Suddenly, he raised his head, pinning her with an intense stare. “Ever think about giving it all up?”
The question caught her completely by surprise. “What? Writing?”
He nodded.
For a moment, she turned her gaze to the nearly empty dance floor, then looked back at him. “Several times, actually. But never seriously.” She shrugged. “Usually, professional disillusionment attacks about the time I get a new editor, or I’ve got what I think is a terrific idea for a column and everyone around me think’s it’s completely horrid.”
“Yet you’ve never acted on that disillusionment.” He took a sip of scotch, his gaze locked on her face.
Tension creased the corners of his mouth, but Cassie thought the intensity of his expression made him even more attractive.
“We work under completely different circumstances,” she said kindly. “What I write is not at all the same as what you write.”
“We’re both authors.”
Twirling her drink glass slowly between her hands, she answered, “Of course, but your volume of production compared to mine separates us almost as effectively as our different genres.” At his nod of agreement, she added, “And my columns are rarely original material. I draw on real life, and many of my topics were suggestions. As a fiction writer, you draw your material almost completely from your head.”
“I’ve been checking inside there lately, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s awfully dark.”
The sarcasm dripping from his voice wasn’t lost on her. She shifted slightly to lean closer. “Why not write something lighter? How about children’s stories? You were a child once, weren’t you?”
His laugh was more a snort. “About five hundred years ago.”
So much for lightening his mood. “Okay, how about science-fiction. Or romance.”
He did laugh at that last suggestion. “I don’t know the first thing about romance, as evidenced by my fiancée’s dumping me.”
On impulse, Cassie reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “Jennifer must have thought she had good reasons for breaking off the relationship. Isn’t it better to find that out before the wedding rather than after?” Gently, she squeezed his fingers. “Or worse, what if the differences surfaced after you had children? They could very well have suffered because of the adults in their lives.”
He turned his hand over and curled long fingers around hers. Heat shot straight up her arm and arrowed for her heart. From there, it spread to various other important body parts, and she was helpless to stop it. In fact, she didn’t want to stop it.
“You’re right.” His voice proved to be the anchor she desperately needed at that moment to steady her spinning senses. She zeroed in on his every word like a parched desert traveler on sighting an oasis. “Marrying Jen would have been a disaster.” His tone was more resigned than bitter. “She didn’t want kids, and I realize now that I very much do. Better to drop it before long-term damage was inflicted by both parties.”
If he didn’t drop her hand soon, Cassie was going up in flames.
He rose at that moment and gave her a gentle tug.
“Dance with me. That’s what we came here for, isn’t it?”
“Sure.” Although she wasn’t at all certain her legs would support her, she followed him onto the dance floor, then went willingly into his arms. It was encouraging to find that, despite her knocking knees, she wasn’t going to fall any time soon. Mick would catch her. For some reason, she was positive of that.
He proved to be an excellent dancer. Light on his feet and a steady lead. In just moments they were moving together as if they had channeled Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers.
He pulled her close, and she rested her head against his shoulder, inhaling the spicy scent of after-shave. His body heat made her dizzy, but the steady heartbeat beneath her ear acted to right her reeling senses. At that moment, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.
The small band ended the song and smoothly segued into the next. Within the first few bars, Mick was humming along, and Cassie recognized the tune as one of her favorite Beatles songs.
Apparently, Mick knew the song, because he began to sing the lyrics quietly into her ear. Lyrics about experiencing failed love and being reluctant to give his heart again. About understanding through experience that love wasn’t just about hand holding.
When Mick got to the lines about needing to be sure before he committed his heart that his new love would love him more than his old one, Cassie’s chest tightened. Tears welled in her eyes. Bless the Muse that had inspired the band to play that particular song at that exact moment.
She knew with certainty he was letting the song lyrics say what he didn’t feel he could, and her heart filled with an emotion that felt a lot like love. Apparently, he was willing to try a new relationship. With Cassie. This realization unsettled her because she certainly wasn’t looking for a short-term fling. And while she had never before experienced such an instant attraction to anyone, Mick wasn’t, after all, one of her kind. When a witch found her true mate, it was for life. If that mate happened to be human, all sorts of problems presented themselves.
Don’t jump the gun here, Cassie, she sternly told herself. You may be totally misreading the signals.
Mick finished with the band, and Cassie found herself staring into the endless blue depths of his eyes. Thank you, Lennon and McCartney.
That thought had no sooner flashed through her head than Mick lowered his mouth to hers.
IT WAS NEARLY two when she entered her suite. Looking smug, Endora met her at the door.
“Hey, Boss, where’ve ya been?”
“Dancing with Mick.”
Endora’s Cheshire grin widened. “Doing the mattress mambo?”
The question snapped Cassie out of her reverie. “No, we just danced. Really.”
“Get outta here! When I left, you were ready to burn the place to the ground with him. What cooled you off?”
Running her fingers across the top of the bar, she murmured, “He sang to me.”
Endora collapsed onto the sofa, groaning. “Curse the Fates! His voice is so terrible it completely turned you off?”
