Into the Woods (15 page)

He touched an oiled fingertip to her throat, raking the slick finger slowly from beneath her chin to the top of her blouse, going no further. It was too late; she wanted him to go further. She wanted him to touch her breast with that finger, to put his strong hands around her waist again. She wanted another kiss, and more. So much more.

The knowledge that she was under the power of the oil gave her the strength to tell him what she wanted; some of it, anyway.

"I do wish you would kiss me," she whispered.

He did so without hesitation, bending his head and taking her mouth with an almost savage molding of his lips to hers. There was nothing gentle in this kiss, no trepidation, no hint of uncertainty. He forced her lips apart and flicked his tongue into her mouth, danced it there, stoked the fire that had been smoldering deep inside her since the first time they'd kissed.

She didn't have to ask him to touch her breast; he did so all on his own, first brushing the nipple with his fingers and then laying the palm of his hand over her, brushing cotton and flesh with a rhythm that matched the kiss.

Her knees began to wobble, to quiver. Standing was too much of an effort. She held on to Declan, and then, after a few moments more of kissing and touching, he laid her on the floor.

Declan's long body hovered close above hers, touched her hard in some places and soft in others. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and she pushed it back, slowly, tenderly, taking her fingers from his hair as he kissed her again.

Knowing she should protest, knowing these feelings weren't real, Matilda uttered not a sound. From here the kiss was different, deeper. Better. Declan held his strong body over hers, and she felt and savored his heat and his weight, the smell of him, the way his body skimmed hers.

With her arms around him and her hands on his back, she held on as they kissed, and kissed, and then kissed some more. With every passing heartbeat she was more lost, more out of her head with delirium.

Declan moaned low in his throat and took his mouth from hers. He shifted slightly, and she felt the length and hardness of his arousal pressing against her. She should be scared; she should be terrified.

But Declan had told her, without the influence of the potion, that she was an extraordinary woman who should be afraid of nothing. Perhaps he was right. She should have no fear. She turned her head and kissed him on the neck, barely touching her lips to his flesh at first, flicking her tongue out to taste him at last, finally clamping down and sucking against his skin. One leg cocked up on its own, so that he rested more comfortably between her thighs.

"I want you," Declan whispered hoarsely.

"I know."

"I want to make love to you all night long and into the morning and then all day."

She smiled and closed her eyes.

"I know."

"And I will, Matilda," he whispered. "I will make love to you."

"I know," she breathed softly, reveling in the feel of his body, touching him lightly and possessively. "But not tonight," she finished reluctantly. "Not with any love potion stirring your blood. I want to know, when the time comes, that you truly want me."

"I do," he whispered. "I do want you."

She raked her fingers through his hair and held his head so she could look at him. By the light of a few burning candles only half of his face was illuminated well. She could see, though, that he desired her, that it was difficult for him to call a halt to what might have been a terrible mistake for both of them.

At that moment, Matilda wanted Declan Harper more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life. She wanted him so badly she was willing to do anything, even fight Vanessa Arrington for him.

"I've decided to go to the Founders' Day Celebration next week," she whispered, not yet ready to let him go as she knew she must. "I hear there may be dancing. Will you dance with me?"

"Yes."

"Will you kiss me?" she asked with a gentle smile.

He grinned back. "If the opportunity arises," he whispered, "I will most certainly kiss you."

Before he removed himself from her, she kissed his neck, tasting it one last time. She closed her eyes as her lips very lightly brushed the base of his throat. Goodness, she'd had no idea a man could taste so good.

As her lips drifted away, Declan helped her from the floor. They rose slowly, almost as if they were in a daze. When they were on their feet, Declan released her so quickly her head gave a quick spin. He quickly gathered his small green glass bottle and, with his back to her, said a gruff good night.

When he was gone, she settled into her chair and rocked gently with a smile on her face. She glowed from the inside out, warm and tingly still, from all the kissing.

The latest potion, the fragrant oil, was quite possibly the most powerful aphrodisiac yet.

A few moments later, her smile faded. Would Declan still want her when the effects of the oil wore off? Would she still want him with such urgency her heart beat too fast, and it seemed there was nothing in the world but the two of them and this small room? This afternoon, long before she'd taken the oil from the shelf, she'd felt something for him, something she couldn't name. Something warm and new, something she tried to push back inside where it belonged. And just a few days ago he'd kissed her, without any potion between them; no powder, no wicked candy, no stimulating oil.

Ah, yes, the scent of the oil was powerful. Would he dare to wear it for Vanessa Arrington? Surely not. Surely he would not kiss her to distraction and talk about making love, and then turn around and wear the fragrance for another woman.

She wished, with all her heart, that she could be sure, and she resolved, again, to fight for what she wanted.

Chapter 10

Declan viewed it as an experiment of sorts, dabbing on a touch of the oil before calling on Vanessa Monday evening. He was still amazed by the way in which the oil had affected Matilda, the way her reserve had melted away. He was just as amazed by the way he himself had almost lost control. From the moment he'd touched the oil to her skin, he'd been half-crazy with wanting her.

He did intend to have Matilda, but he had to be careful not to give too much of himself to her. In a contrary sort of way, he was glad she'd called a halt to their heated response to the last aphrodisiac she'd concocted. When he made love to Matilda, he would be in control. There would be nothing hazy or unclear; he wanted to savor every moment, every touch, every new sensation. And he would be sure that she truly wanted him and was not lost in the clutches of some artificial essence or potion.

Funny, but he had no such reservations about Vanessa. He would do whatever he had to in order to make her his wife. He didn't care why she agreed to the match, only that he got what he wanted.

