Charmed

  store-bought.”

  “That’d be great.” He was almost relaxed again, he thought. Hoped. It was soothing to watch her brew tea, heating the little china pot, spooning aromatic leaves out of a pale blue jar. He hadn’t known a woman could be restful and seductive all at once. “Jessie’s been watching those marigold seeds you gave her to plant like a hen watches an egg.”

  “Just don’t let her overwater.” Setting the tea to steep, she turned. “Well?”

  He blinked. “Well?”

  “Boone, are you going to show me what’s behind your back or not?”

  “Can’t fool you, can I?” He held out a box wrapped in bright blue paper. “Happy birthday.”

  “How did you know it was my birthday?”

  “Nash told me. Aren’t you going to open it?”

  “I certainly am.” She tore the paper, revealing a box with the logo of Morgana’s shop imprinted on the lid. “Excellent choice,” she said. “You couldn’t possibly go wrong buying me something from Wicca.” She lifted the lid and, with a quiet sigh, drew out a delicate statue of a sorceress carved in amber.

  The statue’s head was thrown back and exquisite tendrils of the dark gold hair tumbled down her cloak. Slender arms were raised, bent at the elbows, palms cupped and facing—mirroring the age-old position Ana had assumed over the chest that morning. In one elegant hand she held a small gleaming pearl, in the other a slender silver wand.

  “She’s beautiful,” Ana murmured. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  “I stopped by the shop last week, and Morgana had just gotten it in. It reminded me of you.”

  “Thank you.” Still holding the statue, she lifted her free hand to his cheek. “You couldn’t have found anything more perfect.”

  She leaned in, rising on her toes to touch her lips to his. She knew exactly what she was doing, just as she knew even as he returned the kiss that he was holding himself on a choke chain of control. Power, as fresh and cool as rainwater, washed into her.

  This was what she had been waiting for, this was why she had spent the morning in that ancient female ritual of oils and creams and perfumes.

  For him. For her. For their first time together.

  There were knots of thorny vines ripping through his stomach, an anvil of need ringing frantically in his head. Though their lips were barely touching, her taste was drugging him, making ideas like restraint and control vague, unimportant concepts. He tried to draw back, but her arms wound silkily around him.

  “Ana …”

  “Shh.” She soothed and excited as her mouth played softly over his. “Just kiss me.”

  How could he not, when her lips were parting so softly beneath his? He brought his hands to her face, framing it with tensed fingers while he fought a vicious internal war to keep the embrace from going too far.

  When the phone rang, he let out a groan that was both frustration and relief. “I’d better go.”

  “No.” She wanted to laugh, but only smiled as she drew out of his arms. Never had she sampled a power more delicious than this. “Please stay. Why don’t you pour the tea while I answer that?”

  Pour tea, he thought. He’d be lucky if he could lift the pot. System jumbled, he turned blindly to the stove as she took the receiver from the wall phone.

  “Mama!” Now she did laugh, and Boone heard the pure joy of it. “Thank you. Thank all of you. Yes, I got it this morning. A wonderful surprise.” She laughed again, listening. “Of course. Yes, I’m fine. I’m wonderful. I— Da.” She chuckled when her father broke in on the line. “Yes, I know what the frog means. I love it. I love you, too. No, I much prefer it to a real one, thank you.” She smiled at Boone when he offered her a cup of tea. “Aunt Bryna? It was a lovely story. Yes, I am. Morgana’s very well, and so are the twins. Not very much longer now. Yes, you’ll be here in time.”

  Restless, Boone wandered the room, sipping the tea, which was surprisingly good. He wondered what the devil she’d put into it. What the devil she’d put into him. Just listening to her voice was making him ache.

  He could handle it, he reminded himself. They’d have a very civilized cup of tea—while he kept his hands off her. Then he’d escape, bury himself in his work for the rest of the day to keep his mind off her as well.

  His story was all but finished, and he was nearly ready to start on the illustrations. He already knew just what he wanted.

  Ana.

  With a brisk shake of his head, he gulped more tea. It sounded as if she were going to carry on a conversation with every relative she had. That was fine, that was dandy. It would give him time to calm himself down.

  “Yes, I miss you, too. All of you. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Blessed be.”

  She was a little teary-eyed when she hung up, but she smiled at Boone. “My family,” she explained.

  “I gathered.”

  “They sent me a chest of gifts this morning, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to call and thank them.”

  “That’s nice. Look, I really— This morning?” he said with a slight frown. “I didn’t see any delivery truck.”

  “It came early.” She looked away to set her cup down. “Special delivery, you could say. They’re all looking forward to visiting at the end of the month.”

