Again the Magic

by Lee Damon

  Drawing in a deep breath, Kitt lifted dazzled eyes to the sky and, still in a state of wonder, watched the sweeping, tumbling cloud formations shade and blend in ever-changing tones of yellow, orange, rose, red, scarlet, lavender, orchid, purple and brilliant silver-gold until, finally, the spectacle ended with an intense display of magenta flame filling the western horizon.

  Kitt sighed, feeling peaceful, relaxed and content, as she watched the dark river that was barely discernible in the dying light of dusk. Somehow, the awesome display of Nature's power and magic had reduced all her problems to insignificance, while at the same time reinforcing her faith in the strength of the love and trust between O'Mara and herself. Everything had suddenly been refined and reduced to one simple fact: their coming together and their sharing of the rest of their lives were as natural, inevitable and magnificent as that sunset.

  Huddled in her warm jacket, with Hero's body heat keeping the cold from at least part of her legs, she lingered on the deck for another quarter-hour watching the clouds drifting across the starlit night sky. At last, the chilly dampness rising from the river drove her inside. Shrugging out of her jacket, she shivered in the cool room and pulled an Aran sweater on over her blue and white Oxford-cloth shirt. She'd forgotten about the coffee, and it had gone cold. Since she had to stay up until at least ten so she could take Hero out, she headed for the kitchen for another mug, flicking up the thermostat a couple of degrees as she passed it.

  Her mood was a strange mingling of tranquil acceptance of the truth of O'Mara and herself and an exaltation welling through her as the vision of the sunset lingered in her mind. Flicking through the stereo cassettes, she pulled out Northland Rhapsody and slotted it into the player, settling at one end of the sofa to sip her coffee and listen to the evocative music of the mysterious North Country. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, envisioning the endless green sweep of the deep woods broken only by roiling rivers and clear lakes reflecting the intense blue of a smogless sky. The character of the music changed, sending the chill of glaciers and mountain snowfields shivering up her spine before sliding into a haunting, desolate evocation of the barren, icy wastes of the Arctic. Kitt was lost in the intensity of the shifting moods of the music until she became aware of the tears on her cheeks as the final passage began—the impression of the eerie, sibilant, rising and fading, unearthly singing of the Northern Lights.

  The music ended, but she sat unmoving, her mind filled with the mystery and wonder of the strange song of the heavens. She'd read about the phenomenon in a variety of books and articles on the Far North, and knew that there was considerable controversy over it. Many who had lived all their lives in that harsh country swore that the Lights had never made a sound, but others vowed with equal vehemence that they had heard them more than once and had even produced tape recordings.

  Dreamily, she envisioned O'Mara and herself standing in a snowfield, watching the dancing Lights filling the sky and listening to the mystical music. Oh, you daft wench, she chided, the man has got you in a rare fine state. Next, you'll be dreaming of getting away from it all in a hideaway in the mid-Atlantic trench! What's a little problem like breathing under water? After all, love conquers all! Nut! You're a total nut, Kitt Tate.

  Jumping up, she shook off her fanciful imaginings and strode briskly to the kitchen, forcing away tiredness for a while as she fixed another mug of coffee, inspected cabinets and refrigerator, and made a shopping list. Remembering O'Mara's promise to spend as much time as possible with her, she smiled to herself and went back over the list, adding here and increasing quantities there. She checked it over again, trying to recall his preferences in those distant summers, and found herself, instead, picturing Gus.

  Boys were easy. She quickly added chocolate chips, brown sugar, nuts, oatmeal, a large jar of peanut butter, baking chocolate, preserves and more fruit. Flipping open cupboard doors, she rechecked her stock of flour, sugar and shortening. Enough for now, she decided. If I run out, I can always pick some up later in the week. Hope he's planning on Gus being with us some of these evenings. Can't wait to get to know him better. Oh, he's such a delight! And that budding sense of humor. He's going to be as quick-witted as his father.

  She wandered back to the sofa and sat down, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her hands stroking Hero as he stood between her feet. "You like him, too, don't you? Did you have a good time the other night with Gus?"

