MIRA AWOKE LYING ON HER SIDE WITH ONE FIST curled against her mouth. The scent of breakfast teased her from sleep, and she opened her eyes blearily to an empty bed and morning sunlight streaming in through the window. Jack had untied her at some point during the night. The rope hadn’t impeded her sleep, really. Her mind had done that. She rubbed her wrists. The rope hadn’t even left marks on her skin. The man had talent.
Groaning, she rolled over and ended up with her nose in Jack’s pillow. She groaned again, this time from the scent of him. The light woody and spicy scent made all her nerve endings shoot to attention.
The man was a menace, pure and simple.
She’d never met a man as attractive as Jack. Since she had such good taste in men, it figured he’d turn out to be a raving lunatic.
Maybe.
She sat up, her mind replaying her godmother’s voice on the phone last night. If Jack had somehow faked that, he was damned good. But why would he go to such great lengths to concoct this strange story and then do everything possible to make her believe it? None of it made sense, but the alternative was too bizarre to contemplate.
What about the fire? How could someone fake something like that? Unless Jack was a crazy magician with a penchant for elaborate pranks. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. No. That just didn’t fit.
And even if he had faked the call to Annie, how could he know about the garden incident? No one knew about that except her. Mira hadn’t even known Annie had realized she’d walked back there and seen that tiny rain burst over the garden patch.
Not to mention the men laying in her entranceway when she’d regained consciousness the night before, the men who had meant her harm. The ones Jack had…she swallowed hard…taken care of. What about them? She’d intuitively felt those men had meant to hurt her. Mira didn’t have that feeling about Jack.
Nothing added up; her logical mind denied any of it could be true. The whole thing made her head hurt even more than it already did.
She blew out a hard breath and slid over to the edge of the bed. Jack banged pots and pans in the kitchen, clearly invested in making breakfast. Curious, she opened the drawer of his nightstand and peered within. Inside laid more rope—no surprise there—and a handful of foil-wrapped condoms.
Her eyes widened and she slammed the drawer closed. The noise made pain flare through her head, but Jack seemed not to have heard it. He was still banging around in the kitchen while he cooked something that smelled delicious.
Mira wondered if he made breakfast for the women the rope and condoms were meant for. Probably, she decided. Right after he twisted their worlds on end by declaring magick existed.
She stood up and walked into the bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror that hung over the white marble countertop, she leaned in and examined her bruise. It was a hideous thing, covering the whole right part of her forehead. Lovely. She supposed she should be happy her skin hadn’t been broken, or that she hadn’t received a more serious head injury.
Looking more closely and frowning, she traced it with her index finger. The color seemed wrong. Mira scowled at her reflection. She was no nurse, but she’d had her share of bruises, and this one looked older than it was. Definitely not pretty, but on its way to gone.
How could that be?
She shrugged. She was probably mistaken. It’s not like she ever went to med school.
A towel, washcloth, packaged toothbrush, and fresh bar of soap lay on the small porcelain table near the shower, correction, huge, custom shower. A pair of jeans and a silky soft blue sweater rested on the marble counter. More castoffs from his friend, maybe? She was unaccountably annoyed that she was being forced to wear clothing left behind by Jack’s fuck buddies.
Mira wondered if he’d tied them to the eyebolt.
She shuddered, imagining herself tied to it for a moment. The images came without coaxing. Jack’s big body covering hers, skin sliding against skin, slick with their combined perspiration. Her wrists bound above her head. Jack between her thighs. Herself, at his mercy and completely possessed by him.
Mira groaned, the sound magnified by the large room. How was she supposed to get through this while she was so attracted to her captor?
Could Stockholm syndrome set in this early?
She turned, locked the door, and checked it twice before she stripped off her clothes. She needed a shower. The smell of the diner still clung faintly to her.
The custom shower could probably fit about four people and had jets that shot water from three different directions. After regulating the temperature controls to her liking, she stepped inside and closed the door. The warm water sluiced down her body, drawing a ragged groan of pleasure from her throat.
Carefully keeping her bruise out of the path of the water’s spray, she soaped her hands and rubbed them over her arms and chest. Her body felt sensitized, sexually aware. It had been a long time since she’d felt that way. Her nipples went hard as she passed her hands over them, peeking from the white soap bubbles.
