Disguised Enchantment

by S. Quinn McAfee

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Silent darkness greeted Shannon's weary form as she let herself in the back door of her small home. Tossing her keys and purse on the counter in the kitchen, she wandered into the living room and sank down on the couch. The events of the evening had rendered her both confused and emotionally drained and, although she desperately wanted to forget they ever happened, her mind refused to let it rest.

  What could have possessed her to imagine Ben was the Marquis? Was it truly because she was so in love with him that her emotions willed her to see and feel things that weren't really there? Or was there something more to Mr. Tate than what he seemed to be? The very thought gripped her heart with fear, but she quickly cast it off as preposterous. The Marquis and Ben were nothing alike. Ben was strong, sensitive, sexy. And the Marquis..."Oh, God!" she gasped aloud. She was doing it again!

  A strange noise at the kitchen door drew her from her thoughts, and she rose from the couch to investigate. Finding nothing out of order, she decided to go to bed. The jumbled thoughts and feelings turning over in her mind had exhausted and depressed her, and further rumination would only prolong the endless roiling of all those unanswered questions.

  Making her way down the hallway to her bedroom, she undressed in the dark. Turning on the light would only bring all the horrible pain and torment that filled her heart to glaring reality again, and reality was the last thing she wanted to face tonight. All she wanted to do was crawl beneath the covers, block out everything that had happened and escape into the depths of oblivious slumber. Pulling back the comforter, she sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped off her robe. All of a sudden, an arm snaked out of the darkness and settled gently around her shoulders. Shannon's heart leaped in fear along with her body, and she let out a terrified scream.

  "Whoa! Whoa! Take it easy, Shannon. It's just me."

  The familiar masculine voice combined with the heady scent of a musky cologne, brought a certain actor's name to mind, and she was just about to speak it when the soft swish of silk against her shoulder made her stop cold. Fumbling for the small Victorian-style lamp on her bedside table, she switched it on, and then turned accusing eyes on her masked bedfellow.

  "How did you get in here?" she growled, her voice heavy with incrimination.

  The Marquis grinned at her peeved expression. "You have a nasty habit of letting your back door unlocked ... but don't worry--I took care of it for you."

  "So that was the noise I heard," she mused aloud.

  "Yeah, I kind of bumped into your viney plant thing..."

  Shannon ignored the mischievous curl of his lip choosing, instead, to confront him about his impromptu appearance. "Just what are you doing here at this hour of the night?" she asked curtly.

  "Come cuddle with me and I'll tell you," he grinned seductively.

  "You ... you shouldn't be here," she stammered, trying to avoid the loving look in his eyes.

  "Oh, yes, I should," he refuted, hauling her back against his thick chest. "I've missed you, Shannon. Your visits to the Chateau have been non-existent of late and I came to find out why."

  The feel of his naked body against her flooded her senses with memories of the intense sexual pleasure they had shared, and it was all she could do to keep from giving in to the carnal urges he rekindled in her. "I-I've been busy," she whispered feebly.

  "Busy how?" he demanded. "Surely you could have spared a little time for us?"

  "A-actually, I couldn't. I just had so much designing and stitching to do I barely had time to turn around twice, let alone see you."

  "Why all the extra work?" he asked in a puzzled tone.

  "I-I'm sorry ... I guess I never told you," she replied softly. "Some time ago, Mrs. Phillips sent some of my designs to a prominent cross-stitch magazine based in San Francisco and, even though it took forever, the editors finally contacted her. Amazingly, they really liked my work. So much so, they demanded to see more. Anything and everything I knew how to design. Consequently, I had to spend practically every waking moment, and some not so wakeful ones, working to complete all the samples they wanted."

  "I see," he commented absently, as if lost in thought. "What did you hope to accomplish by taking on such a tedious endeavor?"

  A disheartened sigh burdened her reply as she glanced at his masked visage. "Well-ll, at the very least, an offer to buy some of my designs for publication in their magazine. Truthfully, though, I'm praying they hire me to design features for them."

