to breathe or eat or sleep.”
She would have to tread carefully here. “Affection is just as necessary for survival.”
He doubted it, since he’d done without it for most of his life. Studying her, he shook his head. “You know, babe, if I believed you were really a witch, I’d say I was spellbound.”
It surprised her that it hurt. Oh, not his words so much as the distance it put between them. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember ever having been hurt by a man before. Perhaps that was what it meant to be in love. She hadn’t guarded her heart before, but she could protect it now.
“Then it’s fortunate you don’t believe. It was just a kiss, Nash.” She smiled, hoping the shadows would mask the sadness in her eyes. “There’s nothing to fear in a kiss.”
“I want you.” His voice had roughened, and his hands were fisted in his pockets. There was a helplessness tangled with this need. Perhaps that was what had nearly touched off violence. “That might be dangerous.”
She didn’t doubt it. “When the time comes, we’ll find out. Now I’m tired. I’m going in.”
This time, when she walked through the grove, she didn’t offer her hand.
Chapter 5
Morgana had opened the doors of Wicca for the first time five years and some months before Nash had walkedthrough them looking for a witch. The success of the shop was due to Morgana’s insistence on intriguing stock, her willingness to put in long hours, and her frank enjoyment of the game of buying and selling.
Since her family, for longer than anyone could clearly remember, had been financially successful, she could have spent her time in any number of idle pursuits while drawing from a number of trust funds. Her decision to become a businesswoman had been a simple one. She was ambitious enough, and more than proud enough, to want to earn her own living.
The choice of opening a shop had appealed to Morgana because it allowed her to surround herself with things she liked and enjoyed. She had also, from the first sale, found pleasure in passing those things along to others who would also enjoy them.
There were definite advantages to owning your own business.
A sense of accomplishment, the basic pride of ownership, the constant variety of people who walked in and out of your life. But whenever there was an upside, there was also a down. If you were blessed with a sense of responsibility, it wasn’t possible to simply shut the doors and pull down the shades when you were in the mood to be alone.
Among Morgana’s many gifts was an undeniable sense of responsibility.
At the moment, she wished her parents had allowed her to become a flighty, self-absorbed, feckless woman. If they hadn’t done such a good job raising her, she might have bolted the door, jumped in her car and driven away until this miserable mood passed.
She wasn’t used to feeling unsettled. She certainly didn’t like the idea that this uncomfortable mood hadbeen brought on by a man. As long as she could remember, Morgana had been able to handle all members of the male species. It was—she smiled a little at the thought—a gift. Even as a child she’d been able to dance her way around her father and her uncles, getting her own way with a combination of charm, guilt and obstinacy. Sebastian had been tougher to manage, but she felt she’d at least broken even there.
Once she’d reached adolescence, she’d learned quickly how to deal with boys. What moves to make if she was interested, what moves to make if she was not. As the years had passed, it had been a simple matter ofapplying the same rules, with subtle variations, to men.
Her sexuality was a source of joy to her. And she was well aware that it equaled another kind of power. She would never abuse power. Her dealings with men, whether they led to friendship or to romance, had always been successful.
Until now. Until Nash.
When had she begun to slip? Morgana wondered as she wrapped and bagged a long, slim bottle
She would have to tread carefully here. “Affection is just as necessary for survival.”
He doubted it, since he’d done without it for most of his life. Studying her, he shook his head. “You know, babe, if I believed you were really a witch, I’d say I was spellbound.”
It surprised her that it hurt. Oh, not his words so much as the distance it put between them. Try as she might, she couldn’t remember ever having been hurt by a man before. Perhaps that was what it meant to be in love. She hadn’t guarded her heart before, but she could protect it now.
“Then it’s fortunate you don’t believe. It was just a kiss, Nash.” She smiled, hoping the shadows would mask the sadness in her eyes. “There’s nothing to fear in a kiss.”
“I want you.” His voice had roughened, and his hands were fisted in his pockets. There was a helplessness tangled with this need. Perhaps that was what had nearly touched off violence. “That might be dangerous.”
She didn’t doubt it. “When the time comes, we’ll find out. Now I’m tired. I’m going in.”
This time, when she walked through the grove, she didn’t offer her hand.
Chapter 5
Morgana had opened the doors of Wicca for the first time five years and some months before Nash had walkedthrough them looking for a witch. The success of the shop was due to Morgana’s insistence on intriguing stock, her willingness to put in long hours, and her frank enjoyment of the game of buying and selling.
Since her family, for longer than anyone could clearly remember, had been financially successful, she could have spent her time in any number of idle pursuits while drawing from a number of trust funds. Her decision to become a businesswoman had been a simple one. She was ambitious enough, and more than proud enough, to want to earn her own living.
The choice of opening a shop had appealed to Morgana because it allowed her to surround herself with things she liked and enjoyed. She had also, from the first sale, found pleasure in passing those things along to others who would also enjoy them.
There were definite advantages to owning your own business.
A sense of accomplishment, the basic pride of ownership, the constant variety of people who walked in and out of your life. But whenever there was an upside, there was also a down. If you were blessed with a sense of responsibility, it wasn’t possible to simply shut the doors and pull down the shades when you were in the mood to be alone.
Among Morgana’s many gifts was an undeniable sense of responsibility.
At the moment, she wished her parents had allowed her to become a flighty, self-absorbed, feckless woman. If they hadn’t done such a good job raising her, she might have bolted the door, jumped in her car and driven away until this miserable mood passed.
She wasn’t used to feeling unsettled. She certainly didn’t like the idea that this uncomfortable mood hadbeen brought on by a man. As long as she could remember, Morgana had been able to handle all members of the male species. It was—she smiled a little at the thought—a gift. Even as a child she’d been able to dance her way around her father and her uncles, getting her own way with a combination of charm, guilt and obstinacy. Sebastian had been tougher to manage, but she felt she’d at least broken even there.
Once she’d reached adolescence, she’d learned quickly how to deal with boys. What moves to make if she was interested, what moves to make if she was not. As the years had passed, it had been a simple matter ofapplying the same rules, with subtle variations, to men.
Her sexuality was a source of joy to her. And she was well aware that it equaled another kind of power. She would never abuse power. Her dealings with men, whether they led to friendship or to romance, had always been successful.
Until now. Until Nash.
When had she begun to slip? Morgana wondered as she wrapped and bagged a long, slim bottle
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