Serena's Magic

by Heather Graham

  Justin bathed quickly in cold water and then poured a generous portion of whiskey into a cup of the coffee Martha provided him nightly in a thermos so that he could work at night undisturbed.

  But he had no interest in working tonight. He stared at his meticulous notes on the trials and the Mathers in particular with absent distaste. His concentration was simply shot. He slipped the cover over his typewriter and prowled his room in his robe, raking his fingers repeatedly through his hair.

  It had been his torture knowing that she was just a few doors away. And now he had to wonder what the hell had been the matter with him to threaten her or offer ultimatums.

  Although he had spent his life studying human behavior, he had no explanation for his own.

  She was simply a fever in his blood. When he closed his eyes at night he saw her, the sparkling violet eyes, the waving mass of chestnut hair, the simple beauty of her curving smile.

  And, he thought wryly, the simple beauty of her other curves, too.

  But though he longed to hold those curves, there was more to his obsession. He had never been so affected by a woman, and he was still a little stunned. He loved to merely watch her walk across a room. The soft sound of her voice seemed to permeate his soul. He loved the keen glitter of interest which would so often sharpen her eyes.

  He stopped his pacing and drained his spiked coffee, then lay upon his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  I love her mind, he thought.

  Sure, man, you love her mind. That’s why you’re lying here wondering if you ought to try sleeping in the bathtub with the water high on cold.

  But I do, he thought wryly. I love her mind. I want her so badly that I can’t function, but part of that wanting is because I love all that is mirrored in those beautiful eyes.

  He had spent his days subtly querying anyone he could about her. And as he had expected, he had only learned nice things. She had adored her husband; they had been a marvelous couple, always doing things together. She had never even noticed the glances of other men.

  And when the Donnesys had been injured in a car accident together, Serena had flown to be with them so that they could come home rather than be confined in the hospital, old and alone.

  So many things he had learned about her. Beautiful things.

  Too bad, he thought dryly, that someone hadn’t mentioned her brother. He had almost blown the whole thing tonight when she mentioned “Tom.”

  Oh, God, he thought, I am obsessed. I’m in love, and I didn’t think I really believed in love.

  I even want children with her.

  Jenny, he thought then, I wonder what she’ll think of Jenny. She doesn’t even know I have a daughter.

  Justin stood up and glanced at the paneling to the right of his bed. He turned away from it.

  He had been exploring since he arrived—and discovered the catch to the hidden door. It led to the hidden stairway.

  And the stairway veered down, and then back up.

  To Serena’s room.

  Get away from there, he grumbled silently to himself.

  He started pacing again. Damn, but she was different. He winced with the memory of his last encounter with Denise at the restaurant. She had flown into a rage first, then into a fit of very dramatic tears when he had said it was over between them. She had assumed it was another woman—and at that time, she had only been partly right. He had realized that he couldn’t continue the empty, shallow relationship any longer. But even as she had cried, he had wondered how many tears had actually been shed for him. The tears had faded too quickly and become another rage in which she had informed him that his career would falter without her. She had spurred him on; she had made him what he was.

  He suddenly discovered that he was not only staring at the paneling again, but that he had stopped his pacing directly in front of the catch.

  I can’t, he thought. I gave her a week.

  Yeah, and what happens when she ignores me, which it appears she has every intention of doing?

  She wants me. I know it! I know it when I touch her, when I see her eyes.

  I need her.

  I can’t go sneaking into her room.

  Well, I sure as hell can’t knock. She won’t let me in.

  If I don’t touch her, feel her next to me, I’ll go crazy. I can’t sleep because she’s in my dreams and I wake up aching.

  I cannot go through that panel.

  It wouldn’t be right; it wouldn’t be fair.

  He stared at the paneling as seconds ticked by. Then his fingers reached out and ran slowly down the board.

  The hell with fair.

  His fingers found the hollow section, and he pressed. A section of the wall revolved neatly to reveal the old wooden spiral stairs.

