Magical Memories Page 16

  “Casting spells again?” he teased.

  She kept a pointed finger at him and returned his playful banter, though her remark did hold credence. “One that will certainly keep you in place.”

  His deep laughter filled the greenhouse. “I’m too strong for you, Tempest.”

  A shiver ran down her spine again. For a brief moment he sounded like Marcus and his laugh chilled just as deeply as Marcus’s once had. Why did she question the validity of his identity? If she was completely honest with herself, she would accept the obvious, and y e t...

  Michael was completely opposite from the man she had once loved. He appeared to actually care for his fellow man and was concerned by the injustices of the world. Would that spark of humanity benefit him when his old self surfaced? Would he discover the true magic in his soul and refuse to return to darkness?

  Time.

  She had precious little of it, and she had to use it wisely if she was to help Michael. And what of Marcus? Only time would tell.

  Michael took it slow the remainder of the day. As soon as he stood on his foot he could tell that his ankle was fully healed and that it presented no problem. But he kept his remarkable recovery to himself. He didn’t want Tempest to know, and for a very selfish reason. He wanted more time with her.

  He tried to remind himself that they were opposites that could never be together. She came from one world he from another, and like oil and vinegar they would never mix. And yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to accept that. Somewhere he hoped magic would intervene.

  And that was another reason he found himself wanting to stay with her. He found himself engrossed in witchcraft and magic, and of course fascinated with the symbols in his room.

  So far he had deciphered the spell to read, “With my love I send you away.”

  He hadn’t told Tempest of his discovery, and he didn’t know why. He only knew he wished to keep it a secret and in time he would confide in her. At the moment he felt he needed to gather all the ancient knowledge he could and digest it.

  Again, he couldn’t say why. But it was necessary; he absolutely knew it was necessary to him.

  Supper that evening was a quiet affair; it seemed both of them had much on their minds and they worked in relative silence side by side. Lamb stew was served along with hot, crusty bread and a good red wine.

  Tempest was the first to break the silence. “I think we need to escape this solitude, if only for a short time.”

  Michael seemed eager by her suggestion. “What do you have in mind?”

  “A visit to the village, browsing the bookshop, lunch at Swan Inn and chocolate from Mrs. Killcullen’s sweetshop.”

  “Yes, yes, yes and yes,” he agreed with several nods.

  “We’ll go tomorrow—that is, if you don’t mind driving with me?” She would have to ring Sarina and ask if she could transport the car here, but she didn’t think that would be a problem.

  “I can drive if you prefer,” he offered.

  “I think I can manage. Only patches of snow remain, and I think I might have spied a bud on one of the trees.”

  “I can’t believe the turn in the weather. It’s almost as if spring is demanding her entrance.”

  Tempest agreed. “If you watch the signs, they all point to her early arrival. The birds are beginning to sing and look for prospective homes for their nests. The animals are venturing out of their winter lairs and a crocus poked its face through a snow patch the other day.”

  “And here I expected the snow to keep us captured for a while.”

  She sensed his disappointment. It matched her own. “The weather is unpredictable in this area. That’s why it pays to watch nature’s signs; they never misguide. Now what do you say we take our coffee, tea and dessert into the living room and enjoy the fire’s warmth? Spring may be on the way, but winter still chills the air.”

  They settled comfortably in the big overstuffed sofa, Tempest with her sock-covered feet tucked beneath her and Michael close by with his arm resting along the back, his fingers only inches from her slim neck.

  “It may sound crazy, but sometimes you feel so familiar to me.”

  Now was her chance to discover. “How so?”

  His fingers moved to stroke the soft column of her neck. “When I touch you I feel as though—” He paused and shook his head slowly. “That I’ve touched you before.” His fingers lingered at her throat. “I remember the warmth of you and the vein that pulsed in a steady rhythm at your throat and how that throb felt against my tongue. Hot and vibrant.” He stopped, shut his eyes and then slowly opened them. “And how I ached to taste the very essence of you.”

  Tempest was speechless. She could do nothing but stare at him and in the depths of his dark eyes she thought she recognized the determined fierceness of Marcus. Or was it her imagination? Did Michael’s words suggest or speak of old memories?

  “Let me taste you, Tempest.”

  Michael’s voice rang clear in her mind and at that moment she wanted Michael and only Michael.

  She made no move; it wasn’t necessary. He moved toward her and with a tilt of her head his lips touched her throat. It was a gentle kiss, as if he was familiarizing himself with her or perhaps recalling the taste of her. With the tip of his tongue he traced a line over the pulsing vein in her neck and it fired her blood.

  She moaned softly and grabbed hold of his shoulders, needing a solid mass to steady her wild emotions. It did little good, especially when his teeth followed nipping sensuously along her sensitive skin until she thought she would lose all sane reasoning.

  “I love the taste of you,” he whispered, working his way up her neck, over her chin and to her mouth.

  She greeted him eagerly, devouring him with her own hungry need.

  His hand slipped beneath her red sweater, and finding her braless he cupped her full breast in his hand and squeezed lightly. Their kiss deepened and he teased her nipple with his fingers, pinching it with a pressure that had her moaning in his mouth.

