Accidental Magic, Page 3

  His amber eyes darkened. With a quick movement that was feral in its grace he closed the space that had grown between them. He took her hand in his and, without his eyes leaving hers, he turned it over, palm up, and kissed her at the pulse point on her wrist. His lips were so close to her skin when he spoke that they brushed her arm, making her shiver with the warmth of his breath. “I’m no boy.” Then, eyes shining, he nipped her gently. “But I am a werewolf. So you can go out walking with me—or anything else you might like to do—and still be sworn off men.”

  3

  What harm could letting him walk her home cause? It wasn’t like he was a stranger, and he was right. He wasn’t a teenager anymore. Really. He was twenty-six. And a half.

  Plus, she was having fun. Justin was making her laugh with stories about botched meat deliveries at his family’s restaurant, Red Riding Hood’s Steak and Ale House, which bragged it was “the best darn steak place this side of Denver.” She hadn’t remembered him as being this charming or witty in high school. Little wonder—the only thing more self-absorbed and boorish than teenage boys were teenage girls.

  Laughing, she made squeamish noises as he finished the story about the fist-sized hunk of fur that had been found in a package of ground buffalo meat, and how his dad hadn’t figured out that it was really buffalo fur and not wolf fur until after he’d sheared the pelts off of each of his brothers.

  “Thankfully, I was out of town on one of my many buying trips for the restaurant.” He rubbed a hand through his thick hair. “I know it grows back, but still…”

  “So, that’s what you do? You work at your family’s restaurant?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I guess.”

  She studied his handsome face, wondering at the sudden change in his attitude. And then an old memory surfaced. “Wait! Aren’t you an artist? Don’t I remember you winning the PTA Reflections Contest at the state level your sophomore year?”

  He moved his shoulder and looked uncomfortable. “That was a long time ago. I don’t do much art anymore.”

  “Why not? I remember that you were very talented.”

  “Just lost interest. It started to feel like just another chore—like washing dishes at the restaurant. Whatever.” Then he seemed to mentally shake himself and his expression brightened. “Enough about that. I want to hear about you. So you’re still teaching?”

  “Not for much longer, I hope,” she said.

  He laughed. “How are you going to escape from the Fighting Fairies?”

  “Ironically, through education. I’m working on my MFA. As soon as I finish it, I’m off to Denver to snag a job as an editor.”

  “Well, it’ll be the Fairies’ loss.”

  “Right now it doesn’t feel like the Fairies need to worry. I’m in the middle of a poetry class that’s trying to kill me; sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever get through it.”

  “Really?” He rubbed his chin, amber eyes shining. “Let’s see if I remember.…” He cleared his throat and gave a quick, nervous laugh.

  She raised her brows questioningly. What was he up to? Then he began a recitation. At first he spoke the lines hesitantly, but as he continued his confidence grew.

  If it be sin to love, and hold one heart,

  Far ’mongst the stars above, supreme, apart,

  If it be sin to deeply cherish one,

  And hold her rich and rare as beams the sun

  Across the morning skies,

  Then have I sinned, but sinning gained

  A glimpse of Paradise.

  His voice was rich and deep and his eyes lingered on hers, causing the poet’s words to seem his own. And he effectively rendered her speechless for what seemed like the zillionth time in just the short while they’d been together.

  “Did I get it right?”

  “Yes!” The word burst out of her stunned mouth. Get a grip on yourself and say something intelligent before he starts thinking he’s talking to a prematurely aged teenager. “Yes, you did,” she said in a more grown-up voice. “That’s ‘If It Be Sin’ by DeMass, isn’t it? Are you a poetry fan?”

  Laughing, he took her hand and planted a quick, playful kiss on it.

  “What I am is a man with a pretty good memory who had one hell of a hard sophomore English teacher who terrified him and pounded poetry into his head so thoroughly that more than a decade later it’s still stuck there.”

  “Oh, God. I did that to you?”

  “Yes, Ms. Cox, you certainly did.”

  Unexpectedly, Candice blushed. “What grade did I give you?”

  “A ‘C,’ and I was grateful for it. And I do believe you might have also given me an ulcer as well as several painful hard-ons that semester, too.” He laughed. Then, before she could sputter a reply about the C, the ulcer or (embarrassingly) the hard-ons, he glanced around them. “Isn’t this your place?”

  Surprised, Candice realized that they were standing in her driveway. “Yes, it is.” She smiled at him and had to press her palms against her legs to stop her hands from fidgeting. “Thanks for walking me home.”

  “Entirely my pleasure.” He studied her for a moment, and his charming smile faltered as his expression grew more serious. “I’d—I’d like to see you again,” he said quickly, then held up his hand to cut her off when she automatically opened her mouth to tell him no. “Wait. Before you shoot me down I’d like you to answer one question for me. Did you enjoy talking to me?”

