The Trouble with Magic (Loveswept) (15 page)

“Oh. I like that idea,” she said, her eyes brighter than ever. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Something came together inside of him like a tangible object. Something distantly familiar to him. He identified it as being rare and absolutely good in nature; sensed it was potentially dangerous, but for the most part it was innocent, gentle, and heartwarming. He detected a connection between it and Harriet’s happiness, and that made it all the more special.

“Yes. It would be fun,” he agreed absently, watching her, undergoing a slow recognition of the sensation he was feeling.

It was love. Long banished from his heart, almost forgotten, it was back. He wanted to reach out, embrace it, welcome it, but could easily recall the pain and utter devastation that had caused him to cast it out in the first place.

The light in his eyes made the nerves beneath her skin dance.

“What shall I call you,” she asked. He wasn’t the Payton Dunsmore she’d originally brought to the island. That one had been aloof and uncaring. The new one was warmer, happier, more outgoing. “How about Peter Peacock?”

“How about Simon Stud? You can just
Si
deeply when you want me.”

She groaned playfully. The timer rang loudly, and she turned to pick up the pot holders. “And what about me? Who shall I be?”

“Hot Harriet.”

“No. Nobody
chooses
to be a Harriet. How about Ruby Red.” She opened the oven door, and turkey smells tickled her taste buds.

“Ravishing Ruby Red and everyone will call you Ravishing for short. Lord, that smells good.”

“Have you ever carved a turkey before?”

“Can’t say that I have,” he said, filling his head with the aroma. “But studly men try everything at least once.”

“Good. But the next time we get on the time machine, you bring along your chef and I’ll bring a cleanup crew.”

“An excellent idea, Ravishing.”

Si—deeply—poured wine and lit candles while Ravishing brought the food to the table. They took turns toasting the past and the future, their good health, the food, and the roof over their heads, but they didn’t voice their gratefulness for anything too personal. They didn’t speak of the reawakening of long-suppressed emotions, the love that was growing stronger and stronger between them, or the contentment they felt in sharing something as simple as a Thanksgiving dinner with someone they cared about.

It was much safer for both of them to hide behind the pretense of being someone else.

“More wine. Ravishing?”

The dishes had been cleared away and the leftover food was packed in the refrigerator awaiting its next appearance, center stage. The time travelers had retired to the library and a roaring fire in the hearth.

“No, thank you.” She sighed—deeply. “I still have some.”

The sun had given up its efforts to shine and retired for the night, and the wind subsided enough to let the clouds slow down and dump their heavy load of rain. Drops of water pattering at the windows, the warm fire, a full tummy, and the wine were lulling Harriet to sleep.

“Can I get you anything? A pillow maybe?”

“No.” Again, she sighed. “I’m perfect, just like this.”

He stood and bent to kiss her sweetly.

“Yes, you are,” he said softly.

Her eyes sprang open. He’d moved away to get more wine.

She listened to him pour and walk around the room. There was a small noise and a cranking sound, then he said, “I saw this the other day and wondered if it still worked.”

She was about to turn around when she heard the tinkle of her great-grandfather’s music box playing an old tune from the French countryside.

Payton swooped down on her in the cape he’d refused to remove even during their feast, to bow low and humbly before her.

“Miss Ravishing, will you allow me the pleasure of this dance?”

“Certainly.” She sighed heavily as she got to her feet, then grinned at him. But the smile and the teasing warmth in her eyes didn’t last long.

There was a fractional moment of hesitation and intense awareness between them before they moved into each other’s arms. The closeness of their bodies was too real. Touching was too real. Feeling the echo to the pounding of their hearts was the most real experience they’d ever known. It showed in the tension in their muscles, the awkwardness of their hands, the slowness of their feet.

The breathing space between them might as well have been as wide and deep as a ravine, for to cross it would take bravery; would show a willingness to explore the unknown on the other side; would change the friendly equilibrium between them and alter their lives irrevocably.

