by Janet Woods
‘You’re crazy, Eloise.’
His open smile sent her heart leaping into her throat. Nice straight teeth with hardly a filling in sight. What are you, Ellie? she asked herself. A dentist? Concentrate of the fact that he’s actually smiling.
She suddenly remembered a song about crocodiles she sang to the kids at the child-minding center. Perhaps Patrick intended to bite her. She returned his smile anyway. She couldn’t help it.
‘I was sane until I met you.’ A drip of water landed on her face and he removed it with his finger.
‘It’s not often I drive a woman insane.’
He wouldn’t have to try very hard. Although he didn’t seem aware of it, Patrick’s sex appeal was becoming very obvious to her. It wasn’t what he did exactly, just the way he was.
A dynamic force seemed to surround him. It was mental, not the physical energy she’d noticed before. Closing her eyes she felt it penetrate her, and drew on its strength. Aunt Vera would have described it as his aura. She preferred to call it vibes.
‘What star sign are you?’ she asked out of curiosity.
‘Scorpio.’
She’d read that it was the most sensual sign of the zodiac. Ellie wondered what he’d be like as a lover. Hadn’t she read that a Scorpio male’s ego wouldn’t allow him to leave his partner unsatisfied? Passion and dominance was characteristic of his sign. So was deviousness.
When she flicked her eyes open she found Patrick observing her. Of course he was. Patrick was facing her, where else would he look? She was reading more into the relationship than there was. What relationship? Dryness attacked her lips and her tongue automatically moistened them. Her hormones were running amok if she imagined Patrick found her attractive. They shared a mutual dislike of each other. Tearing her eyes away from his she reached for the stopper. ‘Stubborn brute,’ she muttered when it wouldn’t budge.
‘Let me.’ His hand circled hers, applied a small amount of pressure. The stopper twisted free. A tiny trickle of water splattered her face. Keeping the stopper enclosed in their cupped hands he slipped the washer over the end and helped her screw it back in. The joint operation was smoothly performed as if it were one person, one hand.
‘Thanks.’ Surprised he hadn’t put on some display of male superiority she forgot to remove her hand. Carrying it to his lips he kissed the palm. An erotic little quiver stroked up the inside of her arm and lodged in the bend of her elbow.
‘My pleasure.’
She wouldn’t have picked Patrick for being a flirt. ‘If you find fixing the plumbing a pleasure, it’s you who’s crazy.’ She’d like to coat his sensual mouth with honey and lick it all off. Hell! Where had that thought come from?
‘Being in your cupboard with you is the pleasure.’ His dark silky lashes lowered a fraction. ‘I’d still like to kiss that crumpled bit.’
Ditto! Their minds seemed to be running along the same lines at the moment. It was better than fighting. ‘Go ahead whilst you have me at a disadvantage.’ Ellie knew she’d have to watch herself if her tongue kept releasing her inner thoughts. Earlier in the day they’d bordered on pornography.
His hand had already cupped her chin in the limited space. The gentle pressure of his fingers molded her lips into a perfect kissable shape.
The sigh of resignation she gave when his mouth captured his prize turned into a sigh of complete and utter ecstasy. The tip of his tongue painted her lips with nectar, then tenderly suggested the possibility of further exploration.
She allowed him access before the insidious little voice in her head advised her against it. She didn’t like half measures. Either one did or one didn’t. Half a kiss was worse than useless, would leave her wondering. Better to experience it all at once, and then it was done with.
Acting on her own advice she stopped thinking and started experiencing. Sensation followed sensation. Starting from her mouth a glow crept down to the column of her neck than outwards to each breast. Stopping only to pulse each center into fullness it gathered momentum and fanned down her body in one fiery flash.
Sensuality was something Ellie acknowledged in herself, but the riot he provoked in her was unprecedented. Had their bodies not been effectively separated by the cold metal U bend she’d have succumbed to the temptation to slide her pelvis against its natural mate.
Suction against her lower lip told her he’d reached the object of his desire. He turned it into a sweet red cherry as he took it in his mouth. As kisses go this one was sublime. Tingles spread down her limbs and her toes curled upwards. Patrick topped it off with a restrained bite that made her groan with its promise of passion.
