They hit a bump and he cursed his driving and her as her foot rubbed along his thigh. And still she looked out the damn window pretending innocence.
A few more blocks and they’d be home, just a few, not many, and then they caught a stoplight and Sebastian against his better judgment glanced down at her leg.
Long, slim, smooth with a delicate splatter of freckles along her slender ankle. His hand slowly reached out and was just about to trace the swirling freckles when a blast from the car horn behind him jolted him back to his senses, and he looked to see the light had turned green.
He mumbled a curse beneath his breath and refused to look at her. When they arrived at his home, she followed a grumbling Sebastian inside. He stormed down the hall into a room and tossed her tote on the single bed.
“This is where you’ll sleep,” he instructed sternly.
She smiled, shook her head, turned, and with a sway to her hips he could only term lethal, she walked away from him.
Chapter Seventeen
Sebastian sat staring at the image on his computer screen. This Dagon fellow was not only a good-looking man, but a powerful businessman of immense wealth. He owned various companies on the East and West coasts and quite a few overseas. He was of Celtic descent, and as with Ali, Sebastian could find no record of birth, though his educational history was available and impressive.
The few phone calls he had made confirmed most of the information he had discovered through his computer and through an intricate search system Wainwright Security had implemented.
Sebastian saw nothing in the information that would lead him to believe that this Dagon was anyone other than who he appeared to be, a wealthy businessman, which meant the key to this whole issue was Alisande.
He left his home office and went in search of her, the one person who could provide him with the pertinent information concerning Dagon.
He found her in large room connected to the kitchen, snuggled comfortably on his couch reading a mystery. She still wore that temptress outfit and her feet were bare, though tucked partially beneath her. At least that blasted toe ring wasn’t visible.
He had changed out of his suit into khaki shorts and a white knit shirt, casual and relaxing attire. They presented a picture of a happily married couple enjoying an evening home and he liked it. It made him think how pleasant married life could be, though with Ali he wondered if it could ever be normal.
“I thought we would barbecue,” he said entering the room. Information was more easily disclosed when a person was relaxed, and besides he found the idea of spending a casual evening along with her appealing.
Casual and alone?
The two words were not synonymous. He needed to ditch the casual and concentrate on the alone because he somehow got the feeling that the word would go well with temptation and possibly surrender.
Ali smiled her approval. “How delightful.”
While she had attended many functions where barbecues took place, she never participated in the casual barbecue itself, but there was always a first time. “Can I help?”
He gave that question serious thought, trying to decide where in the kitchen she would cause the least chaos. “Can you make a salad?”
“Yes,” she said excited. Adele, after countless attempts at trying to teach her how to cook, had insisted she learn to make a good salad, explaining that she could make a passable meal if she could make a basic salad. Bless her.
Sebastian was impressed by her enthusiasm over such a simple chore. “Good you can make the salad while I prepare the chicken and corn for the grill.”
To Sebastian’s surprise and bewilderment, Ali helped him gather all the necessary items with the ease of someone who was familiar with his kitchen.
He took great care to keep a safe distance from her, though she managed with surprising innocence, to brush intimately against him several times or reach around him or downright torment the hell out of him with her teasing and deliberate actions.
He decided a good conversation about Dagon just might take the wind out of her sails, and he was pleased to see her respond exactly as he expected. “So tell me about Dagon.”
Her hands stilled in the process of tearing the lettuce leaves and she sighed. It was a soft, fleeting sigh, barely audible, but he heard it.
“What do you want to know?”
Sebastian shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t matter, though it did. He wanted to know everything, including how she felt about this questionable man.
He continued to prepare the honey/lime marinade and decided on a simple question to start. “How do you know him?”
“Our families have long been friends.”
“So you were childhood friends?”
“We spent some time together in our youth,” she admitted. One hundred years to be exact. But she couldn’t admit that.
“That would mean you attended school together in Ireland.”
“Only part of the time; mother and father loved to travel, and Dagon’s parents often looked after me, especially if Aunt Sydney was off on her own adventure.”
“Was he always a bully?”
“Dagon never bullied, he intimidated,” she said, happy memories bringing a smile to her face.
“You admire him,” he said, surprised by her obvious respect for the man.
“He’s special to me.”
“Then why not mate with him and solve your problem and his?”
Ali was surprised and pleased by his irritated response, and her reply did little to alleviate his annoyance. “Dagon has never lacked for female companionship, and his powers presently far outweigh mine.”
Sebastian attacked the potatoes with the peeler taking his frustration out with every jabbing stroke. “So he wants to jump-start you?”
Ali laughed at his analogy.
Her amusement irritated him all the more, and he continued to unmercifully attack the potatoes.
She tilted her head to study him, so intent in his actions and yet so removed from them. The fading light of early evening spilled softly through the windows and across his strong features.
