Sympathetic Magic (The Witches of Cleopatra Hill Book 4)

by Christine Pope

  He moved slowly at first, then began to slam into her harder and harder, his breath coming in gusts, his jaw tight. Was he trying to hold off, so she might climax first? She didn’t know for sure. All she did know was that her limited experience had never prepared her for this, for the sensation that every stroke, every thrust seemed to build in her, her body clenching around him, driving him deeper, her own breathing shallow and trembling.

  Goddess help me, I do love this man.

  Margot did climax before him, but only by a few seconds. Then she could feel his body tense, and he cried out, slamming into her as the orgasm shuddered its way through his body. He finally collapsed on top of her, but she didn’t mind, loved how she could feel his weight pressed against her breasts and her stomach, her legs and her arms. It was as if he wanted to continue the connection, make sure it was felt along every inch of both their bodies.

  Eventually, though, he pulled away and more or less collapsed on one side of her. His hand reached out and sought hers, fingers twining around one another, then giving a gentle squeeze. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, seemed content to lie there next to her, their breathing eventually settling and calming. She was glad of the time he was giving her, time she desperately needed to sort out what had just happened. Lucas had made love to her. She couldn’t call it just sex. She’d had casual sex before, and this was nothing like that.

  Everything had changed, and she didn’t know what in the world to do about it.

  11

  Lucas sensed Margot wasn’t quite up for talking, so after a long moment he gently released her hand from his, then got up from the bed so he could go to the bathroom and get himself more or less cleaned up. After disposing of the condom and rinsing himself off, he splashed some more water on his face, hoping that would clear his head.

  He’d somehow known it would be spectacular, but he still hadn’t expected…that. Funny how it was the cool and collected ones who turned out to be the fieriest in bed. Just the merest recollection of the way she had felt, the way she had tasted, made him begin to harden again. Damn. Not that he wouldn’t mind going for round two, but he had a feeling Margot might need a little more space than that.

  To distract himself, he got a clean pair of underwear out of the lowboy he kept in the dressing area of his bathroom, then pulled on a fresh T-shirt as well. Hoping that was enough to prove to Margot he wasn’t ready to start all over again, he went back out to the bedroom. She had already put her underwear back on, and was just picking up her camisole from where it had landed on the floor.

  “Hungry?” he asked, and she started.

  “What?”

  “Well, it’s almost seven. I was wondering if you were hungry.”

  Seeming to consider, she paused, camisole still in one hand. Lucas was just fine if she wanted to stay like that, so he could enjoy looking at the curve of her breasts as defined by the black lace bra she wore. Who knew she’d be hiding something that hot under the simple clothing she wore?

  Then she said, “I do think I worked up something of an appetite.”

  Something about the small smile that played around her mouth as she gave him that reply made a wave of heat pass over him. To hide his obvious reaction, he bent and picked up his jeans from the floor, and hoped he’d be able to get them on over his growing erection.

  “Well, let’s see what we can rustle up,” he replied, repressing a groan as he stuffed himself into his pants.

  She nodded and slipped into her own jeans, then pulled her sweater over her head. As she did so, he grabbed his discarded shirt and drew it on, fingers fumbling with the buttons. Amazing how he was still feeling tremors from that orgasm.

  Or maybe not so amazing. He’d been with a lot of women, but never one like Margot.

  If she noticed the effect she’d had on him, she showed no sign of it. After pulling on her socks, she waited for him as he finished the last of his buttons, then headed for the door.

  “Aren’t you going to turn that off?” she inquired, inclining her head toward the fireplace.

  “No,” he said. “It’ll help to keep the room warm. A night like this, with all that snow piled up on the roof? The furnace can use all the help it can get. I figured you’d rather come back to a warm bed.” And then he stopped himself, because he realized he’d made a pretty big assumption there. Just because they’d slept together, it didn’t mean they would actually…sleep together.

  But she didn’t contradict him, only said, “Yes, I would.”

  Again he could feel himself flush with heat, needing her all over again, but she’d basically just made him a promise that this wasn’t going to be a one-time occurrence.

  He really couldn’t ask for much more than that.

  * * *

  It should have been awkward to bustle around the kitchen, rustling up dinner after the experience they’d just shared, but strangely, it wasn’t. Again Margot found herself enjoying the process, getting out the chicken breasts, simmering them with the sauce Lucas had bought. Maybe Rachel McAllister would have tisk-tisked at using something pre-made like that, but Margot had to admit that it did really speed up the process.

  Lucas brought the mostly empty bottle of wine in from the living room, and they finished it off while she cooked, finding herself lightheaded, but not really tipsy. No, it wasn’t the wine that made her feel giddy. It was Lucas Wilcox.

  She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this way. Bad enough that they’d had sex, but sex was something you could walk away from, no strings attached. But this warmth in her breast every time she looked at him, the way her breath wanted to catch when he turned around and those dark eyes, a warm brown that contrasted with the near-black of his hair, caught hers? Bad news. Very bad news. It meant she cared. Cared a lot. She’d already whispered the “L” word in her mind, but now she found it even more difficult to acknowledge. She loved him, and she’d slept with him.

