Daddy Warlock (2 page)

She blinked, and saw that the man was giving his head a light shake as if to clear it. What had just happened between them?

“Are you our host?” Denise asked. “I hope you don't mind, but we were invited by a friend of a friend.”

“I don't mind at all.” The man held Tara's hand as if reluctant to let go. “The party wouldn't have been complete without you. Have you eaten yet? Or sampled the punch? It's my own recipe.”

“A magic potion?” Tara asked. “To entice the unwary?”

A smile revealed a crease in his cheek, reminding her of an old-time movie star. “There is a special enchantment tonight,” he said, “but it has nothing to do with the punch.”

The rapid beating of her heart informed Tara that his magic
was
working. But, of course, it wasn't really magic, just natural chemistry.

“Do I have to divine your name with the help of sheep's entrails?” she asked. “Or could you just tell it to me?”

He threw back his head and uttered a deep, rumbling laugh. “I like a woman who gets to the point. But tonight I'm not my usual self. Tonight I am the Magician.”

With that pronouncement, he clapped his hands in a staccato sequence. Colored sparkles shot into the air from both sides of the courtyard, a fountain in the center bubbled to life and the background music segued into the dark tones of
The Phantom of the Opera.

“How did you do that?” asked Tara as the other guests applauded.

“Witchcraft, of course,” he said. “And what is your name? Or shall I invent one that befits your costume?” His gaze traveled. down her low-cut blouse, registering appreciation. To her dismay, she felt her nipples tighten and her skin flush.

“If you call me Wench, I'll slap that hat right off your head,” she growled.

Amusement gleamed in his silver eyes, which, close up, had a faintly exotic tilt. “I wouldn't dream of it. I shall call you My Lady.”

“I've had enough of this nonsense.” She whipped her hand from his grasp. “If you don't care to exchange names, I think I'll go try some of that food.”

Denise looked horrified at Tara's abruptness. “She skipped dinner,” she explained apologetically.

“And I must greet my other guests.” The Magician bowed. “Until later.”

As he moved away, others crowded around him. Denise frowned at Tara. “Why were you so rude?”

“The man's kissing my hand and he won't even tell me his name?” She led the way toward the refreshment tables. “He sounds like exactly what I don't need.”

She didn't want to admit the effect the man was having on her nervous system. His focus on her had been so complete that she'd felt as if he were invading her mind. She kept getting the odd sense that at a subliminal level they already knew each other.

The scary part was the premonition that if she yielded to him, even for a little while, her life would rocket out of control. Tara didn't want to lose control.

“I wonder what he does for a living,” she mused as they filled their plates with stuffed mushrooms, crab
cakes and tiny pizzas. “Maybe he performs magic tricks at clubs.”

“You don't afford a house like this by giving little magic shows,” said Denise. “But he doesn't look much older than we are. Maybe he's an actor or something. That would explain why he's wearing a mask.”

Tara doubted the man could be famous. With those silver eyes, she would have recognized him in spite of the disguise.

A blond pirate interrupted their discussion as he introduced himself to Denise. A couple of his friends wandered over and someone asked Tara to dance.

She spun around the courtyard with one partner after another, scarcely noticing them. Denise was dancing with the blond fellow, who wore a rakish scarf knotted around his temples. The two seemed happily lost in each other, although that didn't mean much, since Denise tended to change boyfriends as often as she changed lipstick colors.

Everywhere Tara turned, her gaze alit on the Magician. He stood out from the others, not by his height or his costume but because of his intense watchfulness.

He seemed to be aware of every move she made, even when he was deep in conversation. His attention bathed her like a warm spring, smoothing away distractions, eddying and teasing, drawing her closer.

Tara's wariness eased, and she began to feel safe whenever her partners whirled her close to the Magician. He was the source of the warmth, the center of gravity, the solid ground just beyond the whirlpool.

As the world lost its hard edge of reality, the walls of the house shimmered and the air tingled like champagne. If Tara got any more light-headed, she might fly.

