JAKrentz - Witchcraft (2 page)

"
Cavenaugh
," she repeated. The rough texture of his voice brought back memories of the last time she had seen him. It also brought an indescribable wariness that she had never been able to properly identify or understand. As she stared up at him the wind screamed eerily, just as it had that night two months ago when she had gotten herself involved in the incredible situation that had led to her meeting Darius
Cavenaugh
.

She realized abruptly that he must be getting chilled out on her porch.

Without another word she closed the door, undid the chain lock and then allowed him inside. She stepped back as he moved into the
firelit
room, her eyes moving over him, trying to accept the fact he was here. "What a coincidence that you should show up tonight." she finally managed politely as she motioned him to a comfortably overstuffed chair in front of the fire. "I was thinking about you today. What are you doing here?

Have you come on business regarding that mess two months ago? Let me have your jacket. The electricity went off but the fire should keep the place warm. I was just about to eat. Have you had dinner?" When he simply looked at her as he shrugged off the suede jacket he was wearing, Kimberly realized belatedly that she was babbling and wondered why. It wasn't at all like her. Annoyed with herself she hastily closed her mouth and silently accepted his jacket. It was still warm from the heat of his strong, lean body and the leather seemed to carry a trace of his scent. As soon as she caught the hint of the unique masculine essence, Kimberly knew she had never forgotten it. How odd to have that surprisingly intimate realization about a man whom she barely knew; someone whom she'd had no relationship beyond the quite limited association brought on by the events of two months ago. "I think,"
Cavenaugh
said calmly as he sank down into the old chair, "that you did more than think about me today." Startled, Kimberly finished hanging up his jacket and then started back across the room. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"That was you on the phone this morning, wasn't it?

When Julia mentioned that a woman had called and then claimed to have misdialed I had a feeling-", He broke off with a faintly slanting smile.

"And later on the phone rang again but the person on the other end of the line had gotten cold feet by the time I picked up the receiver.

That was you too, wasn't it?" Slowly, her amber brows knit together in a small frown, Kimberly walked over to the kitchen and poured another glass of the
Cavenaugh
Merlot wine. "How did you know?"

"A hunch. The number's unlisted and people rarely misdial it. Two or three such
hangups
in one day were a little suspicious. Something told me it had to be you. Offhand I can't think of anyone else I know who would have hesitated to make the call." His mouth moved briefly, wryly. "Everyone else seems to have no qualms at all about contacting me for just about any reason."

"You didn't even call me back to make certain," she pointed out quietly as she walked back to her chair in front of the fire. He reached up to accept the glass of wine she offered. Almost idly
Cavenaugh
held the glass so that the deep ruby liquid was lit by firelight. He perused the color with an expert's eye and then took a cautious taste. "Very good," he pronounced, watching Kimberly over the rim. "It should be. It's a
Cavenaugh
wine," she murmured dryly. "Cost me half a royalty check."

"I know." He swirled the wine in the glass and smiled faintly. "You must have known I was arriving tonight." She blinked, mildly surprised. "How could I know that?"

"Beats me. The same way I realized it was you on the phone today, I suppose." He took another sip of the wine and continued to watch her. "Coincidence," she assured him roundly. Kimberly found herself having to quash an unsettling sensation of intimacy caused by his words. She'd had that bottle of wine in the kitchen cupboard for several days along with a few others. It was odd that she'd opened it tonight. Then ..... "Well, maybe it was more than sheer coincidence," she admitted. "I did think about you several times today and you're right. It was me on the phone. I suppose I had
Cavenaugh
on the brain, and when I chose a wine tonight it was automatic to reach for the name."

"Automatic," he agreed blandly. "Subliminal advertising. I'll have to talk to my public relations consulting firm about the technique."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't try to phone me back to find out whether or not I was the mysterious caller," she pointed out. Kimberly reached for her plate. "And did you get any dinner?"

"No, I didn't get any dinner. I drove straight through."

"Want to split a baked potato and salad?"

"Is that what that is?,' He eyed the heavily decorated baked potato as if it were some alien life form. "Well, I'm hungry enough to risk it." She got up again to find another plate and then she carefully divided the still hot potato. "So?"

"So what?" He took the plate and fork from her and then watched, fascinated as Kimberly sprinkled hot sauce liberally over her own share of the food. "Why didn't you call to find out if it had been me on the phone?"

"Because I'd been planning to drive over here for a week. Deciding it had probably been you on the phone just pushed me into making the trip tonight instead of this coming weekend." He forked up a chunk of potato warily. "What all have you got on this thing?"

"Everything I could think of."

"Well, it's interesting."

"A highly personalized baked potato," she said with a grin. "One of the many advantages of living alone. You can eat anything you want and have it fixed any way you like. Want some hot sauce?" He considered the matter for a few seconds and then accepted the bottle. "Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound."
Cavenaugh
gave her an assessing glance. "You're very content living by yourself, aren't you? I realized that when I met you two months ago. You're quite self-contained. Have you always been alone?"

Kimberly shook her head with a small smile of amusement. "I don't really think of myself as being isolated. I'm just independent and used to doing things exactly as I like to do them; that's the way I was raised. When I was growing up there were only my mother and me. It must seem strange to you because you're always surrounded by family and all those people who work at the winery. From my point of view that kind of constant pressure would drive me crazy!"

"Pressure?" She nodded.

"Where there is a lot of family, there are a lot of demands. And in your case, you have the additional pressure and responsibility of supervising the winery staff. Many of them must be almost like family by now. You told me that the
Cavena
ugh winery had been around for a long time so I imagine many of the workers have, too."
Cavenaugh
nodded slowly, emerald eyes appraising her features in the firelight. "You're right. There are certain demands in my situation. "Well," Kimberly pointed out thoughtfully, "at least you're at the top of the pile instead of at the bottom. If one is going to have to live with so many other people it's probably best to be the one in charge."

