Witch Water

yielding and hot. He was only aware of his rage and the pain.

There was a gagging sound. When he could calculate what he was seeing, Abbie’s face was darkening only inches from his own. She looked horrified but was smiling in spite of it.

“That’s terrific, Stew,” came a mocking croak. “You gonna kill me?”

Fanshawe’s left forearm had slammed her against boxes with such force that the cardboard caved in. His right hand—

His right hand was clamped about her throat, squeezing.

You’re a madman! a thought screamed. Let go of her! but he didn’t. Instead, he gnashed his teeth. “Goddamn! You-you fucking bitch!”

“Don’t cuss, Stew,” she laughed. “It makes you sound trashy.”

“That was twice as hard as I hit you!”

Her hot throat throbbed in the web of his hand when she replied, “Good, ’cos you deserved it… motherfucker.”

Fanshawe felt consciously appalled when he squeezed her throat more precisely while telling himself to release her. Still, her voice ground, “How do you like that? The billionaire shows his bad side…”

“I didn’t know my bad side was this bad. Thanks for bringing it out.”

“It’s good to know I have that effect on men”—she began to squirm in his clench. “Or maybe it just works on perverts who get off on peeping in women’s windows—”

She raised to her tiptoes when he squeezed even harder. “Why are you antagonizing a guy with his hand to your throat?” he growled, glaring.

She kept squirming, the pink of her face darkening. “It’s my defense mechanism, asshole. Don’t you know anything about women who hate themselves?” She grasped his wrist, then edged forward, either in the beginnings of terror or to deliberately press her bosom against his chest.

Fanshawe guessed the latter.

Abbie’s smile remained mocking. “If you’re going to strangle me, at least have the decency to fuck me first…”

Fanshawe released her throat, then dragged her down.

««—»»

When they were done, she lay on the floor as if dropped there, and Fanshawe felt like he’d just been trampled by horses.

“Holy—,” Fanshawe began.

“—shit,” Abbie finished.

It seemed that they’d jammed a frenetic sexual marathon into the space of twenty minutes. Clothes lay everywhere. Fanshawe ached in places he didn’t know he could ache. Sweat-prints on the cement floor left bizarre shapes that trooped the full length of the corridor. When Abbie tried to rise, she winced, then settled for turning over and collecting her garments on hands and knees. “Jesus, Stew. You must be packing a whole lot of angst.”

Fanshawe’s knees were barked raw. His bare heels thudded around as he put on one piece of clothing at a time. What did I just do? “I don’t know what came over me, Abbie. I’m sorry.”

Abbie laughed. “I’m complimenting you, genius. That was the best sex I’ve had since college.”

Fanshawe rushed back into his clothes. “I meant…I didn’t mean to choke you. I’ve never been violent like that before. It was never my intention—”

“Stew, it’s okay.”

His heavy breaths reminded him of his age. He sat back down quickly, then nearly put a shoe on the wrong foot. “We gotta hurry. Your father could walk in any minute.”

She didn’t seem that concerned. “Well, if he does, I can’t wait to hear your explanation.”

“Oh, that’s just great!”

Fanshawe finally got himself together. When he looked over to Abbie, she was buttoning her blouse, forgoing the bra which he’d torn during their heated tryst. Fanshawe stared.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, smiling.

“You’re beautiful…”

Abbie just kept smiling.

“You’ve got every reason to think I’m off the deep end,” he said, “but I meant everything I said earlier, about taking you to New York, and rehab, and all that.”

“I believe you.”

“So you’re game?”

“Yeah. I’m ready when you are, and until then…I’ll do my best.”

Can’t ask for more than that. Fanshawe felt exuberant all at once. He couldn’t stop looking at her.

“But no more hitting each other, okay?” she said in a jesty tone.

“You got a deal.”

“I like it rough, Stew, just not that rough. Christ, for a minute I thought you were going to kill me.”

So did I, he considered in a covert dread. He tried to make a joke of it. “You’re too good-looking to kill.”

“That’s good to know…I think.” A long revelation stilled her. “Wow.”

“What?”

“Sex with you took my mind off coke.”

“Let me know when the effect wears off. I’ll make sure I’m available.”

She chuckled, shaking her head.

“I better go now…” The moment made him antsy. He felt as though he should say something else but didn’t know what it should be.

“All right, I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

He stalked over to her, grabbed her rather roughly, and pulled. Again he was cramming her against the boxes but instead of choking her he was kissing her, while his hands couldn’t resist mauling her contours. I adore this woman, he thought. Their tongues delved; they sucked each other’s breath as if desperate for it. Fanshawe wished he could dissolve into the heat, scents, and substance that was her.

“If you bang me again like you just did,” she panted, “I’ll be in a wheelchair for a week,” but the prospect didn’t seem to daunt her: she reached to unbuckle his belt…

Fanshawe sucked her neck, then dug his fingers hard into her buttocks. She sighed, flinched, then nearly squealed when he twisted her nipples through her blouse. He wanted to do it all again right there, but common sense returned.

He had other things going on besides Abbie. His awareness of the looking-glass in his pocket reminded him.

“Later,” he said. “But I need to show you something tonight.”

“Yeah?” she purred.

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

He looked right into her eyes. “Witches Hill, around eleven-thirty.”

Her eyes lit up, but then she slumped. “Shit. I can’t. Believe it or not, I’m not just an inn keeper with a secret. I’m also on the town council. We’ve got a big meeting tonight at eight. Sometimes those things go till two in the morning. It’s a big pain in the ass but I signed on for it, so…”

“Tomorrow night, then.”

Before she could say “Okay,” Fanshawe kissed her hard one more time, then left.