  “You’ll be glad to see them.”

  “Always. They were here briefly over the summer, but with all the excitement about Sebastian and Mel getting engaged and married so quickly, there wasn’t much time to just be together.” She moved to the door to let Quigley out. “Would you like more tea?”

  “No, thanks, really. I should go. Get to work.” He was edging toward the door himself. “Happy birthday, Ana.”

  “Boone.” She laid a hand on his arm, felt his muscles quiver. “Every year on my birthday I give myself a gift. It’s very simple, really. One day to do whatever I choose. Whatever feels right to me.” Hardly seeming to move at all, she pulled the door closed and stood between it and him. “I choose you. If you still want me.”

  Her words seemed to ring in his ears as he stared down at her. She appeared so calm, so utterly serene, she might have been discussing the weather. “You know I want you.”

  “Yes.” She smiled. At that moment she was calm, the eye of the hurricane. “Yes, I do.” When she took a step forward, he took one in retreat. Was this seduction? she wondered, keeping her eyes on his. “I see that when I look at you, feel it whenever you touch me. You’ve been very patient, very kind. You kept your word that nothing would happen between us until I decided it should.”

  “I’m trying.” Unsteady, he took another step back. “It isn’t easy.”

  “Nor for me.” She stood where she was, the silver robe shimmering around her in the sunlight. “You’ve only to accept me, to accept that I’m willing to give you everything I can. Take that, and let it be enough.”

  “What are you asking me?”

  “To be my first,” she said simply. “To show me what love can be.”

  He dared to reach out and touch her hair. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m very sure.” Offering and asking, she held out both hands. “Will you take me to bed and be my lover?”

  How could he answer? There were no words to translate what was churning inside him at that moment. So he wasted no words, only lifted her into his arms.

  He carried her as if she were as delicate as the amber enchantress he’d given her. Indeed, he thought of her that way, and he felt a thud of panic at the thought that he wouldn’t be careful enough, restrained enough. It was so easy to damage delicacy.

  When he reached the base of the stairs and started to climb, his pulse was throbbing in anticipation and fear.

  For her sake, he wished it could have been night, a candlelit night filled with soft music and silvery moonglow. Yet somehow it seemed right that he love her, this first time, in the morning, when the sun was growing stronger in a deep blue sky, and music came from the birds that flitted through her garden and the tinkling bells of the
wind chimes she had at her windows.

  “Where?” he asked her, and she gestured toward her bedroom door.

  It smelled of her, a mix of female fragrances and perfumed powders—and something else, something he couldn’t quite identify. Like smoke and flowers. The sun streamed gaily through billowing curtains and splashed the huge old bed with the towering carved headboard.

  He skirted the trunk, charmed by the rainbow of colors refracted by colored crystals suspended from thin wire in front of each window. Rainbows instead of moonbeams, he thought as he laid her on the bed.

  Foolish to be nervous now, she told herself, but her hands trembled lightly when she reached out to hold him against her. She wanted this. Wanted him. Still, the calm certainty she had felt only moments ago had vanished under a wave of nerves and needs.

  He could see the need, the nervousness, in her eyes. Could she possibly understand that they were a mirror of his? She was so fragile and lovely. Fresh and untouched. His for the taking. And he knew it was vital for them both that he take with tenderness.

  “Anastasia.” Smothering his own fears, he lifted her hand, pressed his lips to the palm. “I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

  “I know that.” She linked her fingers with his, wishing she could be sure if it was fear of the moment a woman experiences only once in her life, or fear of the overwhelming depth of her love for him, that left her shaky and unsure. “Show me.”

  With rainbows dancing around them, he lowered his mouth to hers. A deep, drugging kiss that both soothed and enticed. Time spun out, drifted. Stopped. Still there was only his mouth against hers.

  He touched her hair, his fingers combing through, tangling in the luxurious length of it. To please himself, he spread it over the pillow, where it lay like a pool of gold dust against soft Irish linen.

  When his lips left hers, it was to take a slow, lazy journey of her face until he felt her nervous trembling fall away into pliancy. Even as she surrendered her fears to the light, sweet sensations he brought her, he kept the pace slow, so slow that it seemed they had forever just to kiss.

  She heard him murmur to her, reassurances, lovely, lovely promises. The low hum of his voice had her mind floating, her lips curving in a quiet smile as they met his again.

  She should have known it would be like this with him. Beautiful, achingly beautiful. He made her feel loved, cherished, safe. When he slipped the robe from her shoulders, she wasn’t afraid, but welcomed the feel of his mouth on her flesh. Eager now, she tugged on his shirt, and he hesitated only a moment before helping her remove it.

