Impassion (Mystic) (9 page)

“I bet. I’m sorry you and Travis had such a horrible weekend. I should have called you guys sooner.”

“Don’t worry ’bout that. We’ve had our hands full today anyway.” She was quiet for a moment. Then she cleared her throat and spoke again. “There’s somethin’ else I need to tell ya.”

“What?” Layla asked, wondering how much bad news one phone call could yield.

“There was another fire last night,” Phyllis explained.

“Where?” Layla pressed.

A moment of tense silence passed before Phyllis dropped the bomb. “Your old house, honey. It’s gone.”

“What?” Layla exclaimed, clutching her nauseous stomach. “Was anyone in it?”

“Shouldn’t have been. It happened ’round one in the mornin’.”

“But how? What happened?”

“Nobody knows. Neighbors didn’t even know it was on fire ’til it was gone.”

“It’s completely gone?”

“Not one board left standin’. Same with the diner.”

“Were there any other fires?”

“No. Just the two. I’m sorry ’bout your house, hon. I know it held sentimental value.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m just glad no one was hurt. Travis must be a wreck, though. I better call him before it gets any later.”

“Good idea,” Phyllis agreed.

“Call if you need anything,” Layla added, “or if Travis needs anything.”

“Sure. Keep in touch now.”

“I will. Bye, Phyllis.”

Layla hung up and stared at the wall, trying to sort out the bad news. She was terribly upset for Travis, and she couldn’t decide how to interpret the two places having everything to do with her most recent past burning down in one night.

“What happened?” Quin asked, pulling her closer.

“Too much,” she answered. “Travis’ mom has been sick for a while, and she died this morning.”

“That’s sad. I’m sorry for your friend.”

“Yes, and I know exactly how he feels, because he’s alone in dealing with it, just like I was. His dad’s dead, he doesn’t have a family to depend on, and he’s a homosexual, so the community doesn’t have much to do with him. They’ll be of no help when it comes to the important stuff, and any attention they do give his loss will be artificial showboating. I feel absolutely awful for him.”

“I can tell,” Quin whispered, kissing her hand. “What else happened?”

“Well, apparently there were a couple of fires last night, and both the diner and my old house burned down.”

Quin’s head popped up. “What? Both of them?”

“Yep, both of them, completely gone.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“One of the diner employees got burned, but everyone’s alive. My house should have been empty; it happened around one in the morning.”

“Were there any other fires?”

“No. Seems kind of odd, huh? Or maybe I’m reading too much into it. An empty house is a good target for drunken teenagers acting stupid.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Are you sad it’s gone?”

“A little. I just always thought it would be there. Not that I have plans to go back, but it was reassuring knowing it was there, like a reminder of my time with Katherine.”

“I’m sorry it’s gone, but I’m glad you were here instead of there.”

“Me, too,” she mumbled, recalling the details of her old home. Then she cleared her throat and looked at her phone. “Travis must be a wreck. I better call him.”

Quin kissed her hand again then got to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, heart rate spiking.

“To talk to Caitrin,” he answered.

“But... but I...” She sucked her lips into her teeth and dropped her gaze, mortified by her neediness.

“I won’t be long,” Quin assured, sitting back down.

“Okay,” she agreed, looking in the opposite direction. “Take as long as you need.”

“Layla.”

“I’m fine, Quin.”

“Then look at me.”

“I’m embarrassed,” she explained, “but I’m fine.” She’d made a fool of herself, and no matter how bad she wanted to look at him, she couldn’t turn her head.

He swept her hair aside then kissed the nape of her neck, sending chills across her shoulders. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” he whispered. “I really like that you want me here.”

“That doesn’t give me the right to act like a needy child,” she countered.

He kissed again, then again, softening her heart with each sweep of his lips. “Would it make you feel better if I called Caitrin over here?”

“No. That would make me feel worse.” She filled her lungs then faced him with hot cheeks. “Are you going to tell him about my house burning down?”

Quin scooted closer, taking her face in his palms so she couldn’t turn away. “Yes. Caitrin’s business savvy and can help you correspond with the hexless world.”

“Okay, but I don’t want him and Morrigan rushing over here in a panic, so tell them I’m fine.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

“And don’t feel like you have to rush either,” she added, struggling to maintain eye contact.

“I’ll be ready to come back as soon as I go,” he assured, “so please don’t be embarrassed about wanting me to stay. I think it’s wonderful you feel that way. Now, I’m going to go talk to Caitrin while you call Travis, and when I get back...” He paused, giving her two quick and intense kisses. “...I’m going to find your kryptonite.”

