"Who here doesn't?"

"Many think her a mere legend."

"They are foolish."

"Perhaps more afraid," he said. "Her powers are said to be unequaled, and I hear she has a temper."

Sarina was unable to hide her smile. "I guess at her age she is ent.i.tled to throw a fit on occasion."

"Do you think she was born with the dawn of time?"

Sarina seemed hesitant to answer. "I think it isn't nice to refer to a woman's age. Advice you might

want to consider taking when you meet with her."

So this was the reason for mentioning the Ancient One; she was attempting to determine if he still

intended to meet with her. Sebastian was right, Sarina was a wise witch. But he was no dummy himself, and he had his own agenda concerning this matter, and supreme confidence all would work in his favor. "I'll heed your advice, though age has little bearing on a relationship," he said candidly. "So age matters not to you?" "No, it doesn't, the essence of the person is what is most important, especially if a relationship is to last, mature, evolve." "Then you don't want your relationship standing still." "Heavens, no," he said with a laugh. "That would be utterly boring. I want a relationship that challenges, expands, and evolves with the years. If we both were to remain the same or have so many similarities, we would grow bored with each other in no time. I would prefer to teach my lifemate and learn from her; this way our relationship would forever be evolving and strengthening in character and love."

Sarina's fascination was held firm. "What could you teach someone as old as the Ancient One?"

He answered quickly. "That there was much yet to learn."

"She might take offense."

He shook his head. "Not if she was wise; she would realize the truth of my words."

"She would be lucky to have a mate like you."

He heard the disappointment, almost sorrow, in her voice, and while he held the power to dispel her

fears, he also held the power to strengthen her convictions.

"What do you want in a mate?"

She shrugged as if she hadn't given it thought, and yet he sensed she had given it considerable thought,

and with his own curiosity rampant he intended to find out. He pursued answers.

"Does age matter to you?" he asked casually, his hand going to her face to tuck several strands of her

dark hair behind her ear. "No," she answered quickly. "Age is not a consideration." His easy touch soothed her. He could see it in the way she relaxed her body toward his. "Skills?" he asked in continued pursuit. She pondered that question for a moment. "At one time I would have thought of them as important, but I must admit after meeting Sebastian he has changed my opinion on the matter." "Like him, do you?" "Oh, yes," she said with a generous smile. "He is so caring and charming, and he loves Ali so very much. And he possesses an uncommon strength of character."

He was beginning to feel jealous and for no good reason, simply because she praised the qualities of another man. Still it annoyed him. "You think of him as uncommonly strong?" "Yes," she admitted with a firm nod. "How else would he deal with Ali?" Dagon erupted into laughter, enjoying every minute of the hearty laughs that racked his body. When his laughter finally subsided, he agreed with her. "You are so right, it requires extreme, even outstanding, strength to cope with Ali." Her hand went to gently press at his chest, her fingers falling unintentionally between his robe to land on his warm flesh. Her unexpected simple touch caused a natural reaction; he grew hard.

"And love," she insisted. "You mustn't forget love. His strength is derived from his love for her."

"You want that strong of a love." It was not a question, simply a statement of fact.

"It is uncommon," she said, as if suggesting it would be hard if not impossible to find.

"Rare," he confirmed, aware that he already possessed the impossible and had no intentions of losing it.

Not now, not ever, not to anyone, and that included the Ancient One.

Silence fell between them, and while no words were spoken, much was understood. They both were

keenly aware of the other, of the strong pa.s.sionate emotions surging through each of them, of the sense of connectedness, of the desire to join and be one. "I think we should go upstairs," he said in a whisper, moving his mouth closer to hers. She reached out her lips to him. "Yes, upstairs, your bed." "You read my thoughts." His lips swept across hers in two faint strokes. "You know my desires," she said, before catching his mouth with a gentle nip of her teeth. Their lips joined then in a soft, teasing play. A prelude to a deeper pa.s.sion that simmered impatiently much too near the surface.

"Upstairs now," he nearly growled, "or I will take you on this table."

She laughed deep and low and nipped more demandingly at his lower lip. "That sounds inviting."

"Another time," he promised, yanking her out of her chair and up into his arms. "Margaret is due here any minute, and I want more than a minute with you." She rested her head on his shoulder as he walked out of the kitchen, and she taunted him with nibbles and whispers to his ear. "Two minutes then?"

