Witch Fire (5 page)

Mira ignored him and kept eating her meal. She didn't know how to respond to that, so she changed the subject. “So,” she said, motioning at the room with her butter knife, “kidnapping people must be lucrative.”

He paused with a bite of egg halfway to his lips. “I don't kidnap people for a living.” He sounded a little amused, but mostly annoyed.

“Really? What is it you do then?”

“I work for Thomas Monahan, head of the Coven. I manage his security.” He set his fork down and wiped his luscious mouth with a napkin.

“You make yourself sound like a thug for hire.”

He shrugged. “Sometimes I am, but most of the time more skill is involved. If you compare Monahan to the president of the United States, I would be the equivalent of the head of Secret Service or maybe the NSA.”

“How did you get that job?”

“Long story.” He took a drink of coffee.

That meant he didn't want to discuss it.
Interesting.

“So shouldn't you be off protecting Monahan, then?” she asked before she took another bite.

He snorted. “Monahan doesn't need protection. He does that fine on his own. He told me to guard you.”

“Because I'm an endangered species? Seems strange that such a big shot like you is spending his time protecting someone like me.”

“You sell yourself short. Your kind is rare. But aside from that, don't be too certain that's the only reason Thomas Monahan wants you safe.”

She set her fork down and regarded him in silence for a moment. “What do you mean?”

Jack shrugged. “That's for him to explain, not me.”

Her voice was poisonously sweet when she answered. “I think if you make a cryptic comment like that, I deserve an explanation.”

“It's not my place to say. I've said more than I should already.” He shook his head. “You have this way of making me overstep my bounds. Just know you're special to Monahan, that's all, and not for any of the sinister reasons flitting through your mind right now.”

She glared at him. The man sure did like to play head games.

He rested his forearms on the table and stared at her with his unsettling blue eyes. Warmth became coldness. His light blue eyes seemed to have the strange ability to contain both ice and fire. His expression hardened.

“It's not my place to say,” he repeated with finality.

“Fine,” she bit off. That would be an argument for another time.

He set his fork down. “You'll be missed at work today if you don't call in. You have to call the diner and tell them you won't be able to come into work for a while.”

“How can you be sure I won't scream bloody murder into the phone to let Mike know I'm in trouble?”

“First of all, you're not in any trouble, not here with me, anyway.”

That was debatable. It depended on what kind of trouble he meant.

“Second of all, I think you're curious enough to stick around for a while of your own free will.”

She let out a short, derisive laugh. “You assume a lot. How am I supposed to survive without going to work? Some of us need our wages to pay the rent.”

“Don't worry about money right now, not when your life is in danger. The Coven has already agreed to pay your bills for a time. Think of this as a paid vacation. Only, it's not.”

“What?”

“You need to be trained.”

Mira stared at him for a moment before replying. “Why?”

“You're a powerful breed of witch who hasn't had a day of instruction in her life. Don't you want to know who you are?”

Mira winced. The comment hit her somewhere tender. She pushed away from the table, stood, and stalked away from him. “I know who I am, and it isn't a witch,” she answered with her back to him.

“You think you know who you are, Mira? I see a woman adrift, not one at all sure of her course. I see a woman who has only deluded herself into thinking she knows where she's going.”

Mira closed her eyes, feeling the truth of those words spear through her. Ever since her divorce she'd been fighting so hard to guide her life down a more positive road, but she wasn't sure she'd headed herself in the right direction. Mira had wondered more than once if she might be fooling herself.

She didn't even hear him approach. His hand fell on her shoulder and he turned her to face him. The expression he wore seemed conflicted, but she only had a moment to consider it. His arms wrapped around her, his heat and scent and masculinity closed over her, and he dragged her against his chest while his mouth came down on hers.

And the rest of the world simply faded away.

Slanting his mouth across hers, he flicked his tongue against her lips. She opened her mouth to allow him access and grabbed his upper arms, feeling the bunch and play of his biceps. His tongue stroked erotically against hers. Warm. Wet.

Tasting. Testing.

