Witches of Three_Philomena (3 page)

“Mums, Phil made an absolutely delicious dessert. It tasted like ambrosia. You will give us the recipe, won’t you, Phil?” Charlie’s expression was innocent but her eyes danced with mischief.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Phil replied, giving her mother a kiss. “It’s an old family recipe.” Claire drew back and looked at her daughter in bewilderment.

“I don’t remember an ambrosia recipe, dear,” she said, her brows drawn together, “so it can’t be an old family recipe, unless you found one of Aunt Hattie’s concoctions.” She spied Phil’s expression. “Oh, she’s kidding, Charlie. Of course, she’ll give you the recipe.”

Chatting nonstop, they made their way through the entrance, commenting once again on Killie and his ignominious departure before moving out onto the sunshine-filled porch and into their cars. Phil stood on the porch step waving goodbye, her lips curved in a grin, schooling herself to hold the pose until the last car rolled out of the driveway then her shoulders slumped.

What a day! It wasn’t that she didn’t love mums and her sisters. They were just so exhausting! And Charlie had been in high form today. No matter what she said people found her amusing and her jokes never fell flat, unlike Phil’s lame ‘family recipe’ attempt.

Closing her door behind her, she stood enjoying the peace and quiet of her home. No family, no Killie. She deserved a special reward, she decided and headed back to the parlor where she poured herself a hefty glass full of her favorite red wine and sprawled in an overstuff chair. She might not move for the rest of the afternoon. She sipped her wine and contemplated Killie’s exit. He was Marlene’s problem now and one she well deserved. The woman had wanted Killie ever since she’d met him here in this very room. Her eyes had gone wide and avaricious, her large mouth with its ring of blood-red lipstick had opened displaying her perfectly aligned, whitened teeth and the contest had begun. She’d wanted Killie and she was prepared to do whatever it took to have him, even if it meant giving up her rather tenuous friendship with Phil.

Phil tucked her long, bare legs beneath her and chuckled to think how she’d maneuvered Marlene into believing she’d won, that Killie had secretly fancied her ever since they’d met as well. Phil drew a deep, satisfied breath, finished her wine and closed her eyes. Just for a minute. Having family was exhausting! Her eyes drifted closed and she smiled as she pictured Killie arriving at Marlene’s mansion with his tail between his legs, whining that Phil had chucked him out. Of course, he would never admit that. He’d come up with some tale to feed Marlene’s ego. At some point, Phil would have to subtly let Marlene know the truth.

A tap at the door brought her out of her contemplations. She gasped and sat up, looking around, bleary-eyed. Long shadows lay over the room. Had she fallen asleep? A dark shadow loomed and shifted. Phil screamed.

“It’s just me,” Beck Crawford said, moving so she could see him better. “I wanted to let you know I’m leaving for the day.”

“Oh, I must have dozed off. Is it that late already?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He towered over her, his eyes studying her with that unblinking seriousness that unnerved her.

Suddenly, she was aware that her shorts had ridden up revealing even more of her long, pale legs. She leaped up, nearly bumping into Beck in the process. He stepped back, but made no comment.

“Sorry,” she said. “I…I had a leg cramp.” She bent and began massaging her calf.

“Pickle juice,” he said and turned back toward the patio doors.

“What?” She couldn’t help noticing his muscular shoulders, tapering waist and truly magnificent butt. She would always be a male bum aficionado, she thought briefly and his was outstanding. She wondered what it looked like bare. Trim and taut, she’d bet. Belatedly, she realized he had turned and was watching her watching his butt. She flushed and to avoid meeting his gaze, bent to rub her calf again.

“Here, let me,” he said, coming back to her.

“What?” she said again.

Lord, he was going to think she hadn’t a brain in her head, but he was already taking hold of her shoulders and guiding her back to the chair she’d vacated. He reached for her foot and propped it on his knee.

