Some Kind of Magic (11 page)

She searched through the drawer until she found another white pin. This time, instead of sticking it in the heart, she poked it in the crotch.

The front door opened, cold air blasting in, along with Dylan and an armload of wood.

Claire stared, the doll in her hand.

His face hidden by the wood, Dylan kicked off his boots and strode across the room, moving in the direction of the stove.

Claire hurriedly stuffed the voodoo doll into the desk and slammed the drawer.

Over two weeks had passed since Claire mailed her material to New York, and in that time neither Dylan nor Claire had mentioned Dylan’s pending departure. The possible return of Anton was the only reason Dylan had to give for delaying a journey into new and uncharted territory, if the question were to come up. That was until the day he went to town to get groceries and spotted the tabloid while waiting in the checkout lane. He picked it up. Was it Claire’s Anton? The story fit. The guy was an artist having an affair with a rich widow. If it was Anton, then Dylan had no excuse to linger.

He slipped the tabloid back into its slot, hoping Claire wouldn’t see it.

It had been nice, he told himself as he drove back to Claire’s, living a reclusive life in a mountain cabin with a beautiful woman, making love to her day and night, if only in his dreams. And that's what it had been. A dream. A fantasy. She was probably expecting him to leave, waiting for him to leave, but was too nice to ask when that leave-taking would happen. She’d been acting weird around him lately and now he finally figured out why. What did they say about houseguests? They were like fish. After three days they started to smell. He should be pretty ripe by now. At least when he left, he wouldn’t have to worry about Anton bothering Claire.

When he got to Claire's, she met him at the door, screaming.

His heart slammed in his chest. At first, he just naturally thought something bad had happened. But then he realized she was happy. She was jumping up and down, screaming and laughing, and trying to talk. She kept waving an envelope in front of his face.

“They liked it!” she shrieked.

He laughed along with her, still not having a clue.

"'My proposal! Cardcity liked my proposal! ”

The pictures. The proposal for the card line. That was fast.

“This is a letter from my agent! ” She grabbed him by both arms and continued to jump up and down. “They've made an offer!”

One minute she was smiling and laughing at him. The next, she was pulling his head down, kissing him.

Oh Lord.

Sweet, sweet Lord.

It wasn’t a long kiss. Or a short kiss. Or a sisterly kiss. Or a sexy kiss. It was just a kiss.

And it knocked him out. Sent his head spinning.

She let go of him and jumped away, running around the room, waving the letter in the air. She jumped on top of the couch, the cushions popping up around her feet.

And all he could think about was the kiss. All he could about was how badly he wanted her.

Set the twilight reeling. Now he understood what Lou Reed meant.

She jumped off the couch. “John—my agent— says not to take their first offer. But I don’t know." She stopped in front of him, arms at her side, her chest rising and falling. Her eyes shined. She shined.

She couldn’t stand still. She rushed past him, and when she did, he caught a whiff of the cedar scent that permeated her hair. He could still feel the sweet soft imprint of her lips against his. She stopped in front of him again, this time with her legs apart, hands on hips. “What do you think?"

“Think?"
I think I love you
. Son of a bitch. Partridge Family lyrics were popping into his head. He should have stuck with Lou Reed.

She may have been wearing a pair of faded bib overalls and a waffle-weave shirt, but Dylan knew that underneath all that was a lacy, transparent bra that cupped her lush breasts, plus a tiny wisp of fabric between a pair of soft, inviting thighs.

“About the offer? Should I accept now? Or hold out? I’m afraid if I hold out they might change their minds. I don’t want them to think I’m difficult to deal with.”

I
think I want you.

I think I have to have you.

Somewhere between her kiss and bedtime, he put the groceries away. Sometime in there, they ate something. Sometime in there, he took a shower, and she took a shower, and they both went to bed, Claire in her room, Dylan on the couch.

But he couldn’t sleep. No way in hell could he sleep.

