Daughter of the Spellcaster. Maggie Shayne
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“I have never studied with a witch,” he said. “I would love to talk with you about your path one day.”
“I’d like that, too,” she told him.
“Hey, don’t you owe me a slow dance?” Ryan asked.
She studied him. He was bored with their discussion. Strike one, she thought. But maybe he would come around, given time. “All right,” she said, getting to her feet, “but I can’t ignore the man I’m supposed to be working for tonight.” She nodded at his father.
“Consider yourself off duty, beautiful Magdalena,” Ernst said. “Enjoy the party. I think I’m going to call it a night anyway.” He rose as well. “I am very much looking forward to working with you, my dear. I’ll phone you in the morning.” He opened his arms for a hug.
The feminist part of her thought he wouldn’t be hugging a male PR person. But the rest of her was touched. She hugged him briefly, and he took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Be careful, my dear. He’s a heart-breaker, my son.”
“He’s the one who’d better be careful,” she whispered back. “I am my mother’s daughter.” She kissed him on the cheek, knowing they were going to be close, whatever happened between her and Ryan.
Then she extended a hand to Bahru. “It was lovely meeting you. I look forward to those talks.”
“As do I.” He clasped her hand in both of his and bowed over it twice.
Then she was swept into Ryan’s arms, and she forgot all about his calling witchcraft “cute,” along with his rudeness toward Bahru and apparent boredom with spiritual discourse. None of it compared in the least with the feeling that swept over her when he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and held her close. She inhaled, breathing him into her, and then closed her eyes against an inexplicable rush of dizziness, as if his aura was a drug and she had no resistance to it. Lowering her head to his chest, she let him move her around the floor as visions raced into her mind.
There was a bubbling spring, very small, shaded by a trio of exotic palm-like trees that all seemed to grow from the same roots. The ground around the spring was nourished by the nearby water and sprouted plants in gratitude. They had thick, fibrous stalks and coarse, sharp-edged leaves, and yet they bloomed in tiny pink and purple flowers. She did not know what they were called.
And there in that beautiful miniature oasis, she was in the arms of a handsome prince. She felt his chest beneath her head, his arms around her waist. She breathed him in, and it was the same. The same essence. More than a scent, it was an energy. An aura. The same man.
Fantasies I spun when I was a little girl, under the influence of Aladdin and I Dream of Jeannie reruns. I’d had the Jasmine and Aladdin dolls. I’d created an entire life for them in which Aladdin was the prince and Jasmine the slave girl. I’d drawn pictures, made little chapter books that told their love story, their adventures, with construction paper and Crayola crayons. It wasn’t real.
Then how can he be the same? she asked herself.
He can’t, that’s the answer. This is some kind of break with reality, and I’d better get a handle on it, because I cannot afford a mental breakdown at this point in my life. My career is about to take off, for Goddess’ sake!
She closed her eyes and tried to keep her head in the moment. Which was, after all, a pretty amazing moment, because Ryan was gorgeous and…
And his hand was trailing down her spine, lightly, gently, slowly, lower, over the ultra-sensitive small of her back to just above her tailbone, and then, just as exquisitely, back up again. She shivered, and she knew he felt it. He dipped his head a little lower, and his bristly cheek brushed over hers as he whispered near her ear, “You seem so familiar to me. Are you sure we’ve never met before?”
It’s just a line, said her brain.
Oh, God, that warm breath on my ear, said her body.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said her voice, because she didn’t like to lie. She never had. “But I’ve decided not to worry about it. I’m just going to enjoy the moment.”
“I think that’s a very good philosophy.”
“It’s the only one, really. All your power is in the now. The past no longer exists, and the future’s not here yet. Now is really all there is, and since it is always now, it’s endless. The eternal present.”
“Deep.”
She shrugged. “I take it you’re not all that into deep, philosophical discussions?”
He angled his head downward. “I’m afraid I’m guilty.”
“Why? Your father is such a spiritual man.”
“Exactly.”
She frowned, searching his eyes. “Meaning?”
He smiled, a charming, killer smile. “Let’s not go there. Let’s be in the moment. You’re in my arms, you’re beautiful, you smell good, and I’m not going to think about anything else right now. Okay?”
She smiled. “Okay.”
He twirled her around, pulling her even closer.
And she let herself surrender to the moment, which became another moment, and then another, all unfolding one after the next until the moment when he was carrying her, with her arms linked behind his neck and her legs wrapped around his waist, her black velvet dress bunched up around her hips while he kissed her, into his apartment.
They’d danced again and again, and she’d had several more drinks, probably a few too many. Enough so that she’d stopped questioning the wisdom of sleeping with the son of her firm’s most important client. Enough so that she stopped wondering how he could be so identical to the man in her childhood fantasies—Aladdin to her Jasmine. Enough so that she just fell into those stories and let herself believe in them. Like a little girl, she was making believe that her fantasy prince had finally come to take her away, because really, there was no better way to fully relish this particular moment.
She let everything go and allowed it to just flow over her. His mouth fed from hers as hungrily as if he adored her, even though she knew he didn’t.
Shut up and enjoy it!
As he kicked the door closed behind him, his fingers found the zipper low on her back, and he slid it smoothly downward, his hands following its path, hot fingers trailing over her spine, rubbing delicious tiny circles right at the base, then slipping inside her silky panties. He squeezed and pulled her harder against him at the same time.
They moved through his place in the dark, their way lit only by moonlight, which she saw when he mouthed her neck, making her tip her head back in pleasure. He nipped, and her eyes opened wide, startled and delighted at once. She saw the gibbous moon high above, through skylights in the ceiling, and realized this was the penthouse. Of course it was.
They stumbled through another doorway, and then he swept aside the blankets on a king-size bed and lowered her onto satin sheets, his knees between her thighs, his hands sliding the unzipped gown from her shoulders just before he laid her down on the plush nest of pillows. Then he was leaning over her, caressing her breasts, teasing their peaks, making her gasp and pant and want him. Her hands slid over his chest, and she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off. She kissed his naked chest, his magnificent shoulders, his belly, where she couldn’t help but touch him again and again, because he had the kind of abs you only saw on fitness-club commercials.
He groaned, then backed up enough to make her reach for him. When he returned he was naked. He helped her wriggle the rest of the way out of her dress and panties, and then he was touching her where she so, so wanted him to, teasing her from “ready” to writhing and whimpering before he finally lowered himself between her thighs and nudged just a little.
Impatient,