It wiped all the thought from her mind. Jolts of pleasure skittered up her spine and through her body. A growling sound that seemed part ecstasy, part torture curled from his throat and made her knees go weak.

He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers for a moment. Both of them breathed fast and shallow. “Mira,” he whispered. That one word seemed ripped from him.

She wondered at the intensity of it, but then he kissed her again and she was drowning. This time his lips slid over hers slowly. Her body felt weakened from the easy silken slip of his mouth across hers. Jack nipped at her bottom lip, dragging it gently between his teeth, before angling his mouth over hers and delving his tongue between her lips once again.

Mira heard some low, helpless sound and realized it was coming from her. The hardness of his erection pressed into her stomach. He was aroused. Very, very aroused.

Jack pushed his hand beneath the hem of her sweater at the small of her back and touched skin. All she could do was hold on for dear life as he caressed her there, his strong fingers massaging her muscles with an authority that made her sex throb with need.

He eased his hand up, lingering for a moment over her bra strap, then moved down to cup her jeans-clad rear. Jack pulled her flush against his big body and made a low, appreciative sound in the back of his throat.

Apart from the knee-melting kiss, something else stirred inside her. It dwelt somewhere in the center of her chest, a whisper of power unfurling. It pulsed, then tickled, then tingled. Finally, it grew warm. It felt like a bud blossoming into a rose and reaching toward the sun.

As Jack's mouth worked over hers, a tendril of power intensified and extended out, searching. Mira gasped into Jack's mouth as it found the curl of warmth emanating from him and twined with it. The power that bloomed from her felt light, but very strong. Jack's felt hot. It was a heat she knew instinctively had the ability to burn her in more ways than one.

It was magick. Her magick. His magick.

Mira knew it deeply and profoundly. Jack had called her magick out of her by using his own. Even though it was foreign, it felt like a long-lost part of herself, like coming home. She wanted to weep with the joy that filled her, sensing that tendril of power untwine like a waking dragon from somewhere near the heart of her.

Tears filled her eyes and she stifled a moan, gripping his shoulders, as their magick danced together, rubbing up against each other, merging and parting. They seemed to feed off each other, complement each other.

While he alternated sexy little tongue kisses with deeper, penetrating possessions of her mouth, their magick mated. The sensation was irresistible, and Mira's body responded hard and fast. Every little movement Jack made caused friction against her nipples through her clothing and arousal warmed her between her thighs.

Damn the clothing anyway.
She wanted to feel him skin-on-skin.

H
IS HARD COCK PRESSED AGAINST HER, AN OVERPOWERING
temptation. Mira reached between their bodies, running her fingers over his shaft through his jeans. All she could think of was touching it, holding it, putting her mouth on it. She wanted it in her body, wanted to let their magick off their leashes to fully merge as their bodies did the same.

Abruptly as he'd initiated it, Jack broke the kiss.

“No, don't,” she murmured before she could stop herself.

He stared down at her for a moment, his eyes unfocused. “Do you feel that power inside you?”

She nodded, biting her lower lip and staring at his mouth.

“That's your magick reacting to mine—air to fire. Tell me you're not a witch now.” His voice sounded strained.

For a long, pregnant moment, he stared down at her. Her lips felt swollen from his kisses and her body…
wanted
. Oh, how she wanted him, but he released her and stalked out of the room, swearing under his breath.

Stunned at the sudden exit from paradise, Mira staggered backward on legs that felt like cotton. Her back hit the kitchen wall with a thud and she let herself slide down until she sat on the tile floor. Somewhere at the edges of her mind, she heard the condo door slam.

Mira let out a careful, shuddering breath. Every part of her body still tingled. Her clit felt swollen, and her nipples were hard and sensitive. She wanted to cry because he'd left her that way, yet she was also a little relieved. While he kissed her, she'd fallen under some sort of strange spell. She would've slept with him, and that would've been a mistake.

She grimaced at both that realization and also at the sensation of her magick receding, coiling once again in the center of her chest without Jack's fire to coax it from her. Sorrow welled up at the loss of it. Mira pressed her palm between her breasts and slowly inhaled. She'd never even known it was there, and now she missed its presence.

