Page 25 of Captivated
“Sure.” It was exactly what he’d had in mind.
“Be careful, Kirkland,” Sebastian said lazily. “She likes to play with fire.”
“So I’ve noticed.” He took Morgana’s hand and led her away.
Anastasia gave a little sigh and propped her chin on her hand. “With all the sparks popping back and forth between the two of them, I’m surprised we didn’t have a blaze right here at the table.”
“There’ll be flames soon enough.” Sebastian’s eyes darkened, going fixed and nearly opaque. “Whether shelikes it or not.”
Instantly concerned, Ana put a hand on his. “She’ll be all right?”
He wasn’t seeing as clearly as he would have liked. It was always more difficult with family, and particularly with Morgana. “She’ll have a few bumps and bruises.” And he was sorry for it. Then his eyes cleared and the easy smile was back in place. “She’ll get through it, Ana. As she said, Morgana likes to win.”
***
Morgana wasn’t thinking of battles or victories, but of how cool and silky the air felt blowing against her cheeks. With her head back, she stared up at a black sky haunted by a half-moon and dazzled by stars.
It was easy to enjoy. The fast, open car on the curving road, the shadowy moonlight, and the sea-flavored air. And it was easy to enjoy him, this man who drove with a natural, confident flair, who played the radio too loud, who smelled of the night and all its secrets.
Turning her head, she studied his profile. Oh, she would have enjoyed running her fingers over that angularface, testing the shape of the bones, brushing a touch over that clever mouth, perhaps feeling the slight roughness of his chin. She would have enjoyed it very much.
So why did she hesitate? Though she’d never been promiscuous or seen every attractive man as a potential lover, she recognized the deeper desire to be his. And she had seen that it was to happen before much longer in any case.
That was her answer, Morgana realized. She would always rebel against being destiny’s puppet.
But surely if she chose him for herself, if she kept the power in her own hands, it was not the same as being led by fate. She was, after all, her own mistress.
“Why did you go into town tonight?” she asked him.
“I was restless. Tired of myself.”
She understood the feeling. It didn’t spring up in her often, but when it did it was unbearable. “The script isgoing well?”
“Pretty well. I should have a treatment to send to my agent in a few days.” He glanced toward her, then immediately wished he hadn’t. She looked so beautiful, so alluring, with the wind in her hair and the moonlight sprinkling over her skin, that he didn’t want to look away again. It wasn’t a wise way to operate a moving vehicle. “You’ve been a lot of help.”
“Does that mean you’re through with me?”
“No. Morgana, I—” He stopped and swore, catching himself a moment after he passed her driveway. He backed up and turned in, but left the motor running. For a moment he sat brooding in silence, looking at the house, where only a single window glowed gold and the rest were black as pitch.
If she asked him in, he would go with her, would have to go. Something was happening tonight. Something had been happening since the moment he’d turned and looked into her eyes. It gave him the unsettling feeling that he was walking through someone else’s script and the ending had yet to be written.
“You are restless,” she murmured. “Out of character for you.” On impulse, she reached over and switched off the ignition. The absence of the engine’s purr had the silence roaring in his head. Their bodies brushed, andthe promise of more sizzled hot in his gut. “Do you know what I like to do when I’m restless?”
Her voice had lowered, and it seemed liquid enough now to slide over his skin like mulled wine. He turned to see those vivid blue eyes glowing with moonlight. And his hands were already reaching for her.
“What?”
She eased away, slipping from his hands like a ghost. After opening her door, she walked slowly around to his side, leaned down until their lips nearly touched. “I take a walk.” With her eyes still on his, she straightened and offered a hand. “Come with me. I’ll show you a magic place.”
He could have refused. But he knew if there was a man who wouldn’t have stepped from the car and taken that offered hand, he had yet to be born.
They crossed the lawn, walking away from the house where the single light glowed, and entered the mystic shadows and whispering silence of the cyprus grove. Moonlight flickered down, casting eerie silhouettes of thetwisted branches on the soft forest floor. The faintest of breezes hummed through the leaves and made him think of the harp she kept in her drawing room.
Her hand was warm and firm in his as she moved forward, not with hurry, but with purpose.
“I like the night.” She took a deep breath of it. “The scent and the flavor of night. Sometimes I’ll wake in the dark, and come to walk here.”
He could hear water on rock, a steady heartbeat of sound. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, his own heart was thudding relentlessly in his chest.