  A groan ripped out of him as his body shuddered. God, the feel of her hands on his bare back. He fought back a wave of greed and kept his own hands easy as he parted her robe.

  Her skin was like cream. Unbearably soft and fragrant with oils. It drew him like nectar, inviting him to taste. As he closed his mouth over her breast, the quiet, strangled sound she made deep in her throat echoed like thunder in his head.

  Gently he used tongue and lips to take her to that next degree of pleasure, while his own passions licked at him, taunting him, demanding that he hurry, hurry, hurry.

  Her eyes were so heavy, impossible to open. How could he know just where to touch, just where to taste, to make her heart shudder in her breast? Yet he did, and her breath sighed out between her lips as he showed her more.

  Quiet whispers, a gentle caress. The scent of lavender and fairy roses thickening the air. Smooth sheets growing warm, skin dampening with passion. A rainbow of lights playing against her closed lids.

  She floated there, lifted by the magic they made together, her breath quickening a little as he eased her higher, just higher.

  Then there was heat, searing, torrid. It erupted inside her so quickly, so violently, that she cried out and struggled against him. “No. No, Boone, I—” Then a flash, a lightning spear of pleasure, that left her limp and dazed and trembling.

  “Ana.” He had to dig his fisted hands into the mattress to keep from plunging into her, driving them both where he knew the rewards were dark and desperately keen. “Sweet.” He kissed her, swallowing her gasping breaths. “So sweet. Don’t be afraid,”

  “No.” Rocked to the core, she held him close. His heart was thundering against hers, his body taut as wire. “No. Show me. Show me more.”

  So he slipped the robe away, driving himself mad with the sight of her naked in a pool of sunlight. Her eyes were open now, dark and steady on his. Beneath the passion just awakened, he saw a trust that humbled him.

  He showed her more.

  Fears melted away. There was no room for them when her body was vibrating from dozens of more vivid sensations. When he took her to the peak again, she rode out the storm, glorying in the flash of heat, desperate for the next.

  He held back, gaining his pleasure from hers, stunned by the way she responded to each touch, to each kiss. Her innocence was his, he knew. With the breath laboring in his lungs, the blood pounding in his head, he entered her, braced for her to stiffen and cry out. Knowing he would have to stop, no matter how his body craved completion, if she asked it of him.

  But she didn’t stiffen, only gasped out his name as her arms came around him. The brief flash of pain was instantly smothered by a pleasure greater, fuller, than she had ever dreamed possible.

  His, she thought. She was his. And she moved against him with an instinct as old as time.

  Deeper, he slipped deeper, filling her, rocking her toward that final crest. When she did cry out, her body shuddering, shuddering from the glory of it, he buried his face in her hair and let himself follow.

  * * *

  He watched the dance of light against the wall, listening to her heart calm and slow. She lay beneath him still, her arms around him, her hands stroking his hair.

  He hadn’t known it could be like this. That was foolish, he thought. He’d had women before. More, he’d loved before, as deeply as anyone could. Yet this union had been more than he’d ever expected or experienced.

  He had no way to explain it to her, when he was far from understanding it himself.

  After pressing a kiss to her shoulder, he lifted his head to look at her. Her eyes were closed, and her face was flushed and utterly relaxed. He wondered if she had any idea how much had changed, for both of them, that morning.

  “Are you all right?”

  She shook her head, alarming him. Instantly concerned, he braced on his arms to remove his weight from her. Her lashes fluttered up so that he could see the smoky eyes beneath them.

  “I’m not all right.” Her voice was low and throaty. “I’m wonderful. You’re wonderful.” The smile curved beautifully on her lips. “This is wonderful.”

  “You had me worried.” He brushed the hair away from her cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so nervous.” Her lips were waiting for his when he bent his head to kiss her. “You’re not sorry?”

  Her brow arched. “Do I look sorry?”

  “No.” Taking his time, he studied her face, tracing it with a fingertip. “You look kind of smug.” And the fact that she did brought him a rush of deep satisfaction.

  “I’m feeling very smug. And lazy.” She stretched a little, so he shifted to let her head rest on his shoulder.

  “Happy birthday.”

  She chuckled against his throat. “It was the most … unique present I’ve ever been given.”

  “The thing about it is you can use it over and over again.”

  “Even better.” She tipped her head back, and now her eyes were solemn. “You were very good to me, Boone. Very good for me.”

  “It wasn’t what I’d call an act of altruism. I’ve wanted this since the first time I saw you.”

