Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) (12 page)

“Do you ski?” she asked, amused.

“No. One of my cousins broke his leg in two places when we were both in high school, and although our healer patched him up, that sort of cured me of wanting to tackle the slopes. But hey — it’s good for the local economy, and someone might as well get some use out of all this snow.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

They clinked glasses, and Lucas and Margot both took a swallow of wine. Yes, that tasted good, and felt even better going down. Rich and fruity, with just the slightest hint of oak. It went well with the fire, with the falling night outside the enormous windows that made up one wall of the room. And yet she didn’t feel exposed at all, sitting here like this in their little oasis of light and warmth. Only trees faced the house; the neighbors’ homes were safely hidden on either side. So different from Jerome, where you tended to be piled up on one another.

“Are there any other Wilcoxes in this neighborhood?” she asked.

“A couple. My cousin Roxanne and her husband are two streets over, and down on the other side of the hill is my cousin Tom and his family.” He shot her a curious look. “Why?”

“Just wondering. It seems like you have so much land to spread out on here, and yet I didn’t get to see even a tenth of the town yesterday.”

“Sorry about that — ”

She waved a hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. The weather isn’t your fault. It’s just nice that you can have your family near…but not
too
near, if you know what I mean.”

“It is good to have some privacy,” he agreed. Then he paused, his eyes meeting hers, as if to say,
And I know exactly what I’d like to do with that privacy….

This time the heat that went over her wasn’t unwelcome at all…and had nothing to do with the fire in front of her. She drew in a breath, watching Lucas as well, the silence between them growing and growing until it felt almost like a live thing, like some entity their unspoken attraction had given life to.

She didn’t know which of them set their glass down first. All she did know was that suddenly his fingers were tangling in hers, and he was pulling her toward him, and then his mouth was on hers, insistent, as if he’d been holding off for as long as he could but didn’t have the will to do so any longer. And that was fine, because her resistance seemed to have fled, leaving nothing but the desire for him, the need to touch him and taste him, to open her mouth to his, feel his hands let go of hers and now move to her shoulders, pulling her close.

Her body pressed against his, and she once again marveled at how firm and strong he felt, how very real, as if everything else around her was a dream and Lucas the only solid thing in it. One hand tangled in her loose hair, moving up to run over her scalp, and she shivered at the strangely intimate touch.

He lifted his mouth from hers, whispered hoarsely, “I want to take you upstairs.”

She knew what that meant, also knew that he was asking her permission, that even now, when she could feel how aroused he was, he was trying to hold back, to allow her to retain control of the situation. Only she didn’t want to be in control. She wanted to let go of everything, every worry, every doubt, every fear, and revel in the moment, of being with Lucas.

“I want you to take me,” she replied, her own voice barely above a murmur.

That seemed to be enough for him, as he scooped her up in his arms and began to move toward the staircase. Wait — was he actually going to carry her up to his bedroom?

It seemed he was. And she wouldn’t protest, would only allow herself to revel in the sensation of being held in his arms like this, of being carried as if she weighed nothing, up all those steps, moving down the upstairs corridor, all the way to his bedroom. At last he yanked back the bedclothes and then set her down, pausing for a second to retrieve something from the nightstand. Margot wasn’t sure at first what he was doing, until she realized he’d picked up a remote for the gas fireplace on the opposite side of the room so he could switch it on.

How decadent. She smiled up at him as the fire came to life, seeming to echo the heat rippling along every vein, every nerve ending. His gaze met hers, dark with lust, urgent with need.

“I’m glad you never put your shoes back on,” he said, reaching for the button on her jeans and undoing it, then sliding them off.

She gasped, although she wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the cool air in the room on her now-exposed flesh, or that he’d moved so quickly, now that he was certain she wanted the same thing he did. To show she was just as much a participant as he, she undid his jeans as well, pulling them down, trying to keep her eyes from widening at the obvious erection straining his gray boxer-briefs. His legs were sturdy, thick with muscle, and she swallowed.

But she didn’t have time to dwell on that, because now he was grasping her sweater and the camisole she wore beneath it, and pulling both over her head in one smooth motion. She had the absent thought that he seemed to be fairly expert at removing a woman’s clothing, but she decided it was probably best not to dwell on that. Better to be glad that she’d worn her black lace bra and matching bikini, and not something far more matronly. She actually did love pretty lingerie, although she didn’t want to examine the impulse that had led her to pack the newer and nicer items for this trip to Flagstaff.

