Do You Believe in Magic

chapter EIGHT



Clay arrived at Francie’s just after six on Saturday night. He was pleased to see Tamara and Brenner were already present. He walked in with a bag holding the wine and a box of French bakery goodies, handed Francie the dessert, and kissed her lightly on the lips. When she frowned, he smiled and kissed her again. “Hi, Francie,” he murmured, “I missed you.” Damn, she had on those glasses and a dull, bulky sweater again.

Francie glared at him but wiped the look off her face as she turned to her other guests. “You know Tamara, of course. This is Kevin Brenner.”

Clay shook hands with Brenner and exchanged greetings with Tamara. Brenner was a thirty-five-year-old, slightly beefy six-footer with thinning blond hair. He looked like he worked out in a gym, but had not gone for the total big-muscles, bodybuilder approach. Probably had played football in high school and college and kept himself up since, Clay surmised.

“I brought both red and white wines.” Clay turned back to Francie.

“Fine,” she replied. “The shrimp looked good at the grocery store, so I’m combining them with pasta and sun-dried tomatoes. I like red wine, and Tamara likes white, so everybody will be happy. Why don’t you bring the wine into the kitchen, and then you can come out here and visit. Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”

Clay followed her into the kitchen, put the white wine in the refrigerator, and asked, “Where’s your corkscrew? I’ll open the red so it can breathe.”

“In the drawer on your left,” she answered as she poured the penne pasta into the boiling water.

Clay opened the wine and put it on the counter. Turning, he lifted the lid over the sauce as Francie stirred the pasta. “Hmmmm. Smells good. Need any help?” He intentionally stood very close to her.

“No,” she told him, with a well-placed elbow for emphasis. “Go visit. Do you want something to drink before dinner?”

“Nope, I’ll wait for the wine.”

Clay went back to the living room and sat in a chair across from the couch where Tamara and Kevin relaxed with drinks. A tray of veggies and dip was on the coffee table between them.

“Tamara said you were in computers, Clay,” Kevin stated. “Some sort of consultant?”

“I fix problems for my clients. Hardware and software. What do you do?” He took a carrot, swirled it in the dip, and munched.

“I’m in sales, sales manager, in fact.”

“So you’re in the office more than calling on customers?”

“Yeah. Man, I’d rather be out, but the company decided to promote me, and I plan to go places with them, so I’m playing the corporate game.”

Clay thought Kevin tried to look modest, but didn’t pull it off. “Well, good luck. I’m out on my own because I couldn’t stand the corporate game, not being my own boss.”

“Francie said she met you at one of those computer seminars,” Tamara interjected.

“Yes, the funny thing is, I almost didn’t go to the class. I had just flown back from a pleasure trip to Vegas, spending some of my ill-gotten gains. If I hadn’t gone to the seminar, we wouldn’t have met. Guess my luck was running right for a change. Francie said she was helping you with your computer. How is it going?” Clay smiled encouragingly at the redhead.

“I feel much better about it now. I computerized my shop to make the accounting and inventory easier, but deciding what items to stock is still as much applying intuition and understanding trends as it ever was. All the computerization in the world won’t help me with that. Sometimes I feel like a snail, creeping up on computers while the rest of the world passes me by. I was just never interested much, even with a computer whiz for a roommate in college. I don’t know what I’d do without Francie and Kevin. They’ve shown me so much. Kevin’s very good at finding information and my competitor’s Web sites on the Internet.” She patted Kevin’s hand and smiled at him.

“I’m trying to learn how to program, too, but I’m not very proficient at it yet,” Kevin admitted. “I know how to use our company programs and how to get around the Internet, but I’m nowhere near Francie’s or your league. I’ve taken only a couple of programming courses, so I have a long way to go.”

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Clay stated, taking some more dip on a carrot, “I couldn’t do what you do, selling day in and day out, having to be nice to everybody, including the jerks.”

“You must be a killer consultant, if you don’t have to be nice to people,” Tamara ventured.

“By the time some of my clients finally call me in, they’ve screwed up so badly, they’re begging for help, and usually it’s their own damn fault they’re in the mess in the first place. They don’t want me to be nice. Sometimes I think they need me to tell them off for their own internal reasons. It just means I charge them more, which I then lose at the crap tables.” Clay shrugged to imply the loss of money meant nothing to him and began to relate some client-from-hell stories as Francie called for help putting things on the table.

Dinner degenerated hilariously into more stories, Tamara with rich ladies from hell who came into her shop demanding what looked worst on them, Kevin with customers from hell who changed their minds twenty times before delivery, and Francie with programmers and users from hell who didn’t have a clue what the other was talking about.

Over dessert and coffee, Kevin asked, “You must run into all sorts of things that go wrong with computers. What’s the worst?”