"Declan," Vanessa said sweetly as she came floating into the parlor. This time she'd only kept him waiting twenty minutes. Her dress was of the palest lavender, and her hair and her skin were immaculate. Perfect. Striking.

"I brought you a gift," he said. "Something more suitable, I hope." He offered her the posy of violets, and she came to take them from his hand. A perfect smile crossed her perfect face, and she fluttered her lashes at him and whispered a breathy and feminine thank-you. What man would not want her as his wife?

Still, she seemed unaffected by the oil he wore. No flash of passion darkened her violet eyes, no quiver of her lips suggested that she was affected by the fragrance. He leaned closer to her, to make sure she got a good whiff, but she simply buried her nose in the small bouquet of flowers.

The scent of the flowers no doubt had a negating effect on the scent of the oil. Just his luck.

Oddly enough, he found he didn't care. Sooner or later he'd find something that would bring Vanessa to him. Sooner or later. He no longer felt the need to rush his revenge, he no longer felt compelled to accomplish his goal as quickly as possible. His desire for Matilda had dulled his need for vengeance.

Vanessa led him to the plush green sofa, where she sat and then instructed him to sit beside her.

"I'm so looking forward to the festivities Saturday," she said breathlessly. "Music and games and dancing. It's always so exciting. I do so love to dance." She fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Why, when I'm dancing, I feel like I'm flying, like I might just float right up off the ground."

Declan had no interest, at the moment, in Vanessa's love for dancing, but he was rather interested in the way she leaned closer and closer to him as she spoke in low, intimate tones. Maybe, in some small way, the fragrance was beginning to work. "Really?" he said softly.

She smiled and cocked her head to one side. "Really."

There was no one else in the parlor at the moment. He could steal a quick kiss, surely, a quick peck on the lips to see what might stir in him, and in Vanessa.

The kiss happened very quickly. He laid his lips over her pursed, tightly closed mouth, and she closed her eyes for the short duration. She held her breath and did not move, but to pucker her lips. He waited for some reaction, some indication that Vanessa enjoyed the kiss, but he waited in vain. All in all it was rather like kissing Smoky, only Smoky was warmer.

As she pulled away with an unaffected smile on her beautiful face, Vanessa said, "I'll save a dance for you Saturday."

"Wonderful," he said softly, and without enthusiasm, wondering if it would be unforgivably rude to swipe his hand quickly across his mouth. He refrained.

She leaned a bit closer and took a deep breath. Her nose wrinkled and her lips pursed again. "What on earth are you wearing?"

"A new cologne. Do you like it?"

She wriggled her nose slightly, in obvious distaste. "No. It smells rather nasty, like a barn and a kitchen all rolled into one. Do me a favor, Declan," she pleaded like a small, whining child. "Do not wear that cologne again when you are with me."

"Don't worry," he said softly. "I won't."

* * *

Tuesday was laundry day, and Matilda used a long-handled paddle made of pine to stir her dirty clothes in the hot water in the black cauldron. Steam rose off the water and bathed her, making her face and neck sweat. It was hard work, but then she felt like she needed a little hard work this morning. She'd been thinking about Declan too much lately, and those thoughts had her body and her mind agitated. She worked the dirty clothes in the water more vigorously than usual.

She didn't know how long the man had been standing there, but she lifted her head and, through the steam, saw a wiry figure with his hat in his hand.

"Hello," she said, leaving the paddle behind and stepping to the side so she could see her visitor. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you standing there. Can I help you?"

Without the steam between them, she saw that he was a young man, surely no more than eighteen, and he was much too thin. He shook his head and watched her warily, clearly uneasy to be in the presence of the Tanglewood witch. Finding her over the cauldron probably hadn't helped her image any, but what was she to do?

"Mr. Harper sent me," he said, his voice low. "I'm to chop wood and haul water and do anything else you ask me to do." He swallowed hard and went ghostly pale. "That's what he said. Anything you ask me to do."

"I'm sure Mr. Harper's intentions were good, but I really don't need any help. You can tell him I sent you home."

The thin young man shook his head. "I can't do that. He said if I let you send me back I'd be fired. I need my job, Miss Candy."

Matilda sighed. It was so like Declan to think of everything, and to make arrangements to get his way. She couldn't dismiss this young man without costing him his badly needed job.

"If you're going to chop my wood, you'll have to call me Matilda," she said sweetly. "And your name is...?"

"Robert," he said, looking very much like a fatally doomed man. "Robert Webster."

"Well, Robert, I have to return to my laundry." She nodded to the shed. "You'll find everything you need over there."

"Laundry," he said, obviously relieved as he placed his hat atop mouse-brown hair that hung just a little bit too long, and headed, one cautious eye remaining on Matilda, to the shed.

Since Robert was obviously nervous about working in the presence of a witch, Matilda went back to her work and left him alone to his. Soon she became accustomed to the steady thwack and crack of lumber being struck and split. She continued with her chore, and thought about Declan. Robert's forced assistance was a gift, she supposed, like the mare. If Declan had his heart set on Vanessa, why did he waste so much time and energy on her?

Cynically, she suspected his heart had nothing to do with his interest in her.

As it was Tuesday, laundry day and not candy or bread-making day, she was surprised to see Hanson and Gretchen peek around the corner of her cottage. She understood a moment later when Stella appeared, a large parcel in her hands.

"Good morning," Stella said brightly. "I've brought something for you."

They left Robert to his chores and Hanson and Gretchen skulking around the big kitchen looking for sweets they would not find, and carried the parcel inside.