Casual Hex

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  He touched his glass to hers. “A toast to pistils and stamens.” He got the reaction he wanted when she laughed. “Old botany joke,” he said. He tasted the wine and was pleasantly surprised. “This is very good.”

  She took a tentative sip and her eyebrows lifted. “Yes, it is. I’d heard that it was wonderful, and it lives up to its reputation.”

  “We should probably sit down instead of standing in the middle of the Lowells’ colorful parlor.”

  “I have to say, this color scheme took guts. I like it.”

  “So do I.” Once they were seated, Marc planned to point out the stained glass and hope it affected Gwen in the same way it had affected him.

  Gwen glanced over at the purple sofa with the red throw pillows lined up along the back. “The cat seems to have commandeered the sofa. We probably can’t both take the wingback.”

  “We could try.”

  Instead of blushing, Gwen gave him an arch look. “Could we, now?”

  A potent image flashed into his mind—him sitting in the plush red chair with Gwen straddling him. But this was not their parlor. “We should probably move the cat and sit on the sofa.”

  “I’ll move her.” Gwen set down her wineglass and walked around the coffee table. “What’s her name again?”

  “Sabrina.”

  “That’s right. Sabrina. Is it my imagination, or is she staring at this bracelet?”

  “Maybe because it sparkles.”

  “Is that right, Sabrina?” Gwen stooped down. “Are you fascinated by bright, shiny things?”

  Sabrina regarded her with unblinking green eyes. Her tail twitched rhythmically, thumping against one of the red pillows. Marc could swear the cat looked royally pissed, but maybe that was just her normal expression.

  When Gwen reached for her, she wiggled out of Gwen’s grasp and stalked to the far end of the sofa.

  Gwen turned back to Marc. “She doesn’t want me to pick her up.”

  “At least she moved.” Marc gestured for Gwen to take the middle, the spot nearest Sabrina. He sat on Gwen’s other side.

  As he picked up her wineglass, he pressed his lips to the rim before giving it to her.

  Meeting his gaze, she pressed her lips to the same spot as she took a drink. “Mm.”

  He could hardly believe this was the same woman who had nearly choked to death in the bar because she was so nervous about meeting him. After their glass of wine, they could take the walking path to her house so no one could see them. He might not have his condoms, but he was ready to improvise again.

  Lifting his wineglass from the table, he slid his arm around her and drew her against the cushions.

  She sighed and nestled against him. “I can’t believe you’ve been in town less than twenty-four hours.”

  “I know.” He leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “I feel as if I have known you forever.”

  “Am I different from the women you’ve dated in Paris?”

  “Oui.” He nipped gently at her earlobe. “And I love those differences, cherie. I want to take off that beautiful silk outfit and celebrate those differences.”

  Her breathing grew unsteady and she rested her hand on his thigh. “You’re turning me on.”

  “I can tell. Your touch burns right through the denim.”

  She lifted her gaze to his, and her brown eyes were hot with desire. “That may be, but we’re in Dorcas and Ambrose’s parlor, and they will be down any minute. I can’t speak for you, but I’m not into exhibitionism.”

  “Neither am I. Once we finish our wine, we can go to your—”

  “Yikes!” She sat up straight and put her wineglass on the table. “Bad cat.”

  Marc glanced over and noticed Sabrina had crept closer and was eyeing the bracelet intently. Her tail twitched back and forth.

  “She tried to bite the bracelet! I almost spilled my wine all over this outfit.” Gwen turned the bracelet on her wrist. “Good thing this is so sturdy. There’s not much damage she can do, but still.”

  “It must look like a toy to her. Are those real diamonds?”

  “Yes.” Gwen kept her eye on Sabrina as she picked up her wine again. “The bracelet’s on loan. Dorcas thinks it might help with my—help with sleeping.”

  “You have insomnia?”

  “No. Just strange . . . dreams, especially lately. Do you see the way Sabrina’s staring at me? Like she’s mad about something?”

  “I see no reason why. She appears to be living in comfortable luxury here. Then again, I know virtually nothing about cats. I always had dogs.”

