Merlyn's Magic (15 page)

'If I had known before you left,' he remarked softly as he
stood behind her to pull back her chair for her to sit down, 'I would
have come over here to see for myself how you were. Wouldn't I?' he
murmured throatily against her ear before straightening and moving
farther up the table to take his seat several places up from her.

Merlyn stared at him with wide eyes, and he returned that
gaze blandly before turning to converse with the woman sitting at his
side, seeming engrossed in the breathless conversation of the beautiful
woman.

'You seem to be much better at PR than I am.' Christopher
drew her attention back to him as he sat next to her, his expression
mocking as she turned to him with sudden awareness.

'And what is that supposed to mean?' she answered
resentfully.

He raised darkly blond brows. 'What do you think it
meant?' he derided.

'You tell me.' Her eyes flashed a warning of her anger
should he imply one more time that she was involved with Rand.

He shrugged, holding up his hands defensively. 'Hey, I'm
just glad you managed to avert a scene just now. I'm sure the Bentons
are too.'

Her mouth tightened. 'Rand isn't drunk,' she denied coldly.

'No?' Christopher scorned. 'Almost a bottle of whisky in
one evening is normal consumption for him, is it?'

Merlyn looked at him with narrowed eyes. 'You know, you
aren't a very nice person.'

He grinned unabashedly. 'None of us bastards in life is.
And I mean none of us, Merlyn,' he added in gentle warning.

Her head went back in challenge. 'Meaning?' Her question
was abrupt.

He shrugged. 'Meaning it takes one to know one. Carmichael
will hurt you, Merlyn,' he warned again.

'Rand and I don't even like each other,' she returned
scornfully.

'With the sexual tension that exudes from the two of you I
don't think it's necessary you actually
like
each
other,' Christopher replied just as scornfully. 'It's just lucky no one
took out a match when you walked into the room; we would all have gone
up in flames!'

'Oh, eat your soup!' advised Merlyn crossly, trying to
concentrate on her own steaming bowl of onion soup.

'Does one eat or drink soup, I've never been able to
decide,' Christopher drawled, having scooped up a spoonful and now
surveyed it with a jaundiced eye.

'One gets it into the mouth any way one can without
spilling it down one's chin!' Merlyn valiantly began to
eat—or drink—hers.

She studiously avoided looking towards the end of the
table where Rand sat, although as there were only ten people seated at
the meal, none of them was sitting too far apart around the oval.

The lovely blonde woman who had first engaged Rand in
conversation seemed to have been invited as his dinner companion,
whether by Anne to even the numbers up at her table or as Rand's
personal guest, Merlyn didn't know. Whatever the arrangement, the woman
stuck doggedly to his side as they all moved back into the lounge after
the meal.

Merlyn felt a little lightheaded with the sherry she had
drunk before dinner, the wine they had consumed with the meal, and then
a glass of champagne that James had insisted everyone had to
prematurely 'wet the baby's head'. But she wasn't too fuddle-headed not
to notice when Rand and the beautiful blonde made an unobtrusive exit
together.

She had told him to find some other woman to make love to,
but she hadn't expected him to do it this quickly after her refusal.

'A fast worker, our Mr Carmichael,' Christopher drawled as
he lounged on the sofa at Merlyn's side.

' "The pot calling the kettle…"?' she snapped,
wishing she didn't mind so much that Rand had gone off with the other
woman. But she did. She
did
!

He shrugged. 'Maybe she's an old family "friend",' he
mocked.

'Rand hasn't touched a woman since—' She broke
off, breathing heavily in her agitation.

'Yes?' Christopher queried interestedly.

Merlyn put a hand up to her temple. 'Could we leave now?
It's been a long day, I have the start of a headache, and I also have
this demon of a director who expects me to be in make-up at five a.m.'

'The way the weather has been against us lately we'll be
lucky if we can start filming before five
p.m
.!'
her 'demon of a director' complained grimly.

'They forecast rain again for tomorrow; do you really
think it's the best day for the lake shot?'

