by Linda Barlow
"Maybe I'll take you up on that the day I do a segment on you."
The beer had made her reckless. "Any time," she said cheerfully. "How about you forget my mother and put me on your program instead? It would do wonders for my career. I could use all the publicity I can get."
"You don't know what you're talking about." His voice had turned harsh. "That kind of publicity could destroy you."
"Really?" She grinned at him. It had been on the tip of her tongue several times to tell him the truth about her profession, but he was so smug on the subject that she couldn't take pity on him yet. "Then I suppose I should be afraid of you, shouldn't I? But, Daniel, you seem so nice."
He scowled. She could tell he was having second thoughts about "burning" her, a fact that gave her immense satisfaction.
At one point, Kate got up to use the bathroom. When she returned to the table, the waiter had cleared away the used dishes and her cell phone was sitting on the table beside her napkin. Daniel nodded to it as she sat down, saying, "Your pocket was chiming. I didn't want the other guests to be disturbed, so I found your phone and muted it."
"Thanks." That had been careless, leaving her phone in her jacket. She couldn't really fault him for seeking it out to stop its ringing, but the idea of D. B. Haggarty going through her pockets made her uneasy.
She glanced at the screen as she put the phone into her purse. The incoming call had been from Jeff Slayton, an old friend. "You didn't answer it, did you?"
"Nope. Who's Jeff?"
Jeff's name and his picture would have popped up on the screen while the phone was ringing. "He's one of my friends."
"A close friend?"
Jeff was in fact a close friend, although not in the sense that Daniel was insinuating. She had known him since college, and it had been Jeff who had sparked her interest in computer gaming in an effort to draw her out of the black hole she'd fallen into after Arthur's death. "Pretty close, yes. I’ve known him for years. We game together. He's probably wondering why I haven't logged on this evening."
Daniel looked slightly relieved. Was he assessing what he imagined to be the competition? It was probably not a good idea to let him know he didn’t have any competition. He already seemed to be taking too much for granted.
By the time the last belly dancer of the evening performed, Kate was clapping and swaying her own body to the sensuous music. "I love it! I think I'm going to take exotic dance lessons myself."
Daniel hadn't been watching the belly dancer for some time. His eyes were fixed on Kate's green silk top. "I'll be happy to poke ten dollar bills into your hopefully very scanty dancing costume."
"Ten dollar bills! Is that all? How about hundreds?"
He met her mischievous gaze. "You already know I think you're worth at least that." His glance darted briefly toward "Zenobia," then returned to Kate. "You're a much higher class witch than she is." He signaled the waiter for the check. "Shall we go?"
Her smile vanished abruptly. Go where? Home, to her house, to her bed? A higher class witch. Why did she have the feeling that the word witch was synonymous with easy hookup? She remembered some of his earlier remarks, and she wondered what she was doing here, at midnight, laughing merrily with a black-hearted stranger who probably regarded her as a sure thing.
Kate knew from her wretched experiences with a couple of men who had made unwelcome advances to her since her husband's death that she gave the impression of being more free-spirited than she actually was. Her instinctive manner with people was warm and friendly, and she enjoyed a true zest for life. So far this evening she had joked around with Daniel, and—she might as well admit it—flirted with him, too. But that was as far as it was going to go.
If, like those other guys, he saw her engaging behavior as a come-on, she'd better set him straight right here in the restaurant. Otherwise, the evening would end in a tussle on her front porch.
"I'm not going to have sex with you, you know."
His eyes widened slightly. "Reading my mind again?" he drawled.
She stuffed her hand into her purse and extracted her wallet. "I insist on paying my half," she added, dropping a twenty on the saucer the waiter presented.
Daniel was unexpectedly emotional, glaring at her money as if it had insulted him. "Are you afraid that if I pay for your supper, I'll expect sex in return?"
"Look, Daniel, let's not complicate things. I've enjoyed this evening—I don't get out very often—and I've even enjoyed sparring with you. But that's as far as it goes. I don't sleep with men."
