preferable to fill her mind with thoughts of the lady than of Justin O’Neill.
But even staring at the panel, absurdly, made her think of Justin. “I hate him,” she moaned aloud with soft vehemence. “He has made a mess of my life; he has made a mess of me !”
But when she finally slept, a smile curved her lips. Her dreams were of Justin, and in her dreams they met by the pond.
And the air was cool and fresh and fragrant and the benign branches of the sheltering trees were their harbor as they lay naked together … laughing and loving.
Because she did love him. She had loved him forever and forever.
CHAPTER FIVE
“S ERENA. SERENA. SERENA !”
The calling of her name finally penetrated her mind so thoroughly that she jumped and sent a dozen invoices flying and floating to the floor around her.
Susan sighed with exasperation and bent to retrieve the papers.
“Do you know, Serena, if you’re not interested in becoming a witch and joining a coven, you should take up yoga. Or something. Anything! Your nerves are strung like a kite!”
“I’m not really nervous,” Serena protested, bending to retrieve the papers with Susan. She met Susan’s skeptical eyes as they both crawled about on the floor. “All right, I am nervous. But I’m always nervous. Some people are just nervous people!”
Susan laughed. “Want to tell me the problem? Maybe I could mix up a potion that would help!”
With the last of the papers retrieved, Serena sat back down behind the desk with a sigh. “I don’t think so, Susan. I wouldn’t want to ruin your standing as a good witch!”
“It’s that hulk of a psychologist, isn’t it?”
Serena glanced at Susan sharply. It had been five days since Justin had appeared at the museum—and neither she nor Susan had mentioned him since.
“Why do you say that?” Serena queried her friend warily.
Susan chuckled wickedly. “Because there are vibes about that man, honey. It doesn’t take a witch to tune in on him! What I can’t figure out is how you’re having a problem! If he winked at me—”
“Susan,” Serena murmured, “you’re forgetting about Marc.”
“Ah—hah!” Susan pounced. “So then you admit that the doctor has made advances!”
Serena blushed and tapped her pencil against the desk. Advances! If Susan only knew. …
If Susan knew, she would drive her crazy. She would see all kinds of things in the situation. She would chatter all day about the beauty of destiny and the wonders of the magic of the earth.
“Yes,” Serena muttered dryly, “I guess you could say he’s made a few advances.”
“Then, sweetie,” Susan murmured, her lovely brown eyes huge and wide, “why are you a wreck? The man is … one of a kind! Polite and cordial and civil and suave, and yet a walking mass of sexuality! You don’t get to see bodies like that in the magazines most of the time!”
“Susan,” Serena said primly, “what about Marc? He may not be Hercules, but he’s a hell of a nice guy, and we’ve been together for a year now. He wants marriage and children and the lot, and we both love Salem, and we respect one another! We almost never argue—”
“Sounds like you’re trying to write him a résumé for a good job,” Susan observed.
“Oh, Susan, I don’t know!” Serena laughed. “Marc’s driving me just as nuts as our illustrious Dr. O’Neill. They’re both driving me nuts! Marc is running around the house with tape recorders tapping the walls and trying to convince me my house is haunted! On Monday he came in with that old painting of Eleanora, and I think he’s trying to convince me I’m some kind of a reincarnation of her! This morning he arrived before I was awake and started prowling around the attic—tapping walls again. Then he goes tearing out of the house screaming something about his ‘proof.’”
Susan laughed so hard she clutched her middle. “Well, Serena, maybe the old inn is haunted! If spirits do come back, that would be the
But even staring at the panel, absurdly, made her think of Justin. “I hate him,” she moaned aloud with soft vehemence. “He has made a mess of my life; he has made a mess of me !”
But when she finally slept, a smile curved her lips. Her dreams were of Justin, and in her dreams they met by the pond.
And the air was cool and fresh and fragrant and the benign branches of the sheltering trees were their harbor as they lay naked together … laughing and loving.
Because she did love him. She had loved him forever and forever.
CHAPTER FIVE
“S ERENA. SERENA. SERENA !”
The calling of her name finally penetrated her mind so thoroughly that she jumped and sent a dozen invoices flying and floating to the floor around her.
Susan sighed with exasperation and bent to retrieve the papers.
“Do you know, Serena, if you’re not interested in becoming a witch and joining a coven, you should take up yoga. Or something. Anything! Your nerves are strung like a kite!”
“I’m not really nervous,” Serena protested, bending to retrieve the papers with Susan. She met Susan’s skeptical eyes as they both crawled about on the floor. “All right, I am nervous. But I’m always nervous. Some people are just nervous people!”
Susan laughed. “Want to tell me the problem? Maybe I could mix up a potion that would help!”
With the last of the papers retrieved, Serena sat back down behind the desk with a sigh. “I don’t think so, Susan. I wouldn’t want to ruin your standing as a good witch!”
“It’s that hulk of a psychologist, isn’t it?”
Serena glanced at Susan sharply. It had been five days since Justin had appeared at the museum—and neither she nor Susan had mentioned him since.
“Why do you say that?” Serena queried her friend warily.
Susan chuckled wickedly. “Because there are vibes about that man, honey. It doesn’t take a witch to tune in on him! What I can’t figure out is how you’re having a problem! If he winked at me—”
“Susan,” Serena murmured, “you’re forgetting about Marc.”
“Ah—hah!” Susan pounced. “So then you admit that the doctor has made advances!”
Serena blushed and tapped her pencil against the desk. Advances! If Susan only knew. …
If Susan knew, she would drive her crazy. She would see all kinds of things in the situation. She would chatter all day about the beauty of destiny and the wonders of the magic of the earth.
“Yes,” Serena muttered dryly, “I guess you could say he’s made a few advances.”
“Then, sweetie,” Susan murmured, her lovely brown eyes huge and wide, “why are you a wreck? The man is … one of a kind! Polite and cordial and civil and suave, and yet a walking mass of sexuality! You don’t get to see bodies like that in the magazines most of the time!”
“Susan,” Serena said primly, “what about Marc? He may not be Hercules, but he’s a hell of a nice guy, and we’ve been together for a year now. He wants marriage and children and the lot, and we both love Salem, and we respect one another! We almost never argue—”
“Sounds like you’re trying to write him a résumé for a good job,” Susan observed.
“Oh, Susan, I don’t know!” Serena laughed. “Marc’s driving me just as nuts as our illustrious Dr. O’Neill. They’re both driving me nuts! Marc is running around the house with tape recorders tapping the walls and trying to convince me my house is haunted! On Monday he came in with that old painting of Eleanora, and I think he’s trying to convince me I’m some kind of a reincarnation of her! This morning he arrived before I was awake and started prowling around the attic—tapping walls again. Then he goes tearing out of the house screaming something about his ‘proof.’”
Susan laughed so hard she clutched her middle. “Well, Serena, maybe the old inn is haunted! If spirits do come back, that would be the
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