Catch (26 page)

"Hey, you don't drink coffee.
 
Only that herbal muck."

His train of thought went right off the rails when she stretched unselfconsciously, the bed linen falling away from her pert nipples and pooling at her ample hips.
 
Squeezable hips they were - not the sort that would slip through a man's hands, but the variety you could get a good hold of.
 
He loved them, even if she didn't.

"Coffee's good in the morning when I've had next to no sleep."
 
She grinned, scratching a shoulder blade.
 
He was sure she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

"You could have gone to sleep any time you wanted to."

"Like there was any chance I could have said no to you during the night."

He finished pouring the coffee.
 
"What flavor?"

"Coffee flavor."
 
He could hear the confusion in her voice.

"No - milk? Sugar?"

"Black with one."

"One what?"
 
He so loved teasing her.
 

"Don't be a dick."

"I'm not putting that in there."

"I should hope not.
 
Hell, you never know where it's been."
 
Even half asleep she was gorgeous, desirable and smart.
 
What more could a man ask for?

Setting the pastries and newspapers out picnic style on the bed, he joined her for a bizarre breakfast.
 
He couldn't remember the last time he'd read the paper in bed.
 
Tamsen was fun and she brought out the best in him.
 

They browsed the paper and grazed on breakfast, tentatively feeding each other pastries between bouts of laughter and gulps of coffee.

"So, what do you want to do today?"
 
He'd been indulging her and he wanted to continue doing so.

"I thought I might go to church."

"What?"
 
He nearly choked on his coffee.
 
"Won't the roof fall in or something?"

"What are you talking about?"

He tugged on the silver pentacle at her throat.
 
"Witches going to church?
 
Surely it's not the done thing?"

"Nothing wrong with it at all."

"Don't you have covens to go to or something like that?"

"Only if you belong to one.
 
I'm a solitary practitioner."

He looked puzzled.
 
"You can do that?
 
Just decide you're going to be a witch and, hey presto, before you can wiggle your nose you are one?"

"Don't be facetious."

"I wasn't.
 
I’m just wondering how the hell one becomes a witch.
 
You can't just decide, surely?"

"Well...I suppose, yes.
 
You can."

"That's ridiculous."
 
He couldn't hide his contempt.
 
"Doesn't it run in families or something?"

He watched as she wrinkled her nose in that delicate way she had when she was thinking hard.
 
"You might be talking about family teachings.
 
You know, handing down information from generation to generation."

"What did you do - go to witches school?"
 
The thought made him laugh – until he saw the look on her face.

"You can do, if that's what you want."

"You're pulling my leg, right?"
 

Though maybe not, he thought.
 
At this rate, there was a good chance he'd be hopping out of here after she turned him into a toad.
 
"Okay, I'll be quiet and serious.
 
Tell me about your faith."

Tamsen's demeanor softened.
 
"What makes you call it my faith?"

"Because that's what it must be.
 
A power greater than yourself, right?"
 

She nodded.
 

"So it has to be a faith."

"I'm sorry, Matt.
 
Most people are just so dumbfounded by Wicca - they expect me to be some Buffy type, or make fun of me.
 
You know, asking whether or not I dance naked on the full moons, or have a Whitelighter who arrives out of nowhere."

"Well, do you?"

"Have a Whitelighter?"

"Dance naked under the full moon."

She blushed.
 
"Sometimes."

"Would you do it for me?"
 
He was enjoying flirting with her, gauging the reaction.
 
It was like lighting a candle and watching the flame splutter into life.

"I might."
 
She grinned.
 
"But only if you did too."

"I doubt there'd be much dancing if I got naked with you.
 
I don't recall doing the foxtrot last night."
 
He pulled the sheet away from her stomach, exposing the milky flesh.
 

She arched her back in response. "Hungry for some more, are you?"

"I am."
 
He launched himself at her nakedness, undoing his toweling robe in a flash, the sensation of flesh-to-flesh contact causing an immediate arousal in him.

"What about our discussion on faith?" she sputtered from under the rain of kisses he was showering on her face.

"That can wait.
 
I've far more important and pressing matters to deal with."

"So.
 
Are you going to tell me where we're off to on this mission of yours?"
 

Tamsen noted the slight irritation in Matt's voice and made a mental note.
 
He liked to be in control.
 

"No."
 
She smiled sweetly. "I told you, it's a surprise."

"And I told you I don't like surprises."

"You're just going to have to trust me."
 
She linked her arm through his and started walking down the steps of the hotel toward the street.

"Hey."
 
He stopped and she nearly lost her footing.
 
She'd been careful to put low heels on, it being a reasonable walk to St Patrick's, but she hadn't wanted to compromise sensuality too much.
 
Running shoes were out of the question with her princess-line dress.
 
"We're taking the Boxter, right?"

"No, Matt, we're walking.
 
Now come on."

She pulled him on down the steps and he begrudgingly came with her, muttering under his breath.

"What's the use of hiring a bloody Porsche if we don't use the damn thing?
 
I don't enjoy walking, you know."

"Rubbish - you must spend hours on that nasty jogging contraption in your basement.
 
But there's nothing like the real thing."
 

She threw him a beaming smile.
 
He still looked determined to have a lousy time whatever she did.
 
"Besides, you didn't mind walking to the restaurant last night."

"That was different."

"How?"