  He wasted no time in pulling off her sweater, tossing it aside, lowering her to the couch and taking her nipple in his mouth like a hungry man long in need. She tasted so damn good and so damn familiar that he felt as if he had come home after a long, endless voyage. And the sense of relief so overwhelmed him that he slipped his arm around her waist and hugged her to him as if he would never let her go.

  His mouth alternated from her lips to her breasts and his hands explored with an urgency that was hard to deny. His fingers eased beneath the waistband of her leggings and while his intentions were to explore slowly, her soft moans and the gentle arching of her hips expedited his intentions.

  When he touched her moistness it was his own moans that rang in his ear and with a gentle haste he slipped a finger inside her.

  “Damn, you’re so hot and wet,” he groaned near her mouth and kissed her fast and furiously.

  She arched against his delicate invasion, taking him deeper inside her and shutting her eyes to lose herself in the magic of his touch. Sane reasoning vanished and in its place was a simple primal need to mate, to become one, to join.

  “Damn, Tempest. Keep moving like that against me and I won’t be able to stop.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered in his ear. “Please don’t.”

  He was lost, his senses gone, and he was so hard he thought he’d burst right there and then. His fingers continued to probe, his lips to kiss and his intentions clear.

  Tempest was lost in a maze of pure pleasure and she couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t control her passion, and couldn’t stop from crying out his name, “Marcus!”

  In an instant everything stopped and they lay in an awkward silence. He slowly moved his hand away from her and with eyes that blazed with contained fury he looked down at her.

  “You’re still in love with Marcus?”

  She scrambled to get out from under him, to reach for her sweater, to cover up and explain. He wouldn’t allow her to move. He held her firm
where she was beneath him and his dark eyes warned she was going nowhere until she answered him.

  Tempest shivered, feeling much too vulnerable.

  “Answer me,” he said his agitation visible.

  Honesty was her only choice, but then she would have it no other way. “I loved him many, many years ago.”

  “What happened?”

  Her reply was a mere whisper. “I sent him away.”

  “You regret your decision?”

  “It was necessary.”

  “You didn’t want him to go?”

  “No,” she said, her eyes holding his.

  One question haunted Michael, but he feared he already knew her response. So he kept the nagging thought to himself, wondering over and over whether she would take Marcus back if he returned.

  She attempted an apology. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

  “So am I,” he said and moved off her.

  She sat up, reaching for her sweater and yanking it over her head. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Don’t,” he said before she could finish.

  “But you remind me of him,” she hurried on.

  He shook his head and laughed. “Great.”

  She realized her words hurt, and she didn’t mean them to. “Please, Michael,” she said with a gentle touch to his arm. When he didn’t pull away she continued. “There are subtle likenesses I can’t deny but you have qualities he never had and gentleness to your soul that I admire. I’d like to explore these feelings I have for you if you would let me.”

  He feared the hurt and disappointment of a lost relationship, but he thought he would probably fear more never taking the chance. He had to let her explore just as he had to explore, and in the end...?

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  No more was said on the subject. They talked and ate their dessert and shared a brief good-night kiss before retiring, and it was with a silent prayer on both their lips that they fell asleep in separate rooms.

  His lips touched her neck and they both shivered at the unexpected jolt of pleasure that rushed over them. His arms tightened around her waist, and he pulled her back to rest against him. “If a simple kiss creates this much passion, can you imagine what our joining would create?”

  He kissed her neck again, his long, lean fingers stroking just beneath where his lips tasted her. She relaxed against him, relishing the play of his lips and fingers along her sensitive skin. His hands began to roam her body and his kisses became more impassioned, demanding more of a response from her, which she gave.

  “Join with me,” he said with a heavy whisper in her ear.

  “Too soon,” she managed to respond as his hand slipped down in the folds of her gown to tease her unmercifully.

  If he didn’t support her with his one arm around her waist she would have collapsed to the floor. Her body felt as if it had turned fluid, melting against him and into him and feeling— she moaned.

  Feeling so much more than she should.

  “Join with me,” he insisted once more, his whisper harsh near her ear.

  “No,” she answered much too softly.

  He placed his mouth against her ear. “You want me.”

  His hot breath sent a tingle of pleasure racing through her body and she shuddered.

  He laughed and hugged her tighter. “I can smell the scent of you and feel your dampness. You ache for me to pleasure you.”

  She attempted to deny the obvious. “No.”

  “Yes!”

  She tried to pull away from him and he held her firm.

  “Yes,” he whispered, and with deliberate slowness kissed at her neck again.

  Her pitiful objection could barely be heard and her struggles soon ceased, and the crackle and pop of the burning log in the hearth mingled with her anguished moans of pleasure.

  “Join with me,” he coaxed between kisses.

  “No.”

  His laughter rippled over her. “Yes.”

  “No.” She sounded more adamant.

  “You will,” he warned.

  “No!”

  His laughter grew louder and louder and louder—

  “No, Marcus, no.” Tempest bolted up in bed, perspiring, though she shivered.

