Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4)

by Christine Pope

  Lucas nodded but didn’t reply immediately. Well, Margot’s story explained the “Paolo Cantu” in the “Father” section on her birth certificate…and it also explained her dark, lithe looks, which made her stand out amongst the McAllisters, most of whom had hair in shades of light brown and red and even blonde. “Does he…does he know about you?”

  “Oh, yes. My mother made it very clear to him that she didn’t expect him to support me or anything, but every year for my birthday he’d send me these beautiful little hand-painted cards with Italian scenes on them. Sort of like limited-edition postcards, I guess. He got married a few years after I was born, and I have a grand total of five half-siblings, and a bunch of nieces and nephews.” A faint smile. “So I suppose you and I have that in common. I’ve never met any of them, though, as they’ve never come to the United States, and obviously I’m a little limited in my ability to travel.”

  A silence fell. Lucas wasn’t sure what he should say…or even if she wanted him to say anything at all. He had a feeling that she’d never told anyone else that story, although of course the members of her clan of her mother’s generation would know something of it. At last he cleared his throat and said, “Thank you.”

  She didn’t ask him for what. “You’re welcome.”

  In that moment, the illusion of the weathercast disappeared, and the television went back to normal. The forecaster was saying, “Low pressure is deepening over the four corners region, bringing with it increased chances of snow in northern Arizona and western New Mexico. Up to ten inches of fresh snow are forecast for Flagstaff. A travel advisory has been issued — ”

  Lucas picked up the remote and shut off the TV. He didn’t need to hear any more. Come what may, it looked like his wish to be snowbound here with Margot was about to come true.

  * * *

  Oddly, after she’d unburdened herself of one of her deepest, darkest secrets, Margot felt better about being with Lucas, rather than worse. He’d listened calmly, even sympathetically, and she supposed that he, in his own way, had had as unconventional a childhood as she. It was something else that, against all odds, they had in common.

  After that they’d gone back out to the living room, which afforded a much better view of the falling snow. She was glad that Lucas had apparently bought out the local grocery store, since it looked as if the roads were going to be impassable for a good while.

  And shouldn’t she be a little more upset by that scenario than she was? Even a day earlier, the thought of being trapped in this house with the Wilcox warlock had been enough to bring on mild symptoms of panic. Now, though, she thought she might not mind all that much. She wasn’t sure she wanted to analyze what had brought on that particular shift in her attitude.

  He got another fire going, and they settled on the couch — not too close to one another — and talked about their families, about what this integration of the clans Angela was urging would mean in the end. In a way, Margot thought it would be easier on the Wilcoxes than the McAllisters. They’d always been the more powerful family, and had never really looked on the Jerome contingent as much of a threat, whereas the McAllisters had a long history of mistrust and fear when it came to the Flagstaff clan.

  And the whole time the snow fell, drifting this way and that, deepening and darkening until Lucas had to get up and turn on a few lights.

  “Does it get like this often?” she asked, once he’d settled himself back next to her on the couch.

  “Define ‘often,’” he replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s early for a storm this big, but we’ve had worse as early as October. It’s not like Minnesota or something, though — we’ll probably wake up tomorrow to blue skies. We don’t go weeks and weeks with unending snow or anything like that.”

  The “wake up” comment made her startle a little, but she realized he wasn’t trying to hint at anything, was only pointing out that these things rarely lasted all through the day and the night. She squinted out the window, hoping he was right. At the rate that snow was falling, they’d have a hard time opening the back door…not that she really wanted to go out in the weather to test that particular hypothesis.

  He glanced at his watch. “Ready for lunch? Actually, let me rephrase — are you ready to make lunch? I’m not sure how much use I’ll be.”

  “Grilled cheese and soup?”

  “Sounds perfect.” A grimace, and he said, “I am sorry about this. I really intended to take you around town and do the usual wining and dining and so on. I didn’t mean to lure you up here just so you could spend the whole time fixing me food.”

  He looked so rueful that she had to laugh. “It’s all right. You wined and dined me just fine last night. I don’t mind returning the favor.”

  And really, she didn’t. It was a joy to work in that kitchen, which had three times the counter space she was used to. Lucas did help, too, slicing the cheese for her, then setting the table in the dining room. It was easy enough to whip up a couple of sandwiches and heat up the carton of organic tomato soup she found in the pantry.

  Perfect comfort food for a day when they could stay inside, feel sheltered and safe and warm as the snow continued to drift down outdoors. As she ate, Margot thought briefly of her phone, still sitting on the dresser up in the guest bedroom. Perhaps there was a chance that someone had tried to get in touch with her during the last few hours, but she somehow doubted that. Anyway, all anyone back in Jerome had to do was look at the weather reports and realize that Margot Emory wasn’t going anyplace anytime soon.

  After lunch was eaten and the kitchen cleaned up, Lucas actually did suggest checkers as a way to pass the time. That was fine with her. At least he hadn’t tried to get her to play chess. That was a skill she’d never acquired, although it was fun sometimes to watch Boyd and Bryce have one of their grudge matches. They both seemed to take what was only a game so very personally.