Still reeling from his kisses, Layla watched him walk to the foyer. He flashed a smile at her before leaving, and she sighed as her heart beat hard and fast, expanding and warming her veins. He was so amazing, and he wanted to spend his time with her. She couldn’t help but wonder how long his interest would last, and she squeezed her eyes shut against the heartbreaking thought of him leaving for good.

She pushed the dread away and opened her eyes, resting her elbows on her knees as she dialed Travis’ number.

He didn’t answer until the fifth ring, and he sounded awful. “Hello?”

“Trav?”

“Sugar?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Damn, Layla, it feels good to hear your voice. I had no idea how much I’d miss ya.”

“I miss you, too, Trav. Phyllis told me about your mom. You must feel like hell.”

A long moment passed before he bitterly responded, sounding nothing like the Travis she knew. “Yeah, it sucks.”

“I know it does, but it gets better. It won’t go away, but it won’t feel so bad forever. I promise.”

“Guess you’d know.”

“Enough to know you feel like shit. I wish I could be there for you.”

“I know, sugar, but it feels good just hearin’ ya talk. I’m better already.”

“Liar,” she accused. Nothing would make him feel better right now. “Have you slept?”

“No. The phone’s been ringin’ all damn day and people kept droppin’ by.” Frustration gripped him, igniting his docile temper. “Bunch of snobs, the lot of ’em. Ain’t been by to see my mom once since she got sick. Now they wanna bring pie and pot roast. Who the hell’s gonna eat all that shit? She’s dead. She don’t need food, and I wouldn’t eat their slop if I was starvin’.”

“I’m so sorry, Travis.”

“I know, sugar.” Depression again.

“It’s late now. Have they stopped calling?”

“Yeah.”

“What were you doing when I called?”

“Starin’ at the wall.”

“That’s what I figured. You’re running on regret and need to rest. Take a sleeping pill and go to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be hard, too.”

“I know.”

“Then get your butt to bed.”

“Mkay.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’ll call in the morning to make sure you’re rested.”

“Mkay. Thanks for callin’ and bossin’ me around.”

“Any time. Now go to bed.”

“I’ll try. Bye, sugar.”

“Bye, Trav.”

Layla hung up and stared at the phone, unable to picture Travis depressed or angry. He’d been a constant source of optimism since the day she met him. “He’ll be okay,” she told herself. “He’s strong.” But her heart continued to ache for his loss.

Chapter 7

Q
uin hadn’t returned, and Layla
didn’t like the way it felt to sit there and wait, so she headed for the bedroom. As she peered down the dark hallway, she thought about exploring the rest of the house, but she didn’t want to do it on the heels of a sad conversation with Travis. Her new home was beautiful and deserved to be toured without worry. She’d save it for morning.

She moved to the nightstand to set her phone aside, but halted when she remembered her hotel room in Portland. Finding the number in her contacts, she called the front desk and explained she wouldn’t be back. With the billing information on file and the room empty, it didn’t take long for the clerk to approve an early checkout.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, Layla dug through her duffel bag by the soft light of a stained glass lamp on the dresser. It was the only bag of clothes she had with her, but apparently the rest of her stuff wasn’t too far away now that her car was in her new garage.

“Weird,” she mumbled, emptying her bag, yet she still lacked something to sleep in.

Quin had said Morrigan stocked the house, but Layla wasn’t sure if the clothes were meant for her or if they’d been her mother’s. She walked to the closet and flipped on the light, scanning the wooden racks to the left and right. Both were full, and none of the clothes were men’s, so she assumed the wardrobe had been replaced since her parents lived there.

She began sifting through gorgeous outfits made of wonderful material, searching for tags that would confirm they were new, but there weren’t any, only hanger after hanger of elegant yet relaxed ensembles. Surely Morrigan hadn’t bought all these. Never in Layla’s life had she dreamed of owning such an amazing wardrobe.

She found the nightclothes and went through every piece, but none of them were appropriate for Quin’s company. No pajama pants or long t-shirts, just skimpy nighties and flowing negligees. She searched the drawers on the back wall and found several pairs of fancy shoes, a pile of skirts and camisoles, and an assortment of belts and scarves, but no shorts, pants or t-shirts. Maybe the more appropriate sleepwear was in the dresser.

She stopped at the armoire outside the closet door, locating a variety of candles, gemstones, stationary, and unlabeled apothecary bottles, but no clothes. So she walked to the dresser and shuffled through every drawer, yet she remained empty-handed of modest sleepwear, and she hadn’t found a stitch of underclothes. No panties, bras or socks. She searched the room, looking for another dresser. There wasn’t one.

