Do You Believe in Magic? (8 page)

Read Do You Believe in Magic? Online

Authors: Ann Macela

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Magic, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Contemporary

BOOK: Do You Believe in Magic?
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“I’ll call you tomorrow night,” he said, as he released her shoulders.
She swayed, but steadied. “Tomorrow,” she repeated in a husky voice.
The need to kiss her again flashed through him so strongly he could have howled, but he summoned the strength from somewhere and opened the door. “Tomorrow night,” he confirmed. He walked out and closed the door behind him. After one deep, deep inhalation of much-needed air, he forced himself to keep going down the steps and to his car.
Once inside the vehicle, Clay sat for several minutes, waiting for his body to relax enough so he could drive home safely. “Holy hell, where did all
that
come from?” he muttered later as he lay in bed, slowly rubbing the itch that seemed to emanate from under his breastbone. Exhausted, he slept.
 
After Clay left her apartment, Francie staggered to the couch and collapsed on it. Several minutes passed before her bones solidified again and she was able to sit upright. She ran her hands through her hair, and a few remaining hairpins fell into her lap. She held her head tightly and forced her mind to focus.
“Good Lord, what was
that
?” she breathed out loud.
Her mind had no answer. Her body, however, relived every moment from the first light touch of his lips on hers. The small, insignificant brush of his mouth had flung her mind into turmoil and her body to his. His deeper kiss had obliterated thought, leaving only the certainty she was in a hurricane, then swallowed up in a tornado. She could have sworn colored lights flickered and whirled all around them. She’d become giddy, dizzy with desire. She couldn’t get close enough to him, not enough to cool the heat or halt the lightning zinging through her body.
She’d had no control whatever, neither mental nor physical. He could have done anything to her, anything in the world. Ravished her on the floor. Torn her clothes off and taken her against the wall. Carried her into the bedroom and . . .
“No!” she cried aloud.
Yes
, her body reveled at the idea.
But he hadn’t done any of it. In fact, he’d calmly ended that devastating kiss and walked out the door. Cool, composed, unmoved.
He’ d just walked out the damn door.
How dare he?
How dare he leave her in this . . . state, or . . . condition, or . . . whatever it was? How dare he reject her?
How dare he not give her a chance to remind him of their agreement? To tell him she wouldn’t kiss him again? To reject him first?
“Whatever it was” transformed itself into anger—hot, seething anger—and she beat her fists on her knees in frustration.
Didn’t the arrogant bastard feel anything at all? After reducing her to a pile of storm debris, how did the man have the gall to leave, saying only he’d call her tomorrow night?
Wait a minute. What was she thinking?
“Oh, God! Oh, damn, damn, damn.” As her brain finally clicked into its analytical gear, she realized how she was reacting. She wasn’t thinking straight. She hadn’t meant for another kiss to happen at all.
What was she angry about? Had he, in fact, rejected her? Why should it matter to her? She should be angry not at him, but at herself, for cooperating in that kiss. She hadn’t secured his actual, verbal agreement to her no-kisses rule, and the SOB had ignored her demand. And she’d given in.
What had happened to her willpower? Was she falling for another handsome, charming man? Was this going to be Walt all over again?
The last question galvanized her, stood her on her feet, and propelled her toward the bedroom. She told herself, “No,” several times down the hall, and she fussed and fumed while she removed her clothes, put on her nightgown, and washed her face.
Rubbed her breastbone, which was now aching, not itching. Aching, with little sharp pinpricks of pain every so often. Just what she needed, another problem.
“Damn, damn, damn,” she muttered again through the toothpaste foam as she brushed her teeth and her mind traveled right back to Clay. She’d had such fun this night, enjoyed his company so much. And the things they’d talked about. She hadn’t had a chance to talk basketball with anybody in a long time. Her computer buddies didn’t care much about sports, and Tamara liked to watch the men, not the game.
But she and Clay together as a couple couldn’t go on, wouldn’t after they caught Kevin.
She couldn’t take many more kisses like the one tonight. Not and remain sane. Not and remain her own woman. Not and keep Clay where he firmly belonged, in the business side of her life. She had to end this confusion between her mind and body.
She could not let him touch her again when they were alone. Not let him kiss her. She would arrange the double date with Tamara and Kevin so Clay could meet the smarmy bastard. After that, she wouldn’t need to have anything to do with him. She’d tell Tamara they’d broken up.
That would do it, she told herself in the bathroom mirror. She looked at her image and realized she was rubbing that spot right between her breasts again. She had to stop; she was only making it more sore. She busied her hands putting the toothpaste away.
Once in bed with the light out, however, her body reminded her again of its pleasure at being in Clay’s arms, of its certainty of being exactly where it was supposed to be, of its longing to be there again.
And her memory conjured up his words, “I think we’ve got this backward. About who’s sweeping who off whose feet.” And the look on his face, silver eyes so intent on hers; and his muscular body, so hard against her soft one; and the strength of his desire, so evident pressed against her aching sex. He had been as breathless and aroused as she was.
Good. Let him stew for a while. The pleasure that idea brought made her smile in the darkness. It even seemed to lessen the discomfort in her chest.
Maybe she was mistaken in her original conclusions. Maybe he had been affected. She was an analyst; she could look at the evidence, plot the sequence of events, map the procedure. He’d been breathing hard also. His voice had sounded like he had trouble getting the words out. And she remembered the way his hands had trembled on her shoulders. Separating their bodies had been as hard on him as it was on her.
Maybe his honor and integrity had stopped him from . . . from what? Pushing her over the edge? Taking her where she had implied she didn’t want to go? She’d been the one who wanted to keep it all businesslike, and she’d told him so.
But he’d been the one with willpower. How had he known to stop? Why had he? Thank goodness he had. She wasn’t ready for more. Wasn’t she? Would she ever be?
Her body told her it was ready
now
. Her mind just wallowed around in confusion, as if it had been possessed by aliens. And the pain in her solar plexus seemed to come and go on its own schedule. At this rate she’d be a candidate for the loony bin in no time.
Francie snorted at herself and punched the pillow into a more comfortable position. For a woman who’d always prided herself on her ability to think and act clearly, she certainly wasn’t doing any of that now. She’d come in a complete circle, from frustration to rage to frustration of another sort.
What was she going to do about Clay Morgan?
Put a stop to his kisses, somehow. Keep her distance. Live through this debacle.
Survive.
Hoping daylight would bring respite from her problems, she closed her eyes and snuggled into the pillow. Her last memory of the effect the kiss had on Clay caused a small smile of satisfaction to cross her face before sleep overtook her.
CHAPTER FOUR
 
