~*~
When he saw Anne’s number on his cell phone caller ID Paul flipped it open, suddenly afraid she was canceling their evening. He had been moving too fast, he knew it. The lovemaking, the magic—she was backing off.
Yet when he said hello, she said, “Paul! Thank God, you picked up. Please come sooner. Come now.”
“What is it, Anne? What’s happened?” Even as he asked, Paul grabbed his wallet and keys, hurrying from his penthouse suite to the elevator. He was already in a cab by the time she finished telling him about Langley’s unwanted attentions. If he had known where the bastard lived, he might have gone there first to set the little shit straight once and for all.
“He can’t come back, can he? He can’t get in unless you buzz him in?”
“No, he can’t. Unless someone else lets him in, but the people in my building are pretty careful about that. It’s not that I think he’s coming back. It was just so—I don’t know, invasive. It was one thing when he was an asshole at work—we had lots of asshole clients—it went with the territory. And last night as frightening as it was, well, I could pass it off to alcohol. But today,” she expelled a breath into the phone. “Today he was in my home. I feel violated. I feel like fumigating the place.” She laughed nervously. “I know I’m overreacting but there’s something about the guy. He gives me the creeps.”
“I don’t think you’re overreacting at all,” Paul interjected. “Hold on a sec.” The traffic was snarled, the cars caught in gridlock at the intersection. Annoyed, Paul leaned his head out of the back window of the cab and waved his hand toward the traffic light, fixing it on green to break the gridlock. Turning his attention back to Anne he said, “I’ve learned over many years to trust a woman’s intuition. I know that sounds sexist but women tend to be more in tune with underlying emotions—with subtle cues about people’s behavior, overt and otherwise. You’ve never trusted this man, so I gather. Not since you were first forced to work with him at your firm. Your fears obviously have merit. We’re going to keep our eye out for this one, Anne. I have a bad feeling about him. If he took the time to find out where you live and to go there uninvited, I doubt you’ve seen the last of him.”
“Are you almost here?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”
“You know, he said he didn’t remember a thing about last night. About any ‘bad behavior’ he might have indulged in. I think he was feeling me out in that regard. To see what he’d done.”
“It’s hard to say what he actually recalls without probing his mind. He’d certainly had a good deal to drink. You behaved perfectly from the sound of it—telling him only that you were otherwise involved and asking him to please leave.” Paul felt a secret thrill as he said the words—she’d told another person she was “seeing someone”. Really, he had to get a hold of himself. He was acting like a schoolboy instead of the seasoned old warlock he actually was. Did love make a fool of everyone?
When Paul finally arrived at Anne’s place, she buzzed him up. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I’m sorry to seem like such a kid. I mean, it’s not like he did anything. And he did leave once I made it clear I wasn’t interested.”
Paul held Anne, stroking her back. “I had meant to bring a bottle of wine to share before our carriage ride but I was in such a hurry when you called I forgot it.”
“I have wine,” Anne said. She stepped back, smiling up at Paul. “Come see what you’d like.” She moved toward the kitchen. As they entered, Paul saw the roses, long-stemmed red roses still in their green wrapper, stuffed in the kitchen trashcan. Anne followed his gaze. “I didn’t want them. Not from him. He wouldn’t take them back. He said to—to put them on my husband’s grave.” She turned away. Paul clenched his fists. Robert Langley had crossed the line one time too many. He now had a warlock for an enemy.
Anne had moved to a small wine rack in the corner of the kitchen. “I have a nice French Burgundy here. I hadn’t wanted to open it without someone to share it.”
Paul took the bottle, examining the label. It was a Roumier just at its peak. “An excellent burgundy,” he nodded with approval. Anne allowed him to uncork it and poured it in two crystal wineglasses. They settled on Anne’s large living room couch. Paul sipped his wine, thinking about Robert Langley, angry that the man had upset Anne so. He noticed Anne hadn’t even tasted her wine yet.
“Try it. It’s really quite good.”
