Magic

DISCLAIMER ==========

This is a work of fiction; any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. The author asserts all legal and moral rights (copyright (c) 2005 - psun@hotmail.com) to this work and you may not copy it or transmit it in any way except in its entirety and with this disclaimer. This story features descriptions of sex between males:

• if such material is prohibited in your jurisdiction, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you're under the legal age to read such material, please DO NOT READ ON, - if you don't like, or are offended by such material, please DO NOT READ ON.

And any comments - brickbats or bouquets, send them over to psun@hotmail.com And if you find that you like what you're reading, visit my page at http://www.geocities.com/savante_2002

It wasn't everyone who sympathized with a movie character but I did. After watching X-Men for the third time, I totally empathized with the poor red headed telepath who had her head battered with the thoughts of others. After all, I knew exactly the burden she was under. It wasn't easy having other people's thoughts pounding in your head all day long.

There was no one else in mine right now. Far from going crazy, I didn't hear voices when I stood in my kitchen alone. If I concentrated hard enough, I might get some vibes here and there but I'd learned early on not to press too hard. Like the proverbial Pandora's box, some thoughts were better left untapped. I'd learned the hard way that some things were better left alone. Taking up the half empty coffee cup I'd poured earlier to accompany my mini movie marathon, I crossed from the living room down the hallway to the kitchen.

Another point of similarity that I had with the telepath was the crazed wolverine that was after me. Something I'd better shove to the back of my mind if I wanted to maintain my sanity. It was already tough enough trying to keep other people's thoughts out without obsessing about a certain dark-haired bonafide hunk with an insane murderous side to him.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons why I lived in solitude so far out of town. It couldn't technically be called a town since the small town boasted only 1000 citizens at last count if any. Hicksville, Nowheresville, Clayton had called it in frank derision. A zealously dedicated city boy, he didn't care much for small communities. But that was just the way I liked it. Unlike my last apartment in New York where I had at least a dozen other tenants on the same floor as me, my closest neighbour now lived more than a mile away. Close enough for a yell if I ever needed their help and yet far enough not to burden me with their incessant thoughts. Every once in a while in the spirit of neighbourliness, Mrs Johnson would come by with a freshly baked pie and I reciprocated by occasionally babysitting for their youngest, boisterous little Luke. It was no hardship caring for the youngster whose thoughts were as bright and innocent as the summer sunshine.

Spying from the kitchen windows, I could just almost see the top of the Johnson's cottage as I washed the coffee mug. Such enforced solitude would drive practically anyone insane but it suited me far better than living in a crowded city. That was one early experiment that had turned out a disastrous failure. Granted though it had been years before I'd gained the mastery and experience I needed to handle my burgeoning powers. Since I'd gained some measure of control over my abilities, living in the city now certainly wouldn't have much effect on me but I figured caution should be the operative word here.

With my heritage, it hadn't come as a surprise that I'd develop some powers that would seem extraordinary to normal human beings. Compared to some of the more bizarre powers supernaturals could receive, having telepathy seemed like a pretty good deal. It certainly beat getting incinerating hands or green horns on the head. Coupled with the magic I'd inherited from my mother, they packed quite a lethal combination. There were no traces of psychic abilities in any of the branches of the family and yet I had them in spades, a genetic fluke born of two disparate yet similar races.

Sorcerers and witches. Quite literally especially when it pertained to my history, the Montagues and Capulets of the supernatural world. And following the routine of that well-known romance, I had been the product of the love between Romeo and Juliet. Not that my mother would ever see herself in the humiliating role of the tragic heroine. Once she'd foreseen the disastrous consequences of my remaining in the hands of my father's family, she'd made a disappearance worthy of Houdini himself. If they even had an inkling of her intentions, the Cabal certainly wouldn't have let a direct scion of one of their own escape without some form of retribution but my mother hide herself well - and my father helped her do so.

My mother's elder sister, Hester, a high-ranking member of the Coven, had elected to come with us into hiding and together, the two sisters had brought me up in relative obscurity of Black Falls. Ironically, the tragedy that would befall us came not as a result of their unholy tryst but of something else entirely.