There was a brittle silence before Daniel asked, "Who do you sleep with?"
She realized what he was thinking and smothered a laugh. "I don't sleep with anybody. Well, except Chester. My cat."
"You sleep with a cat?"
"Not always. I try to kick him out, but sometimes the monster waits till I'm asleep, and then cuddles up beside me."
"Dear God, the witch keeps a familiar," Daniel growled. "I'm allergic to cats. Whenever I'm in the same room with one I start sneezing with all the force of an erupting volcano."
"That settles it," she said with a sigh of mock relief. "You'll have a hard time making unscrupulous advances if you're busy sneezing."
"Don't count on it. I'll take an antihistamine."
* * *
Sitting beside him in the dark car, she watched his hands moving on the gearshift and the steering wheel. He was wearing his leather driving gloves—black, like the rest of his attire. She had a brief mental image of his gloved hands sliding over her naked flesh. Idiot, she chided herself. Save the fantasies for when you're alone, safely locked away from this exciting and dangerous man.
They didn't speak except to give and acknowledge the directions to her house, which was located on a quiet residential street two blocks from the noise and traffic of Cambridge's Massachusetts Avenue. When he pulled up under the huge elm in front of her house, she murmured a goodnight, which he ignored. He was out of the car and around to her side before she could get her door open.
"You don't have to see me to the door," she protested as he leaned down to help her.
He didn't bother to argue. He took her arm and marched her up the walk to the front porch of the old Victorian house. He hovered over her while she fumbled for her house key, and she wondered whether he was going to try to push past her. Forcible entry was the only way he'd get in. Daniel Haggarty was not the sort of man you could offer a coffee to and then dismiss.
She found the key and inserted it, then turned to him with her back against the door. "Thank you for a pleasant…" she began, but her words died as she was trapped in the smoldering blaze of his deep blue eyes. He was standing close, and while she waited helplessly, her fingers clenched around the keys, he moved closer still, pressing her against the solid oak door. She gasped as she realized that the first contact between them was not to be a kiss at all, but the exciting surge of his hard, sexy body against her own.
Oh. My. God. There was a rustle of cloth as he slowly moved his hips against hers. She could feel his arousal and, even more unnerving, she could feel her own body yielding, softening, and welcoming him. Her hands went to his shoulders, meaning to push him away, but instead her fingers clung to him, feeling firm bone and muscle under the fabric of his jacket. "Daniel," she protested as he repeated the motion, stoking the heat that was rising inside her.
His forehead touched hers; his gloved hands speared into her hair and cradled her head. His lips were so close she could feel his warm breath on hers as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Kate. I don't mean to be offensive. I just want you to know how much I need you, how much I've burned for you all evening. I've never felt like this, acted like this. Don't be angry."
"I'm not," she whispered back, wondering why she wasn't.
"You're so warm, so sweet, so full of life." His tongue touched her lips, stroking lightly over the sensitive contours, probing the corners provocatively. She shuddered and slipped her arms around him, her fingers now exploring his fir
m muscled back. She was still clutching her house key in her right hand, and he must have felt the metal edge of it scraping him as she pulled him closer, but he didn't seem to mind. Colors were flashing in front of her eyes again in bright, triumphant, rainbow bursts. She, too, was burning.
His hands urged her face closer. His kiss was gentle. At first his lips did nothing more than mold hers, seeming to try their shape, enjoy their taste. He pressed lightly enough to tempt her with the sweet warmth of his breath and the sensual current that seemed to leap from his mouth to hers. Then he drew back, leaving her so bereft that she exerted pressure with her fingers on the back of his neck to bring their mouths together again. She felt him sigh and heard him mutter something unintelligible in the instant before his control evaporated and his kiss turned fierce.
