Tug of Attraction (12 page)

When he was fully seated, he kissed her again and began his strokes. His unhurried pace made the act even more romantic, if that were possible. She experienced a deep fulfillment she hadn’t expected.

The words, “I love you,” popped into her brain.
It must just be the erotic atmosphere and the intimacy of what we’re doing,
she told herself. Even when she’d thought she was in love, she’d never experienced anything like this. Of course, that was with a much younger, much less experienced man.

Ethan was an expert, and she suddenly cared how much practice he must have had to become one.
Am I breaking my own heart by pushing him away?

She forced herself to abandon all conscious thoughts and concentrate only on the pleasure he was giving her. Deep in her center she felt a flutter and a gentle release. It wasn’t the clenching of a shattering climax, but it was perfect for
her
.

Ethan seemed to reach his peak shortly after that. He closed his eyes and stiffened. Then he jerked several times.

When he finally withdrew, she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him down on top of her.

“Am I too heavy?” he asked.

“No. You feel good.” She meant it. His warm weight enveloping her, their heads resting side by side...it was all perfect.

Completely content, she let out a deep sigh. With Ethan still on top of her, she closed her eyes and basked in the afterglow.

* * * *

T
he following morning, Ethan sat on a stool at his breakfast bar, because Brigit insisted on cooking breakfast. It was strange having someone else in his kitchen asking where the mixing bowls and frying pans were, but ‘thanking him’ this way seemed important to her. 

“So, making love in the attic wasn’t too uncomfortable for you?” he asked.

“Of course not. It’s not like you had bats in your belfry.”

He laughed. “Maybe I do, but the house is bat free.”

She shook her head as she whisked the eggs. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Ethan. You’re more stable than most of the guys I’ve known.”

“Well, you’ve known Hollywood types. I imagine they come with their own set of baggage.”

“You said it. The gays even have matched luggage.” She grinned. “I’m only joking. There were some guys with good values, who wouldn’t step on their best friend to get a role. But there were plenty of others who would. I worked so many nights to afford the rent, I didn’t date much.”

“Seriously? I would have thought... You know what? Never mind. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

She smiled. “Exactly. Do you like scrambled eggs?”

“Love ‘em.”

“Good thing, because I can’t put them back together.”

“Don’t worry. Neither could all the king’s horses and all the king’s men.”

She barked a laugh. Then she glanced over his shoulder. “Oh. Good morning, Charlotte.”

Ethan smiled. Brigit must be getting used to his having a
spirited
houseguest.

“Tell her I said good morning too,”
Charlotte said.

He focused on Brigit. “You really can’t hear her?”

She shook her head. “I saw her mouth move, and I maybe could learn to read her lips, but I imagine she communicates more telepathically that verbally. Ah, yes. She’s nodding. You look lovely this morning, Charlotte. Did you put that scarf over your head for me?”

“Tell her, yes. I found this black silk scarf in the trash and couldn’t allow it to be thrown out, so I hid it away. Now I’m glad I did.”

Ethan frowned and turned around. The shawl his step-mother wore to his mother’s funeral floated in the air. When he’d found out she was the ‘other woman’ he’d tossed it in the trash. The offensive garment hung in the air. He could see a bump slightly to the left, which must have been the dagger.

“She said yes,” he answered for Charlotte.

Brigit removed the bacon to a plate with a paper towel on it and poured the eggs into the frying pan where they made a satisfying sizzle.

“Toast?” she asked.

“Sure. There’s whole wheat bread in the pantry.”

She continued putting together a basic American breakfast. Something he didn’t usually do for himself. It was nice. Homey. Something he could get used to, but he reminded himself not to.

“I hate to spoil the mood, but there’s something I need to tell you, Bridge.”

“Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that.”

“I’d rather you storm out than let it be left unsaid.”

She sighed. “Okay. Lay it on me.”

“I want to know where you live. It’s not just morbid curiosity. I want to be sure you and
your
child are safe. And if you ever need me...”

She busied herself putting their breakfast on plates, and remained quiet for a good long time. He pictured her counting to ten—twice. At last she said, “We couldn’t be any safer...or better off. I live in my parents’ converted carriage house in New Castle, rent free. I told you my mother was right next door and happy to babysit.”

