Charmed (14 page)

With a laughing sigh, she sat back on her heels. They always managed to surprise her, Ana thought. Her parents, her aunts and uncles … so far away, but never out of her heart.

The combined power of six witches had sent the chest from Ireland, winking through the air, through time, through space, by means that were less, and more, than conventional.

Slowly she lifted the lid, and the scent of old visions, ancient spells, endless charms, rose out to her. The fragrance was dry, aromatic as crusted petals ground to dust, tangy with the smoke of the cold fire a sorcerer calls in the night.

She knelt, lifting her arms out, the silk sliding down to her elbows as she cupped her hands, palms facing.

Here was power, to be respected, accepted. The words she spoke were in the old tongue, the language of the Wise Ones. The wind she called whipped the curtains, sent her hair flying around her face. The air sang, a thousand harp strings crying in the breeze, then was silent.

Lowering her arms, Ana reached into the chest. A bloodstone amulet, the inner red of the stone bleeding through the deep green, had her sitting back on her heels once more. She knew it had belonged to her mother’s family for generations, a healing stone of enormous worth and mighty power. Tears stung the backs of her eyes when she realized that it was being passed to her, as it was only every half century, to denote her as a healer of the highest order.

Her gift, she thought, running her fingers over a stone smoothed by other fingers in other times. Her legacy.

She gently set it back in the chest and reached for the next gift. She lifted out a globe of chalcedony, its almost transparent surface offering her a glimpse of the universe if she should choose to look. This from Sebastian’s parents, she knew, for she felt them as she cupped the globe in her hands. Next was a sheepskin, inscribed with the writing of the old tongue. A fairy story, she noted as she read and smiled. As old as time, as sweet as tomorrow. Aunt Bryna and Uncle Matthew, she thought as she laid it back inside.

Though the amulet had been from her mother, Ana knew there would always be something special from her father as well. She found it, and she laughed as she took it out. A frog, as small as her thumbnail, intricately carved in jade.

“Looks just like you, Da,” she said, and laughed again. Replacing it, she closed the chest, then rose. It would be afternoon in Ireland, she mused, and there were six people who would be expecting a call to see if she’d enjoyed her gifts.

As she started toward the phone, she heard the knock at her back door. Her heart gave one quick, unsteady
leap, then settled calmly. Ireland would have to wait.

*  *  *

Boone held the gift behind his back. There was another package at home, one that he and Jessie had chosen together. But he’d wanted to give Ana this one himself. Alone.

He heard her coming and grinned, the greeting on the tip of his tongue. He was lucky he didn’t swallow his tongue, as well as the words, when he saw her.

She was glowing, her hair a rain of pale gold down the back of a robe of silver. Her eyes seemed darker, deeper. How could they be as clear as lake water, he wondered, yet seem to hold a thousand secrets? The gloriously female scent that swirled around her nearly brought him to his knees.

When Quigley brushed against his legs in greeting, Boone jolted as if he’d been shot.

“Boone.” With a quiet laugh bubbling in her throat, Ana put her hand on the screen. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I … Did I get you up?”

“No.” As calm as he was rattled, she opened the door in invitation. “I’ve been up quite a while. I’m just being lazy.” When he continued to stand on the porch, she tilted her head. “Don’t you want to come in?”

“Sure.” He stepped inside, but kept a careful distance.

He’d been as restrained as could be over the past couple of weeks, resisting the temptation to be alone with her too often, keeping the mood light when they were alone. He realized now that his control had been as much for his sake as for hers.

She was painful to resist, even when they were standing outside in the sunlight, discussing Jessie or gardening, his work or hers.

But this, standing with her, the house empty and silent around them, the mysterious perfume of a woman’s art tormenting his senses, was almost too much to bear.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, but she was smiling, as if she knew.

“No, nothing … Ah, how are you?”

“I’m fine.” Her smile widened, softened. “And you?”

“Great.” He thought that if he were any more tense he’d turn to stone. “Fine.”

“I was going to make some tea. I’m sorry—I don’t have any coffee, but perhaps you’d like to join me.”

