Moonlight and Magic

by Rebecca Paisley

  “No, you have not.”

  “No?” She turned to her side, her hair shielding her breasts, but falling away from her back to reveal her firm, white bottom.

  Sterling sucked in his breath at the sight. “No.”

  “There it is, if you care to see it.”

  “There what is?” he asked, and felt a sudden pain shoot up his arm. He looked down at his hand, saw how tense it was, and relaxed his hold on the sheet.

  “My birthmark,” she replied with a smile. “Remember I told you I had one?”

  He could think of a thousand things in the world he’d always wanted to see. Important things, monumental in their grandeur. Things that could change a man’s entire life. But none of them could compare to the mark she said he could see if he cared to.

  He examined her from where he stood. From the crown of her glistening hair to the ends of her little pink toes, he studied her. But he found no birthmark. “I don’t see it,” he said impatiently.

  She moved a little further to her side. “See it now?”

  He searched as a starving man searches for food. “No!” he shouted. “I—I mean no,” he said again, more quietly.

  She rolled onto her belly. “How about now?”

  It took him but one long stride to reach the end of the bed. His knees banged into it, but he was oblivious to the pain as he searched for the elusive birthmark.

  Damn, she was perfect, he thought, his gaze savoring each silken inch of her. Damn, she was an enticing bit of woman. Damn, but he wanted her with every fiber of his being.

  And damn, he was a fool! Looking all over for some stupid birthmark as if his very life depended on finding it. He stormed toward the window and thrust aside the thin curtain. How had she gotten to him? Scoffing at her amateurish ploys was ludicrous. She’d seduced him all right, and so completely, it was all he could do not to throw himself on her and ravish her. And if he didn’t find some way to control himself, something else to think about, that was exactly what he’d end up doing.

  From where he stood at the window, he could see moonlight splashing upon the tall stack of logs he’d fashioned. The new cabin, he forced himself to remember. Think about the cabin!

  “It’s on my bottom,” she said suddenly.

  He stiffened, each of his muscles so tense that several became cramped. “The cabin?”

  “Cabin? A cabin on my bottom? Sterling, are you in pain?” she asked when she heard him moan.

  Of the worst kind, he informed her silently. “No,” he snapped, and rubbed his knotted thigh muscle.

  “Come here, and I’ll show it to you. Maybe you have bad eyes and need to be closer to see it.”

  Sterling gasped. The thought of his face so close to that white, firm part of her...well, there was no way in hell, he’d be able to keep from biting it. “Chimera—You—I’m sure your birthmark is one hell of a thing to see, but...a mark on your behind is not the reason why I came in here tonight.” He found a shred of sanity, and spun on his heel to face her. “I came in here—” Dammit to hell, why had he come in here?

  “To teach me to paint,” she reminded him. “Canvas and subtle colors. Remember?”

  No, estrellita, he told her wordlessly. I came because I have yielded to your magic.

  “I can’t,” he said in a whisper. “I don’t want to.”

  “You don’t want to see it?”

  “What? Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll see it.” He looked at her blankly, trying to remember the vein of the conversation. “See what?”

  She giggled. “Sterling, come here.”

  “Chimera,” he said as softly as he could, “I...estrellita, I will leave you soon.” He had to warn her, he realized. Had to make her understand that whatever the outcome of this night, whatever magic there was between them, it would not change his decision. Nothing could. Nothing would ever keep him from going to Tucson.

  Her newly returned hope resisted the panic that tried to overtake her. “But Sterling, you’re here now. Can’t we make the most of our time together while we still have it?”

  He heard the trust in her voice, the unmitigated faith that all would work out exactly the way she wanted it to. She had a right to some of it, he knew. She wasn’t blind; she could see with her own eyes the changes she’d wrought in him. But to have such boundless hope that those changes would keep him here! No. To allow her to go on believing, hoping, trusting...it was unfair.