Lucas stood over her, staring down as if he wasn’t sure what he should say. Finally he breathed, “You’re beautiful, Margot.”

She began to shake her head, and he cut in,

“You are. You’re perfect.”

Fine, she wouldn’t protest, but she would cover up her embarrassment by sitting up and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off and flinging it to one side. Goddess, but he was beautiful, too, with his broad shoulders and flat stomach, and the heavy muscles of his arms and chest. A fine sprinkling of dark hair there, too, just enough to make her want to run her hands over it. She’d never liked men whose bodies were as smooth as a pre-pubescent boy’s.

Once again their gazes locked, and it seemed he could see the admiration in her eyes, because he sank down on the bed next to her, pulling her close, her breasts crushed against his bare chest, his mouth seeking hers once more. One of his hands roamed up her back, found the hooks of her bra, and undid them. It loosened, and he lifted it away from her body, throwing it to join the pile of their other discarded clothing.

Then it was only flesh to flesh as he kissed her again, and her entire body throbbed with need for him, for him to provide the release she’d been wanting for so long, before she would even acknowledge its existence. His thumb hooked into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down, and then his finger was slipping into her, stroking her, and she cried out, pressing against him, fingers digging into his back as he continued to caress her, touching her exactly the way she needed to be touched.

The orgasm slammed through her, causing her not so much to cry out as to actually scream, as if she were giving voice to all the years of pent-up need, releasing those barren days and nights, proclaiming to the world that she actually was still alive. She clung to Lucas, breathing so heavily those breaths might as well have been sobs.

“Hey,” his voice came at her ear, a soothing murmur. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I just — that was incredible.”

“You think that was incredible?” he asked, and his voice held the tinge of laughter she knew all too well. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

And then he was kissing his way down her stomach, moving lower, and she knew what he was about to do, felt as if she should protest, tell him it was too soon for that…but she wanted it. She wanted his tongue there, wanted him to make her come again.

He moved in slow, luxurious strokes, as if savoring her taste. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, feeling the life in those thick strands, body pulsing with heat as he made love to her with his tongue. She could feel it building in her, a throbbing need, her very fingers and toes tingling, and then it went off within her, flooding every inch of her body with heat, with rolling waves of ecstasy.

At some point he must have pulled away, but she couldn’t have said for sure when, as she could only lie there, limbs trembling, breasts rising and falling as she attempted to draw in breath. Had it ever felt like that before? She didn’t think so.

No, she knew it hadn’t.

Lucas settled himself down next to her, reaching out to push her hair away from her face. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Words seemed to have abandoned her for the moment. She could only roll toward him, reach out and take him in her hand, his shaft so thick and hard she had a hard time getting her fingers to wrap all the way around him. It didn’t seem fair that she should be so satisfied, when it was clear he needed his own release. She began to work her hand up and down, and he let out a gasp, his head lolling back against the pillows. His skin under her fingers felt so soft, silk and velvet combined, and it wasn’t enough then to simply be touching him. She wanted to taste him, as he’d tasted her, and she bent and took him into her mouth, salt and a faint, faint musk touching her tongue.

Now he groaned, and she continued to suckle him, one hand moving up and down while her tongue worked away at his tip, and she could feel him growing even thicker and harder, if that were possible, his breath going in and out in sharp gasps. Then his hand touched her hair, and he told her in strangled tones, “Stop, Margot. That’s incredible, but — I want to be in you. Okay?”

Was that okay? Of course it was. She wanted to be joined with him, hadn’t really intended to bring him to climax with her mouth — it was only that she’d gotten a little carried away. “I want that, too,” she whispered.

He ran a hand down her hair and over her cheek, a gesture so tender, so gentle, that something in her wanted to weep at his touch. But she didn’t, instead maneuvered herself up against the pillows as he reached over and opened the nightstand drawer. She knew what he was doing, wanted to protest, to say that she knew how to protect herself with Brigid’s charm — but she didn’t. He certainly hadn’t lived a celibate life, and although she was sure he’d always taken precautions, it was probably best to be safe now.

A crinkle of the foil packet, and then he was rolling the condom on, his fingers shaking a little. Funny, since she was sure he’d done that hundreds of times before.

But never with me,
she thought then, and there was something oddly triumphant in that realization, that she had such an effect on him.

