Merlyn's Magic

Her gaze flew to the hardness of his face. ‘What?’ she said breathlessly.

His brows rose slightly at her obvious nervousness. ‘I said come here,’ he repeated slowly, his gaze lowering pointedly to the hard thrust of her nipples beneath the clinging wool.

She felt like a puppet having her strings pulled as she crossed the room to stand in front of him, her eyes a dark stormy green as she stared up at him, her breath caught in her throat as she waited for the master to dictate what her next move should be.

Rand returned her look with narrowed eyes, the slight rise and fall of his chest indicating the shallowness of his breathing. The bell of the timer on the microwave broke the spell, anger flaring in Rand's eyes—white hot fury turning them from grey to platinum. ‘You have flour on your nose,’ he declared harshly, turning away.

Her hand rose shakily to wipe away the flour. The gesture was mechanical as she was still watching Rand as he strode forcefully from the room, knowing he had brought her to him for quite a different reason, a reason that he had instantly regretted once he realised what he was doing.

If there had been any women in his life since his wife's death then no one but he—and they—knew about it. Before his marriage to Suzie Forrester he had often been mentioned in the gossip columns, had been a highly eligible bachelor, with numerous women in his life. During his marriage to Suzie, his actions had been just as newsworthy, but since her death he might as well have disappeared, never going to London, and certainly not involved in any of the social whirl he and Suzie had seemed to enjoy so much during their marriage.

But a few seconds ago there had been a physical hunger in his eyes—for Merlyn.

He was drinking brandy again when she brought the casserole up to the dining-room, although he joined her in a glass of wine with their meal, and he didn't go back to the brandy after they had eaten.

‘So,’ he sat across the room from her, ‘you can do magic after all.'

‘What?’ She blinked up at him, startled by the comment.

‘The meal you “conjured” up was very nice,’ Rand's voice was mocking.

She moistened her lips, relaxing slightly. ‘Thank you, but your cook did most of the work, I just defrosted.'

‘You're from London.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Merlyn instantly realised it was a mistake to ever relax around this man. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed warily.

‘Decided to get away from the rat-race for a few days, hm?’ His scornful tone told her exactly what he thought now of London and the social life there.

‘I decided I'd like a change of scenery, yes,’ she answered dryly. ‘I could have stayed there and had weather better than this.'

‘Touché.’ His mouth quirked as he glanced out of the window where the rain could still be seen and heard. ‘Are you in business in London?’ The sharpness in those silver eyes belied his relaxed state as he lounged in the armchair.

This time Merlyn was ready for the directness of his questioning, meeting that narrowed gaze steadily as she answered him. ‘No.'

Dark brows rose. ‘You're a little cagey, aren't you?’ he taunted softly.

‘No more so than you, surely?’ she challenged with cool confidence.

Rand's mouth tightened. ‘I'm not in the habit of relating my life-story to complete strangers!’ he rasped.

‘Neither am I,’ Merlyn returned softly. ‘Besides,’ she added as she sensed he was about to demand that she tell him exactly what she did in London, ‘as you've already guessed, I'm here for a break. And when I get away like this I like to forget all about my work.'

‘You're making your profession sound very mysterious.’ He sipped at the coffee she had poured him, watching her over the cup's rim.

Merlyn's movements were deliberately controlled. ‘I didn't mean to,’ she dismissed coolly.

‘It isn't the oldest profession for women, is it?’ Rand taunted, deliberately provoking her.

She suspected that women had been acting in one way or another since the beginning of time, that they were only now allowed to show they were as capable as men, but she realised that wasn't the ‘profession’ he referred to. ‘Women wouldn't need to provide that service if men didn't want it,’ she snapped waspishly. ‘It's a question of supply and demand!'

Rand eyed her angry expression with amusement. ‘You speak as if from personal experience.'

Her eyes flashed like emeralds. ‘I'm twenty-six years old, Mr Carmichael, and I've met my share of—–'

‘You know my name.’ His eyes were narrowed on her suspiciously.