Ouch. Couldn’t be better off
. He made a good living as a tug boat captain, and he was plenty proud of his Portsmouth address, but couldn’t compete with even pricier New Castle.

“I was under the impression you had to work hard in Hollywood. It sounds like your parents could have made it easier for you.”

“Could have, but didn’t. My mother always married well, and didn’t work a day in her life. I wanted to know I could make it on my own, so I didn’t ask for their help. They didn’t like the idea of my being out there, so they let me fall on my face.”

“That doesn’t sound very supportive.”

“Maybe not. Or maybe in the long run it worked out the way it was supposed to. I like my life now.”

He nodded. “Maybe it was meant to be.” Something else he hadn’t heard before caught his attention. “You said you’re mother
always
married well. How many times?”

“Four.”

“Yikes. That’s another reason you don’t believe in lasting relationships.”

“Yup. Look, I know you wanted to get to know me better, but I think I’ve done all the sharing I can for one day.”

“Noted,” he said.

“I have a question for her,”
Charlotte said.

Ethan ignored her.

“Hey. I’m talking to you.”

Suddenly Brigit started to laugh, then covered her mouth.

“What?”

“Charlotte just whacked you upside the head.”

He smirked. “Nice try, Charlotte. I didn’t feel a thing.”

“She looks pretty upset, Ethan. What’s she trying to tell you?”

“Nothing. Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

Brigit frowned, but took the stool next to Ethan and watched as he dug in. Then her attention seemed diverted. The black veil floated in front of her.
Oh, no. Charlotte’s probably trying to communicate with her by lip reading.

“Oh,” Brigit said eventually. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Charlotte.”

“What? Can you hear her now?”

“No. She’s kind of playing charades with me.”

“And you understood her?” he asked.

“I think so. She wants to see the baby when you’re not home.” She sighed. “Now she’s tapping her nose. I take it that means I got it on the nose. Yeah. She’s nodding.” Brigit stared at her feet. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Damn it. Ask her why not?”

“Charlotte, I think you can figure out why she wouldn’t want to do that. You’ll probably gush to me about how beautiful the baby is and make me want to investigate.”

Brigit tapped her own nose.

* * * *

“H
anna!” Fayleen rushed into the hotel, not even trying to blend in or use the other witch’s real-world name.

Hanna grabbed her arm and dragged her behind the nearest partition. “It’s Hazel here, you idiot. And what made you rush in, wearing your long, white gown, calling out to me from thirty feet away? You call that subtle?”

“You’d rather I was sky-clad?”

“Of course not, but you look like a bridezilla nut job.”

“Good. Then no one will approach us.” Fayleen glanced around, making sure no one was within earshot. “I have something important to tell you.”

“Keep your voice down, and spit it out.”

“The Stregheria know we’ve lost the grail,” she whispered.

Hanna’s jaw dropped. Then she appeared to compose herself. “You mean
you’ve
lost it.”

“Yeah, I probably have. Especially since they’re sniffing around, trying to find it.”

“What? How?”

“I had to tell the other supernaturals. One of them had a candidate who was ready, and I had to explain why I couldn’t hand it over.”

“Oh, fuck. Why didn’t you just make up an excuse?”

“Like what? I sent it out to be dry-cleaned? You know I’m not a good liar.”

Hanna pinched the bridge of her nose. “Who told the Stregheria?”

“I don’t know, but there are a few supernatural members who think the Boschetto should have a representative. The grail came from their ancestors, after all.”

“Yeah, and they couldn’t be trusted with it. All we needed was one of them to use it to create an army. You know they believe in war magic.”

Fayleen rolled her eyes. “War magic doesn’t mean literally starting a war.”

“It could. Can you imagine supernatural powers in the wrong hands? They could decide the world should be one Kingdom with them ruling it from an ancient castle.”

Fayleen tipped her head. “Actually, I
can
imagine that. Why didn’t we think of it? Except a drafty old castle isn’t my idea of comfort. Maybe one of those mega mansions on the west coast...”