With one kiss, Jack had clouded some things and made others incredibly clear. All of it was true. His magick, her magick. They were real, tangible things, forces of power within their bodies. Now that she'd held her magick in her hands, so to speak, there was no doubt.

Mira closed her eyes. And, oh, fuck…she was a witch. A real one. Not just a Wiccan who called herself a witch.
No.
She was an honest-to-Goddess witch with powerful magick to call.

She looked down at her hands. They were shaking.

That meant that everything else was true. Her parents hadn't died in a car crash; they'd been murdered. Worse, the murderer had gotten away with it.

Mira licked her lips, still tasting Jack on them, and swallowed hard. There was the possibility that she might be able to somehow bring her parents' killers to justice—whatever justice might exist in this case. Adrenaline shot through her just thinking about it. She was not exactly a rough-and-tumble kind of girl, ready to rampage across the country in search of revenge, but they had murdered her parents. She wanted…
needed
to make them pay for that.

Jack was right. She would stay here of her own free will.

She got up and searched for a phone. Sinking into an armchair, she took the cordless handset she found on an end table in the living room and punched the number of the restaurant with trembling fingers.

The lie stuck on her tongue, but she told Mike that she was having a family emergency and needed some time off to get it straightened out. It was even sort of true. At least she didn't have to fake the quavering emotion in her voice.

It's not like she could tell him the truth. She couldn't tell him that she'd discovered that some of the things that went bump in the night were actually real and she was one of them. And, oh, by the way, she had to avenge her parents' deaths at the hands of a group of warlocks while trying to prevent those same warlocks from using her to raise a demon.

Somehow she just didn't think Mike would believe her.

Like the great guy he was, Mike assured her they could cope without her for a while and wished her well. Told her to hurry back and that her job would be waiting for her when she returned.

Mira hung up with a lump in her throat and tears burning her eyes. Working at the diner had been her anchor for months, and now she felt adrift. Chaos had engulfed her life within the last twenty-four hours and chaos had a name—Jack McAllister.

Resting her elbows on her knees, she covered her face with her hands, careful not to put pressure on her bruise. The too-small jeans dug uncomfortably into her waist and pulled tight across her thighs. Irritated, she undid the top button, then got up and stalked into one of the guest rooms to find some other clothes. A search of the closets and dressers in both the extra bedrooms yielded nothing.

Mira went into Jack's bedroom. She couldn't stand to stay in these constrictive clothes one more minute. If Jack became upset with her for rooting through his dresser to find something wearable, she didn't care.

After opening a few drawers, she found a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt that said
University of Minnesota
on it in faded gold and red lettering. She stripped off the loaned clothes and snuggled into the soft, worn fabric with a sigh. They were way too big for her. The sleeves hung past her hands by a good three inches and the pants billowed around her legs.

Worse, the material still held the scent of Jack. She gathered the front of the sweatshirt and pressed it against her nose, inhaling and closing her eyes. Almost unconsciously, she passed her fingers over her lips, remembering Jack's kiss.

Sex with Ben had never been good. She'd only reached orgasm with him a handful of times. Her clit was either too sensitive or not sensitive enough, or Ben had reached his climax before her. Ben had made her feel like it was her fault, and maybe it was. Maybe she was just one of those women who had a hard time with it unless she was doing it herself.

Mira wondered if she'd have a hard time with Jack.

But Jack didn't want her. Not really. He'd practically run away from her after he'd kissed her. Obviously, he'd done it only to ignite her magick and prove to her once and for all that it was real.

She chewed her lower lip. Of course, his hard-on had seemed pretty genuine.

Mira swallowed hard at the memory of it pressing into her, then remembered the wad of condoms in his night-stand drawer. She was being silly. A man like Jack McAllister probably got a hard-on from kissing a tree.

Shaking her head, she walked to the window in the living room. Downtown Minneapolis spread below her, under a cold, clear blue sky. There would be a full moon soon. She knew the exact date and time of every full moon. There was no available earth on which to make her monthly offering, however. Not way up on the fifty-second floor. She doubted she'd be allowed to go outside to conduct her monthly ritual.

