Your Magic or Mine? (42 page)

“That bitch! And you can’t find her?” she asked. “What is the Force for True Magic?”

“Walcott’s group,” Marcus answered. “They have a Web site up, calling for the defeat of the equation. They’re lashing out at both of us for being parties to the ‘conspiracy’ they claim exists.”

“We have to assume the vandalism is their handiwork, also, although we can’t prove it yet. Walcott is incommunicado, and the Web site contains no threats directed at you,” John said.

“Did you have anything of value in the rooms?” Fergus asked.

“No, but damn”—she hit the chair arm with her fist—”I really liked the blouse I planned to wear tomorrow. I’m carrying the few pieces of jewelry I brought. My laptop—oh, that reminds me, did my stuff make it here okay?”

“Yes, it’s in your new suite,” John answered.

“Are my clothes wearable? I don’t want to appear nationwide in these jeans.” She waved a hand at her clothes.

“The head of Housekeeping went through the pile and salvaged what she could, and they’re being cleaned,” Marcus said, thinking she looked fine in her Morgan Farm shirt. “She also noted your sizes and brands and bought some basics. If you give her a call, she’ll be happy to help you shop for whatever you need. They’re doing the same for me. The HeatherRidge is picking up the tab because of the lapse in security.”

Gloriana slumped in her chair, and Marcus watched the emotions play across her face while she processed the information. After sitting silent for several moments, she rubbed her forehead, took a deep breath, and lifted her gaze to John. “Okay. We go on from here. Anything else? Are there changes in the program for tomorrow?”

“Essentially, no,” John said. “One other point. The damage in your rooms was worse than in Marcus’s. No slashing of his clothes, for example. Therefore, we want you to take some precautions. Don’t go anywhere alone, even in the hotel, and that applies to both of you. We’ll have security with you if you go out. Otherwise, the debate goes on as scheduled.”

“All right. If you don’t need me,” she said and stood up, “I’ll check on my clothes. Buying a new blouse or dress purchases can wait for tomorrow. Where do I find the head of Housekeeping?”

“Her name is Bonita Williamson, and her extension is 4854,” John said.

“Thanks.” Gloriana picked up the phone on one of the desks and dialed. When she had Williamson on the line, she thanked her for helping and said she’d call the next morning about shopping. After she hung up, she said, “Bonita said she’s put some things in my new room. Where is it?”

“I’ll take you up,” Marcus said, marveling at the way she controlled herself despite being shocked and probably furious. He still wanted to hit someone—preferably the culprit. He grabbed his case and ushered her out.

“If you’ll give me the key and room number, I can find the room,” she said when they had exited the Sword offices.

“Neither of us is to go alone, remember?” he answered. Besides, no way was he letting her out of his sight. They had to talk. He was about to burst with what he wanted to say, and if he didn’t get her alone soon, he’d probably blurt it out in front of everybody. Man, wouldn’t that go over well?

She made no comment, only nodded. Neither said a word as they walked to the elevator. He saw people in the lobby pointing them out, but no one tried to approach them. When the elevator doors shut, he took the key cards out of his pocket and swiped one in the special slot for the penthouse level. He handed the other to her.

“They put us on the top floor. There are only a few suites up there and access is limited. The locks have also been reprogrammed. The floor’s halls are under constant surveillance, and Housekeeping staff will go in pairs. If unauthorized people do get up there, they’ll be trapped.” He scrutinized her while he talked. From the tightness of her mouth and eyes, he could see the stress of the situation beginning to take its toll. “Are you all right?”

She sighed and leaned against the elevator wall. “When I came in, I was feeling pretty good. I’d had a nice walk and seen some of the city. I was looking forward to a leisurely dinner and a good night’s sleep. I come back to find out my clothes and hotel room are trashed. All my plans for a quiet evening are out the window. How ‘all right’ I am is open to question. I’d really like to get my hands on these jokers—or better still, toss them to a flesh-eating plant, if there was one big enough.” She smiled grimly. “Did they destroy your computer?”

“No, I had my laptop with me.” He held up the case to show her. “I’ll pick up a shirt and suit tomorrow.”

