Wicked Deeds on a Winter's Night

to get caught? Not at all?'

Mari sighed. 'I might... if he wanted me.'

'I do want you, lass.'

She jerked around. MacRieve! He was dressed in new clothes, and looked showered and coolly collected. 'How in the hell could you have gotten here so quickly?'

'Missed you, witch. Ran headlong. Now hang up the bloody phone.'

'Oh, great Hekate, is that his voice?' Carrow cried. 'I just had an orgasm! Fudge your name tag if you have to, but get you some of that some-some. Remember, friends let friends live vicariously—'

Click. 'How long have you been here?'

'Got here an hour after you did.'

'I'm that slow?'

'I'm that fast. Would've come to you sooner, but I had many arrangements to make.' His gaze focused on her drink. 'What in the hell are you doing?'

'I'm getting tee-rashed on some sizzurp.'

'Why?'

She shrugged. 'Small plane, big scared.'

He sniffed. 'That's bourbon? Who drinks whiskey on the beach?'

'Sounds like a great drink name to me! How did you find me?'

'You cloaked your trail well. But I'm a great hunter.'

'And so modest, too.'

'You should no' have left me like that. What the bloody hell were you thinking to put yourself in danger again? I believed we had an... understanding.'

'We did. And then you called me by another woman's name.' He looked like he'd barely stifled a wince. 'And then I realized that I'd misunderstood our understanding.'

MacRieve grasped her elbow and steered her to a private hibiscus-lined courtyard. 'Damn it, witch, it will no' be possible for me to instantly forget someone who has played such a large role in my life. If you think of someone for so long, a couple of weeks will no' erase it.'

She snapped her fingers and said, 'Exactly. A couple of weeks won't. A year won't. An eternity won't. You won't ever be happy without her.'

'I doona believe that any longer. And I can promise you this will no' happen again.'

'I don't know what's more disturbing... the fact that you called me by another woman's name or the fact that now you'll have to make a conscious effort not to. You're still thinking about her either way.'

'If you want to leave because you have misgivings or lingering fears about last night, then go. But you canna leave because you think I prefer another over you. It simply is no' so.'

'How can I believe you after you yelled her name?' she cried.

'I need to tell you something'—he stabbed his fingers through his hair—'that I doona talk about, ever. But I will with you.' He gazed to the right of her as he said, 'When Mariah died, she died... fleeing me. Running from me as you did last night. Even as I was thinking of naught but you, always the guilt for her death lingers at some level.'

Mari gasped. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

He finally faced her. 'I feared it would only hurt you to reveal this, that it would set up the same situation. I dreaded that.'

'It was an accident though. Right? You can't carry that guilt forever.'

'Sometimes, lately, I feel it's worse, because... ' He trailed off.

'Because what?'

He scrubbed his hand over his face. 'Even if I do believe you're of the same soul as her, I never wanted Mariah like I want you.' He seemed shamed by the admission, even as she felt herself softening toward him—as ever. 'And what does that say about me? How could you choose for yourself a male so disloyal? When I want to surrender this bloody guilt?'

'Of course you do—it's been nearly two freaking centuries! Enough's enough.'

'Gods, I was hoping you would believe I've waited long enough.' He exhaled a relieved breath. 'I want to look forward.'

'As you should. Cut yourself some slack.'

'Done—if you will do the same for me as well.'

She made a grated sound of frustration. 'Oh, you sly—'

'Lass, we're going to have problems between us sometimes. We'll both make mistakes and forgive them. This is one of those times.'

'You're acting like I've signed on for the long-term deal. And I haven't.'

'What would it take to get another shot with you?'

'Nothing you have. My time here's getting short—'

'Nothing? But you have no' seen everything that I have. What if I told you I've an olive branch that the mercenary in you should appreciate?' He curled his finger under her chin. 'You've never shied away from anything else, and you will no' regret this now.'

She needed to stay strong, to stay furious. But all she wanted to do was get back to being with him.

'Take a chance on me, witchling.'

It was then that she made a fateful observation.

Bowen MacRieve was holding his breath.

Damn him! And there went strong and furious, gone with a whimper. Still, she met his eyes. 'Don't call me by her name again, Bowen. It hurt.'

'Shh, lass.' He wrapped those big arms around her, drawing her against the warmth of his chest. 'I will no', I promise you.' When she finally relaxed against him, he nuzzled her ear. She could feel his lips curl just before he said, 'And doona hang my clothes in tall trees.'

44

Bowen's olive branch for her was a private island just off the coast of Belize, replete with a boat and a mansion in the middle of a breezy palm forest.

And the two weeks she'd stayed there with him had been the happiest of her entire life. Tonight they sat on a blanket on the beach, lazily regarding a driftwood fire. The breeze soughed through the palm fronds, and the stars glittered feverishly. As she lay against his chest, she mused over her time here with him.

At first, she'd thought he'd merely spent a fortune to rent this property, but then he'd said, 'If you want it, it's yours.' Apparently, he wasn't just wealthy but obscenely rich. So she answered as any self-respecting witch would: 'Gimme... deed.'

After their first night here of nonstop sex, she'd woken in bliss, unable to stop grinning stupidly. Had she actually believed that sexual relationships couldn't be perfect? He'd appeared surprised by her reaction, then had done that jutting-chin show of pride. 'The aging werewolf's still got it, eh, lass?' He'd tickled her till she'd screamed with laughter.

Then later, once they'd decided to stay for a few weeks, they'd set some parameters for their cohabitation.

She wasn't to do the 'mirror thing' while they were here, because, as he'd said, 'Every time I see you do that spell, I get a sharp sense of foreboding. My Instinct tells me that it's wrong... dangerous, even.'

As for magick in general: 'If it slips because you're startled by something, that's one thing, but to willfully chant to your reflection disturbs me greatly.'

All she'd asked from him was not to disparage her kind—or to sound like he was planning to take her away from witchery and the House.