  At the sound of the boy's name, Hero cocked his head inquiringly and wagged his tightly curled tail. "Rrorrf?"

  "Right. Gus. I think you've found a new best friend, haven't you? You won't even have time to miss Ez."

  "Arrarow rarroo."

  "O'Mara likes you, too. In fact, dog, you're going to end up with more attention than you'll know what to do with. That might almost apply to me, too. I've got a strong hunch that that man is going to insinuate himself into every nook and cranny of my life."

  "Oouooar raoowr."

  "I know. You're absolutely right. It's not such a bad thing, maybe. But I think, after a while, when we've gotten used to being together again and I've overcome this damn panic about sex, we're going to have to work something out. I'm not the kind of woman to live only through a man. I've got to have something for myself, something that's my own achievement." With her hands on either side of his head, fingers rubbing behind his ears, she tipped the dog's face up to hers. "Do you think he'll be able to understand that, my Hero?"

  "Raar arro-woow."

  "Hmmm. Maybe. He's a very together man, and he doesn't need to prove anything by submerging my identity in his. However, he does have a tendency to make all the decisions and, one way or another, get me to go along. There's just so much of this it's-for-your-own-good stuff that's valid. Some of it's okay, but not all the time about every little thing. Maybe, right now, it's just overreaction or overpossessiveness because we're together again so unexpectedly. I suppose that was as much of a shock to him as it was to me. And I certainly feel possessive about him. Strange, that. I'm not the possessive type. At least, I never thought I was, but I sure didn't like all those drooly women hanging on him in that lounge."

  "Maarroo?"

  "No, not yet. First things first. The most important project at the moment is to get rid of my damn trauma. And we do seem to be making some progress. Wonder if he had time today to call his friend about that. Although his own system seems to be working rather well."

  She turned her wrist to check the time. "Close enough, Hero. Come on, out we go, but make it fast. No long rambles tonight. I've got to get some sleep."

  With Hero's cooperation and a bare minimum of bedtime routine, Kitt was sound asleep within half an hour. It would have taken a lot more to awaken her than the faint clicks at the deck door three hours later or Hero's light bound off the foot of the bed or the hushing whisper and soft rustling beside the bed. She stirred but still didn't wake when the long body eased down beside her and stretched out full length along her left side, not quite touching her as she lay on her back with the bedclothes pushed down to her waist.

  There was enough light coming in the big bay window from the streetlights and a half-moon to show the dark head propped on one hand as he watched the sleeping woman. Perhaps sensing something different, she sighed and turned her face toward him but continued sleeping. His gaze moved over her face in a loving examination, noting how much younger she looked with the relaxation of tension that always seemed to be hovering over her. In the dim light, her lashes were a smudge against the high cheekbones, and the wide mouth was soft, the lips slightly parted. The corners of his lips twitched in amusement as his eyes shifted down and he took in the plain, no-frills, silk pajama jacket. Slowly, taking care not to touch her, his steady fingers deftly slid the buttons from their holes until his progress was halted by the folded-back blanket. It was enough. With thumb and index finger, he pulled gently on the pale green silk until it slid far enough to the side to uncover her left breast.

  His fin
ger was feather-light as it started trailing a circling path around the soft, slightly flattened mound. His eyes were intently watching her lashes as his finger reached her tautening nipple and started teasing it. At the first flickering movement of awakening, he gently closed his hand over her breast and leaned to rest his mouth against hers, slowly stroking the tip of his tongue between her lips.

  The first faint pings of warning never made it out of her subconscious. Probably because they weren't very strong. After all, nothing truly threatening had happened. No thuds, crashes or shatterings. No snarls, howls or yells. Just a vague, barely perceived feeling that something was... odd, out of the normal, unfamiliar. The tiny tickle of strangeness did no more than cause a sigh and a slight shifting of her head.

  The dream drifted in like a zephyr, a brushing of soft wings across her breast, a breath of warm air on her face. Butterflies. A lovely iridescent blue and green one settled on her breast and tiptoed around, climbing to the peak where it hovered fluttering the fragile edge of its wing against the tight nipple. It tickled. And there was something else, a... something... a presence... nearby. What? Must wake up and move the butterfly. So beautiful. Wake up now. Now. Oh.

