by Alys West
Upstairs he found two bedrooms and a bathroom. The double room must have been the father’s. The bed was made up but the air smelled fusty as if no one had come in here for a long time. He’d have known the single was Rachel’s as soon as he opened the door. It was crammed with all the tat sold to people who were searching for something to hold on to. A dream catcher hung at the window, crystals crowded the windowsill, an incense burner stood on the desk, a pentagram was tacked to the wall. The single bed covered with a purple duvet filled one wall. On the other was a small wardrobe, a desk and a bookcase filled with Harry Potter books and bloody Amber’s Earth Magician series.
Oh for fuck’s sake! That was all they needed. A storm witch who’d got an implausible view about magic from reading Amber’s torrid prose. If Rachel thought they all behaved like Blade and Serena in Amber’s books then they were truly screwed.
Crossing to the desk, he opened the laptop and pressed the on button. There was a small hope that it wouldn’t be password protected and it soon faded. He closed it again. He drew the line at actual theft. Breaking and entering was bad enough but he wasn’t going to add burglary to the list. A pile of papers was loosely stacked on the corner of the desk. He picked them up and flipped through them. Another email from Sarah Parry about travel arrangements for the summer school, a wage slip from North Link Ferries and a very crinkled letter from Orkney Islands Council about the care of Paul Sinclair at a home in Wick.
His eyebrows rose as he read. Rachel’s dad wasn’t dead. He was ill, really ill from the look of this and the Council wanted to move him back to Orkney. Poor kid. What a fucking awful thing to have to handle on her own. Where was her mother? There were no pictures of her downstairs which made him think she hadn’t died. More likely she’d left. Then Kenny had buggered off with her best friend and her father had got ill. No wonder she kept losing it.
In the shadows of the landing, Winston dropped the letter on the floor and took a picture of it. The flash bounced off the walls and reflected off the skylight. It was fairly unlikely that the nosy neighbour monitored the sky above Rachel’s house closely enough to spot that. Once he’d put it back where he’d found it, he lined the papers up with the edge of the desk and returned downstairs. Closing the door behind him, he pressed the lock back into the hole it’d exited from. It wasn’t going to fool Rachel when she got back but it might be enough to stop curious passers-by from investigating further.
He walked back up the path, trying to look as casual as possible and not imagine net curtains twitching all the way along Scapa Crescent. To try to avoid attracting attention, he’d left the bike around the corner on the main road.
He was going to see Jenna. Just to make sure she was alright. Then when he got back to the B&B he’d have a strong coffee and start looking into Sarah Parry. Because he’d been right. Rachel was getting help and if Sarah had the capacity to put the spell on Jenna then he was going after her. Wherever she was.
Chapter 36
Climbing the stairs to her front door, Jenna reached into her bag for her keys. The small zipped pocket she always kept them in was empty. Peering inside it, her head swam. The third beer had been a mistake. Especially as she’d only had a couple of rounds of cheese on toast for tea. Had she put her keys in the main part of the bag by accident? Her fingers scrabbled through the contents, disregarding objects by touch. Not there. Oh God, had she lost them?
Her heart quickened. She’d have to go back to The Fiddlers to look for them. And if they weren’t there, she’d have to ring Dad and get him out of bed to bring the spare set. She tried the zipped pocket again. Still empty. She tried the open front pocket of the bag which was pointless because she never put them in there as it’d be far too easy for them to fall out. Her fingers closed around cold metal. She tugged them out and stared at them in the dim light. How had they got there?
Unlocking the door, she stepped inside. On any other day, she’d have said she must have dropped them in that pocket by mistake. But this evening, knowing what she did, it was much harder to dismiss it as an absent-minded mistake. Although the other option, that someone had been through her bag while she was at The Fiddlers seemed far more ridiculous. She flipped on the light, took the mirror from her bag and peered into it. It showed only her face, frowning. She slipped it into her pocket. She was being silly. Everything that’d happened was preying on her nerves. That was all.