  He paused only long enough to fetch his flashlight from the nightstand drawer, then he moved into the staircase. He cursed as he smashed his head against the sloping ceiling. “Damned thing was built for midgets,” he muttered beneath his breath.

  He had to follow the spiral down to the first floor, then find the spring in the dead-end panel. The well was two-sided—two avenues of escape, he assumed. If one was discovered, the other might still go unnoticed.

  He found the second spring and entered the tiny enclosure which led both outside and up—to Serena’s room. “You’ve come this far, O’Neill,” he told himself silently. “No chickening out now.”

  He trained his light on the second spiral of steps and hunched his back over to prevent another clunk on the head. When he reached the top, he allowed his fingers to grope a third time.

  And just as surely they found the third spring. A panel quietly slid—and gave him entrance.

  She wasn’t in the bedroom, but he saw the light in the bathroom and heard the splash and ripple of water.

  He closed the panel behind him and leaned against it, absently crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes scanned her room.

  Woven blue throw rugs adorned the highly polished floor, and the walls were papered in a lattice pattern of a complementing shade. The drapes were white and elegantly sheer, as was the spread on the queen-size bed. Her toiletries were neatly displayed on an antique dresser. Her penchant for her town was clearly in evidence; little “kitchen” witches dangled from the ceiling along with a huge potted fern. A TV/stereo cabinet sat across from the bed, filled with a variety of albums and tapes. He wanted to study every album, to know her taste in music. He was so hungry for any little scrap of knowledge about her.

  She’s going to freak out when she sees you, O’Neill. Scream her head off and order you out of her house, brother or no.

  I have to be here. I can’t stay away anymore.

  I have to have her.

  A slight sound drew his wandering gaze sharply back to the bathroom door.

  She stood before him, a huge white towel wrapped around her torso.

  Her eyes were huge in her face, shimmering their unique blue-violet. Her hair cascaded in heavy waves about her ivory shoulders, and her lips were parted in incredulous surprise.

  He had never seen her more beautiful, nor more vulnerable.

  Nor had he ever felt such a pounding in his own system; a drumbeat that had to be obeyed. The fire for her that raged through him was everything; it was his pulse, his very existence at that moment.

  “You don’t need any more time,” he heard himself drawl harshly. “We both know you’re mine. And I’ve come for you.”

  Their eyes were locked across the room in a staggering tension that surpassed that of the heavens with the coming of a storm.

  Fool, he hissed to himself, idiot.

  “Serena!” he demanded aloud.

  And for a second—or was it an eternity—time stood still.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AT FIRST SIGHT OF the man in her bedroom, Serena almost screamed. But she choked back the sound.

  It didn’t seem so terribly strange that he was there. And it didn’t take an Einstein to realize he had aptly discove
red the passageways and staircases that wound within the house.

  A thousand things raced through her mind as she stared at him. Thoughts of how he looked, leaning against the paneling, arms across his chest … casual, yet challenging, demanding, seeking. For all the world as if he belonged.

  My week isn’t up, she thought in panic. But did it matter? Did anything matter?

  She wanted and needed him as she had never wanted or needed anyone in her life. Her eyes were held by his; there was that goading, self-assured challenge in his intense gaze.

  But there was more. That look that merged with hers, as if all were undeniable, as if theirs had been a rendezvous appointed by destiny. He knew no more than she why the obsession was so blinding, but just as she, he accepted the tempestuous storm of passionate desire that brought them here, face-to-face, against anything and everything.

  And then greater than wonder came the knowledge that she had been a fool. So seldom in a lifetime was it possible to find love, to give love, and she had tried to deny it.

  And he was there, standing before her. Like he belonged, because he did belong.

  Serena barely heard his words. The tone didn’t matter; the words didn’t matter. There was naked need in his eyes beneath the veneer of demand. She echoed a tiny cry, and forgetting all else, she raced across the room to hurtle herself into his arms, burying her face against his neck and shoulder, clinging to him as the hammer of his heart became a drumbeat within her system.