“Tea.” He let out a quiet breath. “Terrific.” He watched her walk to the stove, the cat winding around her legs like gray rope. She put the kettle on, then poured Quigley’s breakfast into his bowl. Crouching down, she stroked the cat as he ate. The robe slipped back like water, exposing one creamy leg.

“How’s the woodruff coming, and the hyssop?”

“Ah …”

She tossed her hair back as she looked up and smiled. “The herbs I gave you to transplant into your yard.”

“Oh, those. They look great.”

“I have some basil and some thyme potted in the greenhouse. You might want to take them along, leave them on a windowsill for a while. For cooking.” She rose when the kettle began to sputter. “I think you’ll find them better than store-bought.”

“That’d be great.” He was almost relaxed again, he thought. Hoped. It was soothing to watch her brew tea, heating the little china pot, spooning aromatic leaves out of a pale blue jar. He hadn’t known a woman could be restful and seductive all at once. “Jessie’s been watching those marigold seeds you gave her to plant like a hen watches an egg.”

“Just don’t let her overwater.” Setting the tea to steep, she turned. “Well?”

He blinked. “Well?”

“Boone, are you going to show me what’s behind your back or not?”

“Can’t fool you, can I?” He held out a box wrapped in bright blue paper. “Happy birthday.”

“How did you know it was my birthday?”

“Nash told me. Aren’t you going to open it?”

“I certainly am.” She tore the paper, revealing a box with the logo of Morgana’s shop imprinted on the lid.
“Excellent choice,” she said. “You couldn’t possibly go wrong buying me something from Wicca.” She lifted the lid and, with a quiet sigh, drew out a delicate statue of a sorceress carved in amber.

The statue’s head was thrown back and exquisite tendrils of the dark gold hair tumbled down her cloak. Slender arms were raised, bent at the elbows, palms cupped and facing—mirroring the age-old position Ana had assumed over the chest that morning. In one elegant hand she held a small gleaming pearl, in the other a slender silver wand.

“She’s beautiful,” Ana murmured. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“I stopped by the shop last week, and Morgana had just gotten it in. It reminded me of you.”

“Thank you.” Still holding the statue, she lifted her free hand to his cheek. “You couldn’t have found anything more perfect.”

She leaned in, rising on her toes to touch her lips to his. She knew exactly what she was doing, just as she knew even as he returned the kiss that he was holding himself on a choke chain of control. Power, as fresh and cool as rainwater, washed into her.

This was what she had been waiting for, this was why she had spent the morning in that ancient female ritual of oils and creams and perfumes.

For him. For her. For their first time together.

There were knots of thorny vines ripping through his stomach, an anvil of need ringing frantically in his head. Though their lips were barely touching, her taste was drugging him, making ideas like restraint and control vague, unimportant concepts. He tried to draw back, but her arms wound silkily around him.

“Ana …”

“Shh.” She soothed and excited as her mouth played softly over his. “Just kiss me.”

How could he not, when her lips were parting so softly beneath his? He brought his hands to her face, framing it with tensed fingers while he fought a vicious internal war to keep the embrace from going too far.

When the phone rang, he let out a groan that was both frustration and relief. “I’d better go.”

“No.” She wanted to laugh, but only smiled as she drew out of his arms. Never had she sampled a power
more delicious than this. “Please stay. Why don’t you pour the tea while I answer that?”

Pour tea, he thought. He’d be lucky if he could lift the pot. System jumbled, he turned blindly to the stove as she took the receiver from the wall phone.

“Mama!” Now she did laugh, and Boone heard the pure joy of it. “Thank you. Thank all of you. Yes, I got it this morning. A wonderful surprise.” She laughed again, listening. “Of course. Yes, I’m fine. I’m wonderful. I— Da.” She chuckled when her father broke in on the line. “Yes, I know what the frog means. I love it. I love you, too. No, I much prefer it to a real one, thank you.” She smiled at Boone when he offered her a cup of tea. “Aunt Bryna? It was a lovely story. Yes, I am. Morgana’s very well, and so are the twins. Not very much longer now. Yes, you’ll be here in time.”

Restless, Boone wandered the room, sipping the tea, which was surprisingly good. He wondered what the devil she’d put into it. What the devil she’d put into him. Just listening to her voice was making him ache.

