LITMIR.BIZ

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women. “You’ve made a mess of everything.”

      “I tried,” she whined. “So did Ida. She said it was foolproof.”

      If he slammed down the receiver, she might put on a pout and stay away this evening. Sebastian sensed he’d need her by then. “We’ve got to get this sorted out.”

      “Oh, Sebby, never mind. I’ll be over tonight and make you feel better, lovey. Between us, we’ll fix things.”

      Sebastian thumped the receiver back on its cradle. He couldn’t rely on the women in the coven. Emily had been plain stupid and Ida was getting on and must have mistaken the dose—or Miss LePage possessed extraordinary strengths. Sebastian’s stomach clenched at the thought. Was it possible? He knew interest in Wicca had grown in recent years in the States and Miss LePage certainly had the ancestry for it. Was that why she’d come? To assume the mantle of her dead aunts? Impossible! He’d never relinquish power. He’d fight her to the last. Whatever it took.

      He was sitting silently, considering his options, when someone knocked on the door. Emily? Too early. Who?

      “You!” Sebastian almost spat.

      “Me.” Christopher agreed. “I need ten minutes. May I come in, or would you rather talk on the landing?” Sebastian might well snarl. Christopher had deliberately waited until Miss Fortune left.

      Sebastian opened the door and jerked his head, hardly gracious, but an invitation nonetheless. “Gone casual have you?” Christopher asked, eying his rolled up shirtsleeves.

      Sebastian ignored the comment. “I won’t offer you a drink, since you can’t stay.” He leaned against his desk, arms folded.

      Christopher smiled. “Don’t trouble yourself, Caughleigh. Just dropped by to mention something.”

      “What? Decided you want to make a will?”

      Christopher chuckled. “Not yet, Caughleigh, not yet. I came about a far more immediate matter. Miss LePage.”

      “Yes, I noticed your concern. She’d be interested in your history.”

      “You’d have a hard time convincing her. She doesn’t believe in me—or you. I just came to give a friendly, gentlemanly warning. If any harm ever befell Miss LePage, it would anger me.”

      “And you alone would take me on?”

      “I wouldn’t be alone.”

      “We have a full coven.”

      “Not yet. The new initiates have nothing but curiosity and a smattering of knowledge.”

      Amusement lit Sebastian’s dark eyes. “Marlowe, you’ve lost your heart to her.”

      Caughleigh would never know how close that jibe hit. Ever. “We both know I don’t have one. No, she’s innocent and uninvolved and it will stay that way. Keep your delinquent nephew away from her. Leave her and that house alone.”

      “And if I don’t?”

      Christopher picked up the telephone receiver and clenched it in his left hand. There was a loud snap and another. Slowly the plastic crumbled under his fist. The muscles in Sebastian’s face tensed and his complexion paled. He shivered. Christopher opened his fingers and let a handful of fragments fall over the leather desktop. “You will.”

      He took a step as if towards the door but instead took Sebastian’s jacket from the hook. “You look chilled, Caughleigh,” he said. “You need your jacket.”

      Quicker than lightening, Christopher threw the jacket on Sebastian’s shoulders and pulled the sleeves tight around his neck. “Remember what I said,” he whispered in his ear. Sebastian’s hands clutched at air as his arms flailed. Christopher tightened his grip. Sebastian nodded. Christopher whispered, “I knew you’d understand.” He held the sleeves until the seams made ripping noises.

      Caughleigh slumped on the desk, the jacket still around his neck. He coughed and choked and managed a couple of profanities.

      A wallet, keys, and date book fell from the jacket. Christopher pushed them aside until he saw the initials on the brown leather book: “D. LeP.” He palmed it. Maybe he had no right to it, but neither did Caughleigh.

      “Pleasant evening,” Christopher said to the still-gasping Caughleigh and carefully shut the door. The evenings were still a trifle chilly.

      He had his back to her, but there was no mistaking those wide shoulders and blue-black hair. After an afternoon watching him among the books, Dixie could pick Christopher out of a Super Bowl crowd. He turned before she closed the door. His smile broke through the smoky haze. Shivering wasn’t enough. She ached at the sight of him.

      She’d lost her senses. She didn’t need them. She’d been crazy to come. What sort of woman came looking for a man in a bar? But this was the Barley Mow, with Vernon limping around, wiping tables and gathering up used glasses and Alf at the bar. Christopher and Alf exchanged words.

      Alf took down a glass. By the time she crossed to the bar, a half of Guinness waited for her. “Your usual, Miss LePage.” She reached into her pocket but he shook his head. “It’s taken care of.” He nodded up at Christopher.

      A pale hand rested inches from hers. Dixie stared at the white, perfectly manicured nails, slender fingers, narrow wrist and muscular forearm. “This one’s on me,” Christopher said.

      She jerked her head up and saw his smile. Had he noticed her ogling his hands? Please, no. “Thanks.” She took a sip from the heavy glass mug. Swallowing wasn’t easy.

      “What’s going to tempt you tonight?” he asked.

      “What?” And what did that grin mean?

      “What gustatory delight on Alf’s menu?”

      “Oh.” She stared up at the chalkboard menu and took three deep breaths. “I’ll have a jacket potato with a shrimp cocktail, Alf.”

      “We’ll be over in the conservatory,” Christopher told Alf.

      “We will, will we?”

      “I want to talk business. If we do it here, we might as well publish it in the local paper.”

      That made sense. She took her Guinness and followed him until they found an empty table. He raised his wine glass to his lips and sipped, pursing his lips together as he swallowed, then a bright red tongue smoothed over his full lips. Dixie felt herself mirroring the gesture as her stomach did a flip. This was ridiculous! They’d come here to discuss first editions, hadn’t they?

      “Here you are, one jacket potato with a shrimp cocktail.” Dixie stared at the plate Vernon placed in front of her. She hadn’t realized the shrimp cocktail would already be sauced, and she’d never expected to get it on top of the potato.

      “Looks tasty,” Christopher said.

      Dixie nodded. Once over the initial surprise, it did look appetizing. But when she met Christopher’s eye, she wondered if he’d meant the spud.

      She tasted a shrimp, the tang of cocktail sauce was sharper than she’d expected, a strange mix of vinegar and something she couldn’t recognize. She let it sit on her tongue, trying to identify the elusive taste and hoping to calm her racing pulse. If her stomach didn’t settle soon, she’d never be able to swallow. She managed one shrimp. It was small enough that she swallowed it whole. The taste lingered on her tongue, strange and unexpected as the combination on the plate in front of her, as alien as the one-eyed man watching her.

      “I wanted to talk to you,” she said, sipping from her glass to wet her dry throat.

      “I know.”

      “About the books you wanted.”

      “Yes.” He smiled. His wide mouth spread to reveal teeth white as alabaster. He laughed, a warm chuckle that came from deep in his belly, and his eye twinkled. His

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