But then she didn’t have time to think about anything else, because he was above her, dark eyes intent on hers, his hands planted firmly on either side of her. “Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

Oh, yes, she was ready. Or at least her body was, and she’d worry about her brain later. In this moment, all she wanted was this final connection with him, this consummation that had been desired for far longer than she’d wanted to admit.

“Yes,” she replied. “Please, Lucas.”

That was all he needed. She was so ready for him that he slipped in easily, despite his girth, and she let out a gasp, then wrapped her legs around him, driving him deeper, wanting him there, in the very core of her being, in that place which had been empty for so long.

He moved slowly at first, then began to slam into her harder and harder, his breath coming in gusts, his jaw tight. Was he trying to hold off, so she might climax first? She didn’t know for sure. All she did know was that her limited experience had never prepared her for this, for the sensation that every stroke, every thrust seemed to build in her, her body clenching around him, driving him deeper, her own breathing shallow and trembling.

Goddess help me, I do love this man.

Margot did climax before him, but only by a few seconds. Then she could feel his body tense, and he cried out, slamming into her as the orgasm shuddered its way through his body. He finally collapsed on top of her, but she didn’t mind, loved how she could feel his weight pressed against her breasts and her stomach, her legs and her arms. It was as if he wanted to continue the connection, make sure it was felt along every inch of both their bodies.

Eventually, though, he pulled away and more or less collapsed on one side of her. His hand reached out and sought hers, fingers twining around one another, then giving a gentle squeeze. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, seemed content to lie there next to her, their breathing eventually settling and calming. She was glad of the time he was giving her, time she desperately needed to sort out what had just happened. Lucas had made love to her. She couldn’t call it just sex. She’d had casual sex before, and this was nothing like that.

Everything had changed, and she didn’t know what in the world to do about it.

L
ucas sensed
Margot wasn’t quite up for talking, so after a long moment he gently released her hand from his, then got up from the bed so he could go to the bathroom and get himself more or less cleaned up. After disposing of the condom and rinsing himself off, he splashed some more water on his face, hoping that would clear his head.

He’d somehow known it would be spectacular, but he still hadn’t expected…that. Funny how it was the cool and collected ones who turned out to be the fieriest in bed. Just the merest recollection of the way she had felt, the way she had tasted, made him begin to harden again. Damn. Not that he wouldn’t mind going for round two, but he had a feeling Margot might need a little more space than that.

To distract himself, he got a clean pair of underwear out of the lowboy he kept in the dressing area of his bathroom, then pulled on a fresh T-shirt as well. Hoping that was enough to prove to Margot he wasn’t ready to start all over again, he went back out to the bedroom. She had already put her underwear back on, and was just picking up her camisole from where it had landed on the floor.

“Hungry?” he asked, and she started.

“What?”

“Well, it’s almost seven. I was wondering if you were hungry.”

Seeming to consider, she paused, camisole still in one hand. Lucas was just fine if she wanted to stay like that, so he could enjoy looking at the curve of her breasts as defined by the black lace bra she wore. Who knew she’d be hiding something that hot under the simple clothing she wore?

Then she said, “I do think I worked up something of an appetite.”

Something about the small smile that played around her mouth as she gave him that reply made a wave of heat pass over him. To hide his obvious reaction, he bent and picked up his jeans from the floor, and hoped he’d be able to get them on over his growing erection.

“Well, let’s see what we can rustle up,” he replied, repressing a groan as he stuffed himself into his pants.

She nodded and slipped into her own jeans, then pulled her sweater over her head. As she did so, he grabbed his discarded shirt and drew it on, fingers fumbling with the buttons. Amazing how he was still feeling tremors from that orgasm.

Or maybe not so amazing. He’d been with a lot of women, but never one like Margot.

If she noticed the effect she’d had on him, she showed no sign of it. After pulling on her socks, she waited for him as he finished the last of his buttons, then headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to turn that off?” she inquired, inclining her head toward the fireplace.

“No,” he said. “It’ll help to keep the room warm. A night like this, with all that snow piled up on the roof? The furnace can use all the help it can get. I figured you’d rather come back to a warm bed.” And then he stopped himself, because he realized he’d made a pretty big assumption there. Just because they’d slept together, it didn’t mean they would actually…sleep together.

But she didn’t contradict him, only said, “Yes, I would.”

Again he could feel himself flush with heat, needing her all over again, but she’d basically just made him a promise that this wasn’t going to be a one-time occurrence.

He really couldn’t ask for much more than that.