A touch of coolness on her sensitized mouth reminded her the kiss was over. Regretfully she opened her eyes.
‘That was really something.’
The low sexy murmur of his voice was music to her ears. Perhaps the spell had worked after all. If she was going to make him suffer she might as well start right now. ‘If one kiss has given you ideas you can forget it right now. I don’t indulge in casual affairs.’
The words thrown mockingly in his face couldn’t have been a more effective dampener. Patrick slid out from under the sink and stood up.
‘A man with any sense should keep you at arm’s length, Eloise.’
The effect she’d had on him was obvious if the visible portion of his body was anything to go by. He only had himself to blame for the hard-on, she thought guiltily. His jean-clad legs and hips turned suddenly, his perfect backside headed for the door.
‘I’m going to get a shower,’ he muttered.
Sliding out from under the sink, Ellie made face as the door slammed behind him.
‘Obviously you haven’t got any sense, Patrick Morgan.’
Chapter Four
There seemed to be no spell in the book to reverse the effects of the love potion, nor one for removing a jinx.
Ellie decided to put Patrick’s problem in the hands of fate. She’d once won some money of the Melbourne Cup using her tried and trusty method. She closed her eyes and flicked through the pages, stabbing her finger into a spot halfway through.
“Improving The Disposition.” That would do. ‘One teaspoon of oil of ginger, one of peppermint, one of lavender seeds,’ she muttered. ‘Add to boiling water, stir with a whisker of a cat. Stand overnight.’
It sounded simple. There was powdered ginger and peppermint essence in the larder, lavender seeds in a pomander in the dresser. A cat’s whisker …?Absently Ellie scratched Scruff’s chin. ‘You won’t mind donating a whisker in the quest for peace, will you Scruff?’
Scruff commandeered the chair she vacated and curled up in a fluffyball as she fetched the ingredients and dropped them into a mug. Her nose wrinkled when she added the boiling water. It smelled vile. How on earth would she persuade Patrick to drink it?’
Deciding to figure it out in the morning she headed for the comatose Scruff. Her finger and thumb closed around one of his whiskers and she gave a gentle tug.
‘Anyone would think I was trying to murder you!’ Nursing the scratch on her hands Ellie glared at the shelf above the range. Scruff glared back at her. Ears flattened and tail lashing back and forth, his yellow eyes were malevolent.
Ellie picked up the pieces of the jug he’d knocked to the floor and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. ‘You were a sweet fluffy kitten once, now you’re a flaming tiger,’ she muttered, bestowing a frown on her adversary. ‘If it hadn’t been for me you’d still be in the cat’s home. There’s gratitude for you.’
‘What the devil’s going on in here?’ Patrick’s nose twitched. ‘And what’s that disgusting smell?’ Trust him to turn up at exactly the wrong moment
‘A ... it’s a sleeping draught,’ she lied. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
At least that much was true. And the reason she couldn’t sleep was standing right in front of her in a skimpy toweling shave coat, his hair all tousled up from contact with the pillow.
If Patrick hadn’t
kissed her, she wouldn’t have spent the last three hours tossing and turning whilst her body tormented her with the fact that she was a woman without a mate.
‘I’m sorry you were woken up.’ Another lie, but she couldn’t very well tell him he’d deserved it. Opening her hands she exposed the shards of pottery and diverted the blame away from herself before depositing them in the bin. ‘Scruff knocked this off the shelf. That’s what woke you.’
‘I wasn’t asleep.’
Ellie’s eyes narrowed slightly as he subsided on to a chair. If Patrick couldn’t sleep here was the perfect opportunity. If she could get him to swallow the draught her troubles would be over. Did it really matter if it hadn’t been stirred with the whisker of a cat, or left overnight? Summoning up a friendly smile she indicated the cooling potion. ‘You can have some of that if you like.’
Suspicion came into his eyes. ‘It smells like boiled mothballs. You made it for yourself - you drink it.
* * * *
She should have known he’d be difficult. Feigning a yawn she sauntered casually towards the door. ‘I don’t think I need it. Actually, Patrick, I feel quite sleepy.’
