01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin (31 page)

“I hear you have lots of
celebrity clients,” the one called Ashley simpered. There was no
other word for her tone of voice. “Whose cars have you done?”

Better question might be whom
he’d done. Or how many times a night. Bet they didn’t want to hear
that. Okay. Okay. He had to say something here. “Uh… that girl who
was in the movie with the robots?”

“Not Brenda
Foxfield!
Oh,
my
God.
What’s she like?”

His mother couldn’t honestly
believe he’d be interested in these girls, could she? Not after
she’d seen Maggie. But of course she hadn’t known about Maggie when
she’d drawn up the guest list. Or even that he’d be here. These
must have been destined for Kemble. He glanced to his mother. She
was looking a warning he couldn’t miss a mile away from her royal
spot near the buffet table. Better be civil to these simpering
idiots. So he didn’t say, “She sucks cock like a plumber’s helper.”
Since he really couldn’t remember her very well, he said, “Uh,
she’s… nice.”

“Have you ever done a car for
Tom Damonde?” That was Dawn. Bet she had pictures of Damonde,
shirtless, all over her dorm room.

“Nope.” He didn’t want to give
her anything, but under his mother’s stare, he relented. “He likes
cycles.”

“You built him a
motorcycle
?” The two girls stalked forward like ravening
beasts. He lost the thread of their overlapping questions as he
backed away, almost tripping over a chair. Damn cast. Even the one
Kemble had ordered delivered from some medical supply store made
him limp a little, though it was much smaller and lighter. Tris had
arranged a little delivery from the local pharmacy of his own. A
bunch of stupid things he didn’t need, just to camouflage the
condoms, though he was sure whoever made up the order wasn’t fooled
for a second.

The harpies had him backed up
against a table when he felt her come into the yard. One girl had
her hand on his arm. They were saying something or other, but he
didn’t care. Over their heads he saw Drew coming out the French
doors. And there was Kee. Couldn’t they move out of the way? He
knew
she was there.

God in heaven, there she
was.

He’d never seen a woman so
beautiful. It wasn’t that she was transformed. More like revealed.
He moved one of the girls out of his way with one hand and pushed
through them. He might have muttered, “Excuse me.” He wasn’t
sure.

“What a prick,” one of them said
behind him.

Drawn through the crowds, he saw
Maggie pause on the brink of the deck, looking uncertain. Jane was
behind her. Jane pointed to him. Then Maggie saw him. He was pretty
sure he had another loopy grin on his face. His eyes filled. How
stupid was that? But it wasn’t his fault that his heart was
thumping on his ribs like a prisoner trying to break jail. He was
just having some kind of physiologic reaction to her. He wasn’t
getting actual tears in his eyes.

He watched her face soften and
her lips smile. She wanted him. He knew it. And he was so damned
grateful she wasn’t looking around for Kemble that his knees
started to shake. She took a step toward him, onto the terrace. He
wasn’t the only one who had noticed her. He saw one guy set down
his drink and begin to move in her direction. Now there was another
one moving in from the other side. Lord, he was about to be cut out
twice in one day. He hurried over to the terrace, sloshing his
drink. Thank God he got there first. Probably because he was
willing to make a fool of himself by practically running. Small
price.

“How do you like our handiwork?”
Drew was talking to him.

“Go away,” he said, never taking
his eyes off Maggie.

“Well,” Kee humphed, “that’s
gratitude if I ever heard it.”

Drew smiled knowingly and
dragged her off. “Come on, sister. I need wine.”

Tris stood over Maggie. She
looked up at him, and it was like there was this physical
connection between them that made everything else unimportant, at
least to the Tris half of the duo. Tris had such a big lump in his
throat he wasn’t sure he could speak. He didn’t know what to say
anyway. Maggie wasn’t saying anything either. She was just looking
at him with the biggest eyes. They were greener than he’d ever seen
them.

Get yourself together,
boy.
One of them had to say something. Unless of course, he
just dragged her right up to the library and did what he really
wanted to do.
She doesn’t want to do it right now. She wants to
enjoy the party. Okay. Okay. Just say what’s on your mind.

No, no! Scratch that. Don’t say
what’s on your mind. Disaster.

Say what she wants to
hear.
What did she want to hear? What all women wanted to hear.
Though in this case it was true. “You’re...” He cleared his throat
and tried again. “You’re especially beautiful tonight.”