Tipping her head back with a sigh, she ran her palms over her abdomen, passed her fingers through the coarse dark hair covering her mound, and then delved between her thighs. She brushed her sensitive clit. It had been a long time since she’d made herself come.
She stood for a moment with her hand between her thighs, feeling the heat of her sex radiate into her palm. She was a healthy woman with needs that had gone unfulfilled. That had to explain her intense attraction to Jack. She was willing to accept that explanation, anyway, since the alternative was so scary. Did she have some dangerous, secret abduction fantasies she should seek counseling for?
Mira finished bathing, then got out and dressed in the cast-off clothing.
The jeans were uncomfortably too small for her and she ended up annoyed again as she stepped out of the bathroom, running a comb she’d found in a drawer through her towel-dried hair. Her annoyance was probably a result of her inexplicable sexual frustration just as much as having to wear the too-small castoffs from one of Jack’s lovers.
Jack stood shirtless and shoeless in the middle of the bedroom. The sight of him there in the morning sunlight with his hair mussed from sleep was enough to drop her IQ about fifty points. She stopped and stared for a moment, slack-jawed, before recovering.
He dangled her pentagram from one long finger. “I found this on the carpet in the living room.”
“Must have fallen off while you were accosting me,” she snapped. She walked over and took it from him.
He grabbed her wrist before she could pull away and drew her close to him. The muscles of his forearm and chest rippled with the movement. Skitters of pleasure and apprehension ran through her body as he brushed her damp hair away from her face and tipped her chin to the side to take a look at the bruise. “It’s better today.”
Mira frowned. “I’m not sure, but I think it’s already healing. That doesn’t seem likely…. Anyway, that’s what it looks like.”
“I helped it a little.”
She scowled at him. “Not possible.”
His gaze held hers steadily. “You have a lot to learn about what’s possible.” He studied her face for a moment. “You have very pretty eyes. They can’t decide if they’re brown or green.”
She blinked and fought the urge to lower her gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Thanks.”
He held her wrist for another heartbeat, and then released her.
She pulled away from him and put on the necklace. “I suppose I’m meant to stay here for some length of time?”
“I suppose you are.”
“I’m going to need things if I’m going to be a prisoner. I have no clothing, other than that what your…friends may have left, and they, apparently, weren’t human judging by their insignificant size. I need proper soap for my face, non-male-smelling shampoo…and, goddamn it, I need fresh underwear!” she finished grouchily.
He walked to the desk, got out a pen and pad of paper, and handed them to her. “Make a list. I’ll get whatever you need.”
She took the pen and paper, raising her eyebrows at him. “You’re not going through my underwear drawer—”
“Just make the list.”
She sat on the edge of the bed and made out the list while Jack finished dressing, then handed it to him.
“I swear I won’t go through your underwear drawer,” he said. “Now, are you hungry? I made breakfast.”
She mumbled “yes” and followed her nose to the kitchen. Mira hadn’t gotten a good look at the rest of the apartment the day before since she’d been unconscious the first time she’d gone through it and fleeing for her life the second time.
It was decorated much like the bedroom—expensively. The floors were polished wood and area rugs lay in front of the couch and in the foyer. A matching runner lined the hallway. Most of the heavy furniture was also wood. Modern artwork hung on the walls and sculptures stood on tables.
The apartment had an open floor plan. A spiral staircase in the corner led to a loftlike area, a hallway, and a series of closed doors on the second floor, probably more bedrooms or maybe an office.
It looked like a rich man’s bachelor pad and had probably been decorated professionally. She couldn’t really picture Jack picking out the elegant beige couch with the matching red embroidered cushions, or the gorgeous blue glass vase on the classy pedestal that stood against one wall.
Or maybe one of his friends had helped him. Maybe after they’d gone shopping, he’d stripped her, pressed her over the back of the loveseat, and taken her from behind until she’d yelled out her climax to his swanky soundproofed apartment.
Mira sighed. Clearly, she needed counseling and medication. The sexual thoughts and images that kept leaping into her mind were unusual for her. Not to mention, the thought of Jack with another woman seemed strangely unwelcome. She glowered at Jack as she passed into the kitchen as if it was his fault she’d taken leave of her senses.
Well, hell. It was his fault.
The kitchen was large, with a middle island. Above the island hung a big rack with copper pots and crystal wine glasses. Two places were set at a table in the recessed breakfast nook. Jack walked over with a pan and scooped a couple eggs and a few pieces of bacon onto both plates. Her stomach growled.
