Sympathetic Magic(55)

“Hungry?” he asked, and she started.

“What?”

“Well, it’s almost seven. I was wondering if you were hungry.”

Seeming to consider, she paused, camisole still in one hand. Lucas was just fine if she wanted to stay like that, so he could enjoy looking at the curve of her breasts as defined by the black lace bra she wore. Who knew she’d be hiding something that hot under the simple clothing she wore?

Then she said, “I do think I worked up something of an appetite.”

Something about the small smile that played around her mouth as she gave him that reply made a wave of heat pass over him. To hide his obvious reaction, he bent and picked up his jeans from the floor, and hoped he’d be able to get them on over his growing erection.

“Well, let’s see what we can rustle up,” he replied, repressing a groan as he stuffed himself into his pants.

She nodded and slipped into her own jeans, then pulled her sweater over her head. As she did so, he grabbed his discarded shirt and drew it on, fingers fumbling with the buttons. Amazing how he was still feeling tremors from that orgasm.

Or maybe not so amazing. He’d been with a lot of women, but never one like Margot.

If she noticed the effect she’d had on him, she showed no sign of it. After pulling on her socks, she waited for him as he finished the last of his buttons, then headed for the door.

“Aren’t you going to turn that off?” she inquired, inclining her head toward the fireplace.

“No,” he said. “It’ll help to keep the room warm. A night like this, with all that snow piled up on the roof? The furnace can use all the help it can get. I figured you’d rather come back to a warm bed.” And then he stopped himself, because he realized he’d made a pretty big assumption there. Just because they’d slept together, it didn’t mean they would actually…sleep together.

But she didn’t contradict him, only said, “Yes, I would.”

Again he could feel himself flush with heat, needing her all over again, but she’d basically just made him a promise that this wasn’t going to be a one-time occurrence.

He really couldn’t ask for much more than that.



* * *



It should have been awkward to bustle around the kitchen, rustling up dinner after the experience they’d just shared, but strangely, it wasn’t. Again Margot found herself enjoying the process, getting out the chicken breasts, simmering them with the sauce Lucas had bought. Maybe Rachel McAllister would have tisk-tisked at using something pre-made like that, but Margot had to admit that it did really speed up the process.

Lucas brought the mostly empty bottle of wine in from the living room, and they finished it off while she cooked, finding herself lightheaded, but not really tipsy. No, it wasn’t the wine that made her feel giddy. It was Lucas Wilcox.

She knew she shouldn’t be feeling this way. Bad enough that they’d had sex, but sex was something you could walk away from, no strings attached. But this warmth in her breast every time she looked at him, the way her breath wanted to catch when he turned around and those dark eyes, a warm brown that contrasted with the near-black of his hair, caught hers? Bad news. Very bad news. It meant she cared. Cared a lot. She’d already whispered the “L” word in her mind, but now she found it even more difficult to acknowledge. She loved him, and she’d slept with him.

Some people might say she’d gone way, way past the point of no return.

He came up behind her, pushed her hair away from the back of her neck. The warmth of his lips touched the sensitive skin, and her body heated with need all over again.

“That smells good,” he said, once he’d straightened up again.

She wasn’t sure if he meant her skin or her hair or the food she was cooking. Maybe it didn’t really matter. “It should be ready soon.”

“Then I’d better get the table set.”

Her gaze followed him as he went out to the dining room, his hands full with cutlery and paper napkins. The place mats they’d used for lunch were still sitting on the table, so it didn’t take much time for him to get set up. But she liked watching him go to and fro, watching the way he moved, the strength of his body under the casual loose-fitting clothing. She realized then that he was dressed very much like he’d been in that one photo with his mother, where he’d been barely more than a boy.

He was definitely all man now, though. More man than she’d ever thought she’d have.

Somehow she managed to will away the throbbing that particular thought brought on, and focused on getting the food transferred to dishes and bowls. It was all pretty easy — the chicken in the mole sauce, the rice, the black beans. And when she began to bring it out, she noticed that Lucas had opened another bottle of wine.