard to warn her and Rowan. Mirabella wished to the heavens she knew why.
Jonathon opened the front door and clasped her hand again as he hurried into the house, through a foyer and living room that would have impressed anyone, into the smaller dining room beyond. That was where he stopped and just stood in the doorway, looking at his daughter.
Rowan was sitting on the floor, legs curled in front of her, phone to her ear, tear tracks streaking her pretty face. She looked up, met her father's eyes, and said, "My dad's here, Shauna. I'll call you back, okay? Will you be all right? Okay. No, really, only a few minutes. Promise. Bye." Rowan's lower lip trembled as she got to her feet. She dropped the cordless phone onto the table and met her father halfway across the room.
Jonathon folded her into his arms. "It's okay, baby. Whatever it is, it's all right. What happened to Shauna? Hmm?"
She shook her head against his chest. "Not Shauna, her boyfriend. He...God, I don't know if I can even say it. He hanged himself."
"Oh my God." Jonathon clutched her closer, his hand in her hair. "Honey, I'm so sorry. Was...was he a friend of yours, too?"
She gently extricated herself from her father's arms. "I knew him. We weren't close or anything, but...poor Shauna. She's so crushed over this. And I don't know what to say to her or how to make it better." She turned her gaze to Mirabella's then, sniffing and swiping at her eyes. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Of course I am, Rowan. As long as you need me." She opened her arms, and Rowan came and hugged her, too.
"Why would he do it, Bella?" Rowan asked. "Why would Bryan do something like this?"
Mirabella had been trying to put it together in her mind and hearing the boy's first name finally clicked it into place. Bryan Marcomb. A junior in high school and a boy Mirabella knew as well as she knew any of the students. God what a waste. "Mrs. Marcomb must be devastated," she said, stroking Rowan's hair.
She saw Jonathon's frown, saw the look he sent her.
"I should call her back. I'm so worried about her being alone right now. Not that she's really alone. I mean, her parents are there, and her sisters, but..." She turned to her father. "Maybe I should go spend the night with her, just to-"
"No." He said it so quickly Mirabella knew something was up. But he softened his tone immediately. "I think your friend needs time to work through this, and I think she should probably spend it with her family. Just for a day or so. Then you can be there for her too. Right now it...it's just too fresh."
His cell phone was jangling again. He reached down, shut it off without answering it. "Go ahead, honey. Call Shauna back."
Rowan sniffed and nodded. She reached for the cordless phone, then hesitated. "I don't know what to say to her."
"You're doing just the right thing," Mirabella told her. "Just talking to her and listeni
ng. It doesn't matter what you say, because there really isn't anything that can help ease the pain. What counts is you being there for her. So you talk and you listen for as long as she needs you to. And you feel good about being the kind of friend who comes through at times like this. Okay?"
She nodded. "Thanks, Bella."
"You're welcome. And when you finish listening to her talk it out, you can turn right around and talk it out for yourself. To me, or your dad, or both of us if you need to, for as long as you need to, until you feel better. Okay?"
She smiled just a little. "It's so sad."
"Yes, it is. And totally senseless. Take note of that, Rowan. Take note of the incredible amount of pain Bryan's act has caused you, and Shauna, and his mother, his friends. And I promise you, it hasn't solved whatever problems he thought he had. Life is meant to be lived. To the natural end." She spoke faster, gripping the girl's shoulders for emphasis. "When you take that way out, you're only going to have to start all over from square one the next time around. It solves nothing. It changes nothing. It's a lifetime that has to be repeated. Know that, Rowan. Really know it."
Looking at her oddly, Rowan nodded. "I do know it. Bella, is anything wrong?"
Bella lowered her eyes, releasing the girl's shoulders, and drawing a steadying breath. "No. Go ahead and call Shauna. She needs you right now."
Nodding. Rowan dialed her friend back again. As she reached her and began talking, Jonathon took Mirabella's arm and led her back into the living room.
"What was all that about? That reaction? Do you have some notion Rowan might be a suicide risk?"
She swallowed hard. "He was in her peer group, even if just by extension, Jonathon. I was just...taking precautions."
He tipped his head to one side. "You haven't seen any symptoms of-"
"No. Honestly. I haven't seen a hint of depression in Rowan."
He searched her eyes, then nodded, and sighed in relief. "This is awful. I just saw that kid this morning."
"What kid?"
"Bryan Marcomb." His face was grim as he turned to pace the room.
"Why?"
"He was seen running from the cemetery the night of the most recent animal mutilation."
Bella frowned. "Jonathon, do you think he was involved?"
"I don't know. But I think he knew who was. And I got the distinct feeling he was afraid to talk about it." He lowered his head. "Damn it, I'd hate to think he was so afraid he chose suicide over talking to the police." Then he sighed. "Probably not. It was probably some twisted occult thing that pushed him over the edge."
Jonathon assumed that the boy had been involved in the Craft. And that it was responsible for his death. She shivered, because this was so close to her dream...a child, committing suicide, an adult blaming it on Witchcraft. She had the distinct feeling they'd just moved yet another step closer to the final disaster.
She wanted with everything in her to tell Jonathon the truth. To set the record straight, come clean with him. But it just wasn't the right time. Already, he was turning his cell phone back on, hitting buttons. "That was my office before. No doubt calling to tell me about Marcomb's death." Then he paused in dialing, met her eyes, and offered a very slight smile. One hand rose to stroke her hair. "We have so much to talk about, you and I. I...I haven't felt this way in a very long time, Mirabella. I'm sorry all this had to come up now and get in the way."
"Rowan comes first," she told him. "And poor Bryan. You owe it to him to find out what's really going on. Go ahead. Make your calls."
