Serena's Magic (14 page)

Justin reached out to touch her chin. “I don’t think anyone believes you married for money, Serena. I’ve heard it was a wonderful marriage.”

She smiled her thanks hesitantly, then continued. “Anyway, Bill got Tom interested in real estate, so now Tom lives happily on the Cape making a fortune off his ventures every summer. He has places from Hyannisport to Provincetown. He zooms in here every so often, and I go out there now and then, usually in winter. Sounds like a silly time to go to the Cape, I know, but he has a motel in a little town called Dennis with the most beautiful indoor swimming pool you’ve ever seen. It’s a marvelous feeling to watch the snow piled high outside while you’re drifting in luxurious heat!”

Justin rose to sit Indian fashion and place his hands upon her shoulders. “I would just love to see the pool,” he said, eyes brilliant with a soft, tenderly teasing light. “Think Tom could make arrangements for us to have it to ourselves? I’d love to be in the water with you, naked, feeling the heat of the water and you while watching the snow.”

Serena half smiled, blushed slightly, and threw her arms around his neck to hide the frightened pleasure in her eyes from him. Justin laughed; the force of her movement took him unawares, and they both tumbled backwards.

He lifted her easily and set her atop of his hips once more. “I know you’re anxious for a good thing, witch,” he teased, “but we have a few things to settle here first.”

Serena arched a brow, then lowered her eyes.

“Marc,” she murmured.

“You’re going to talk to him first thing in the morning, Serena. It’s only fair to him as well as us.”

“I know,” Serena murmured uncomfortably. “I—I will talk to him. As soon as I can. I’m not sure I’ll see him in the morning.”

“Don’t wait, Serena,” Justin warned, and she shivered a little at the tone of his voice. “I’ve had to watch him touch you since I’ve been here, and I can’t guarantee you I’ll stand around politely looking the other way anymore.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Serena repeated, her tone a weak whisper.

He seemed to accept her words. He reached up to smooth her falling hair behind her ears. “There’s one more thing I want to tell you tonight, Serena,” he said, his voice so serious and intent that a shiver of fear suddenly raced through her.

“What?” she demanded thickly. They had talked, they had said they loved one another, and they had proven that incredible chemistry that bound them. But they had made no promises; no future had been assured. She was gripped by a paralyzing fear that he would tell her now that he would eventually leave her, that an obstacle still stood in their way.

“I have a daughter,” he said.

“What?” she repeated, relief making her weak.

“I was married briefly in college. The marriage was a disaster, but I still consider Jenny my finest achievement in life. She’s sixteen years old, exceptionally together for a teenager, and a joy to be with. I have custody for certain holidays and a month every summer. I want you to meet her.”

Serena started to smile, and her smile slowly lit her eyes to the dazzling sapphire shade that so bewitched him. She bent low and kissed his lips slowly and lingeringly, then raised her face just an inch above his.

“I’m going to love your daughter, Dr. O’Neill,” she promised solemnly. Then she kissed him again, nibbling the circumference of his mouth before playing the tip of her tongue against his teeth. She pressed hard against him, taunting both of them as she subtly rubbed her breasts and hips along his chest and pelvis.

She was suddenly caught in his arms and swept beneath him. He smiled wickedly with a glitter of flame stretching across the green of the hazel in his eyes. “Salem,” he informed her, “hath never had a witch such as thee, my love!”

They were the last truly coherent words either would speak again that night. In response to the taunt of her body, he made love to her again with a fierce passion that left no doubt to his possession of her—nor of the threads in which he was likewise bound. As night turned to dawn, Serena learned all the wonders of belonging to such a man. Light was casting a dim shadow over the centuries-old inn when she finally slept, physically spent and exhausted, but complete and fulfilled in a way she had never thought possible.

There were moments in the shadowland of wakening when she wondered if the events of the night had really been, or if she had dreamed again. She drifted, wanting to know that all was real … and then slowly assuring herself that it was so when she felt him, curled beside her, his arm cast casually around her. She stirred happily, edging even more closely against him, only to freeze when a furious tapping began at her door.

“Serena! You’re oversleeping! You’re going to run late. Serena!” The loud tapping started over until she bolted up in a wide-eyed sitting position.