Wherever she gazed, the Magician was there. His
knowing smile lingered in her mind, overlying the faces of the guests.

At last she found herself dancing in his arms, without any memory of how she had come to be there. His hand imprinted itself on her waist as he led her through a waltz.

Tara had never fancied herself much of a dancer. She was too awkward, her elbows plowing into whoever ventured nearby, her feet tangling with her partner's.

But tonight she became Cyd Charisse, scarcely touching the flagstones of the terrace. The man of mist and magic merged with her and they skimmed along with instinctive grace.

In an inexplicable way, she felt more herself than she had ever been. Tara's whole life, since her mother's death when she was twelve, had been a struggle between the venturesome self nurtured in childhood and the practical Tara born of her need to please a rigid father.

But tonight, the Magician's power fused the conflicting parts of her spirit. Tonight, boldness and risk taking formed a sure path to success.

Although his movements mirrored her slightest shift as they danced, her host comported himself like a gentleman. He made no attempt to nuzzle Tara's neck, as a previous partner had done, or to brush her mouth with his, or to press his arm against the swell of her breasts.

Yet his nearness enveloped her, his body carving the space around her. Tara had never experienced such heightened awareness, all of it riveted on one man.

They moved away from the others, dancing into a shadowed alcove. In response to their nearness, the space became infused with an amber glow. She saw that he was leading her toward the curving staircase.

“Where are we going?” Tara murmured.

Concern played across the man's face. “Have I misunderstood? Don't you wish to be alone with me?”

“But we're not alone,” she whispered. “Together, we form something larger than ourselves.” She didn't know where the words came from but they seemed true.

The Magician regarded her with surprise. “Yes, I sensed that when I saw you.”

Before she could reply, his hands cupped her face. Beneath his gaze, Tara no longer felt knobby and coltish. Her muscles lengthened; her joints smoothed; from her shoulders to her fingertips, her bunglesome self fused into womanhood.

The Magician lifted her as lightly as dandelion fluff. Again, Tara had the impression that their minds intertwined as he mounted the stairs. She was part of his muscles, reveling in the power to carry her, and she shared the elation of his spirit.

A door swung open at their approach and they entered a round room. It must, she realized, be the tower. The chamber was empty, right down to its polished wooden floor.

“Bedchamber!” The Magician spoke into the air.

Velvet curtains whispered across the windows. From the rear wall descended a broad bed, while hidden portals slid aside to reveal an oak armoire.

Tara had the impression that the sensual fabrics and sleek woods had been selected to suit her sensibilities. The room had been waiting for her.

The Magician set her down, his eyes gentle behind the mask. She wished, fleetingly, that he would take it off, but then it didn't matter. What she knew of him went far deeper than what could be seen in his face.

The strangest part was that she knew he was experiencing both the same fire of longing and the same reluctance
to yield to it. She knew he was afraid of hurting her, and uncertain of what she meant to him, and that he stood at a crossroads in his life.

With a stab of insight, she saw that somehow she had been sent here to change him, and he to change her. But in what way? How could their thoughts be so intertwined at this moment, while they yet withheld so much of themselves, even their names?

The Magician's hand caressed her hip, burning through the fabric. Tara ran her finger along his jawline, and felt a shiver of response.

She touched the faint stubble of new-grown beard. As if they were connected by electric wires, she experienced not only what lay on the surface but also his rush of hunger, his disbelief, his eagerness, his doubts.

Then her eyes met his and, with a jolt, she saw that he was inside her mind, too.

He was experiencing her smoky rush of longing, the tightening in her breasts, the melting in her marrow. The double awareness was overwhelming, for both of them.

Tara's only previous experience with lovemaking had been a few fumbling encounters with a college classmate whom she'd briefly imagined she loved. She had felt nothing like this soaring eagerness to arouse and share and merge.

