Witchcraft

certainly have understood such a request. And since he had only been looking for an angle that would bring her to him, he'd decided that money was as good as any other reason. After all, Cavenaugh acknowledged, the main goal was to bring her back into his life long enough for him to explore the strange attraction he'd experienced the first time he'd met her. He was thirty-eight years old and he knew damn well the curious hunger to see her again should have faded rapidly after he'd returned to the Napa Valley. But it hadn't. Something in her called to him and he wasn't going to be able to get her completely out of his mind until he'd satisfied the need to see her again. It hadn't occurred to him that what Kim might ultimately ask for in repayment of the debt he owed her would be something as basic as protection. Now that she was tentatively raising the issue, Cavenaugh was startled at the rush of fiercely protective instincts he felt. By now he had freely admitted to himself that he wanted her. He just hadn't been expecting the force of that desire to spill over into other areas of his basic instincts. The sudden, compelling need to protect her put a new light on what should have been an essentially simple situation. After all, Cavenaugh reminded himself, he knew what it was to want a woman. He also knew how quickly superficial desire could burn itself out. Sexual attraction was a compelling, if frequently short-lived drive. That was something he could handle. But when the attraction became enmeshed with other emotions and instincts such as this strange prot ectiveness , it threatened to metamorphose into something much stronger and infinitely more dangerous. Watching Kim now in the firelight, Cavenaugh admitted to himself that he wasn't quite certain why this particular woman held such fascination. He hadn't really been joking when he called her a witch.
    Amber was the word that came into his head whenever he had conjured up her image in his mind. For example, there were the warm amber curls that she wore in a delightfully straggly knot at the back of her head.
    It was understandable that several of the twisting tendrils had been loose the night he had met her. She had been through a hectic adventure in a storm. But tonight the suggestion of disarray was present again and he sensed the style was simply part of her personality. All Cavenaugh knew for certain was that he felt a strong urge to unpin the amber knot and watch her hair tumble around her shoulders. Amber described her eyes too. Golden brown and quick to reflect emotion.
    More than once during the past two months Cavenaugh had wondered what that gaze would look like shadowed with passion. There was nothing extraordinary about the rest of her features. There was strength in her face, intelligence in her glance. Cavenaugh sensed the willpower beneath the surface as well as an innate wariness, and he wondered idly what had caused the latter. He guessed that she was in her late twenties, perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Her body was pleasantly rounded and softly shaped with breasts that would perfectly fit the palm of his hand. He could see the outline of them beneath the butterscotch-and-black plaid sweater she wore. And that sweetly curved derriere so nicely revealed in the snug jeans made him want to reach out and squeeze. While everything went together in a reasonably attractive package it didn't explain the compulsion he had been experiencing to see Kimberly Sawyer again. Something else was at work. "Witchcraft," he murmured. "Ridiculous," Kimberly declared, assuring herself Cavenaugh was no longer alluding to the glimmering tension that had sprung up between them. "I overreacted to that damn rose. I'm sure it's someone's idea of a sick joke."
    "But you called me today."
    "I almost called you," she corrected firmly. "I kept changing my mind because I kept realizing how foolish it was to take that thing too seriously!' He sent her an assessing glance. "I'm here now." "I told you two months ago that there was absolutely no need for you to feel you owed me anything!"
    "I rather thought it would be money," he said musingly. She glared at him. "I beg your pardon?"
    "I somehow assumed that when you decided to collect on the debt, it would be money you'd want."
    "I certainly don't need any of your money!" she exploded tightly. "The Amy Solitaire books do all right?"
    "They do just fine, thank you. "I couldn't be sure," he explained gently, examining the