Calling for Mansie, she walked through to the sitting room and dumped her bag and fiddle. The cat didn’t appear. Usually, when she came in this late, he was here to greet her but not tonight when she desperately needed some other living creature to talk to.
She drew the curtains and filled a pint glass with water. Carrying it down the hall, she frowned. The bedroom door was half-open. She always closed it. If she didn’t, she’d come home to find Mansie asleep under the duvet. She might love him but she wasn’t the kind of dippy cat owner who shared a bed with their pet. Was that why he hadn’t come to say hello? Pushing the door wider, she walked into the room. But the duvet was completely flat. To be certain she threw it back. No cat.
She returned to the bedroom door, put her hand on it. Was she completely overthinking this? She’d been rushing around to get ready after Winston left. Had she left the door open by accident? Wasn’t that a whole lot more likely than the other possibility that someone had been in here while she was out? But where was Mansie? And why were her keys not where she usually put them? Were the three things together enough to justify being worried?
She took out the mirror and held it up as if she’d find an answer there. Should she ring Winston? Just to get a second opinion. Only she really didn’t want to talk to him. Not after what he’d said earlier. That had been mean. She didn’t only see the good in folk. She could see plenty of faults in him. He was arrogant, unreliable and as changeable as the Orkney weather. She never knew where she was with him. They’d been so close, so connected earlier and then he’d turned into a total git. No, she did not need to talk to him. She was imagining things, that was all. Which was hardly surprising after all that’d happened today.
She sat on the bed and tugged off her shoes. She shouldn’t have had so much to drink. It’d seemed like a good idea when she was out. Beer, like music, helped to chase the fear away. But now the fear was back, playing tricks on her, and her brain was too fuzzy to handle it.
The doorbell rang, loudly and persistently. Dropping the mirror on the bed, she glanced at her watch. Who the hell could it be at quarter to midnight? She headed through to the hall. Was it Hal? He’d been weird this evening too. Really distant. He’d gone to get her a beer, disappeared outside with Kenny and not come back for nearly half an hour. That wasn’t like him.
She pressed her eye to the spy hole in the door. She never bothered to use it normally but she wasn’t taking any chances tonight. She saw a blurry outline that looked a lot like Winston. A traitorous flicker of something which felt a lot like relief rushed through her veins. She shoved the feeling away. He’d probably come to fling more insults at her. She opened the door a few inches, positioning her body in the space.
“What do you want?” she said.
“Nice to see you too.”
“Don’t give me any of that crap, Dr Grant. You were a bastard earlier. So I’m asking you again, what do you want?”
“About that…” His chest rose as he took a deep breath.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.” His gaze rose to hers, staring straight into her eyes. “I was out of order.”
“Yes, you were.”
“And I’ve come to make sure you’re alright.”
“Oh!” This was why he was so confusing. One minute a complete arse and the next looking at her with an intensity that could melt her bones. “I’m fine, thank you. You didn’t need to come round to find that out. You could have rung or texted.”
“But then I wouldn’t have seen you.” He stepped inside and stood next to her in the narrow hall. “And I wante
d to see you.”
A tingle ran down her spine, a faint memory of the awen they’d shared earlier and with it the closeness, the connection resurfaced.
“Why?” There was a graze on the leather of his jacket sleeve. She fastened her gaze on that. Looking at him was far too dangerous.
“Do you really have to ask?” And something in his voice – an unexpected gentleness, a whisper of longing – made her look up. His eyes were staring straight at her, straight into her.
“Yes.” The word came out as the faintest whisper.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Surely you know that by now, Jenna?”
“But you—”
“And because I need you. Need to touch you, hold you, make love to you if you’ll let me.”
He sounded like he meant it. But he couldn’t. There was no way he could need her. She had to stop this before she started believing him because once that happened she was lost.
“That’s a nice speech.” Her chin came up. “Do you use it with all your other girls because I bet it really works for you?”