  Some people might say she’d gone way, way past the point of no return.

  He came up behind her, pushed her hair away from the back of her neck. The warmth of his lips touched the sensitive skin, and her body heated with need all over again.

  “That smells good,” he said, once he’d straightened up again.

  She wasn’t sure if he meant her skin or her hair or the food she was cooking. Maybe it didn’t really matter. “It should be ready soon.”

  “Then I’d better get the table set.”

  Her gaze followed him as he went out to the dining room, his hands full with cutlery and paper napkins. The place mats they’d used for lunch were still sitting on the table, so it didn’t take much time for him to get set up. But she liked watching him go to and fro, watching the way he moved, the strength of his body under the casual loose-fitting clothing. She realized then that he was dressed very much like he’d been in that one photo with his mother, where he’d been barely more than a boy.

  He was definitely all man now, though. More man than she’d ever thought she’d have.

  Somehow she managed to will away the throbbing that particular thought brought on, and focused on getting the food transferred to dishes and bowls. It was all pretty easy — the chicken in the mole sauce, the rice, the black beans. And when she began to bring it out, she noticed that Lucas had opened another bottle of wine.

  She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he grinned. “Were you planning on driving anywhere?”

  No, she wasn’t. The only place she planned to go at the end of the evening was right back into his bed. Maybe sooner. “Not really. It just feels…decadent.”

  “I think it’s time you let your hair down, don’t you?”

  Oh, yes. Loose and wild and free, just the way she was feeling now. Reality would probably catch up eventually, but in the meantime she planned to enjoy herself.

  They sat down, and Lucas poured her some wine while she settled her napkin in her lap. When he raised his glass, he said, “What should we toast?”

  Her gaze strayed to the high
windows in the living room, where snow was still falling, pale blurs against the black of night. Goddess bless the snow, the cocoon of privacy and isolation it provided. She lifted her glass as well. “To snowstorms.”

  “To snowstorms,” he echoed, clinking his wine glass against hers.

  They drank. It was a tempranillo this time, a good pairing with the chicken mole, which turned out to be surprisingly tasty, considering the sauce had come out of a pouch. And although Margot had expected some awkwardness, there really wasn’t any. They talked some more about their families, about how Lucas had a degree from Northern Pines in mathematics, of all things. That surprised her more than she cared to admit, but he only shrugged and said, “I always liked numbers. It was something Damon and I enjoyed talking about. There’s something pure about math. And it’s helped a lot with financial planning for the clan.”

  He was so off-hand about the whole thing that she let it go, and made herself still her own tiny pang of jealousy. Not that she would have lasted two months as a math major, but just that he had the opportunity to stay in his clan’s territory and still go to a real four-year university, where the only thing Cottonwood had to offer was a community college. True, there was Embry-Riddle over in Prescott, although it had never been an option for her, as she wasn’t interested in aviation or engineering. That had been Clay’s field of expertise.

  She shut that thought down right away. Here, enjoying the afterglow of the lovemaking with Lucas and listening to the warm timbre of his voice, admiring the way the candlelight lent an additional warmth to his olive-toned skin, the last thing she wanted to think about was Clay McAllister.

  And from time to time she would pause in the conversation and notice the way Lucas was watching her, like a child who couldn’t really believe that his parents had gotten him a pony for Christmas, but even that didn’t feel awkward. More…empowering, that she should be on the receiving end of such admiration and astonishment.

  Then the lights flickered and went out, and Margot gave a little gasp. They weren’t in complete darkness, as the tapers on the table had been lit, and a faint glow emanated from the living room, where the fire still burned.

  “Does this happen often?” she asked. It certainly did back in Jerome, where during a good thunderstorm her cottage stood about a fifty-fifty chance of losing power, but she’d thought things would be more robust here, as they were so much newer.

  He shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned. “From time to time. It’s not that big a deal. It’ll come on eventually. And the heat is gas, and so are the water heater and the stove, so we don’t really have that much to worry about.”

  No, they didn’t. They had the fire, and candlelight, and each other. She drank some more wine, then said, “So I suppose that rules out watching anything on that big flat-screen of yours.”

  His teeth flashed as he smiled. “No, I had something a little better in mind.”

  * * *

  Thank God the fireplace in his bedroom was natural gas as well. It lent warmth and a dim, intimate light to the room, making Margot appear like some goddess of flame and shadow in its reflection as she laughed and set her glass of wine down on the nightstand, then pulled her sweater over her head. She did so with almost a forced boldness, as if she’d never done something like that before, had always waited for her partner to undress her.

  He was hard already, watching her. No, scratch that — he’d been hard during almost the whole dinner, listening to the soft, low tones of her voice, seeing that tumble of dark hair fall free on her shoulders. He’d done his best to ignore his body’s response to her, but now that he was here with her again in his bedroom, he didn’t have to deny any longer what she did to him.

  Following her lead, he drew off his own clothes, fingers clumsy in their hastiness to get rid of the annoying pieces of cloth that stood between him and feeling her satiny skin against his once more. She pulled back the covers and climbed into his bed, then waited for him there, naked, skin so pale and perfect against the warm brown of the sheets.