It had been two months since my aunt had died and my mother left close to dead. Slaughtered was more like it. Slashed and torn to pieces by a creature born of legend yet one that I'd seen with my very own eyes. Hester Blackwell hadn't had much of a chance dealing with what she had. Protective crystals and spells to light candles at home didn't hold up well to the sharp claws of a werewolf. Anyone else would scorn the existence of such a creature of nightmare as the fodder for trashy tabloids but who was I to disbelieve. A son of a witch and a sorcerer.

Even now, I found it hard to believe the events that had rocked my well-ordered life just recently. Trying to escape the reach of the Cabals, my mother had brought us to a small town on the edge of nowhere, opened up a small bookstore and cafe to sustain our activities. Aunt Hester had gone into publishing the town's small paper with a small weekly column of her own on the various usage of herbs and spices. Hester's Pestle, she called it. Till about two months ago, we'd lived in relative obscurity, far away from the all-seeing eyes of the Cabal.

As I moved back to the living room, I noticed the small scrapbook I'd kept detailing the events after Aunt Hester's gruesome death. It didn't take long for the tabloids to catch hold of such titillating news. News of her sudden mysterious death scattered all over the front pages had brought my father knocking on my door with a cavalcade of his men. It seemed that he had kept close tabs on me since the day she'd walked out the door - and she'd sent letters for every month of the year about our progress. Together they'd made a pact that he would never contact or find us - and he'd faithfully kept his side of the bargain as she had.

Against my will, almost kicking and screaming, he'd dragged us both home to New York. In that city, the powerbase of his Cabal, they were inassailable. The Sopranos, I called them... and my own father was the Godfather. Laughable though the term might be, it was all too chillingly true as I soon found out.

One would imagine that my brothers would not be pleased to welcome someone new to the family, someone who could possibly take away a generous chunk of their billion-dollar pie but I'd clearly underestimated the value of blood ties to these people. Encroaching bastard foundling I might have been but I was still blood. Not only had they welcomed me with open arms, they'd been all too eager to thrust me into a role that I had no intentions of claiming. Brought up by a mother who regularly championed various environmental causes close to her heart, planted her own organic vegetables and made scented candles for sale in her small store, it was small wonder that I balked at the idea of joining a wealthy, multinational corporation that thrived on materialism and exploitation. Of course that didn't mean that some of them hadn't enjoyed the task of persuading me to join the dark side as I called it.

Yet it was that very same wealth that had placed my mother in the care of very best hospitals and she was even now recuperating in one of their expensive facilities. I placed the scrapbook back down on the table and picked up the bookmark I'd recently used. My father's calling card. No, I wasn't being entirely fair to him. Father had been kind to me, although it soon became clear to me that he was as baffled by me as he probably had been by my mother. There was love there, still new to the both of us and it unsettled me more than it did him. For Antonio Morelli, I'd always been his son, no matter the length of time that had separated us making us almost strangers to one another.

I smiled to myself as I imagined my parents together right now. No doubt they were arguing as they had done the first day my father had come knocking on the door. Circumstances back then might have kept them apart but that certainly didn't mean there wasn't a palpable spark between the two. It was difficult trying to imagine my mother being in love again but my father's presence had certainly lightened some of the grief she'd felt at her sister's passing.

Another card slipped out from the pages of the scrapbook and as I leaned down to pick it up, I felt a slight shiver. This card was solid matte black with gold letterings etched across the plain border. Stylish and yet almost spartan in its simplicity. Clayton James never felt the need for fancy stylings when he already made a pretty good impression all by himself.

Despite my earlier misgivings, I had to admit that he had made an impression on my heart. The first of my father's envoys after my aunt's death, he'd remained unerringly attached to my side till a few days ago when I'd managed to give him the slip. Leaving him hadn't been that simple for me. I certainly hadn't been immune to his dangerous good looks and his masculine charm, a fatal error when it came to an ambitious man like Clayton. Staying there with him by my side started feeling like torture especially when I found myself falling helplessly in love with him. Better that I get some space between us to reorganize my thoughts.

There was an electric tingle at the base of my neck long before I heard him coming. Some would call it a hunch or a gut feeling. There was no way in hell I'd call it a psychic flashback or some such thing. That belonged on the colourful pages of a comic book and skintight spandex didn't do a thing for me. Although it's hard to explain exactly what I felt, it feels like a warning. Just imagine the feeling you get when you feel someone's watching and multiply that by a hundred. That would be close to what I was feeling now. But not only could I sense someone approaching my front foor, I could see his thoughts, his feelings, occasionally his intentions... and if I probed deep enough, I could even literally see through his eyes.