She smiled. “So are you.”

There. That wasn’t so
hard.
But now it was his turn again. Panic. All he could think
about was the way the little chain around her neck lay across her
collarbone. She looked so fragile. He wanted to protect her. From
everything. Forever.

She was looking up at him
expectantly.

Okay. Okay.
“Would you
like something to drink? The... the bar has pretty much anything
you want. Wine. White and red. Several kinds. Or beer. Martinis.
Mojitos. Gin and tonic. Or ... Jack if you like....” He held up his
own glass. Shit. Now he was running off at the mouth.

She broke her gaze from his and
looked around the garden doubtfully. “Guess most of the girls here
don’t shoot whiskey.”

No, no, she could not start
worrying about not being like these other girls. She would never be
like them. And that was good. He glanced around and saw several of
them shooting glances like daggers at her. “Why should we care
about them?” Was his voice a little too harsh? He chanced sliding
an arm around her back and felt a jolt to his heart. It stopped,
then galloped on like an engine with dirty valves. He swallowed as
she glanced, startled, up to him. Had she felt it too? Whatever she
felt, she allowed him to maneuver her through the crowd to the
bar.

“Shot of Jack for the lady,”
Tris growled at the bartender. Then he smiled at Maggie. “In honor
of the very generous bottle she produced two nights ago when I most
needed it.” Had it only been
two
nights since he’d sat at
her kitchen table shooting whiskey and popping Vicodin? He felt
higher now than he ever felt that night.

Good thing about bartenders,
they keep a straight face. “Up or on the rocks?”

“Straight is fine,” Maggie said,
her voice a little breathy. Tris liked it that way. If he had his
way she’d be even more out of breath before the night was through.
How long would this party last? Midnight? Some stragglers until
two? When did the staff finish cleaning up?

Tris thought he might die if he had to
wait that long. And he’d shortly have to fend off Kemble. He didn’t
doubt it for a minute. The Prince of Wales was used to getting what
he wanted. How could he not want Maggie?

*****

Tris was acting so strangely.
They sat at a table, sipping whiskey. Tris barked at anyone who
approached, which resulted in a hasty retreat. When six-four of
muscled, angry man barked at you, even though the tux hid the
tattoos, you didn’t stick around to annoy him further. But when
Tris tried to talk to her, he couldn’t seem to control what came
out, so he mostly just kept quiet and stared at his drink, or at
her.

That was okay. Maggie didn’t
know what to say to him either. They both knew what was going to
happen tonight. And Maggie was feeling light-headed with how right
that felt. She was glad for the expression on his face when he
first saw her. She would have to thank Jane later. They
had
made a mostly silk purse out of a sow’s ear. She felt like
Cinderella at the ball. Tomorrow she’d be plain Maggie O’Brian
again in jeans and boots. But that was tomorrow.

Maggie was jogged out of her
reverie by two looming men. She glanced up to see Kemble and Mr.
Tremaine. They each held a plate of food and utensils. Tris glared
at them.

“What are you doing here?” he
growled. Whoa. She would never dare talk to Mr. Tremaine that
way.

“We came to see that the lady
got something to eat,” Mr. Tremaine said, rather mildly under the
circumstances. “Since you seem to be neglecting her needs.”

Tris looked stricken. He started
to get up. Kemble pushed him down as Mr. Tremaine set his plate in
front of her. “Now, now, brother dear. The quickest way to make us
go away is to say, ‘Thank you for being so thoughtful.’ ” Kemble
was grinning.

“Kemble, go get Miss O’Brian
some wine to go with dinner.”

Kemble gave a mock salute and
retreated to the bar.

“I... I could have gotten her
wine,” Tris managed, feeling lame in more ways than one.

“You’d rather stay here, I can
tell. Perhaps your leg is giving you pain.” This was rather
pointed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Maggie
exclaimed. “I forgot all about your leg. And here we are drinking
with you probably still on pain pills....”

“He’s fine,” Mr. Tremaine said
firmly. “Just very engrossed in the conversation, I expect, right,
Tristram?”

“Right,” Tris said, not meeting
his father’s eyes.

His father looked at Tris rather
strangely then back at Maggie. “I’m in a bit of a quandary.”

“Sir?” Maggie asked. Did this
man usually look a little befuddled? She’d bet not.

