A week at the most,” Sara told Grant as he poured her a glass of wine. He had asked her to join him a few minutes before everyone else arrived for drinks in the pub in the north wing of the house. Sipping the pinot grigio, she slid up onto a barstool.
She’d changed into a strapless, flame-red silk charmeuse Betsey Johnson dress and strappy bone-colored Christian Louboutin sandals. The color of the short dress looked good with her light tan and flattered her figure. Not that she was trying to look sexier than usual; she just wanted Jack to think she didn’t give a damn what he thought and that she looked this good all the time.
Basically, Sara thought, I want him to see what he threw away, then I want to see some regret. Petty, but true.
Grant liked playing bartender, and Sara had found him an insanely expensive solid-oak bar counter in an Irish pub on a business-related shopping trip a few years before. Grant had loved it so much he’d bought the entire pub, ceiling and floor and everything in between, and had it dismantled and shipped to San Cristóbal. He’d then had the house remodeled to accommodate it.
He’d changed into cream linen slacks and a pale blue silk shirt the exact color of his eyes. His honey-colored hair was artfully tousled. Probably in his early fifties, he admitted to forty-two. Grant Baltzer looked young and fit, and Sara’s heart swelled with love for him. He’d been a good friend to her parents, and an even better friend to her. There was nothing she would not do for him. Grant had saved her sanity twice, and she’d always love him for his unflagging affection and support.
“I don’t want to have to pick up the pieces again, babe,” he told her sincerely. Sara was sure that if he could have frowned, he would be doing so. No lines marred his forehead. Botox, she suspected; he was quite vain about his appearance. She thought it was sweet since he always addressed his vanity with a droll sense of humor, inviting her to laugh along.
“You know me.” His smile was gently loving as he reached over to brush cool fingers across her cheek. Sara adored Grant, but for some odd reason, she’d never liked him to touch her. Something he enjoyed doing frequently. She tolerated it because she couldn’t bear to hurt his feelings by rebuffing his innocent caresses. But she always managed to ease just out of reach before she shuddered.
“I’m all for giving a person a second chance.” His dimples flashed. “But I wasn’t sure you were going to bounce back after what he did to you last time.”
He didn’t know the half of it. Sara had been afraid that if she told Grant everything, he’d set a hit man on Jack’s tail. She’d hated Jack, but she’d never wanted him dead. Just dead to her.
She knew Grant loved her and would do anything, up to and including wiping out the man who’d broken her heart. Grant had saved her life when he’d managed to extract her from the house fire that had killed her parents.
He’d taken care of her and practically raised her. He and his friend William had been the only visitors on alternate weekends while she’d attended the British boarding school Grant had paid for. William was a few years older than Sara, and for a while, she’d wondered if the two men were lovers, but Grant had so many girlfriends that the thought had dissipated over time.
He’d taken her on amazing summer vacations, tutored her in Spanish in Spain and French in Paris. He’d taught her to fly and watched proudly when she’d received her pilot’s license. He’d sent her to college in London, then hired her to do the interiors of all of his hotels when she’d earned degrees in business administration and interior design.
Six months ago he’d made her a partner. Grant was friend, brother, father, and mentor to her, all rolled into one.
“I’m fine,” she told him, going for nonchalant. “His being here isn’t a big deal.”
She decided that lying to Grant about what was going on wasn’t a good idea. First of all, she was a crappy liar, and second, she didn’t want anyone to misunderstand Jack’s presence at the hacienda. She couldn’t pretend to be lovey-dovey, given that her physical response to Jack hadn’t changed along with her emotional attachment. She had to have a no-hands policy for the duration.
Seated on the other side of the wide oak counter, Grant took a sip of his red wine. “I always told you William is the guy for you. He’s nuts about you, babe. You could do a lot worse than a multimillionaire who adores you.” He nudged over a platter of duck liver pâté canapés.
She shook her head, and Grant pushed the platter aside. Ultra careful about what he ate, Grant was a health nut, and had the gym body to prove it.
Jack didn’t need a gym, Sara thought disloyally. His body was rock-hard muscle from working outside day in and day out. “I adore William back, but that isn’t romantic love.”
“Respect and mutual interests might be enough. Love will grow. You know what Mencken said—love is the delusion that one man is different from another.”