"We were going to get something to eat."

"Ah.
 
So it's different if there's nourishment involved."

"I suppose."
 
He sounded defensive.

"Well, just think of this as nourishment for the soul."

"You're nuts. You know that, don't you?"

"If you say so."
 
His attitude wasn't going to ruin her morning.

She'd been looking forward to this for ages.
 
The cathedral was one of the first places she'd discovered on the internet when she found out they were going to Melbourne.
 
She had a passion for all places of worship and then she read about the Pilgrim Path and ever since had itched to walk it.

Ten minutes later, with Collins Street at their backs and Macarthur Street stretching before them, Tamsen was glad to leave the hustle and bustle of the inner city behind.
 
St Patrick's sat proudly at the top of the street, the sight of its triple spires stirring her excitement.

"Come on, Matt, it’s not too far - just up the hill."

"I thought we were going to a church? This is the way to the cathedral."

"Yeah?"
 
She was puzzled.

"But you said we were going to a church."

"It is a church."
 
What was he going on about?

"No.
 
A church is a building with a cross on the roof.
 
This is a cathedral."

She'd done it again.
 
She had no idea how she did, but she'd managed to find herself another Catholic.
 
She must have "Heathen in need of saving" tattooed across her forehead or something.

"You're a Catholic and yet you didn't run screaming for the hills when you found out I practiced witchcraft.
 
How come?"

"How do you know I'm Catholic?"

She grinned.
 
"You've got that shed with a cross on it thing happening.
 
The one true religion.
 
My soul needs saving.
 
I could go on."

"Please don't."
 
He looked unimpressed and she wished she'd kept her mouth shut.

"Sorry," she said meekly.

"Don't apologize.
 
I haven't been a practicing Catholic for years."

They narrowly dodged being collected by a taxi, its driver oblivious to them as they negotiated the roadway.

"Maybe God's suggesting that you might like to take another look at that decision."
 
She couldn't help herself; the opportunity was just too good to miss.

"That's why he'd have me here, in the middle of Melbourne, on the arm of a mad witch whose sole objective at the moment, when she's not trying to have me run over by the locals, is to get me into a Cathedral."
 
He rubbed the back of his neck.
 
"It's all too weird."

"No.
 
I'm sure it's exactly how it's supposed to be."
 
She kissed him on the cheek.
 
"Now come, my little altar boy - there's a Pilgrim Path up here I'd like to walk with you."

With no real religious instruction in Tamsen's home she’d had a difficult journey trying to channel some sort of spiritual faith for herself.
 
Many religions and a number of self-help gurus
later she'd finally settled on the Wiccan way, a culmination of so many aspects of the belief systems she'd studied - a neat package predominantly surrounded by a love and respect for all living things.

However despite having rejected Catholicism along with a number of other religions, she'd never been able to shake her affection for it - as much for the pomp and ceremony as for the beautiful cathedrals she loved visiting.

St Patrick's Pilgrim Path was more beautiful than Tamsen had hoped it would be.
 

Matt stood, almost in awe, gazing at the grey stone of the building.
 
Tamsen thought it really wasn't a surprise that she was attracted to him.
 
Even if he was lapsed, as he described himself – not that she believed there was such a thing - his faith simply leaked out of him.
 

He caught her watching him and smiled.
 
"Why are you looking at me when there's something as beautiful as this in front of you?" He thrust his arm toward the cathedral.

"I was wondering what karmic lesson you've been sent to teach me." She couldn't help running her fingers along his strong jaw. "Besides the obvious."

"The deadly sin of lust."
 
His tone was calculating.

She slapped him on the backside, catching the stud from his jeans pocket on the tip of her finger.
 
"Ouch."

"That'll teach you."
 
He looked skyward.
 
"Thanks, Hughie.
 
Keep her in line, will you?"

She sucked her finger; a nasty mark was developing on it.
 
"When was the last time you went to confession?"

"None of your business - and besides, they don't call it that anymore."

"They don't?"
 
She wondered when that had changed and why she hadn't heard about it.

"No."
 
His pleased look was beginning to annoy her.
 
"It's reconciliation now."

"Sounds like marriage guidance counseling."

"I can assure you it's not."

"Anyway, getting back to why we're here..."

Patience replaced his amused look.
 
She knew he was just indulging her.
 

"Yes, please.
 
Remind me again why we are here."

She pulled a small, folded piece of paper from her purse.
 
"Hey, no peeking."
 
She flattened her set of internet instructions against her chest, ignoring his feigned looks of being hurt.
 
"Now, according to this we have to approach the Pilgrim's Path from the south."
 
She looked at him expectantly.
 
"Any idea where that is?"

"We've come from the south."

"I knew I brought you for a reason."

"I was beginning to wonder."
 

Stopping to read the path’s first inscription, a quote from the Australian poet
James McAuley
,
Tamsen was taken by the symmetry of the inclined pathway, cut by cascading water.
 
An immediate sense of calm overtook her, the soothing sounds of water washing away the nervous tensions accumulated on their excursion.

Matt had ventured ahead, walking the other side of the concrete bank. She hadn’t even noticed his departure, she'd been so engrossed in the challenging message before her.

The words she read evoked fiery images of desperate and repentant men in her mind's eye.
 
She shuddered, remembering why she oftentimes fiercely disliked organized religion.