“People, always people,” Clay answered. “If it’s not somebody in the company, these days it’s an outsider, usually a hacker, messing around in a company’s files. You know, like the TV movie where the kid hacked into the Defense Department systems.”

“Is it hard to hack?” Kevin asked with a disingenuous smile.

Good, just the question he’d been hoping Brenner would ask. “No. Getting in is the easy part. Finding what you want or gaining access to the applications can be the difficult part.” Not really, of course, but Clay figured this inept hacker needed to hear it since he’d blundered all over the place inside the Brazos systems. “One of my sidelines is computer security, and I hack into my clients’ computers to demonstrate their vulnerabilities. I don’t mean to be immodest,” he said with a smile meaning just the opposite, “but I can get into anybody’s system, find what I’m looking for, and get out with the company none the wiser.”

Let Kevin stew over this information for a while. It was time to change the subject, and he turned to the redhead across the table. “How’s business, Tamara?”

“So far, so good,” the little redhead replied. “The wealthier of my customers don’t seem to be affected by economic downturns, although we haven’t seen much of the south-of-the-border trade lately.”

“Francie said she was going by to see your new shipment. I personally would like to see her in something new, like the blue outfit she wore to the theater. She said it was one of yours. Did you talk her into any other purchases?” He smiled at Tamara conspiratorially.

She smiled back the same way. “Almost. One cute outfit will look wonderful on her, but no sale. Work on her for me, will you?”

“Is there a commission in it for me?”

“Of course.”

“Now look, you two,” Francie broke in. “Don’t gang up on me. My clothes are fine.”

Everyone laughed at Francie’s huffiness, and even Francie had to stifle a smile.

Then Kevin asked, “How’s your computer game coming, Francie?”

Francie grimaced at the question.

“Computer game?” Clay asked.

She took a bite of the juicy apple tart he had brought for dessert, probably so she didn’t have to answer right away. She hadn’t mentioned the game before. The subject of games in general had not come up in their previous conversations.

She swallowed and said, “Some friends of mine from college days and I are creating a fantasy role-playing computer game. We want to see if we’re the hotshots we think we are. To answer your question, Kevin, it’s coming along just fine. In fact, they’ll be over here tomorrow. We’ll work on it all afternoon and into the evening.”

“How long have you and these ‘gamesters’ been doing this?” Clay asked.

“For quite a while. We all have regular jobs and only work on it in our spare time.” That was enough talk about the game. She glanced around the table. “Does anyone want more coffee or dessert?” When they all shook their heads, she rose. “Tamara, will you help me clear the table?”

“We can help, too,” Clay offered. He watched Francie pick up plates. She was refusing to look at him again. What game? Why hadn’t she told him about it? He’d be sure to find out later.

“Thanks, but no,” she replied to his offer. “The kitchen’s too small for more than Tamara and me. We’ll just clear the table. I’ll do the dishes later. You two relax.”

Clay retreated with Kevin to the living room where they resumed their former seats.

“Make many trips to Vegas?” Leaning back on the sofa, Kevin was the picture of casual indifference, but the way his eyes darted all over belied his disinterest in Clay’s answer.

Clay slouched in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “As many as I can. I’ve had rotten luck lately. My next trip I’ll recoup my losses for certain.”

“What do you play?”

“Blackjack, poker, or craps.”

“Man, I’m no good at gambling,” Kevin complained.

“It’s a lot like hacking,” Clay said. “Either you’ve got the ability and the luck, or you don’t. If you have the ability and the money, you can ride out the downturns in luck. It’s not easy, enticing Lady Luck again, I can tell you. I may have to find some new clients before this bad run is over.”

“A new source of revenue, you mean?”

“Yeah. I may have to go back to actually working for a living.” He shrugged and Kevin laughed. The look in Brenner’s eye told Clay the would-be hacker was beginning to get the message. Hell, he’d practically written it on the wall. Clay’s estimation of Kevin’s intelligence went down another notch.

The entrance of the women effectively stopped the conversation. Fine, Clay thought. Brenner needed to think about the situation before Clay gave him the next nudge.

“Kevin and I were thinking about going to a club. Would y’all like to come along?” Tamara asked.

“Thanks, but not this time,” Clay answered after a quick glance at Francie, who gave him the tiniest of head shakes. “I’ve had a hard week, and I need my rest. I’m planning an early night.” He made a face like he was tired as he said it, but shot a sly look at Francie.

Tamara gave him another conspiratorial smile and started making their good-byes.

After five minutes of pleasantries, Francie watched them go down the stairs. She took a deep breath as she closed the door. Maintaining a smooth facade during the dinner had exhausted her, and now she had to deal with Clay. Her arms crossed in front of her, she turned to him. “Do you realize what you said, what they think we’re going to do next?”