  “Chimera, I—The time I’ve been with you...You’ve helped me to understand many things. But there’s still a trace of the cynic left, estrellita, enough to taint whatever this...this magic of yours does to me. I’m not totally convinced that—You must understand that being one hundred percent positive about something is a rarity. I mean, how can anyone be completely certain of anything in this world?

  “When I got here,” he continued, “I suppose I was confused about a great many things. But you,” he growled as he turned to face her and jabbed his finger toward her, “give new meaning to the word bewildered. This magic of yours...sometimes I ache for it, other times I fight its power with every ounce of strength I possess. I don’t know from one moment to the next what you’d do or how I’ll react to it. It’s as if I’m a piece of thread. You wrap me around your finger, twisting and knotting me in so many places and in so many ways, that I sometimes think I know even less about myself than I did when I was hanging upside down in your damn werewolf trap!”

  She remained on her belly, her eyes the only part of her that moved. Inside her heart there sang a song so loud and happy, it shook her through and through. He was so close to meeting the man she knew was inside him. His emptiness was so close to being filled with the love and sense of belonging she’d tried to instill in him. She hoped he would recognize the fulfillment when it happened.

  And she prayed with all her soul that it would happen before he was gone.

  “A while ago,” Sterling started again, and took another journey across the room, “I was lying on my mat laughing at your attempts to seduce me. Yes, laughing, Chimera. I told myself you were silly. That you were a poor, ignorant little wench who knew nothing at all about the art of passion.”

  He stopped close to her bed and looked down at her. “And yet, here I am in your room, wanting you so badly that a moment ago, I could barely control the urge to ravish you! You wanted to seduce me, Chimera? Well, you’ve succeeded thoroughly.”

  “But...but we haven’t even made love.”

  “Yet.”

  The one word consumed her with a fire she knew only he could quench. “Sterling—”

  “What have you done to me, witch?” Savagely, he dragged his fingers through his hair. “I never knew such magic existed. What the hell is this spell that comes over us, Chimera? How do you do it? Dammit, what right do you have to do this to me?”

  He sighed. “The ability to seduce, the complete, absolute control I had over a woman’s attraction to me and mine toward her—it was the one thing I was sure of. It was the closest thing I had to some sort of identity, and however empty it left me, it was still the only thing I had to hold onto. Then you... Chimera, then you sashayed into my life and turned everything inside out! Hell, I don’t know what to think about this, about you, about us. I try seducing you with all the art I possess, and you...with one simple embrace, you have me in the palm of your hand. I want you, Chimera, but I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to take advantage of what you so freely and innocently offer!”

  “Would you rather I made you work for it?”

  “No, and be quiet. This is my conversation, not yours.”

  “It can’t be a conversation if you’re the only one talking. Unless of course you talk to yourself. I do that. I try to stop myself, but sometimes I don’t realize—”

  “You’re going off on a tangent, and I’m in no mood to wait and see where it will end.” He sat down beside her. “Chimera, I’ve been as honest with you as I can. I’ve told you every puzzling thing that’s going on inside me. But I a
m leaving you. You mustn’t doubt that. I’ll give you everything I know how to give before my departure, but please don’t ask me for more. Don’t expect—”

  “But I wanted to—”

  “Want? Chimera, if one of the triplets wants to jump off a mountain to see if he can fly, you’ll forbid it because you know he’ll fall and kill himself instead.” He reached for her, pulled her into his lap, and took her face between his hands. “You don’t know what’s good for you.”

  “What’s good for me then?” She leaned into him, her face nestling into the warm curve of his shoulder.

  “All things good are good for you.” He slid his hands into the thick mass of her hair. “Things like laughter. You were born to laugh, Chimera. You should have a simple, carefree lifetime of happy days. You deserve to be happy, estrellita.”

  “You make me laugh, Sterling. You make me so happy.”

  “I make you laugh now. And perhaps, in some ways, I’ve made you happy. But I’m not your lifetime of carefree, simple days. There are too many things inside me I don’t understand. Too many emotions that won’t sit still long enough for me to decipher them. Too many questions whose solutions still elude me. You could never be content with a man who is spread in so many directions, Chimera. With one who’s void of so many things. You need a whole and solid man. One sure of the same things you’re sure of. With that same marvelous faith you have.”

