Night of the Magician by Stephanie James, Jayne Ann Krentz Page B

the pillow where Lucian’s head had rested, and when she buried her nose in the down-filled thickness of it she thought that she could detect a hint of the unique and satisfying scent that was his alone.
    What was the matter with her, sitting there amid the sheets and inhaling Lucian’s fragrance from a pillow? Tossing it aside, Ariana tried to bounce lightly off the high Victorian-style bed and nearly stumbled as her body proved unexpectedly sore in various places.
    She drew in her breath in surprise. Her body was rather forcibly reminding her of the solid strength of the man who had spent the night with her. Holding onto the bedpost Ariana stretched, working out the voluptuous aches in her muscles. Lucian had been a demanding lover, but he had repaid her for the response he had taken with a seemingly inexhaustible masculine passion.
    When had he left? Continuing on her way to the bathroom, Ariana frowned as she tried to figure out what would happen next between them. Obviously he had gone back to his own room sometime near dawn. There had been no further chance to talk. What did a woman say to a man over breakfast the next morning after a night such as the one that had just passed?
    Ariana felt restless and confused as the shower water cascaded down around her. Last night Lucian had refused to deal with the crisis he had created, using sensual magic to take her mind off the subject of their future whenever she would have tried to return to it She didn’t have the impression he was ignoring that future, only that as far as he was concerned, it was settled and there was no real need to discuss it. He had promised to explain everything in the morning.
    What did that mean? What was there to explain? The restlessness and confusion grew as her thoughts became more chaotic. She could hardly believe that she had been so cautious for so long only to wind up giving herself in a blaze of desire to a man who wasn’t at all what he should be. That thought kept clanging around in her brain, occasionally colliding with a memory of that same man’s tenderness or a recollection of his concern for her during the séance. Images of the startling, overpowering figure he had made silhouetted against the storm as he walked into her bedroom also intruded, sending little frissons along her nerves.
    The night had belonged to the storm and the magician who was a part of it. What of the day?
    Deciding that her only defense against the unknown lay in such familiar feminine tactics as choosing clothes that would enhance her self-confidence, Ariana walked back out of the bathroom and carefully dressed for the trauma of breakfast.
    She belted a shawl-collared long-sleeved blouse in a foulard print over a slim yoked skirt that fell to her calves.
    Then she added a pair of soft suede high-heeled boots. The overall effect was sophisticated and dashing. Just the impression she wanted. Sophistication and dash could cover up a multitude of uncertainties and vulnerabilities, she told herself as she picked up her hotel room key and started for the door.
    The realization that she had been safely locked in her room last night swept over her just as she put her hand on the doorknob. Hesitantly she turned to glance at the sliding glass door through which Lucian had entered. She could have sworn that door had been locked before they had left for the séance. Which meant that he must have deliberately unlocked it before he had left her room the first time last night She remembered how he had been standing near the window with his back to her, and she remembered how good he was at sleight-of-hand. Lucian had known full well that he would be returning when he had said good night to her that first time.
    A little dazed at the sheer audacity of the man, Ariana continued downstairs. Aunt Phil would be waiting to have breakfast with her in the inn’s dining room.

    As soon as she walked through the double doors of the charmingly decorated room she saw that her aunt was