by Anya Bast
Resting her elbows on her knees, she covered her face with her hands, careful not to put pressure on her bruise. The too-small jeans dug uncomfortably into her waist and pulled tight across her thighs. Irritated, she undid the top button, then got up and stalked into one of the guest rooms to find some other clothes. A search of the closets and dressers in both the extra bedrooms yielded nothing.
Mira went into Jack's bedroom. She couldn't stand to stay in these constrictive clothes one more minute. If Jack became upset with her for rooting through his dresser to find something wearable, she didn't care.
After opening a few drawers, she found a pair of gray sweatpants and a sweatshirt that said University of Minnesota on it in faded gold and red lettering. She stripped off the loaned clothes and snuggled into the soft, worn fabric with a sigh. They were way too big for her. The sleeves hung past her hands by a good three inches and the pants billowed around her legs.
Worse, the material still held the scent of Jack. She gathered the front of the sweatshirt and pressed it against her nose, inhaling and closing her eyes. Almost unconsciously, she passed her fingers over her lips, remembering Jack's kiss.
Sex with Ben had never been good. She'd only reached orgasm with him a handful of times. Her clit was either too sensitive or not sensitive enough, or Ben had reached his climax before her. Ben had made her feel like it was her fault, and maybe it was. Maybe she was just one of those women who had a hard time with it unless she was doing it herself.
Mira wondered if she'd have a hard time with Jack.
But Jack didn't want her. Not really. He'd practically run away from her after he'd kissed her. Obviously, he'd done it only to ignite her magick and prove to her once and for all that it was real.
She chewed her lower lip. Of course, his hard-on had seemed pretty genuine.
Mira swallowed hard at the memory of it pressing into her, then remembered the wad of condoms in his nightstand drawer. She was being silly. A man like Jack McAllister probably got a hard-on from kissing a tree.
Shaking her head, she walked to the window in the living room. Downtown Minneapolis spread below her, under a cold, clear blue sky. There would be a full moon soon.
She knew the exact date and time of every full moon. There was no available earth on which to make her monthly offering, however. Not way up on the fifty-second floor. She doubted she'd be allowed to go outside to conduct her monthly ritual.
Not since there were men after her, wanting to kill her.
Mira shuddered as that realization finally registered. She backed away from the window and tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about her parents. Tried not to think about Jack's kiss. Tried not to think about her new status as a witch.
Instead she explored Jack's apartment, tracing her fingers over the smooth mahogany tables, the expensive fabric of the sofa and chairs, over the objets d'art. Expensive Frederic Remington sculptures seemed to be a favorite. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere, which led her to believe he must employ cleaning people.
Eventually, she reached the spiral staircase and climbed it. At the top on her left was a door. She tried it, and a blast of cold air hit her face, making her gasp in surprise. The roof. So Jack had the penthouse.
It was freezing, but she poked her head out long enough to get a glimpse of the Minneapolis skyline and a medium-sized greenhouse. Greenery showed through the panes of glass. That meant Jack kept it heated and grew plants within it.
Well, he was full of surprises.
She shivered and closed the door. Perhaps she'd found a solution to her full moon problem. It wasn't ideal, but she could find some earth in the greenhouse at least.
Behind her was an open area that looked down on the living room. The nook had a couple more bookshelves and a comfy looking overstuffed chair and ottoman in the corner. Two doors led off this little reading room.
The first room proved to be an office, complete with state-of-the-art computer, printers, and various other electronics.
The other door was locked.
Hmmm.
The man had a locked room in his apartment. This was his personal residence, and the voice of politeness whispering in her head demanded she respect that. On the other hand, she was looking for answers.
They could be behind that door.
She tried the knob again and then knelt to examine the lock. It was just a chintzy one, nothing too complicated. She was no master locksmith or accomplished thief, but she'd jimmied a lock like this one on Annie's back door several times in the past when her flighty, distracted godmother had misplaced her house keys. She wouldn't break it. Jack wouldn't even know she'd been in there.
What Jack didn't know wouldn't hurt him, but what she didn't know could kill her. She needed answers, period.
Decided, Mira whirled and headed back into the office. She searched through the desk drawers until she found a paperclip and returned to the door. Her lock-picking skills were based solely on rooting around and manipulating the pins until the door opened.
It took awhile.
Finally, the knob turned and the door opened. She pocketed the paper clip, stood, and flicked on the light.
"Oh, wow," she breathed.
Another surprise. She never would've taken Jack for an artsy kind of guy, even with the expensive Remington cowboy statues displayed in the living room, but it must have been Jack who'd taken the gorgeous photos that hung in this room.
Both glossy black-and-whites and color portraits hung framed on the walls and were pinned haphazardly to easels scattered throughout the room. Mira walked around, studying them. She stopped at several photos of an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Perhaps it was his mother?
There were pictures of snow-covered barns, long four-board fences shot at the height of summer, and other nature-related shots. There were pictures of children and older people, bright, shining young faces juxtaposed with knotted, wrinkled hands. They all seemed to make a statement about the beauty of life and its fleeting nature.