Kate arched against him as his tongue drove into her mouth. She was no longer put off by the latent aggression in him; it had unleashed a similar fever in her. As his lips and tongue explored her, she responded with some ardent exploration of her own. His lips were soft, but the planes of his body were muscular and hard, and she reveled in the sensuous, masculine feel of this stranger's body molded so tightly against her own. Her mouth opened fully to him as a knot tightened in her pelvic region. It was a soul-wrenching kiss, a sorcerer's kiss, a kiss that both asked for and promised satisfaction. And all the things it promised had been denied to her for so damn long. I want him, she thought. I want, want, want him.
"You're amazing," he said, pulling his head back for an instant. "I don’t think I've ever been so captivated by a kiss." One of his leather-encased fingers slid down over her face, touched her lips, and then moved to the pounding pulse in her throat. He dropped two feather-light kisses on her tingling lips. "Invite me in."
"I can't."
"You can." His mouth took the place of his finger on her throat, and she felt the exquisite sensation of his tongue chafing her skin while her blood beat just beneath it. Liquid warmth blossomed in her, and there were spasms all through her, everywhere. He let her feel a hint of teeth. "Let me teach you all manner of dark, sensual delights."
She laughed. "I'm not that foolish. You creatures of the night only have to be invited in once; after that you can enter at will."
"I'll remember that," he vowed, raising his lips to seize her mouth in an unchecked, passionate attack that was duplicated by the erotic rocking of his hips. She could feel the tension in all those lovely hard muscles of his body, and she felt herself weakening. Damn. This was so difficult! Her body had a very different objective than her brain.
Somehow she managed to free her lips. "No more, Daniel. I'm sorry. I did warn you."
Frustration flashed in his eyes for only an instant before rueful acceptance took its place. He expelled his breath heavily, and she could feel the taut tendons in his arms vibrating slightly. "You warned me. You don't have sex with men you've just met."
"I don't have sex at all."
"I can’t believe that. You're beautiful, sensual, and there's not a hint of coldness about you." His eyes turned speculative. "There's someone else? That guy who called you in the restaurant? Jeff?"
"No. Jeff and I are friends from college. There's no one else. I just don't want that sort of complication at present. I'm content with my life the way it is."
"You're attracted to me," he pointed out, moving provocatively against her once again, making her insides melt.
"Stop." This time she twisted away, half turning toward the door. "I'm going inside. Good night."
"Wait. Can't we talk about this?"
"It's after midnight. I have to get up early to get to the pool."
"Please don't tell me you mean some sort of divining pool."
She smiled. "Swimming pool. I swim every morning for exercise."
"I like a woman who keeps in shape." He brushed his lips against hers. Her cheeks were flushed from the roughness of his whiskers, but it felt good. "Kiss me again."
The temptation to do so was almost too great to resist. But she had just begun to explore the possibility of dating again. She had signed up for a couple of internet dating services, but she hadn’t actually corresponded yet with any of the men whose profiles had been emailed to her. She was determined to take it slowly. She had only ever made love with one man in her life, and he was dead. Getting back into the whole sex thing was going to take some time. She needed patience from a prospective lover, not incendiary passion. And she wasn't going to be some hot stranger's one-night hookup.
So instead of surrendering to her desire to kiss him again she said, "It would never work. Don’t forget that you disapprove of my, um, profession."
The reminder made his jaw tighten, and there was a flare of hostility in his eyes. "I do keep forgetting. I think you really are a witch."
"You desire me, so I'm a witch? You sound like some sort of Puritan throwback."
He took a step back and thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I was under the impression that the attraction between us was mutual."
Her gaze dropped beneath his relentless stare. "Maybe so, but I'd be an idiot to surrender to a man who's already declared his intention to burn me."
"It was just a metaphor."
"Yes, but its connotations are cruel."
"I'm not going to hurt you, Kate." He moved closer to her again, but he kept his hands in his pockets, as if to prove his good faith. "When can I see you again?"
"I really don't think—"
"When?" His voice was a sexy growl. "Tomorrow night? Dinner?"
"So we can have this same debate all over again? No. I'm not going to get involved with you."
