Even so, she looked so strikingly beautiful to him that he wondered why everyone around her didn’t pause to stare, to drink in this woman who looked like something not quite mortal, like a goddess come down to earth to survey her domain.
Her first words weren’t exactly goddess-like, however. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, sounding annoyed. “The parking structure was full, so I had to find a place farther up the street.”
“It’s fine,” he replied at once, using his friendliest, most soothing tones. “I just got here myself.”
“And you found parking?”
“Not exactly,” he admitted. “I paid the valet at the resort down the hill from the structure to park my car for me.”
“Resourceful.” Now she sounded almost rueful, as if she wished she’d thought of that herself.
Knowing he should get things moving forward, Lucas said, “I figured we’d go to Connor’s gallery first, and then decide from there which way we want to head. He told me he wasn’t planning on staying too late — Angela was feeling tired and stayed home.”
“By herself?” Margot asked, sounding almost alarmed…for her.
That hint of worry in her voice told Lucas she wasn’t quite as detached as she wanted people to believe. “No,” he told her. “Mason’s with her. Angela’s fine — she isn’t due for another five weeks, after all.”
“I’m aware of that. But twins have a tendency to come early, you know.”
Actually, he didn’t know, and was sort of surprised Margot possessed that bit of arcane knowledge. He wished Angela and Connor had volunteered that information, but then, they’d been acting fairly relaxed about the whole thing. Of course Angela was being careful and not doing anything to stress herself or the babies, but she also didn’t seem too worried about the impending delivery. Maybe it was just that she and Connor had already been through so much together that giving birth to twins didn’t seem like too big a deal to her.
“Well,” he said easily, “as I told you, she has Mason with her, and Dr. Ruiz on speed dial. But Connor still wants to get back as quickly as he can.”
Then Lucas offered his arm to Margot, and she paused before taking it with just the slightest tightening of her mouth, as if she wished she could have thought of some rational reason to refuse the gesture. But since she didn’t, he allowed himself to enjoy the gentle pressure of her arm against his, and to breathe in her scent, subtle and sweet. Something floral, although he couldn’t identify it. And was that a hint of vanilla?
Probably not a good idea to ask. He’d just let himself savor their brief closeness, even though he knew it would be over as soon as they entered the gallery. And, sure enough, once they crossed the threshold, she pulled away, pretending to be occupied with drawing off her shawl and draping it over one arm.
Oh, well. It was still something that she’d taken his arm at all. There wasn’t much time to be disappointed, because Connor seemed to spot them in that instant, coming toward them with an expression on his face that managed to be both pleased and puzzled — probably because although Lucas had said he would be here, he hadn’t said anything about bringing Margot, not when he wasn’t sure that she wouldn’t back out at the last minute.
“Thanks for stopping by,” Connor said, giving a lift of his own eyebrow in Lucas’ direction. That eyebrow seemed to indicate there would be questions later, but for now he seemed willing to let the matter go. “My pieces are over in this side room, but really, you should look around the whole place. Eli’s brought on a bunch of new artists, so there’s a lot to look at.”
“Will do,” Lucas said, and Margot added,
“It’s impressive you were able to get this many new pieces ready, what with everything that’s been going on in your life lately.”
Connor hesitated, as if attempting to determine whether her remark contained some sort of jab. He appeared to let it go, however, nodding before he said with a grin, “Well, I’m enjoying my new studio space a lot…especially since Angela’s been binge-watching A Baby Story lately. I needed something to do while I was in hiding.”
Poor kid…Connor, that is. Lucas had only vaguely heard of A Baby Story, but it sounded like something he wouldn’t want to watch a single episode of, let alone a string of them.
Even Margot looked as if she wanted to smile. But since she apparently didn’t want to go on record as criticizing her prima, she only said, “Well, I’m sure she appreciates having the time to rest.”
“Oh, yeah. She’s been doing a lot of resting lately.”
Lucas chuckled. “She might as well do it now, because in a month or so, rest is going to be the last thing on her mind.”
Connor didn’t appear at all daunted by the prospect of a couple of babies invading his life in the near future. “True. Anyway, you two take a look around — I can see Eli over there, signaling me.”
He flashed them another grin before heading farther into the interior of the gallery. Lucas pointed toward the small room where Connor’s paintings hung. “Shall we?”
* * *
Connor really did have talent. Margot had known that on an intellectual level, but the last time she’d been in this gallery, the tension had been so thick she worried that some sort of magical battle would break out between the McAllister and Wilcox contingents, and that would have been a terrible mess to clean up. Public displays of power were always so difficult to sweep under the rug, and you couldn’t get much more public than a gallery in the heart of Sedona’s uptown district.
This evening, though, couldn’t have been more different. She hadn’t spotted anyone from either clan yet, apart from Connor himself, but it was enough that she and Lucas were here together, wandering from painting to painting and chatting quite amiably about the merits of each. There were several she would have liked to purchase, actually, especially one of a stand of blazing yellow aspen trees next to a dark forest stream. It felt odd to be buying Connor’s work, though, especially with him right here in the gallery, and so she let it go for now. She could always check back in a few days and see if the painting was still available.