I
t should have been awkward
to bustle around the kitchen, rustling up dinner after the experience they’d just shared, but strangely, it wasn’t. Again Margot found herself enjoying the process, getting out the chicken breasts, simmering them with the sauce Lucas had bought. Maybe Rachel McAllister would have tisk-tisked at using something pre-made like that, but Margot had to admit that it did really speed up the process.

Lucas brought the mostly empty bottle of wine in from the living room, and they finished it off while she cooked, finding herself lightheaded, but not really tipsy. No, it wasn’t the wine that made her feel giddy. It was Lucas Wilcox.

She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this way. Bad enough that they’d had sex, but sex was something you could walk away from, no strings attached. But this warmth in her breast every time she looked at him, the way her breath wanted to catch when he turned around and those dark eyes, a warm brown that contrasted with the near-black of his hair, caught hers? Bad news. Very bad news. It meant she cared. Cared a lot. She’d already whispered the “L” word in her mind, but now she found it even more difficult to acknowledge. She loved him, and she’d slept with him.

Some people might say she’d gone way, way past the point of no return.

He came up behind her, pushed her hair away from the back of her neck. The warmth of his lips touched the sensitive skin, and her body heated with need all over again.

“That smells good,” he said, once he’d straightened up again.

She wasn’t sure if he meant her skin or her hair or the food she was cooking. Maybe it didn’t really matter. “It should be ready soon.”

“Then I’d better get the table set.”

Her gaze followed him as he went out to the dining room, his hands full with cutlery and paper napkins. The place mats they’d used for lunch were still sitting on the table, so it didn’t take much time for him to get set up. But she liked watching him go to and fro, watching the way he moved, the strength of his body under the casual loose-fitting clothing. She realized then that he was dressed very much like he’d been in that one photo with his mother, where he’d been barely more than a boy.

He was definitely all man now, though. More man than she’d ever thought she’d have.

Somehow she managed to will away the throbbing that particular thought brought on, and focused on getting the food transferred to dishes and bowls. It was all pretty easy — the chicken in the mole sauce, the rice, the black beans. And when she began to bring it out, she noticed that Lucas had opened another bottle of wine.

She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he grinned. “Were you planning on driving anywhere?”

No, she wasn’t. The only place she planned to go at the end of the evening was right back into his bed. Maybe sooner. “Not really. It just feels…decadent.”

“I think it’s time you let your hair down, don’t you?”

Oh, yes. Loose and wild and free, just the way she was feeling now. Reality would probably catch up eventually, but in the meantime she planned to enjoy herself.

They sat down, and Lucas poured her some wine while she settled her napkin in her lap. When he raised his glass, he said, “What should we toast?”

Her gaze strayed to the high windows in the living room, where snow was still falling, pale blurs against the black of night. Goddess bless the snow, the cocoon of privacy and isolation it provided. She lifted her glass as well. “To snowstorms.”

“To snowstorms,” he echoed, clinking his wine glass against hers.

They drank. It was a tempranillo this time, a good pairing with the chicken mole, which turned out to be surprisingly tasty, considering the sauce had come out of a pouch. And although Margot had expected some awkwardness, there really wasn’t any. They talked some more about their families, about how Lucas had a degree from Northern Pines in mathematics, of all things. That surprised her more than she cared to admit, but he only shrugged and said, “I always liked numbers. It was something Damon and I enjoyed talking about. There’s something pure about math. And it’s helped a lot with financial planning for the clan.”

He was so off-hand about the whole thing that she let it go, and made herself still her own tiny pang of jealousy. Not that she would have lasted two months as a math major, but just that he had the opportunity to stay in his clan’s territory and still go to a real four-year university, where the only thing Cottonwood had to offer was a community college. True, there was Embry-Riddle over in Prescott, although it had never been an option for her, as she wasn’t interested in aviation or engineering. That had been Clay’s field of expertise.

She shut that thought down right away. Here, enjoying the afterglow of the lovemaking with Lucas and listening to the warm timbre of his voice, admiring the way the candlelight lent an additional warmth to his olive-toned skin, the last thing she wanted to think about was Clay McAllister.

And from time to time she would pause in the conversation and notice the way Lucas was watching her, like a child who couldn’t really believe that his parents had gotten him a pony for Christmas, but even that didn’t feel awkward. More…empowering, that she should be on the receiving end of such admiration and astonishment.

Then the lights flickered and went out, and Margot gave a little gasp. They weren’t in complete darkness, as the tapers on the table had been lit, and a faint glow emanated from the living room, where the fire still burned.

