Witchcraft

you not to get too involved with me?" Cavenaugh's mouth tilted wryly at the corner.
    "In case you haven't noticed, I already am involved with you. And if it makes you feel any more comfortable about it, yes, Starke does approve of you. Most emphatically. So does everyone else around here."
    "Oh."
    A sense of relief went through her. "It's just that I know how demanding families can be in a situation such as this," she began gently. "If they don't approve-"
    "No," Cavenaugh cut in with cool deliberation. "You do not know how families are in a situation such as this. You only know how one family was and that was twenty-eight years ago. Before you were even born!" Kimberly got to her feet, astonished and annoyed at his biting attitude. She had gotten very accustomed lately to being cosseted by Darius Cavenaugh . "Occasionally I forget how overbearing you can be when you choose," she told him as she walked to the door. "I'll see you at dinner."
    "Kim, wait!" He was on his feet behind his desk, green eyes urgent and compelling. "What is it, Cavenaugh ?" she asked warily, her hand on the doorknob. "Kim, you do know that whatever I do, it's because I want everything right between us? I know there are times when I seem like a tyrant to you, but you do understand that I only want what's best for you? And for myself," he added dryly. "I can't pretend to be totally altruistic about all this."
    She tilted her head to one side. "About all what?"
    "Never mind. Just remember what I said. Oh, and Kim, why don't you have Mrs. Lawson set out a bottle of that new Riesling for dinner."
    "Of course," she said politely and closed the door behind her. And while I'm at it, she decided grimly, I might as well tell her I'd like to see a bottle of hot sauce on the table. I may not be sure of my status around here, but I must have some rights! He came to her room again that night and while he didn't exactly flaunt the relationship to the rest of the household, it was obvious Cavenaugh had no intention of trying to pretend that he wasn't sleeping with her. No one seemed to mind the obvious intimacy.
    In fact, everyone seemed quite pleased about it as far as Kimberly could tell. But it seemed to her that he made love to her with a kind of fierce energy that night, as if he was trying to imprint himself on her senses. He should realize by now, Kimberly thought fleetingly, that he had succeeded completely in wiping out her image of a fictional lover.
    She would be satisfied now only with the very real love of Darius Cavenaugh .

CHAPTER EIGHT.
    Some deep instinct warned Kimberly of impending disaster as Cavenaugh escorted her into the ornate lounge of the elegant Union Square hotel. If she were honest with herself she would have known that the promised trip to San Francisco was not really destined to be the romantic idyll she had anticipated. There had been a tension about Cavenaugh since the day before, when he had made a point of telling her that whatever he did would be for her own good. When people, especially men, started telling you that what they did was for your own good, a smart woman ran. As fast and as far as she could. But she hadn't been a smart woman lately, Kimberly reflected. She had been a woman in love.
    Quite a difference. Cavenaugh's tension had communicated itself to Kimberly until she herself bristled with it. He had been almost silent during the drive into the city that afternoon. There had been an implacable, forbidding aura about him that had squelched her attempts at conversation. When they had checked into the hotel he had taken her upstairs to the room and brusquely suggested she change for the evening.
    Out of a fleeting wish that the atmosphere between them might be explained and mitigated before the night was over, Kimberly had dressed with hope. The sophisticated little black knit dress wit h its piping of gold at the collar and cuffs had been discovered by Julia yesterday during a shopping trip. Together with black, high-heeled evening sandals and hair brushed into a chic twist at the back of her head, Kimberly felt as ready as she ever would to face what promised to be an uncertain evening. It had seemed to her that Cavenaugh had dressed as though he were going to war. He looked formidable and aloof, essentially masculine in the dark evening jacket and dazzling white shirt. She felt the distance between them grow more frighteningly intense with every passing second. Her dreams of an evening of love and promises