Anne set her glass down with a sigh. “I have such a headache,” she said, massaging her temples. “My jaw is clenched, my neck is tight. I can’t believe I’m letting that asshole get to me like this. It’s not like he tried anything. Nothing physical anyway. He left when I told him to, thank God.”
“Well, you have a right be upset. He pretty much forced his way into your home, roses in hand or not. He essentially tried to bribe you to be his lover with offers of material wealth, he wasn’t graceful about taking no for answer and then he left, slamming the door. He behaved like the bully and cad we already know him to be.”
Gently Paul touched Anne’s hand. “I want to take you out for a lovely dinner and carriage ride, Anne. Just the two of us. No pigeons, no Manhattan elite to mingle with, just you and me. But I want you relaxed and happy before we go.” Gently tilting her chin toward him with one finger, Paul said, “I know just the thing. I’ll give you a massage. You just lie on the bed and let my magic fingers ease the tension from your body. Then we can have a lovely evening. What do you say?”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that. I’m just being a big baby anyway.”
“Nonsense. You’ve had a lot to cope with over the past few days and you’ve barely had any sleep on top of it.” He smiled as Anne blushed. They’d gone from the party to his house, staying up most the night making love. They’d caught cat naps here and there, but certainly nothing near a full night’s sleep. Witches and warlocks didn’t require as much sleep as their mortal counterparts and Paul knew Anne must be exhausted.
As if to prove his point, Anne yawned. “Excuse me. You must be right. I didn’t even realize I was tired until you said that.” Paul reached out, gently massaging the back of her neck with one hand as he lifted the heavy hair with the other. Anne sighed appreciatively, leaning back against his hand.
“Okay, you win. This just feels too good to say no to. But do we have the time?”
“All the time you need, my love.” She preceded Paul into her bedroom and lay across the bed, remaining fully clothed. She was wearing a pale green sleeveless blouse and a long skirt of darker green with a pattern of abstract fish painted in gold over the fabric.
Paul sat on the edge of the bed, removing her silver leather sandals from her pretty, high-arched feet. He began to massage one foot, using both hands to knead the arch and smooth the toes. Anne again sighed her appreciation, but remarked, “My feet don’t hurt—it’s my head.”
“I know,” Paul said. “Usually tension manifests itself throughout the body. I’m going to start at your feet and move right on up, releasing your negative energy and tension as I go.” He continued with the first foot for a while, admiring her toes, the nails painted a seashell pink. He moved to the other foot and then to her slender, smooth calves. His strong capable fingers moved over her legs, pushing the skirt aside but keeping her panties covered.
Gently he lifted her blouse from the skirt, sliding his hands up under the silky fabric to her narrow back. As he began to work the muscles there, Anne squirmed and giggled. “You’re tickling me.”
“That’s because most of your tension is held in your back and neck muscles. I’ll be gentler at first but to really release the tension I have to apply significant pressure.” He continued to press the tight, knotted muscles, his movements partially hampered by the blouse and her bra. It was Anne who sat up, pulling her blouse from her body. She lay back down, reaching around to unclasp her bra, which she tossed by the side of the bed.
Paul felt his cock respond to her gesture. He wanted to flip her over, to cup her luscious breasts and lick those perfect dark pink nipples to hard little points. He wanted to pull the skirt down her long, sexy legs and tear the panties from her body. His cock hardened as he climbed over the half-naked woman, crouched over her luscious ass. He didn’t dare straddle her, though that would have made massaging her easier, as he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself if he felt those perfect round globes beneath his thighs and pressing against his balls.
He could have sent a magical suggestion into her mind. He could have dropped the commands into her head to make her roll over of her own accord, pulling off her clothes, opening her arms and her legs to him. Sheer self will and the knowledge her love freely given would be worth infinitely more than whatever he might steal, kept his magic firmly in check.
Instead he continued to massage her supple flesh, silently marveling at how soft and supple her skin was. Her muscles eased under his fingers as he smoothed the tension from them. Finally he moved his hands to her neck and into the soft, luxurious tresses of her shiny hair.