  "Hire!" the Marquis exclaimed. "I certainly hope that doesn't mean you'll have to move to San Francisco if that happens."

  Shannon smiled at his discomposure. "I'm fairly certain I won't have to move. My designing assignments would most likely be handled through the mail. Although, I might have to make an occasional trip from time to time to refine details and such."

  "I take it you haven't heard anything concrete yet?" he eyed her inquiringly.

  "No, I haven't," she frowned.

  During the following moments of silence that passed between them, the Marquis observed the visible lines of tension on her face and quickly surmised the demands of her designing career might not be the only reason she'd forsaken their relationship.

  "Are you sure there's not something else keeping you away from me?" he asked gently.

  Shannon's eyes flew to the concern-ridden expression filling his unmasked features. Her first impulse was to lie. Tell him her work was the only problem, but deep down she knew she needed to be honest. She couldn't keep loving a man who wasn't hers exclusively, and she needed to tell him it was over between them.

  "Shannon, what is it?" He smoothed a wayward strand of hair from her cheek.

  "I-I ... oh, God, I don't know how else to say this other than come right out with it. I-I just can't be with you any more! I just can't!" she gulped tearfully.

  The Marquis' hands gently lifted her chin and turned her face to his. "What we share together is rare and so beautiful, Shannon. Why do you want to throw it all away?"

  ""Because I can't go on being just another one of your ... your women!" she exploded in tears.

  "Another one of my women!" he sputtered. "My God, Shannon! How could you think that? You mean the world to me and I love you with all my heart!"

  "You ... you really love me?" she stared at him incredulously.

  "With everything that's in me, sweetheart. I truly thought you knew that, but it appears I've been sorely remiss in my thinking. No matter what else goes on in my life, you must believe that I am yours and yours alone."

  "Why ... why haven't you told me this before?" she breathed unsteadily.

  "I have," he groaned and laughed. "Many times. Occasionally with words, but mostly with action. Lots and lots of action. Come here, you." He drew her into his arms. "What do you say I express myself in such a way you'll never have to doubt my love for you again?"

  "What do you have in mind?" she whispered, mesmerized by the adoration darkening his eyes.

  "Ohhh, just a little sexual healing," he whispered back as his lips captured her in a fiery kiss.

  While his mouth continued moving hungrily, insatiably over hers, his tongue played upon the curve of her lower lip, sending an eddy of tingling sensations rippling down her spine, fueling her rapidly increasing desire.

  "Please," she breathed as the torrid heat of his kisses melted away the last shreds of her resistance. "I-I need you so much."

  He drew back just long enough to examine the want in her pleading eyes, then without another word, he lifted her nightgown off over her head and pulled her down onto the bed with him. A guttural cry rose in her throat as her hands roamed over his bulging biceps and the smooth, firm flesh of his chest. His body drove her crazy with desire and she couldn't help wanting to touch every inch of him. Slowly, tentatively, her trembling fingers moved lower. The soft light reflecting in her eyes begged him for a sign or word of approval--anything that would tell her she wasn't overly bold. Immediately, he lifted her hand and guided it t
o his thick, quivering arousal. "What's with all the shyness?" he growled huskily. "You know you can help yourself to me as much as you like."

  The Marquis' words affected her like a magic love potion. A surge of overwhelming need swept through her body and she fell against him, her breath coming in short, excited gasps as she continued moving down over him, planting kisses on his chest and abdomen. As her mouth moved even lower, she felt him throw off the bed covers giving her complete access to his long, hard erection. God, how she wanted him in her mouth. It was no longer enough to merely touch and stroke him. Certainly, she wanted to give him pleasure the way he had so many times given her pleasure, but it was more than that. It was a desire born of the need for fulfillment, a fulfillment that was the very essence of her womanhood. Reaching out, she cupped him in her palms, then bent and took the tip in her mouth, tasting and exploring him with her tongue and lips. The Marquis drew a ragged breath and moaned with a deep craving as she gradually took in more and more of him. Slowly, with his guidance, she began moving up and down over him, losing herself in the heady, erotic feel of what she was doing to him. Suddenly she felt his body go rigid, and then his fingers in her hair as he gently tried to pull her away.

