The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5)

by Susan Squires

  Jason took note of the new Tremaine’s license plate. He drove a battered Land Rover. Jason could always pick him up later. Now to call Hardwick. Hardwick had some research to do, on the new Tremaine, and on the girl.

  *

  Greta watched the byplay at dinner with half her attention. The food was the best she had ever tasted, hands down. It wasn’t just that the lasagna was good. It was like she’d never had lasagna before in her life. And the lemon on the Caesar salad? A revelation. She could hardly concentrate on anything. She did her best to pay attention, though in view of the circumstances, conversation was awkward. Mr. Marrec deflected questions or grunted answers. He and Michael did talk about Afghanistan and Iraq where both had served in similar capacities, though with far different allegiances. Their anecdotes only hinted at the horrible things they had seen and no doubt done. But Mr. Marrec had also fought in places like Cameroon and Sudan for whoever was willing to pay him. He didn’t seem to care much about the moral right and wrong of war. That made Tammy and Kee go wide-eyed, and put frowns of disapproval on Michael and Kemble. Tris just seemed to be watching everything. They did learn that he wasn’t French, but French Canadian from around Quebec City. His mother had emigrated there just after he’d been born. Other than that? Not much. Jane finally signaled that the interrogation was over, and the family tried hard to have a normal conversation. Greta noticed Brian watching his newly discovered son closely all through dinner, but he seemed tired, and Brina took him off to bed early. This day must have been very taxing for him.

  The real reason Greta was so distracted was sleeping off a drunk in the wing the family called the Bay of Pigs. Really, how could she be so enamored of a man who drank so much? And why was he an alcoholic? That sounded so bad. But he was. Better face facts. She’d seen him drinking to excess on every occasion she’d met him. If you were an alcoholic, there was a reason though. You were weak, or in such mental distress that you couldn’t face your life, or you’d done something terrible.

  How could you have any of those problems when you came from a great family like this? Of course, someone had shot Brian. They had enemies, apparently in spades, and Mr. Marrec agreed. She had no idea what had happened in Chicago or Hollywood, but the mention of dead bodies in Nevada sure caught her attention. That was the reason Lanyon no longer smiled. Why would someone want to harm this lovely family?

  She could practically feel him down in his bedroom. She’d been disturbed and anxious after he left two days ago—almost physically sick. But now that he was back, she was totally out of control again. Her mind was having lascivious thoughts about him lying across his bed down there. Would they have undressed him? Would he be naked? And those thoughts put her body out of control, too. Her panties were wet just thinking about him.

  She had to find a way to go down there when nobody would miss her. Just to see. That he’s okay, I mean.

  Oh, great. Now she was lying to herself. She’d always prided herself on looking reality in the eyes, no matter how scared she was. She felt the juices increase their flow between her legs. God, if she didn’t get out of this dining room soon, she’d embarrass herself in front of everyone. Yet, she didn’t dare stand. What if her jeans were…wet? Her thoughts were turning chaotic. Was she sick? Did she have a fever? She certainly felt flushed.

  Brina returned just as people were sitting back from the table. Kee had brought out the brandy and some Grand Marnier for Drew and Jane. Greta took a glass of Grand Marnier and gulped convulsively. Maybe the liquor would calm her. Mr. Marrec passed on the after-dinner drinks and pushed back from the table. Brina stood to one side like one of those disapproving stone statues on Easter Island.

  “I should go. You…have been most gracious.” The interloper looked embarrassed to say it, like he had surprised himself.

  “You’re more than welcome to stay here for the night, Mr. Marrec,” Jane said. “We have plenty of room.”

  “No. That would be bad.” He rose. He looked even rougher around the edges than Tris. His hair was shaggier, his boots and jeans worn. And then there were the scars. She’d noticed several others besides the prominent one that slashed over the left side of his face; one on the right biceps that snaked out from under the tight sleeve of his tee shirt, and one on his left temple. Strangely, they didn’t detract from how handsome he was. They made him even more intriguing. Greta would bet he was a lady-killer, even though one look at him and anyone would know he wasn’t home-and-family material. He hesitated, glancing around to the men at the table. “We can perhaps discuss my proposal at another time?”

