Her cheeks flamed red. She looked as dismayed as he’d felt a moment earlier when he’d inexplicably said what he was thinking.
“Um—that is …” she murmured, looking at her lap. He made the mistake of following her gaze and stared, transfixed, at the way her shift pooled around her legs. “I just wanted you to know you’re the better man.”
He swallowed. “No, I’m not. Because I desperately want to take that nightdress off you.”
The room went so silent he could hear nothing but his heartbeat thudding in his ears. This wasn’thappening. Where in the hell had his internal censor gone?
She jumped to her feet. He tried to look away, to let her leave unwatched, but couldn’t. And so he had a perfect view as she untied the bodice of the shift in one quick movement.
The dress slipped off her shoulders and puddled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but underwear and the necklace he’d just charmed. In that charged moment when he was too shocked to do anything but gape at her, she slipped under the covers and kissed him.
She tasted like fruit, sweet and sharp. He tangled one hand in her hair and trailed the other up the smooth skin of her thigh. She moaned, and everything from his ears to his toes tingled in response.
Then she unbuttoned his shirt and time seemed to speed up. Off came her underwear. Off came his. She pressed against him, the moment beforethemoment, and in that last chance, he grasped just enough of his shattered self-restraint to say, “No—wait?—”
And he jerked upright in the borrowed bed, instantly awake. Alone. Shirt buttoned. Pants on.
It had been a dream.
CHAPTER 29
Beatrix went through the motions for the rest of the conference on Sunday, feeling as if she wasn’t entirely there. Perhaps her distraction was evident, or perhaps she just looked as tired as she felt, because Rosemarie told her to sort out the caterers and gave her no other assignments when she finished.
Ella patrolled the building—Western High, once an all girls’ school—on the lookout for wizardry. Rosemarie followed Lydia around, alert for problems. And Lydia went from state delegation to state delegation, talking quietly with leaders about the ways she hoped to accomplish her aims. Some were more receptive than others—especially to the idea of staging a massive rally in D.C.
“Young lady,” said the white-haired president of the Maine chapter, “I did not vote for you, and I have no intention of demonstrating in the streets like rabble.”
After lunch, they led the promised tour of the Walters Art Museum—Beatrix ready to jump out of her skin at every noise—and finally,finallyit was over. The last bus left the city en route to the aeroport. The last bit of debris was cleared out of the high school’s auditorium. Beatrix distributed thank-you gifts to the local League activists for their help and drove the Ellicott Mills contingent home, wanting nothing more than to go somewhere quiet where she could hear herself think.
It was nearly four-thirty when she reached her favorite clearing in the forest, the one with the comfortable stump. Here, she’d read countless books. Sobbed over her mother’s death. Planned how she would give Lydia what she couldn’t have herself. Danced with Theo. Kissed the dream version of Blackwell. Here, surrounded by the many ghosts of her past, she could finally be alone.
She sat on the stump and pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes, trying to stop the terrible, itchy feeling of threatening tears. The thought of what had almost happened to Lydia—what could easily still happen, despite their best efforts—made her feel so helpless.
What she really wanted to do, if she was honest with herself, was to plead with her sister to stop. Live past twenty. Let someone else be a hero and a martyr.You’re all I have.
But that would be so breathtakingly selfish that she knew she couldn’t even hint at it, and besides, that was exactly what the bastards wanted. WhatTheowanted, damn him.
Garrett. She would have to start thinking of him as “Garrett” again.
At some point, she supposed, she would be able to consider him without anger and humiliation clouding her judgment. Perhaps then she would feel the loss—not of him, exactly, but of the person she’d thought he was. Now, though, as she considered him, prodded the wound, it was as if she’d never gotten within a stone’s throw of loving him. Never advanced beyond the rush of simply being wanted. She thought it hadbeen more than that, but those feelings were dead.
Or perhaps transferred.
Dear God.
She was convinced now that she and Blackwell were still having tandem dreams—nightmares. Last night had seemed so real,hehad seemed so real, right down to the calluses on his fingers and the stubble on his jaw, that nothing but magic could explain it.
But that dream was distinct from everything she’d unwillingly shared with him before, even the one ending in that unsettling, impassioned kiss. Three Vows now bound them together. The magically significant three. Was that the reason? Had they made the situation worse?
When she’d dragged herself out of bed that morning, exhausted and mortified, he was already gone. On Rosemarie’s bed lay a scrap of paper with a telephone number and a message in his graceful cursive:Remember it’s tapped—but call if you need me.
She did need him, but not in the way he’d meant or she wanted to feel. She could hardly miss the many objections.He’s your bossprobably ranked least serious among them.
None of that stopped her temperature rising when she thought of him, which only meant that she would have tonotthink of him. She had a thousand other pressing matters to consider, anyway. What he was trying to keep from blowing up, for instance.
I don’t think you want to add your own fear to what you’re getting from me secondhand.
She shivered as she remembered what he’d said. She didn’t believe in ignoring problems in the hope that they would go away, but this one she would gladly put aside, just for the moment. Besides, it involved him.