“I’m awake, Martha, thanks! I’ll be down in just a minute!”

She suddenly felt herself hauled back down to bed and imprisoned in a wonderfully strong pair of arms.

Justin kissed her, murmuring “Shhh” as she laughed, then tickling her so that she couldn’t quiet her growing shrieks. He released her as quickly as he had grabbed her, and sprang from bed, wandering about in search of something.

“What are you doing?” Serena whispered.

“I’m going to sneak out the back way,” he told her dryly, pausing to glance seriously into her eyes. “It will be the last time, but I want you to have a chance to talk to Marc.”

Serena lowered her eyes, knowing she was a coward, but dreading the confrontation nevertheless.

“Serena.” Justin’s enunciation of her name growled with warning.

“I will talk to him,” she murmured unhappily. He had begun tearing apart the sheets again, and she demanded, “What are you doing?”

“I can’t find my robe,” he muttered.

Serena chuckled softly. “Does it matter? Who are you expecting to meet in a secret staircase?”

He glanced at her with dry reproach. “No one, I guess, but I still feel absurd sneaking around miniature chambers in the raw. Ahhh—found it!” He secured the robe around his frame and leaned across the bed to kiss her quickly. “Want to go into Boston tonight?”

She couldn’t help lowering her eyes. “I—I won’t see Marc until tonight.”

He stiffened for a moment. “Want me to be there?”

God, no! Serena thought, it was all going to be bad enough to begin with.

“No, thank you,” she tried to say calmly. Her voice finally steadied, and she added softly, “I owe Marc this much.”

He shrugged, gave her a hard gaze, and sauntered over to the wall where he turned back to her for a moment. “I have to get into Boston myself, Serena, so I’ll go ahead and do it tonight. A colleague is working on some tricky trial transcripts for me that show definite relationships between the accused girls during the witchcraft scare and a number of patients of Charcot.” He paused for just a second after his explanation. “Serena, when I get back, I want things solved—or I’ll take steps in solving them.” He smiled a bit grimly to ease the words which were not threat but fact.

Serena smiled weakly in return.

He found the spring with little fumbling, and the panel slid silently aside.

A second later he had disappeared as if he had never been there.

Serena bit her lip nervously but then decided not to worry for the moment. She stretched her hand across the bed where he had lain, smiling as she felt the warmth. She wished that she could spend time just lying there, hugging the beauty of the night to herself in memory, but she was already late.

I wish I could go back to sleep, she thought more practically. But she couldn’t go back to sleep either, so she forced herself out of bed and into a quick, cool bath. She didn’t soak long, just giving herself enough time to be convinced she was awake. Then she hopped from the tub and dressed hurriedly, wincing occasionally as sore muscles reminded her that her night had been a wild one. But she loved that soreness.

Not even the brooding picture of Eleanora could dampen her mood as she scampered down the stairs. Poor lady, Serena thought with a gentle smile to the picture. Eleanora had been guilty of only one type of witchcraft—that of love.

In the kitchen Serena quickly poured herself a cup of coffee to gulp down. Martha came bustling in from the dining room as Serena stood drinking it.

“You aren’t that late, Serena Loren,” Martha chided. “You go sit down and eat a good breakfast.”

“I am that late!” Serena pleaded, unable to suppress a yawn. Martha eyed her with critical inquiry, and Serena quickly added, “Okay, I’ll take some bacon and toast on a paper plate—and I’ll eat every bite, I promise!”

Martha gave in, and Serena hurried to her car with her breakfast in hand. As she eased her car down the driveway, she saw a flash of movement in the trees and smiled.

Justin was out jogging.

Her smile faded slowly as she wracked her mind for an explanation to give to Marc. She chewed hard on a piece of bacon, grinding the food with her teeth in an effort to concentrate. She finally gave up. There wasn’t a decent explanation to give to Marc, and she couldn’t worry about it until she absolutely had to because it was Saturday and the museum would be insane.

Susan took one look at her face and dug up some sympathy, offering to be the “witch guide” even though it was once more Serena’s turn. Serena accepted gratefully, then discovered she was too agitated to stay behind the ticket booth controlling the crowds. After lunch she and Susan switched, and at least the hectic pace of the day made it speed by.