  “Yes.” The answer came easily.

  “Because I’m an ex-student or because you think I’m a man who is interesting and maybe slightly charming?”

  “That’s two questions,” she said.

  “Nope—it’s the same question, just with two parts. Kinda like some of those hellish essay questions you used to torture us with.”

  She smiled begrudgingly at him, and decided to tell him the truth. “Because I find you interesting.”

  “And maybe a little charming?”

  “Maybe…”

  “Then why not agree to see me again?”

  “Justin, I’m forty.”

  He waited, looking at her as if there had to be more to it than that.

  She sighed. “Justin,” she tried again, “I’m forty years old and you’re—”

  “Yes, I know. I got a C in English, but I did better in math. You’re fourteen years older than I am. You’re also smart and funny and easy to talk to and very, very sexy. Seriously, Candice. Try finding all those qualities in girls half your age. It’s next to impossible.” When she looked like she wanted to argue with him, he took her hand and said, “Okay, if our age difference bothers you that much, how about let’s not call it a real date? Let’s call it…an exercise appointment.”

  “An exercise appointment?”

  “You jog every day, don’t you?”

  “Almost.”

  “Will you be jogging tomorrow?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then how about we make an appointment to jog together tomorrow?”

  “Okay,” she heard herself say. “I’ll jog by Wolf Creek at about sevenish.”

  “You’re awesome! See you tomorrow.” He shot her a blazing smile, kicked into a youthful, athletic jog, and disappeared into the fading light of dusk around the curve in the road.

  Awesome? She cringed. Like, wow. I am, like, totally awesome.

  Laughing softly at her own silliness, she skipped lightly up the stairs into her house. Refusing to berate herself for being a horny middle-aged letch, Candice poured herself a cold glass of water. She had the whole day tomorrow to consider if she really was going to show up for their “appointment” or not. She wouldn’t think about it now. And anyway, her eye caught sight of the notebook and pencil sitting on her desk where she’d left them. She had homework to do.

  Candice grinned.

  She also had lines of poetry unexpectedly popping into her mind. Godiva had been partially right. Being in the presence of a werewolf ha
d certainly unblocked her—even if an evening of conversation hadn’t been exactly what her witchy friend had been recommending. Eagerly, she sat down and put pencil to the unfinished page, taking up easily where she’d left off.

  You ask, what now?

  Well, love comes with the night,

  in the most inexplicable places

  leaving the most unexplainable traces.

  Candice giggled, and kept writing.

  You see…a wolfman is the man for me!

  Hmm…maybe she would meet Justin tomorrow.

  4

  He thought about her a lot more than he’d intended to. He was supposed to show up at a keg party in the forest—rumor had it that several of the not-so-innocent high school seniors from the cheerleading squad were curious about just how well werewolves could use their tongues…not an invitation he had declined in the past. But tonight it felt, well, wrong to be rolling around the forest with girls Candice had probably taught in English class—and not a decade or so ago.

  Actually, if he was being really honest with himself, his life had begun to wear on him. Or, more accurately, to bore him. He hated the restaurant. His older brothers were already firmly ensconced in management positions—hence the fact that he had been relegated to making purchasing runs for them. Not that anyone expected more of him. He’d always been “that Justin—so incorrigible and handsome!” He’d never been taken seriously. But, then again, it hadn’t really mattered to him. He’d always been into having fun…feeling good.

  When had that started to change?

  He wasn’t really sure. But he knew he hadn’t been giving Candice a slick line tonight when he’d told her that she was smart and funny and sexy. Very, very sexy. And that he hadn’t found that combination of qualities in twenty-something girls. She challenged him. She made him think. And she turned him on. He’d had no idea what a lethal mixture those things were before he spent an evening in Ms. Cox’s stimulating company. He wanted to see her again. Badly. More than that, he wanted her to want him. If a woman like that could want him…what couldn’t a man accomplish if he won the love of a woman like that?

  So tonight, instead of joining the orgy in the woods he was much more interested in searching the back of his closet for an old textbook from a freshman lit class he’d taken before dropping out of the Denver Art Institute. Funny…he hadn’t thought about his failed attempt at an art major in years. But those eyes of hers. They’d made him remember. They were mossy green—a color that cried to be painted.

  Those eyes…

  Justin grabbed the literature book and then flipped open his laptop. A few simple clicks took him to the website of Mysteria High School—Home of the Fighting Fairies. He smiled triumphantly. Sure enough, there was a complete list of faculty phone numbers.

  Candice jumped when her cell phone made the little three-tone sound it did when she had a text message. She wiped her eyes, stuck her reading glasses on top of her head, and reluctantly took her nose out of Tanith Lee’s Silver Metal Lover.