  Kemble nodded grudgingly. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll see.” Kemble must have noticed the fact that Brian had been glued to the intruder all evening. Greta thought he must resent the fact that his father had a son before him and he wasn’t actually the oldest. Yet apparently he also wanted to give his father a chance to know his newly found progeny. It occurred to her that Kemble really might be a good leader for the family, if he could just learn to relax about it.

  “I’ll escort you to the door,” Brina said.

  Everyone had forgotten that Brina stood in the archway to the living room. Several of her family looked startled. Mr. Marrec nodded, wary, and made his way past her. Greta got up while all eyes were on Mr. Marrec. She murmured some excuse about using the bathroom and slipped out after Marrec and Brina.

  As they were on their way to the front door, Greta slid through the darkened living room to the arch that led to the Bay of Pigs. Did she even have any choice in the matter? She felt almost like an observer of herself, not the captain of her fate. As she passed the foyer to her right, Brina and Mr. Marrec were clearly visible.

  “I am sorry to have disquieted you,” he said, in that rough voice.

  “No, you’re not,” Brina said, her tone icy. “But it doesn’t matter. You will not return here. The security guards will refuse you entry if you try.”

  Wow. Greta stopped. She hadn’t seen that one coming. Brina was such a kind person.

  “Your husband…and my father,” Marrec said deliberately, “he wants to see me.”

  “I don’t care.” Brina grew agitated. “You come into this house and disrupt everything? He made you before he made them. How do you think that makes them feel? And me? I knew I wasn’t his first, but I thought I was the first to give him sons and daughters of his loins.” She was shaking with anger. Greta didn’t dare move for fear she’d be discovered. “I won’t let you take away what little I have left of my husband. He’s mine, whatever there is of him. He doesn’t belong to you or your dead mother. He left you. And I won’t let you bleed out the relationship I have with him, that his children have…” Her face began to crumble.

  “Then this is good-bye,” Mr. Marrec said. He ducked his head, his face stony, and closed the door.

  Brina burst into tears. She whirled and ran up the stairs.

  Greta stood, frozen. Yeah. This family was under pressure. And Brina felt betrayed, though she might not like those precise words. Brina thought she could just ignore the existence of Luc Marrec if she refused him entrance to The Breakers, but she couldn’t. The damage was already done.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‡

  Greta glanced down the shadowy hallway into the Bay of Pigs. Lan was there at the end of the hall. It wasn’t just an intellectual knowledge. She knew he was there in her bones and her blood. Was that the result of this weird attraction thing? Her whole body was throbbing, most particularly her breasts and the folds of moist flesh between her legs. Had she ever had it this bad for anybody? Not even close. And for a guy who was so messed up he was a drunk.

  Just great.

  She should turn around. Walk away. What if one of the family saw her lurking?

  But she was walking down the hall. Why did her hand reach for the doorknob? Why did she turn it? It was as though her body had taken over and she had no control over her actions anymore. This was not who she was. Hadn’t she spent years gaining control of her life
? Now she couldn’t decide whether to accept a life-changing movie role or chuck it all for studying starlight. And she couldn’t stay away from a man who, in a relationship, would be the human equivalent of a dumpster fire. Where was the decisive fifteen-year-old who’d known what she wanted and what was best for her?

  Greta opened the door.

  He lay on the bed, curled on his side with his back to her. The draperies hung open. She could see the stars winking through the branches of a large tree that had begun to lose its leaves. Moonlight glided across the muscles of his bare back, outlining them in shine and shadow. His shoulders were as broad as she had remembered, his hips narrow. Thank goodness he had on pajama bottoms or something. She smelled…wet hair, shampoo, toothpaste. He’d just gotten out of the shower and had used a soap that smelled of sandalwood. Wow. When had she ever been able to detect aromas so subtle before? He was still all the way across the room.

