Witchcraft

unbuttoned the delicate fastenings of her wedding dress. Hanging it carefully in the closet, she pulled out the nightgown she had bought for the occasion of her wedding night. Grimly she stared at the frilly concoction of satin and lace and then she put it away again. No sense wasting it, Kimberly told herself. She might as well wear her usual T-shirt. There would be no one sharing the bed with her and thus no one to appreciate the horribly expensive nightgown.
    Standing barefooted in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair down around her shoulders, studying herself critically in the thigh-length T-shirt. From the beginning she had never doubted the physical attraction between herself and Cavenaugh . He wanted her, or at least he had wanted her. She examined the thrust of her breasts against the T-shirt and licked her lower lip uncertainly. What if even that elemental attraction had faded? No, she concluded, that wasn't the case.
    She had seen the barely concealed possessiveness in those emerald eyes on more than one occasion during the past six weeks. And she was certain she'd felt him restraining himself when he'd taken her in his arms to kiss her good night. Kimberly pulled the brush through her hair one last time and threw it down on the dresser. Cavenaugh was sticking by his plan to "give her time." That was the only explanation for his odd behavior. But she couldn't figure out what he expected her to do while she waited patiently for him to signal that enough time had passed between them. It had all gone far enough, Kimberly decided with sudden resolution. She was a married woman in love with her husband. Her husband might not love her but he wanted her and he needed her. That made for a better foundation than a lot of marriages had, she assured herself. Without pausing to think, Kimberly whirled and grabbed her old terry cloth robe out of the closet. Flinging it on she let herself out into the hall. The house was dark and quiet. She looked at the door of Cavenaugh's room and saw that there was no shaft of light under the door. He must have gone to bed. It took almost as much courage to walk down the hall to Cavenaugh's bedroom as it had to face the punk with the silver dagger. In front of the door Kimberly lifted her hand to knock and then changed her mind. Taking a long, steadying breath she tried the doorknob. It gave silently and the door swung open with only the smallest of sounds. She stood for a few seconds, letting her eyes adjust to the shadows. If Cavenaugh hadn't moved slightly in the darkness she wouldn't have seen him. He was sitting in a chair by the window, his legs sprawled out in front of him. There was a bottle beside him and the movement she saw was the one he made when he reached for it. She couldn't see his face. " Cavenaugh ?"
    "You have a talent for it, Kim." His voice was a low growl of sound. "A talent for what?" she whispered, daring to close the door behind her. "For finding trouble, of course especially at night. Most of your big adventures lately have taken place at night, haven't they?" He poured the brandy with unnatural care. Kimberly clung to the doorknob behind her back. "Are you ... are you very drunk, Cavenaugh ?"
    "Not yet, but I'm getting there.
    Don't rush me, Kim. I'm doing my damnedest not to rush you, the least you can do is return the favor." She still couldn't see much of him as he sprawled in the chair; only his arm was visible as he raised the brandy glass to his mouth. The arm was bare though, and Kimberly realized that all Cavenaugh was wearing was a pair of jeans. "Is that why you haven't shown any interest in me for the past six weeks? You're trying not to rush me?" Her voice was a thread of husky sound in the darkness. Her pulse was racing with trepidation and a strange kind of uncertain fear. "What do you mean I haven't shown any interest in you?
    I married you, didn't I? A man doesn't generally marry a woman unless he's at least mildly interested in her." She winced. Cavenaugh was definitely beginning to sound surly. If his temper had been showing signs of fraying earlier in the evening it was ragged now. "I can't tell you how reassuring that is," Kimberly managed bravely. "Go back to your room, Kim," he said softly. "Why?"
    "Because if you stay here much longer, you won't be going back at all. Is that plain enough for you?"
    She stepped away from the door, clutching the old terry cloth robe tightly around herself. "I'm your wife, Cavenaugh . Maybe I don't