Payton tried to swallow, but his throat was tight. He trembled with fear and prayed she couldn’t feel it. The sun and wind scent of her filled his senses, weakening his defenses.

He was bored with the pretense. He didn’t want to hold her hand and touch her lightly on the back. Nor did he want to circle the room with her, like a plastic pair of music-box dancers. He was weary with solitude and sick of the emptiness he’d imposed on himself.

Like a trickle of light into his darkness, Harriet inspired his soul to hope again. He wanted to hold her close, felt himself opening up to take her into his life. There were moments in the past few days when he would have done anything to see her slightly lopsided smile. He woke up in the morning eager to see the light in her eyes. Perhaps most astounding of all, he longed for her to like him; needed her to care about him. He wanted very much to please her and to see her happy.

Harriet was about to blow a gasket.

She was thinking of their first night together, when she’d had him nearly naked, on a bed, her hands on his smooth skin. Acute regret didn’t come close to describing the bewailing of that lost moment in her heart.

She enjoyed Payton. He was easy to talk to and he made her laugh, but it wasn’t enough anymore. She wanted all of him. His mind, his heart, and most immediately his body.

She ached to feel drugged by his kisses again. She craved the warmth of his body and the shivers of delight his touch induced. She released a sigh, heavy with wanting.

“What?” he said, startling her.

“I didn’t say anything,” she said, looking up at him. The music box was winding down, tinkling its melody slowly, softly.

“Oh. I thought you said something.” His heart hammered. His legs felt shaky.

“No. I didn’t.”

“Were you
going
to say something?” he asked, hopeful, a throbbing beginning between his thighs.

“I don’t think so.” It took courage to ask someone to love you.

It had taken courage to hold her head up during the trial. It had taken courage to go to prison for a crime she hadn’t committed. It had taken courage to return to face the world alone, to rebuild her life, to fight for her last chance at a happy future—the island. And it had taken more courage than she knew she had to ... all right, kidnap him. Where the hell was all the bravery coming from? Her? Was there any left?

“You’re ... sure you weren’t going to say something,” he asked, watching several rapid expression changes flicker across her face.

“Well ...” She looked over his right shoulder at nothing in particular. “I might have been going to ... ah ... maybe ... ask you something.”

“What?”

The music-box tinkled its last tink, while the orchestrated rhythm of the storm outside picked up its tempo, the lightning and thunder were like cymbals and drums—neither of them noticed. Their feet automatically stopped, but they remained in a dancer’s embrace.

“What were you going to ask me?” Harriet at a loss for words wasn’t something he’d seen before. It worried him.

“I, ah, was just going to ask if you had any questions? If there was anything you wanted to ask me or ... ah, if there was anything else you wanted to know about me.”

“Like what?”

Awh, hell. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. Maybe all her courage was gone, used up.

“I don’t know,” she said, frustrated and testy. “What I’ve done. What I think. What I want.”

“I want to know all of that,” he said, beginning to recognize a certain nuance in her body language, in her eyes, in her demeanor. Excitement shot through his body and threatened to blow the top of his head off. He knew what she was asking. He knew what she wanted. All he had to do was kiss her. She would be his. It was that simple, and he could make it so easy for her. Trouble was, she was too damned cute when she was flustered! “But, off the top of my head, I can’t think of anything specific.”

“Oh. You feel you know me fairly well ... then.”

“I know you better than I know men and women I’ve worked with for ten years.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’ve been dead inside for a long time, Harri. Pushing people away kept them from hurting me. You’re the only one who’s ever pushed back.”

“I did?”

“In a gentle, Harrilike way you did,” he said, wanting more than anything in the world to kiss the amazement from her face. “You cared, you listened, you understood. You haven’t asked for or expected anything of me, but time. You’ve made me laugh. You’ve made me forget. You’ve led me to believe that not being perfect isn’t so terrible.”

“I did?”

“You did, or this island really is magic,” he said. “Either way, I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“You have? I mean, you are?”

Go for it, Harri, he prompted her from his heart. He’d backed her into a corner and was dying to see what she’d do next.

