Sympathetic Magic(56)
She lifted an eyebrow at him, and he grinned. “Were you planning on driving anywhere?”
No, she wasn’t. The only place she planned to go at the end of the evening was right back into his bed. Maybe sooner. “Not really. It just feels…decadent.”
“I think it’s time you let your hair down, don’t you?”
Oh, yes. Loose and wild and free, just the way she was feeling now. Reality would probably catch up eventually, but in the meantime she planned to enjoy herself.
They sat down, and Lucas poured her some wine while she settled her napkin in her lap. When he raised his glass, he said, “What should we toast?”
Her gaze strayed to the high windows in the living room, where snow was still falling, pale blurs against the black of night. Goddess bless the snow, the cocoon of privacy and isolation it provided. She lifted her glass as well. “To snowstorms.”
“To snowstorms,” he echoed, clinking his wine glass against hers.
They drank. It was a tempranillo this time, a good pairing with the chicken mole, which turned out to be surprisingly tasty, considering the sauce had come out of a pouch. And although Margot had expected some awkwardness, there really wasn’t any. They talked some more about their families, about how Lucas had a degree from Northern Pines in mathematics, of all things. That surprised her more than she cared to admit, but he only shrugged and said, “I always liked numbers. It was something Damon and I enjoyed talking about. There’s something pure about math. And it’s helped a lot with financial planning for the clan.”
He was so off-hand about the whole thing that she let it go, and made herself still her own tiny pang of jealousy. Not that she would have lasted two months as a math major, but just that he had the opportunity to stay in his clan’s territory and still go to a real four-year university, where the only thing Cottonwood had to offer was a community college. True, there was Embry-Riddle over in Prescott, although it had never been an option for her, as she wasn’t interested in aviation or engineering. That had been Clay’s field of expertise.
She shut that thought down right away. Here, enjoying the afterglow of the lovemaking with Lucas and listening to the warm timbre of his voice, admiring the way the candlelight lent an additional warmth to his olive-toned skin, the last thing she wanted to think about was Clay McAllister.
And from time to time she would pause in the conversation and notice the way Lucas was watching her, like a child who couldn’t really believe that his parents had gotten him a pony for Christmas, but even that didn’t feel awkward. More…empowering, that she should be on the receiving end of such admiration and astonishment.
Then the lights flickered and went out, and Margot gave a little gasp. They weren’t in complete darkness, as the tapers on the table had been lit, and a faint glow emanated from the living room, where the fire still burned.
“Does this happen often?” she asked. It certainly did back in Jerome, where during a good thunderstorm her cottage stood about a fifty-fifty chance of losing power, but she’d thought things would be more robust here, as they were so much newer.
He shrugged, looking supremely unconcerned. “From time to time. It’s not that big a deal. It’ll come on eventually. And the heat is gas, and so are the water heater and the stove, so we don’t really have that much to worry about.”
No, they didn’t. They had the fire, and candlelight, and each other. She drank some more wine, then said, “So I suppose that rules out watching anything on that big flat-screen of yours.”
His teeth flashed as he smiled. “No, I had something a little better in mind.”
* * *
Thank God the fireplace in his bedroom was natural gas as well. It lent warmth and a dim, intimate light to the room, making Margot appear like some goddess of flame and shadow in its reflection as she laughed and set her glass of wine down on the nightstand, then pulled her sweater over her head. She did so with almost a forced boldness, as if she’d never done something like that before, had always waited for her partner to undress her.
He was hard already, watching her. No, scratch that — he’d been hard during almost the whole dinner, listening to the soft, low tones of her voice, seeing that tumble of dark hair fall free on her shoulders. He’d done his best to ignore his body’s response to her, but now that he was here with her again in his bedroom, he didn’t have to deny any longer what she did to him.
Following her lead, he drew off his own clothes, fingers clumsy in their hastiness to get rid of the annoying pieces of cloth that stood between him and feeling her satiny skin against his once more. She pulled back the covers and climbed into his bed, then waited for him there, naked, skin so pale and perfect against the warm brown of the sheets.