That wasn't what I needed today. Without a doubt, I knew who my unwelcome visitor was. Although his footsteps didn't make a sound on the rustling leaves and it sounded almost as if he was floating through the brush, yet my mind was already flooded with him.

Clayton James made an impression wherever he went. It was easy enough to bring his image to my mind. The flash of wily green eyes with deceptive secrets hidden deep inside. The handsome, too-gorgeous-to-believe matineee idol looks, a point of embarassment for him. The quick dimpled grin, with just a touch of wickedness mixed in to balance his boy-next-door looks. The tall, rangy, athletic build that had haunted my fantasies more times than I could possibly count. The faint hint of his cologne, the odd combination of musk and sandalwood. Was it any wonder that I had those scents permeating my home?

In the late nights at home, with his scent in my bedroom, it was easy enough to imagine those strong, powerful hands running down my naked torso. It wasn't hard trying to imagine that beautiful, powerful physique naked and covered wih sweat in my bed, all that pent-up passion and energy focused solely on pleasure as he forcefully thrust his way into... Obsessed was what I was... ever since Clayton James had come into my life. Now that was a man who could make spandex look good. The fact that I was the one keeping him at arm's length for various reasons - and that he was perfectly willing to become my sex toy as he once put it only made it that much worse for me.

In spite of my protests, my heart started beating a quick staccato as it always did whenever he came into the room. I hesitated for a moment, dropping his card back into the scrapbook. There was a sudden urge to flee but that would have been cowardly, something he would no doubt blame on my non-confrontational witch's blood and I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

The quick, impatient raps on my door would inevitably turn worse if I didn't answer fast enough. After our last encounter, it wouldn't surprise me to have him tearing down my door with his bare hands. Tossing the scrapbook onto the couch, I hurried from the living room to the foyer. Whispering the words to an unlock spell, the doors flipped open smoothly. The last time I'd been here, I'd managed to oil the hinges to the door, killing the eerie squeak that had amused my mother each time she visited. She'd claimed it the perfect door for a witch's house.

"Certainly took you long enough!"

Unlike the first time he'd come knocking, the slick, cagey businessman in Brioni's wasn't standing at my door this time. Instead, he was dressed in scruffy jeans, boots and a heavy leather jacket that had seen far better days. His square, well-proportioned jaw was surprisingly unshaven, showing the rough bristles of a five-o-clock shadow. He looked mean, angry and irritated, his dark green eyes snapping at me under their heavy lids. Clayton the Thug, I called it, a guy you certainly wouldn't want to mess around with and if I hadn't known the man, I'd have thrown the door shut, bolted the door and run for hiding.

Even then, I had to fight the crazy urge to run my tongue across his stubborn jaw. Despite the fact that my mind threw up red flags around him, my body certainly knew what it needed. Just like the proverbial Pavlovian reaction, the sight of him turned me on, sending the blood rushing down to my loins. The persistent hard-on that I had whenever he came within twenty feet of me surged to life. Damned good-looking bastard. Did he even know that the scruffy, unshaven look suited him as much as the clean-cut, Italian-suited look?

He wasn't foaming at the mouth yet which I gathered to be a good sign but I certainly couldn't resist needling him a little. "This is certainly not your usual look. Your butler got the day off?"

"He left a mark on my shirt with his iron so I killed and ate him. Was that very wrong of me?" Clayton made a sound at the back of his throat that sounded almost like a growl before he replied tersely, without a hint of humour in his voice. An obvious overload of testosterone had given him a low, sexy voice, a thrumming bass that sent thrills down my spine.

It was difficult to know whether he was really pulling my leg so I disregarded what he'd said. Following his example, I dropped my voice an octave in reply. "Clayton."

A muscle started twitching at the edge of his jaw. "I drove for four fucking hours. You gonna invite me in?"

"What are you doing here?" As he tried to step in with only a dismissive grunt for a reply, I moved to block the entrance which I figured for a futile move since he could easily toss me aside if he'd wanted to. From personal experience, I knew that the hard, sculpted muscles straining under his tight tee wasn't only for show. Add his natural strength to the preternatural and he packed quite a punch.