The front door slammed, and she jolted, closing the drawer on her finger. “Ow,” she whined, shaking her hand, which only made it worse, so she stuck the throbbing finger in her mouth. “What a klutz.”

Quin’s voice floated from the hall. “Layla?”

“In the bedroom.”

“May I come in?”

“Yeah.”

He rounded the corner and crossed the room. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you do?” he asked, pulling her finger from her mouth.

He lifted her hand for a closer inspection, and Layla stood on her toes, trying to see the damage. “I slammed it in the drawer,” she pouted. “Is it bruised?”

“Yes.”

“It feels bruised.”

“May I fix it?”

Her pucker slipped away as her eyes widened. “Can you?”

“Yes.”

He lightly pressed her finger to his lips, and the throb ceded.

“Wow,” she breathed. “You wizards sure are handy to have around. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Keeping her finger to his lips, he touched the satin over her heart. “How’s everything else?”

“Well,” she shakily replied, “I’m okay.” All she could concentrate on were his lips and fingers, so she pulled her hand away and took a step back. “Travis is going through a hard time, but he’s a happy guy who bounces up when he gets knocked down, so he’ll be okay. He’ll deal with the loss better than most. Much better than I dealt with mine.” She picked up a chunk of rose quartz from the dresser, running her fingers over its sharp angles as she rambled. “It felt good to talk to him. Sad, but reassuring.”

Quin stepped forward and picked up the heart shaped ruby that accompanied the rose quartz. “I’m glad Travis is resilient and going to be okay.”

“Me, too,” she agreed.

Her heartbeat had slowed, her lungs had steadied, and she was at ease with him once more.
Wow
, she thought, now that she could think at all. He had the most amazing affect on her.

She smiled at him, and dimples dipped into his chiseled cheeks, quickening her heart. But at least she remembered to breathe.

He returned their gemstones to the dresser then took her hands, leading her to a chair by the coffee table. After taking a seat, he pulled her onto his lap, brushed her hair aside then kissed the skin below her ear.

All the effort Layla made by the dresser was useless now, and she melted into him, heart thundering as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

Quin softly kissed her neck a few times then pulled away, finding her eyes closed. “Do you want me to go home so you can sleep?”

“Nuh-uh,” she murmured. “Are you tired?”

He looked to her chest, watching her shirt stretch over stimulated breasts. Then he flipped his gaze lower, watching her thighs tense and quiver. “Nuh-uh,” he answered, once again finding her neck.

She shivered and leaned closer. “I’d understand if you need to go home.”

Quin laughed as he turned her face toward his, watching her peek at him with one eye. “This is where I want to be,” he assured.

Her held breath floated into his mouth, and he pulled it into his lungs as he grazed her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. Her fingers stretched over his jaw, drawing him nearer, so he slid his hand to her side and deepened his kiss.

She was already lost in instinct, but Quin was very aware of the risky game they were playing, so every move was thoroughly calculated and carefully executed. No way would he let his libido blow his relationship with the most amazing witch he’d ever met. Until she was ready—comfortable with her own body as well as his—he’d abstain. Both painful and stimulating, the ache of need without resolution would probably give him enough fantasies to last a lifetime. To get so close he could taste it then yank the fruit away as soon as it touched his starving lips would drive him crazy in so many wonderful ways.

Her fingers curled around his neck as her tongue slipped over his, and he stretched his boundaries by sliding his hand under her shirt. The flesh over her ribs was softer than talc, and his thumb warmed in the friction flowing from what lay ahead, the journey he ached to make.

Her lungs hiccupped, and she severed their kiss, practically panting into his mouth as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest heaved as her legs twitched and stretched, and one glimpse at her racing aura told him why. He gave her quivering lips another kiss. Then he tilted her head back and lowered his mouth to her throat.

She jolted and curled in, closing her hand over his, and he froze, sad she was ending it so soon. But instead of pulling his hand away, she forced it further up her shirt, guiding him to an impressive handful of firm flesh. His muscles hardened as he stretched his fingers wide, feeling her tight nipple in his tingling palm. Then he closed them again, tasting her moan as it rolled up her throat.

Her hips rose and angled toward him, but he’d anticipated the move and positioned her accordingly, making sure she couldn’t reach his tightening groin. She trembled, and her hips fell only to rise again, intent on spreading fire through his throbbing veins.