Sympathetic Magic(4)

The man who appeared around the corner of the house in that moment was tall and dark-haired, but he definitely was not Connor. He stopped a few feet away from where she stood on the back stoop, the expression in his eyes startled even behind the sunglasses he wore.

Despite her best efforts to ignore it, an odd little thrill traced its way down Margot’s back. “What are you doing here, Lucas?”

At once he removed the sunglasses. His dark eyes twinkled in the bright sunlight. “Checking on the house. You?”

“The same,” she said shortly. In that moment she wished she hadn’t dressed so casually, that she wasn’t wearing the skinny jeans she’d bought against her better judgment, the slim-fitting T-shirt, or the thong-style jeweled sandals that showed off her recent French pedicure. It was as if Lucas’ gaze had caught every detail about her appearance, right down to her toes…and worse, he liked it.

At her reply, he let out a chuckle. “Those kids were so distracted, I think they probably forgot half of what they said to anyone over the past few days. Late last night, Connor asked me to come up and check on the house, since he was afraid he’d forgotten to lock the back door, and Rachel and Tobias were still going to be tied up at the resort today getting everything cleaned up and cleared out.”

“Angela made the same request of me,” Margot replied. “And good thing, since they actually did leave the back door unlocked. But I’ve taken care of it. Sorry you had to waste a drive out here.”

“Oh, I don’t think it was wasted,” Lucas said, still with that glint in his eye.

The way he was looking at her left little doubt as to his meaning. She drew in a breath, trying to come up with a way to let him know there was no point in him wasting any more effort on her. Maybe in some small corner of her soul, she’d admit such attention was just the tiniest bit flattering, but her rational self knew she had to get rid of him now and offer nothing that could possibly be construed as encouragement. Goddess knows he was bad enough already when she was offering nothing but discouragement.

He forestalled her, though, saying, “Well, since I’m here, why don’t I buy you a drink?”

“A drink?” she repeated with some incredulity. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“True,” he said amiably. “But it’s Sunday. Someone has to be offering brunch around here…you know…champagne? Mimosas?”

She crossed her arms and sent him what she hoped was a sufficiently quelling look. “This isn’t your country club, Mr. Wilcox.”

He did not appear offended. “Lucas. I’d say after that dance last night we should be on a first-name basis.”

“Very well…Lucas.” Although her tone was as severe as she could make it, his expression didn’t change. He only stood there, gazing up at her where she stood on the back stoop, a slight smile playing about his mouth…a mouth she tried damn hard not to look at for very long. It was far too distracting. She went on, “No one offers brunch here in Jerome, and I don’t generally make a habit of drinking before dinnertime.”

“Okay, no mimosas. A cup of coffee?”

“Sorry, but I don’t drink coffee.”

“Iced tea? Sparkling water? Lemonade?”

Despite herself, Margot could feel her lips twitch. He was persistent, wasn’t he? And after the last few fallow years, it felt good to have a man paying this much attention to her, even if the man in question happened to be a Wilcox.

But because he was a Wilcox, she knew she couldn’t let that smile grow any further, couldn’t do anything except send him on his way as soon as possible. Yes, Angela’s constant message for the past few months had been Wilcox/McAllister togetherness, but Margot was not going to allow her prima’s wishes to sway her. Bad enough that Adam McAllister had been so openly flirting with that one Wilcox girl last night at the reception. So much for his supposedly broken heart. Margot knew she was made of sterner stuff.

“Nothing, thank you.” She stepped down from the stoop, knowing she would have to go right past Lucas to make her escape. If only witches truly did have the ability to fly away on a broomstick. It would have been so much easier.

He did shift slightly on the path so she could walk past him, but not so much that she wasn’t acutely aware of how tall he was, looming over her like that. Neither could she ignore the slightest tantalizing trace of the cologne he wore, something clean and woodsy, teasing her like a glimpse of the great pine forests surrounding Flagstaff itself, a place of course she’d never been.