"I'm here to enjoy the scenery."

Since it was obvious that there was nothing he loathed more, I asked again. "Clayton."

Far from showing any irresistible urge to knock me aside, he offered me a nasty little smirk. "That's the way you usually greet your visitors? What the hell happened to hospitality? How the hell you keep your business running is beyond me."

"Not a problem." I offered a tight smile. Just like my father, Clayton didn't approve of my shop as they called it. They certainly hadn't made it a secret that they would have much preferred I give up my little enterprise and returned to the respectable family business of maiming and hacking other demons. "Buy a fucking candle and I promise I'll play nice."

"Obviously staying out here in the boondocks didn't improve your mood any. Always said it's unnatural for a body to stay so far out in the woods, even the bloody drive puts me out of sorts." Seeing the obvious irritation mounting in my eyes, he only smiled, his brilliantly green eyes glittered with unholy amusement. "Maybe this would help, honey."

A kiss wasn't what I was expecting and I only had a brief glimpse of his amorous intentions before Clay was squashing me flat against the doorway. It was another thing that he did extremely well, and I could feel my knees buckling as his lips and tongue worked in tandem to slowly drive me insane. I tried to make a protest but his lips pressed fiercely agaist mine, robbing me of my breath. His breath burned against my cheek and when I placed my hands on his slim waist, his large hands held them tight and drew them up to his broad shoulders. Not content to remain where they were, my adventurous fingers worked their way up to the tangled black curls on his head and he let out a deep, throaty sigh that brought me back to reality.

Just in time, I wrestled myself off the doorway and shoved him off. It was like pushing a brick wall away and he didn't even budge an inch.

"Damn, now that makes the drive totally worth it." The steely anger in his voice had melted away, replaced by sheer satisfaction. Brought to life by our brief interlude, the evident lust in his eyes only made them all the more greener, flashing wickedly in the fading light. Evidently enjoying the taste, he licked his lips slowly. "Yummy. Chocolate chip cookies?"

I'd eaten it earlier and obviously there was a trace on my lips. Or somewhere at the back of my throat. "Stuff it, Clayton."

"I knew you were a closet sweet tooth. Baked it yourself too, I bet. All you witches are the same." Pleased with his joke, he laughed, the earlier aggravation forgotten for a while. "Sexy homemaking honeys."

Mercurial disposition. That was Clayton to a T. Beating up street toughs one minute, laughing heedlessly the next.

Although, it was obvious that kissing certainly managed to soothe the savage beast. Good to note if I were faced with a rampaging Clayton again although I certainly wasn't going to try that cure anytime soon. No need to tempt myself more than I needed. All my very good reasons for avoiding him disappeared when faced with the sheer hard reality of him. When his excellent lips were planted against mine, with that firm, muscular physique pressed against mine, it was hard to think of him as the opportunistic, scheming bastard that he was. All I could think of was his chiseled torso, naked and glistening with sweat, the smooth, golden tan a splendid contrast to my plain white cotton sheets.

"I missed you."

Just perfect. Disarming me just before I was tempted to cut into him for making that comment about witches and baking. How did he ever find the perfect words? It had to be the smarmy lawyer just hiding underneath that sexy, irresistible bad-boy veneer. "Don't allude to feelings you don't feel, Clayton."

"Bitchy lil witchy, aintcha." He just smiled as I growled at him. "No doubt you believe I'm some kinda idiot hick, you're trying to get me mad enough to leave but that won't work with me. I told you before that I was here to stay, didn't I?" Clayton watched me quietly, the look in his beautiful eyes stirring up memories I'd have preferred to forget.

He'd said those very words the first night at the hospital. After the attack, my mother had been rushed into emergency surgery and I stood for hours in the waiting room watching the snowflakes drift by that cold November morning. My aunt was dead, my mother close to that state and I'd gained a gang of sorcerous hoodlums for family. My father had fallen asleep from exhaustion half an hour earlier. Yet Clayton had stood by my side all night long, content to remain silent beside me. It was these treacherous thoughts that had me wanting to throw myself into his arms like the foolish witch that I was, when I should be avoiding him like the inquisition.

"You don't have to speak like a country redneck, Harvard boy."