He kept thinking about her, wearing those little bitty strings she called panties. And those lacy, see-through tops she called bras.

But then, somewhere about midnight, he must have dozed off, because he came awake all hot and horny. He tossed back the covers and swung his feet to the floor. Normally the floor would have felt cold under him, but he was burning up. He peeled off his damp T-shirt, leaving him wearing nothing but a pair of flannel boxer shorts. Then, barefoot, he made his way through the dark to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out the container of water.

He stood there in the open door, drinking from the water bottle, the cool blast from the refrigerator hitting him full in the bare chest. He put the bottle back on the shelf. Instead of closing the door, he leaned his head against one arm, closed his eyes, and just stood there.

“Having trouble sleeping, too?”

He straightened to see Claire standing there, bundled up in her heavy coat, that goofy hat, a pair of clunky boots, and bare legs.

“Claire,” was all he could think of to say.

“I couldn't sleep so I decided to start the sauna. It should be hot by now. Want to join me?”

He continued to stare.

“I've got magazines.” She held up an issue of
Rolling Stone
. “I've got food.” She held up a box of crackers. “You're not supposed to eat in a sauna, but I didn't think crackers would hurt. And I've got something to drink.” She held up a bottle of wine.

He was sure one of those came with every sauna installation.

He slammed the refrigerator door, leaving them in total darkness. “I don't know.” He rubbed his still perspiring forehead.

“I'll get you a towel.” She shoved everything she was carrying into his hands.

He heard her clunking away toward the bathroom, saw the light come on, then go off.

Then she was back. “I came through here earlier, and you must have been dreaming. You were moaning and thrashing around. I almost woke you up to see if you were okay.”

A dream? Oh, yeah. Now he remembered. Oh, wow. No wonder he'd come awake with the covers twisted around him. No wonder he'd come awake with a hard-on that hurt all the way to his brain.

Apparently her eyes had adjusted to the dark because she was moving through the room like a cat. When she reached the back door, she stopped and he ran into her. “Aren't you going to get a coat?”

“No. It’s not far.”

She laughed, still wound up from the afternoon's news. “You have to at least get something on your feet.”

He wiggled his toes, realizing he was wearing nothing but the boxers. She was probably right. He handed all of the paraphernalia to her. Then he went all the way back through the house to the front door, running into the wall twice, bumping into Hallie, who just groaned her dog groan, before returning to where Claire waited at the door. He dropped his boots to the floor and stuck his feet inside, not bothering to tie the laces.

“Lookie here,” he muttered in his best country accent. “I’ve done gone hillbilly.”

She laughed and flicked on the deck light. They stepped outside into the chill night, their breath coming out a vapor in front of their faces. “We could get really hot, then run outside naked and roll around in the snow like they do in Alaska or someplace cold,” Claire said, hurrying to the building that housed the sauna.

He might just need to roll around in the snow. It would be better than a cold shower. “Sweden. I think they do that in Sweden. And Finland. And Russia.” He didn’t think he needed to remind her that this was someplace cold.

Inside the sauna, with Dylan standing a foot behind her, Claire dropped her coat and kicked off her boots until she stood in front of him wearing nothing but one of her little string panty things, a bra, and her goofy hat.

He had this quick, snapshot image before she picked up a towel, wrapped it around herself, then grabbed everything he was holding and took a seat on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you going to sit down?” She frowned, looking suddenly concerned. “Are you feeling okay? If you aren’t, a sauna wouldn’t be good for you. “

“I’m okay.” He stepped out of his boots and sat down, leaving a good couple of feet between them.

“I’ve had this wine around for a long time. My grandmother used to make homemade wine. Did I ever tell you that?”

She was still buzzing, still running on pure adrenaline, while he was stunned, stupefied.

From somewhere, maybe it had been folded inside a towel, she pulled out a bottle opener and began fumbling around, trying to screw it in the cork.

