Authors: Jacqueline Diamond
Daddy Warlock (19 page)
Gently Chance pulled her to him. She curved onto his
lap, her mouth meeting his and her bare body arched against his naked chest.
He could read her pleasure in the subtle shift of expressions on her face. There was no need to enter her awareness through any supernatural means.
Chance experienced his own reactions more keenly than ever before: the pulsing heat in his blood, the halfpainful, half-joyous intensity of his arousal. This time, he had something to give Tara, and she to give him, precisely because they remained separate.
Laying her across the bed, he explored her body with his hands and mouth. She responded with fierce eagerness, tantalizing him until Chance could bear the delay no longer.
When he thrust within her, it thrilled him to gauge his ability to please by the soft gasps that arose from her. And when she responded with a rhythmic shifting matched to the tempo of his breathing, he soared into ecstasy.
They became the soul of the forest, vibrant and throbbing as they lost themselves in each other. Chance flew beyond himself, soaring over the green canopy into an explosion of white light.
Tara's soft cries eased into moans of satisfaction. Lying beside her, Chance let fulfillment wash over him.
She pillowed her head against his shoulder. The air of the tower came alive with their residual heat and the lingering impression of trees in a foreign land, long ago and far away.
“I wonder⦔ he murmured.
“Hmm?”
“Last time, we conceived Harry,” he said.
“I wouldn't mind having a daughter,” she said. He
could feel her smile against his bare skin. “Or another little boy.”
“If not, we'll just have to go on trying.” He kept his tone deadpan.
“What a sacrifice,” said Tara.
Chance pulled up the covers, protecting her from the cool air. “The computer can produce a desk or a bookshelf or a bureau, but there's one very important thing I forgot to build into this room.”
“What's that?” she asked sleepily.
“A wedding ring.” He muffled a yawn. “I guess we'll have to buy one the old-fashioned way, at a jewelry store. What do you think?”
“I'm not moving,” Tara said.
“I didn't mean tonight!”
“Well, thank goodness.”
As he tightened his grip around the woman he loved, Chance thought of one more thing. “Computer,” he said. “Is Harry all right?”
“Subject child remains in bed,” said the nasal tenor. “There are no signs of distress.”
“Just make sure everything's locked up, then,” said Chance.
“I have already done so, o lordly one.”
“Good night, then.” In the quiet that followed, sleep began to blur the edges of his consciousness.
“Excuse me,” said the house.
“Yes?” He hoped the computer wasn't going to enumerate the leftovers in the refrigerator. He hadn't yet figured out a way to teach the thing timing.
“I thought the Tara person would want to know,” it said.
Tara yawned beside him. “Know what?”
“I've picked a name.”
“You have?” She propped herself on her elbows. “What is it?”
“It's Home,” said the house. “Do you like it?”
“It's perfect,” Tara said. “Good night, Home.”
“Good night, Tara person. And noble master.”
Across the courtyard, a light went out in the kitchen. A mechanical hum signaled that the computer was double-checking the alarm system.
Then even Home grew quiet, and the magic of the night cast its spell over this enchanted place.
TO DO:
late for a super-important meeting, you discover the cat has eaten your panty hose
while you work through lunch, the rest of the gang goes out and finds a onehour, once-in-a-lifetime 90% off sale at the most exclusive store in town (Oh, and they also get to meet Brad Pitt who's filming a movie across the street.)
you discover that your intimate phone call with your boyfriend was on companywide intercom
finally at the end of a long and exasperating day, you escape from it all with an entertaining, humorous and always romantic Love & Laughter book!
ENJOY
LOVE & LAUGHTER
EVERY DAY!
For a preview, turn the pageâ¦
Colleen Collins's RIGHT CHEST, WRONG NAME
Available August 1997â¦
“DARLING, YOU SOUND
like a broken cappuccino machine,” murmured Charlotte, her voice oozing disapproval.
Russell juggled the receiver while attempting to sit up in bed, but couldn't. If he
sounded
like a wreck over the phone, he could only imagine what he looked like.
“What mischief did you and your friends get into at your bachelor's party last night?” she continued.
She always had a way of saying “your friends” as though they were a pack of degenerate water buffalo. Professors deserved to be several notches higher up on the food chain, he thought. Which he would have said if his tongue wasn't swollen to twice its size.
“You didn't do any thingâ¦badâ¦did you, Russell?”
“Bad.” His laugh came out like a bark.
“Bad as in
naughty.”
He heard her piqued tone but knew she'd never admit to such a base emotion as jealousy. Charlotte Maday, the woman he was to wed in a week, came from a family who bled blue. Exhibiting raw emotion was akin to burping in public.
After agreeing to be at her parents' pool party by noon,
he untangled himself from the bed sheets and stumbled to the bathroom.
“Pool party,” he reminded himself. He'd put on his best front and accommodate Char's request. Make the family rounds, exchange a few pleasantries, play the role she liked best: the erudite, cultured English literature professor. After fulfilling his duties, he'd slink into some lawn chair, preferably one in the shade, and nurse his hangover.
He tossed back a few aspirin and splashed cold water on his face. Grappling for a towel, he squinted into the mirror.
Then he jerked upright and stared at his reflection, blinking back drops of water. “Good Lord. They stuck me in a wind tunnel.”
His hair, usually neatly parted and combed, sprang from his head as though he'd been struck by lightning. “Can too many Wild Turkeys do that?” he asked himself as he stared with horror at his reflection.
Something caught his eye in the mirror. Russell's gaze dropped.
“What in theâ”
Over his pectoral muscle was a small patch of white. A bandage. Gingerly, he pulled it off.
Underneath, on his skin, was not a wound but a small, neat drawing.
“A red heart?” His voice cracked on the word
heart.
Somethingâa word?âwas scrawled across it
“Good Lord,” he croaked. “I got a tattoo. A heart tattoo with the name Liz on it”.
Not Charlotte. Liz!
eISBN 978-14592-6762-6
DADDY WARLOCK
Copyright © 1997 by Jackle Hyman.
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All characters In this book have no existence outside the Imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all Incidents are pure Invention.
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