She instantly realised her mistake, although years of training kept her expression bland. ‘Anne mentioned that her neighbour had to be her brother-in-law, Brandon Carmichael.'

He didn't look convinced. ‘You didn't know who I was before you came up here?'

She arched auburn brows. ‘Who are you, Mr Carmichael?’ she mocked.

Surprise widened his eyes, and then his mouth quirked self-derisively. ‘I think I deserved that!'

‘I think so, too,’ Merlyn nodded, relieved the danger seemed to have passed.

He ran an impatient hand through his hair. ‘It's just that since this damned film on Suzie has been announced I've had several reporters trying to find out who I'm sleeping with now!'

Merlyn had received her own share of bad press over the years, although nothing as personal as that. She would have felt as angry as he obviously was, would probably have felt as resentful towards the film and everyone connected with it, too.

‘You aren't a reporter, are you?’ he grated as she seemed to pale a little.

‘No,’ she laughed gratefully.

‘I hope not,’ he scowled. ‘Because rain or no rain you would be thrown out in it right now if I even suspected—–'

‘I'm not a reporter, Rand,’ she repeated firmly. ‘But I did realise who you were before Anne told me, although looking as you do now I had trouble recognising you.'

‘Looking as I do now?’ he challenged.

She shrugged. ‘The long hair and beard; they went out of fashion years ago.'

‘And when they were in fashion I was too damned busy trying to make my fortune to be able to indulge myself in such frivolity!’ He stood up. ‘But as long as you aren't some damned snooping reporter—–'

‘I can assure you I'm not,’ she said coolly.

‘Then I don't give a damn what work you do,’ he frowned. ‘Or even if you work at all!'

He was being insulting again, and Merlyn couldn't help but smile. ‘Are there still such things as “kept” women?’ she taunted.

Rand looked at her coldly. ‘I'm not impressed by women's so-called independence from men,’ he replied heatedly.

Merlyn frowned at his vehemence. ‘I don't believe I was trying to impress you,’ she snapped. ‘Some of us don't have any choice but to be independent!'

‘And how you all love it,’ he jeered.

She shook her head. ‘I don't think I know you well enough to discuss this rationally—–'

‘We aren't likely to get to know each other any better than this,’ he bit out.

‘Perhaps that's as well.’ Merlyn glared at him defiantly.

‘Perhaps it is.’ Rand's nod was abrupt. ‘Now if you'll excuse me,’ he added scornfully, ‘I have some work to attend to in my study.'

Merlyn felt the tension slowly ease from her body once he had left, aware that confrontation about her profession had only just been avoided, although at what cost. Rand had been married to a woman already well-established in her career long before they met, and yet he seemed to resent women having careers. Had their marriage not been as happy as all the stories about them had indicated? No, she couldn't believe that. A man could resent some aspect of a woman's life and still love her. She was sure Rand had loved Suzie. Just as she was sure that any ‘work’ Rand had to attend to in his study would include a bottle of brandy. A man didn't drown his sorrows in alcohol if he hadn't loved the woman he had lost.

Merlyn would have felt a little better about the precariousness of her own position here if she could have talked to Anne again on the telephone at least, but the line was still dead when she lifted the receiver to check. Probably the other woman was as worried about the situation here as Merlyn was!

Having now met Brandon Carmichael, she was surprised that the other woman had had the courage to put her sister's life-story on to paper when Suzie's husband was obviously still so bitter and upset at his loss. She knew it had to be because of Anne's affection for him that the two of them had somehow managed to remain friends, that Rand hadn't cut the other woman from his life for what she had done. Merlyn had a feeling she was going to like Anne Benton very much, knew she had to be a very special lady for Rand to have accepted her book about Suzie.

Anne's book had more or less covered her sister's life from the time she was born, her childhood here, her first love affair, her determination to become an actress against family opposition—something Merlyn could sympathise with—her success in that profession, her marriage to Brandon Carmichael. She had spared Rand nothing in the telling of the latter, had written of his feelings of inadequacy against his wife's obviously wealthy background when his childhood had been spent in an orphanage, his wealth fought for with a ruthlessness that swept many weaker men behind him. That he loved Suzie before everything else in his life had been obvious, as had Suzie's love for him. They had been the golden couple, extremely happy together, Suzie's illness and the battle she had fought to overcome it almost killing Rand too.