  “I know. It frightened me—and excited me, too.” She smoothed her palm over his chest, wishing for a moment that they could stay like this forever, cocooned together in the sunlight.

  “This changes things.”

  Her hand stilled, tensed. “Only if you want it t
o.”

  “Then, I want it to.” He sat up, bringing her with him so that they were face-to-face. “I want you to be a part of my life. I want to be with you, as often as possible—and not just like this.”

  She felt the old, niggling fear trying to surface. Rejection. Rejection now would be devastating. “I am part of your life. I always will be now.”

  He saw something in her eyes, sensed it in the tension suddenly blooming in the room with them. “But?”

  “No buts,” she said quickly, and threw her arms around him. “No ands. No anything now. Just this.” She kissed him, pouring everything she could into it, knowing she was cheating them both by holding back. Not knowing how to offer it and keep him with her. “I’m here when you want me, as long as you want me. I promise you.”

  Rushing her again, he thought, berating himself as she clung to him. How could he expect her to be in love just because they had made love? He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling himself. It had all happened too fast, and he was riding on the emotion of the moment. He reminded himself, as he held Ana, that he didn’t have only his own needs to consider.

  There was Jessie.

  What happened with Ana would affect his daughter. So there could be no mistaking, no acting on impulse, and no real commitment until he was sure.

  “We’ll take it slow,” he said, but felt a twinge of resentment when Ana immediately relaxed against him. “But if anyone else comes to your door bearing gifts or needing a cup of sugar—”

  “I’ll boot him out.” She squeezed him hard. “There’s no one but you.” Turning her head, she pressed her lips to his throat. “You make me happy.”

  “I can make you happier.”

  She laughed, tilting her head back. “Really?”

  “Not like that.” Amused, and flattered, he nipped her lower lip. “Not quite yet, anyway. I was thinking more along the lines of going down and fixing you lunch while you lazed around in bed and waited for me. And then making love with you again. And again.”

  “Well …” It was tempting, but she recalled too well what one of his meals did to a kitchen. And she had too many jars and bottles around that he might use incorrectly. “Why don’t we do it this way—you wait for me while I fix lunch?”

  “It’s your birthday.”

  “Exactly.” She kissed him before she slid out of bed. “Which is why I get to do everything my own way. I won’t be long.”

  It was a pretty stupid man who wouldn’t take a deal like that, Boone decided as he leaned back with his arms crossed under his head. He listened to her running water in the adjoining bath, then settled down to imagine what it would be like to spend the afternoon in bed.

  Ana belted her robe as she walked downstairs. Love, she thought, did marvelous things for the spirit. Better, far better, than any potion she could brew or conjure. Perhaps in time, perhaps with enough of that love, she could give him the rest.

  Boone wasn’t Robert, and she was ashamed to have compared them, even for a moment. But the risk was so great, and the day so marvelous.

  Humming to herself, she busied herself in the kitchen. Sandwiches would be best, she decided. Not terribly elegant, but practical for eating in bed. Sandwiches, and some of her father’s special wine. She all but floated to the refrigerator, which was crowded now with Jessie’s artwork.

  “Not even dressed yet,” Morgana said through the back screen. “I suspected as much.”

  With a boneless turkey breast in her hand, Ana turned. Not only was Morgana at her kitchen door, but crowded around her were Nash, Sebastian and Mel, too.

  “Oh.” She felt the flush blooming even as she set the lunch meat aside. “I didn’t hear you drive up.”

  “Obviously too self-involved, with your birthday and all,” Sebastian commented.

  They piled in, bringing hugs and kisses and pushing ribboned boxes into her hands. Nash was already opening a bottle of champagne. “Find some glasses, Mel. Let’s get this party started.” He winked at his wife as she collapsed in a chair. “Apple juice for you, babe.”

  “I’m too fat to argue.” She adjusted her weight—or tried to. “So, did you hear from Ireland?”

  “Yes, a chest this morning. It’s gorgeous. Glasses in the next cupboard,” she told Mel. “Gifts inside. I talked to them …” Right before she’d gone upstairs to make love with Boone. Another flush heated her cheeks. “I, ah, I really need to …” Mel shoved a glass into her hand with champagne brimming up to the lip.

  “Have the first glass,” Sebastian finished for her. He cocked his head to the side. “Anastasia, my love, you look quite radiant. Turning twenty-seven certainly appears to agree with you.”

  “Keep out of my head,” she muttered, and took a sip to give herself a moment to figure out how to explain. “I can’t thank you all enough for coming by this way. If you’d just excuse me a minute.”

  “No need to get dressed for us.” Nash poured the rest of the glasses. “Sebastian’s right. You look fabulous.”