"Why not?" A wicked grin spread across his handsome face. "It irritates you like hell, doesn't it? You know what, maybe I should give you another kiss."

As he tried to tug me close, I whispered one of the incantations I kept ever ready as part of my arsenal. The repel spell I'd learnt recently knocked him back barely two feet but it sufficed for my needs.

Not a man to be so easily thwarted, there was a dangerous flash of his green eyes that promised retaliation but he managed to get it under control. "Now you're just trying to get me mad."

"Just shut up and come in, Clayton. I'm getting cold standing here." Too late, it occurred to me that he'd already gotten a foot in despite my earlier misgivings. Just one of the benefits of being a good kisser.

As I stepped aside to let him in, he paused as he walked by and said softly. "I meant what I said earlier. I've missed you. I would have come earlier if your father hadn't stopped me."

Obviously hadn't managed to stop him for long since I'd come back just three days before. Just time enough to get some of my things in order and to clean up the mess I'd left behind the last time. A rampaging werewolf did more damage than I could imagine. And the shedding was hell on the carpets.

Clayton showed no inclination to shed on my carpets. Instead, he hung up his leather jacket, battered beyond recognition, on the row of pegs behind my door. Surprisingly, underneath the heavy jacket, he wore a plain black tee with the sleeves torn off. Obviously not every man could pull off that look but Clayton certainly could.

My covetous gaze slid down his heavily muscled arms down to his splendidly sculpted torso before I could help myself. The tight blue jeans he wore only served to highlight his best assets, curving appreciatively over the high, tight curves of his buttocks and down his long, well-muscled legs. Despite his obvious flaws, no one could deny that he was one magnificent piece of work.

As he turned around, he caught my roving eye before I could turn away but thankfully, he didn't say anything. It was some time before I could maintain my composure, and the red flush had gone away from my cheeks. It was one thing to have him think that I was lusting after him, and quite another to have him catch me checking out his ass.

Trying to control myself around him, I showed him the way into my living room. Lost in the admiration of his fine physique, I'd failed to notice the briefcase he'd carried in. "Come in and have a seat."

"So sweet, so polite." The man had a sexy sneer, no doubt about it. A contemptuous curl of his full lips that made me want to chomp hard on them. "You gonna offer me some tea with crumpets?"

Most people associate black cats and midnight blood rituals with witches but that's far from the truth for most of the witches that I knew. Morning herbal teas, civilized discussions, Laura Ashley dresses, those were the hallmarks of the Coven that I knew. Sure, I hadn't leaned towards the flowery printed dresses but in my Oxfords and plain khaki Dockers, I looked as much a suburban witch as the rest of them.

It was an obvious jab at the witch side of my family and I promised myself that I wouldn't rise to the bait. "Would you rather I dropped some wolfsbane into your tea?"

"That's more like you, John." It wasn't the first time he'd come into my home but he certainly hadn't had the time to look around that first time. Strolling into the living room, he looked around the surroundings, a quiet, almost gentle smile curling up his sensuous lips. "Although I have to admit, your place looks a little spartan, unlike you."

A few chairs and fragile items had been broken during the fight and I'd tossed them out leaving the room oddly bare. "I cleaned up some stuff earlier so.."

His easy smile disappeared and a hard look came into his deep-set eyes. "Should have broken his damned neck earlier."

"The timing was fine by me." Since Allen had my life in his hands at that time and was planning to end it, Clayton's intervention had certainly been timely.

With a short, harsh laugh, he shifted his probing gaze back to me. "You drive me insane, you know that? I'm not usually the psychotic maniac you always see but seeing and thinking of you just drives me crazy. Before I came, I actually promised myself that I'd try my best to restrain my temper. Actually tried to calm myself on the way here, counted to ten and all that shit. Guess it didn't work out all that well." He grinned ruefully at me.

I must have snorted. Imagining Clayton James keeping his temper in check was a ludicrous idea. I had an image of Clayton crosslegged for an hour of meditation in an incense-filled room and had to swallow the urge to laugh. Not only would he scorn such prissy methods, he'd probably tear the place apart after an hour out of boredom.

My disbelief was patently obvious and he had to make a token protest. "Really, John. Hell, I'm a calm, collected kinda guy, the friendliest guy you'll ever know. Just ask anyone..."