“Did he now?” Sara said, amused. “You know you’re flogging a dead horse, right?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words. “Besides, I have this business with Jack to deal with before anything else.”
“Business?” Grant asked skeptically. “What kind of business?”
“Let’s just say it’s got something to do with that which we don’t discuss and leave it at that.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, hell, babe. This is wizard business?”
“We never talk about wizard business, because I never have wizard business to talk about. And if I did, you’d ask me not to.”
“True. Especially when it involves having your ex-lover as a houseguest. I’ll brace myself. What kind of wizard business?”
“Alberto had a psychotic meltdown this morning. Nobody knows why, or if anyone else has been infected. But the Wizard Council asked Jack and me to look into it.”
“Jesus, Sara! There’s a diseased wizard running rampant, and instead of being concerned for your safety, your fucking wizard hierarchy told you to look into it? That’s preposterous. Tell them to bugger off and find someone else to do their dirty work.”
She noticed he didn’t ask about Alberto’s or Carmelita’s well-being or whereabouts. “It’s complicated.”
“Which is why, my darling, you don’t have anything to do with all that mumbo-jumbo wizard crap, remember?”
“Right. A week or so. Then I’m done.”
He looked as if he were about to say something, then gave her a resigned look that spoke volumes. “Tell me the symptoms in case you start going psycho too.”
She laughed. “I’ll let you know if I feel insanity coming on, I promise.”
“Not funny, babe. Just the fact that you have Slater in the house makes me question your sanity.” Grant leaned over and took her hand. “He abandoned you when you were at your most vulnerable, when you needed the people who loved you to support you in your grief. If you’ve forgotten what a mess you were right afterward, I sure as shit haven’t.”
“Thank you. I love you too.”
He gave her fingers a light squeeze. “I worry about you.”
Sara squeezed back, then let go to pick up her drink. “I know. But this is okay. Really.”
“Were you and Jack arguing in the chopper?” he asked carefully, eyes filled with concern. “Is that what caused the engine to stall?”
She had no idea why the engine had malfunctioned. Grant hadn’t wanted her to go back out to check the chopper, but she’d do an engine check with José tomorrow. Jack could figure out what the white stuff had been. “We weren’t arguing exactly.”
“You were remembering. The engine cut out, and you thought about teleporting back home, right?” Grant pointed out the obvious very gently. “You know what happens to your magic when you’re upset, sweetheart. It goes haywire and causes accidents. That’s going to happen a great deal with Slater underfoot.”
Suddenly chilly in the warm room, Sara rubbed a hand briskly up her bare arm. Impossible to forget that she was a magical misfit. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”
“A week?”
“More or less.”
“Let’s try to make it less.” Grant’s mobile lips twitched. “If there’s anything I can do to expedite this investigation of yours, let me know. I’ll put all my resources behind you.”
“Considering that your resources are a bottomless well, I might take you up on that generous offer.”
“I’m doing it for you, not Slater or the Wizard Council.”
Sara grinned. “Got it. More wine, please.”
A few moments later, the twins came in, wearing identical ice-blue minidresses that barely covered their girly bits. Grant had run into them in town and brought them back in the Cessna, leaving the Martin at his garage near the landing strip. William had gone to Lima for the week.
Sara wondered if the girls were capable of sitting down without doing a Britney Spears and exposing themselves. Grant encouraged the skanky way they dressed, which always amazed Sara because Grant, like herself, was an absolute clotheshorse and spent a fortune on his wardrobe.
The girls went behind the bar to drape themselves over him. They had not an ounce of modesty. Grant’s disregard for privacy with his women was one of the few things he and Sara argued about; his PDAs embarrassed her most of the time and frequently grossed her out. Especially since most of the girls were young enough to be his daughters. It had the same ick factor as seeing one’s parents having sex.
Sara swirled her stool around to give them privacy while she sipped the crisp, slightly fruity wine. She’d had the antique lighting retrofitted with timers and light sensors, and as the sky outside the enormous picture windows darkened, the small sconces along the walls flickered on.
She savored the dark, interesting room that smelled of countless pints of spilled beer and ignored the kissing sounds behind her. She always imagined young couples falling in love at the scarred tables, tipsy wedding receptions held there with lots of singing and laughter.