As was normal when filming, the scenes weren't being shot
in any sort of sequence, and Merlyn had been a little dismayed when she
had looked at the schedule for tomorrow to see that they intended
shooting the scene where Suzie had just learnt she was terminally ill.
She had rowed out to the middle of the lake she had spent so much time
on as a child to try and come to terms with the diagnosis. It had been
a relatively clear day today, but there had been a chill wind howling
through the trees, and the thought of possibly having to spend hours
out in the middle of the lake in that weather was not at all appealing.

'With the long-term weather forecast I've had in there
aren't likely to be any "best days",' Christopher told her morosely.
'Besides, a nice overcast day will help set the mood!'

'If you're going to start being insensitive again I'm
definitely leaving!' Merlyn stood up decisively. 'Just try and remember
that the Bentons are your hosts here.'

The fresh air hit her like a slap in the face, but she
instantly felt better, the effects of the alcohol wearing off almost
instantly after a wave of dizziness. It was dark and cold, but the lake
was illuminated by several strategically placed lights, and she walked
over to its edge to stare out over the grey water where a beautiful
woman of thirty-five had tried to come to terms with
dying—and failed.

Suzie had decided as she sat out in the middle of this
expanse of water that she wasn't going to die without a
fight—and she hadn't.

Merlyn let out a small scream of surprise as she felt an
arm go about her waist. 'Christopher, I told you—' she broke
off, her vision accustomed to the darkness now, and the man standing at
her side wasn't Christopher. 'Rand…?' she breathed huskily.

'Yes.' His eyes glowed cat-like in the dark.

'I thought you had gone home with what's-her-name.' She
blinked up at him.

'I drove Deborah home when we discovered her car wouldn't
start—and I left her there.'

'I don't think that was the idea,' Merlyn mocked
breathlessly.

Rand gave a rueful shrug of his powerful shoulders. 'It
wasn't a very subtle approach,' he conceded. 'But if she had tried it a
month ago it might have worked. Even yesterday it might have worked,'
he added huskily. 'But not since I've made love to you again and found
that it was just as good as I imagined it was.'

'Rand, this is impossible—'

'I know,' he groaned achingly. 'I behaved like a madman
this afternoon, coming to your room the way that I did.' He shook his
head dazedly. 'I didn't intend for that to happen. I didn't
want
it to happen. But after it had—! I wanted you again and
again, and the only way seemed to be to go on with what's between us,'
he said grimly.

'And now?' Merlyn's expression was uncertain as she looked
up at him in the darkness.

'I watched you tonight.' His words were husky. 'You're a
very beautiful woman.'

'Thank you,' she accepted in a puzzled voice.

'Anne likes you.'

'I like her too,' she nodded, even more puzzled by the
conversation.

'I realise that,' he replied tersely. 'The two of you are
friends.'

'And you disapprove of that friendship.'

'It's nothing to do with me,' Rand continued. 'What I'm
trying to say is that this afternoon my need for you outweighed my
common sense.' He moved away from her abruptly. 'I will not go sneaking
around Anne's hotel to sleep with a green-eyed witch called Merlyn!'

She swallowed hard, had been expecting him to say that he
had realised he liked her too, although in retrospect perhaps that was
expecting a little too much! Rand despised her and the need she made
him feel, and she knew he hated her for that as much as anything else.

'Perhaps we should say good night now while this
conversation is still within the realms of being polite?' she bit out.
'Because as I told you this afternoon, I don't want you either!'

He glanced towards the hotel. 'Drake waiting for you, is
he?' he scorned.

'As far as I'm aware, Christopher is still at the party,'
she dismissed contemptuously.

Rand's eyes narrowed. 'Why?'

'Because he wasn't ready to leave!' Merlyn told him with
barely contained impatience. 'He's far from being the only attractive
man in the crew!' she added tauntingly before walking off without so
much as a backward glance.

She half expected Rand to come after her, only half
relieved when he didn't, the other half disappointed. Tonight she
wanted him as never before!

She had nothing to fear from him in going back to her room
now, staring at her reflection in the mirror for a long time before
turning away disgustedly. Inside she was still Merlyn Summers, outside
she had no idea who she was.

