Daddy Warlock

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Raymond was undergoing therapy, but she would visit him tomorrow. Having seen how he’d risked his life to try to save Harry and Lois, Tara was willing to give him a second chance. She doubted he would turn into a model grandfather, but she suspected last night’s lesson would stick.

  Rajeev arrived with the Lexus to collect the three of them. On the way home, Harry filled their ears with chatter about his new stuffed animals. Each was named after a video-game character: there were monkeys named Diddy and Dixie and bears named Mario and Luigi.

  Chance, sitting in front beside Rajeev, nodded and gave his son an occasional half smile over his shoulder. His face betraying his exhaustion, he hadn’t said much this morning. The doctor had cautioned that last night’s brush with death must have been traumatic, and that he would show some lingering effects.

  When Harry finished, Rajeev took over, explaining that the remainder of the competition had been scheduled for the following week. “Now that we have more experience, I am sure we will win,” he said. “We have got our feet wet. Or sooty. Or something.”

  They arrived home to find the house filled with the aroma of baking. Proudly, Vareena presented them with an array of spicy vegetable-filled pastries for lunch.

  Afterward, following doctor’s orders, Chance and Harry both went to bed. Tara checked the answering machine and returned phone calls from Chance’s staff and a number of friends, including Denise. She assured them that everyone was fine.

  She wished she felt more confident about that herself. Something had changed last night between her and Chance, Aunt Cynda had been right; there’d been unfinished business between them from a past life.

  From the moment they’d met, fate had pushed and dragged Tara and Chance toward last night’s terrifying turn of events. They had survived the fire and, at least in a symbolic sense, overcome the tyrant. The circle had been completed.

  But what did that leave? At the hospital, Tara hadn’t felt the sensual pull that would shift her into Chance’s awareness. That connection had vanished, as if silence had fallen between them.

  These past months, she’d been afraid of making love with him, afraid of what might happen when they merged. She ought to feel relieved. With the old bonds removed, she was free.

  But seeing Chance in deadly peril had made her realize that life would never be complete without him. The tender, teasing way he looked at her, the touch of his hands, the herbal scent of him had become a part of her.

  New beginnings. She hoped Cynda was right this time, as well. But where did they start? And how could she be sure that Chance would want to begin again?

  It didn’t make Tara feel any better when he took dinner in his room. She and Harry ate in the kitchen with Rajeev and Vareena.

  Although she enjoyed their company, it was a relief to learn that the pair would be leaving after dinner to drive to. San Diego. A cousin from India had called to say he was flying into town unexpectedly on business, and hoped they could meet him. His only free time would be early the next morning.

  “We haven’t seen him in three years,” Vareena.explained.

  “That’s a long way to come for such a short visit,” Tara said as she helped collect the dishes.

  “He is going also to Chicago and New York.” Rajeev tucked leftovers into plastic containers. “Then he will return home by way of Europe.”

  “We want to show him our dancing,” Vareena said. “We will take the boom box.”

  “And now we must pack,” said her brother. “We return tomorrow afternoon.”

  “There’s no hurry. I can handle things here.” Much as she liked the pair, Tara wanted some time alone with Chance. They needed to talk and perhaps make some painful decisions.

  With the psychic link severed, it would be awkward for her to stay here. Of course, Chance would always be Harry’s father, and they would never forget what they’d shared, but she was beginning to wonder if their “new beginnings” weren’t destined to be separate.

  Escorting Harry back to their quarters, Tara felt a spurt of determination. She didn’t want to be some figure from Chance’s past. She didn’t just want to be his coparent, either. She wanted the whole man.

  These past months, their mental link had, in a way, interfered with establishing a normal relationship. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be done.

  Because of his magic powers, Chance might be more sensitive than she was to the changes that had occurred last night, and he’d certainly suffered more physical trauma. So it was up to Tara to take the first step.

  She read Harry a story and waited until he fell asleep. Then she went into her bedroom to brush her hair and freshen her makeup.

  The rainbow-hued suit from last night’s dinner waited on a hanger for a trip to the dry cleaners. Gazing at it, she realized that she no longer felt it had been designed for someone more sophisticated and elegant In the course of the past twenty-four hours, Tara had become that woman.

  Her elbows and knees had stopped feeling as if they had minds of their own. Her body seemed not too thin but just right. Even her hair fell smoothly into place.

  What about Chance? she wondered. Had his perceptions of himself altered, too?

  More curious than apprehensive, she changed from jeans and a blouse into a simple black jersey sheath. Then she strolled toward his suite, taking a shortcut through the courtyard.

  In the early-summer twilight, she felt the nearness of living things. Trees and flowers scented the air, and an errant bee hummed past, late to the hive. A cricket chirped hopefully from an unseen location.