  In reality it was probably only about thirty seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he could be there in bed next to her, his body pressed against her, the exquisite softness of her breasts rubbing against his chest. He ran his hands over her, wanting to touch every part of her, sliding down her slender waist, over the curve of her hips, down to where she was so wet and ready for him.

  Her eyes shut, lashes dark and full against the pallor of her skin, and her breathing quickened, breasts rising and falling as she gasped and writhed against him. So, so responsive. Her passion still surprised him, but he wasn’t going to question it, wasn’t going to do anything except touch her, fingers gliding over her, stroking her, until he felt her spasm around him, shudders moving through her entire body.

  She reached out to touch him then, and he groaned as her fingers wrapped around him, working slowly, deliberately, not too fast or too hard — he could tell she wanted him to last as long as possible. That wouldn’t be easy, not with the way he’d been aroused for the better part of an hour already. But he slowed his breathing to work in concert with her caresses, knowing he didn’t want to spend himself in her hand.

  And then she let go of him, shifted, began to move so she would be on top of him. Somehow he summoned the strength to take her by the arms, to hold her in place and say, “Wait — I have to get a condom — ”

  “No,” she cut in. “I want to feel you. Really feel you. Promise me it’ll be safe.”

  “It will,” he gasped. “I’ve got stock in Trojan. But you — ”

  “I’ll use the charm to protect me.”

  “Because that worked so well for Angela.”

  Her expression grew severe — or as severe as it could, given that her lips were still parted, swollen with his kisses, her eyes wide, dark pools of desire. “Extenuating circumstances. You’re not the next primus, Lucas — there’s no supernatural biological imperative to deal with here.”

  “Oh, there’s a biological imperative,” he began, but he didn’t get any further than that, as she lowered herself onto him, and he felt her warmth surround him. Her eyes closed, and she let out a moan, and that was the end of any self-control he might have possessed. He began to move with her, plunging deeper and deeper into her as she rocked her hips in time with his thrusts. Had there ever been anything as beautiful as her riding him, head tilted back, long dark hair falling to brush against his thighs? Her hands crept up to cup her breasts, and he’d thought he was aroused before, but now, seeing her caress herself like that, completely lost in the moment, he couldn’t hold himself back, burying himself in her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.

  Like a late summer cloudburst, the orgasm swept over him, wrenching a moan from his throat and an answering cry from Margot. Her eyes were still shut, and then he could feel her clenching around him, feel her own climax hit, and they both rode the aftershocks for a few seconds afterward, until at last she collapsed onto the bed next to him, gasping, her body shuddering. She lay there for a little while, and then let out a little hiccuping laugh and said, “I think I need to get cleaned up.”

  The downside of not using a condom. He lay there, too spent to move, as she somehow managed to wriggle out of bed and totter into the bathroom. The water ran for a bit, and then she returned and picked up her underwear. After a pause, she shook her head. “I think I need to duck into my room and get some clean things.”

  He nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She flashed him a quick smile, retrieved the rest of her clothes, and hurried out into the corridor. While she was gone, he might have dozed a bit; he couldn’t be sure how long it had been, but now she was wearing a dark red sleep shirt of some kind, and her face looked glossy and clean. Under other circumstances, he might have minded the shirt, but in a way it was sexy, as it revealed her long, slim legs and was low-cut enough to show the faintest hint of the shadow between her breasts, and yet covered everything else up.
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  When she slid in next to him and kissed him, he tasted the mint on her breath and realized she must have brushed her teeth. “You still had some wine left,” he pointed out.

  “It’s all right. I really didn’t want any more.”

  That seemed to be the signal they were done for the night, which meant he should probably get moving and brush his teeth as well. It took him a minute to summon the energy, but eventually he got up, splashed some water on his face, and then climbed back in the bed. His eyes didn’t immediately adjust to the fire-lit darkness of his bedroom after the bright illumination in the bathroom, but when they did, he saw that Margot was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Hey,” he said. “What’re you thinking about?”

  She hesitated for so long that he wasn’t certain she planned to reply. “Just…thinking.”

  He could practically feel the turmoil within her, now that some of the effects of their lovemaking had subsided. The situation didn’t have to be this difficult for her, but it seemed as if she was determined to make it so, as if she couldn’t accept that the two of them were meant to be together. Well, time to make her realize she didn’t have any choice but to accept it.

  “Okay, here’s a question,” he said. “But I want you to promise me one thing.”

  Rolling over so she could face him, she replied, “Promise you what?”

  “That when I ask you this question, you’ll answer quickly. Don’t think. Feel. Tell me from your gut.”

  She gave a not very convincing laugh. “That sounds ominous.”

  “Just promise.”

  “Okay, I promise.”

  He drew in a breath. “If someone asked you what you wanted, what you really wanted, for your life…what would you tell them?”

  Although she’d promised, he’d still expected her to stop, weigh it in her mind, and then tell him something she thought was correct but wasn’t actually what she truly wanted.