Charmed (11 page)

“And if she’s going to have one, she should know—”

“Out.” On a strangled laugh, Ana gave him a shove. “Out of my yard. I have work to do. If I need a psychic, I’ll call you.”

He relented and gave her a kiss. “See that you do.” A new smile began to bloom as he walked away with his wife. “I believe we’ll stop by and see Morgana and Nash.”

“That’s fine.” Mel shot a last glance over her shoulder. “I’d like to hear what they have to say about this guy myself.”

Sebastian laughed and hugged her close. “You are a woman after my own heart.”

“No, I’m not.” She kissed him soundly. “I’ve already got it.”

*  *  *

For the next several days, Ana busied herself indoors. It wasn’t that she was avoiding Boone—at least not to any great extent. She simply had a lot to do. Her medicinal supplies had become sadly depleted. Just that day, she’d had a call from a client in Carmel who was out of the elixir for her rheumatism. Ana had had just enough to ship, but that meant she had to make more as soon as possible. Even now she had dried primrose simmering with motherwort on the stove.

In the little room adjoining the kitchen through a wide archway, she had her distilling flasks, condensers, burners and bottles, along with vials and silver bowls and candles, set up for the day. To the casual eye, the room resembled a small chemistry lab. But there was a marked difference between chemistry and alchemy. In alchemy there was ritual, and the meticulous use of astrological timing.

All of the flowers and roots and herbs she had harvested by moonlight had been carefully washed in morning dew. Others, plucked under different phases of the moon, had already been prepared for their specific uses.

There was syrup of poppy to be distilled, and there was hyssop to be dried for cough syrup. She needed some oil of clary for a specialty perfume, and she could combine that with some chamomile for a digestive aid. There were infusions and decoctions to be completed as well as both oils and incense.

Plenty to do, Ana thought, particularly since she had the touch of magic from the flowers picked in moonlight. And she enjoyed her work, the scents that filled her kitchen and workroom, the pretty pink leaves of the flowering marjoram, the deep purple of foxglove, the sunny touch of the practical marigold.

They were lovely, and she could never resist setting some in vases or bowls around the house. She was testing a dilution of gentian, grimacing at the bitter taste, when Boone knocked on her screen door.

“I really do need sugar this time,” he told her with a quick, charming grin that had her heart pumping fast.
“I’m homeroom mother this week, and I have to make three dozen cookies for tomorrow.”

Tilting her head, she studied him. “You could buy them.”

“What homeroom mother worth her salt serves the first grade class store-bought? A cup would do it.”

The image of him baking made her smile. “I probably have one. Come on in. Just let me finish this up.”

“It smells fabulous in here.” He leaned over to peek into the pots simmering on the stove. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t!” she warned, just as he was about to dip a finger in a black glass pan cooling on the counter. “That’s belladonna. Not for internal consumption in that form.”

“Belladonna.” His brows drew together. “You’re making poison?”

“I’m making a lotion—an anodyne—for neuralgia, rheumatism. And it isn’t a poison if it’s brewed and dispensed properly. It’s a sedative,”

Frowning, he looked into the room behind, with its chemical equipment and its bubbling brews. “Don’t you have to have a license or something?”

“I’m a qualified herbal practitioner, with a degree in pharmacognosy, if that relieves you.” She batted his hand away from a pot. “And this is not something for the novice.”

“Got anything for insomnia—besides belladonna? No offense.”

She was instantly concerned. “Are you having trouble sleeping? Are you feverish?” She lifted a hand to his brow, then went still when he took her wrist.

“Yes, to both questions. You could say you’re the cause and the cure.” He brought her hand from his brow to his lips. “I may be homeroom mother, but I’m still a man, Ana. I can’t stop thinking about you.” He turned her hand over, pressing those lips to the inside of her wrist, where the pulse was beginning to jerk. “And I can’t stop wanting you.”

“I’m sorry if I’m giving you restless nights.”

His brow quirked. “Are you?”

She couldn’t quite suppress the smile. “I’m trying to be. It’s hard not to be flattered that thinking about me
is keeping you awake. And it’s hard to know what to do.” She turned away to switch off the heat on the stove. “I’ve been feeling a little restless myself.” Her eyes closed when his hands came down on her shoulders.