His voice was a low warning. "You're asking for it, you know that, don't you?"

She sighed like a petulant child and tormented his ear with her tongue before whispering, "Promises, promises."

Shivers racked his body and a groan rumbled low in his throat as he headed up the stairs. "Be careful, Sarina."

She gave his earlobe a rough yet playful bite, then tormented his neck with a tickle of her tongue. "I don't want to be careful, I want to be wicked."

"Sarina, I'm-"

"Wet for you," she finished for him, though they were not his words.

He groaned again, a primal, urgent groan.

"And you're hard and aching for me, aren't you?" Her question was but a murmur in his ear.

"Sarina." Her name was a harsh, needy caution on his lips as he approached his bedroom.

A sensual whimper ran across his mouth before she stole anxious kisses from him. "I don't want to wait.

I want you now, right now."

He almost laughed. In her attempt to seduce him, she also seduced herself, and now they both were hot, ready, and impatient. He walked through his open bedroom door and slammed it shut with a kick of his foot.

He dumped her on the bed, opened his robe, spread her robe wide, and entered her all in one sweeping motion.

She cried out with pleasure at the feel of his swift entrance, and together they forgot the world existed.

They were aware only of this moment and the magic they created.

An hour later Sarina lay stretching on the bed like a pleased cat while Dagon admired her naked body.

"That felt so good," she said, giving her feet an extra stretch.

"Which one, the stretch or the climax that had you almost screaming the castle walls down?"

She playfully swatted at his chest. "I was not that loud."

He laughed. "Oh, yes, you were, dear heart."

She chose to defend her actions. "Well, it was an exceptional climax."

"I'm glad to hear that," he said with a smug smile.

She turned on her side and tenderly ran her finger over his swollen lips, where her nips had been less

than gentle. "I've never failed in having a generous climax with you. You satisfy me most completely."

Her sincere praise stroked in all the right places, and he chose to return the compliment with the same sincerity. "The feeling is mutual."

"I did not hurt you with my overzealous kisses?" she asked, her fingers faintly stroking his lips.

He kissed her fingers. "No, I quite enjoyed your frantic kisses and cherish the reminder of them."

Her smile was slow in forming when suddenly her eyes caught sight of the clock on his nightstand and

widened considerably. With a rush and tumble of blankets she hurried off the bed before Dagon could stop her.

"Where are you going?" he demanded, watching her rush to dress.

"I promised Margaret I would help her with the morning meal," she said, slipping an oatmeal-colored, ankle-length jumper over a brown knit turtleneck. Brown socks and brown ankle boots finished her outfit, and leaving her dark hair to fall naturally after a quick stroke of the brush, she headed for the door.

"Stop," Dagon said much too demandingly to be ignored.

She looked with questioning eyes at him. "I promised."

He got out of bed, slipping on his black robe. "And I specifically ordered you to refrain from doing any

work in the castle without my permission."

"Margaret needs help," she insisted.

"Margaret got along quite nicely on her own before your arrival. Now, do you want to tell me the truth

of the matter?" He remained by the bed, his arms folded across his chest, and waited for an answer.

She knew she had to be truthful, and besides, the situation had caused her some discomfort. "I don't

feel it is right that I am not carrying out my duties."

He understood her concern. "Does the staff gossip?"

She frowned. "I think most are relieved that I am no longer working."

He felt her disappointment in how others perceived her and how she perceived herself. "You enjoy

helping Margaret in the kitchen?"

"Yes, she has taught me much, and I am becoming a good cook," she said proudly.

"Then you may help Margaret, but"-his eyes cautioned, though his lips warmed with a smile-"not in the early morning." Sarina smiled with delight, ran up to him, deposited a hasty and kindly kiss on his lips, and dashed out of the room.

Sebastian was seated in the dining room enjoying scones and coffee when Dagon entered. "I wish I could steal Margaret from you. She is pure magic." "And yet uses none," Dagon said, joining him at the table and pouring himself a cup of steaming coffee from the silver coffeepot.

"Well, she certainly has a magical touch when it comes to food." Sebastian helped himself to another scone, a blueberry one. He was about to spread a generous portion of honey b.u.t.ter on the warm scone when he looked to Dagon. "Maybe you can explain something that has bothered me."

"If I can, I'd be happy to."