“You really don’t get it, do you? There’s never been anyone like you. Do you think I’ve ever shared awen like I did with you?” His hands grasped her shoulders. “I’ve slept with a lot of women. I’m not going to lie to you about that, Jenna. But I’ve never felt as close to any of them as I did to you this evening.”
“But you said—”
“I know what I said. I panicked, alright? I’m not proud of it but it happened and I want to put it right. I swear before you opened the door all I was going to do was say sorry and go but I can’t be around you like this anymore, Jenna. I want you too much but if you don’t feel the same then I’ll go, and we’ll pretend tomorrow this never happened.”
He turned away and it felt like all the warmth went with him. Her hand shot out before she’d time to think. “No.”
“You sure?” He turned back as he spoke. There was only a couple of inches between them now.
“Not exactly.” Her hand slid from his shoulder to his chest, felt the solidity of muscle beneath the leather of his jacket. “I can’t keep up. One minute, you’re yelling at me, the next you’re telling me you want to kiss me.”
“I was only yelling at you because I wanted to kiss you.”
He probably kisses like a God. It was only this morning that she’d thought that. And now he was here and he wanted her and she couldn’t say no. She tilted her head. “Then why didn’t you?”
His eyes held hers for an agonising, delicious moment before their lips touched. For a second there was shock. It’d been so long, so very long. And this was Winston and she’d told herself she’d never do this. Then the pressure of his lips, their surprising gentleness, began to dismantle coherent thought. She moved closer, until her chest was pressed against his, lifted her arms to his neck as his moved to her waist. And the kiss deepened, her head tipped back, her lips parted. His tongue slipped inside, probing her mouth and the world began to spin.
His fingers were in her hair, running down her back, pressing her closer. Frustrated at the bulk of his jacket between them, she tugged at the zip. Winston broke the kiss to shrug it off, dropping it on the floor. As their lips met again, she couldn’t stop her hands from exploring his chest, creeping under his t-shirt to find planes of muscle and a trail of hair that led down. Her fingers stilled, suddenly shy. Winston brushed her breast and she gasped.
He broke off for a second, looked at her, his eyebrows raised, his breathing rapid. The question didn’t need words. If she wanted to stop now was the time. But she didn’t. Not after all the years of being alone. She’d forgotten how good it felt. The feel of a man’s body against hers, the thrill of skin against skin, the allure of a really good kiss. And the damage was done. She’d let him in. Whatever she felt in the morning, she’d deal with it then.
Giving the tiniest of nods, she undid the buttons of her blouse. They were small and her fingers fumbled. He tugged it from her jeans, slid his hands up her back and round to cup her breasts. His mouth founds hers again, harder, more demanding. Finally getting her blouse open, she glanced down and froze. She was wearing her very worst bra that had once been white but was now a horrible, washed-out grey. She opened her mouth to apologise. He must be used to much better lingerie but his fingers pulled the fabric down and brushed gently over her nipple. Then his mouth was there. She heard a moan, realised it was her. She was falling, falling into fire. Only his hands, his mouth were keeping her tethered. When he moved away, she felt bereft. Then she saw his eyes; hungry, huge with desire. They had to move or they’d be doing it on the hall carpet.
Taking his hand, she said, “I have a very comfortable bed through here, Dr Grant.”
“Less of the Dr Grant.” His laugh was deep and gravelly. “I think we’re on first name terms now, don’t you?” His hand rested on her bottom, propelling her along.
At the bedroom door she remembered her earlier fears. She’d forgotten to close it, she’d put her keys in the wrong place and Mansie was out chasing mice. That was all. As she deliberately shut it, she saw Winston scan the room. She’d made more of an effort in here, strung up yards of bunting, hung fairy lights from the curtain rail, covered the bed with a bright patchwork throw but they didn’t hide the threadbare carpet or cheap white furniture.