He could handle it, he reminded himself. They’d have a very civilized cup of tea—while he kept his hands off her. Then he’d escape, bury himself in his work for the rest of the day to keep his mind off her as well.

His story was all but finished, and he was nearly ready to start on the illustrations. He already knew just what he wanted.

Ana.

With a brisk shake of his head, he gulped more tea. It sounded as if she were going to carry on a conversation with every relative she had. That was fine, that was dandy. It would give him time to calm himself down.

“Yes, I miss you, too. All of you. I’ll see you in a couple of weeks. Blessed be.”

She was a little teary-eyed when she hung up, but she smiled at Boone. “My family,” she explained.

“I gathered.”

“They sent me a chest of gifts this morning, and I hadn’t gotten a chance to call and thank them.”

“That’s nice. Look, I really— This morning?” he said with a slight frown. “I didn’t see any delivery truck.”

“It came early.” She looked away to set her cup down. “Special delivery, you could say. They’re all looking
forward to visiting at the end of the month.”

“You’ll be glad to see them.”

“Always. They were here briefly over the summer, but with all the excitement about Sebastian and Mel getting engaged and married so quickly, there wasn’t much time to just be together.” She moved to the door to let Quigley out. “Would you like more tea?”

“No, thanks, really. I should go. Get to work.” He was edging toward the door himself. “Happy birthday, Ana.”

“Boone.” She laid a hand on his arm, felt his muscles quiver. “Every year on my birthday I give myself a gift. It’s very simple, really. One day to do whatever I choose. Whatever feels right to me.” Hardly seeming to move at all, she pulled the door closed and stood between it and him. “I choose you. If you still want me.”

Her words seemed to ring in his ears as he stared down at her. She appeared so calm, so utterly serene, she might have been discussing the weather. “You know I want you.”

“Yes.” She smiled. At that moment she was calm, the eye of the hurricane. “Yes, I do.” When she took a step forward, he took one in retreat. Was this seduction? she wondered, keeping her eyes on his. “I see that when I look at you, feel it whenever you touch me. You’ve been very patient, very kind. You kept your word that nothing would happen between us until I decided it should.”

“I’m trying.” Unsteady, he took another step back. “It isn’t easy.”

“Nor for me.” She stood where she was, the silver robe shimmering around her in the sunlight. “You’ve only to accept me, to accept that I’m willing to give you everything I can. Take that, and let it be enough.”

“What are you asking me?”

“To be my first,” she said simply. “To show me what love can be.”

He dared to reach out and touch her hair. “Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure.” Offering and asking, she held out both hands. “Will you take me to bed and be my lover?”

How could he answer? There were no words to translate what was churning inside him at that moment. So he wasted no words, only lifted her into his arms.

He carried her as if she were as delicate as the amber enchantress he’d given her. Indeed, he thought of her that way, and he felt a thud of panic at the thought that he wouldn’t be careful enough, restrained enough. It was so easy to damage delicacy.

When he reached the base of the stairs and started to climb, his pulse was throbbing in anticipation and fear.

For her sake, he wished it could have been night, a candlelit night filled with soft music and silvery moonglow. Yet somehow it seemed right that he love her, this first time, in the morning, when the sun was growing stronger in a deep blue sky, and music came from the birds that flitted through her garden and the tinkling bells of the wind chimes she had at her windows.

“Where?” he asked her, and she gestured toward her bedroom door.

It smelled of her, a mix of female fragrances and perfumed powders—and something else, something he couldn’t quite identify. Like smoke and flowers. The sun streamed gaily through billowing curtains and splashed the huge old bed with the towering carved headboard.

He skirted the trunk, charmed by the rainbow of colors refracted by colored crystals suspended from thin wire in front of each window. Rainbows instead of moonbeams, he thought as he laid her on the bed.

Foolish to be nervous now, she told herself, but her hands trembled lightly when she reached out to hold him against her. She wanted this. Wanted him. Still, the calm certainty she had felt only moments ago had vanished under a wave of nerves and needs.

He could see the need, the nervousness, in her eyes. Could she possibly understand that they were a mirror of his? She was so fragile and lovely. Fresh and untouched. His for the taking. And he knew it was vital for them both that he take with tenderness.