Gently he massaged her scalp, aware she had fallen into a light sleep, her breathing deep and even, her body utterly relaxed. Paul glanced at his watch. If they left now, they might just make their reservation across town, but obviously they weren’t going to leave now.
Paul slipped his hand into the waist of his pants and past his underwear, adjusting his erect cock against his belly. Withdrawing his hand, he lay down next to the lovely young woman, lightly putting his arm over her back as he snuggled next to her. Anne needed her rest—he’d kept her up far too late. They had made love the night before and again that morning, yet here he was, as eager as a boy to take her again—to taste her sweetness, to feel her primal heat as she locked her pussy around his cock, his hands gripping her pert, sexy ass.
Now he contented himself with moving the swatch of hair that had fallen over her face, tucking it behind one small, delicate ear. How young she looked in repose. What was he doing, he wondered for the hundredth time. For as long as he could remember, he had always been the one firmly in control. His primary concern, once he’d satisfied his physical lust for a woman, was how to let her down gently—how to send her on her way without hurting her feelings or leaving her longing for him. How ironic that now it was he who lay unrequited, longing to declare his love to this innocent young mortal, terrified she would break his heart.
He needed to turn the magic on himself—to cast an impervious spell over his own heart to harden him to this fledgling love. Yet to do that would be to deny the heady sweetness, the fresh, rare joy of newfound love. As he listened to Anne’s soft, even breathing, Paul tried to remember when he had last been in love. Had he ever been in love? What would happen now? A few short years with this mortal woman and then he would be bereft, alone, cast adrift with only her memory to sustain him…
Paul shook his head, ruefully smiling at himself. Was his predicament not precisely the same as Anne’s had been when he first came upon her on that bench in the park? Just because magic folk walked the earth longer than mortals, was not the concept of love the same for them all? The old adage that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all—for the first time in his long life, Paul understood and knew this to be true.
He closed his eyes, willing himself to let go of his fears, to still his churning mind and just enjoy the feel of Anne’s warm, sweet body next to his. He put his face to her hair, inhaling her sweet, fresh scent. “I love you,” he whispered.
Anne, lost in dreams, did not hear him.
Chapter 11
“Come with me. We’ll go first-class. We can stay a week—longer if you like. I’ll attend the two art auctions early on and we’ll spend the rest of the time exploring Paris.”
Anne stared at Paul. Who could say no to such an incredible invitation? They’d been together nearly two weeks. Two inseparable weeks. Though they hadn’t spent every single night together, not a day had passed that they hadn’t at least shared a meal. Emotionally Anne knew she was in love with Paul. Beneath the love however was fear. Fear of how vulnerable she had become, nearly desperate for his love, terrified of its loss. Intellectually she knew they were moving too fast. Joy and terror seemed to be on a collision course and Anne had no idea who or what would survive the crash.
Never in her life had Anne let herself open up with another person as she had with Paul. She had shared her secrets, her dreams, her fears. She had shared her body in a way she’d never dared with another person. Always somewhat reticent, with Paul she felt more at ease than she ever had.
Their passion was sometimes tender, sometimes fierce, always satisfying in a way completely new to Anne. Paul didn’t just have sex, he made love. Sometimes he had her simply lie there, her legs spread, her arms over her head. He would kiss every inch of her body, starting with her face or with her toes, invariably ending at her sex, driving her into a fit of delirious passion.
No man had ever paid this sort of attention to her. She wouldn’t have allowed it. Still comparing Paul to Greg in her mind, she knew Greg would never have had the interest in her form for its sake that Paul seemed to. Greg had regarded her body as a means to an end. This hadn’t especially bothered Anne as she had had no idea of her body’s capacity for pleasure—not until Paul had come along and opened the floodgates of her passion.
For the first time in her life, Anne examined her own body with almost as much interest and reverence as Paul. The shyness was gone or nearly so. Though one day he’d crossed the line and the old Anne had resurfaced, blushing hotly. He’d insisted she look into the hand mirror he’d brought to her bed for the purpose.