Hanna threw her hands in the air.

“Well, it might be nice to have everyone on the same side. It could stop all wars, eventually.”

“I doubt it. Humans are flawed. Greedy, envious and prideful.”

“Yeah, yeah. And lazy and lustful and gluttonous. The seven deadly sins.”

“The one you missed is Wrath. Guess which one I’m trying to squash now?”

Fayleen crossed her arms. “Maybe if you’d agreed to help me pick through the dump we’d have found it by now.”

Hanna’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? You’re pinning this on me?”

“No. It was my cat that knocked it into the basket and my housekeeper who thought that meant it was trash and threw it out. I’m sort-of responsible.”

“Um, yeah. You left out the part where you forgot to put it away in its safe hiding place.”

Fayleen waved away the obvious. In the grand scheme of things, Hanna was always too logical. “Look. I only got part of the way through that massive landfill. I really do need some help, especially if the Stregas are after it too.”

Hanna sighed and checked her watch. “It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll let the front desk know I may be a little late getting back.”

“You’ll want to change your clothes too.”

Hanna glanced down at her navy blue designer suit. “Gee. Ya think?”

“S
o, Brigit...Why are you here?” the therapist asked.

“Because my sister dragged me.”

Dr. Diaz adjusted position in her chair. Brigit thought she looked like she was getting ready to stand and escort her out the door.

The therapist chuckled. “I’ve heard that more than once.”

No such luck. I guess she was just getting comfortable.

“Why don’t you start with why your sister thinks you need to talk to someone.”

Brigit sighed. “Because I want to get pregnant and talked a nice guy into sleeping with me, and then leaving me alone afterward. She thinks I should do everything the
normal
way.” She used air quote with the word, normal.

“These days there isn’t a normal way. Or maybe I should say normal is different for different people.”

“Thank you! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her.” Brigit rose. “Well, I guess that’s settled.”

“Wait. You’ve paid for the hour. Why don’t we chat a little longer?”

“Um. You seem nice and everything, but I don’t usually air my dirty laundry with strangers.”

“Dirty laundry? What do you mean?”

Oh, crap. Here we go.
Brigit sat on the couch again. “This may seem strange to you, but I’m very independent and don’t want a man interfering with my life and my decisions.”

“That’s not strange at all.”

“Again, thank you.”
Maybe this woman gets it after all.

“Is there any reason that you can’t trust this man to respect your decision making ability?”

“Not at all. We’re Wiccan. I think we respect each other as equals more than most.”

“Hmmm...”

“What does ‘hmmm’ mean?” Brigit asked.

“If it’s not him, I was just wondering if there were, or are, other men in your life who’ve disrespected your decisions.”

She tipped her head and pondered. “Yeah. Now that I think of it, there have been quite a few.”

“Tell me about some of them.”

“My step-dad didn’t want me going to Hollywood to pursue an acting career. After I tried for ten years with only minimal success and wanted to come home, my agent and my roomie tried to talk me out of it.”

She sighed. “And in the spirit of total honesty, my agent called yesterday and tried to talk me into coming back. Something about the role of a lifetime—I’d be perfect for it, Blah, blah, blah.”

“What did you say?”

“It went to voice mail, thankfully. When I called back I just left a message with his secretary, saying that I wasn’t interested.”

“You must have known in your heart coming home was the right decision and you stuck to your guns. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here now.”

Brigit nodded. “I’m pretty good at sticking to my guns, as you so nicely put it. My family calls it unreasonable stubbornness.”

“Unreasonable? Is there any validity there?”

Brigit narrowed her eyes. “Meaning what?”

“Can you not be reasoned with?”

“Of course I can be reasoned with. I was raised not to interrupt anyone, so I don’t pull the old ‘talk to the hand’ approach. I listen to what other people have to say. I just listen to my inner voice more.”

Dr. Diaz nodded. “That seems reasonable to me.”

Brigit found herself liking this woman, and their conversation was actually helping her clarify a few things. Her sister almost had her doubting herself. Now she had ammunition to tell her dear sister to take a flying leap.
Whoa. Are you hearing yourself, Brigit?