  “Do you have one now? I don’t remember you mentioning a dog.”

  “Not now. Josette has two bichons, Victor and Hugo.” Marc looked into the cat’s green eyes. That was a glare if he had ever seen one. “She is not purring, and her tail keeps twitching,” he said. “The set of her ears looks angry, too. Change places with me and let me sit next to her.” He stood.

  “Be glad to. She’s making me nervous.” Gwen scooted over to the far end of the sofa.

  Marc placed himself between Gwen and the cat and picked up his wine again. Soon after that, Sabrina hopped to the back of the sofa and walked behind him to perch right near Gwen’s shoulder.

  “That’s it.” Gwen stood. “I’m not sitting on the same piece of furniture as the cat, at least not while I’m wearing this bracelet. She has designs on it, for some reason.”

  Marc heard steps on the stairs. “Dorcas and Ambrose are returning. Maybe they will know why she is upset.”

  “How’s the wine?” Dorcas said as she walked into the parlor.

  “The wine’s excellent,” Gwen said. “But Sabrina is after your bracelet. While I was sitting on the sofa, she tried to bite it.”

  “Really?” Dorcas seemed to be trying to keep from laughing. “Must be the sparkles.”

  “Sabrina does love sparkles,” Ambrose said as he came in the room behind Dorcas. But his expression was less merry than his wife’s.

  Marc wondered if the discussion upstairs had not gone Ambrose’s way. “May I pour you some of your wine?”

  “Yes, please.” Ambrose sounded as if he really needed that wine, for some reason.

  Maybe Ambrose was worried that Marc would reveal their secret to the residents of Big Knob. If so, Marc would find a way to quiet his new friend’s fears. Pouring two more glasses of wine, he handed one to Dorcas first and then turned to Ambrose. “You were right. This is every bit as good as French wine.”

  “Thank you.” Ambrose took the goblet from him and tossed back a hefty swallow.

  Marc winced. Wine, especially a fine one like this Mystic Hills label, should not be gulped. But it was Ambrose’s wine, so he could drink it however he wanted. He must really be stressed.

  Ambrose finished the glass in about ten seconds. Then he took a deep breath and glanced at Marc. “Could I see you in the office for a moment?”

  “Oui.” Well, that confirmed it, Marc thought as he followed Ambrose across the hall into the office they probably used for their matchmaking business. Ambrose was afraid Marc would reveal too much and cause problems.

  Ambrose closed the door, and before he had a chance to turn around, Marc began his speech. “Do not worry about my discretion,” he said. “You are obviously concerned, but I want to assure you that everything you have told me about your purpose in Big Knob goes no further. I would never jeopardize your standing in the community.”

  Ambrose faced him. The guy looked as if he had just stepped in front of a firing squad. “I’m not the least worried about that.”

  “Non? Well, something is bothering you, judging from how fast you drank your wine.”

  “Dorcas has advised me . . .” Ambrose stopped to clear his throat. “That you are in need of condoms.”

  Marc stared at him. He had never expected that to be the subject under discussion. Now it was his turn to clear his throat. “You . . . uh . . . have some?”

  “No.” Ambrose turned a dull red. “I’m about
to go into town to buy some, and I need to know . . . your, uh, your size.”

  Marc nearly choked. No telling which of them was more embarrassed. He was so taken aback that he forgot the English word. “Grande,” he said in a strangled voice. He hoped to hell Ambrose understood that, because he would not repeat himself.

  Chapter 18

  Gwen couldn’t imagine what had transpired in the office between Ambrose and Marc. Neither of them had made any reference to it when they’d come out, and they’d looked very ill at ease with each other. Then suddenly Ambrose was off to check his MySpace page at Click-or-Treat, leaving Dorcas, Marc and Gwen to finish the bottle of wine and eat the cheese and crackers.

  Dorcas filled a small plate with crackers and cheese before crossing to the red wingback. Marc settled with Gwen on the sofa. Sabrina continued to crouch behind Gwen as if ready to pounce at any moment, so Dorcas finally scooped her up and closed her in the office.