The pub had a happy, warm ambiance. She’d been delighted to give Grant something he hadn’t expected for his birthday a couple of years ago. He loved the small, dark pub as much as she did, and they had drinks there most evenings before dinner.
She always teased Grant about his age, which he refused to tell anyone. Judged solely by his looks, he could be anywhere between thirty-five and fifty. Sara knew he was older than she by at least twenty years, since he’d taken unofficial guardianship of her following her parents’ deaths and had already been a successful businessman then.
If he’d had work done, he had a damn good plastic surgeon.
Suddenly, a little shiver ran down her spine. She didn’t have to see him to know that Jack had just walked into the room; the air seemed to crackle with electricity. She took the last sip of wine, not turning as she listened to his footfalls on the worn plank floor.
His warm palms slid over her bare shoulders. Jack’s hands weren’t smooth and pampered like Grant’s; they were large and slightly abrasive, like a cat’s tongue gliding over her skin. His dark hair brushed her cheek as he leaned down. “I missed you,” he murmured, not that softly, against her ear.
Missed her from where? Sara thought indignantly, about to turn and give him the evil eye, if not a sharp nudge with her knee. What was he playing at now?
Her breath caught as his lips skimmed her cheek. His fingers closed around the sensitive skin on the nape of her neck, bared by her upswept hair. She made a small sound of protest, a little moan of need. Damn it.
He’d showered, and smelled of oatmeal soap. His hair drifted damply against Sara’s throat, causing a delicious shiver to race up her spine. “Jack, do—”
Her words choked off as he exerted pressure on the back of her neck, just enough to turn her head in his direction. He tilted her head back with his thumb under her chin and looked down, his eyes dark, his cheekbones flushed. Sara felt waves of heat and cold shudder through her body.
“Do n—” she tried again, but no sound came out. Their eyes locked.
“Let’s go.”
“Dinner …”
“Not hungry,” Jack murmured, running his hand up the side of her neck, then tracing the curve of her ear with an incredibly gentle finger. “You?”
Little shudders of pleasure raced across her nerve endings as she shook her head. She was starving. But not for food. “Grant—”
“Doing what we’re too polite to do in company.” He took her hand, tugging her off the stool. “Come on.”
Nobody noticed them leave the pub. As soon as they closed the door behind them, Jack backed her into a small restroom close by. He kicked the door shut, closing them in the darkness. He backed her against the wall, imprisoning her hands on either side of her shoulders as he bent his head.
“Jack! What on earth’s got into you!”
“This hasn’t changed.” His mouth grazed hers, a bare skimming touch, more the promise of what was to come than a kiss. “Has it? I’m sick of resisting. How about you?”
Sara’s mind went blank; her nipples hardened beneath the silk charmeuse of her dress. She felt a few pins fall out of her hair and didn’t care. “I—”
He had her slightly off balance, and she grabbed his broad shoulders so she wouldn’t fall. He anchored her with the weight of his body.
His mouth crushed down on hers, this time with a damn-the-torpedoes kiss that made her deaf to anything or anyone. His tongue delved deeper, and Sara met it with a mindless sweep of her own.
He turned her, unerringly hoisting her up onto the counter. She felt the cold marble through the thin fabric of her dress, then the heat of Jack’s hard body pressed between her legs, hauntingly familiar, sparking a lust so swift, so intense, Sara could barely breathe. He took her mouth again, longer, deeper, while she fumbled then found the buttons on his shirt, ripping them off in her haste to get to bare skin.
Jack’s breath was ragged, his fingers tightening on the back of her neck. His other hand slid down the swell of her breasts, then slipped beneath the strapless bodice. His fingertips brushed her hard and painful nipples, and Sara moaned.
He chuckled, laying a line of kisses down the sensitive cords of her neck to the rapid pulse at the base of her throat. Panting, Sara slid both hands into his thick, silky hair, tugging on the damp strands to bring him closer.
She had to stop this. Now.
In a minute.
No. Now.
Hard fingers cupped her ass as he kissed her again—hot, openmouthed kisses that went on and on and on. He was fully aroused as he leaned into her. Sara wanted to touch him there. Wanted to curl her fingers around the hot silk of his penis. Wanted to—
The room instantly felt … different. There was the faint tang of smoke from an applewood fire, the scent of sun-dried sheets, the feel of Jack’s naked skin against hers. A sense of disorientation, swiftly followed by outrage, washed over her as she forced her eyes open and used both hands to shove—hard—at Jack’s chest.