“Make love with me.” He brushed a kiss on the back of her neck. “I won’t hurt you, Ana.”

Not purposely, she thought. Never that. There was so much kindness in him. But would they hurt each other if she gave in to what she wanted, needed, from him, and held back that part of herself that made her what she was?

“It’s a big step for me, Boone.”

“For me, too.” Gently he turned her to face him. “There’s been no one for me since Alice died. In the past couple of years there was a woman or two, but nothing that meant any more than filling a physical emptiness. No one I’ve wanted to spend time with, to be with, to talk to. I care about you.” He lowered his mouth to hers, very carefully, very softly. “I don’t know how I came to care this much, this quickly, but I do. I hope you believe that.”

Even without a true link, she couldn’t help but feel it. It made things more complicated somehow. “I do believe you.”

“I’ve been thinking. Seeing as I haven’t been sleeping, I’ve had plenty of time for it.” Absently he tapped a loosened pin back into her hair. “The other night, I was rushing you, probably scared you.”

“No.” Then she shrugged and turned back to filter one of her mixtures into a bottle, already labeled. “Yes, actually, I guess you did.”

“If I’d known you were … If I’d realized you’d never …”

With a sigh, she capped the bottle. “My virginity is by choice, Boone, and nothing I’m uncomfortable with.”

“I didn’t mean—” He let out a hissing breath. “I’m doing a great job with this.”

She chose another funnel, another bottle, and poured. “You’re nervous.”

With some chagrin, he noted that her hands were rock-steady when she capped the next bottle. “I think terrified comes closer. I was rough with you, and I shouldn’t have been. For a lot of reasons. The fact that you’re
inexperienced is only one of them.”

“You weren’t rough.” She continued to work to hide her nerves, which were jumping every bit as much as his. As long as she had to concentrate on what she was doing, she could at least pretend to be calm and confident. “You’re a passionate man. That’s not something to apologize for.”

“I’m apologizing for pressuring you. And for coming over here today fully intending to keep things light and easy, and then pressuring you again.”

Her lips curved as she walked to the sink to soak her pans. “Is that what you’re doing?”

“I told myself I wasn’t going to ask you to go to bed with me—even though I want you to. I was going to ask if you’d spend some time with me. Come to dinner, or go out, or whatever people do when they’re trying to get to know each other.”

“I’d like to come to dinner, or go out, or whatever.”

“Good.” That hadn’t been so hard, he decided. “Maybe this weekend. Friday night. I should be able to find a sitter.” His eyes clouded. “Somebody I can trust.”

“I thought you were going to cook for me and Jessie.”

A weight lifted. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I think I’d enjoy it.”

“Okay, then.” He framed her face in his hands. “Okay.” The kiss was very sweet, and if it felt as if something inside were going to rip in two, he told himself, he could deal with it. “Friday.”

It wasn’t difficult to smile, even if her system felt as if it had been rocked by a small earthquake. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“Good.” He wanted to kiss her again, but he was afraid he’d scare her off. “I’ll see you then.”

“Boone.” She stopped him before he’d reached the door. “Don’t you want your sugar?”

He grinned. “I lied.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not homeroom mother, and you’re not baking cookies?”

“No, that was true. But I have five pounds in the pantry. Hey, it worked.” He was whistling as he walked
out the door.

“Why isn’t Ana here yet? When is she coming?”

“Soon,” Boone answered for the tenth time. Too soon, he was afraid. He was behind in everything. The kitchen was a disaster. He’d used too many pans. Then again, he always did. He could never figure out how anyone cooked without using every pot, pan and bowl available.

The chicken cacciatore smelled pretty good, but he was uncertain of the results. Stupid, he supposed, absolutely stupid to try out a new recipe at such a time, but he’d figured Ana was worth more than their usual Friday-night meatloaf.

Jessie was driving him crazy, which was a rarity. She was overexcited at the thought of having Ana over, and she’d been pestering him without pause ever since he’d brought her home from school.

The dog had chosen that afternoon to chew up Boone’s bed pillows, so he’d spent a great deal of valuable time chasing dog and feathers. The washing machine had overflowed, flooding the laundry room. He was much too male to consider calling a repairman, so he’d torn the machine apart and put it back together again.