Leaning in. he brushed her lips with his. "I was supposed to bring you home, make you a nice dinner, see to it you had a relaxing evening."
"Rowan's idea?"
"She thinks so."'
"Make your calls," she said. "It smells like Rowan already started dinner. So while the two of you take care of this crisis, I'll go check on it. Okay?"
He nodded, drew one finger over her lips, and then sighing in regret, turned to finish dialing the phone.
Mirabella found her way to the kitchen on her own. But she felt cold inside despite the heat of the oven. She was on a runaway train, heading straight for disaster, and she was damned if she knew how to stop it in time.
Chapter Six
It was after ten by the time Bella finished helping Jonathon clean up from dinner and Rowan was settled into her bed, sleeping restlessly.
She sat beside him now, on a wicker love seat on the deck in back. Stars glittered by the thousands from a clear deep blue sky, and she wondered how death could lurk so near on such a beautiful night. The moon was nearly full, and it bore a rose-colored halo this night. That gave Mirabella pause. Her mother used to call that a Witch Moon, because of the red garter the moon appeared to wear. In some traditions, the red garter was still a symbol of the Craft. Bella's mother always said a red-ringed moon meant an added boost to a Witch's magickal powers. But others called that ruby halo "blood on the moon" and took it as a bad omen. A sign of danger.
Bella didn't know which belief was correct. Maybe both. Maybe the added danger made the boost of power necessary. Maybe that was why they came as one.
"You could stay, you know," Jonathon said softly.
She drew her gaze from the moon to look into his eyes.
"I didn't mean.... " He swallowed hard. "We have guest rooms."
She nodded. "If I stay I won't be in any guest room, Jonathon. And I think after what happened between us this afternoon, we both know it. Besides, I have some things I need to do tonight," she said, keeping her tone level with effort. It was difficult, out here, alone with him like this. She was finding herself more and more drawn to this man with every moment she spent near him. And that was dangerous. She knew it too well.
"Did I scare you off with that...that kiss?"
She lowered her head. "It was a little more than a kiss. If Rowan hadn't called, I...." She lowered her head, licked her lips. In her mind she saw them tearing at each other's clothes in her back yard. Making love, standing up, in broad daylight. It had been that frantic what had happened between them.
"I wish she hadn't called," he said, and his voice was coarse.
She lifted her head. His face was close. He bent to her, kissed her. And that heat began uncoiling inside her all over again.
He slid his mouth from hers, over her jaw, and to the tender skin of her neck. Bella tipped her head back and curled her fingers in his hair. His lips, his mouth and teeth on her skin...it was too good. Too wonderful to resist.
"I'll slow down if that's what you want." He murmured, lifting his head. His hand was at her blouse, his fingers fumbling with the buttons. "But tell me now." A button came loose. She didn't say anything. He undid another. And then his hand slipped inside her blouse, and inside her bra, and closed around her breast. His breath stuttered out of him as she sucked hers in at his touch. Callused skin. Warm and rough. "You're not saying anything," he whispered. He drew his thumb and forefinger together on her nipple.
So she said something. She said, "Do that again."
His smile was slow and deliciously devilish. He pinched again, harder this time, and she arched against him. He took her mouth, tugging the rest of the buttons free, and pushing the blouse aside. He took her bra off her, and bent to use his mouth where his hand had been. And it was such sweet torment to feel him suckling her, nipping and pulling as if he'd eat her alive.
He pulled her to the deck with him, pulled her down on top of him, and he was inside her.
Just that suddenly. They were one. Mirabella tipped her head back and rocked her body over his. And she knew in that instant just before she lost herself again to sensation, she knew that this was not simply sex. She was linked to this man. He would be her lover, or her executioner, her salvation or her ruin. Nothing in between.
She cried his name and fell against his chest. And he held her so gently, so lovingly.
"God, Mirabella, where the hell did you come from? How can this be?" he whispered into her hair. "How can i
t be?"
She kissed his neck, and his ear. "Our souls have danced before, Jonathon. And will again. What you feel right now is real. Hold onto it. Please."
Lifting her head slowly, she stared into his eyes, trying to see into his soul. "This...is real. Our souls know each other very well. But now...now we have to come back to the place we call reality the rest of the time. That place where you don't know me at all, and where you may not like me very much when you do."
"Not possible," he whispered. "Mirabella, I...."
"Shhh." She pressed a finger to his lips. "We need to talk, Jonathon."
Gently, she kissed his mouth, then she got off him, and slowly fixed her clothes, buttoned her blouse. He did likewise, though she could see he didn't want to. She sat on the wicker love seat, and he sat down beside her.
"Okay, mysterious Mirabella," he said, his tone loving, teasing. "What don't I know about you? You're beautiful. You're special. There's something about you that draws me like magic, Mirabella. And you love Rowan. A blind man could see that."
"It's true. I do love her. I'd risk my life for her."
He smiled at her, reaching out to straighten her hair. "I know that. You already have, as a matter of fact."
"And maybe I still am."
His brows bent until they touched. "What do you mean?"
She gave her head a rapid shake. "Will you tell me something, Jonathon?"
"Anything. Just ask."
She nodded. "Why do you hate anything having to do with Witchcraft so much?"
His face changed. The gentleness faded, and a hint of harshness came in its place. His jaw went tight, his eyes, narrow. "Why do you ask?"
Bella lifted both brows. "You said you'd tell me anything. So tell me this. Your wife was a Witch, wasn't she?"
He sent her a swift, searching look, and for the first time she saw his eyes cloud with suspicion. "How do you know that?"
"Rowan told me."
His eyes went wider. "Then she knows?"
Three Witches and a Zombie Page 20