The elevator stopped and they exited into a small lobby with a short hall and only a few doors. He led the way to one of them, but hesitated and faced her before putting the card in the slot. “Uh, there’s one thing …”

She only raised her eyebrows in question.

“The hotel is booked solid. Looks like the debate is popular. They had to put us together in the same suite.” Her eyes squinted and her lips thinned with suspicion, so he rapidly said, “It’s a one-bedroom suite, and the couch is large enough to hold me …”

“But? I know there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

He cleared his throat. “From a protection standpoint, it’s probably a good idea to have both of us in one place, but … it’s the Soul-mate Suite.”

“The Soul-Mate Suite? Like the Bridal Suite?” Her voice rose with each word. Then she muttered something about the SMI playing a joke. She ran her card in the slot, pushed open the door, and walked quickly into the opulent set of rooms.

He knew what to expect, and thank God, it wasn’t a frilly, frou-frou kind of place with all the lace and idiotic “romantic” stuff you might expect. Instead, the Soul-Mate Suite was tastefully decorated in what he considered a “traditional” style of comfortable furniture and rich colors.

He followed as she went from the living room with its view that stretched from the Golden Gate Bridge around to the financial district into the bedroom with its enormous, gold and light blue, velvet-covered bed. She stuck her head into the bathroom, cocked her head at the whirlpool tub built for two, and rolled her eyes when she came past him back into the living room.

On the dining table were boxes and bags with the names of clothing stores. Gloriana rummaged around in a couple of the bags, although she didn’t pull out any of the contents. “My goodness, they certainly went all-out. My clothes were not this nice.”

“Glori, we need to talk,” Marcus said.

She froze with her hand in one of the bags and looked up at him with a big green, slightly suspicious gaze. “Do we have something to talk about?”

“Yes. Why don’t we sit down? This is probably going to take a while.”

Gloriana slowly took her hand from the bag but didn’t move otherwise.

It was clearly up to Marcus to begin. He smiled, hoping it came across as a friendly one and not a grimace, raised his eyebrows, and held out his hand in the direction of the grouping of sofa, easy chairs, and low table. “Shall we sit?”

She nodded, went to one of the chairs, and sat, her hands primly in her lap.

He sat in the other chair. He’d been hoping she’d go to the couch where he could sit close enough to touch her. Under the circumstances he’d take what he could get—he had to. He was damned tired, however, of being on the opposite side of a coffee table from her.

“My …” He had to stop to clear his throat. The enormity and risk of what he was about to say almost overwhelmed him. It was as if he stood on a precipice overlooking a vast ocean of uncertainty and insecurity that reminded him all too much of his teenaged years.

Go for it, Marcus
. He breathed deeply and jumped off the edge. “My parents came to visit me on Thursday.”

She blinked. “They came to your house? All the way from Europe?”

“Yes. They said you had called them and told them we’re soul mates.”

“Yes, I did. It seemed the only way to get you to address our problem in a realistic manner and not like a …”

“Jackass?”

“That word will do.” She said the words without inflection—no anger, no teasing.

He paused, but she said nothing, only waited with a neutral expression for him to continue. She wasn’t going to help him one iota, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d been correct—he had to speak. “I’m glad you called them. We had the most important and illuminating discussion we’ve ever had.”

Again, not a word. Not a flicker of what was going on in her brain showed on her face or in her eyes. The woman would be a killer poker player.

He took heart from the fact that she hadn’t refused to talk. He was still in the air after his leap and hadn’t hit bottom yet.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees, looked at his hands, then back at her. “I learned that I’ve had a number of misconceptions about myself and them. These ideas started when I became a teenager, and for a variety of reasons on both my part and theirs, the errors grew and compounded themselves into a stalemate. I was pretty insufferable as an adolescent, and my father has certain … habits of speech. Let’s just say he’s the typical know-it-all professor, and I took his suggestions as orders. Anyway, between the demands of their careers and my absence in school, we didn’t talk much, even when we were together. The result? We grew apart, far apart.”

