Sympathetic Magic(29)

“She told me.”

“What?” Margot replied, taken aback by the interruption. “Told you what?”

“About Clay. About how you wouldn’t give anyone a chance after that.”

Fury burned through her then, which was good, because the air blowing in from the north was cold, so cold, and she needed the fire in her veins to combat it. “She had no right to tell you that.”

“She said it was fairly common knowledge among your clan…at least, the people who were old enough at the time to understand what was going on.” His mouth twisted, and he added, “If it makes you feel any better, she tried to warn me off.”

“She didn’t do a very good job of it,” Margot snapped, and began walking again.

Of course he didn’t take the hint, but kept striding along behind her, like a stray dog that thought it would get a good meal if it followed her home. She stopped again, this time in front of Spook Hall; no events were planned for this Saturday night, so the building was dark and empty.

“Lucas, I’m going home. I’m sorry you drove all the way down here for nothing, but — ”

“It wasn’t for nothing. Rachel fed me a very good meal.” He stood there, staring down at her, and once again she could feel her cheeks flush, could feel a tingle move over her at the intensity of his gaze. Damn it, why was it so hard to be indifferent to him, when she’d become an expert at freezing out any man who evinced so much as a modicum of interest?

“Well, then,” she said, attempting a tone of brittle carelessness. She wasn’t sure how well the comment went over, though.

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Just tell me one thing. One thing, and then I’ll leave you alone. Okay?”

“Okay.” That sounded safe enough. She hoped. Anything to get him to back off, to let her retreat to her lonely little shell where she didn’t have struggle with her body’s unwelcome responses to a man who was utterly wrong for her.

“Tell me you felt nothing when I kissed you.”

Oh, Goddess. One lie, and she would be rid of him. The trouble was, would he believe it?

She took in a breath, expelled it, and said, “I felt nothing.”

For the longest moment, he didn’t reply. Then, “You’re lying.”

Now was the time to protest, to say of course she wasn’t lying. But that would only be piling one lie on top of another, and for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to do that.

“So I’m lying. It doesn’t change the fact that this is impossible, and you’re being impossible.” She turned on her heel and began walking again, not bothering to wait for his reaction. A second or two later, she heard the sound of his footsteps behind her. So he really was going to follow her all the way back to her house.

Would she have the courage to shut him out?

As they walked, the rain began to fall again, lightly at first, and then with increasing strength. Grimly, she popped open her umbrella and hastened her strides. By the time they reached her front porch, the rain was falling in sheets, and Lucas’ hair was plastered to his scalp, the water sluicing off his leather jacket. Of course she couldn’t leave him outside in this.

“Come on in,” she said with some irritation. How like him to force her into taking him inside her home. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d brought the rain. That wasn’t his talent, after all.

Unless his talent made the rain come so she’d be compelled to offer him shelter. Damn. She really had no idea how far this gift of his extended, how much it pushed and pulled on the world around him to make it form to what he wanted.

There was a coat tree in one corner of the tiny entry, so she unbuttoned her raincoat and hung it up, then watched as Lucas divested himself of his rain-slick garment and draped it from the arm of the coat tree next to hers. With one hand, he reached up and pushed his sodden hair off his forehead.

“I’ll get you a towel,” she said crisply, going down the hall to the linen closet. After fetching a spare hand towel, she returned to the foyer and gave the towel to him.

“Thanks.” He immediately began blotting his hair, getting rid of the worst of the moisture. His shoes were dripping, too, so Margot went on,

“Take those off, and bring them into the living room. I’ll get a fire started, and you can set them on the hearth to dry off.”

She could only hope that by being as brisk and businesslike as possible, he’d understand that she was only doing these things because she didn’t want him to be uncomfortable or catch cold, and not because she was encouraging him in any way.

How successful she was, she didn’t know, but at least he was silent as he slipped off his loafers, then followed her into the living room. At this time of year, she always had logs stacked and ready to go, since the nights were chilly, and her hundred-year-old cottage had its fair share of drafts. One flick of her finger toward the hearth, and the fire blazed up at once, warm and inviting, banishing the drafts for the moment.