They were no longer in the guest bathroom at Grant’s house.
“Where are we?” She sounded breathless instead of appalled. She would have struggled to sit up, but Jack was firmly between her thighs and this close to penetration.
Sprawled on top of her, he pushed himself up, his arms caging her beneath him as he glanced around. “Looks like that little ski cabin in Switzerland where we didn’t do any skiing over Christmas three years ago.” Hunger burned in his eyes as he looked down at her. “We spent the entire week in this very bed, if I remember correctly.”
“Impossible,” Sara whispered thickly, then arched her back as Jack drove into her to the hilt.
He started to pull out, and her body shuddered in denial. Sara pressed her bent knees against his hipbones, holding him in place. “Don’t.”
“You sure?”
She wrapped her bare legs around his narrow hips. “No. Yes. Don’t leave me hanging on the edge like this. Finish it, damn you.”
“That a yes?”
“Yes. I w—” What she was going to say was forgotten as Jack slid his hand under her hair, fingers hard and cool as he cupped the back of her neck. “Jack—”
The gentle brush of his lips on hers made Sara’s breath catch. He lifted his mouth a fraction of an inch, his eyes asking again: Do you want this?
Her choice.
She didn’t want him to give her a choice, damn it. She wanted to keep hating him. She wanted to grab him and drag his mouth back to hers.
He brushed her hair out of her eyes, his body still when she desperately needed the thrust and parry of hard, juicy, sweaty, mind-blowing sex. “Remember—”
“No.” Just do me. No memories. No sweet talk. No promises. Like he’d said—why resist?
His smile tore through the wall around her heart. “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”
Sara’s eyes fluttered shut. She remembered everything. Every touch, every word, every nuance. She remembered the love. And the hate. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t remember any of it.”
“Liar.”
And there they were, exactly where they’d been two years ago. Love was greedy and demanding. Loving Jack had almost killed her. She wasn’t prepared to put that much of herself back on any line.
With a little moan, Sara surrendered to the erotic temptation. This had never been a problem for them. Sex with Jack had always been intense and all-consuming.
She missed it. She missed this. She missed him.
They were perfectly matched in bed. It was out of bed that they weren’t compatible. She sank into a hot swell of pleasure as he took her mouth with all the gusto of a buccaneer boarding a treasure ship. His tongue dove deep, and she savored the heady taste of Jack flavored with minty toothpaste.
The hint of danger she felt in his arms was seductive. Want and need vibrated between them. Jack couldn’t hide his desire from her, and she wondered how she’d ever imagined she could hide hers from him. She squeezed her eyes shut, in an agony of need. The warning bells seemed to be getting fainter and fainter.
She’d had a deep, untapped reservoir of love to give a man when she’d first met Jack. She’d known instantly that he was the one for her. She hadn’t hesitated, had given him everything she had. Now she knew better. Never again was she going to lay her heart out for any man to destroy. Especially this man.
Their passions had run hot enough to melt steel, and gentle enough to make her heart ache with love for him. Those feelings were gone now. Her heart was as hard and cold as a lump of ice. With lips and tongue she claimed him because her body, unlike her heart, was whole, and needy, and greedy for his touch.
Jack lifted his damp mouth from hers, his breathing ragged, his eyes hot. She remembered that the more aroused he was, the deeper and gentler his voice became.
“Love me.” Her voice was husky, an invitation when she knew she should push him away. But she wanted him as she’d never wanted another man. Everything inside her yearned to go back two years. Before …
The climax rolled over her in an tidal wave so intense she went deaf and blind. Another swept in right behind it, and another right after that. She couldn’t catch her breath for several minutes after Jack’s body went slack as he shuddered against her.
Small, delicious aftershocks made her body quiver, as sweat beaded her skin and her breathing resumed in erratic gasps.
Oh, God. It was worse than she’d feared. Making love with Jack again was like coming home.
Damn. I can’t stop wanting him, no matter how hard I try, no matter how far away I hide myself. She shifted beneath him, bringing him in even deeper.