She couldn't sleep, despite knowing of the early call she
would have in the morning, shifting restlessly about in the bed, not
wanting to think of Rand but unable to stop herself. Was he as haunted
by sleeplessness as she was or had he gone back to see if Deborah's
offer was still open?

She gave a choked sob, turning to bury her face in the
pillow. She couldn't bear to even think of Rand with another woman.

Finally the tears stopped, and she lay back in the
twilight between sleep and wakefulness, exhausted by her emotions.

The noise outside her window brought her completely awake
again.

'Rand?' she called instinctively, getting out of bed to
pull back the curtains.

A dark figure stood outside the window, moving quickly
away as Merlyn threw the curtains back completely.

She silently began to scream.

When
she realised there was no sound coming from her throat she turned and
ran, unlocking her door to speed into the corridor—straight
into the solid hardness of a human body.

This time she began to scream in earnest.

'Merlyn!' Rand grasped her arms to gently shake her.
'Merlyn, what's wrong?' he demanded.

'Rand!' She clung to him thankfully. 'Oh, thank God it's
you!' She fell weakly against his chest, her fingers curled into the
thick wool of the navy blue jumper he wore.

'It's all right,' he soothed gently, stroking her hair as
he held her against him. 'It's all right,' he reassured her as she
continued to shake with fright.

She turned fearfully to look back into her bedroom.
Moonlight shone in the window unhindered by any dark spectres outside
her room. 'It's gone,' she shuddered with relief.

Rand frowned down at her. 'What has?'

She swallowed hard, dry sobs still catching in her throat.
'There was someone or—or
something
,
outside my bedroom window,' she told him shakily, chewing on the
knuckles of the hand that didn't still cling to him.

Rand's expression darkened ominously, and he set her
firmly aside before moving stealthily into her room and over to the
window, pushing back the nets before opening the window to look outside.

'Rand, no!' Merlyn moved towards him instinctively. 'He
could still be out there!'

He was shaking his head as he reclosed the window.
'There's nothing out there now except maybe an owl or two.' He pulled
the curtains back over the window before moving to switch on the small
bedside lamp. 'Are you sure you didn't imagine it?' he prompted softly.
'You aren't used to the noises of the country, and—'

'The noise I heard was someone trying to open my window,'
she cut in forcefully. 'And the dark shape I saw outside wasn't a giant
bat either!' She knew he was only trying to comfort her, but she was
too agitated to respond. Someone
had
been outside
her room! Breaking in—or looking in?

'That safely rules out Dracula, then,' Rand muttered.

'Rand!' she gasped her hurt at his derision.

'Sorry.' He ran a hand through the thickness of his hair.
'It shook me up a little having you come flying out of your room
screaming like a banshee! And you did say it could have been a
something
,'
he reminded her.

She made an uncomfortable movement. 'I was upset when I
said that,' she snapped.

'And you aren't upset now?' He raised dark brows.

'No.' And strangely she wasn't, the argument with Rand
having calmed her more quickly than anything else could have done.
'Although I'm a little puzzled as to what you were doing outside my
room at…' she glanced at the red-illuminated clock on her
bedside table, 'one-thirty in the morning?'

'I changed my mind,' he told her harshly.

'About what?' Merlyn frowned, noticing for the first time
that he had changed from the dinner suit into denims and the navy blue
jumper.

He gave a ragged sigh, his eyes narrowed. 'Sleeping with a
green-eyed witch called Merlyn.'

Her breath caught in her throat. She only had his word for
it that that was his reason for being here.
He
could have been the person outside her room; there was a door to the
outside beside the next room. And yet what reason would he have for not
admitting to being outside? She couldn't think straight any more, felt
emotionally drained, and the warmth of his arms beckoned. 'Just for
tonight?' she asked warily.

'I don't know,' he admitted truthfully. 'But I have to
have you tonight. I can't sleep until I do.' His voice shook with the
admission.

It was mindless, completely inexplicable—to
either of them—this primitive force that compelled them to
want each other against all the odds the way that they did. Maybe she
was a witch after all and had fallen victim to one of her own spells.
Rand certainly seemed to think it was beyond his power to resist her
and all that she offered.