The corner of her eye picked up the spell book lying open on the table. Momentarily she froze, then, heart banging like a drum, casually reached out for it.
‘Oh no you don’t, Eloise.’ Lightning fast, Patrick’s hand descended on hers and effectively immobilized it. ‘Let’s see what we have here.’
‘No!’ Realizing the futility of struggling against his superior strength, she relaxed. ‘It’s personal.’
‘You’re not kidding!’ The mockery in his eyes brought flaming colour to her face. ‘Who’s disposition are you trying to improve?’
‘Yours.’ Hating the chuckle he gave, and unable to hide her embarrassment, Ellie sighed. ‘You’re the most bad-tempered man I’ve ever met.’
‘And you want to turn me into a pussy cat.’
Automatically her glance flicked to Scruff. He was gazing at her through satisfied eyes and purring loudly, as if pleased with her predicament. Scruff and Patrick were two of a kind, but that could change. Ellie was grinning as she brought her eyes back to Patrick. ‘Actually, I have a mouse in mind at the moment.’
‘How long have you been a practising witch?’
‘Hah! What a ridiculous question.’
A grin plastered his face. ‘Tell me, green eyes, do you need a license to pilot a broomstick or can anyone do it?’
Just at the moment Ellie would have given anything to qualify for a pointed hat and a diploma in sorcery. She wouldn’t even mind the mandatory wart on the end of her nose.
‘Sometimes I hate you, Patrick Morgan.’ His hand had relaxed, but it tightened instantly when she tried to move away.
‘Keep still,’ he growled, flicking the book’s pages over. ‘I want to find out what else you’ve been up too.’
‘Please don’t.’ The conciliatory note in her voice made her squirm. ‘It was just a bit of fun.’
‘If you think those hives I got were fun you can think again.’
She held her breath when he reached the page with the love potion, then let it out when he moved past it. She was safe!
No, she wasn’t - he’d turned back to it.
Ellie wished the ground would open and swallow her up when he smiled and shouted out, ‘Ah-hah! Anyone would think he’d discovered penicillin by the triumph in his voice. ‘I didn’t realize you were mad about me.’
‘Wrong, Patrick.’ Palpitations attacked her when he turned wicked eyes her way and her voice began to wobble alarmingly. ‘Actually, I think I detest you.’
‘Come now, Eloise.’ He was almost purring as he pulled her on to his lap. ‘I turn you on, admit it.’
Torture by a thousand cuts wouldn’t make her admit to that! The predatory smile on his face and the fact they were isolated by flood water suddenly alarmed her. Even the telephone was disabled. What if he …? Ellie swallowed and closed her mind over the word that entered her head.
She became acutely aware that she wore nothing but a short satin slip under her robe. He was wearing even less. His robe had parted, and the soft curves of her buttocks yielded to the harder columns of his thighs. Every individual hair seemed sensitized by the filmy material of her attire, as if reminding her of his gender. Against the side of her leg another reminder of his gender. Soft and warm, one wrong move on her part would turned the sleeping giant into a marauding warrior.
‘Let me go, Patrick,’ she pleaded, trying to ignore the steamy sensation of his breath penetrating the fabric of her nightdress.
How could she ignore it? It was bathing her nipples in hot and cold. A warm sauna when he breathed out, a cool shower when he breathed in. She wished he’d stop breathing. It was deliciously tantalizing, but bad for her libido.
‘No way, angel.’ The sauna swept upwards, his lips coming to rest against the hollow of her throat. ‘If you give a man a love-potion you must be prepared to sample the consequences.’ A paroxysm of shivers attacked her spine as his tongue feathered the hollow. His voice dropped to a husky murmur. ‘You smell delicious. Is it some sort of aphrodisiac you’ve whipped up for my benefit?’
She became aware that an aphrodisiac was not needed as his hand caressed a silken journey from her thigh and came to rest on her hip bone. His fingers fanned in all directions, each bent on their own distraction. Both her stomach and waist hollowed obligingly under the attack.