Her brow wrinkled. Jack was capable of making deep philosophical statements through artwork?
Shelves stood against another wall, filled with camera equipment and electronics. A desk sat beside it, holding what had to be fifty photo albums.
She walked over and ran her finger over a black-bound album lying on his desk and opened it. A sensual photo of a beautiful blonde in a revealing negligee met her eyes and she quickly shut it.
Really. She should've known better.
This was Jack's private room and if gorgeous, scantily clad women wanted Jack to take their picture, who was she to judge? Hell, women probably fell over themselves wanting attention like that from Jack McAllister. Unwelcome jealousy pricked for a moment before she forced it away.
Abruptly, she grabbed another album, finding it filled with what looked to be surveillance photos of an older, heavyset man and a few of his cronies. Interesting. Jack took pictures of some of the witches or warlocks he was tasked with watching. She replaced the album and surveyed the others.
She ran her finger back and forth over a pricey-looking leather-bound album sticking out a little from the rest. It was so pretty. Mira opened it and gasped.
Her own face stared up at her.
SIX
"NO, NO, NO," SHE CHANTED, FLIPPING THROUGH the pages. All of them were of her, shots taken while she'd been on her way to work or coming home. When she'd been on break or at the grocery store ...
She put her hand to her mouth. She'd never known Jack had been watching her so closely. He must've practically been her shadow for a good two weeks. He'd told her he'd been watching her, but taking pictures?
That was kind of creepy.
Except...
She started from the beginning of the album once more. The first pictures were like a photo record of her day, unconcerned with lighting or her facial expression, just documentation of her daily activities. Midway through the pictures took on a personal quality.
Mira
stopped at one showing her about to get into her car. She'd drawn her coat around her against the frigid day, the cold, bright sun shining high above her head. Her car was in the middle of the badly plowed street in front of the diner. There was not one other vehicle on the entire stretch of road, not one other person. She didn't know how she'd never noticed someone watching her. The road itself was shot so that it looked as though it stretched into infinity.
And she was on it alone, wearing a forlorn expression on her face.
Another showed her at a coffee shop down the street where she went sometimes for her lunch to get a change of scenery. He'd been in the crowded restaurant that day with her, sitting in the corner, judging by the angle of the shot. The place had been filled, but she'd been alone in her booth, staring out the window. He'd focused in on her, blurring the people around her. Her reflection in the window appeared bleak.
Did she really wear that expression on her face so often?
Mira closed the album, swallowed hard, and stepped away from it. The first shots were businesslike, but toward the end Jack had used her as a subject for his art. He'd seemed to capture things about her that no one else saw. Feelings and emotions she'd never shared with anyone. He'd captured her intimate moments without ever having spoken to her.
She turned, flipped off the light, and locked the door.
Her mind a jumble of confused thoughts, Mira headed back downstairs.
She understood why he'd originally begun taking the photos. Those were for surveillance purposes. She should feel creeped out, since he'd followed her around snapping photos of her like some stalker. That fact pissed her off, but the other, later photos muffled that response. Why had his focus shifted to such an intimate angle toward the end? What had made him view her through a more personal lens?
For now she wouldn't tell Jack that she'd seen the photos. She had enough on her plate dealing with everything else. Not to mention she'd have to admit she broke into a locked room in his residence. Although in light of things, that seemed hardly to compare as far as intrusions went.
Still distracted, she wandered over to the bookshelves, which seemed to house every classic title ever written, along with a few political thrillers and a mishmash of horror novels.
On a lower shelf, she spied a leather-bound copy of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. She grabbed it, knocking a small wooden box off the shelf and onto the floor in the process. A silver ring rolled out onto the floor.
Holding the book in one hand, she knelt and examined the piece of jewelry. It was a man's ring, heavy and well crafted. A C marked the flat of it in fancy script and arcane symbols ringed the edges. She frowned. C for what? The Coven, maybe? Maybe it was some nifty secret decoder ring that she might eventually also receive. She deposited the ring back into the box and replaced it on the shelf.
After fetching a glass of water from the kitchen and tidying up from breakfast, she curled up on the couch with the book. It engaged her for a while, until weariness took over. Nodding off, she set the book aside and lay down for a nap, her head on one of the fancy throw pillows.
The sound of the door opening woke her. She looked up drowsily at Jack as he dropped a bunch of shopping bags on the coffee table in front of her. He wouldn't even meet her eyes.
Maybe the kiss really had repulsed him and he couldn't bear to look at her now.
Her body still felt the press of him against her. The memory of his warmth, the feeling of his body, had clung to her all afternoon. A lazy, honeyed heat seeped between her thighs when she thought about his mouth on hers. It eclipsed everything, even finding the strangely intimate photos he'd taken of her on the sly.
She was so pathetic.
She sat up and peered into one of the bags, seeing fabric folded in tissue and a tangle of sales tags. "You bought everything new? That must have cost a fortune! I just meant you should go to my apartment and grab some of my stuff!”
"Couldn't do that. Crane is most likely watching your place. He probably doesn't know where you are, and it's better it stays that way.”
Oh. "Probably doesn't know where I am? That's not very comforting. So what did you get?”