"You are." He pulled his gloved hands from his pockets and held her face softly. "You've no free will in this matter, Lady Kate. I'm your fate, and you're mine." He kissed her again, far more tenderly than she'd expected, stealing her breath, enchanting her body. Then he drew back, ran one hand through her loose hair, and turned to leave.
When he reached his car, he stopped and looked back. "Go inside. I won't leave until I know you're safely ensconced in your fortress."
Kate bit her lip, wishing with all her heart that it could have been different, wishing she had the courage, the freedom, the easygoing attitude about casual sex that so many women her age seemed to possess. "Good-bye," she said as she opened her door.
"Until next time," he corrected, lounging in all his masculine glory against the side of his car. "I won't give up."
Chapter 4
Despite the lateness of the hour, Kate couldn't get to sleep. She kept reliving her meeting with D. B. Haggarty and the whole crazy rest of the evening. It felt as if her world had shifted under her feet. She had gone to the party with Graham at the beginning of the evening without the slightest hint that she was about to tumble down the rabbit hole.
After tossing and turning for a while, she realized she wasn't going to slip peacefully into sleep. Rising, she went to the taller and more masculine of the two dressers that still remained in her bedroom, which she had once shared with Arthur. The dresser had contained all his clothes. She had donated most of them after his death, and slowly filled the drawers with her own shirts and sweaters, but a few things of his remained. There was a particularly cuddly fleece that he'd loved to wear. Whenever she looked at the garment, she could picture him in it. She pulled it out now and buried her face in the soft fabric. It still seemed to carry Arthur's scent, although she was pretty sure that was impossible after all this time.
Memories slid back slowly through her mind. Happy ones, mostly—the sturdy little boy who lived down the street, sometimes friendly, sometimes shy, sometimes mischievous, but always kind to anyone who was scared, beleaguered, or in trouble. He had loved every kind of animal, and had once dreamed of growing up to be a vet. Instead, he had become a social worker, counseling underprivileged kids.
He had been very good at his job, and the number of young people who had turned up, weeping, at his memorial service had been huge. For someone
who had died so young, Arthur had touched the lives of a great many people. He'd had a rare gentle quality that had not in any way softened his masculinity. He knew how to make people feel at ease, and his manner had conveyed what Kate knew to be sincere empathy. He had had an impish streak, too, and a dry, deadpan sense of humor that always made her laugh.
With his fleece in hand, she wandered downstairs to the room that had been Arthur's office, sat in front of the computer table and switched on her monitor. Her screensaver featured a huge picture of happier days: herself in a silly group pose in her first apartment with Arthur, before they were married, and their roommates Jeff Slayton, Stephen Silkwood, and Nick Gabriel. She was sitting on Arthur’s lap, her head thrown back, laughing, while Stephen was down on one knee in front of them as if begging a boon from the king and queen. Jeff and Nick, both fair-haired and handsome, were facing off with wooden swords purloined from the Drama Club prop room, pretending to be ferocious but unable to hide their grins. They had been rehearsing a college play, she recalled; she, Arthur, and Stephen had acted together in several productions at the school, and they were forever trying to get the others to join them.
How young they all looked! She had fallen in love with Arthur in high school. They had gone to the same college, and it was there that they'd come to know the guys, their fellow students. Some kind of magic must have been at work back then, because the bonds forged among them had survived college, her marriage, and the boys’ various tumultuous relationships and jobs. Kate regarded Jeff, Stephen, and Nick as the brothers she had never had. When she had been lost and broken in the aftermath of Arthur’s death, they had all been there for her, supporting and pulling her through the darkest days. Jeff, in particular, had been her rock.
Jeff Slayton was one of those stand-up guys who are always there when you need them. He was the hub of the wheel that held her and her oldest friends together—solid and immoveable, warm and dependable while everyone else's lives spun haphazardly around him. Jeff was the one who stayed in touch with everyone, organized get-togethers, kept tabs on who went where, who had fallen in love with whom, and who needed to be pulled back into the circle when they began drifting away.