Not since there were men after her, wanting to kill her.

Mira shuddered as that realization finally registered. She backed away from the window and tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about her parents. Tried not to think about Jack's kiss. Tried not to think about her new status as a witch.

Instead she explored Jack's apartment, tracing her fingers over the smooth mahogany tables, the expensive fabric of the sofa and chairs, over the objets d'art. Expensive Frederic Remington sculptures seemed to be a favorite. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere, which led her to believe he must employ cleaning people.

Eventually, she reached the spiral staircase and climbed it. At the top on her left was a door. She tried it, and a blast of cold air hit her face, making her gasp in surprise. The roof. So Jack had the penthouse.

It was freezing, but she poked her head out long enough to get a glimpse of the Minneapolis skyline and a medium-sized greenhouse. Greenery showed through the panes of glass. That meant Jack kept it heated and grew plants within it.

Well, he was full of surprises.

She shivered and closed the door. Perhaps she'd found a solution to her full moon problem. It wasn't ideal, but she could find some earth in the greenhouse at least.

Behind her was an open area that looked down on the living room. The nook had a couple more bookshelves and a comfy looking overstuffed chair and ottoman in the corner. Two doors led off this little reading room.

The first room proved to be an office, complete with state-of-the-art computer, printers, and various other electronics.

The other door was locked.

Hmmm.

The man had a locked room in his apartment. This was his personal residence, and the voice of politeness whispering in her head demanded she respect that. On the other hand, she was looking for answers.

They could be behind that door.

She tried the knob again and then knelt to examine the lock. It was just a chintzy one, nothing too complicated. She was no master locksmith or accomplished thief, but she'd jimmied a lock like this one on Annie's back door several times in the past when her flighty, distracted godmother had misplaced her house keys. She wouldn't break it. Jack wouldn't even know she'd been in there.

What Jack didn't know wouldn't hurt him, but what she didn't know could kill her. She needed answers, period.

Decided, Mira whirled and headed back into the office. She searched through the desk drawers until she found a paperclip and returned to the door. Her lock-picking skills were based solely on rooting around and manipulating the pins until the door opened.

It took awhile.

Finally, the knob turned and the door opened. She pocketed the paper clip, stood, and flicked on the light.

“Oh, wow,” she breathed.

Another surprise. She never would've taken Jack for an artsy kind of guy, even with the expensive Remington cowboy statues displayed in the living room, but it must have been Jack who'd taken the gorgeous photos that hung in this room.

Both glossy black-and-whites and color portraits hung framed on the walls and were pinned haphazardly to easels scattered throughout the room. Mira walked around, studying them. She stopped at several photos of an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Perhaps it was his mother?

There were pictures of snow-covered barns, long four-board fences shot at the height of summer, and other nature-related shots. There were pictures of children and older people, bright, shining young faces juxtaposed with knotted, wrinkled hands. They all seemed to make a statement about the beauty of life and its fleeting nature.

Her brow wrinkled. Jack was capable of making deep philosophical statements through artwork?

Shelves stood against another wall, filled with camera equipment and electronics. A desk sat beside it, holding what had to be fifty photo albums.

She walked over and ran her finger over a black-bound album lying on his desk and opened it. A sensual photo of a beautiful blonde in a revealing negligee met her eyes and she quickly shut it.

Really.
She should've known better.

This was Jack's private room and if gorgeous, scantily clad women wanted Jack to take their picture, who was she to judge? Hell, women probably fell over themselves wanting attention like that from Jack McAllister. Unwelcome jealousy pricked for a moment before she forced it away.

Abruptly, she grabbed another album, finding it filled with what looked to be surveillance photos of an older, heavyset man and a few of his cronies.
Interesting.
Jack took pictures of some of the witches or warlocks he was tasked with watching. She replaced the album and surveyed the others.

She ran her finger back and forth over a pricey-looking leather-bound album sticking out a little from the rest. It was so pretty. Mira opened it and gasped.

Her own face stared up at her.