  Kitt's eyes opened wide, straining to see, as consciousness crept into her mind. Somebody. Man. Mouth. Hand. Her body knew instinctively before her mind was aware, and her back arched to the warm hand, her mouth opened for the seeking tongue and one of her hands moved to bury itself in the soft, thick hair. Her eyes recognized the shape of his head, her nose knew his scent and her mouth welcomed the familiar tongue. Questions fluttered through her mind, but they didn't seem important at the moment. Only the heat and need rising in her were real. She struggled to free her left hand, trapped under the covers. She wanted to touch him, to hold him in both hands, to—

  "Mmmmm. I must wake you up more often."

  "O'Mara?"

  "It better not be anyone else."

  "Where did you—How did you get in? What time is it?"

  "One-thirty, and I picked the lock."

  "How?"

  "Easily. I'll show you sometime."

  "Ohhh-oh. That feels good. O'Mara?"

  "Mmmm?"

  "Why are we whispering?"

  "So we won't wake Hero."

  "Some watchdog. He usually wakes me if anyone sets foot on the place."

  "He's a brilliant dog. Knows just who belongs here. He met me at the door and led me right to your bed. Turn on your side, love, facing me."

  "But—"

  "No problem. I can play with the other one."

  "Are you laughing at me? Beast. It's just that it feels nice."

  "Only nice?"

  "Weellll... Very nice? Oh!"

  "Oh, indeed. Told you it was no problem. That's one thing that's helpful about having a matched pair."

  "You pick... the damnedest times... ohh... to... tease."

  "Who's teasing?"

  "O'Maraaa... oh, yes... don't stop."

  "Easy, love. You're going to take out a handful of hair in a minute. Mmmm. Wait. Can't you take this thing off?"

  "It's all right. You don't have to if it makes you nervous."

  "N-no. I'm not.... You won't hold me down, will you?"

  "Uh-uh. We'll stay like this. You can move away whenever you want to. All right? Are you afraid?"

  "Not like this. Touch me again?"

  "Like this?"

  "Oh, yes. Yes."

  "Ken was right. Great minds."

  "What?"

  "I called Ken Thorp this afternoon, and we had a long talk about how to cope with your... our problem."

  "What did he say? Ahhh, if you keep doing that, I'm not going to be able to concentrate on this discussion."

  "Yes, you can. It's all part of the program. Why don't you let go of my hair for a minute... what is this thing you've got about hanging onto fistfuls of hair, love?... and unbutton my shirt."

  "I like the feel of your hair, that's what. Are you sure about this?"

  "Mmm-hmm. Ken says that I've started out right, getting you used to my touch, but that things will probably go faster if we distract your attention from what my hands are doing by talking about something else and, at the same time, keeping your hands busy with their own concerns."

  "So I won't have time to worry about what you might do?"

  "Something like that. Except that you shouldn't worry about it anyway. You know I'm not going to do anything you won't like or that will frighten you. It's a matter of... mmm... programming. Getting you so used to my touch, in a totally nonthreatening and natural way, that you'll actually mis; it when I'm not with you."

  "I miss it now. I mean, I did tonight."

  "Not as much as you're going to."

  "What else did he say? What about being able to hold me?"

  "Not yet. In fact, he said that I shouldn't even try. He thinks we should... what are you doing?"

  "I love the fur on your chest. It's so soft. Ez's is rough and so was—I've always liked your pelt. Remember?"

  "Oh, indeed I do. All right. Help yourself. It goes right along with Ken's suggestion, in fact."

  "What suggestion?"

  "He thinks we should come at this from two directions. Both of them are going to call for a lot of trust on your part, absolute blind faith that I'm going to keep control no matter what either of us does. Do you understand, love? You've got to believe it without question or the slightest shadow of doubt."

  "And then what?"

  "Look at me. Can you do it? Have that kind of faith in me?"

  "Of course. I'm here, aren't I? I'm lying on this bed with you, and you've got your hand on my breast and I'm touching you, and I'm not panicking."