“Does this happen often?” she asked. It certainly did back in Jerome, where during a good thunderstorm her cottage stood about a fifty-fifty chance of losing power, but she’d thought things would be more robust here, as they were so much newer.

He shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned. “From time to time. It’s not that big a deal. It’ll come on eventually. And the heat is gas, and so are the water heater and the stove, so we don’t really have that much to worry about.”

No, they didn’t. They had the fire, and candlelight, and each other. She drank some more wine, then said, “So I suppose that rules out watching anything on that big flat-screen of yours.”

His teeth flashed as he smiled. “No, I had something a little better in mind.”

T
hank God
the fireplace in his bedroom was natural gas as well. It lent warmth and a dim, intimate light to the room, making Margot appear like some goddess of flame and shadow in its reflection as she laughed and set her glass of wine down on the nightstand, then pulled her sweater over her head. She did so with almost a forced boldness, as if she’d never done something like that before, had always waited for her partner to undress her.

He was hard already, watching her. No, scratch that — he’d been hard during almost the whole dinner, listening to the soft, low tones of her voice, seeing that tumble of dark hair fall free on her shoulders. He’d done his best to ignore his body’s response to her, but now that he was here with her again in his bedroom, he didn’t have to deny any longer what she did to him.

Following her lead, he drew off his own clothes, fingers clumsy in their hastiness to get rid of the annoying pieces of cloth that stood between him and feeling her satiny skin against his once more. She pulled back the covers and climbed into his bed, then waited for him there, naked, skin so pale and perfect against the warm brown of the sheets.

In reality it was probably only about thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he could be there in bed next to her, his body pressed against her, the exquisite softness of her breasts rubbing against his chest. He ran his hands over her, wanting to touch every part of her, sliding down her slender waist, over the curve of her hips, down to where she was so wet and ready for him.

Her eyes shut, lashes dark and full against the pallor of her skin, and her breathing quickened, breasts rising and falling as she gasped and writhed against him. So, so responsive. Her passion still surprised him, but he wasn’t going to question it, wasn’t going to do anything except touch her, fingers gliding over her, stroking her, until he felt her spasm around him, shudders moving through her entire body.

She reached out to touch him then, and he groaned as her fingers wrapped around him, working slowly, deliberately, not too fast or too hard — he could tell she wanted him to last as long as possible. That wouldn’t be easy, not with the way he’d been aroused for the better part of an hour already. But he slowed his breathing to work in concert with her caresses, knowing he didn’t want to spend himself in her hand.

And then she let go of him, shifted, began to move so she would be on top of him. Somehow he summoned the strength to take her by the arms, to hold her in place and say, “Wait — I have to get a condom — ”

“No,” she cut in. “I want to feel you.
Really
feel you. Promise me it’ll be safe.”

“It will,” he gasped. “I’ve got stock in Trojan. But you — ”

“I’ll use the charm to protect me.”

“Because that worked so well for Angela.”

Her expression grew severe — or as severe as it could, given that her lips were still parted, swollen with his kisses, her eyes wide, dark pools of desire. “Extenuating circumstances. You’re not the next
primus
, Lucas — there’s no supernatural biological imperative to deal with here.”

“Oh, there’s a biological imperative,” he began, but he didn’t get any further than that, as she lowered herself onto him, and he felt her warmth surround him. Her eyes closed, and she let out a moan, and that was the end of any self-control he might have possessed. He began to move with her, plunging deeper and deeper into her as she rocked her hips in time with his thrusts. Had there ever been anything as beautiful as her riding him, head tilted back, long dark hair falling to brush against his thighs? Her hands crept up to cup her breasts, and he’d thought he was aroused before, but now, seeing her caress herself like that, completely lost in the moment, he couldn’t hold himself back, burying himself in her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

Like a late summer cloudburst, the orgasm swept over him, wrenching a moan from his throat and an answering cry from Margot. Her eyes were still shut, and then he could feel her clenching around him, feel her own climax hit, and they both rode the aftershocks for a few seconds afterward, until at last she collapsed onto the bed next to him, gasping, her body shuddering. She lay there for a little while, and then let out a little hiccuping laugh and said, “I think I need to get cleaned up.”

The downside of not using a condom. He lay there, too spent to move, as she somehow managed to wriggle out of bed and totter into the bathroom. The water ran for a bit, and then she returned and picked up her underwear. After a pause, she shook her head. “I think I need to duck into my room and get some clean things.”