He was simply stunning. His jaw was taut, his lips pursed, his brows angled in annoyance, and his nostrils flared ever so slightly in anger. His temper and jealousy, though contained were a compelling sight to behold.
“You haven’t answered my question,” Sebastian said and looked directly at her, causing their glances to lock.
“What question?”
“Why Dagon wants you.”
“He just thinks he wants me,” she said and took a step away from him, needing space, needing to catch her breath and control the rapid beating of her heart.
“What does he want?”
She walked around the counter and calmed her breathing before answering him. “What do you want?”
He looked at her oddly, dropping the peeler in the sink, and washed and dried his hands. “What do I want?”
She stepped into dangerous yet necessary territory with her answer. “Love.”
He approached her slowly. “So Dagon and I want love?”
Control. Where was her control? Her heart hammered, her stomach fluttered and her voice sounded barely audible. “Dagon will find love soon enough.”
Sebastian stepped forward, placing himself a mere inch away from her. “You know this for a fact?”
She knew for a fact that the intimate nearness of him was going to make her do something completely outrageous if she wasn’t careful. But then, she hated being careful.
“Aunt Sydney is a powerful seer. She is well aware of Dagon’s future. He will love, but not love whom he expects.”
She felt the sudden relief that flooded his emotions, and the intimate sensation ran over her like gentle fingers stroking her bare skin.
“And does Sydney know your future?”
Ali shook her head, fighting the urge to reach out and touch him. “She cannot see mine.”
“Why?”
“I took my futur
e in my own hands when I cast the spell on you. She cannot interfere with that spell.”
Sebastian reached out and tenderly brushed a stray strand of hair off her face, his fingers faintly whispering across her cheek.
Ali felt the shiver clear to her toes, the tiny toe bell responding with a faint chime.
“We have much to discuss, Ali,” he said, his hand slipping to the back of her neck to draw her close to him as his mouth reached down to meet hers.
Before she could reply, his lips descended on hers softly, patiently, though powerfully. He stole what little breath she had, released her briefly, she sighed with satisfaction, and then returned to finish the kiss.
His taste was pure magic, his tongue mating in gentle demand with hers. He took complete command and she freely surrendered to his enchanted spell.
His lips ran anxiously over her chin, down her throat, and back up again and as he nibbled hungrily on her lips he whispered, “I can’t get enough of you. I always want more and more.”
“Then take me, Sebastian, take me for who I am,” she pleaded, her need for him so strong that she felt the empty ache down to her soul.
His hand remained firm on her neck, and he slowly rested his forehead against hers. “Who are you?”
“Who do you think I am?” she asked, hopefully.
“A crazy woman who believes she’s a witch.”
Ali stepped away from him. “And who are you, Sebastian?”
He shook his head and smiled. “A man who wants to believe in crazy witches.”
At that moment Ali sensed if she reached out to him that he would surrender to her, but she needed him to understand more. She needed him to understand her and the consequences of their actions. This was one time she didn’t intend to leap without looking.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“So am I,” he admitted with a smile.
One step and she could be in his arms. One simple step and she would have—what—his love of a crazy woman who thought herself a witch?
She wagged her finger at him. “I’ll light the barbecue.”
“With your finger?” he laughed.
She stuck her tongue out at him as she walked out the sliding-glass doors.
He shook his head again. Damn, but he had to stop doing that and walked around the counter to get the striker he used to start the grill.
“Here,” he said, joining her on the deck and stopped short.
“All done,’ she said and blew at her finger, as if it had emitted a flame and needed extinguishing.
He was about to shake his head and thought better of it. “This is definitely going to be an interesting evening.”
o0o
The last faint glow of the sun faded reluctantly. Dagon sat with Sydney on the terrace watching the stunning sight and enjoying a glass of white wine while they waited for supper to be served.
“Ali loves the mortal,” he said.
Sydney agreed. “Yes, she has wanted to love for a long time now.”
“That is why she waited to mate.”
“Ali never wanted to settle. She wanted someone special, someone to love and accept her for who she is.”
Dagon nodded understanding. “That’s why she used the magical love spell—all or nothing.”
“Does Ali do anything any other way?” Sydney said with a laugh.
“In a way I can’t blame her,” he said, his envy obvious in his tome. “To have someone love you faults and all is a rare quality.”
“Is that what you look for, Dagon?”
He laughed and shook his head slowly. “I intend to find a female witch as strong or stronger in power than myself, I will settle for nothing less.”
“No mere mortal?”
He laughed even harder. “Never. I could not tolerate a mortal woman. They cry, demand, and are weak-willed. I want one of my own kind; strong in nature, wise, and passionate. There is nothing like a passionate witch.”
Sydney laughed this time. “Be careful what you wish for, my dear boy.”
“I’m not wishing. I intend to have what I want.”
“Like Ali?”
He grew annoyed. “I will not place myself in a precarious position such as she has done.”