“Actually, his voice isn’t bad.” Cassie smiled in remembrance, sinking down onto the sofa beside Endora. “It’s just that . . . the song . . . it made me . . .” She trailed off, lost in her own private vision.
Endora snapped her fingers under Cassie’s nose. “Hello, fair Juliet. Back-to-reality time. What happened?”
“We kissed.”
“Kissing’s good,” Endora conceded. “Although not as good as some old-fashioned knocking boots.”
Cassie leaned toward her familiar until they were practically nose to nose. “Check my eyes, Dora. See this scathing look? This ‘back off now before I’m forced to consider hurting you’ look?”
“Yes.” But the familiar didn’t look at all chastened.
“Then get off your obsession with sex. The evening was wonderful. We shared some really important things with each other. And even though I very much want to sleep with him, what we did tonight was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced with someone else.” At her familiar’s raised eyebrow, Cassie added a bit sheepishly, “And, I have to admit, he kisses better than anybody I’ve ever known.”
“May I remind you that you haven’t known Mick. At least not in the biblical sense of the word.” Endora studied Cassie for a moment, then sighed. “You’ve got it really bad, don’t you? As in head-over-heels bad.”
A nod. “As in point-of-no-return bad.”
“Bat rumps! What are we going to do?”
Suddenly energized, Cassie leaped to her feet. “We’re going to study all those spell books you brought back.” Reaching down, she grasped Endora by the wrist and hauled her to her feet. “S
nap to it, familiar mine. There’s a ton of work to do if I’m going to be up to snuff any time soon.”
“Is it too late for me to regret talking you into this new course of action,” Endora asked on a whine.
“Way too late.”
“Oh, goody.”
Cassie laughed aloud at her friend’s dejected tone. “Hard work never killed anyone.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re a witch. Now humans and cats, on the other hand, have been known to work themselves to death.”
“Don’t worry. If you manage it, I’ll revive you. Just as soon as I find that particular incantation in one of these moldy old tomes.”
Endora grimaced. “Somehow, I knew you were going to say that.”
Chuckling, Cassie spread the spell books out on the coffee table. “Might as well get started right now.”
“Would it do any good to point out that it’s two-thirty in the morning?”
“Not at all.”
“I knew you were going to say that, too.” With a huge yawn, Endora settled on the floor beside the table. “Where do we begin, oh Task Master?”
Cassie quickly sorted through the various-sized books, selecting a small one bound in blood-red leather. “Here. Simple Spells and Hexes. It’s the primer for all first-year witches. We’ll start with this one.”
By dawn, Cassie had worked her way through the primer and two other primary texts. She called it quits, promising herself there would be more of the same the next night.
Somewhere between Cassie’s study of the first two textbooks, Endora had reverted back to feline form. She stretched from head to toe, then jumped lightly to the back of the sofa.
“I’m all in, Boss. I’ll get a wakeup call for nine. The autographing session is at ten.”
Cassie scratched Endora under the chin. “Thanks, old friend. You’re the best.”
“I am, of course, putting in for overtime.”
“Of course.”
“GOD, WHAT WAS I thinking,” Mick muttered aloud as he plied his electric razor to his five o’clock shadow. “I sang to her. What in the hell possessed me to do that?”
Maybe it was the sincere concern in those beautiful eyes of hers . . . the smell of her perfume. Maybe the way she fit perfectly in his arms when they danced, or the electrical charge that seemed to spark between them wherever they touched. Whatever the reason, the fact remained that he’d sung one of the most intimate songs the Beatles had ever performed to a woman he’d known personally for less than a week.
Although knowledge was relative, he supposed. He thought about the copy of When Dust Bunnies Attack lying on his bedstand. She’d signed it “To Mick: I’m honored to be read by such an accomplished fellow author. Sincerely, Cassie ‘Kitchen Witch’ Hathorne.” Her epigram gave him as much insight into her as the essays themselves. The title had made him laugh out loud, but he knew it would be full of her sparkling wit and practical good sense. On a written communication level, he knew her very well.
But he’d like to get to know her a whole lot better on an interpersonal level. Intimately interpersonal.
He checked closely in the bathroom mirror to see if he’d missed any minute whiskers, then stared himself in the eye. “You might have a chance with her, Sandor,” he told his reflection. “Provided she’s not a closet music critic.”
On his way down to the continental breakfast the hotel provided the authors, he mentally rehearsed what he’d say if Cassie was there. He’d thought about asking her to meet him at the buffet, but the memory of his singing held him back.
Why did I do that? His subconscious at work, most likely. He’d always considered that his favorite Beatles song. And coincidentally, the lyrics fit his feelings and mood so well last night, he hadn’t even thought about the potential connotations until halfway through the song. By then, it was too late to stop without calling attention to the significance of the words.
When he woke up this morning, embarrassed humiliation had set in, and he decided to let fate determine if he’d see Cassie at breakfast instead of doing the mature, adult thing and calling her. With Endora now technically working for him, he had automatic entree into their circle of two. How he handled that access was up to him, and he didn’t want to make a mess of things.