He stood, came around the damned coffee table to stand before her a couple of arms’ lengths away from her chair. If he crashed, it would be on his own two feet. Or something to that effect.

“Between the two of them, they effectively showed me the errors in my thinking and in my judgment. What they said dovetailed with your views and reinforced my research findings—that
the process
of the whole soul-mate experience is what’s important and needs to be trusted.”

Although she still didn’t speak at his statement, her lips played with a slight smile. He glanced at her hands—ah, there was her reaction. Her fingers were so tightly entwined that her knuckles were pale. She was as nervous as he was.

Emboldened, he pressed on. “So, I’ve come to thank you and to ask your forgiveness and your help. First, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You gave me back my parents. If you hadn’t forced the issue, I don’t think that we’d ever understand each other or have been able to reforge our family bond.”

“You’re welcome.” Her small smile grew a little wider, yet her hands didn’t relax. He was still in the air, still with an uncertain landing.

“I ask your forgiveness for my being thickheaded and for putting you through misery. I ask your help because … because …” As he came to the crux of the matter, he seemed to be falling faster, not floating at all, but plummeting downward. All his rehearsed words flew out of his head, and in utter panic of crashing, all he could say was, “Oh, damn, Glori, I still don’t know how to be a mate or part of a big family like yours or even part of my small one. I’m not sure how we get to know each other. Will you help me learn? Will you be my soul mate?” He held out both hands to her in hope and supplication.

Her smile vanished when she broke eye contact. She still didn’t say a word, she simply sat, staring in an unfocused way to the side, and he almost died in those seconds of silence. Finally, she stood up and looked him in the eye. Her hands were still tightly clenched, and he braced himself for whatever was to come.

“What do you want, Marcus? What do you truly want out of life?” she asked softly.

Oh, good. He had the answer to this particular question nailed. “I want you, I want love, I want children, I want a family. Most of all and first of all, because everything else comes from it, I want you—in my heart, by my side, in my bed, in my life. I want
It All.”

Her big green eyes shining like darkened emeralds, she stared at him, and a bolt of pure fear hit his stomach. Was she going to say no? The hands he was still stretching out to her quivered; he held them steady by sheer force of will.

“Fun …” She cleared her throat, began again. “Funniest thing. When I asked myself that question, I came to the same answer.” And the sweetest smile lit up her face.

She put her hands into his, and he pulled her into his arms and hugged her fiercely. Relief washed over him, followed by sheer exhilaration. He was doing better than floating. He was flying.

As their bodies met, their centers aligned. The hum was a deep, satisfied, all-encompassing purring he felt in his bones. He drew back, intent on a kiss, but stopped when she raised her eyes. Tears glistened in the green, and one slid down her cheek.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He wiped the tear with his thumb and licked the salty drop from it.

“I can’t help it,” she answered, her voice wobbling slightly. “I was so afraid you were going to reject
me
, reject
us
again.”

“No, I may have been slow to accept reality, although with you and my parents working on me, I’ve become a very fast learner.”

She frowned, and the tease was back in her tone when she said, “It certainly took you long enough.”

He had to hear the exact words. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, Marcus, I’ll be your soul mate. Will you be mine?” Her voice didn’t tremble even one little vibration.

“Oh, yes, Glori, definitely.”

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly they were kissing, their centers were humming, and their hands were holding on tight. Heat began to build, his heartbeat increased, and his breathing did, too.

His mind began to fog.
No, the damned imperative was not going to take him over again
. He beat back the attempt with an effort. Determined to control his own lovemaking, he separated himself from Gloriana.

“Wait,” he panted.

“What for?” Her hands were in his hair. She tugged, but he resisted.

In a swoop, he picked her up in his arms and started walking to the bedroom. “This time, we’re going to make love in a bed.”

Gloriana was glad he was carrying her. She was so weak from relief and his kiss that she doubted she could stand. She could, however, take advantage of the situation. Being carried gave her access to a part of him she usually couldn’t reach, and she kissed his neck and nibbled on his earlobe while he walked into the bedroom. He tasted and smelled wonderful—a combination of chemicals, she knew in her mind, but a potent, arousing mix to her nonintellectual body.