“Well, I like you very much,
Miss O’Brian. I discovered that at dinner last night. But if I tell
you that in front of my son, he’s likely to take a dislike to you.
Which would be unfortunate.”

But he just
had
said it
in front of his son. And that was nice. But why would he
think...?

“Is it that hard between you?”
she asked.

Mr. Tremaine barked a laugh. “I
was right to like you. And no.” Here he glanced to his son. “I hope
not. Thus my decision.” With that, he executed a little bow. “Don’t
be too angry with Kemble,” he said to Tris as he left. “He’s
envious of you, you know.”

Kemble was fast approaching with
a glass of white wine and one of red. He set the white wine in
front of Maggie, under Tris’s glare. “White, to go with the
lobster, I thought.” He handed the other to Tris. “And Bordeaux for
the red meat fan.”

Maggie glanced to her plate.
Yup. Lobster. And Kemble had gotten steak from the grill station
set up at the barbecue for Tris. “That was very thoughtful, Kemble.
Thank you.” You had to give credit where credit was due.

“Which is my cue to disappear,”
Kemble said, and did just that.

“That was odd,” Maggie said.

“Very,” Tris said thoughtfully.
Then he broke his mood of speculation and said, “Guess you just
charm everyone.”

“I see a whole lot of people here who
appear ‘Maggie O’Brian resistant,’ ” she half laughed. His father
liked her. That couldn’t be bad, could it? Maybe he hadn’t heard
about what happened today. Maybe he never had to know how different
she really was. If his father liked her, and his mother liked her,
and Tris still liked her tomorrow, then maybe ... maybe this could
be more than just a one-night stand....

*****

Tris was going nuts. It was ten.
They’d finished eating. The party wouldn’t be over for hours. How
would he stand it? Maggie had been fidgeting for the last hour,
glancing at him, glancing away. Would she just make a run for it if
he couldn’t start acting charming pretty soon? Or at least like a
real date? He spied Lanyon’s piano, which had been dragged out onto
the terrace. All right. Maybe some dancing would assuage his urge
to just drag Maggie upstairs. Women loved dancing. The kid himself
was over trying to put some pretty lame moves on the two girls Tris
had dodged earlier. They appeared to be treating him like a
particularly annoying puppy.

“Lanyon,” he called, startling
Maggie, whose gaze darted around the party like he’d yelled “fire”
or something.

Lanyon set his lips, glaring at
Tris. But he did come over. “What?”

“Music,” Tris said, like he was
asking for water after days in the desert.

“Mother said ten thirty.”

“Now.” Tris swallowed. “Please.
Something you can dance to....”

“Guys with broken legs don’t
dance,” Lanyon said, staring pointedly at Tris’s leg.

Right.
“Something...
uh... slow.” Maggie was about to protest. “I can do slow
dancing.”

“Wow,” Lanyon said. “I get to
play at the prom. I can hardly wait.”

Maggie frowned, but at least she
was silent. Lanyon glanced over to her and heaved a sigh. “Okay.
Slow-dancing music it is. But only for Maggie. Not for Mister ‘Big
Brother Who Ruins a Guy’s Chances by Calling Him Over at the Worst
Possible Moment.’ Does she know what she’s getting into?” He
stomped over to the piano and threw himself onto the bench. Then he
looked down at the keys, and his face smoothed. He smiled.

Tris stood and extended his hand
to Maggie as the strains of a song Tris didn’t know wafted out over
the terrace in the summer night. Whatever it was, it was definitely
prom slow-dancing material.

“Are you sure?” Maggie asked,
her eyes big. “I’ll step on you.”

“I’m sure.” He wanted her in his
arms so bad his bones seemed to hurt.

She took his hand.

They both gasped. Then Maggie
smiled at him and she looked so... sure. She was right. Nothing and
nobody else mattered. He felt good. Really,
really
good. He
pulled her into his arms.

And that was it. Life was
perfect. She put one bare arm around his neck, and he clasped her
other palm, and they were moving together as if they were one. Her
head didn’t even reach his shoulder, so she put it on his chest. He
liked that. Her eyes were half-closed. Her body melted into his as
they swayed with tiny steps to the music. He was fully erect and he
didn’t care that she knew, or who else might see. Her dress floated
around her like the scent of roses floated over the garden.
This.
This was what he had waited for all his life. He’d
never felt so alive, so... whole.