  He buried his face in the hair he held in his hands. “Some days pass and I don’t give a thought to Brianna, I don’t even remember what it is I want from her. But the memories always return, Chimera. Do you hear me? I never forget them completely!” He thrust her from him and stood.

  “Do you see?” he roared. “One moment I have you in my arms, relishing the feel of your bare skin on mine and savoring the sweet perfume of your hair and feeling as happy as I’ve ever felt. And the next moment, Chimera, I don’t want you in my lap! I don’t want you anywhere near the poisoned part of me that I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, will hurt you!”

  He knelt but didn’t touch her. “Whatever the hell love is, I’m sure it’s the most wonderful thing a person can feel. And do you think I don’t want to believe you love me, or that I don’t wish day after day I could understand love and love you back? What sane man wouldn’t fantasize about such things, Chimera? What red-blooded man wouldn’t dream of possessing the love of a woman such as you and returning that love for a lifetime? I’m not so confused that I don’t realize what happiness that would be. But neither am I so deluded that I believe for one second it’s conceivable...for us.

  “Two sides, Chimera,” he continued, and held two fingers up. “One is the man who came here months ago. The other is the one who’s come to be. Who’s to say which man is stronger, which will win? For that matter who’s to say there’s not even a third man—one who is the combination of the first two. Or...dammit, you see how confused I am? Rattling on about all the men there are inside me? Dios mio, to think I once thought there was no one in there, and now I’m saying there might be three! Chimera, take pity on me. Please show me mercy and say you understand what the hell I’m trying to explain to you.”

  “Sterling. My poor, confused, and—uh...tainted Sterling. That is the word you used, isn’t it?” She slid closer to the edge of the bed and absently braided a piece of his shoulder-length hair. “If you are poison, my love, give me the full draught of your killing venom. I want it to fill my veins and infect me with that which I long for with all my being. If—”

  His laughter cut her short. “You sound like a Shakespearean actress.”

  “You’ve seen Shakespeare’s plays?”

  “No, but I imagine the actresses in them speak much as you just did.” He clasped his hands against his bare chest, closed his eyes, and quoted, “Give me the full draught...I would have it fill my veins and infect—”

  “And your soliloquy of a few minutes ago was no less dramatic?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. He’d said what he had to say, she’d listened, and whatever happened now would just happen. He’d do nothing to prevent it because, very simply, he didn’t know how.

  “Sterling, I understand everything you’ve told me tonight, but why try to analyze all the confused emotions running through you? Your explanations about the two men, the three men—will it do any good to understand who they all are? Why not just let them exist together for now? Because who’s to say they won’t all stand you in good stead, each in his own way? I think you’re trying too hard. Sterling,” she said very softly. “I can’t be totally sure of anything, because as you said, there’s a thread of doubt that threatens to ruin every rope of faith. But Sterling, why not just hold onto the rope with all your might and see what happens?”

  She lay back upon her pillow. “‘A mind is not to be changed by place or time. The mind is its own place, and in itself can make heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.’”

  She smiled at his expression; she could almost see the thoughts churning behind those beautiful silver orbs. “John Milton wrote that. Has any one of us ever used even a fraction of the mind’s power, I wonder? Surely Milton was right in saying we can make heaven of hell and hell of heaven. Why not enjoy what we have and choose heaven, Sterling? Why concentrate on hell when heaven is within our grasp?”

  “Why, indeed,” he whispered. He reached out his arm, laid his hand upon her ivory belly, and began to slide it toward her breast.

  “So can we...will we have our heaven?” she asked quietly. “Will you consent, if only for the time that you are still here, to let your every emotion go and allow what happens to happen? Will you simply enjoy each day and not think too hard about tomorrow? Will you free your feelings and believe that whatever happens will be right and good?”

  “Yes,” he said, his hand cupping her breast. “Yes to all those things.”