Moving to the bedside table, he switched on the lamp. “Turn that one off,” he said, gesturing to the light switch next to where she stood. As she did the room dimmed, softened and he started to undress. The black t-shirt slid up and over his head, revealing a toned chest, defined abs and that tantalising trail of black hair.
Unbuttoning his jeans, he said, “Jenna, what are you doing over there?” The familiar grin was back and she flushed. Because, damn him, he already knew.
Sitting on the bed, he unlaced his boots. As he took them off she saw the unmistakable bulge in his boxers, visible through the open buttons of his jeans. He wanted her too. Maybe it was only for tonight. Maybe he’d be gone in a few weeks and she’d never see him again. But if she didn’t do this she’d regret it for the rest of her life. And she couldn’t handle any more regret.
Slipping her arms from her blouse she dropped it on the floor. Walking over to the bed, she stepped between his open legs. His hands moved to her waist as his gaze met hers. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakeable. With a lot more bravado than she felt, she reached behind and undid her disgraceful bra. As it slipped forward, he gasped.
“God! You’re beautiful.”
“You’re just impressed with my double D cup.” But his words helped and her fingers shook less as she unzipped her jeans.
“Why wouldn’t I be? They’re magnificent.” Gently, he cupped each breast, brushed the nipple with the soft pad of his thumb. Swaying slightly, she let him push her jeans down. Sucking in her tummy, and painfully conscious of the rolls of flab around her middle, she held his shoulders to step out of them. At least her knickers were fit to be seen and it wasn’t too long since she’d shaved her legs.
She’d thought he’d grab her, pull her down on the bed on top of him. That would have been easier than the steady gaze that travelled over each exposed inch of her body, the half-smile as if he’d learned a secret, the tantalisingly slow kiss that swept into every corner of her mouth and took her breath. Standing he slipped out of his jeans. Uncertain what to do next, she simply stared at his muscled legs, the gorgeous mocha-coloured skin, the tight arse in black boxers.
Tossing the duvet back, he slid under it. Again, she hesitated.
“Oh no, you don’t, Jenna Henderson. You’re coming with me.” His hand grabbed hers. Grasping it tightly, she followed.
Chapter 37
Something hit Winston on the back, jerking him awake. The bed rocked as he turned over. Jenna’s back was arched, head flung back. A hand thumped the mattress before she flopped flat.
For a second, he froze. What was happening? Was she having a fit? Then his brain caught up. The spell.
It was happening as Zoe had predicted. Except Jenna was naked. Naked because he’d come round and they’d had sex, really great sex, and fallen asleep together.
He grasped her shoulders. “Jenna? Can you hear me?”
There was no reaction. No sign that his words pierced whatever was going on in her brain. Reaching over to the bedside lamp he switched it on. Her head trashed from side to side, eyes screwed tight as the light spilled over her. Another paroxysm took her, arms flung out, feet pounding against the mattress.
He needed to see her pupils. Grabbing her head, his grip tightened as she struggled. “Jenna, open your eyes. Look at me.” When her eyelids fluttered open he had a second before she jerked away. But it was enough to see darkness spreading from her pupils, taking over the blue irises.
Could he stop it? Was there anything he could do before the spell completely took hold? Rolling out of bed, he tugged at his staff, pulled it from the leather thong at his neck and tapped it on the floor. Earlier, before they’d slept, she’d teased him about wearing it in bed. He’d laughed, told her a good druid was always prepared. He grabbed his boxers from the pile of clothes abandoned on the floor and pulled them on. Standing at the foot of the bed, he pressed the full-sized staff against the floor and awen flowed into him, slowly at first and then reacting to his urgency, it became a flood. He sent it out, creating an invisible barrier around Jenna’s bed.
When the barrier was complete, sealing them off from the rest of the world, he dropped to his knees by the side of the bed. She lay motionless almost as if she slept. Bending over her, he brushed her cheek. “Jenna? Are you alright? Talk to me.”