  He held her a moment, pressing her close. He ran his fingers slowly and soothingly through her hair.

  “Serena …” he whispered, and the sound was rich with longing. She tilted her head back and met his eyes, and saw both the fires and the anguish. She lowered her lashes and burrowed against him again, rubbing her cheek against the crisp hairs that grew high on his broad chest beneath the collarbones. His hands spanned the small of her back and rose to her shoulders to draw her back an inch. He met her eyes again, and his were soft now with unspoken understanding. He reached for the folded knot that held the towel to her and released it; the towel fell to the floor at her feet. Serena hesitantly touched upon the belt of his robe, her fingers becoming surer. But as the belt gave and the robe slipped open, he groaned and crushed her against him once more, and the fires mounted as the softness of her flesh was kissed by the rougher quality of his. She could feel the pillar of his thigh hard against her, the hair of his calves teasing hers, the magnificent chest warming her breasts until her nipples felt ignited by blue flame.

  His fingers raked her silken hair, and her face was raised to his. He kissed the snow-white arch of her throat first, groans of need escaping him in whispers that were incoherent words. Then his lips rained about her face, avoiding her mouth until a last sweet moment, then devouring it hungrily. His passion was a wind that knew no course; it swept with driven abandon. Serena was at first weak against it, accepting, seeking just to be swept up with the storm.

  But the fire became a flame that soared high, a guide to her quivering needs and senses. She played her nails over his chest, savoring the sensations she received by sensitized fingertips. She pressed herself against him and lowered her body against his, raking lips and teeth and darting tongue over his male nipples, over his hard trembling musculature, down to his lean trim belly. She cradled his hips with her hands, finding enticement in the sleekness of the man, in the mere feel of his skin, in the intricacies of vital heated flesh.

  “Serena …” He groaned her name, and his hands wound into her hair. He lowered himself in front of her and swept her into his arms, massaging her shoulders with lips of liquid fire as his hands moved along her back to lift her buttocks. Her back arched to his touch as his mouth traced downward to caress her breasts, his teeth and tongue playing upon the nipples with a suctioning demand that brought a fervent moan to her lips and a shooting weakness through her body. She collapsed against him, and he tucked one arm beneath her knees and one about her shoulders to lift her high against him and carry her to the bed, his whispered caresses filling her all the while. He laid her down and shook his robe from his shoulders to join her, but as her long slender arms reached for him, he ignored them, bending over her to reverently consume her length with his eyes, then touch her gently with roughened fingertips that added kindling to the fire already ignited within her. He drew a circle upon the smooth flesh of her abdomen and then bent to kiss it, repeating the design with his tongue. She was tense beneath him, writhing at his touch, catching her breath in tiny gasps. He drew his patterns low over her hips, teasing the heart of her need in a skim, and brushing the tender flesh on her inner thighs. She tensed anew with a moan, and her nails dug into his shoulders. He probed firmly then between her thighs, and for a second she stiffened with trembling tension. And then she opened to him sweetly, flesh quivering, whispering his name with a sob that was choked from her lips. He laid himself between her legs, his hand sliding down the length of one as he loved her and teased her before bringing his weight carefully above her and staring down into her face.

  Her eyes were closed, but now they too opened to him. He was met by a dazzling sapphire so stunning he caught his belabored breath. Her hands laced around his neck. “I love you,” she murmured with a quiver.

  He closed his own eyes for a second, as if to retain the vision forever. He opened them and whispered in return, “Precious beauty, precious witch, I love you too. …”

  He felt the silk of her legs as they wound around him. And he entered her slowly despite the raging tide of consuming need within. He savored every second moving within her until he was fully embraced, and she was filled, gasping his name with the sensation.

