Read Online He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) by Susan Squires - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Squires
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out. In. Out. You can do this. Having his body this close to hers was making it hard to think. Together they hobbled toward the steps.
They maneuvered around a pile of rope coils grayed by the weather and several rusting underwater traps, and took the steps one at a time so he could hop. She pulled open the rusted screen. He pushed open the door. It wasn’t locked. The inside of the cabin looked like it hadn’t survived a tornado. The place was essentially one big room filled with fast-food bags, empty bottles of booze, paper plates, an old TV that looked like it hadn’t worked in years with a coat hanger antenna listing from the top. A rumpled four-poster bed made from timbers and huge bolts and draped in mosquito netting sat in the corner next to a small chest of drawers. One area of the room was set off by a rough wood counter where a sink, a battered stove, two cupboards, and an old rounded fridge made a kitchen. Through an open door in the other corner she could dimly see a toilet. Thank goodness for small favors.
“What was this place, a vacation cabin?” she asked just to cover her horror.
He looked down at her like she was crazy. “Fishing shack. Canal goes down to the open water. ” He pulled her with him to the small round table, which, along with its two chairs and a dilapidated love seat, were the room’s only other furniture. Except, rather amazingly, for a desolate-looking Bowflex machine in the corner by the love seat. Well, that explained the physique. Did he still use it, even in his drunken condition? His body said yes. He reached for a half gallon of some house-brand vodka on the table. The cap was already missing, and he didn’t wait for a glass. He just tipped up the bottle and threw back his head. The way the muscles in this throat moved so distracted her that it took her a minute to remember all those stories about frat rats guzzling booze until they got alcohol poisoning. As in death.
She pulled at his arm. “Hey! Stop that.”
He came up for air. “Got almost sober there for a minute.” He took another glug.
“You’ll kill yourself.”
“Aw. What a tragedy.” He took another glug.
Drew just stared at him. That was what this was all about, wasn’t it? He didn’t care if he died. He was trying to blot something out so hard he didn’t care whether it took death to do it. This guy was dangerous. She should walk out right now before she started thinking she could fix this. No one could fix this. It would be stupid to try.
He glanced over at her, his eyes now visibly clouded. “You gonna leave, or what?” The slur was back. He was weaving on his feet. But as he considered what he’d just said, a frown inserted itself between his brows.
She felt uneasy at the thought too, but shrugged. “Soon as I hit the bathroom.”
“Women. Always have to pee.” He motioned to the bathroom with a wave of the bottle.
“Thanks.” She looked in at the bathroom. There was an old claw-foot tub with a showerhead jutting out from the wall and a torn shower curtain on a rail, a sink, and a toilet. The mirror over the sink was freckled with age. She shut the door behind her.
“Leave right now, you fool,” she whispered as she looked at her smudgy reflection. Her cheek was a disaster area, red and swollen. There were probably a thousand reasons why she should leave.
But there were some reasons to stick around, too. Like finding out why the hell this guy had drawn her all the way across the country. There were lots of other men she could have had a needy, hormonal rebound affair with. That really built guy at the car repair shop would do anything for her, including marriage or armed robbery, just to drive her Maserati. There was that guy in her Ancient Egyptian history class, too. A little young, but cute and eager. But no, she had caught a glimpse of this guy on TV, and it was all over for some very strange reason. And it wasn’t because he was her one true love. Drew Tremaine did not do
They maneuvered around a pile of rope coils grayed by the weather and several rusting underwater traps, and took the steps one at a time so he could hop. She pulled open the rusted screen. He pushed open the door. It wasn’t locked. The inside of the cabin looked like it hadn’t survived a tornado. The place was essentially one big room filled with fast-food bags, empty bottles of booze, paper plates, an old TV that looked like it hadn’t worked in years with a coat hanger antenna listing from the top. A rumpled four-poster bed made from timbers and huge bolts and draped in mosquito netting sat in the corner next to a small chest of drawers. One area of the room was set off by a rough wood counter where a sink, a battered stove, two cupboards, and an old rounded fridge made a kitchen. Through an open door in the other corner she could dimly see a toilet. Thank goodness for small favors.
“What was this place, a vacation cabin?” she asked just to cover her horror.
He looked down at her like she was crazy. “Fishing shack. Canal goes down to the open water. ” He pulled her with him to the small round table, which, along with its two chairs and a dilapidated love seat, were the room’s only other furniture. Except, rather amazingly, for a desolate-looking Bowflex machine in the corner by the love seat. Well, that explained the physique. Did he still use it, even in his drunken condition? His body said yes. He reached for a half gallon of some house-brand vodka on the table. The cap was already missing, and he didn’t wait for a glass. He just tipped up the bottle and threw back his head. The way the muscles in this throat moved so distracted her that it took her a minute to remember all those stories about frat rats guzzling booze until they got alcohol poisoning. As in death.
She pulled at his arm. “Hey! Stop that.”
He came up for air. “Got almost sober there for a minute.” He took another glug.
“You’ll kill yourself.”
“Aw. What a tragedy.” He took another glug.
Drew just stared at him. That was what this was all about, wasn’t it? He didn’t care if he died. He was trying to blot something out so hard he didn’t care whether it took death to do it. This guy was dangerous. She should walk out right now before she started thinking she could fix this. No one could fix this. It would be stupid to try.
He glanced over at her, his eyes now visibly clouded. “You gonna leave, or what?” The slur was back. He was weaving on his feet. But as he considered what he’d just said, a frown inserted itself between his brows.
She felt uneasy at the thought too, but shrugged. “Soon as I hit the bathroom.”
“Women. Always have to pee.” He motioned to the bathroom with a wave of the bottle.
“Thanks.” She looked in at the bathroom. There was an old claw-foot tub with a showerhead jutting out from the wall and a torn shower curtain on a rail, a sink, and a toilet. The mirror over the sink was freckled with age. She shut the door behind her.
“Leave right now, you fool,” she whispered as she looked at her smudgy reflection. Her cheek was a disaster area, red and swollen. There were probably a thousand reasons why she should leave.
But there were some reasons to stick around, too. Like finding out why the hell this guy had drawn her all the way across the country. There were lots of other men she could have had a needy, hormonal rebound affair with. That really built guy at the car repair shop would do anything for her, including marriage or armed robbery, just to drive her Maserati. There was that guy in her Ancient Egyptian history class, too. A little young, but cute and eager. But no, she had caught a glimpse of this guy on TV, and it was all over for some very strange reason. And it wasn’t because he was her one true love. Drew Tremaine did not do
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