“She has taken a chance.”
“Chance?” Dagon said raising his voice and almost jumping out of his chair. He paced back and forth on the flagstones in front of Sydney. “She was foolish, absolutely foolish.”
Sydney defended her niece. “She felt love would conquer all.”
“Hah.”
“You don’t believe love is so strong it conquers?”
He stopped in front of her. “Ali believes that this mortal male will love her so much that he will accept who she is... a witch. A witch with extraordinary powers, and they will live happily ever after.”
“And you don’t believe in happily ever after?”
Dagon closed his eyes briefly as if holding back the inevitable. “He will make love to her, of that I have no doubt, but when he finally sees and admits who she truly is, I fear he will not be able to accept her uniqueness... and then all will be lost to her.”
“She made the choice.”
He nodded. “A foolish choice. According to this ancient spell, she will never be able to love another so strongly, and he will be lost to her forever. She will not even be a faded memory to him. She will be erased from his mind and his heart.”
“The choice will be his, Dagon. If he truly loves her, then his love will conquer the spell. If not, then he never truly loved her at all. Ali aches for such a powerful love and would be satisfied with nothing less.”
“The fool will probably think that it was the spell that made him fall in love with her.”
“Let’s hope he is wiser,” Sydney said, “and realizes that the spell is cast to test the power of love.”
“She should mate with the mortal, enjoy him, and move on.”
“That is not love,” she argued.
“Love is impossible to hold on to,” he insisted.
Love should never be imprisoned.”
“Love is painful.”
“Love is joy.”
“Love is damn hard to find,” Dagon said frustrated.
“Love finds you.”
Dagon returned to his chair and looked to Sydney for an answer to a question that had long bothered him. “Does everyone find love?”
“Love finds everyone,” she corrected with patience, “but too often many are blind to it.”
“Not so Ali,” he said with envy. “She knew love when she saw it and allowed nothing to stop her from getting it.”
“She is a stubborn and determined one.”
Dagon laughed and held his glass up in a salute. “Then here’s to Sebastian Wainwright. He’s going to need all the help he can get.”
Chapter Eighteen
Ali sat tucked in the corner of the couch, finishing a cup of honey-lemon tea. Supper had gone well. Conversation had been kept to the ordinary. She now needed to step beyond the mundane and take a chance, a chance that could cost her dearly.
An oak end table separated the couch and chair where Sebastian sat, his thoughts on Ali.
“It is time we talked,” he said, “and strangely enough I sense you feel the same.”
“If only he would rely more on his senses, but then, would he understand what he felt? Would he fully comprehend this connection between them, or would he seek a reasonable answer?
She nodded her agreement. It was all or nothing, she could wait no longer. “Yes, Sebastian, the time has come.”
She made it sound so final, as if their actions this night would decide their fate. And the strange thought that he might lose her filled him with sudden dread.
“Do you believe in destiny?” she asked.
His brief smile betrayed his skepticism. “Destiny is merely an accumulation of foolish or unwise decisions.”
“A sensible response.”
Sebastian accepted her complime
nt; sound reasoning did have its advantages.
“And what is your destiny, Sebastian?”
He smiled. “To believe in crazy witches.”
“Do you believe?”
He hesitated. “A few short weeks ago my belief system was firmly rooted. Now I find myself questioning the impossible.”
“Have you found answers?”
“I think the question should be—have I found any sensible answers?”
Ali laughed and put her empty mug on the coffee table. “Perhaps you search too hard.”
He looked directly at her. “Perhaps I don’t search hard enough. You sit here before me, a woman in her late twenties possible early thirties, yet you have no birth certificate to confirm that you were ever born. You are clearly highly educated, and yet no record of an extensive education exists. You come from a wealthy, eccentric family whose heritage dates back to the ancient Celts, and yet certain documents confirming this are unattainable. So as I asked you many times before, who are you Alisande Wyrrd?”
The truth. He wanted to hear the truth as much as she wanted him to accept the truth. The truth would decide the outcome of this spell. The truth would bring them together or separate them for all eternity.
She held her head up with pride and answered honestly. “I am a witch born of a witch. My heritage is ancient and my powers great. Can you accept this about me?”
A chill raced over him and he stood, pacing the floor in front of the couch until he stopped and his dark, troubled eyes met hers. They questioned, pleaded and loved. “You actually believe that you’re a witch?”
“I am a witch, Sebastian,” she said patiently.
How did he respond to that? How did he accept what he thought impossible? And most of all, how could he feel this passionate about a crazy woman?
“I am not crazy, Sebastian.”
He glared at her. “My thoughts are private.”
“Not now. Not when we need to understand each other. I read your thoughts clearly because I care so deeply for you. That is why you are able to read mine—”
“I can’t read your thoughts,” he protested. The idea was preposterous, outrageous in its presumption. He had no such abilities, nor would he ever.
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