"It has its moments," he agreed coolly. "But I get the feeling you wouldn't want to trade places with me." Kimberly gave a mock shudder. "Not for the world. I'm afraid I've grown very accustomed to the freedom of being alone."

"But perhaps you wouldn't mind sharing your life with one other loner?" Kimberly hesitated. "What makes you say that?"

"I've read the first two books in the Amy Solitaire series. Vicious Circle and Unfinished Business." She smiled slowly. "You surprise me. I wouldn't have thought they would appeal to you."

"Being in the author's debt is bound to give me a certain curiosity about the author herself,"
Cavenaugh
said sardonically. "Reading your books is a natural extension of that curiosity."

"Did you learn anything?" she quipped, wishing he wouldn't bring up the subject of being in her debt. Yet if she were perfectly honest with herself his promise of repayment had been on her mind today. She had thought of it the moment she had seen the petals of the rose unfolding to reveal the needle. Kimberly could remember very clearly Darius
Cavenaugh's
last words to her two months ago. They had flickered in and out of her head along with his image all day long. I want your word of honor that if there is ever anything I can do to repay you, you will call me. Anytime, anywhere. Do you understand, Kimberly Sawyer? I'll come to you wherever you are. She'd understood the shattering intensity of his gaze two months ago. Understood that he meant every word. But it had never occurred to her then that she might actually call on him. In fact, a part of her had warned that it would be very dangerous to call on Darius
Cavenaugh
for repayment of the debt.

That warning had caused her to hang up the phone repeatedly today. "I learned in Unfinished Business that Miss. Solitaire is quite capable of passion even while she's got her hands full trying to defeat a homicidal corporate executive. And since you didn't kill off her lover, Josh Valerian, at the end of the book I presume he's going to reappear in the next one?" Kimberly's mouth twisted in rueful humor as she finished her potato and put aside her plate. "I rather liked him."

"So did Amy Solitaire."

"Umm." Deliberately she kept her answer noncommittal.

"Because he's so much like Amy herself? Another loner? You're going to make him your heroine's soul mate, aren't you? Two lovers united against the world, completely self-contained, independent and totally in tune with each other. They will live life on their own terms, having various and assorted adventures together, saving each other's necks occasionally. And they will not be bogged down with the demands and pressures of families, of real life."

"A perfect relationship, don't you think?" Kimberly retorted, thrusting her
jeaned
legs out toward the fire and leaning back into her chair. "The way I see it Amy Solitaire and Josh Valerian will have a rare degree of mutual understanding. Two people who know each other so intimately that they're aware of what the other is thinking without having to put it into words."

"Do you really believe that kind of perfect communication is possible between a man and a woman?"
Cavenaugh
asked quietly. "Why not?"

"Men and women are fundamentally different, in case you haven't noticed. And I'm not talking about just the obvious biological differences. We.. well, we think differently." She slid him a sharp glance, wondering at the certainty in his words. "Perhaps in real life it's unrealistic to expect that kind of total understanding. But that's the great thing about being a writer of fiction, isn't it? I'm free to work out my fantasy of total intimacy with a member of the opposite sex to my own satisfaction."
Cavenaugh's
hard mouth lifted in mocking amusement. "You see? There's a good example of why there can't be perfect communication between a man and woman in real life. You say the words ' intimacy' and the first image that comes into my head is being in bed with you; having you completely nude and lost in passion. But that's not what you meant at all, is it?"

"No," she snapped, annoyed at the feeling of warmth that was flowing into her cheeks. She concentrated intently on the fire. "That's not what I meant."

"By total intimacy you mean something resembling telepathy, don't you? Being able to read each other's minds. And more than that; being in perfect agreement with what the other is thinking."

"I admit it's an ideal, not a realistic goal.

As I said, I'm lucky to be a writer of fiction."

"Aren't you afraid of missing something good in real life while you pursue your fictional love affairs?"

"I choose to live alone,
Cavenaugh
. That does not mean I spend every moment alone," she informed him coldly. "But until you find your soul mate, you don't intend to allow a man into your life on a permanent basis, right?" She'd had enough of this insane conversation.

"I think it's time we changed the subject. Why are you here?"

"Because you almost sent for me today," he said. "And because I want to be here.

A week ago I decided I wouldn't delay matters much longer." Kimberly shifted uneasily. "What matters?" "You and me," he told her simply.

"I've thought about you a great deal during the past two months, Kim."

His eyes never left her face. The message in those emerald depths was very plain to read. Kimberly stared at him, fiercely aware of the primitive light flickering on his coal-black hair. It illuminated the silver at his temples, making her think of moonlight on a dark ocean.

Darius
Cavenaugh
was somewhere in his late thirties, and the years were heavily etched on his harsh features. His body was lean, toughened by hard work in the
Cavenaugh
Vineyards, Kimberly imagined. But there was more to him than physical strength. The toughness went all the way through him, was a part of his emotional and intellectual makeup as well as the physical side of his nature. Briefly she wondered why a man who had made his living creating fine wines should have developed such a thoroughgoing, almost arrogant strength. The white shirt, jeans and well-worn boots in which he was dressed tonight gave no indication of the financial resources she suspected he commanded, but the clothes did emphasize the fundamental impact he made on her senses. "What are you thinking?" he asked when she didn't say anything for a moment. "That somehow you don't come across as a jolly little old wine maker," she remarked dryly. His eyes narrowed for an instant. "Maybe that's because I haven't always been a wine maker. But that's another matter. Let's get the business side of this out of the way first. What happened to make you think of calling me today?" She sighed, unable to see the rose hidden in shadows on her windowsill when she automatically glanced in that direction. "It was silly, really."