He also didn’t want to examine the meaning of a grown man reverting back to teenage behaviors over a female by letting fickle chance determine when he’d see her again.
It didn’t bear contemplation.
Just as he was halfway out the suite door, the phone rang. Mick snagged it on the fourth ring, hoping there’d be a whiskey-voiced female author on the other end of the line.
“Sandor here.” He was destined for disappointment. “Robert, what’s up? I was just on my way down to breakfast . . . Uh huh . . . Right. See you in five minutes.”
Running into Cassie at breakfast was out. He was eating with the Feds.
“WHO’S UP FOR a night on the town?” Mick asked the group as they left the dining room where their latest dinner event had taken place. He had convinced Jamison it would look suspicious if there wasn’t a casual event on at least one of the tour stops. The down time in Chicago had been a fluke created by a printing error, not something scheduled. By prearranged agreement, Mick suggested one of St. Louis’s most popular pubs. “I’ve heard McGurk’s has got great Irish music.”
“And equally outstanding ale,” Steven Jones, the self-help author, added. He looked around at the others. “Don’t know about you all, but I’m up for it.”
Cassie nodded to the huge black man who had played ten years in the NFL before embarking on a very successful career writing nonfiction. “I’ve heard if you’re good enough to sing at McGurk’s, you can sing in any pub in Ireland. Do you sing, Steven?”
Jones smiled broadly. “Only in the shower, although Louise claims I have a good voice.” He patted the arm of the tall, ebony-skinned beauty at his side. Louise’s smile was every bit as dazzling as her husband’s.
“It could be the acoustics in the bathroom,” she gently teased, and several members of the group chuckled.
“I couldn’t get the audience drunk enough to fool them into thinking I can sing,” Mick said somewhat sheepishly. “There isn’t that much alcohol in the world.” The quick glance he threw Cassie said he hoped his singing the night before hadn’t completely appalled her. Her heart warmed. Then he quirked an eyebrow at her and Endora. “Either of you two sing?”
“I just caterwaul,” Endora deadpanned. “But Cassie’s got a great voice.”
When Mick turned the full force of his laser-beam blue eyes on her, Cassie almost stuttered. From the heat she felt in her cheeks, she could guess her face was flaming. To make matters worse, now Mick looked like he was really regretting his impulsive dance floor serenade. She shrugged, hoping her voice sounded nonchalant. “I can hold my own. Although I don’t have much experience in that singing style.”
“Classically trained,” Endora threw out blithely, then chuckled when Cassie rolled her eyes. “Arias and such.”
It would be wise to stop Endora before she got on a roll. “Like I said, not much skill in pub-style singing.” No thanks for that completely unnecessary promo, Dora.
My job is to promote you, Boss.
Not in the singing department. Mick looks ready to die of mortification over last night.
I can’t help it if he can’t sing and you can, Endora countered.
Keep it up, and I’m going to start calling you Jennifer.
That threat immediately wiped the smug look off Endora’s face.
“I don’t think singing’s required,” Mick quipped, apparently realizing Cassie wouldn’t publicly criticize his vocal skills. “Unless you want credentials for pub gigs in County Cork.” He glanced around. “I’ll see the concierge about transportation. L
et’s meet down here in ten minutes.”
Everyone hurried off to get whatever they needed for the excursion while Mick and Robert went to arrange for wheels. Mick could have left it to the agent, but he’d felt so out of control since January when he’d learned about the serial killer that he wanted to do something. And as simple as arranging transportation was, it was still something he could actually do.
Mentally, he sighed. He wouldn’t be alone with Cassandra Hathorne at McGurk’s, but he’d be damned if he’d pass up an opportunity to be with her under any circumstances.
Nine
BEING WINTER, MCGURK’S patio was out of the question, which suited Robert Jamison just fine. An intimate interior venue made his agents’ job of securing a perimeter far easier. That, combined with dark wooden paneling, equally dark wooden furniture, and low lighting allowed four of his agents to blend with the patrons.
The musicians were already on stage in the front room and starting a set when the group entered, so Steven Jones led them to several tall tables up front. As they settled onto the proportionally tall bar stools, diners entered from the back dining room and took up the remaining tables. Steven beckoned a server who sported Irish bar maid attire circa 1870.
“We’ve some serious drinkin’ ta do, lass,” he stated in an excellent Irish brogue. “Would ye be so kind as ta enlighten us on yer fare?”
Louise elbowed him in the ribs, but the server smiled and rattled off the list in an excellent brogue of her own. Orders were placed, and the group settled in to enjoy the music and the company.
Cassie took in the room. “This place looks like it was transported straight from the Emerald Isle. Great atmosphere.”
Steven lifted his glass. “And great ale.” He took a hearty drink.
“Slainte,” children’s author Janice Welton toasted, and followed Steven’s lead. She sighed. “That tastes like a little bit of heaven.”
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