  She placed a trembling hand to her neck and shut her eyes against the tingle between her legs.

  “What now?” she asked herself.

  She received no answer and she wasn’t certain she wanted one. She opened her eyes and dropped back against her pillow. She didn’t want to think about her dream. Didn’t want to know if—

  She shook her head, attempting to shake away her concern but knowing in her heart it wasn’t possible. She couldn’t run or hide. She must face the inevitable.

  The question persisted. What now? How did she deal with the present problem at hand?

  The answer came easily.

  She didn’t.

  She couldn’t.

  It was impossible.

  She had not woken from her dream. She had woken from Michael’s.

  Marcus was here.

  And he was getting ready to emerge.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Tempest spoke with Sarina early in the morning, receiving permission to transport the compact car back to the cottage. She inquired as to Michael’s recovery and she asked that her sister visit soon. Tempest promised she would, and ended the call quickly, not wanting her sister to sense her concern—an unlikely possibility, since Sarina was highly attuned to her feelings and had no doubt picked up on her worry as soon as they had spoken.

  If she had, Sarina had chosen not to mention it and Tempest was grateful. She wasn’t in the mood to discuss her present dilemma. She wanted, for one day, to forget her mounting problems and enjoy.

  She dressed in a deep green sweater and matching pencil skirt, added black leather boots, left her hair free and hurried downstairs.

  Michael was already in the kitchen and she smiled at his appearance. He had availed himself of the clothes, the use of which he had previously protested. He looked absolutely wonderful in black wool trousers and a gray cashmere sweater.

  Even his usually unruly hair seemed to behave and added credence to his new sophisticated style.

  But then Marcus always did appreciate fine clothing.

  Her thought troubled her but she refused to give it life. She walked over to him, her smile brighter. “You look great.”

  He ran a quick, appreciative glance over her. “You don’t look bad yourself.”

  She took the mug of tea he handed her. “Thanks twice.”

  They had decided to forego breakfast, especially after Tempest had detailed the menu at Swan Inn. Lunch would certainly prove an experience.

  “You sure you don’t want me to drive?” he asked when he climbed in the car and watched the way she looked with confusion at the dashboard.

  She shook her head almost reluctantly. “I think I recall how this works.”

  “Think?” he asked, knowing they were in trouble. “How long have you been driving?”

  She thought about that and counted on her hand, proudly holding up two fingers. “Two days.”

  “When you ran into me, your experience on the road had been two days?”

  A proud smile preceded her answer. “Yes.”

  “And you’ve had no other experience?”

  “Dagon demonstrated how the vehicle worked. It doesn’t appear difficult.”

  “Demonstrated? He didn’t give you lessons?”

  She realized her mistake too late and attempted to make the best of it. “There wasn’t much time, and I was insistent about driving myself home.”

  “This is Dagon’s car?”

  “Yes, he was kind enough to lend it to me. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

  Michael looked around him at the patches of snow and the narrow muddy road and shook his head. “Get out. I’m driving.”

  She sent him an indignant look. “I beg your pardon.”

  “You can beg al
l you want. I’m driving.” He was out of the car before he finished and around on her side opening her door before she could manage a protest. “Out.”

  “But—”

  She never finished; he took her arm. “No arguments. I’m driving.”

  The determined look in his eye told her it would be useless to argue. She got out of the car and into the passenger’s side.

  “This isn’t necessary. I am capable of driving.”

  Michael fastened his seat belt. “I’ll give you lessons. When I’m sure you can handle the car without picking up any roadkill along the way, then you can drive.”

  She wasn’t one to take orders lightly. She had spent too many independent years to be told what to do now. “I—”

  “Save it,” he said firmly. “You’re just wasting your breath. I don’t intend to see anything happen to you because you’re too stubborn to learn how to drive properly.”

  She calmed instantly. He was concerned for her. She smiled and almost hugged herself. How charming.

  He turned the key and popped the car into drive. “Directions,” he reminded her.

  She pointed to the narrow road that appeared to head straight into woods. “That road is the only way in and the only way out.”

  He raised a curious brow as he headed for it. “You got us through there in a blinding snowstorm?”

  “A wish and a prayer,” she reminded.

  He shook his head as he traveled down the narrow, bumpy road. “Someone must’ve heard you.”

  She almost laughed. “I have confidence.”

  “You’ve got guts,” he said with what sounded like admiration.

  “Thank you.”

  Their conversation turned to the surrounding countryside and Michael was surprised when suddenly the woods gave way to meadows and another narrow road that with just two turns brought them to the small village of Cullen.

  It was tucked away between hills and woods as if it wanted to remain a secret from the world. Stone cottages with thatched roofs and buildings of which the brick had weathered many years ago greeted them and for a moment before he caught sight of the people dressed in modern-day attire, he thought they had stepped back in time.

  They parked the car along the narrow street that was surprisingly busy with shoppers. He zipped up his bomber-style jacket and she buttoned her black wool coat up to her neck and slipped on her leather gloves.