God! She gasped as one of his fingers just brushed her in the most sensitive spot. She couldn’t remember moving within his reach.
‘Stop!’ Her hand came down on his and missed. He was moving it towards her breast. It kept moving as hers came down over it.
‘I like a women who participates.’
She wasn’t participating but she couldn’t tell him that. His mouth had cut off her power of speech. His tongue became a poisoned dart, drugging her into lethargy, his finger- tips, wandering minstrels that made her body sing. She didn’t want it to sing to his tune, she wanted him to sing to hers.
Desperately she tried to peel the hand from her breast. Like an octopus its tentacles clung. Taking the only option open to her Ellie bit into his lip.
His oath was aptly suited to his intent. Although the bite had a beneficial effect, she knew from the pressure on her thigh that the benefit had mostly been his.
‘You play rough.’ Clasping her under the buttocks he stood up and kicked the chair from under them. His eyes were dark with passion and he gave an evil grin as he backed her towards the wall. ‘What are you waiting for my green-eyed little witch. Don’t be shy.’
Ellie closed her eyes to block out his lascivious expression. Held close against the temptation of his body, her mind refused to obey what seemed a natural progression to a perfect position under the circumstances. She didn’t want to be coupled in lust like a whore. She wanted tenderness. Tears squeezed from under her lids. ‘Don’t do this, Patrick, please.’
His fingers tangled in her hair, pulled her head back. Her eyes opened in protest at the discomfort, and encountered a hostile expression. ‘Say again?’
‘Please don’t.’ Damn, her teeth were chattering. ‘I ... don’t have any ... protection.’
His eyes hooded over and the tip of his tongue slid slowly over his bruised lip. ‘Why not?’
Why not? It was obvious why not. Did he think her the type who carried protection in her bag in case of a chance encounter with every randy male she met? Her eyes met his and her lip curled. He was a typical example of male carelessness. He’d had his fun without commitment, without thought. The result was Todd. If he was so overbearingly arrogant to believe every woman took the pill as a matter of course, he could think again.
‘Why don’t you?’
‘It wasn’t me who initiated this.’ He smiled gently as his eyes scanned her tear-stained face. Patrick was in complete control of himself. ‘Any man would jump at what you’re offering.’ She formed a strong suspicion he’d ju
st attempted to teach her a lesson.
‘I’m not offering anything.’
Her nightgown had ridden up, and Patrick’s hands were warm against the cushions they supported. They were brands burning into her flesh. Ellie wanted to grin when the irreverent thought of wearing two permanent handprints came into her mind. That would take some explaining. Her dangling feet scratched at his shins. ‘Put me down, Patrick. I got your message loud and clear. Besides ... you’re not doing yourself any favors.’
‘Nor you.’ Lowering her to the floor he pushed her to arms length, then grinned before opening the door to the hall. ‘How about conjuring up a pot of tea. I think you and I need to talk.’
He’d gone to cool his ardor with a shower. Ellie could hear the water running as she filled the kettle and set out the tea things. Scruff descended from the shelf and wove ingratiating little circles round her ankles when she opened the refrigerator for the milk.
‘Traitor,’ she accused, topping up his saucer. ‘If it hadn’t been for you this wouldn’t have happened.’ Her glance lit on the disposition elixir then went down to the cat. ‘Just a teaspoon in the interest of science wouldn’t hurt you,’ she murmured. ‘You owe me.’
Patrick was back within minutes. The damp circles of hair visible at the vee of his robe clung damply to his skin. Ellie gave him a nervous glance as he took a chair at the opposite end of the table.
‘You don’t have to worry.’ His smile was whipped cream and made her more nervous. ‘Vera’s a friend of mine. I’m not about to force myself on her niece.’ He picked up his cup and sniffed at it suspiciously. ‘This isn’t doctored with anything, is it?’
‘Strychnine.’
A mental image painted a skull and crossbones on the sugar basin. Ellie watched him add two scoops to his cup. Any minute now he’d turn black and curl around the edges. Her eyes narrowed as he took a couple of tentative sips. She jumped when he clutched his stomach, gave a realistic groan and fell sideways off the chair.