  But she’d never been all that competitive, so it was easy enough to sit with Lucas in the living room and play game after game, chatting casually about what they might do tomorrow if the weather managed to clear up, and how long it would take to get the roads plowed all over again. The dark outside shifted to the true dark of early evening, and Lucas excused himself for a moment, coming back to the living room with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “It’s after five, so it’s safe,” he teased.

  Margot wasn’t sure how safe it really was, actually, but she didn’t protest. At the moment, she was feeling warm and relaxed, safe in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever been. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she had the stray thought, I think I’m okay with this.

  Whatever “this” might be.

  Lucas poured some wine into one of the glasses and handed it to her. She held it, waiting until he was done getting some for himself. Afterward, he lifted his glass and said, “Here’s to a good ski season.”

  “Do you ski?” she asked, amused.

  “No. One of my cousins broke his leg in two places when we were both in high school, and although our healer patched him up, that sort of cured me of wanting to tackle the slopes. But hey — it’s good for the local economy, and someone might as well get some use out of all this snow.”

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  They clinked glasses, and Lucas and Margot both took a swallow of wine. Yes, that tasted good, and felt even better going down. Rich and fruity, with just the slightest hint of oak. It went well with the fire, with the falling night outside the enormous windows that made up one wall of the room. And yet she didn’t feel exposed at all, sitting here like this in their little oasis of light and warmth. Only trees faced the house; the neighbors’ homes were safely hidden on either side. So different from Jerome, where you tended to be piled up on one another.

  “Are there any other Wilcoxes in this neighborhood?” she asked.

  “A couple. My cousin Roxanne and her husband are two streets over, and down on the other side of the hill is my cousin Tom a
nd his family.” He shot her a curious look. “Why?”

  “Just wondering. It seems like you have so much land to spread out on here, and yet I didn’t get to see even a tenth of the town yesterday.”

  “Sorry about that — ”

  She waved a hand. “I didn’t mean it that way. The weather isn’t your fault. It’s just nice that you can have your family near…but not too near, if you know what I mean.”

  “It is good to have some privacy,” he agreed. Then he paused, his eyes meeting hers, as if to say, And I know exactly what I’d like to do with that privacy….

  This time the heat that went over her wasn’t unwelcome at all…and had nothing to do with the fire in front of her. She drew in a breath, watching Lucas as well, the silence between them growing and growing until it felt almost like a live thing, like some entity their unspoken attraction had given life to.

  She didn’t know which of them set their glass down first. All she did know was that suddenly his fingers were tangling in hers, and he was pulling her toward him, and then his mouth was on hers, insistent, as if he’d been holding off for as long as he could but didn’t have the will to do so any longer. And that was fine, because her resistance seemed to have fled, leaving nothing but the desire for him, the need to touch him and taste him, to open her mouth to his, feel his hands let go of hers and now move to her shoulders, pulling her close.

  Her body pressed against his, and she once again marveled at how firm and strong he felt, how very real, as if everything else around her was a dream and Lucas the only solid thing in it. One hand tangled in her loose hair, moving up to run over her scalp, and she shivered at the strangely intimate touch.

  He lifted his mouth from hers, whispered hoarsely, “I want to take you upstairs.”

  She knew what that meant, also knew that he was asking her permission, that even now, when she could feel how aroused he was, he was trying to hold back, to allow her to retain control of the situation. Only she didn’t want to be in control. She wanted to let go of everything, every worry, every doubt, every fear, and revel in the moment, of being with Lucas.

  “I want you to take me,” she replied, her own voice barely above a murmur.

  That seemed to be enough for him, as he scooped her up in his arms and began to move toward the staircase. Wait — was he actually going to carry her up to his bedroom?

  It seemed he was. And she wouldn’t protest, would only allow herself to revel in the sensation of being held in his arms like this, of being carried as if she weighed nothing, up all those steps, moving down the upstairs corridor, all the way to his bedroom. At last he yanked back the bedclothes and then set her down, pausing for a second to retrieve something from the nightstand. Margot wasn’t sure at first what he was doing, until she realized he’d picked up a remote for the gas fireplace on the opposite side of the room so he could switch it on.

  How decadent. She smiled up at him as the fire came to life, seeming to echo the heat rippling along every vein, every nerve ending. His gaze met hers, dark with lust, urgent with need.

  “I’m glad you never put your shoes back on,” he said, reaching for the button on her jeans and undoing it, then sliding them off.

  She gasped, although she wasn’t sure if it was the shock of the cool air in the room on her now-exposed flesh, or that he’d moved so quickly, now that he was certain she wanted the same thing he did. To show she was just as much a participant as he, she undid his jeans as well, pulling them down, trying to keep her eyes from widening at the obvious erection straining his gray boxer-briefs. His legs were sturdy, thick with muscle, and she swallowed.

  But she didn’t have time to dwell on that, because now he was grasping her sweater and the camisole she wore beneath it, and pulling both over her head in one smooth motion. She had the absent thought that he seemed to be fairly expert at removing a woman’s clothing, but she decided it was probably best not to dwell on that. Better to be glad that she’d worn her black lace bra and matching bikini, and not something far more matronly. She actually did love pretty lingerie, although she didn’t want to examine the impulse that had led her to pack the newer and nicer items for this trip to Flagstaff.