"Yeah, that must be what all your victims say before you bash their skulls in." Since he didn't seem to have any friends apart from the bunch of goons hired by my dad, I only had to smile. No doubt he'd be pleased to know that his faithful employees either held him in tremendous awe or were deathly terrified of him. A handful had incredibly vivid images of Clayton at work that left me stunned myself but I always managed to pull back before I could see more. Faced with such brutal imagery, I tried to explain it away as something absolutely necessary in his line of work but I still couldn't accept some of his more violent practices.

"Well, that's something else entirely." Trying to make light of the situation, Clayton tried for a teasing smile. "And what would you know about all that?"

"I've seen them."

His dark brows flew up for a moment in surprise before they settled down in a worried frown. Knowing first-hand the extent of my powers, he accepted my explanation without demur. "Now, why doesn't that surprise me? I only do what has to be done, John, and unlike some, I certainly don't derive any satisfaction from what I do." Beneath his dark brows, his vivid green eyes were shuttered for once and his lips drew together into a tight line as he spoke. "If you think I enjoy torture, I can assure you that I.."

I stopped him before he could go on. That was another conversation we weren't going to have. Knowing his silver tongue, it would be easy enough for him to sweettalk me into agreeing that bashing a few heads together for the greater good was acceptable practice. "Don't. There is no need to offer me an explanation." If I was thinking he'd just quietly agree, I was soon to be mistaken.

"John." Catching hold of my arm, he held tight before I could walk away. "That's where you're wrong, and you know that."

"You're my father's employee. That is all that's between us and if you think..."

"Bullshit! And don't fucking lie to me. Since we first met, you and I have had this chemistry, this spark between us..."

A spark would have been an understatement for what I'd felt when he'd come into my life. "Time out, Clayton. We're not going into that."

"That's what you said the last time." He watched me quietly, the internal war in his green eyes quite evident. A vivid image of him throwing me down on the floor in a rage of lust came to me and I realized they weren't my thoughts, but his. Anyone with the right instinct would have been repelled but I felt a distinctive thrill shiver down my spine. "I don't give up easily, John, you know that. After all, you should know better, you've read my mind before." There was hurt in his voice, and more than a hint of accusation.

It was the one mistake I'd made in our relationship. Reading minds were my forte and it had been since I was a teenager. With my heritage, the magic in my blood was a given and both my mentors delighted in them, teaching me the history, the ways and the magic of their craft. The fact that I could read minds as well turned out as an unwelcome surprise to my Aunt Hester, a sign of my sorcerer's bad blood as such an unlawful intrusion into a person's thoughts were an anathema to her, but my mother only took it in her stride. Although she tried her best to help me deal with my burgeoning abilities, it was ultimately my harrowing experience away from Black Falls that gave me the tools I needed to harness my powers.

Nothing could have prepared me for Clayton however. Up till now, his intentions were unclear to me, vague, blurry impressions were all I got from him. The man had a mind that was as slippery as he was in person, a fluid, almost tangible montage of feelings and thoughts that confused my persistent interrogations. The one time I'd managed to probe deep enough, it had been my one and possibly only time. There was a savage, almost primal lust, something marvellously wild and uninhibited, lurking just beneath the surface - beneath that cool, passionless exterior, the sleek Italian suit and the Bruno Maglis that I'd erroneously associated with him in the beginning. The unusual blend of primitive passions and dispassionate logic had confused me for some time till two weeks back when I'd received a significant eye-opener.

Power, position and money was what drove him. From the little I knew about him, what I'd inadvertently gleaned from some of his words and actions, I found that couldn't fault him for that. A childhood roaming the streets in search of food and sustenance, a father who regularly shattered his bones and a mother who drank herself into a stupor. Harsh words and daily beatings certainly didn't help nurture a child's growth. It only made him all the more determined to leave all that behind as he grew older.

What I didn't like was the fact that he didn't have any qualms about using me to get them. Since we'd met, he'd hinted more than once on a deeper relationship and each time, I'd managed to avoid his propositions. It was difficult to decide whether he was really in earnest or if it was another ploy to gain an upper hand in the Cabal. After all, he'd made no secret of the fact that it would have been quite a coup indeed to have gotten the favourite bastard son of the boss back into the fold. Apart from that, there was also the fact that I had considerable powers of my own, and I'd gained a certain reputation of my own in the supernatural world after my last debacle.

