Fire and Flame (26 page)

Her outrage increased because she couldn’t disprove anything he’d said. Her father had made a rather large, nearly unavoidable stipulation in his last will and testament. If he’d truly known Brent’s feelings on breeding then it stood to reason he hoped to arrange some sort of relationship between his princess and the son of his soul.

But what of Sara’s hopes and dreams? What of the inheritance she was supposed to use to realize her true potential in whatever fashion she saw fit? Why did she need all that money if she was going to be trapped in the Ohio River Valley with Brent?

But the wording in the will… Her daddy hadn’t willed money to her so she could realize her dreams
.
The document stated it was to reach her
potential
. In Fintan’s eyes those would have been two vastly different goals. The wording made it clear which he thought was more important.

A cool chill rippled up her back when she considered these realizations. More questions crowded her mind. One echoed again and again. Had her daddy planned to use Brent to keep her in Indiana? And if he had, was that reason to heed the wish now that he was gone?

The warring emotions on Brent’s face from the drooping plea in his eyes to the angry line of his lips reminded Sara that Brent had claimed to need her, he’d asked her to marry him, and he’d said he loved her. She couldn’t throw his heartfelt admissions back in his face. But she also couldn’t agree.

“I didn’t know all of that,” she whispered. “Daddy never talked to me about what would happen after graduation. I assumed he’d let me continue with my goals.” After a pause she said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

He stared at her for five long, uncomfortable seconds. “Do you have to think about marrying me?”

Sara’s lips quivered as she tried not to cry. “I’m sorry, Brent. But I do.”

Brent’s next breath was ragged. “It’s not a rejection. You haven’t destroyed me yet.”

He pushed off the bed, fetching his pants from where he’d dropped them near the door last night. He hopped into them without looking at her and then escaped down the stairs.

Sara waited until she was sure he was out of earshot to let go of her tears.

It was unfair that events had happened as they had. If he hadn’t been regional high priest, Brent would have been free to go with her to New York. But if Brent hadn’t been regional high priest, she wasn’t sure Fintan would have forced her to do her duty with him.

She’d always had a way of influencing her daddy into letting her get out of whatever she didn’t want to do. And she most certainly would have fought tooth and nail to get out of doing anything with Brent.

Now they were in an impossible situation that was complicated by feelings neither of them should have. If only she’d hid in her bedroom that night nearly a week ago.

If only.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Brent needed more ice cubes to douse his head. The chilly water hadn’t frozen his tear ducts. He didn’t want to cry. The only emotion the regional high priest of the Ohio River Valley should show was aggression.

He lifted himself upright for a look at his pale face in the mirror. Though his lips were little more than a grim line, red stained the tired, shadowed depths of his eyes. There was a very good reason for that.

He’d poured his heart out to Sara. She’d basically rejected him.

Sorrow threatened to burst from him. Brent thrust his head into the sink of icy water. The shock of cold wasn’t as strong this time. He needed colder ice. If he were numb, he wouldn’t be able to feel his insides shattering.

Phoenix, but he loved her.

With a quiet sputter and a painful choke, he brought his head out of the water. It was no use. Brent turned on the water in the shower. And then he gave in to the pain. Slumped against the tile in his bathroom, he allowed himself to cry like the boy he hadn’t been able to be.

****

Sara stared at the ceiling in the darkness ignoring the dull ache in her chest. It was time to accept he wasn’t coming. She should be relieved she’d get a full eight hours of sleep. She wasn’t.

Brent was avoiding her.

He’d disappeared into his room, the office, and the bathroom the few times Sara had taken trips downstairs. When she’d sat down to watch a show on the sofa in the living room, he’d even left the house. And now that she was alone at two in the morning, she knew she’d stay that way.

It was the first night in nearly a week she’d spend by herself. She couldn’t help but recall the reason.

He’d proposed to her.

She’d done the right thing. He hadn’t really meant it. They’d be miserable together. All they did was fight. And he’d realize it if he spent any time considering the truth.

