Read Online The Wizard of Seattle by Kay Hooper - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kay Hooper
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still feel the alien sensations, still see the powerful bronzed hands against paler, softer skin, and still feel sensations her body was incapable of experiencing simply because she was female, not male—
And then she realized.
“Dear God … Richard,” she whispered.
She had been inside his mind, somehow, in his head just like before, and he had been with another woman. He had been having sex with another woman. Serena had felt what he felt, from the sensual enjoyment of soft female flesh under his touch to the ultimate draining pleasure of orgasm.
She had felt what he felt
.
She drew her knees up and hugged them, feeling tears burning her eyes and nausea churning in her stomach. Another woman. He had a woman somewhere, and she wasn’t new because there had been a sense of familiarity in him, a certain knowledge. He knew this woman. Her skin was familiar, her taste, her desire. His body knew hers.
Even Master wizards, it seemed, had appetites just like other men.
Serena felt a wave of emotions so powerful, she could endure them only in silent anguish. Her thoughts were tangled and fierce and raw. Not a monk, no, hardly amonk. In fact, it appeared he was quite a proficient lover, judging by the woman’s response to him.
On her nightstand the lamp’s bulb burst with a violent sound, but she neither heard it nor noticed the return of darkness to the room.
So he was just a man after all, damn him, a man who got horny like other men and went to some slut who’d spread her legs for him. And often. His trips “out of town” were more frequent these last years. Oh, horny indeed …
Unnoticed by Serena, her television set flickered to life, madly scanned through all the channels, and then died with a sound as apologetic as a muffled cough.
Damn him. What’d he do, keep a mistress? Some pretty, pampered blond—she had been blond, naturally—with empty, hot eyes who wore slinky nightgowns and crotchless panties, and moaned like a bitch in heat? Was there only one? Or had he bedded a succession of women over the years, keeping his reputation here in Seattle all nice and tidy while he satisfied his appetites elsewhere?
Serena heard a little sound and was dimly shocked to realize it came from her throat. It sounded like that of an animal in pain, some tortured creature hunkered down in the dark as it waited helplessly to find out if it would live or die. She didn’t realize that she was rocking gently. She didn’t see her alarm clock flash a series of red numbers before going dark, or notice that her stereo system was spitting out tape from a cassette.
Only when the overhead light suddenly exploded was Serena jarred from her misery. With a tremendous effort she struggled to control herself.
“Concentrate,” she whispered. “Concentrate. Find the switch.” And for the first time, perhaps spurred on by her urgent need to control what she felt, she did find it. Her wayward energies stopped swirling all around her and were instantly drawn into some part of her she’d never recognized before, where they were completely and safely contained, held there in waiting without constant effort from her.
Moving stiffly, feeling exhausted, Serena got out ofbed and moved cautiously across the room to her closet, trying to avoid the shards of glass sprinkled over the rug and the polished wood floor. There were extra light bulbs on the closet shelf, and she took one to replace the one from her nightstand lamp. It was difficult to unscrew the burst bulb, but she managed; she didn’t trust herself to flick all the shattered pieces out of existence with her powers, not when she’d come so close to losing control entirely.
When the lamp was burning again, she got a broom and dustpan and cleaned up all the bits of glass. A slow survey of the room revealed what else she had destroyed, and she shivered a little at the evidence of just how dangerous unfocused power could be.
Ironically, she couldn’t repair what she had
And then she realized.
“Dear God … Richard,” she whispered.
She had been inside his mind, somehow, in his head just like before, and he had been with another woman. He had been having sex with another woman. Serena had felt what he felt, from the sensual enjoyment of soft female flesh under his touch to the ultimate draining pleasure of orgasm.
She had felt what he felt
.
She drew her knees up and hugged them, feeling tears burning her eyes and nausea churning in her stomach. Another woman. He had a woman somewhere, and she wasn’t new because there had been a sense of familiarity in him, a certain knowledge. He knew this woman. Her skin was familiar, her taste, her desire. His body knew hers.
Even Master wizards, it seemed, had appetites just like other men.
Serena felt a wave of emotions so powerful, she could endure them only in silent anguish. Her thoughts were tangled and fierce and raw. Not a monk, no, hardly amonk. In fact, it appeared he was quite a proficient lover, judging by the woman’s response to him.
On her nightstand the lamp’s bulb burst with a violent sound, but she neither heard it nor noticed the return of darkness to the room.
So he was just a man after all, damn him, a man who got horny like other men and went to some slut who’d spread her legs for him. And often. His trips “out of town” were more frequent these last years. Oh, horny indeed …
Unnoticed by Serena, her television set flickered to life, madly scanned through all the channels, and then died with a sound as apologetic as a muffled cough.
Damn him. What’d he do, keep a mistress? Some pretty, pampered blond—she had been blond, naturally—with empty, hot eyes who wore slinky nightgowns and crotchless panties, and moaned like a bitch in heat? Was there only one? Or had he bedded a succession of women over the years, keeping his reputation here in Seattle all nice and tidy while he satisfied his appetites elsewhere?
Serena heard a little sound and was dimly shocked to realize it came from her throat. It sounded like that of an animal in pain, some tortured creature hunkered down in the dark as it waited helplessly to find out if it would live or die. She didn’t realize that she was rocking gently. She didn’t see her alarm clock flash a series of red numbers before going dark, or notice that her stereo system was spitting out tape from a cassette.
Only when the overhead light suddenly exploded was Serena jarred from her misery. With a tremendous effort she struggled to control herself.
“Concentrate,” she whispered. “Concentrate. Find the switch.” And for the first time, perhaps spurred on by her urgent need to control what she felt, she did find it. Her wayward energies stopped swirling all around her and were instantly drawn into some part of her she’d never recognized before, where they were completely and safely contained, held there in waiting without constant effort from her.
Moving stiffly, feeling exhausted, Serena got out ofbed and moved cautiously across the room to her closet, trying to avoid the shards of glass sprinkled over the rug and the polished wood floor. There were extra light bulbs on the closet shelf, and she took one to replace the one from her nightstand lamp. It was difficult to unscrew the burst bulb, but she managed; she didn’t trust herself to flick all the shattered pieces out of existence with her powers, not when she’d come so close to losing control entirely.
When the lamp was burning again, she got a broom and dustpan and cleaned up all the bits of glass. A slow survey of the room revealed what else she had destroyed, and she shivered a little at the evidence of just how dangerous unfocused power could be.
Ironically, she couldn’t repair what she had
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