Anne had slammed her legs together, wrapping her arms protectively around her knees. “Female genitalia is ridiculous-looking,” she’d announced primly.
Paul had burst out laughing. “You silly girl. You are so American in your prudish, absurd sentiments.” He shook his head. “What is it about Americans with this obsession to airbrush away the most beautiful parts of a woman? A man worth his salt seeks the poetry of each individual woman’s shape, as unique and lovely as a snowflake. That poetry, that beauty, extends to a woman’s sex. Each one as beautiful as the next, delicate as an orchid, its scent as rare, its petals as precious.
“Come on. Look at it. Look at how beautiful it is.” Anne had fallen back on the bed, hiding her face in her hands, her legs pressed tightly together. Gently Paul had pulled her legs apart, his strong, large hands resting on either thigh. Forcing the issue, he had continued. “The labia are like flower petals, so delicately formed, demurely hiding your sweet little clit, drawing the eye down to your impossibly hot, tight entrance. Come here.”
Gently he’d pulled her hands from her face, forcing her to look at him. “You are the artist, Anne, but I know beauty when I see it. I’ve made my fortune exploiting my knowledge and I know beauty not only in art but in life. Your sex is exquisite. Let me show you. See it through my eyes.”
Moving behind her on the bed, he’d settled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her. Reaching forward, he’d held the mirror in front of her, angling it so she could see her own pussy, nestled below dark curling pubic hair, the lips pouting between her legs.
For a moment she had seen her body as he did—the labia like a spreading flower, the lips darkening and engorging as his fingers gently traced the curves, sliding down to her entrance, making her shiver with pleasure. It was beautiful. He wasn’t only pretending as she had known other men to do—men she had overheard when they thought no women were about, lewdly discussing females in terms of tuna fish and hairy slits, holes to be filled, used and discarded as quickly as possible. She realized on some level she’d taken these grotesque, misogynistic stereotypes into her own psyche, a part of her sharing the disgust and dismay.
With Paul it was different. He made her feel sexy and good about herself—not only her obvious attributes,
but every part of her. He loved the backs of her knees and the bridge of her nose. He made her laugh, flushing with pleasure and embarrassment as he endlessly complimented each part of her body as if she were the most perfect, unique human on the planet.
When they were together, it was wonderful. Paul showed Anne parts of the city she hadn’t known existed, taking her to wonderful restaurants, strange shops and secret gardens hidden amongst the glass, brick and steel of the bustling metropolis. His focus on her was absolute—at times Anne felt overwhelmed by his constant, loving attention.
Sometimes she had to pull away, to pull back, to find a way to let him know she needed more space. This trip to Paris, while it sounded exciting and exotic, meant she would be completely dependent on Paul while there, always at his side with nowhere of her own to retreat to. Feeling at once attracted to and overwhelmed by the idea, Anne gently said, “I can’t, Paul.”
He looked so crestfallen she almost relented, just to see the smile return to his handsome face. How much of her life had she done things she hadn’t really wanted to do in order to please someone else? How much of her married life had been focused on keeping Greg happy, no matter the price to herself?
Did she want to compromise this new relationship, so desperate to please she would deny her own impulses? Ironically she knew Paul would insist she be true to herself. They’d talked for many hours about that very thing, with Paul gently encouraging her to let go of old patterns.
Yet she owed it to him to explain. “Paul, it’s lovely of you to invite me. Truly it is. Someday I know we’ll travel the world together. I would love that. But right now I think I need a little time to myself. I’m just, you see, I’m not used to all this, that is…” Anne found herself unable to continue. Tears filled her eyes. This magical warlock who could have anyone, literally anyone in the world, had chosen her. At least for now. She knew she might lose him and wondered if her newly awakened heart could bear the loss. How did she dare to refuse him even a single thing? She waited for the world to collapse as he took in her words.
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