  “Why do you insist on reading and rereading this book? You know what happens, and you know it makes you cry. You,” she told herself sternly before blowing her nose, “are a ridiculous romantic. And you’re old enough to know better.” She sighed. Ridiculous or not, she truly loved the story of a robot finding his soul through loving a woman. Not that it could really happen. Even putting aside the fact that it wasn’t possible to make humanlike robots, it was an impossible dream that a man could really become…well…more simply through the love of an exceptional woman. After all, she was exceptional (wasn’t she?) and she had the unquestionable proof of ex-husbands one through five being total turds—despite her loving attempts.

  Of course, a little voice whispered through her conscience, maybe she hadn’t really loved any of them…maybe true love did have the power to create souls and make miracles.

  “Please,” she scoffed aloud at herself, “grow the fuck up.”

  Then, remembering what had interrupted her, Candice reached for her phone. Flipping it open she keyed up the one new text message.

  Looking forward to our “appointment” tomorrow @ 7:00. J

  P.S. you have beautiful eyes

  She felt a rush of sweet excitement—a heady, intoxicating feeling she hadn’t experienced in years. No matter how ridiculous, she had a date with a twenty-six-and-a-half-year-old man.

  It took forever for it to be evening. Candice had chosen, vetoed, and rechosen what she was going to wear. Then she’d cursed herself over and over. Why the hell hadn’t she agreed to a normal date? One where she could drive up in her chic Mini and meet him at a nice restaurant somewhere out of town. (Way out of town.) She’d have chosen her sexy little black dress that displayed all of her assets and hid most of her imperfections. Her makeup would have been meticulously applied. And her hair would have been Truly Big and Ready for Flirtatious Flinging About. She could have dazzled him with her experience and good taste in choosing excellent wine, and then ordered from any menu with the confidence and flair that can only be earned through maturity and experience. She, in short, would have had the upper hand.

  Instead she was trying to figure out which of her rather old sports bras was the least tattered, and which cotton panties weren’t totally grandma-ish. As if there was such a thing as an un-grandma-ish cotton workout panty. Why, oh why hadn’t she bought new sports bras at the last Victoria’s Secret sale? Oh yeah, she remembered…they don’t have real, usable sports bras at Victoria’s Secret!

  Oh, God. Would he see her bra and panties? Just the thought made her feel like she wanted to puke her guts up.

  No! Of course he wouldn’t see her panties! She was meeting him for a quick jog, not a quick fuck.

  Regardless, somehow she found herself in the bathroom. Naked. Staring through her fingers into the full-length mirror at her body as if she was watching a horror flick.

  Looking at myself totally naked and under fluorescent lights just can’t be healthy. But she continued to stare and criticize.

  Sure, she wasn’t awful looking. Candice forced the shielding fingers from her eyes. Okay. She wasn’t really that bad. She’d been thinner and tighter, but her skin was soft and smooth, and she was definitely curvy. Maybe even lush. She shook her head, as if to clear the bizarre notions from it. “Lush” and “curvy” were not “young” and “tight-assed.” There was just no way she was going to get naked in front of and have sex with a twenty-six-and-a-half-year-old. No. Fucking. Way.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be there. He probably wouldn’t be there. Why would he want to be there? He could have just been being polite yesterday. He probably was just being nice. She had misinterpreted. He hadn’t really flirted and come on to her. It was silly, really. He was so damn young. Sure, she was attractive, but please. She was almost fifteen years older. No way was he interested in her. Not like that.

  “Hey there, beautiful.”

  She’d told herself that she was ready to see him—or ready for him to stand her up. Either was fine. Really. Whatever. Who cared? But then he was there, calling her beautiful and smiling his sexy, boy/man smile, and she felt the same dizzying rush of excitement she’d felt when he’d sent her the message the night before. And, dear sweet Lord, he was even more handsome than she’d remembered. Had she been blocking? Was it temporary amnesia? How could she not have been obsessing all day over his height and the incredible width of those shoulders, and that amazing jawline.…

  “Hi,” she said breathlessly, glad that she’d agreed to meet him at the creek so that she had an excuse other than just the sight of him to be breathing hard.

  “How do you feel about trying something new today?”

  His flirty smile made her stomach tighten. Oh, God, if only he knew.

  Never mind. It was probably best that he didn’t know.

  Be normal! Talk to him!

  “What do you have in mind?”

  His eyes sparkled as he jerked his head, pointing his chin away from the road and i
nto the forest. Then, with a confident, deep voice he recited, “‘I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by.’”

  He was actually quoting poetry to her. Again. Her cheeks felt warmed by more than the short jog through the graveyard. “A little Robert Frost?”

  “A very little, I’m afraid. And don’t be too impressed. I freely admit to memorizing it this afternoon.”

  “You know, I don’t remember you being this interested in poetry in high school.”