  “What did you and Ambrose talk about?” Gwen asked while Dorcas was out of the room.

  “I will explain later.” Marc helped himself to a cracker and a piece of cheese.

  “I don’t pretend to understand the MySpace culture,” Dorcas said when she returned, “but apparently it’s of utmost importance that Ambrose post something this afternoon. I hope you’ll excuse him.”

  “MySpace is an amazing presence on the Internet.” Marc directed his comment to Dorcas, but he seemed to be avoiding eye contact with her.

  Stranger than strange, Gwen thought. It was almost as if Dorcas and Marc knew something she didn’t. “I don’t have a MySpace page,” she said. “I never thought to ask if you do, Marc.” She picked up a cracker and placed a piece of cheese on it. Her stomach was pretty much empty, so if she planned to drink more wine, she should eat.

  “No, I do not have a MySpace page,” Marc said. “My sister has one, however.”

  “Oh, Josette! I completely forgot.” Gwen turned to him. “Did you get an e-mail through? Is everything okay?”

  “Well, no. I did e-mail her, but . . . I could use some advice.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Marc picked up a cracker and a piece of cheese with great care, as if buying time while he gathered his thoughts. “She is quitting school.”

  “Oh.” Gwen knew that must be killing him. When they’d e-mailed each other every day he’d told her how worried he was about Josette’s future. “Do you know why?”

  “Unfortunately, I managed to delete the critical post where she explained her reasons in detail, so the only information I have is the post saying she was quitting school and taking a caf’ job to support herself.” Marc crunched down hard on the cracker. He was obviously not a happy man.

  But Gwen could see the situation from Josette’s perspective, too. She might crave some personal freedom to choose her own path.

  Taking a sip of wine, Gwen glanced over at Marc. “You know, if that’s what she wants . . .”

  “That is just it.” Marc sat forward, his body rigid. “She does not know what she wants.”

  Dorcas put down her plate and focused on Marc. “It sounds as if she knows what she doesn’t want.”

  “Oh yes, there is a complete list of what she does not want—medicine, engineering, law, accounting. But how can she evaluate?” He set the wineglass on the coffee table with a decisive click. “She never gives anything a chance. She is in and out so fast she cannot possibly have explored the potential.”

  “But that’s her right.” Gwen reached for more cheese, a white Vermont cheddar that was her favorite. “She shouldn’t have to continue with something that doesn’t fit her personality.”

  “Perhaps, but in the meantime she is running through the money our parents left in trust for her education. It is up to me to—”

  “No, it’s up to her.” Gwen didn’t know where this assertive attitude was coming from, but she had no inclination to mute it. She was all about autonomy, all about exercising a person’s right to choose the life they wanted. She bit into the cheese.

  “Who picked those areas of study?” Dorcas asked quietly. “You or her?”

  Marc shifted in his seat, as if aware that his answer might not be the right one. “I did. But she had no direction, so I started suggesting things. All I want is for her to have some goals. But she has none that I can tell.”

  “Is that really your problem?” Gwen asked.

  His dark blue eyes flashed. “I believe that it is. I am the only family she has. If I do not watch out for her, who will?”

  “You could consider trusting her to watch out for herself.” Gwen sat forward, too, and she was ready to take him on. Gorgeous or not, he was trying to run his sister’s life. “A person is entitled to pursue her own dreams and make her own choices, for good or bad.”

  “But I cannot sit by and watch her ruin her life,” Marc’s jaw tensed.

  “Might I offer a suggestion?” Dorcas said.

  Gwen glanced at her and registered her conciliatory tone. If Dorcas had been waving an olive branch in front of their faces, Gwen wouldn’t have been surprised.

  Frankly, Gwen was amazed at herself. She was taking a side, voicing an opinion, disagreeing with a man she had every intention of going to bed with later on. That was so unlike her.

  “I would appreciate a suggestion.” Marc sounded weary. His unspoken implication was that a suggestion was preferable to a confrontation, which Gwen was giving him.