Self-consciously, she ran her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair, remembering she wore his clothes and probably looked ridiculous in them. He wasn't answering her, so she glanced up and found him staring down at her. The memory of their kiss seemed to linger in his eyes. Mira saw a flash of sexual heat there, need laid bare, before he looked away.
Her stomach fluttering, and wondering if she'd imagined it, she stopped fussing with her hair and forced herself to lower her gaze and stare at the bags.
He ran a hand over his chin. "I got everything on your list. Your soap and shampoo, some clothes that will probably fit you better, new underwear. Got you a few other things I thought you might appreciate, too, some perfume. I noticed you wear rose-scented stuff." He cleared his throat. "Got you some gunk for your hair, junk like that. I hope you don't mind.”
That was awfully thoughtful. How had it occurred to him to do that? She raised her eyebrows. "Really? Thank you. Do you have a sister or something?”
"No, but I've had my share of—”
"Girlfriends." She gave him a thumbs-up. "Gotcha.”
She reached into a bag, pulled out a sexy black thong, and let it dangle from her index finger. Mira looked up at him with a raised brow. Why did Jack buying her lingerie seem more intimate than having him go through her underwear drawer?
He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't know what kind you normally wear. I bought a few different styles.”
"I'm kind of a bikini-cut girl. I don't enjoy the dental floss look. Nice thought, though." She dropped the lacy bit of nothing into her lap and sighed. "How much was all this? Right now I can't afford a lot.”
"Don't worry about it. Like I said, the Coven has agreed to cover your expenses in order to keep you away from Crane.”
"Well... thank you." She'd still pay them back every penny when she could.
"Not a problem." His mouth twitched a little. "What are you wearing?”
Mira felt herself flush. "Sorry. I went through your drawers." She bit off the end of the sentence and winced at the double meaning.
"They're huge on you. You look like you're drowning." A note of amusement tinged his voice.
"I needed to find something more comfortable. I hope you don't mind.”
"No, I don't mind." Jack walked toward his bedroom.
"Jack?”
He turned.
"When you said that our magick had a kind of... attraction. What did you mean?”
"Air and fire have a natural affinity, as do water and earth. They always have a magickal attraction. But sometimes there's an intensification of physical attraction too, if both parties are so inclined.”
"So inclined?”
"If they would've been sexually attracted to each other without the magick being present, there is an intensification. It's what's happening between you and me.”
Mira's mind fumbled for a moment. Her draw to him was because of their magick. Just the magick. Only the magick. That made sense. Everything fell into place.
She stood and walked toward him, with the panties still in her hand. Mira licked her lips and twisted the silk, forcing herself to not look anywhere but at him. "I just wanted you to know that, uh, about what happened in the kitchen." She glanced away. "You proved things to me by doing ... that.”
Jack took a step forward, grasped the undergarment, and used it to pull her toward him a step. She almost stumbled against his chest. Suddenly she found herself enveloped in all that seductive, heady maleness.
"When I did...that?" he drawled with silky menace. "Don't you mean when I kissed you, Mira? You do remember that part, don't you?”
Her stomach dropped to her toes. His gaze had centered completely on her mouth. Like her lips were food and he was starving. "Yes, of course.”
"Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to stop
kissing you?”
"Really?" she asked in genuine surprise before she could stop herself.
His voice lowered. "I want you in a powerful way. I want to do things to you that your joke of an ex-husband never dreamed of doing. That's what happens when fire and air meet. Understand? Do you feel it? That intense attraction between us?”
"It's incredibly powerful.”
"Yes," he murmured. "Damn near irresistible.”
She watched, fascinated, as a muscle in his jaw worked. It seemed like he endeavored to hold himself back from her.
"You're a sensual woman. It's like you have all this dry tinder piled up inside you, waiting for a spark. I could be that spark, but—”
"My husband always said I was frigid," she blurted. She put a hand to her mouth, wishing she could call back that intimate secret.
"What?”
She forced her hand down to her side and drew a steadying breath. Too late to turn back now. "You tell me I'm sensual, talk about tinder waiting to be lit. Ben had a hard time giving me an orgasm. He said it was my fault, that I was incapable of it during intercourse.”
Jack gritted his teeth. The muscle in his jaw worked again. This time he didn't look like he was holding himself back from her; he just looked pissed. "Frigid, hmm? That's what he told you?”
She opened her mouth to give a better explanation, but then his lips were on it. His fingers threaded through her hair, and his tongue met hers in a possessive sweep that made her whimper.
Yesterday, in the diner when she'd fantasized about kissing Jack, she'd known it would be sexy as hell. However, the tenderness he displayed was a surprise. Jack didn't just kiss. He made slow, easy love to her mouth, making her body respond in kind as sure as if he stroked her. Her nipples grew hard and she became hot and achy between her thighs.
He wrenched the panties from her hands and threw them to the floor. Mira slid her arms around him, kissing him back, spearing her tongue into his mouth with abandon. She wanted to taste him, know him, feel the heat of his body against her. He walked her backward a little, until she felt the nearby wall against her back. He bracketed her there, pinning her with his big body.