It was a battle Merlyn wasn't sure he had yet managed to win.

She envied Suzie Forrester for having known a love like that, had given up any idea of finding such a love herself after the disillusionment of loving unwisely, her dream of having a husband and a houseful of children becoming exactly that. Against her will she was becoming as much of a career-woman as her mother was.

On that depressing thought she took herself up to bed.

It was a strange house, a strange bed, the rain sounding very threatening against the window of her bedroom, and she wasn't sure of her host's frame of mind either, but after the long and tiring day she had had, Merlyn fell asleep almost as soon as her head sank into the downy softness of the pillow.

She woke up just as suddenly!

She had heard a loud crash, instantly fearing that it had something to do with the storm still raging outside. Perhaps one of the towering pine trees that surrounded three sides of the house had come crashing down on top of it; the wind howling against the window sounded gale-force. She had to go and make sure Rand was all right!

His bedroom door still stood open, the room empty, although the tangle of bedclothes showed that Rand had occupied the bed at least part of the night even if he weren't there now. Maybe he had gone downstairs to investigate the sound of that crashing noise?

She heard another crash, the sound of broken glass accompanying it, and it was coming from downstairs. God, the house was being crushed beneath those monstrous trees! As she rushed down the stairs to find Rand, she became aware of a strange sound coming from the direction of the lounge, like an animal whimpering in pain. She hadn't realised Rand possessed a cat or dog, maybe—

Her hand froze in the action of switching on the light as she realised those mournful groans weren't coming from an animal at all, that it was Rand making those muffled sobbing sounds as he knelt in all his naked glory in front of the fire still burning in the hearth, his face buried in his hands. On the carpet in front of him lay a broken picture frame, only ‘Darling, I—’ left of the inscription on the half-burned photograph of Suzie Forrester, that and the smile that had to be just for Rand.

Merlyn didn't know whether to go or stay, knew that she was intruding on this man's personal grief. The smashed frame and burnt photograph couldn't have been an accident, not when that same photograph had been standing on Rand's bedside table earlier. He had to have brought it downstairs with him.

Then she saw what had caused the first sound of crashing glass, a brandy bottle lying in several pieces in the hearth, and from the lack of brandy with it she guessed the bottle had been empty before it was thrown. But why had Rand got himself so drunk that in his rage he had destroyed the photograph of his wife? Whatever his reason, she knew he would deeply resent her intrusion, and she was turning to leave when she realised that the heart-breaking sobbing had stopped. Her lashes slowly raised as she looked up to find that silver gaze fixed on her.

A sob caught in her own throat for the ravages this man's grief had made on his face, his eyes dull with his private pain, tears still dampening the soft dark lashes, lines etched into his face, a face white with emotion.

A shudder racked his body as she looked at him. ‘Rand …?’ She half ran to him, and then stopped, not knowing what he wanted her to do. She wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, and comfort him in any way that he would let her.

As he slowly stood up, the magnificence of his body bathed in the glow of firelight, she knew there was only one way she could comfort him tonight, that mere words alone wouldn't be enough.

She walked farther into the room, stopping a short distance from Rand, her hands snaking slightly as they moved up to slip the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders, pushing the material down over her breasts, the nipples already taut and inviting, the silky garment becoming a splash of black at her feet as it slid down over her hips to the carpeted floor. She stepped over it and into Rand's arms.

CHAPTER THREE

IF anything the anguish on Rand's face had deepened by the time Merlyn raised her face from pressing feather-light kisses across his chest, and she pulled away hesitantly.

‘No,’ he groaned, holding her close. ‘I want your magic tonight, Merlyn. I need it!'

She could feel the trembling of his body beneath her hands as they rested lightly on his shoulders, could feel the fierce hardness of his desire pressing against her stomach, trembling a little herself as she sensed the force of that desire should it be unleashed.