She sat down at the place set with a bottle of aspirin. He was so considerate, her abductor. Mira poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table and dug in only to get a mouthful of yuck. “It’s cold,” she complained.
Jack reached out and touched her plate. “That should be better.”
Shooting him a look that clearly said I think you’re crazy, she took another bite of eggs and nearly had to spit them out they were so hot. Mira set her fork down and eyed him warily.
“How much proof do you need, Mira?” Jack reached out and gathered her pentagram in his hand. He rubbed his knuckles against her collarbone until she shivered and her nipples hardened.
“How can you blame me for doubting such a crazy story?”
He pulled her gently forward until her nose was a few inches from his. His breath stirred the fine hairs framing her face. Those sensual lips were only a short space from her mouth. Mira’s heart hammered in her chest. “This pentagram, I don’t need to explain the symbol to you,” he purred in his chocolate-smooth voice.
She licked her lips and blinked nervously a couple of times. “It depends on your belief system. To me it symbolizes four points for the elements—earth, air, water, and fire. The top point is for Spirit. I’m aware how closely it aligns to your system of…m-magick.” She had to fight to get the last word out.
He stared into her eyes for a breathless moment. For half a second she thought he might kiss her, and her eyes went a bit wider. Her feelings regarding that possibility were alarmingly befuddled.
Instead, he released her necklace and leaned back in his chair. “Annie tells me you never go a day without wearing it.”
She eased away from him, strangely reluctant to do so, and fingered the pendant. The metal was still warm from his palm. Dropping it, she sighed. “Annie is Wiccan. She raised me that way.”
“You could have rebelled against her religion. Kids rebel against their guardians for lots of different reasons. You could have chosen the faith of your parents. They were Catholic, right? Annie tells me you took to Wicca right off, held onto it tight all through your life.”
Mira began eating her eggs again. They were good, sprinkled with basil and parsley and cooked to perfection. “So what does that prove?” she asked between mouthfuls.
“Wearing that symbol around your throat every day of your life proves that you can take the woman out of witchcraft, but you can’t take the witch out of the woman.”
Mira ignored him and kept eating her meal. She didn’t know how to respond to that, so she changed the subject. “So,” she said, motioning at the room with her butter knife, “kidnapping people must be lucrative.”
He paused with a bite of egg halfway to his lips. “I don’t kidnap people for a living.” He sounded a little amused, but mostly annoyed.
“Really? What is it you do then?”
“I work for Thomas Monahan, head of the Coven. I manage his security.” He set his fork down and wiped his luscious mouth with a napkin.
“You make yourself sound like a thug for hire.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes I am, but most of the time more skill is involved. If you compare Monahan to the president of the United States, I would be the equivalent of the head of Secret Service or maybe the NSA.”
“How did you get that job?”
“Long story.” He took a drink of coffee.
That meant he didn’t want to discuss it. Interesting.
“So shouldn’t you be off protecting Monahan, then?” she asked before she took another bite.
He snorted. “Monahan doesn’t need protection. He does that fine on his own. He told me to guard you.”
“Because I’m an endangered species? Seems strange that such a big shot like you is spending his time protecting someone like me.”
“You sell yourself short. Your kind is rare. But aside from that, don’t be too certain that’s the only reason Thomas Monahan wants you safe.”
She set her fork down and regarded him in silence for a moment. “What do you mean?”
Jack shrugged. “That’s for him to explain, not me.”
Her voice was poisonously sweet when she answered. “I think if you make a cryptic comment like that, I deserve an explanation.”
“It’s not my place to say. I’ve said more than I should already.” He shook his head. “You have this way of making me overstep my bounds. Just know you’re special to Monahan, that’s all, and not for any of the sinister reasons flitting through your mind right now.”
She glared at him. The man sure did like to play head games.
He rested his forearms on the table and stared at her with his unsettling blue eyes. Warmth became coldness. His light blue eyes seemed to have the strange ability to contain both ice and fire. His expression hardened.
“It’s not my place to say,” he repeated with finality.
“Fine,” she bit off. That would be an argument for another time.
He set his fork down. “You’ll be missed at work today if you don’t call in. You have to call the diner and tell them you won’t be able to come into work for a while.”
“How can you be sure I won’t scream bloody murder into the phone to let Mike know I’m in trouble?”