Sunday afternoon, Francie was about to turn on her computer to check her e-mail when the doorbell rang. She was almost afraid it was Clay at her door and she still hadn’t decided what to do about or with him. It was Tamara, thank goodness.
“Hey,” the redhead said when Francie let her in. “How was the date?”
“What, no ‘Good afternoon,’ or ‘How are you?’” Francie teased.
“You know me, I cut right to the chase,” Tamara grinned back.
“Well, come on in. You want something to drink? I was going to make some tea.”
“That sounds good.” Tamara followed her into the kitchen and plunked herself down at the table. “So, give.”
“The show was great,” Francie said as she filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She described what they had seen and where they had eaten dinner. “We had a great time talking about basketball. He played on his high-school teams just like I did, and we had a lot of fun arguing about the NBA versus the WNBA.”
Tamara rolled her eyes. “You two must be made for each other. Computers and now basketball. I don’t know any other woman who would have argued with her date about sports. Are you going to see him again?”
Francie prepared the teapot and placed cups on the table as she answered, “We didn’t make any firm plans. I’m sure we both have plenty of work to do. I was assigned to a special project last week, and I’ll have to work late at least one night this week, most likely Thursday. I hope it won’t be Tuesday, because my basketball league plays at the Y then.” There, she’d told Tamara about Thursday, so her mission was accomplished. A wave of remorse about deceiving her friend struck her, and she turned back to the stove to hide her feelings.
“You know, I may just come to watch y’all play sometime.”
“You keep saying that, but you never do.” Francie poured the hot water into the teapot and carried it to the table. As the tea steeped, she asked, “How’s Kevin? How was your date?”
“It was okay,” Tamara replied, spooning honey into her cup. “We went to the new club over by the Galleria. Kevin was feeling really good. He hinted about some ‘big plans at work,’”—she waggled her fingers in quote marks—”but he wouldn’t tell me what they are exactly.”
“Oh?” Francie tried to say nonchalantly, but thought the word came out in a croak. She coughed to cover her reaction and poured the tea.
“Yeah, it’s probably some sales promotion. You know how these sales types are, always looking to the next big score, the next big client.”
“How’s the shop?” Francie asked to change the subject, and they talked about Tamara’s business for the rest of her visit.
After the redhead left, Francie sat at her computer, staring blankly at the screen. What was she going to do about Tamara? She felt like she was betraying her closest friend. She had to be able to do something to protect Tamara from Kevin, no matter what. But she knew neither she nor Tamara made very good liars, Tamara least of all. Clay and Herb had to stop Kevin from whatever he was attempting to find in the Brazos computer, so she herself couldn’t say anything to spoil the project. Therefore, all she could do for Tamara was what she was doing—keeping her mouth shut. God, she hated deception.
Morosely she booted up the computer and stared out the window for several minutes after the familiar display appeared. When no answer appeared out of computer heaven, she sighed and clicked the button to check her e-mail.
 
Sunday afternoon Clay went over to Daria’s. Their sister, Gloriana, was in town, but wanted to go back to the plant and herb farm that evening, so they were eating early. Moving up the dinner hour fit in with his plans to call Francie later, and he didn’t often have the chance to see Glori these days, so he was happy to accept the invitation.

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