But they hadn’t fought in days. Not like they had as children. Would they fight now that Brent was unhappy with her?

Though she was certain a lifetime with Brent would be a melancholy one for them both, she still recalled his deferential behavior toward her in the last week. They’d eaten every meal together. And he’d made no attempt to hide they were together from his friends. It was the opposite.

Apart from clearly speaking the words, he’d done nearly everything else. He’d kissed her in their presence. He’d touched her at every opportunity. He’d included her in their discussions. And he’d listened to her counsel as he had during the situation with the children.

Sara rolled over, shoving her face into her pillow. Should she pack her things and leave in the night? Finding her missing in the morning would devastate him. But wouldn’t it hurt him less than if they had a child together and then she left?

The last thing Sara wanted to do was abandon her child. But there’d be no choice. Remaining in McKenna House with Brent and their child would be an intolerable situation if she refused to marry him.

Those seemed to be her choices. She could stay and contribute to the misery of three. Or she could forsake her heritage, refuse an inheritance, and hope no one killed her for being a rogue witch.

With options like these it was no wonder she couldn’t sleep.

****

Brent glared out the window of his pickup truck. Another false lead. This one wasn’t even a witch.

Beside him, Colin spoke a cautious question. “Do you get the feeling Vanessa is sending us on wild goose chases?”

“Yes,” Brent snarled low in his throat.

His temper simmered below the surface, spitting heated reactions on occasion when pressed. But it wasn’t Colin’s fault they’d followed yet another suggestion from their resident “Ena expert”. It was Brent’s.

He’d jumped at any excuse to get out of the house. Every second he spent under the same roof as Sara was an unbearable one.

He forced himself to speak in a steady tone. “At least we know we don’t have to worry about this Escalade.”

The friends lapsed into silence while Brent started the truck’s engine for the trip back home.

Colin broke the silence on the freeway a minute later. “We’ve checked out half a dozen Escalades, thirteen pickups of various makes and models, and two rare Ena witches that don’t want vengeance for their asshole father. No offense, Brent, but when are you going to stop?”

“When the threat is neutralized.” It was an obvious answer, one he shouldn’t have had to speak.

Nonetheless, his ginger-haired companion pressed him for a different one. “It’s been a week. No one has touched you.”

“We’ve been vigilant.”

“You’ve been reckless,” Colin retorted with an irked lift of his pitch. “You’ve left the house alone more times than I can count in the past two and a half days. One guard is plenty for Sara. You don’t need both me and Derrick there when you run off by yourself.”

“She needs all the protection she can get. And with Perry assisting Grace that means I go it alone.”

“Why does Sara need two witches on her? She proved she can handle herself.”

Brent shot Colin a sharp look. “When did she prove that?”

“At Grace’s,” Colin replied without backing down beneath the dark glare.

“When she failed to secure the prisoner before trying to interrogate him? She proved herself then, you mean?”

“What happened between you two?” Colin blurted out. He owned it by continuing with the topic despite the obvious fury building across the truck. “You were manic for days and now you’re worse than I’ve seen you in a decade.”

Brent clenched his fingers around the steering wheel as he focused his attention on the freeway ahead. Manic. He nearly laughed at that. It was disturbingly accurate. Sara made him deranged. Every muscle in his body was tight with need for her. But the one he was listening to was slowly killing him with toxic emotions.

He hadn’t slept since he woke in her bed. The past two nights he’d spent in cold water more than out of it. Countless times he’d stopped himself from going to her. And countless times he’d reminded himself he was giving her time to think.

She needed to come to him. He wouldn’t seduce her into marrying him. Phoenix, how he wanted to.

The only answer he could think to give his friend was, “Never underestimate your foe. The Ena witches haven’t given up. They’re just regrouping.”

Brent should follow the advice. He shouldn’t give up. He should regroup and renew his campaign.

Sara
could
be happy with him. But his heart hurt too badly to try with any success. Perhaps tomorrow.