“First of all, you’re not in any trouble, not here with me, anyway.”
That was debatable. It depended on what kind of trouble he meant.
“Second of all, I think you’re curious enough to stick around for a while of your own free will.”
She let out a short, derisive laugh. “You assume a lot. How am I supposed to survive without going to work? Some of us need our wages to pay the rent.”
“Don’t worry about money right now, not when your life is in danger. The Coven has already agreed to pay your bills for a time. Think of this as a paid vacation. Only, it’s not.”
“What?”
“You need to be trained.”
Mira stared at him for a moment before replying. “Why?”
“You’re a powerful breed of witch who hasn’t had a day of instruction in her life. Don’t you want to know who you are?”
Mira winced. The comment hit her somewhere tender. She pushed away from the table, stood, and stalked away from him. “I know who I am, and it isn’t a witch,” she answered with her back to him.
“You think you know who you are, Mira? I see a woman adrift, not one at all sure of her course. I see a woman who has only deluded herself into thinking she knows where she’s going.”
Mira closed her eyes, feeling the truth of those words spear through her. Ever since her divorce she’d been fighting so hard to guide her life down a more positive road, but she wasn’t sure she’d headed herself in the right direction. Mira had wondered more than once if she might be fooling herself.
She didn’t even hear him approach. His hand fell on her shoulder and he turned her to face him. The expression he wore seemed conflicted, but she only had a moment to consider it. His arms wrapped around her, his heat and scent and masculinity closed over her, and he dragged her against his chest while his mouth came down on hers.
And the rest of the world simply faded away.
Slanting his mouth across hers, he flicked his tongue against her lips. She opened her mouth to allow him access and grabbed his upper arms, feeling the bunch and play of his biceps. His tongue stroked erotically against hers. Warm. Wet.
Tasting. Testing.
It wiped all the thought from her mind. Jolts of pleasure skittered up her spine and through her body. A growling sound that seemed part ecstasy, part torture curled from his throat and made her knees go weak.
He broke the kiss and rested his forehead against hers for a moment. Both of them breathed fast and shallow. “Mira,” he whispered. That one word seemed ripped from him.
She wondered at the intensity of it, but then he kissed her again and she was drowning. This time his lips slid over hers slowly. Her body felt weakened from the easy silken slip of his mouth across hers. Jack nipped at her bottom lip, dragging it gently between his teeth, before angling his mouth over hers and delving his tongue between her lips once again.
Mira heard some low, helpless sound and realized it was coming from her. The hardness of his erection pressed into her stomach. He was aroused. Very, very aroused.
Jack pushed his hand beneath the hem of her sweater at the small of her back and touched skin. All she could do was hold on for dear life as he caressed her there, his strong fingers massaging her muscles with an authority that made her sex throb with need.
He eased his hand up, lingering for a moment over her bra strap, then moved down to cup her jeans-clad rear. Jack pulled her flush against his big body and made a low, appreciative sound in the back of his throat.
Apart from the knee-melting kiss, something else stirred inside her. It dwelt somewhere in the center of her chest, a whisper of power unfurling. It pulsed, then tickled, then tingled. Finally, it grew warm. It felt like a bud blossoming into a rose and reaching toward the sun.
As Jack’s mouth worked over hers, a tendril of power intensified and extended out, searching. Mira gasped into Jack’s mouth as it found the curl of warmth emanating from him and twined with it. The power that bloomed from her felt light, but very strong. Jack’s felt hot. It was a heat she knew instinctively had the ability to burn her in more ways than one.
It was magick. Her magick. His magick.
Mira knew it deeply and profoundly. Jack had called her magick out of her by using his own. Even though it was foreign, it felt like a long-lost part of herself, like coming home. She wanted to weep with the joy that filled her, sensing that tendril of power untwine like a waking dragon from somewhere near the heart of her.
Tears filled her eyes and she stifled a moan, gripping his shoulders, as their magick danced together, rubbing up against each other, merging and parting. They seemed to feed off each other, complement each other.
While he alternated sexy little tongue kisses with deeper, penetrating possessions of her mouth, their magick mated. The sensation was irresistible, and Mira’s body responded hard and fast. Every little movement Jack made caused friction against her nipples through her clothing and arousal warmed her between her thighs.
Damn the clothing anyway. She wanted to feel him skin-on-skin.