  “Then we’ve a real reason to celebrate. I’m so glad I decided to have a party. How wonderful this night is!” She tugged at his arms until he slid into the bed, and then regarded each perfect part of him, smiling slowly at the proof of his desire for her. She reached for a berry, dipped it into the cup of whiskey, and held it over his mouth.

  He saw the amber liquor drip from the fruit and parted his lips just in time to catch it. It burned his tongue, making him long for the freshness of the dark fruit pinched between her white fingers. “The berry,” he whispered. “Give it to me.”

  “I’ve a weakness for you, Sir Sterling Montoya,” she confessed, still curious to see if the quote about a woman’s strength coming from her weaknesses was really true. “It makes me shiver beneath the hottest sun. It keeps me from sleep until my eyes sting with the need for slumber. My body aches with hunger, and yet I cannot eat, because my weakness for you vanquishes all other appetites. You will be the death of me, Sterling. Every day my weakness for you grows, and soon I will cease to exist at all.”

  “Such melodrama,” he teased. “Another Shakespeare...uh, Shakespearette...Shakespearina?”

  She laughed gaily, slid the berry into his mouth, and squeezed it before she let it go. He felt its juices flow onto his tongue, but he barely tasted them, so enchanted was he with her loveliness, the sweet admission of her need for him, however theatrical it was.

  He watched her swirl her finger into the cup of whiskey and shuddered with exquisite sensation when she wet his lips with it. Excitement such as he’d never felt before exploded through him when she bent and licked it from his mouth. Her tongue was satiny smooth, yet it lapped at him with firm, strong strokes.

  “Do you like my party?” Her mouth left a soft trail of wispy kisses as it journeyed to his eyes, his forehead, and down his temple. “I’ve a weakness for parties. I have lots of weaknesses.”

  He rolled his eyes. “And robin eggs are pink. What else would you have me believe tonight, estrellita?”

  “Oh, but it’s true. I’ve a weakness for the sound of birds in flight. One for snow cream: that’s snow with sugar, vanilla, and the riches
t of creams. And I’ve a weakness for the smell of old books. Musty, ancient knowledge. Once you’ve smelled it, you can never forget it. And cinnamon. What a weakness I have for the fragrance of cinnamon. Tell me,” she whispered, her lips at his ear, “do you smell my cinnamon?”

  “Cinnamon.” The word came from him on a raspy sigh. Cinnamon fine.

  “I bathe in it.” Her mouth smoothed down his neck, to his shoulder, and she tasted his collarbone. She found it to her liking, and lingered there a while. “I heat my bathwater with cinnamon sticks.”

  “And the fire?” he whispered. “Do you add fire to your water too?”

  “Fire?” She raised her head from his shoulder and looked down at him.

  He saw the brandy flames in her eyes and realized the fire came from within her. She was fire, in all its bright and consuming glory. “You smell of blazes. Not smoke, not ashes. Fire essence.”

  She smiled and returned to the delicious and deliberate task of tasting him. “Cinnamon fire,” she said, her mouth at his chest. “I like the way that sounds.” Her lips encircled his rigid nipple, her tongue swirled around it.

  “Chimera.”

  “Sterling.”

  “You, too, are my weakness.”

  “How delightful.”

  “When you first invited me to your party, I wasn’t going to come.”

  “But you did.” Her mouth moved lower.

  He held his breath for a timeless moment, his lungs burning. “Yes...I—I did,” he stammered, and gulped for air.

  Her lips descended further. She buried them in the thick, black softness that was the bed for the powerful length of his masculinity.

  “Chimera. Chimera.” He groaned, his body shaking. His hands vanished into the ebony wonder of her hair. “I didn’t teach you this.”

  “I guess some things just come naturally. It must be instinct, and in the words of the instinctive Emerson, ‘Trust the instinct to the end, though you can render no reason.’ Tell me, Sterling, shall we trust this instinct?”

  “Yes,” he hissed. “Yes, Chimera.”