“Here.” He took it from her, screwed it in, then popped the cork from the bottle. “Are you sure we’re supposed to be doing this? I don’t know anything about saunas, but drinking alcohol in one doesn’t seem like a good idea.”

“We won’t stay long. Oh, I forgot glasses. I can’t believe I forgot glasses.”

“That’s okay. Here— You first.” He handed the bottle to her. She took a drink, then passed it back. He took a drink. And then another.

“Elderberry wine,” Claire said, taking the bottle from him and lifting it back to her lips. “Grandma made elderberry wine, dandelion wine, and blueberry wine.”

They continued to pass it back and forth. Before they knew it, the bottle was empty, and Dylan was sweating buckets.

"'Did I ever tell you I don’t usually drink? Oh, I tried to drown my sorrows when Anton left, but I just ended up hugging the toilet bowel. They say there’s nothing worse than a champagne hangover, but a beer hangover’s pretty damn bad, let me tell you.

“You have to watch out for this homebrew,” she continued. “It sneaks up on you. It has a higher alcohol content than the stuff you get at the store.”

“I hate to spoil your party,” Dylan said, “but I'm going to have to get out of here.”

“Too hot?”

“Yeah.”

She was quiet a moment, long enough for Dylan to wonder what she was cooking up. It didn't take him long to find out.

“Let's go roll around in the snow, then we can come back inside.”

He didn't answer.

“Come on. It'll be fun.” She was already on her feet, dropping her towel to the floor. She grabbed his hand, pulling him up after her.

What else could he do but follow her out into the night, into the cold, cold night?

Steam rose from their hot bodies as soon as they stepped outside. With Claire still holding his hand, they ran through the snow, then threw themselves into a deep bank.

It felt good. After the smothering, feverish heat of the sauna, it felt so damn good. Kind of the way Dylan had always imagined snow would feel. Like a cool embrace on a hot day.

The light from the back door was enough for Dylan to see Claire lying beside him, acting like she was swimming the backstroke. He picked up a handful of snow and threw it at her, hitting her full in the face.

She screamed, picked up a handful of snow herself, and attacked, diving on top of him, rubbing the snow in his face, laughing.

He grabbed her by both arms and rolled with her, over and over, stopping with her beneath him, her face half-covered with snow, her goofy hat lying a few feet away. He reached up and grabbed her hat, sticking it back on top of her head so it was perched there, lopsided, kind of leaning over one eye.

“I don't want you to catch cold,” he said, smiling down at her.

She laughed.

She had a laugh that sent him into a tilt, that sent little darts of electricity through his veins, all the way to his heart.

“You are unbelievable.” How was it that he had found her? And why now, when his life had become so fallow? He leaned down and licked some snow off her face, sliding his tongue over her cheek. Her laughter quickly faded. Her smiling mouth changed to that of open surprise. He bent his head again, and closed his mouth, first over her top lip, then the bottom, gently sucking off the snow and wetness.

There was a lingering sweetness there, a hint of the taste that he'd find if he were to go deeper into her.

“W-What are you doing?” she asked.

“Tasting you.”

“I didn't think you thought of me like that.”

“I changed my mind.”

Her eyes, with their snow-kissed wetness, widened. “You have?”

He kissed the wet tip of her nose. It was cold. A tremor ran through her.

“Let's go back in the sauna,” he said, moving off her, putting out a hand to help her up.

This time, when they stepped inside, the sauna felt as good to Dylan as the cold had felt just minutes ago.

Claire poured water over the hot coals. They sizzled. Steam rose. She picked up the towel she'd dropped earlier, wrapping it around her shoulders. Her earlier boldness had left her. Dylan realized that she suddenly felt shy, maybe self-conscious.

“Do you want to know what I was dreaming about earlier? When you walked through the living room?”

“Yes. Tell me. I love to hear about dreams.”

“You.”

“Me?” She asked it in a tone that held a sort of hopeful disbelief.