****

Brent lifted his head out of the ledger containing the list of witches within the river valley. He’d thought he’d heard someone at the office door. At three in the morning, his friends would know better than to bother him. His lips pursed when he considered the other possibility. Hadn’t Vanessa learned there was only one woman for him?

When he spotted golden hair around the door, Brent thought he’d progressed into madness. Now he was being visited by ghosts of living people?

“Can I come in?” the ghost whispered, seemingly proving his derangement because the real Sara wouldn’t ask for permission to enter her father’s office.

Nonetheless, he nodded his head in invitation to the ghost. He remained stiff in the tall chair before the fireplace as the figure silently opened the door. Additional notes proved her otherworldly state as she floated inside on slim, bare feet.

The filmy white gown draped over her body was a garment he hadn’t seen in the days they’d slept together. Nor had she ever worn anything like it in the years he’d lived in McKenna House. And the way her eyes gleamed with wicked intent proved some sort of evil entity had invaded to take advantage of his fragile emotions.

Brent’s gaze went to the curve of her breast beneath the gossamer fabric as the ghostly figure crossed the room in the dim light. Whatever creature this was had recreated the shape of Sara’s erect nipple with perfection. And the swell of her hip was precisely the correct shape of gentle rounding. Even the golden crop of hair at the V in her legs appeared accurate beneath the light fabric. His body tightened in reaction to the remembered taste of her on his tongue.

The entity had said nothing apart from the request for an invitation and yet Brent was already tormented to the limit of his tolerance. His invader stopped beside the matching chair opposite him, looking so like Sara when it drew its lower lip between its straight teeth. He clenched his fingers around the ledger to keep from reaching out.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” ghostly Sara softly accused.

“I’ve been giving you time to think,” he replied as if she were truly Sara.

“I know,” she said with another gnaw at her lip. “But I’ve missed you.”

A stab of emotion pierced his heart. He desperately wanted this to be Sara. More than anything in the universe, he wanted her to accept his offer. He wanted to enfold her in his arms knowing she was his for all time.

His reticence must have been taken as some sort of invitation for the apparition moved toward him. The ghostly being stepped around the chair, stretching the fine fabric over her body in a tantalizing fashion when it caught on the upholstered corner. Brent stifled a groan.

The chill of the creature’s hand sliding over his forearm was proof his exhaustion produced hallucinations. Horrible, agonizing hallucinations that were currently lifting her skirt to straddle him.

But would a hallucination smell of sweet amber and heady pine? Would it feel like soft, heated satin against his skin? Would that same figment of his imagination slip her hand beneath the waistband of his jeans?

“Sara,” he groaned aloud when her fingers closed over his rod.

The wicked female ground her pelvis against his as she stroked his length between them. When her lips closed over his and he experienced the delicate caress of her tongue, he knew this was no hallucination. This really was
Sara.

He went completely limp beneath her, exhaling a ragged breath. She noted the change in his stance but tried a few additional seconds to revitalize him. His misery was great enough that even his rod went limp along with the rest of him.

“Brent,” she said with a disappointed tilt to her lovely head.

“I can’t, Sara,” he whispered. “I can’t separate.” When her cool blue eyes crinkled in confusion, he explained, “Sex is love for me. I won’t make love to you unless you share it with me.”

Her mouth puckered. “So you loved all those girls you screwed in high school?”

Hope sparked in him at her sharp tone of voice. Was it jealousy again? The optimism died when he recalled Sara wanted no rivals for her affection regardless of whether or not she returned it.

“I cared for them at the time,” he admitted.

The ire softened in her eyes only to be replaced by that wicked gleam once more. He turned his head rather than look at it. Would she still be doing this if she knew how much it hurt him?

“We were having fun before it got serious,” she said in her softest of voices. “Why can’t we have fun with the time we have left?”

Brent’s heart clenched into a tight, shriveling ball. He squeezed his eyes, fighting against the burn in them.