“Do you have many of his pieces?” she asked, after they’d exhausted his collection and went on to a display from another artist, one who worked in mixed media, with gold and copper leaf highlighting the heavily applied oils.
Lucas nodded. “A few. It was hard getting him to allow me to actually buy them — he just wanted to give them to me. I told him I wouldn’t take them unless he let me pay him a fair market price for them. But I knew he’d be going places if he kept up with his painting, even though at the time all he was doing was painting them and then stacking them up in his apartment and studio.”
“Why would he do that?” Such behavior was mystifying to her. Surely if you were lucky enough to be gifted with such talent, it was your obligation to share it with the world, not hide it away.
For a second or two Lucas didn’t say anything, but she could see his jaw tense. Then he said, sounding almost curt for him, “Damon.”
That didn’t really clear things up, but something in his expression told her she shouldn’t push it. That same reticence kept her from making an acid comment that it was all the better, then, that Damon was gone. She had a feeling that sort of remark wouldn’t go over very well at the moment.
They moved on to wander through the gallery, lingering at the pieces that captured their attention, moving more quickly past the ones that did not. Margot didn’t want to acknowledge the way she and Lucas seemed to be drawn to the same sort of work — neither of them had much use for abstract art, apparently, and they both tended to appreciate most the plein air–style landscapes, particularly the ones that brought out the wild and powerful beauty of the high desert country.
Since Connor was busy talking to an older couple, possibly some buyers, all Lucas did was wave in his cousin’s direction as they left the gallery. The next stop was a few doors down, and this time he seemed to remember that they hadn’t helped themselves to any of
the wine and hors d’oeuvres set out at Red Rock Illuminations.
“Sorry about that,” Lucas said, handing Margot a plastic cup of white wine. “I guess I got distracted.”
“It’s fine,” she replied, and really, it was. She’d forgotten, too, although now she found herself a bit thirsty, and so was grateful for the wine. “If we drank at every gallery, we’d be a mess by the end of the evening.”
“True,” he agreed, and chuckled. His expression sobered then. “I thought after this we could hit the galleries at Tlaquepaque. And — ” He broke off, looking almost embarrassed.
“And?”
“Well, I hope you don’t mind, but since we were going to be ending up there around dinnertime anyway, I went ahead and made us reservations at René.”
So much for this not really being a date. Margot had never eaten there, but she had heard René was one of Sedona’s more high-end restaurants, the sort of place that mere mortals generally reserved for birthdays and anniversaries and other special occasions. And now Lucas wanted to take her there for dinner? Not that the cost would matter to him, but surely he knew it was not the sort of place you went with a woman if you were on a casual outing.
He was watching her with those dark eyes of his, though, looking almost but not quite nervous. Waiting for her to protest, to say she didn’t think the venue was at all appropriate?
Well, if that was what he expected, then she’d do the exact opposite. “That sounds wonderful,” she said calmly. “I’ve never been, but I’ve heard it’s very good.”
At those words, he did relax visibly. “It’s excellent,” he assured her. “Our reservations are for seven, so we might as well take the trolley down there so we can make the rounds of the galleries before dinner.”
Which was what they did, squeezing onto the open-air vehicle with a mass of tourists, and locals just wanting to get out and about. During the ride from uptown to the shopping center, Margot was all too aware of Lucas’ presence behind her, the way she could feel his body pressed up against hers in the tight confines of the trolley. It was a relief when they stopped and got out. Maybe then the unwelcome warmth that had pooled somewhere in the pit of her stomach would dissipate, and she could rid her mind of the way they’d been crushed together, of how solid and strong he seemed.
If he’d been thrown off-kilter at all by that unexpected physical nearness, Lucas didn’t show it. He only smiled and guided her toward the first gallery, a place that seemed to specialize in exquisite art glass, including some truly amazing ceiling fixtures.
She murmured her appreciation, and Lucas said, “Yes, I’ve been drawn to these pieces, too. In fact, I have one in my dining room. Maybe you can come see it sometime.”
Her immediate reaction was to tell him that was impossible, that no way would she be going up to Flagstaff any time soon, let alone to his house, but there was such a hopeful light in his eyes that she didn’t have the heart to refuse him point-blank. So she simply replied, “Maybe,” and then pretended to be absorbed in inspecting a triptych depicting a stylized landscape at sunset.
Being Lucas, he didn’t push, but gave the faintest of nods before following her around the gallery until they’d made the complete circuit. From there they went to several more, where they weren’t inclined to linger, as the pieces there were too modern for their taste.
In front of the last stop was a sort of garden of copper and bronze wind sculptures, even now moving slightly, although the night was quite calm, with little wind. Margot wandered amongst them, looking at all the different configurations, and wondering if she could justify the expense of having one installed in her yard. It would look lovely, catching the sunlight, speeding up and slowing down as the capricious winds flowed over and around Cleopatra Hill.
“You like them?” Lucas asked.
“Yes. I’ve seen other wind sculptures here and there as I’ve driven around, but these are so much more substantial, so beautifully made.” She pulled her shawl more closely about her; the air had only cooled further as they’d lingered in the last gallery. Maybe she should have brought a real coat.