  Lucas stood over her, staring down as if he wasn’t sure what he should say. Finally he breathed, “You’re beautiful, Margot.”

  She began to shake her head, and he cut in,

  “You are. You’re perfect.”

  Fine, she wouldn’t protest, but she would cover up her embarrassment by sitting up and unbuttoning his shirt, pulling it off and flinging it to one side. Goddess, but he was beautiful, too, with his broad shoulders and flat stomach, and the heavy muscles of his arms and chest. A fine sprinkling of dark hair there, too, just enough to make her want to run her hands over it. She’d never liked men whose bodies were as smooth as a pre-pubescent boy’s.

  Once again their gazes locked, and it seemed he could see the admiration in her eyes, because he sank down on the bed next to her, pulling her close, her breasts crushed against his bare chest, his mouth seeking hers once more. One of his hands roamed up her back, found the hooks of her bra, and undid them. It loosened, and he lifted it away from her body, throwing it to join the pile of their other discarded clothing.

  Then it was only flesh to flesh as he kissed her again, and her entire body throbbed with need for him, for him to provide the release she’d been wanting for so long, before she would even acknowledge its existence. His thumb hooked into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down, and then his finger was slipping into her, stroking her, and she cried out, pressing against him, fingers digging into his back as he continued to caress her, touching her exactly the way she needed to be touched.

  The orgasm slammed through her, causing her not so much to cry out as to actually scream, as if she were giving voice to all the years of pent-up need, releasing those barren days and nights, proclaiming to the world that she actually was still alive. She clung to Lucas, breathing so heavily those breaths might as well have been sobs.

  “Hey,” his voice came at her ear, a soothing murmur. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I just — that was incredible.”

  “You think that was incredible?” he asked, and his voice held the tinge of laughter she knew all too well. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  And then he was kissing his way down her stomach, moving lower, and she knew what he was about to do, felt as if she should protest, tell him it was too soon for that…but she wanted it. She wanted his tongue there, wanted him to make her come again.

  He moved in slow, luxurious strokes, as if savoring her taste. Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, feeling the life in those thick strands, body pulsing with heat as he made love to her with his tongue. She could feel it building in her, a throbbing need, her very fingers and toes tingling, and then it went off within her, flooding every inch of her body with heat, with rolling waves of ecstasy.

  At some point he must have pulled away, but she couldn’t have said for sure when, as she could only lie there, limbs trembling, breasts rising and falling as she attempted to draw in breath. Had it ever felt like that before? She didn’t think so.

  No, she knew it hadn’t.

  Lucas settled himself down next to her, reaching out to push her hair away from her face. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

  Words seemed to have abandoned her for the moment. She could only roll toward him, reach out and take him in her hand, his shaft so thick and hard she had a hard time getting her fingers to wrap all the way around him. It didn’t seem fair that she should be so satisfied, when it was clear he needed his own release. She began to work her hand up and down, and he let out a gasp, his head lolling back against the pillows. His skin under her fingers felt so soft, silk and velvet combined, and it wasn’t enough then to simply be touching him. She wanted to taste him, as he’d tasted her, and she bent and took him into her mouth, salt and a faint, faint musk touching her tong
ue.

  Now he groaned, and she continued to suckle him, one hand moving up and down while her tongue worked away at his tip, and she could feel him growing even thicker and harder, if that were possible, his breath going in and out in sharp gasps. Then his hand touched her hair, and he told her in strangled tones, “Stop, Margot. That’s incredible, but — I want to be in you. Okay?”

  Was that okay? Of course it was. She wanted to be joined with him, hadn’t really intended to bring him to climax with her mouth — it was only that she’d gotten a little carried away. “I want that, too,” she whispered.

  He ran a hand down her hair and over her cheek, a gesture so tender, so gentle, that something in her wanted to weep at his touch. But she didn’t, instead maneuvered herself up against the pillows as he reached over and opened the nightstand drawer. She knew what he was doing, wanted to protest, to say that she knew how to protect herself with Brigid’s charm — but she didn’t. He certainly hadn’t lived a celibate life, and although she was sure he’d always taken precautions, it was probably best to be safe now.

  A crinkle of the foil packet, and then he was rolling the condom on, his fingers shaking a little. Funny, since she was sure he’d done that hundreds of times before.

  But never with me, she thought then, and there was something oddly triumphant in that realization, that she had such an effect on him.

  But then she didn’t have time to think about anything else, because he was above her, dark eyes intent on hers, his hands planted firmly on either side of her. “Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

  Oh, yes, she was ready. Or at least her body was, and she’d worry about her brain later. In this moment, all she wanted was this final connection with him, this consummation that had been desired for far longer than she’d wanted to admit.

  “Yes,” she replied. “Please, Lucas.”

  That was all he needed. She was so ready for him that he slipped in easily, despite his girth, and she let out a gasp, then wrapped her legs around him, driving him deeper, wanting him there, in the very core of her being, in that place which had been empty for so long.