  Gwen pulled in her horns instantly. She didn’t want to romp all over a guy when he was already down for the count. She still thought he needed to let Josette figure things out for herself, but she’d say so more gently.

  Dorcas took another sip of her wine. “Maybe Josette needs to get to know herself better. What does she like to do in her spare time?”

  “Nothing that would allow her to make a living,” Marc said. “She writes poetry, plays the piano, paints watercolors.” He looked over at Gwen. “And before you tell me she should set up an easel beside the Seine, let me tell you that those artists struggle to survive. It all sounds very romantic, but in reality it is a tough life.”

  “I wasn’t going to say that.” But she had been thinking it.

  “Your sister sounds like a very creative person,” Dorcas said.

  “Yes, she is.” Marc swallowed the last of his wine and set the glass on the coffee table. “And I believe a person should have hobbies. But she needs a career.”

  “Do you have hobbies?” Gwen asked.

  He looked uncomfortable. “Well . . . no. I have not felt the need for them at this point. I love my work, and I—”

  “Exactly,” Gwen said. “I don’t have hobbies, either. I was lucky enough to grow up in the florist business, a profession I happen to love even more than my parents did. You latched on to a career you loved, so you don’t feel the driving need for hobbies, either.”

  Dorcas got up to pour the last of the wine in Gwen’s and Marc’s glasses. “In other words, it’s better to have work you love than work you tolerate so you have the money for your hobbies.”

  Marc groaned. “Of course it is. I only wish she would learn to love something that paid a decent wage. I hate that she is dropping out of school. And I wish I knew what she had said in the e-mail I deleted.”

  “I can guess.” Gwen took another swallow of her wine and picked up a cracker. The more wine she had, the less she wanted to fight with Marc and the more she wanted to jump his bones.

  “I can guess, too,” Dorcas said. “I’m afraid your success intimidates her.”

  Gwen nodded. The wine and excellent cheese had mellowed her stance considerably. “Not that it’s your fault, but you must be a tough act to follow. Josette can’t compete, so she’s giving up.” Gwen knew all about that, although she’d given up in a different arena. She’d let Annie be the pretty, popular one.

  “It should not be a competition.” Marc’s expression revealed pure frustration.

  “Drink your wine,” Gwen said gently. “Have
another piece of that terrific cheese. It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Then I probably need a case of wine and a wheel of cheese to help me with Josie.” With a sigh, he picked up his glass and took another square of cheese.

  Settling into the red wingback, Dorcas gazed at him with compassion. “She could also feel she’s not living up to your expectations.”

  “She would be correct.” Marc swirled the wine in his goblet and stared at the red liquid sliding down the inside of the glass. “At the very least, I expect her to stay in school.”

  “But she knows she’s wasting your parents’ money,” Gwen said. “Until she figures out what she wants to do, quitting makes a lot of sense. I say don’t worry about it.”

  “Easy enough to say, but very difficult to do.” But he took another sip of wine, and his jaw relaxed a little. He ate the cheese before turning to her. “Perhaps you could help her sort this out.”

  “Me?”

  “Certainement. She is afraid to try new things, but you could give her courage. You were acting shy when I first met you, but less than a day later, look at you.” He swept a hand to include her hair and her outfit. “Confident enough to argue with me.” He didn’t sound too upset about it. In fact, there was a certain amount of excitement in his tone.

  Awareness zinged through her. Marc found confidence sexy. Why not? So did she. “To be honest, I’m not sure how that came about.”

  “I am.” Heat simmered in Marc’s eyes. “You held your breath and jumped in.”

  That did describe the past twenty-something hours. She seemed to be learning how to be assertive by doing it. The more confident she acted, the more confident she felt. “But there’s no reason your sister would want to confide in me,” she said. “I don’t even know her.”

  Marc continued to hold her gaze. “You will.”

  A surge of anticipation left her quivering. If she’d ever worried that this was a fling for Marc, if she’d ever worried that he was a botanist with a girl in every floral shop, those worries were over. He wanted her to meet his sister.

  As she savored the idea of that, the front door opened. “I’m back!” Ambrose came into the parlor, his cheeks ruddy from the cold.