Her partner smoothed the blouse low over her shoulders, his thumbs caressing the exposed tops of her breasts. Tara wound her arms around his shoulders.

She drew the man against her, mouth meeting mouth in explosive hunger. The moment they connected, all hesitation vanished.

With a shrugging movement, his upper arm pushed the mask back and knocked off his hat. But with the curtains
blocking the moonlight, she could see nothing except the outline of his face.

The Magician. It seemed like name enough, just now.

Memory and delight flowed together as they slipped from their clothes and tangled together on the bed. There was no order to their passion, just thigh wildly brushing. thigh, his lips against her nipple, her hands molding his shoulders, his body responding with hot abandon.

She shared his wonder, and his torrent of need. She knew he must have penetrated her mental recesses, as well, finding the wall she'd flung up to protect herself from her father's disapproval and from anyone else who might try to control her life, the barrier that had vanished for this one amazing night.

Only one night?
she wondered. But it wasn't like that. All the nights they had known belonged to both of them. Past and future had no meaning.

Strong hands angled her hips, preparing her to receive him. Tara could feel her moist readiness, and so could he.

What's happening? How can we read each other's minds?

For an instant, she drew back, afraid of what she was experiencing. Could this be a hallucination, or had they tapped into a subconscious river that flowed between them? But surely such things didn't exist.

The Magician paused, watching her. Sensing her confusion and allowing her to sort it out. He would withdraw if she wished. He had been swept away as much as she, Tara knew, still hearing the echo of his thoughts, but he would never pressure her.

As she pulled herself achingly from his mind, she became more aware of him as a man. Muscular, taut, graceful even in the slightest movement. An herbal fragrance
mingled with the faint scent of his exertion. Most remarkable were his eyes, gleaming in the shadowed planes of his face, alive with speculation.

Like a sleek wild hunter he crouched over her, withholding his power. They were separate, but entwined so intimately that with one stroke his body would enter hers.

The self-protective screens that Tara had built around her heart vaporized. They must be united. They belonged together, as one being. Tonight was the only moment that existed, or ever would.

“Yes,” she whispered.

His shaft entered her slowly. As the rightness of their joining reverberated through her, Tara felt every centimeter of the man growing with excitement. Something beyond magic was about to happen.

He plunged deep into her. A cry issued from his throat and his back arched.

Pleasure shot through Tara. His rhythmic thrusting lifted her into another sphere, where time passed in tiny flicks of sensation. They were made not of flesh but of light, glimmering and flowing. All the colors of ecstasy merged as he drove into her.

Her breasts registered the demanding pressure of his chest. Her mouth met his again, and then something new rose from the depths of her soul like a great shout of joy.

THE MOON WAS FADING
as Chance Powers walked back up the driveway to his house. He stared at the castle facade with distaste. Like his odd name, tonight's set decorations had been bestowed upon him by his father, who had an ulterior motive.

At the door, he ordered the computer to turn off the hologram guardians on the porch. Inside, the house lay silent, the guests gone from the courtyard and the tables
bare. The mess could wait until his cleaning staff arrived in the morning.

There was a new sense of emptiness now, without his lady. She had fallen into a deep sleep, a side effect of the intensity of their experience. Her girlfriend, puzzled but good-humored, had hung around until Chance carried his lady downstairs and laid her gently in the back of the car.

By now, they must have reached the street. He doubted they would be able to find their way back here again; people rarely could, unless he summoned them.

Already, he missed her mobile face, alive with an intriguing mixture of naiveté and cynicism. And her rumpled, spiky hair, and the way her lips quirked with emotion. He even missed the sometimes abrupt movements as if she had grown six inches overnight and hadn't yet adjusted to her body.

He yearned to run after the car and bring her back. But it would be a terrible mistake.

It had been his father's idea to throw this Halloween party. Raymond Powers wanted his son to become a partner in the family's multimillion-dollar special-effects business, in which Chance had worked part-time while earning his MBA.