Dangerous Magic by Stephanie James, Jayne Ann Krentz

want.” He shrugged as the light changed and he put the powerful car back in motion with easy expertise.
    Elissa swallowed to soothe a dry mouth. She was accustomed to getting what she wanted, too, but not by fighting. Things just happened easily in the normal course of events…
    Wade’s apartment turned out to be an attractive town house overlooking Lake Washington. Elissa could see the modern West Coast influence in the angled lines of the roof and the wide expanse of glass.
    “You were lucky to find this place,” she remarked, following him up the path to the front door and glancing back over her shoulder at the vast gray lake.
    “I put the whole business in the hands of a real-estate agent. I didn’t have any time to scout the market on my own. When the agent suggested this place I took it sight unseen.” He pushed open the door, and Elissa stepped into the almost severe interior.
    And the first thing which caught her eye was the painting on the far wall. She paused, staring at it in mingled wonder and cold unease. It was a seascape, and in a way it was more alien than the pictures she herself had painted, although the subject was ostensibly a real-world shoreline scene.
    But it was a seascape of devastating loneliness and power. There was in the bleak fierceness of it something more dangerous and awesome than any element of fantasy Elissa had ever inserted into one of her own works.
    Yet her first reaction was to cry, of all things! She fought that back with determination, thrusting her hands into the pocket of her jacket and stepping closer to the strangely affecting painting. She was about to say something purposely noncommittal when she realized there was another on the wall to her right. A desert scene this time, but conveying the same raw isolation and grimness as the first.
    Abruptly Elissa realized how Wade had known she’d done the unearthly scenes hanging in her own apartment. The part of him which was attracted to these forbidding paintings was able to recognize the part of her she put into her paintings. Wade might not be an artist himself, but she knew at once he had an artist’s intuition.
    “Unusual,” she stated flatly. “They look as if they were painted for you alone.” She didn’t look at him, concentrating on the seascape. She could feel him standing very still behind her and wondered what he was expecting.
    “They were,” he agreed neutrally.
    “They’re good,” she said simply, honestly. “Much better than my own work.” It was the truth. She knew her own work wouldn’t have this impact on a casual observer.
    “But you don’t like them?” he prompted. His tone remained curiously neutral and he still didn’t move.
    “Liking doesn’t come into it,” she said before stopping to think. She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on the hasty phrase. But of course that was a futile wish.
    “I couldn’t agree more,” he commented wryly. “Just as liking doesn’t come into our own relationship. What do you think of the paintings, Elissa?”
    “I find them…” She hesitated. “Disturbing.”
    “Not charming?” There was a hint of humor back in his voice, and she turned to look at him.
    “No, not charming.” She half smiled, untying her jacket belt.
    “Good,” he rasped gently, coming forward to take the garment from her hand. “My friend who did them would have been thoroughly insulted if you had reacted to them too comfortably. You knew at once they had been done for me, didn’t you?” he went on with a perceptive glance.
    “Oh, yes. I knew at once. Did you have them commissioned, Wade?” she asked, looking for a way to steer the conversation aside from the path in which he was trying to take it. When he had removed the jacket from her shoulders she wandered deliberately across the room, noting the masculine restraint in the furnishings of leather and wood.
    “Yes,” he told her, his eyes following her meandering progress around the living room. “I