“Of course.” Clay immediately swooped, grabbing her around the waist, hoisting her up, and twirling her in a circle from the entryway back into the living room. “I thought they’d never leave,” he said, grinning at her as he deposited her back on her feet.

“Clay, get hold of yourself!” Francie scolded, pushing back from him, but her heart was beating wildly. No man had ever picked her up as if she weighed nothing, much less whirled her around.

“I’d rather get hold of you,” he laughed. He waggled his eyebrows at her. “And now, woman . . .”

“Yes?” She was trying not to think about what he would do next, what her body was telling her it would like him to do. Business, she had told herself repeatedly during the day, being with him was strictly business. Now as she looked up into his silver eyes, she realized how difficult it would be to hold on to her determination. She took another step backward.

“Let’s clean up the kitchen, and then you can show me your game,” he said with another grin. “I’ll wash and put stuff in the dishwasher. You take care of drying and putting things away.”

“Well,” Francie said as she reached for a dishcloth, “you’re certainly housebroken.” She had never seen Kevin lift so much as a finger to help the women with or after dinner.

“With my mother, no one has a choice. Not if you want to eat again anytime soon.” He winked at her as he opened the dishwasher before turning back to the sink.

Francie could only stare at his broad back for a moment as her system registered the effect of his wink. Why did she feel every move or gesture this man made? Finally she shook her head to clear it, reached for the pasta bowl, and resolutely repeated her mantra about it all being only business.

When the kitchen was spotless, Clay stopped Francie before she could leave the room. “Uh-uh, remember, no camouflage,” he chided. He took her glasses off and laid them on the counter.

Francie blinked at him, feeling both intrigued and anxious. The first, because he was almost overpowering, standing this close to her, and she wondered again at the attraction between them that grew more powerful each time she was with him, no matter how strong her vow to guard herself. The second, because now she had to show him the game, and his opinion of it assumed great importance all of a sudden. What if he didn’t like it? Before she could decide how his disapproval would make her feel, his next words took her mind in another direction.

“And speaking of camouflage, what do you have under this bulky thing?” he asked as he plucked at the hem of her sweater.

She felt her face grow warm as she realized what she did have on under the sweater—a set of champagne-colored, lacy lingerie. She certainly wasn’t going to show him that. The game was a much safer subject. She frowned and batted at his hands. “None of your business. Come on and I’ll show you the game. We’re calling it ‘Conundrum.’”

At her computer, Francie started the game as she explained the premise, the story line, and their progress. “We don’t have music or voice or sound effects yet, and it took forever to decide on some of the graphics. We each had fun designing individual villains and monsters.” She displayed the character creation screen. “What attributes would you like your hero to have?”

For the next hour, they played the game, discussing it and the programming behind it as much as actually playing. Clay had some interesting and helpful ideas about streamlining the code, and she wrote herself a few notes to tell the group the next day.

Finally she turned to him. While demonstrating the game, seeing it in its entirety instead of the piecemeal way she usually approached it, she had concluded she and her friends had done a fine job. But she had to know his evaluation of their efforts, so she said, “I think you have a pretty good idea what we’re about. What do you think?”

Clay leaned back in the chair and looked her in the eye. “I think you have a potential hit. The story line is intriguing, and not the run-of-the-mill ‘save the kingdom’ that has been overdone. Your monsters are really awful and awesome, your heroes and heroines look good, the puzzles players have to solve are ingenious, and the fights require the player to use strategy to win them. Your graphics are outstanding, and I can’t wait until you pick the music and sound effects.”

Francie couldn’t help but grin. Praise from a computer wizard like Clay was praise, indeed. “Thank you, Clay. Your opinion means a lot to me.”

“I tell it as I see it, Francie. Remember, no camouflage, the truth.” He leaned toward her, tilting his head with obvious intent.

Before he could kiss her, she ducked her head and swung back to the computer. “I’d better shut this down.”

She didn’t turn toward him, but could feel his eyes on her for a long moment. She stayed very still, only moving her hand on the mouse to click the commands.

He finally rose and placed his chair back against the wall. In a somewhat resigned tone, he said, “And I’d better get out of here and let you get some sleep.”

“Did you accomplish what you wanted to with Kevin this evening?” she asked as they left the room.

“I think so. Brenner now knows I have a potential need for money to feed my gambling habit and I can probably program rings around him. I didn’t try to do more than leave that impression tonight. The next step is to ‘accidentally’ run into him. Were you able to find out where he goes for a drink after work?”

“Yes, right before you arrived tonight. I said someone at work was asking where to meet a date on the other side of downtown. Where the NatChem offices are, but I didn’t say that, of course. Kevin said he likes to go to a place on Old Market Square. He mentioned something about being a regular there on Thursday nights, when Tamara’s shop is open.” She grimaced, thinking of Tamara and the deception again.