When I'd first learnt of his duplicity, I'd gone against my own tenets and impulsively violated his privacy. Although I'd only managed to brush across the surface of his mind, I'd gotten a brief glimpse of the man behind. What surprised me was finding out that instead of being repulsed by what I'd seen, I'd been hopelessly intrigued. "Clayton, reading your mind doesn't leave me at all reassured about you."

"Fair enough." Evidently it was the answer he wanted since he nodded and walked away. Walking over to the couch for a seat, his curious gaze swept over the DVDs and the scrapbook I'd dropped there. Whatever he was going to say about it he kept to himself. Instead he started digging around in his briefcase and pulled out a heavy envelope.

As I took the seat beside him, he flashed that charming smile that made my knees go weak, showing off a row of perfect white teeth. "Here. Take a look at this. Your father wanted you to have a look at this." All traces of his pseudo Southern twang faded away as his voice picked up a smooth businesslike cadence. Who was the real guy? The laid-back Southern cowboy? Or the slick business shark in Italian suits? Or was he the wild, crazy-eyed man who had come bursting into that dark cell-like cabin weeks ago to rescue me?

Weighing the envelope in my hands, I watched him with some suspicion. "These aren't some dirty pictures of my dad and his mistress or something, is it?"

He chuckled appreciatively before giving me a wicked wink in reply. "Just look and find out, honey."

"Very funny. And stop with the honey business." Instead of finding pictures of Clayton in several compromising positions, I found a plaque with my name on it with several photos inside. I didn't need him to tell me that they were the offices of the family firm back in New York. "That's my name."

"Yeah, it's for your space at the main office, just right next door to mine. You see.."

Slowly, I collected the pictures and placed them back inside. "Cosy." Another ploy to get me back in the business. A little weak but I guess it was the best my father could think of at short notice.

Getting into the spirit of things, he started to wax enthusiastically. "You'd better believe it is. It's the corner office with some of the most amazing views of the city. We could have the best interior designers in and..."

"Fuck."

A glimmer of a smile lit up his dark, handsome features. "Sure, that comes later. There's an interconnecting door between our offices, I specifically asked for that, and I have a very comfortable leather couch."

"Smooth operator, aren't you?" I said sarcastically. There was no need to tell him that Clayton James and a leather couch were certainly great incentives for me to return. The man knew that he looked good, and he definitely knew of my attraction to him which is why he used that shamelessly during our dealings.

"I have to be, especially when I'm dealing with a slippery customer like you." Boldly, he placed a hand on my thigh, and I felt the palpable heat of it jump straight to my groin.

"Me? I think you've got it all wrong."

"I'm not the one who scurried away from New York." He leaned towards me on the couch, running his right hand slowly on the top of the sofa. "What the hell happened? You suddenly left without telling me. I didn't like it."

There was a quick flash of his dark green eyes, a telltale sign of his temper. News of a Raging Clayton had been evident the moment I'd stepped into the offices of Bad Demons Corp but I'd dismissed their thoughts as exaggeration since how could this smooth, angel-faced hunk be the devil they claimed? It wasn't long however before I found myself confirming their unflattering description.

Clayton certainly kept his bubbling volcano of emotions under a very tight lid since that hair-trigger temper hadn't been evident the first time I met him. There was no trace of precognition in my abilities that I knew of and yet the first time I'd seen him, I'd gotten a sudden jolt, like a bolt of electricity through my heart. A flash of what could be flitted through my brain, so fast that I could hardly grasp the idea. In the nightmarish hell that my life had suddenly turned into, he walked into it looking like an angel, all those jet-black curls rioting around his handsome head, the innocently green eyes under the thick dark lashes, the sexy bad-boy physique slicked up in Italian suits. The topsy-turvy world I was in came to a sudden jolt and righted itself the moment he came into it.

An angel who'd saved my life. But that was all before I'd seen the photo frame in his office. It was the one thing keeping me from tumbling him down on the couch as he'd imagined earlier. Pursuing married sexually ambivalent men with a green-eyed boy wasn't in my agenda.

Carefully, I nudged his hand away from my thigh. "I didn't think I needed to make a full report of my activities to you, Clayton."

"No, you're not my employee. You're the man that I .."