‘You came to me in the midst of a storm, Merlyn.’ He swung her up into his arms against his chest with little effort. ‘Like a temptress stepping into my darkness.’ He placed her gently on the carpeted floor, away from the shattered glass, but close enough for them to feel the fire's flames against their nakedness. ‘I want to burn in your fire for just a short while.’ He buried his face against the brightness of her hair. ‘Warm me, Merlyn. Make me feel you!'

The wanting she had experienced when she first met him hadn't lessened, and yet as she smoothed the tousled hair back from his brow and opened her mouth to his, it was compassion that warmed her. She wanted to ease his pain, even if it meant experiencing pain of her own.

Their mouths moved moistly together, learning, seeking, possessing, the fierce thrusts of Rand's tongue giving her a pleasure she had never dreamt of. Rand had forgotten his living nightmare now as he lost himself to the magic of her body, caressing and knowing every inch of her, one of his hands protectively cupping the downy softness that shielded her womanhood. At the same time his head moved down her body until his mouth closed moistly over the turgid peak of one nipple.

Merlyn arched her back pleadingly as his mouth released her to trail moistly down the curve of her breast, gasping her ecstasy as he claimed the other pouting nipple.

Every inch of her trembled with need and, although he had been the one to plead with her, he was now the master, had become the conqueror without receiving the smallest resistance.

But Merlyn needed to touch him too, her hands sliding down the dampness of his back to his buttocks, her nails scraping lightly across his taut skin, feeling the quiver of his flesh beneath her caresses, knowing how to please him instinctively.

She moved determinedly, the aggressor now as Rand lay beneath her, controlling his entry as she moved on top of him, feeling the hard swell of him slowly move inside her, hoping he would put this delay down to an effort on her part to prolong his pleasure. His head was thrown back, his jaw clenched as she lifted herself up before lowering herself for a second time.

‘Now, Merlyn,’ he gasped his need. ‘Don't play any more, take all of me!'

She was trying to. God, she was trying to! But she had never been with a man before tonight!

Rand felt like velvet against her, and she knew her body cried out for him, but the barrier of her virginity had to be overcome first, and it was proving more difficult than she had imagined. The books described it as a sharp pain and then, if your lover was considerate enough, the pleasure began. She didn't remember any of them saying it was like this.

Desperation had replaced passion as she once again lowered herself on to Rand, frustration making her sob as the barrier once again stopped his full entry. She wanted this man, needed him inside her as much as he needed to be there, and yet—She bit into her lip until she tasted her own blood in her mouth as Rand lost patience with what he thought was her game and took matters into his own hands, grasping her hips to guide her down on to him, filling her, engorging her.

After the pain came the most incredible feelings, as if Rand filled every space inside her. She felt overwhelmed, as if she belonged to this man, as if she would always be a part of him now. The tears that ran down her cheeks now were of happiness.

And then the pleasure began, Rand showing her how to move above him to give them both the maximum fulfilment, his eyes gleaming their satisfaction as she gasped weakly at this assault on her aroused senses.

The pressure building within her made her feel like crying and laughing simultaneously, the tumult rising inside her thrilling and frightening her at the same time. What was it going to be like, this physical satisfaction singing along her veins and clamouring for release?

And then she knew. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Warmth, and aching, and fire burst free from the core of their joined bodies, Rand's teeth rough against her breast as he lost control in the river of her convulsions, his hands clenched into her buttocks as he quivered again and again inside her in his own spasmodic release.

They had reached their pleasure in unison, and even in her ignorance Merlyn knew how unique that was in a relationship of familiarity let alone during a first encounter.

Her lips were moistly open, her breathing ragged, as she languorously kissed every inch of his face, from the dampness of his forehead, the tautness of his cheeks, to the pliancy of his mouth. They had shared something so beautiful Merlyn never wanted this moment of closeness to end.

And then she realised that Rand no longer seemed aware of her at all, that he wasn't even looking at her any more but at the fireplace—at the half-burnt photograph of his dead wife. There was a dull, lifeless expression in his eyes that told Merlyn none of his thoughts.