“I used to be a football coach. When a team member got a cramp, we took turns massaging them out. We also kept a jar of pickles on hand because the juice helped calm the cramp.” While he talked, his large hands had begun to knead the muscles of her calf. It felt heavenly. His calloused hands seemed to leave a trail of heat wherever they touched, and she longed for him to go higher to her thighs and beyond. She was shocked to realize she was wet and horny. She hadn’t shared a bed with Killie in months. And all the while Beck kept on kneading and talking.

“This isn’t a bad one,” he observed. “I can’t feel any knots.”

“It hurts though,” she lied, trying to tighten her calf muscles into the semblance of a cramp. All right, she was shameless.

“I think I have it worked out now,” he said, getting to his feet and gazing down at her.

Her eyes were on level with his belt buckle and below. Did his pants seem a little fuller or was that her wishful thinking? She couldn’t pull her gaze away. When she did, she found his fixed on her chest, which wasn’t voluptuous but adequate enough from a certain angle. Fortunately, he was at that angle.

She barely stopped herself from arching her back. Too obvious. She thought about putting a spell on him so he would be completely in her power and have him make mad, passionate love to her. Of course, she’d have to block his memory. Sanity returned. Wouldn’t that be like a date rape, except there was no date? She couldn’t do that! Could she? No, definitely not.

Sighing, she got to her feet once again and was surprised when he didn’t step back. They were close, too close, wonderfully close. She could smell his skin, his dried sweat, and it filled her head like an aphrodisiac. She swayed, and he caught hold of her elbows.

“Careful there,” he said softly.

“Don’t let go,” she said faintly. “I might fall.”

She heard the intake of his breath and leaned forward. She wasn’t sure when his hands left her arms and moved across her back, pulling her closer. One hand skimmed lower, smoothing over her buttocks even while his head dipped and he kissed her. At first, only his lips claimed hers, letting her feel the texture of his touch, then his mouth opened and his hot, probing tongue entered. There was no practiced seduction in his kiss, only a raw need that plundered her very soul. The hand on her butt began that mesmerizing kneading motion that brought her closer to him. She felt his belt buckle dig into her stomach, felt his hard cock push again her mons and she drew in a breath. He deepened the kiss. His hands moved from her back to the sides of her breasts. One hand cupped her flesh and suddenly, she, who had always been satisfied enough with her anatomy, wished she was more voluptuous, but then her breasts swelled with desire.

He ended the kiss. God save her from a man with a sense of propriety at a moment like this. She had managed to find the only one that existed in known mankind. Where had she heard that men never stopped, that it was up to the woman? Whoever had said that had been dead wrong, because he had ended the lovely moment. He stepped back and stared at her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I was to blame, too,” she said honestly.

“I won’t do anything like that again.”

Damn!

“I was to blame, too,” she repeated, but he had already turned and was heading toward the door.

“Wait!” she cried.

He hesitated and glanced back. His expression said he’d clamped down on his emotions and she had little doubt he’d not let this happen again. He was waiting for her to speak.

“W-will you be back tomorrow to finish the job?”

“If you want me.”

“I want you.” She was totally aware of the full meaning of those words but made no effort to change them.

With a final nod, he stepped through the door. She stood as he’d left her, trying to sort out what had just happened, not wanting to let go of the sensations he’d aroused. Then the earlier events of the day came to her.

What must he think of her? She’d just thrown out one man who was obviously her lover and now she was throwing herself at the next man to appear. What should she think of herself? But try as she might, she couldn’t regret what had happened between Beck and herself, except to wish it had gone further.

Chapter Three

Christ! What was he doing?

Beck threw his tools into the back of his truck with a savagery he rarely showed, started the motor and roared out of the driveway. He was losing it. Of course, he could excuse himself for what he’d done back there by all the crap that had happened since he’d married Diane and she’d been found dead. Their marriage hadn’t been a good one. Almost immediately, she’d started running around with other guys. When she got pregnant, he hadn’t even been sure that the baby was his until the paternity test Diane had insisted on had proven he was the father. That was all he’d needed or maybe he hadn’t even needed the proof. For some reason, Diane had. Had she hoped he wasn’t the father, that someone else had impregnated her and she could use the baby’s paternity to get what she wanted? He’d never been able to understand her.