  “Go away,” he said, his voice husky.

  “You don’t even know who it is.”

  “Yes, I do. And I bet you knew exactly which room was mine.”

  “Yeah. Why is that?” Wait…he’d admitted he was feeling whatever this was, too. He knew it was she, even though he couldn’t see her. A terrible feeling of inevitability cascaded over her.

  His shoulders sagged. “Damn. I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe you didn’t feel it, too. Maybe coming in here was just a lucky guess, or you asked the Parents where I was…”

  “No. I knew you were here. And it was driving me nuts. P.S., things taste more intense than I’ve ever experienced and I can smell about a million things I never would have noticed before. Something is seriously wrong here. You going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He pushed himself up to sitting on his bed. She glimpsed his hard, well-muscled torso. He drew his knees up to his chest. Now the moonlight revealed only half of a haggard countenance and the bulge of biceps and shoulders. His wet hair hung lankly around his face. His eyes were intense, surrounded by dark circles. He looked like a dangerous, cornered animal.

  Greta took a step into the room. “I might believe it. I mean, I might like your explanation better than all the possibilities running around in my head.” She took another step.

  “Don’t,” he said, holding up a hand. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “Okay,” she soothed. “Okay, I won’t. But it’s got to be something. It’s more than just…you know, attraction.” At least she didn’t say lust. Pretty painful to admit. He feels it, too. I’m not alone in this. She straightened her spine. “I’m not normally that kind of…girl.”

  He groaned and put his head in his hands. “Damn. Damn.”

  “Now you’re scaring me. Are we…sick?”

  He barked a bitter laugh. “Something like that.”

  “You had better tell me what’s going on right this minute.” Like a direct order was going to work on a guy whose picture appeared next to the definition of ‘rebellious’ in the dictionary.

  He lifted his head. “What do you think is going on?”

  Okay, he wasn’t going to answer her directly. Not until she’d embarrassed herself further. She sighed. They weren’t sick exactly. What did that leave? “Uh, some kind of potion? Hypnosis? Voodoo? Witchcraft?” She’d better stop before the suggestions got any sillier.

  “Pretty good. I didn’t think you’d guess anything even close.”

  Greta felt her eyes open wider in the dim light. “Right. I’m close when I guess voodoo?”

  He sighed. “Go to bed, Gretchen.”

  “Greta. Everybody who knows me calls me Greta.”

  “All right,” he snapped. “Greta. Get out of here. It’s your only chance. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave The Breakers tomorrow and never come back.” He rolled his head. “What was I thinking to bring you here? I’m a stupid fuck-up.” He fixed her with a glare. “You might feel a little sick at first. But I’ll go farther away this time. It will pass.”

  That rang a bell. “I was sick the last time you left,” she said slowly. This was getting truly strange.

  “Yeah. There was a lot of that going around,” he muttered.

  Greta was frightened. And she was not going to just ‘go away’ without knowing what was happening to her. What if she was sick? What if there was some kind of potion or poison making her feel this way? Like a love potion, or more precisely, a lust potion. But those didn’t exist. Still, she was feeling pretty strange right now. She was burning up. Her sex was throbbing until it was almost painful. Her panties were drenched and her breasts seemed swollen and sore. This was not right.

  She took a step forward and another. “I’m not going anywhere until I know why we feel this way.” It occurred to her that he might have drawn his knees up to his chest to conceal an erection. “So you’d better tell me.” She kept moving toward him.

  His fist was clenched in a pillow.

  “And don’t think throwing a pillow at me is going to make me go away.” She saw him glance around wildly. “Or a lamp.”

  “I’m not in control here,” he growled. “Go, for your own sake.”

  “Maybe the way to make this stop is just to…” Oh, God. How could she say this? “How bad can it be if we release some tension?” Fear was fighting with her desire. She wanted to touch that bicep, run her hands over his shoulders. She wanted to feel that erection pressed against her. Fear was losing ground fast. Consumed by desire suddenly wasn’t just a cliché in a script.

