Some Kind of Magic by Theresa Weir

hear his voice. Two weeks ago, she would have hurried down the ladder to greet him. Now she hesitated.
    What was he doing here? What did he want?
    His footsteps moved in her direction. “Claire?"
    She hung back.
    She stared at the opening in the floor, watching until Anton’s dark head appeared.
    “Claire!”
    He was tan, very tan, as if he’d recently spent a lot of time on the ocean lounging around on somebody’s yacht. He flashed his white teeth at her and swung himself free of the ladder.
    He wore a black leather jacket that he took off and tossed over the back of a chair. He stood there, smiling, waiting for her to throw herself at him.
    Two weeks ago, she would have done just that.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked instead.
    His clothes were expensive. Dark, kind of shiny. His hair had been styled to perfection. He lifted his arms to her, his head tilted in the sweet little boy way she remembered that said, I’m so charming and handsome that you’ll surely forgive anything I’ve done. Glittering from a ring on his pinky finger was what looked like a diamond. A big one.
    She saw no reason to be nice. “When you cross over, you really cross over.”
    “Claire, I came to see you.”
    Had he always sounded so affected? Or was it something he’d picked up recently? “Don’t you mean, you came here so I could see you?” she asked.
    He didn’t get it. That was obvious from the puzzled expression on his face. But he’d never been one to linger overlong on something he didn’t understand. He simply moved on. That had been one of the things Claire found fascinating about him—his ability to shrug things off and move on. It was a handy trait.
    Looking at him now, she could see that it was just selfishness on his part.
    “Come on,” he said, arms still outstretched in that look-at-me pose. “No hug? No kiss?” The new affectations were getting on her nerves. His mannerisms, his way of gesturing and posturing, were enough to make her stomach churn.
    “If you’ve come to get your things, then get them and go.”
    “Claire, Claire.” He shook his head and smiled, as if to say he wasn’t falling for this aloof game. He moved toward her. “You want me. You know you want me.”
    Had he always been such a creep? Had she never seen him for what he really was? No, surely her judgment wasn’t that bad. The old Anton had been cocky, but this person in front of her—he was like a cartoon. A caricature of the old Anton.
    “Get out of here or I’ll call the police.”
    “You don’t have a phone.” His savoir-faire was fading.
    “I got one.”
    “You hate phones. You would never have a phone.”
    He knows me so well.
    In a flash, she understood him. Completely. He hadn’t been a master at being the perfect mate. He’d been a master at reading her. And he had fed on her need of him, her adoration of him. Now that he could see she no longer adored him, he was angry. To him, she was the traitor.
    “You thought you could come back here anytime and I’d be waiting for you, didn’t you?”
    “Don’t play these games, Claire.” He grabbed her by both arms. He pulled her close. “You’ve been waiting for me. I know you. I know how hot you always were for me. That kind of thing doesn’t change. You want me. You’ll always want me. I’ll bet you’ve been lying in bed at night, all hot and horny, thinking about me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I know what you like. I know everything you like. I know when to go fast, and when to go slow. I know just where to touch you to make you crazy.”
    “Get out! Now!” She was outraged at him, at herself for allowing him to intrude upon her life to such a point.
    In the months they’d been together, he’d never displayed violence. Now anger flared in his eyes. His fingers dug into her arms. “I didn’t think you had any surprises left in you.” He began shoving her, forcing her backward. “But I had no idea you liked it rough. No idea at all.”