“Which one’s your favorite?”
What a question, one she had no intention of answering. Knowing Lucas, he’d put in a call tomorrow, buy it, and have someone over at her house installing it before she knew quite what had happened. “I couldn’t really choose,” she hedged. “They’re all so lovely.”
His mouth twitched, as if he’d guessed at the true reason for her reticence. “It is hard to pick one.” Then he pushed back the sleeve of his overcoat slightly so he could look at his watch. “It’s almost seven. We should probably head over to the restaurant now.”
A situation fraught with its own perils, but at least they’d be inside, and warm. And, despite the cheese she’d nibbled two galleries earlier, she was hungry. She’d just have to do her best to keep the conversation as light and undate-like as possible.
Once again Lucas offered her his arm, and she took, knowing that protesting wouldn’t do her any good. Anyway, the cobblestone walkways here were a little treacherous, and she was wearing heeled boots, so she might as well accept the support he was offering. Just something practical and friendly. Now if she could only keep her thoughts from dwelling on how strong he felt, or how…intoxicating…it was to have him this close to her.
Intoxicating?
Get a hold of yourself, she thought, keeping her chin up and what she hoped was a pleasant smile fixed on her features. You’re a grown woman, not some silly sixteen-year-old mooning over your high school’s quarterback. Not that she’d ever done such a thing; jocks had never been her type. She risked a quick glance over at Lucas and wondered if he’d played sports in school. He certainly had the build for it.
She doubted she’d have the courage to ask.
But then they were at the restaurant, and the maitre d’ was smiling at Lucas and guiding them to a secluded table off in a corner. Had Lucas slipped the man a twenty to get such a prime spot? Probably not…most likely it was just more of the warlock’s “luck” in action.
The place was elegant, but in a low-key way, with its muted blue-gray walls and subdued lighting. She waited while the maitre d’ pulled out her chair, then sat down and set her purse and shawl on the empty seat next to her. Lucas took his place directly opposite her, for which she was glad. She’d always preferred having a dinner companion across the table rather than beside her, as at least that way she wouldn’t get a crick in her neck while trying to hold a conversation.
After giving both of them menus and Lucas the wine list, the man told them their server would be along shortly. Margot opened her menu at once, glad of the opportunity to look at something else beside her companion’s expectant expression. Yes, the place was expensive, but she wouldn’t allow herself to worry about that. Lucas had chosen the restaurant, so certainly he didn’t mind what he’d be paying for dinner.
“Any wine preferences?” he asked.
“Not really,” she replied. “I’m afraid I’m not much of an expert. I do prefer reds, though.”
“So do I,” he said. His gaze seemed to linger on her mouth, and she wondered if she would’ve done better to have chosen a lighter shade of lipstick, rather than the warm brick color she wore. Then he returned his attention to the wine list. “Well, it’s hard to go wrong with a Bordeaux…unless you’re ordering fish.”
She shook her head. “I don’t really care for fish all that much. I was thinking of the antelope, just because I’ve never had it.”
“It’s excellent. And the Bordeaux will work well with that.”
The waiter appeared then, and Lucas requested the wine, then waited while she placed her order. He went with steak, and they both asked for salad, and the waiter headed off to the kitchen, leaving them alone together.
Why she should feel so intimidated now, when they’d already spent the greater part of two hours together, Margot wasn’t sure. Maybe it was simply that they were facing one another in a more fo
rmal setting. The gallery walk was one thing, but no one could call having dinner in this restaurant anything other than a date.
Even as she began casting about in her mind for something innocuous they could talk about, Lucas said, “You know, I’m really curious how you came to be an elder.”
Oh, Goddess. That was the last thing she wanted to discuss. Maybe she could deflect him somehow. “What, don’t you think I’m a strong enough witch to be an elder?”
“That’s not it at all,” he began, then stopped abruptly when the waiter approached their table with the wine. A brief interval while the cork was removed, and Lucas did the ritual tasting of the small amount the waiter poured into his glass. Custom satisfied, the man tipped a more substantial amount into both their glasses before saying their salads would be out soon and then departing.
Any hopes she’d had of Lucas abandoning the topic disappeared when he sipped some wine, and said, “It just seems a little strange to an outsider, is all. Angela mentioned once that you’d been an elder for almost ten years. What, were you still in college when they asked you?”
She allowed herself a small, if albeit bitter, smile. “Hardly. I was twenty-seven.”
His eyebrows went up at that. “So you weren’t really an elder in any sense of the word.”
“That’s not how it works, Lucas.” Really, she shouldn’t be discussing her clan’s inner workings with a Wilcox, no matter what Angela might say about putting the past aside and working together for a better future for both families. But he kept gazing at her, clearly expecting her to answer, and she found herself saying, “It’s not about age. Not really. True, most of the time an elder is asked to serve when he or she is older, in the prime of his or her power, but I’d always been very strong.” She told him this simply, as it wasn’t boasting. Her power was part of her, like the color of her eyes. She hadn’t chosen it — perhaps the Goddess had chosen it for her, but the strength of her gift wasn’t something Margot had precisely achieved on her own.
Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4) Page 5