She might have slept, or perhaps fallen off the edge of the world. Sara’s eyes fluttered open to find Jack propped on his elbow, silhouetted by the window of night behind him. Drifts of snow gleamed white in the moonlight. Midnight in Switzerland, dinnertime in San Cristóbal.
She shoved her hair out of her face, feeling exposed and strangely vulnerable. “Grant will wonder where we are.”
“No he won’t.” Jack traced a finger between her breasts, then followed with his mouth, taking his sweet time. “He was getting a blow job when we left,” he murmured against her hip.
Sara punched his shoulder. “He was not.”
His gaze—so blue, so warm—connected with hers. “Yeah. One of the blondes was out of sight behind the bar, and very busy.”
“That’s dis—ohhhh! Disgusting.”
“Your pal is a perv.”
She opened her eyes wide in exaggerated shock. “Oral sex is perverted?” Sara shifted her hips to give him better access. “You never mentioned that hang-up to me before.”
“It’s only perverted when performed by a kid and in full view of several disinterested parties.” He nuzzled the underside of a breast, his hands moving down to cup her cheeks in both palms. He trailed his lips down the center of her body, and Sara’s skin quivered with anticipation. “Stop me if this feels too perverted for you.”
She ran her fingers up the indents of his spine as his damp mouth moved down her body. His skin felt like warm satin under her hands as he paid particular attention to first her left nipple, then the right.
“Do you have any idea how soft and delicate you are just here?” Jack stroked his tongue along the underside of her breast. “Softer than silk. Smoother than satin.”
Sara brought both hands up to grip the corded muscles of his shoulders, which were keeping her knees spread wide. The blazing heat of his mouth moved to the juncture of her thighs. Her body arched as his hot breath fanned her damp curls.
With a moan, she slid her fingers through his hair, drawing him hard against where she really needed him. His tongue found her swollen clitoris; then she felt the gentle scrape of his teeth. “Jack …”
His fingers tightened under her ass as her body bucked and strained to get closer. Heart manic, sweat gleaming on her skin, Sara fisted his hair at the tormenting slip and slide of his agile tongue. Panting, she stiffened with the imminent approach of a climax. Jack held her there—at the top of a mountain—for what felt like eternity. Then he plunged his stiff tongue deep inside her and bit down on her mons at the same time.
Sara’s body arched, and she cried out as intense pleasure spread through her in multiple rolling waves.
Limp and replete, she waited for Jack to kiss a damp path up her body. She tasted herself on his mouth when he kissed her lightly. She was too spent to give the kiss much enthusiasm, and he laughed as he tucked her against his side.
“God. That was …”
“Amazing? Excellent?”
“Yeah. All of the above.” Sara snuggled against him. She could hear the slightly unsteady beat of his heart beneath her ear. “I missed this,” she said softly, her voice still a little breathy. I missed you.
“Yeah. Me too.”
She closed her eyes as she trailed lazy fingers through the crisp hair on his chest. “We lost so much. Can we ever even hope to get some of that back?”
“I don’t know, Sara. There was a lot said and done that can’t be mended.”
Her chest hurt. “But yo—we can try, can’t we, Jack?” She wanted him to apologize and really mean it. Needed him to explain how he could possibly have imagined she was capable of doing something so underhanded and final as aborting their baby.
Discussing what had happened two years ago would go a long way toward healing the festering wound, getting it all out in the open where they could sort out where they’d gone so horribly wrong. Over the ensuing years, Sara had tried to figure out why Jack had believed what he had. She’d honest to God thought he knew her better than that. The fact that he hadn’t had hurt just as much as his words that day. It had all boiled down to trust—or lack thereof.
Was it possible to go back to the time before that last fight? She wasn’t sure. But she desperately wanted to try.
She lifted her head to look at him. “We have an opportunity to start over. Clean slate. New page.”
Eyes closed, Jack let the silence drag on for an eternity. “We have to find the time for a real conversation, Sara. You did something I just can’t wrap my brain around.”
She started to speak, but he put a finger over her lips. “Shh. Not now. We’re in the middle of a fight that’s bigger than both of us. Let’s just call a truce until this is done. Then we’ll talk, okay?”
How damn long would it take him to say “I’m sorry, Sara, I was an insensitive ass?”