  "Take it easy, babe" he ground out hoarsely. "I know you want me inside you, too."

  She started to protest, but he quickly pressed her down onto the mattress. She heard the familiar sound of a foil package being torn open, but after that, specific details became lost in a blur of blazing passion. Every muscle of his magnificent, supple body was a wellspring of warm, tender pleasure for her, and she loved being totally possessed by him. He was magic and mystery, patience and prowess all rolled into one, and the combination was positively exhilarating. Spiraling and rising. Higher and higher she soared with every slow, delicious stroke of him until at last, she breathed in a deep rush of air as her body rocked back and forth in arcs of endless pleasure. A few seconds later, the Marquis came with a loud groan born of his own ecstasy.

  * * * *

  The arrival of Monday morning found Shannon in a melancholy mood. Making love with the Marquis may have revived her love life but, unfortunately, it did nothing to dispel those crazy illusions that ever haunted her. Something in his heated embraces conjured up images of the time Ben's strong arms saved her from a nasty fall in the Mall corridor, and the night he carried her through the pouring rain to the porch of his house. Was it the similarities in their physiques and the gentleness of their hands that encouraged such notions? Or was it simply another figment of her imagination? There was definitely something there, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it, and the frustration was maddening!

  A chime from the grandfather clock marking half-past eight jolted her from her musing. If she didn't get moving she was going to be late for work. Donna was most likely waiting to pounce after Saturday night's episode with Ben, and showing up late would only fuel her discontent. To her surprise, however, Donna acknowledged her slightly tardy arrival with little more than a smirk and continued restocking the front display rack with her precious little kits. Inwardly, Shannon was grateful for the temporary reprieve, but she knew sooner or later it would all hit the fan.

  The following two days passed in much the same manner. Donna, for the most part, continued to ignore her presence. When she did favor her with a glance, however, it was always accompanied with that same indignant, little smirk that made Shannon want to scream. By Thursday morning, she could stand no more. Donna had played the silent, but oh-so-wounded act long enough, and it was time to clear the air.

  Stashing a box full of tatting needles on the shelf behind the register, she addressed her unsuspecting co-worker. "Okay, Donna. Let's get this over with. I've had it with your holier-than-thou attitude the past few days, so if you've got something to get off your chest, go for it."

  Donna looked askance at Shannon's challenging mien, and then angrily rose from her worktable. "You made a fool out of me last weekend," she hissed. "I arranged a perfectly lovely evening for you with Miguel, and what do you do? Have your ... your secret lover show up and pretend he was your date! Poor Miguel. He was so crushed and couldn't understand why I would set him up like that!"

  "Set him up?" Shannon roared. "If anyone was set up, it was me! You knew that lecherous creep would be all over me the minute I sat down at that table. No, Donna. You made a fool out of me in front of everyone at that restaurant. Including Ben!"

  "Oh, yes, Ben," Donna sneered. "Tell me. Just how long have you two been an item?"

  "We are not an item," Shannon retorted hotly. "I had dinner with him once weeks ago. Period. We just happened to run into each other an hour before I was to meet you. I had no idea he followed me to the restaurant. Believe me, I was just as surprised to see him as you were."

  "Yeah, right," Donna snorted, rolling her eyes. "I suppose all that dreamy-eyed, lovey-dovey, kissy-hand stuff was just a coincidence too. Give me a break, Shannon. You may have accidentally bumped into him earlier, as you said, but the two of you worked out a little backup plan in case your "date" was not to your liking."

  "You know what, Donna?" she railed in an ugly tone. "I don't care what you think we did or didn't do because you're nothing but a conniving, contemptible witch, and I've had it with you! From now on, you stay out of my life and out of my way and maybe, just maybe we won't end up killing one another!" Wheeling around, she nearly collided with Mrs. Phillips who stood staring in horror at the scene before her. "Oh-h, Mrs. Phillips! I ... we ... ah ... didn't hear you come in," Shannon stammered, chagrin deepening her already scarlet cheeks.