  "And that covers both directions. Ken said that we should work on getting you used to my hands, just as I explained a few minutes ago, and at the same time you should try to let yourself go and... well, take the lead. Touch me, put your arms around me, kiss me, whatever you want to do... or feel like doing... or want me to do. You'll set the pace, but I'll encourage you to go a little bit further each time. And always we'll stop when you say so, the second you start feeling uneasy or afraid."

  "Do you think it will work?"

  "Yes. It may take a while, but I'm sure it's the answer. Can you do it?"

  "Oh, yes. I'm sure I can. And I'm certain it will work. It's got to."

  "Don't push it, though. Just let it happen naturally."

  "I am. What's that?"

  "A scar. Nothing much. Just a scratch. Ahh, if you're going to explore my ribs, use a firmer touch, love. That tickles."

  "O'Mara? This isn't going to be easy for you, is it? I mean—"

  "I know exactly what you mean. No, it isn't going to be easy in some ways. I want you more than you can begin to imagine, and it's going to be hell to keep all that tamped down. On the other hand, I love to touch you and to feel your hands on me, and I'm cherishing the thought that all my extraordinary self-control is going to be well rewarded in the near future. You are going to make all this up to me, aren't you, my love?"

  "Mmmm. I'm sure to think of something. There must be a book or two of helpful suggestions downstairs."

  "Witch. Never mind your damn books. I'll teach you anything you want to know, and probably quite a few things you'd never think of by yourself."

  "Promises, promises. Aaaiie. Ohh. Yes. Yes."

  "Strange. Why do your breasts taste like lemons?"

  "My soap. Sometimes it's heather. Do it some more. Please."

  "Greedy... I remember... once I started this, before, you didn't want to... let me stop."

  "I still don't. Why are you?"

  "So you can kiss me. This is supposed to be a group participation effort."

  "Two isn't a group. Mmm. You taste like lime."

  "Aftershave. Three is a group. Open your mouth, love, and stop talking."

  "Uummm."

  "Now what?"

  "Who's the third?"

  "Hero. He's curled up against my legs. Stop
laughing, wench."

  "I love you. My personal toad-prince."

  "You're getting giddy. I knew I shouldn't start kissing your breasts."

  "Yes, you should. In fact, you should do it more often."

  "I will. Now what are you doing? Oh, love, if you're going to start undressing me, we're going to have a problem."

  "Just your shirt. I want... mmmm... that. Your fur is like silk... tiny feathers of silk... against my breasts."

  "Is your fur like silk?"

  "I don't have—Oh!"

  "Never mind. One of these nights, I'll find out for myself. Mmmm. Was that a tease, or are you really going to kiss me?"

  "Does that answer your question? Are you all right?"

  "No. You're driving me slowly out of my mind doing that."

  "Don't you like it?"

  "Mmm. Love it. But you're still giving me a temperature, between rubbing your breasts across my chest and adventuring all over the place with your busy tongue—"

  "It's just your neck... and your ear...."

  "And my mouth and my shoulder. What are you doing now?"

  "The blanket's in the way."

  "Leave it there. Kitt!"

  "But I want—"

  "I know what you want, love, but let's not put too much strain on my willpower. Just leave the blanket where it is, you under it and me on top of it. A nice safe arrangement."

  "O'Mara? I think I could—"

  "No, you can't. And you're not going to try. Not yet. Thank you for the thought, though, love."

  "Oh, damn. None of this is fair to you at all. And what if it makes you sick?"

  "Kitt! For godsake, where do you get these ideas? I'm all right. At least, I will be as long as you stay under that blanket."

  "But—"

  "I am not going to get sick from a little abstinence."

  "A lot."

  "Okay, a lot of abstinence. I'm still not going to get sick. Where do you get such weird ideas?"

  "I probably read it somewhere."

  "Stop reading about sex. If you want to know something, ask me. If I can't demonstrate it, at least I can explain it."

  "Okay. Why can't I—"

  "No. Not tonight. I already told you—Oh, you witch, are you ever going to pay for all this. Come on, now. Kiss me goodnight. I've got to get home, or I'll never make it back here by eight."