Serena had decided she would talk to Susan and try a rational explanation of all that had happened, and seek her usual, cool advice. With the last book sold and the tail end of the tourists filing out the door, Serena hurried to her office in black cloak and pointed hat and slid into the desk chair without bothering to discard her props. She wasn’t sure if Marc would drop by the museum or simply appear at the inn. She wanted to quickly finish her daily bookkeeping so she would have a chance to talk to Susan.

She was tallying a row of receipts when she experienced a little prickle at the nape of her neck. Glancing up, she saw a woman hesitating in the doorway.

She was a stunning figure, dressed in an off-white form-fitting skirt and sophisticated bolero jacket and hat. Her hair was dark and confined without a single strand out of place beneath the contemporary dip of the chic suede hat.

“Serena Loren?” she inquired.

Serena nodded slowly, noticing that the woman’s makeup was as perfect and suave as her dress. She was perhaps a year or two older than herself, and apparently perfectly assured.

“Can I help you?” Serena asked, instinctively cautious.

The woman entered and gracefully sat in the chair before the desk, posture stunningly erect as she calmly stripped off white gloves from elegant fingers. “Actually,” the woman said dryly, “I’ve come to help you.”

“Oh?” Serena lifted a brow and idly tapped the side of her chin with the eraser end of the pencil.

“Yes. My name is Denise Marshall. I’m an old friend of Dr. O’Neill’s—a very old friend.”

Serena stiffened but smiled politely. “How nice for you,” she said nonchalantly, fully aware immediately that this was the woman Justin had been “sleeping with”—and also aware that she must appear absurd in her cloak and hat while Miss Marshall looked as if she should be modeling in the most elegant salon.

She was surprised that her comment had brought a slight flush of annoyance to the other woman’s face.

“I don’t think you quite understand, Mrs. Loren. That’s why I’m here. I’ve just seen Dr. O’Neill in Boston.”

Despite herself, Serena felt a stab of jealous fear and pain. She had to carefully force herself to continue to stare at Denise.

“Well, Miss Marshall,” she murmured cordially, her trace of sarcasm so scant it might be doubted, “that’s nice too.”

The elegant hands folded and unfolded with agitation. “You really aren’t understanding, Mrs. Loren, and so I’ll get to the point. A week ago Justin informed me he had some absurd penchant for a woman he had seen only once—but that in fairness to me he thought we should break our relationship. Knowing Justin—boys will be boys—I allowed him his flight of fancy. He actually told me he was bewitched”—here Denise Marshall allowed her eyes to scan over Serena and flicker with amused contempt—“and I rather understand now what he meant. But I didn’t leave Boston, Mrs. Loren, because as I’ve said, I know Justin. When I ran into him today at the Pru, he spoke of you again, so that’s why I’m here.” She paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath. “Mrs. Loren, you can be nothing but a passing fancy to Justin. I don’t think you quite realize his position. We’re not terribly big on … witches … in New York, and I seriously believe that even a short association with you could destroy his years of work within the university.”

Serena was so stunned for a second that she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Then she smiled. “Miss Marshall, I know this will come as a terrible shock to you, but I really think I know Justin far better than you do. And whether I do or not, I intend to give him a little faith. But just so that you don’t worry, I will assure you I’ll never wear my hat anywhere near his university.”

“I’m trying to spare you from being hurt,” Denise snapped. “He’s not a marrying man, Mrs. Loren. If he does marry, he will only do so with a woman like me, one who can be the wife and hostess for his home. You see, we have an open relationship. Justin has had other infatuations. He’s the type of man certain women don’t stay away from—well, you obviously understand what I mean in that sense.”

Serena felt a pounding in her pulse which was the beginning of a raw fury. She didn’t want to lose her cool—nor bring herself to Miss Marshall’s grasping-at-straws level. She took a deep breath, but before she could speak, Susan waltzed in—also in hat and cloak—and murmured an apologetic “Excuse me” with a sweet smile.

“Sorry to interrupt, Serena, but I simply can’t find any bats’ eyes, and we need them tonight.”

Serena’s fury dissipated as she bit her lip to keep from laughing at the look of sheer horror which replaced the composure in her unwelcome guest’s eyes.