  "No wonder!" Mrs. Phillips snarled. Grabbing both girls by the arm, she hauled them toward the back of the shop away from the shoppers passing by the storefront. "I don't know what's going on here, but I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my store! Shannon, I distinctly remember telling you to make an effort to get along with Donna. But if you two can't do that, then I will have no choice but to separate you, meaning one of you will work evenings exclusively with a reduction in pay as well as hours! Now I'm not kidding!" She eyed them both sharply.

  "I'm sorry, Mrs. Phillips. It's all my fault," Shannon replied sheepishly. "Donna and I have a personal conflict that has nothing to do with work and should never have been discussed here. I promise it won't happen again."

  "See that it doesn't," Mrs. Phillips said pointedly.

  Both girls nodded in compliance and quickly turned to go back to their workstations. "Just a moment, Shannon," Mrs. Phillips barked sharply. "I have something I think you'll be very interested in looking at."

  Shannon glanced over her shoulder at the large manila envelope she held in her hands, and then briskly walked back to her. "What is it?" she asked, perplexity furrowing her brows.

  "Why don't you open it and see," Mrs. Phillips quipped.

  Shannon took the envelope from her and lifted the gummed flap. Pulling out a neatly typed letter and attached papers, she began to read, then gasped in utter disbelief. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! They liked them--all of them! And ... and they want me to design their Sampler and New Techniques sections! Oh, Mrs. Phillips. I can't believe this! Do you know what this means? They actually want my designs!"

  "Yes," Mrs. Phillips smiled at her astonishment. "And they want me to accompany you to their home office in San Francisco this weekend." She held up two airline tickets that had accompanied the letter.

  "San Francisco? This weekend? Why?" Shannon frowned, thumbing through the attached pages.

  Mrs. Phillips peered at her amusingly. "I think it has something to do with meeting the Magazine Staff, signing contracts, and discussing salary..."

  "Oh!" Shannon expelled a relieved gasp. "I thought maybe they were expecting me to work for them there."

  "They don't specify that in the information they sent, but I wouldn't be surprised if they keep you a week or so to work out all the details and get you oriented with the magazine lay-out and all. Besides," Mrs. Phillips continued, "the time away will
be good for you. You'll be able to get Donna out of your hair for awhile and, who knows, that personal problem you're so upset about might just vanish into thin air."

  Mrs. Phillips was certainly right about that, she thought reflectively, as she returned to her task of stocking the tatting supplies. Going to San Francisco would remedy her present situation regarding Ben and the Marquis. At least there, they wouldn't be popping into her life at the slightest whim, and perhaps that respite would be enough to save her sanity. It was amazing how the priorities in her life had suddenly taken on a new order, and she was thrilled with the prospect of having new challenges to occupy her mind instead of agonizing over the similarities of two blue-eyed men. Glancing up from the card of needles she'd been staring at, she found her infernal co-worker watching her with complaisant eyes.

  "What is it now, Donna?" Shannon groaned wearily.

  "Guess we'd better bury the hatchet, huh?" She peered at her hopefully.

  "Bury the hatchet?" Shannon lifted her brows in bewilderment.

  "Yeah, you know ... quit fighting and try to get along. I-I think Mrs. Phillips really meant what she said about separating us and, I don't know about you, but I don't want to get stuck working nights."

  "Fine, Donna," Shannon grimaced. "If you want to bury this hatchet of yours, I'll go along with it."

  "Friends then?" she smiled brightly.

  "Yeah, friends," Shannon muttered, and promptly turned back to the task before her.

  Donna moved away, and then quickly retraced her steps. "Oooh, I almost forgot," she gushed. "While you were talking to Mrs. Phillips, some woman named Mattie call to invite you to have lunch with her tomorrow at noon. She said you'd know where."

  "Mattie? Are you sure?" Shannon gasped in astonishment.