  She almost didn’t see Chance standing near the staircase, his muscular body a silhouette among shadows. He watched her with a guarded expression.

  “Do you feel different?” she asked.

  Warmth gleamed in his silver eyes. “A little. Mostly I was worried about how you would feel.”

  “Harry’s asleep,” she said. “Rajeev and Vareena went to San Diego to see a relative.”

  “It would seem that the night is ours”. He rested one arm on the ironwork railing.

  This was the first time she had ever been able to perceive Chance objectively. He was strikingly handsome, she realized, even without unseen forces making her desire him. Although not unusually tall, his classical build and knowing air made him dominate the space around him.

  “It’s amazing how relaxing this is,” he murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve had to maintain a barrier between us. It’s something I can do with part of my mind, and often I was hardly aware of it. But it was always there.”

  How ironic, she thought. Losing their psychic connection had meant gaining a different kind of openness.

  “This was where we first met.” He stepped forward, extending his hand. “Hello, I’m Chance Powers.”

  “I’m Tara Blayne.” As she shook it, the air between them zinged with chemical reactions.

  “Welcome to my Halloween party,” he said.

  “Oh, dear.” She smiled. “I think my girlfriend and I have come to the wrong place.”

  “Then let’s make sure it turns out to be the right one,” he said.

  MAGIC HAD BEEN many things to Chance, and brought him many experiences. But he had never known anything like this.

  When he put his arms around Tara, she melted into him without reservation. Their mouths met with a spark, and her arms twined around his neck in sultry invitation. This was a different kind of magic from what he had known before. Deeper and purer.

  They drifted up the stairs, pausing for a kiss, an embrace, a whisper of tender longings. Her hair brushed his cheek, soft as an angel’s wing.

  The desire that she aroused was more urgent than he had felt before, yet he wanted to prolong this sensuous anticipation as long as possible. This time, when they made love, they would enter a new world together.

  Last time, they had understood nothing. This time, he thought with a flash of humility, they understood only a little more. It wo
uld take the rest of their lives to explore the realm that can be created between one man and one woman.

  The tower admitted them at a touch. He murmured some words, and a bed appeared.

  At the same time, Chance got the impression that this was no longer a room but a glade in a forest. Beneath tall straight trees glowed colors as bright as stained glass—the emerald green of the forest floor, the flashing scarlet of enchanted birds.

  He and Tara sank onto a bed as soft as goose down. In some ways she was a stranger to him; in others, his dearest friend and partner.

  With the perceptions of a man instead of a magician, he relished the flush on her cheeks and the velvet of her skin as he smoothed away the clingy dress. With a twist and a shrug, he removed his own shirt and pants.

  Tara ran her hand up his hip and along his ribs. “I feel as if this were our first time.”

  “It is,” he said.

  She slipped out of her undergarments, showing no trace of self-consciousness as he drank in the long lines of her body. Her small firm breasts invited his hands to cup them, and, when he did, she sucked in a shuddering breath.

  Gently Chance pulled her to him. She curved onto his lap, her mouth meeting his and her bare body arched against his naked chest.

  He could read her pleasure in the subtle shift of expressions on her face. There was no need to enter her awareness through any supernatural means.

  Chance experienced his own reactions more keenly than ever before: the pulsing heat in his blood, the halfpainful, half-joyous intensity of his arousal. This time, he had something to give Tara, and she to give him, precisely because they remained separate.

  Laying her across the bed, he explored her body with his hands and mouth. She responded with fierce eagerness, tantalizing him until Chance could bear the delay no longer.

  When he thrust within her, it thrilled him to gauge his ability to please by the soft gasps that arose from her. And when she responded with a rhythmic shifting matched to the tempo of his breathing, he soared into ecstasy.

  They became the soul of the forest, vibrant and throbbing as they lost themselves in each other. Chance flew beyond himself, soaring over the green canopy into an explosion of white light.

  Tara’s soft cries eased into moans of satisfaction. Lying beside her, Chance let fulfillment wash over him.

  She pillowed her head against his shoulder. The air of the tower came alive with their residual heat and the lingering impression of trees in a foreign land, long ago and far away.

  “I wonder…” he murmured.

  “Hmm?”

  “Last time, we conceived Harry,” he said.

  “I wouldn’t mind having a daughter,” she said. He could feel her smile against his bare skin. “Or another little boy.”

  “If not, we’ll just have to go on trying.” He kept his tone deadpan.

  “What a sacrifice,” said Tara.

  Chance pulled up the covers, protecting her from the cool air. “The computer can produce a desk or a bookshelf or a bureau, but there’s one very important thing I forgot to build into this room.”

  “What’s that?” she asked sleepily.