“I mean, that’s good. Right?” she stammered. As a criminal, she was a nervous wreck. As a seductress she was worse. “That’s ... good. I ... that’s ... awh, hell.”

She kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his so hard that there could be no mistaking what she wanted. Him.

And he let her have her way, helping where and when he could. But in the back of his mind he kept thinking that she wasn’t simply another woman he wanted to have sex with. It wasn’t going to be a flash in the pan or a one-night stand. He was going to make love to Harriet Wheaton, with his heart, with his soul, and with his body.

“Mmm. Harri. Slow down,” he muttered against her lips, trying in vain to pull his mouth from hers. “We’ve got time. From now until Sunday and forever after that. Harriet?”

She couldn’t hear anything but the roar of her blood in her ears. She didn’t know anything but the fierce hunger that gnawed at her senses. She needed warm, soft skin and was oblivious to the popping and flying of buttons from the front of the old shirt that covered his broad, muscled chest. His bare skin at her fingertips was pure ecstasy, but she wanted nirvana. She sought to bury herself so deeply in her passion and love for him as to become insensitive to pain and reality. Her hands fumbled with his red cummerbund. She would give him bliss, but first he would explode a thousand times and cry out as he bumped into the stars.

He tried—he really did—but it would have taken a man with superhuman strength to resist her onslaught. His resolve went up in smoke when she slipped open the fly buttons on his costume and she stroked her hands over his bare buttocks.

He felt caught in a tempest of desire that was mightier and far less manageable than the squall that raged beyond the windows. A careless flick of his wrist had the red-spangled headband sailing halfway across the room before he dug his greedy fingers into her dark tresses, dropping pins as he found them, freeing thick tumbles of soft, wavy hair. He opened his eyes long enough to satisfy himself that it was as lovely as he’d anticipated it would be, moaned with the pleasure of the feel of it, then cupped her face and obliged her with a kiss that was as eager and as ardent as her own.

Nibbling kisses on her chin and across her throat sent a heat like molten lava pouring into her breasts, filling them with an aching need of their own. She felt his hands on her thighs, working their way under her skirt, higher and higher. Warm, wet lips in the valley between her breasts released a frenzied cry from her lips. She tore at the tiny buttons securing the sparkling red dress, lowering the bodice to expose herself to his mouth.

She whimpered, and her knees buckled when his fingers found the wet fire between her legs. They staggered together until they found a solid object to support their combined weight. He pressed her back against a cool, smooth surface, his tongue tickling the roof of her mouth with delight. His hands moved around her waist, and he raised her up off the floor to suckle a throbbing nipple. She wrapped her legs around his hips and arched her back, her senses careening in a state of ecstatic triumph.

Their breath mingled in gasps, and they sobbed in a moment of supreme relief when he took her, hard and deep.

Payton was paralyzed with pleasure. She was close, hot and pulsating. He pressed her to him and held her tight, indulging his sense of achievement. His eyes opened to meet her gaze, untamed, rash, and still ravenous. Neither looked away when he thrust deeper and deeper, spiraling her toward completion.

Passion glazed her eyes, and she cried and shuddered in his arms before he took his own release. And then he lowered her slowly, until her feet touched the floor again.

G
RAY LIGHT FILTERED INTO
the room, signaling the beginning of a new dawn. Payton’s respirations were deep and regular and irrationally annoying. How could he sleep when she was still awake? Harriet wondered. On the other hand, how could she still be awake, as replete and exhausted as she felt?

She closed her dry, tired eyes and let a wave of contentment wash over her. But for her sleeplessness, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d known the satisfaction and happiness that had taken up residence in her heart. She cuddled into the warmth at her back, and his arm tightened about her, possessive and protective. The limb grew lax and became heavy across her ribs as slumber pulled him back into its depths. He was far, far away, but within her reach.

A smile tugged at her lips. Payton didn’t like the power she had over him, the power he’d given her. He’d get used to it, of course, but it was new and frightening to him.

“Don’t do that anymore,” he’d said, winded and damp with exertion.