He was pretty sure he’d fixed it.

His agent had called to tell him that
A Third Wish for Miranda
had been optioned for an animated feature by one of the major studios. That would have been good news at any other time, but now he was expected to fit a trip to L.A. into his schedule.

Jessie had decided she wanted to be a Brownie and had generously volunteered him as a Brownie leader.

The thought of having a group of six- and seven-year-old girls looking to him to teach them how to make jewelry boxes out of egg cartons chilled his blood.

With a lot of ingenuity and plenty of cowardice, he thought, he might be able to ease his way out of it.

“Are you sure she’s coming, Daddy? Are you sure?”

“Jessica.” The warning note in his voice was enough to make her lower lip poke out. “Do you know what happens to little girls who keep asking the same question?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Keep it up and you’ll find out. Go make sure Daisy’s not eating the furniture.”

“Are you awfully mad at Daisy?”

“Yes. Now go on or you’re next.” He softened the order with a gentle pat on her bottom. “Beat it, brat, or I’ll put you in the pot and have you for dinner.”

Two minutes later, he heard the mayhem that meant Jessie had located Daisy, and girl and dog were now wrestling. The high-pitched yelps and happy squeals played hell with the headache pulsing behind his eyes.

Just need an aspirin, he thought, an hour or two of quiet, and a vacation on Maui.

He was on the point of giving a roar that would probably pop his head off his shoulders when Ana knocked.

“Hi. Smells good.”

He hoped it did. She looked much better than good. He hadn’t seen her in a dress before, and the swirl of watercolor silk did wonderful things for her slim body. Things like showing off those soft white shoulders under thin straps. With it she wore an amulet on a long chain that had the square of engraved gold hanging just below her breasts. Crystals glinted in it, drawing the eye, and were echoed by the tear-shaped drops at her ears.

She smiled. “You did say Friday.”

“Yeah. Friday.”

“Then are you going to ask me in?”

“Sorry.” Lord, he felt like a bumbling teenager. No, he decided as he slid the screen open for her, no teenager had ever been this bumbling. “I’m a little distracted.”

Ana’s brows lifted as she surveyed the chaos of pots and bowls. “So I see. Would you like some help?”

“I think I’ve got it under control.” He took the bottle she offered, noting that the pale green bottle was etched with symbols and that it carried no label. “Homemade?”

“Yes, my father makes it. He has …” Her eyes lit with secrets and humor. “A magic touch.”

“Brewed in the dungeons of Castle Donovan.”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” She left it at that, and wandered to the stove as he took out some glasses. “No Bugs Bunny this time?”

“I’m afraid Bugs met a fatal accident in the dishwasher.” He poured the clear golden wine into the crystal glasses. “It wasn’t pretty.”

She laughed and lifted her glass in a toast. “To neighbors.”

“To neighbors,” he agreed, clinking crystal against crystal. “If they all looked like you, I’d be a dead man.” He sipped, then lifted a brow. “Next time we’ll have to drink to your father. This is incredible.”

“One of his many hobbies, you might say.”

“What’s in it?”

“Apples, honeysuckle, starlight. You can give him your compliments, if you like. He and the rest of my family should be here for All Hallows’ Eve. Halloween.”

“I know what it is. Jessie’s torn between being a fairy princess or a rock star. Your parents travel all the way to the States for Halloween?”

“Usually. It’s a kind of family tradition.” Unable to resist, she took the lid off the pan and sniffed. “Well, well, I’m impressed.”

“That was the idea.” Equally unable to resist, he lifted a handful of her hair. “You know that story I told you the day Daisy knocked you down? I find myself compelled to write it. So much so that I’ve put what I was working on aside.”

“It was a lovely story.”

“Normally I could have made it wait. But I need to know why the woman was bound inside the castle all those years. Was it a spell, one of her own making? What was the enchantment that made the man climb the wall to find her?”

“That’s for you to decide.”

“No, that’s for me to find out.”

“Boone …” She lifted a hand to his, then looked down quickly. “What have you done to yourself?”

“Just rapped my knuckles.” He flexed his fingers and shrugged. “Fixing the washing machine.”