  “A wedding ring.” He muffled a yawn. “I guess we’ll have to buy one the old-fashioned way, at a jewelry store. What do you think?”

  “I’m not moving,” Tara said.

  “I didn’t mean tonight!”

  “Well, thank goodness.”

  As he tightened his grip around the woman he loved, Chance thought of one more thing. “Computer,” he said. “Is Harry all right?”

  “Subject child remains in bed,” said the nasal tenor. “There are no signs of distress.”

  “Just make sure everything’s locked up, then,” said Chance.

  “I have already done so, o lordly one.”

  “Good night, then.” In the quiet that followed, sleep began to blur the edges of his consciousness.

  “Excuse me,” said the house.

  “Yes?” He hoped the computer wasn’t going to enumerate the leftovers in the refrigerator. He hadn’t yet figured out a way to teach the thing timing.

  “I thought the Tara person would want to know,” it said.

  Tara yawned beside him. “Know what?”

  “I’ve picked a name.”

  “You have?” She propped herself on her elbows. “What is it?”

  “It’s Home,” said the house. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s perfect,” Tara said. “Good night, Home.”

  “Good night, Tara person. And noble master.”

  Across the courtyard, a light went out in the kitchen. A mechanical hum signaled that the computer was double-checking the alarm system.

  Then even Home grew quiet, and the magic of the night cast its spell over this enchanted place.

  EVER HAD ONE OF THOSE DAYS?

  TO DO:

  late for a super-important meeting, you discover the cat has eaten your panty hose

  while you work through lunch, the rest of the gang goes out and finds a onehour, once-in-a-lifetime 90% off sale at the most exclusive store in town (Oh, and they also get to meet Brad Pitt who’s filming a movie across the street.)

  you discover that your intimate phone call with your boyfriend was on companywide intercom

  finally at the end of a long and exasperating day, you escape from it all with an entertaining, humorous and always romantic Love & Laughter book!

  ENJOY

  LOVE & LAUGHTER

  EVERY DAY!

  For a preview, turn the page…

  Here’s a sneak peek at

  Colleen Collins’s RIGHT CHEST, WRONG NAME

  Available August 1997…

  “DARLING, YOU SOUND like a broken cappuccino machine,” murmured Charlotte, her voice oozing disapproval.

  Russell juggled the receiver while attempting to sit up in bed, but couldn’t. If he sounded like a wreck over the phone, he could only imagine what he looked like.

  “What mischief did you and your friends get into at your bachelor’s party last night?” she continued.

  She always had a way of saying “your friends” as though they were a pack of degenerate water buffalo. Professors deserved to be several notches higher up on the food chain, he thought. Which he would have said if his tongue wasn’t swollen to twice its size.

  “You didn’t do any thing…bad…did you, Russell?”

  “Bad.” His laugh came out like a bark.

  “Bad as in naughty.”

  He heard her piqued tone but knew she’d never admit to such a base emotion as jealousy. Charlotte Maday, the woman he was to wed in a week, came from a family who bled blue. Exhibiting raw emotion was akin to burping in public.

  After agreeing to be at her parents’ pool party by noon, he untangled himself from the bed sheets and stumbled to the bathroom.

  “Pool party,” he reminded himself. He’d put on his best front and accommodate Char’s request. Make the family rounds, exchange a few pleasantries, play the role she liked best: the erudite, cultured English literature professor. After fulfilling his duties, he’d slink into some lawn chair, preferably one in the shade, and nurse his hangover.

  He tossed back a few aspirin and splashed cold water on his face. Grappling for a towel, he squinted into the mirror.

  Then he jerked upright and stared at his reflection, blinking back drops of water. “Good Lord. They stuck me in a wind tunnel.”

  His hair, usually neatly parted and combed, sprang from his head as though he’d been struck by lightning. “Can too many Wild Turkeys do that?” he asked himself as he stared with horror at his reflection.

  Something caught his eye in the mirror. Russell’s gaze dropped.

  “What in the—”

  Over his pectoral muscle was a small patch of white. A bandage. Gingerly, he pulled it off.

  Underneath, on his skin, was not a wound but a small, neat drawing.

  “A red heart?” His voice cracked on the word heart. Something—a wor
d?—was scrawled across it

  “Good Lord,” he croaked. “I got a tattoo. A heart tattoo with the name Liz on it”.

  Not Charlotte. Liz!

  eISBN 978-14592-6762-6

  DADDY WARLOCK

  Copyright © 1997 by Jackle Hyman.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utllization of this work In whole or in part In any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, Including xerography, photocopying and recording, or In any Information storage or retrieval system, Is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills; Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters In this book have no existence outside the Imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all Incidents are pure Invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks Indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countrles.

  Printed In U.S.A.