I hastily stopped him before he could finish what he was about to say. Having him here knowing he was untouchable was enough without a confession of his feelings for me. "What are you actually doing here? You couldn't have come all the way to hand me something you know I'm gonna say no to. There's no way I'm going to join Bad Demons Corporation and you know that."

My reply left him looking almost insulted. "Need you even ask? You think I only want you back for the good of the damned company? I've come for you. Come on, you can't mean to stay here forever, this lil speck in the dust." He gestured outwards and I could see in my mind's eye the sleek lil Italian sportscar he'd parked outside. A boy's toy and I'd told him as much before. If he could only have seen it, Clayton would certainly have derided the old pick-up truck that I drove to work.

"You're gonna get mud on that pretty little toy of yours," I warned him.

"It'll wash." Under the black T-shirt, his broad shoulders lifted in a small, dismissive shrug. "And anyway you could always wiggle your little nose to make it disappear."

The reference to the blond witch on a television series certainly didn't amuse me. Since we'd met, Clayton had come to realize that bringing up stereotype witches was an endless source of irritation for me. "Look, you didn't have to come all this way. Since she's getting better, my mother sent me home to get a few things. I certainly didn't scurry away as you so nicely put it. I've just got some work to do over here, check some inventories for the shop, handle some of the orders."

"You know that's not what I mean." Clayton protested. "You can't seriously mean to stay here after all that has happened."

If he'd asked me that a few weeks back, I'd have jumped at the opportunity to return to New York with him. "You know, I don't think another werewolf's gonna stop by in Black Falls. We've filled out our quota for the year."

"Your mother's not likely to leave New York anytime soon. She's gonna need some physical therapy for a while and.."

"I know all that but I have my work, my store is here. I've thought of commuting back and forth, and..."

He stopped me in the midst of my long explanation which I was grateful for since I hadn't thought it through. "Look, I've spoken to your father about this. The Cabal would be willing to reimburse all your expenses. You enjoyed staying in the brownstone we have there, you can certainly have it. And from what I've heard, there are stores to be had in New York."

"My little enterprise competing with all the other stores in New York? Try your snake-oil charm elsewhere, Clayton. You aren't going to win me over that way."

He pouted those sexy lips. "I don't mean to go until.."

"You're gonna howl and bite me if I don't go?" It was a low blow but I was simply running out of ammunition. It would be so simple to leave everything and go with him but there was the matter of a small green-eyed boy in a photo frame and his misguided father. Having an affair with the misguided yet incredibly sexy father would be terribly wrong and I had to repeat it to myself like a mantra.

Caught by my words, he flushed crimson in anger and his hands curled into tight fists. Comments on his recent affliction always struck a nerve and it would only take moments before they turned to claws. To everyone else, he was the Iceman and yet with me, I could prick him so very easily.

"That was wrong of me, I shouldn't have said that."

Surprised by my sudden unprecedented generosity, he watched me curiously. "That's very diplomatic of you, John."

It was getting dark even as we sat there and I realized that a drive back would have him reahcing New York in the wee hours of the morning. Looking back, I realized that I'd cooked enough for two. Some form of precognition perhaps. "Clayton, since you are here, then you might as well stay for dinner."

"You just apologized and now you're asking me for dinner?" The sudden turnabout in the topic made him even more suspicious. "What? You trying to pull my leg here?"

"It's getting dark, and I've seen for myself the crazy way you drive. You're staying here tonight." I would certainly enjoy doing something other than pull his leg but I figured such inappropriate comments would only enflame his lusts. And he was only too willing to give in to that. "It's the least I could do for the man who saved my life. And my mother's."

That succeeded in rousing his ire and his stern eyes narrowed. "Don't insult me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, you know that."

"I don't know that." He looked as if he was about to argue the point but I quickly cut him off. "Go get some of your stuff in."

He raised a dark inquiring brow. "Where.."

"You're not sleeping in my bed."

"Hey, I never said anything." Turning back from the door, he looked back with a pleased grin. "So what are we having for dinner?"

For all his wicked ways, Clayton had surprisingly simple needs. Sex and food satisfied him usually and a combination of both would have been irresistible. Of course all I was gonna offer him was food, no matter how lusciously sexy he might look in jeans and a tight T-shirt.