"The dragon." Smiling, she ran a hand over the pewter head. "I was just wondering if I should take him home with me." She smiled, and he saw that her lips were full and soft and unpainted. "Do you like dragons?"
"Crazy about them," he decided on the spot. "Do you shop in here often?"
"Yes." She lifted a hand to her hair. It was black as midnight and fell in careless waves to her waist. Nash made an effort and tried to put the pieces of her together. The ebony hair went with pale, creamy skin. The eyes were wide and heavily lashed, the nose was small and sharp. She was nearly as tall as he, and wand slender. The simple blue dress she wore showed taste and style, as well as subtle curves.
There was something, well, dazzling about her, he realized. Though he couldn't analyze what while he was so busy enjoying it.
As he watched, her lips curved again. There was something very aware as well as amused in the movement. "Have you been in Wicca before?"
"No. Great stuff."
"You're interested in crystals?"
"I could be." Idly he picked up a hunk of amethyst. "But I flunked my earth science course in high school."
"I don't think you'll be graded here." She nodded toward the stone he held. "If you want to get in touch with your inner self, you should hold it in your left hand."
"Oh, yeah?" To indulge her, he shifted it. He hated to tell her he didn't feel a thing—other than a shaft of pleasure at the way the dress skimmed around her knees. "If you're a regular here, maybe you could introduce me to the witch."
Brow lifted, she followed his look as he glanced at the blonde, who was finishing up her sale. "Do you need a witch?"
"I guess you could say that."
She turned those wonderful blue eyes on him again. "You don't look like the type who'd come looking for a love spell."
He grinned. "Thanks. I think. Actually, I'm doing some research. I write movies. I want to do a story on witchcraft in the nineties. You know… secret covens, sex and sacrifices."
"Ah." When she inclined her head, clear crystal drops swung at her ears. "Nubile women doing ring dances sky-clad. Naked," she explained. "Mixing potions by the dark of the moon to seduce their hapless victims into orgies of prurient delights."
"More or less." He leaned closer and discovered that she smelled as cool and dark as a forest in moonlight. "Does this Morgana really believe she's a witch?"
"She knows what she is, Mr.—?"
"Kirkland. Nash Kirkland."
Her laugh was low and pleased. "Of course. I've enjoyed your work. I particularly liked Midnight Blood . You gave your vampire a great deal of wit and sensuality without trampling on tradition."
"There's more to being undead than graveyard dirt and coffins."
"I suppose. And there's more to being a witch than stirring a cauldron."
"Exactly. That's why I want to interview her. I figure she's got to be a pretty sharp lady to pull all this off."
"Pull off?" she repeated as she bent to pick up a huge white cat that had sauntered over to flow around her legs.
"The reputation," he explained. "I heard about her in L.A. People bring me weird stories."
"I'm sure they do." She stroked the cat's massive head. Now Nash had two pair of eyes trained on him. One pair of cobalt, and one of amber. "But you don't believe in the Craft, or the power."
"I believe I can make it into a hell of a good story." He smiled, putting considerable charm into it. "So, how about it? Put in a good word for me with the witch?"
She studied him. A cynic, she decided, and one entirely too sure of himself. Life, she thought, was obviously one big bed of roses for Nash Kirkland. Maybe it was time he felt a few thorns.
"I don't think that'll be necessary." She offered him a hand, long and slender and adorned with a single ring of hammered silver. He took it automatically, then hissed out a breath as a jolt of electricity zinged up to his shoulder. She just smiled. "I'm your witch," she said.
Static electricity, Nash told himself a moment later, after Morgana had turned away to answer a question from a customer about something called St. John's wort. She'd been holding that giant cat, rubbing the fur… That was where the shock had come from.
But he flexed his fingers unconsciously.
Your witch, she'd said. He wasn't sure he liked her use of that particular pronoun. It made things a bit too uncomfortably intimate. Not that she wasn't a stunner. But the way she'd smiled at him when he jolted had been more than a little unnerving. It had also told him just why he'd found her dazzling.