Merlyn's Magic Read Free Page A

word of protest from her.
    As she gazed into his eyes, Merlyn knew that she wanted
him. Now!
    The man seemed to shake off the spell that had been
weaving about them, anger darkening his eyes. 'What the hell do you
think you're doing?' he rasped harshly.
    She still wanted him. Unless she was becoming feverish
already from the numerous soakings she had received today! His next
words seemed to say she had to be.
    'If you prefer to just sit there looking like a drowned
cat than answer me then you can damn well do so!' He slammed the car
door back in her face.
    'No—please!' He had reached the front door by
the time Merlyn had managed to open her door and scramble out of the
car to talk to him. He stood on the step looking back at her, oblivious
of the rain streaming on his hair, over his face and body. Maybe if you
lived with this weather long enough it did that to you!
'I—Could you take my luggage inside—please?' she
added hopefully, feeling as if she had walked on to the set of Fawlty
Towers and encountered John Cleese in his classic role as Basil Fawlty!
    A dark scowl settled over those curiously light-coloured
eyes. 'Do I look like a porter?' he scorned.
    Merlyn chewed on her bottom lip. He was like no other
porter she had ever met, possessed too much arrogance and authority for
the—Oh no, this wasn't Anne's husband, James, was it? If it
was she had committed a double gaffe, that of assuming he was one of
his own porters, and of finding herself attracted to a married man, her
own hostess's husband.
    'Well?' He arched mockingly arrogant brows at her lack of
response to his question.
    Merlyn moistened her lips. 'Er—I'm sorry if I
made a mistake about your position here. I—'
    'I would say that's the second mistake you've made in the
last few minutes,' he derided, his teeth gleaming very white against
the darkness of his beard as he grinned at her discomfort.
    Merlyn was so bemused by the unexpectedness of that grin
that for a moment she was too mesmerised by the change it made in his
appearance—his eyes a warm grey, deep grooves etched into the
leanness of his cheeks—to realise exactly what he had said.
But once she did realise, her gaze became wary. Had she shown so
clearly the impact he had had on her? If she had she would never be
able to look Anne Benton in the eye when they were introduced.
    'Oh?' she queried with a casualness she was far from
feeling.
    'You're looking for The Forest hotel, right?' he drawled,
arms folded confidently across the power of his chest, his stance
challenging.
    She frowned. 'Yes…'
    'Well, you didn't find it,' he seemed to take great
pleasure in informing her.
    'Oh, but—' The sky seemed to open up at that
moment, blinding Merlyn in its deluge so that she gave a start of
surprise as lean fingers closed about her arm.
    'For God's sake,' the man at her side exclaimed, 'let's
get inside where it's at least dry!'
    It was 'at least' the most beautifully furnished house
Merlyn had ever seen, the whole of the downstairs area that was visible
from the entrance hall decorated in subtle greens, greys, and
off-white. Huge cut-glass chandeliers adorned the high ceilings and the
delicately ornate staircase in front of her was like something out of a
fairy-story—or a film-set, Hollywood-style, that is; things
weren't done as grandly in England. What was clearly apparent was that
it wasn't a hotel but a family home!
    Her dismay was obvious as her gaze returned to her
reluctant host. 'I'm sorry, I seem to have —Atishoo!' The
force of the sneeze made her shake uncontrollably, her eyes starting to
water.
    'You
seem
to have caught pneumonia,'
her host remarked wryly. 'Come on.' He took her arm and pulled her
towards the staircase.
    'Where are we going?' Merlyn voiced her alarm. After all,
what did she know about this man? She had no way of telling if he had
any more right to be here than she did; he could just be taking refuge
from the storm too. He certainly didn't look wealthy enough to