But she didn't need to know them, had known when she offered herself that she had just been fulfilling a need for him. It wasn't his fault that she had broken the rules and felt as if she never wanted to be parted from him again!

He turned back to her with darkened eyes, frowning heavily. ‘Did I do that to you?’ He gently touched the swollen tenderness of her bottom lip where she had bitten into it at the moment of his possession.

She ran her tongue along the jagged soreness. The bleeding seemed to have stopped now, most of the blood having fallen on Rand's shoulder. ‘No, I did,’ she dismissed, wondering how on earth she was supposed to untangle their bodies without embarrassing both of them.

Compassion softened the harshness of his face. ‘I never meant for that to happen, you know.'

Of course she knew! ‘Neither did I,’ she said huskily. ‘But it's done now.'

‘Yes,’ he rasped.

She swallowed hard. ‘I think I'd better go back to my room.'

‘Yes.'

Tears filled her eyes as he made no effort to release her. ‘Now,’ Merlyn urged desperately.

His gaze held hers as he slowly turned her on her side away from the fire so that she lay beside him, darkness enfolding her as his broad shoulders blocked out most of the glow given off by the flames. ‘I'm sorry,’ he said suddenly.

She drew in a ragged breath, feeling bereft now that his body was no longer joined to hers. ‘I came to you,’ she reminded him.

‘Because you pitied me—–'

‘No!'

He swung away from her to stand up and cross the room to once again stare broodingly into the fire. ‘It's the usual reaction when you find a man crying in front of you like a child!'

‘Rand—–'

‘Go back to your room—please,’ he encouraged with a harshness that brooked no argument.

She hadn't been able to help him at all. All she had been able to do was give him a few moments of forgetfulness in her arms and then more pain. He felt as if he had betrayed his wife; he didn't need to tell her that, she just knew.

Merlyn's bedroom looked just as she had left it, the bedside lamp still on, the bedclothes thrown back where she had hurried to see what was happening. But she had changed. Since her disillusionment with Mark she had avoided any real closeness to men. She went out with them, she had a good time, but at the end of the day she always went home alone. God knows she had had her chances for it not to be that way, Christopher Drake only the last in a long line of men who wanted her to share their bed. But she had never found any difficulty in resisting those physical entanglements that in the end brought nothing but heartache.

Until Rand Carmichael. But she had felt no hesitation as she went to him, had felt that it was meant to be, as if she had known that from the moment she first saw him. Could it be that she had been so deeply involved with her research of Suzie Forrester these past months that for a brief time she had thought she was her? But that was ridiculous. Wasn't it …?

* * *

Merlyn was already in the lounge when Rand came downstairs the next morning. She had found the broken glass gone from the hearth, the room looking innocent of the stormy lovemaking it had witnessed the evening before.

Merlyn wished she felt as innocent! Her body ached, the slight soreness she was experiencing not alleviated by the lengthy soak in the bath she had indulged in earlier. Her bottom lip was swollen and painful, and she felt altogether irritable. The only good thing about the day seemed to be that the rain had stopped falling some time in the night and with luck the water level on the ford would have gone down enough for her to get out of here. She was going to walk to the hotel if she still couldn't drive there; she certainly couldn't stay on here when she and Rand were so embarrassed about last night.

It was after nine when she heard him coming down the stairs, standing up to move nervously in front of one of the tall windows, the bright daylight behind her giving a golden halo to the red flame of her hair, her slender body warmed by fitting black denims and a royal-blue coloured jumper.

She looked warily at Rand as he hesitated just inside the doorway before fully entering the room, completing the task of tucking the black shirt he wore into the waistband of fitted grey trousers as he did so. Now that the confrontation had come, Merlyn didn't know what to say to him. What does a woman say to the complete stranger she made love with the night before! Although he hadn't seemed so much of a stranger then.

Rand was eyeing her just as warily. ‘Has Mrs Sutton arrived yet?’ he asked abruptly.

‘No one's arrived.’ She shook her head. She had been going to say they were still completely alone, but in the circumstances that didn't sound right at all.