  “If we…” He swallowed as though it was all he could do to speak. “If we do what we want here, there’ll be no going back. We’ll be trapped, just like they all were.”

  “Who?” she whispered, advancing.

  “My brothers and sisters,” he choked. “The Parents.”

  She was standing right over him now. They were magnets. She didn’t care about his family. She didn’t care about acting, or her mother, or Bernie, or the paparazzi. She felt the cold, complex light of the stars falling across her shoulders through the window. This was right. This was all that mattered. She reached toward him.

  He gave an anguished growl and grabbed her hand, pulling her into his body in a fierce embrace that robbed her of breath. He pressed his mouth against hers, and she opened without question to his probing tongue. His cry was lost in her mouth.

  They were both frantic. She thrust her tongue into his mouth in return, clutching fistfuls of his wet hair. His hands kneaded her buttocks through her tight jeans. She thought she might explode. He slid his legs out, and she straddled them, grinding her mound against a huge erection only thinly concealed by his pajama bottoms. Even that was too much between them. He pulled her fine-gauged sweater over her head and tossed it, leaving her in her lacy, half-cup black bra. She pulled at the button to her jeans. He reached around to unhook her bra. All the while their mouths clung frantically and tongues thrust and jostled in moist heat.

  She broke away, gasping, only because she had to get out of her jeans. He watched her with hungry eyes and stripped off his pajama bottoms. Oh, yeah. There it was. Close up, his cock was even nicer. Thick and straight and throbbing in what must be akin to pain it was so hard. She knew that pain. Her loins were aching. How long had it been since she’d been with a man? A while. But that wasn’t what was driving the action here. She couldn’t have resisted what was going to happen here if she’d wanted to. And she didn’t want to. She had no desire for anything but Lanyon inside her, riding her to orgasm until she screamed out her soul.

  She ripped her panties in her haste. Their bodies came together, fiercely, skin-to-skin, mouth–to-mouth. He had a bit of dark, straight hair on his chest and in a V over his belly and down to his pubic thatch. It rubbed against her sensitive skin until she thought she might come just from that light friction. They fell back to the bed, legs tangling. She threw one leg over his hip, pressing her dripping folds against his erection. He groaned.

  “No condom,�
�� he managed.

  “Fuck the condom. I want you inside me.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that, for several reasons. But she had, and she meant it.

  He apparently wanted that, too. He rolled her onto her back. She spread her knees until they laid flat on the bed and thrust up her pubic mound. Thank goodness for yoga.

  He held his cock at her entrance and braced himself on one arm above her. “You ready?” It looked like it was taking all the restraint he could muster to keep from plunging in.

  “What do you think?” she gasped and thrust her groin up farther.

  He didn’t wait for another invitation, but pushed inside her. He was slow but firm. How did he have that much control? He was pretty big, though, and slow was probably necessary if she wasn’t going to be in actual pain. Once he was seated fully inside her, he gave her a moment to adjust while he kissed his way down to her breasts and swirled his tongue around her nipples. She whipped her head from side to side, moaning. Sensation was cascading from her nipples down to her clit and back up in a growing cycle of excitement. Finally, she couldn’t stand it anymore and she began to move her hips up and back.

  “Shit,” he muttered. He began to thrust, hard and fast. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” she managed.

  He got a hand between them, splayed over her hip so he could slide his thumb into her folds and caress her clit. “I might not last…” And then his words ramped up into a shout.

  She poured over the edge of the falls in a heaving cascade of sensation right along with him. Somewhere she realized he was thrusting and pumping into her. He stilled, and she imagined his semen bathing her from the inside as it spurted. But the rest was lost in her bucking and shrieking. She burst into sparks of light. Just as they began to cool, she fluttered her eyelids, and he gave one more caress of his thumb. She went up and over again, pulsing. She realized she was grunting in rhythmic “uh, uh, uh,” sounds as the waves kept coming. At long last, with a wrench of her hips, it was over.