  Only then did the passion break, the storm surge. A glorious rhythm that knew no bounds, a fusion of heat and undulating need that soared like the wind. Wave after wave of increasing tension hit, only to ride and crest again, higher, stronger. Through it all he held her to him, pulling her tight, releasing her slightly to seek a breast and devour it with passion. But when the urgency of the highest crest was reached, he crushed her against him, face burrowed to neck, lips pressed to her ear as his cry of coming ecstasy shuddered out in a breeze that spurred her own. They held together tightly, until her strangled gasp of trembling rapture released him.

  And then there was that moment of wondrous awe, of spellbinding beauty as their bodies radiated in the fulfillment.

  He shifted his weight from her but held her still, supporting her against himself, his chin resting upon the top of her head as he soothed her spine with his fingers.

  I cannot live without him, Serena thought simply, watching her fingers where they lay resting over his damp chest. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think, but merely luxuriating in the feel of being beside him, still so much a part of him.

  They lay silent for a time, then he shifted to touch her chin and arch her face upward. His eyes were gentle, yet dark and brooding.

  “I do love you, Serena,” he said softly.

  She smiled, then a darkness came to her own eyes. “I love you,” she replied. “I … I love you so much that it scares me silly.”

  He didn’t dispute her; he stroked her hair.

  “Any emotion this strong and overwhelming is scary, Serena. I’m scared myself. I never knew that love could be so consuming. I’ve wanted you and needed you so badly, I was about to take desperate measures.”

  Serena lifted a brow and inclined her head toward the paneling.

  “You did resort to a rather desperate measure,” she teased.

  He shook his head, grinning slightly. “That was unorthodox—not desperate. I was about to do far worse. Knock you over the head and drag you away. Keep you prisoner somewhere until I got it through your head that we were so right we had to be together. I might have even asked Susan to brew up a love potion.”

  Serena laughed. “But you don’t believe in magic.”

  “No, but if I could get you to believe it existed …”

  Serena slipped he
r arms, around his neck and brought her body over his, loving the lift of his brow. She chuckled, wondering if she could ever be as happy again as she was at this moment.

  “Oh, Justin,” she murmured, “I love you so much I feel I might explode with it! And I’ve denied so much I’ve driven myself half-crazy. I still know nothing about you. I was jealous of Susan because she knew more about you than I did. I was even envying the Donnesys.”

  “We can solve that all easily enough.” He laughed, cradling her body to shift it back into a curve next to his. He rose on an elbow to face her, running a tender finger along her shoulder and arm.

  “Shoot,” he murmured. “What do you want to know?”

  “I … uh … I’m not sure!” Serena admitted, propping her head upon an elbow too. “I just want to know about you. Anything and everything.”

  “Hmmmm …” he murmured playfully. “Well, my name is Justin O’Neill, no middle, and the doctorate is a Ph.D. I was born in New York City thirty-six years ago. I’m a Scorpio, which I understand is supposed to mean that you should beware of my sting. My parents were lower middle-class on the socioeconomic scale, but bright, wonderful people who believed highly in education. Both my degrees are from Columbia. I’m a teacher who likes to write on the side. I live right in Manhattan near the Museum of Modern Art. My hair and my teeth are still my own. What else?”

  Serena laughed and impulsively pushed him back to his pillow, straddling over his waist to lean down and kiss him. “Who did you meet in Boston that night?” she demanded.

  “A woman I’ve been sleeping with for about two years—hey!”

  Serena had stiffened at his words and attempted to slide away from him, her eyes clouding over to him.

  “Get back here!” he commanded gruffly, pulling her flat against himself. “I did have a life before I met you!”

  “Yes, Justin,” Serena protested, “but what a way to word a relationship!”

  He shrugged, twining his fingers through the silky hair that floated over his shoulders. “The wording is correct, Serena. Oh, Denise is a nice enough person, and she can be witty and fun to be with. And she is very attractive—but she knows it and uses her every word and nuance. I’d hate to hear her give an honest explanation of her relationship with me. Her dream plan all along was to become first lady of the university.”