At the door, before she could stop him, Clay put his arms around her and hugged her. His voice was low and comforting when he said, “I know how difficult this is for you. You’re doing great, honey.”

She almost relaxed against him—oh, how tired she was and how badly she wanted to accept his support—but her mind was in control tonight. She felt his embrace change to something harder, more urgent, and she stepped back. “Thanks, but it will be over soon, I hope, and my life can get back to normal.”

He didn’t take her hint—ignored it altogether, in fact—and followed her as she retreated. She wondered, from the stark look on his face and the predator’s glint in his eyes, if he’d even heard her. She put her hands on his chest to push him back, but when she touched him, heat spread like wildfire up her arms, and she could almost feel her bones melting. Pushing back was impossible.

Placing a finger under her chin, he tilted her head back and looked into her eyes. “Francie,” was all he said before brushing her lips with his, then returning to claim her mouth.

A truly glorious joy swept through her at the touch of his lips. And she was lost.

“Yeeesssss!” went through Clay’s brain like a sky-rocket as she kissed him back. On the back of his eyelids, he thought he saw the missile explode into the colors of the rainbow. Even expecting the upheaval to his senses, thanks to the last time he kissed her, he wasn’t totally ready for the sense of power and sheer rapture that burst from his magic center to every molecule in his body.

He struggled for control and loosened the hold he had on her, although he had to fight his tight muscles and relax them one by one. Her scent, a combination of flowers and peach-smelling shampoo, didn’t help.

“Lord, lady, what you do to me,” he whispered, then cursed himself for saying anything at all as he felt her spine stiffen. He’d known she was resisting their attraction, but once she was in his arms and even though he only meant comfort at first, he’d simply had to kiss her again. He didn’t care if it was the imperative or his own libido driving him. He’d needed that kiss. Whatever she did next, it was worth it.

She pushed at his chest, and he stepped back until they were no longer touching.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened and raised them to his. He could see tumult and desire warring with each other in the smoky depths and knew she was about to tell him again this was all just business. She was obviously in denial about both her feelings and his.

He didn’t know exactly what to do about it or how to convince her otherwise. He didn’t want her to run from him. All he could do was stick to his plan to take it easy. She’d come around eventually. He only had to persevere and let the soul-mate imperative work its magic.

But then she said in a firm voice, “I asked you not to do that again.”

Despite his decision, anger and frustration at her small rejection spurred him to answer, “Consider it an experiment about those ‘feelings that don’t exist.’ Whatever you’re doing, I’m not playacting. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He walked out the door and closed it behind him.

Francie leaned against the door and listened to him walking down the steps. Damn that man! He’d done it to her again, kissed her and left her, refused to talk about her request, had not agreed to stop kissing and touching her. At least this time she was in better shape, her brain not so muddled, her body not so limp.

But she had let him kiss her again. She had cooperated—not merely acquiesced—but actively returned his kiss. Those feelings of utter bliss and excitement in his arms had robbed her of any thought, much less the ability to object.

This situation kept getting worse, not better. Where was her determination? Where was her strong will? They both disappeared in a poof when he turned those silver eyes in her direction, and especially when he touched her.

Maybe her earlier idea was the correct one: she was possessed by aliens—horny ones who wanted to experience humans having sex.

No, that was completely ridiculous. But what was going on?

Clay was smart. He knew the impact he had on her. From all the evidence, he was as affected as she was by their kisses.

But he wasn’t really pushing—much. Okay, he’d kissed her tonight, but he’d left when she repeated her wimpy objection. He hadn’t tried to force another kiss. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t force her to do anything she didn’t want to do. With any other man, she’d probably end up in a wrestling match. She should be thankful for that, she supposed.

All the evidence—his repeated kisses, his heated looks, his hard body—indicated he was attracted to her. He saw right through her camouflage. He was certainly a skilled lover; his ability to reduce her to jelly and heat her insides to lava proved that. His goal was obviously to get her into bed.

And then what? A few days of bliss, and he’d leave. Everything she knew about him told her so. Rumors had flown about him the last time he was at Brazos, about how he dated beautiful women but never settled down with one for any length of time. Several women had seen them together in the past few days and asked pointed questions about him, including, “Are you his next conquest?” Why should she believe any differently?

Well, she wasn’t going to be another of his harem. She wasn’t going to fall for him and let him break her heart. She’d learned that lesson well. She had to be strong. No, stronger. She had to push him out of her thoughts, out of her life, just as soon as possible.

“You can do it,” she said aloud as she turned out the lights and headed for the bedroom. “You can control your own destiny. No man’s going to give you grief, ever again.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before her heart gave a lurch and a burning pain flared right under her breastbone. Something she ate must be disagreeing with her—or more likely, this mess was giving her an ulcer. Wonderful. What next? Aliens popping out of her stomach?