But the baby was his and from the first moment he’d held his tiny daughter in his arms, he’d felt such a rush of love, nothing else had mattered. Because of Emily, he’d endured his wife’s infidelities far longer than he would have otherwise. Although Diane had been an indifferent mother, at least Emily had had one, and Beck couldn’t take her away or risk the chance that he would have lost Emily to Diane. Didn’t the courts usually favor the mother, even a bad one?

The three of them had been lost in a hopeless quagmire of anger, resentment and mistrust. He’d begun to think the situation was worse for his daughter than to end the marriage, but then she’d throw herself into his arms and he’d realized he’d do anything to keep her happy. For four long years they’d gone along until one day Diane had declared she was leaving and taking Emily with her. Their divorce had been bitter and ugly. Diane had gotten everything she’d wanted from him and still won custody of Emily. Beck could still see his daughter’s stricken expression when she’d learned her daddy wouldn’t be coming home with them anymore.

Then Diane had been killed and no one believed he hadn’t done it. Diane’s mother had gotten custody, and in her belief that Beck had killed her daughter, she’d done everything in her power to take his daughter away. Sandy had been even more vicious than Diane, if that were possible.

Beck slammed on his brakes just before racing through a red light. A semi-truck blew his horn and drove through the intersection. He had to get his mind on his driving and stop beating himself up over and over again for the way things had gone. He was innocent and one day the rest of the town would know it. The real killer would be revealed and he’d get his daughter back and get his life in order. Maybe he’d get back his job as coach at the local high school.

In the meantime, he had no time for willowy blondes with questionable morals and dubious reputations. He’d heard the rumors in the community. There were whispers that she and her sisters were witches. He nearly laughed at the thought. From what he’d seen today, none of them had special powers except their cutting tongues and sensuous beauty. Phil seemed to possess more than her fair share. He thought of the way she’d looked gracefully sprawled in the lounge chair, her gold spun hair across her face, her long delicate limbs draped over one overstuffed arm.

He pushed the memory from his mind, but it wouldn’t be dismissed. He could taste her on his lips, the exotic sweetness of her mouth, the erotic softness of her body in his arms. He hadn’t had a woman in a long time, and he’d pushed aside all caution and taken what was there before him. Thank God he’d had the strength to break away before he’d reached a point of no return. She could have accused him of attacking her, although some instinct told him she wouldn’t have done that. She’d been as eager as he. He’d tasted her need and it’d matched his own.

Forget about it. It wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t let it.

He didn’t want to go home to an empty house, to memories that hurt too much, so he pulled his truck into the parking lot of J&B’s pub. They made great chili and burgers and no one hassled him much anymore. He took a stool at the bar, ordered an ice-cold beer and some food and sat contemplating the room. Several men were shooting pool, the jukebox was playing and a couple was moving to something slow and sexy.

“Hey, get a room,” one of the pool players yelled and the couple broke apart.

As the man went to join the men at the pool table, Beck recognized him as Rudy Tobias, a local farmhand and a bit of a troublemaker. The woman swung around, spotted Beck at the bar and moved toward him with a cat-like walk she affected.

“Hey, Beck,” she said softly, settling on a stool next to his. “Buy me a beer?”

“Sure, Tammy,” he said and motioned to Harold, the bartender.

Beck turned to the women next to him. She was young and pretty and easy. She had a reputation that she tried hard to live up to. He sat thinking about that and considering whether to take her home with him. She smiled at him and jiggled on the stool so her top dipped and he could see the smooth, pale tops of her breasts. He took a long glance and raised his gaze to meet hers.

“Like what you see, Beck?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, it’s something to be proud of,” he answered.

“I think so, too,” she said in a low intimate voice. “I got more I could show you, if you’re interested.”

“You aren’t afraid of the rumors going around?”

“That you killed your wife? I don’t think you did that to Diane, Beck. You’re not that kind of man.” Her gaze dipped just for that second it took for him to realize that she half-believed the rumors about him.

“So why would you offer yourself to a man you think
might
have murdered his wife?”