He had so much power to command, not only in magick but in the non-magickal world as well. Companies thrived or failed at his whim. Politicians won or lost by his will. People lived, suffered, or died by his desires.

Yet his own body was doing him in.

Crane took a long drink of the bourbon. There was nothing he could do to stop this slow deterioration of his health.

Except find that woman.

ELEVEN

TEN

Sexual agony.

That was the only way to describe it.

Jack took a sip of his bourbon and stared over the rim of his glass at Mira. Letting the liquid sit on his tongue a moment before sliding down his throat, he traced the curve of her exposed calf with his gaze.

He supposed she favored his sweatpants because they were comfortable. Despite all the clothes he'd bought her, she still wore them often. Likely, she didn't realize how sexy she looked in them. Maybe she even thought they made her less attractive and would stop him from wanting to make advances on her.

Oh, if only that were the case.

The sweatpants were his, first of all, and the idea of her bare body in his clothing made his cock hard. Second of all, they were charmingly too large for her and made her seem even more fragile and delicate. Third, she went around the apartment barefoot and kept hiking up the cuffs of the sweatpants so she wouldn't trip over them, thus exposing her very lovely, silky smooth calves.

Calves he wanted to lick and kiss. Calves he wanted to stroke with his palms right before he guided her legs around his waist.

He took another sip of his drink and watched her shift on the couch as she read his battered copy of The Call of the Wild. It was one of his favorites, though he hadn't told her that.

It seemed like Mira had been through half his library in the last few days. There wasn't much to do but read and surf the Internet. He didn't own a TV. There wasn't one in any of his apartments.

He had a stereo system, though, and they'd been through his entire CD collection. Everything from Mozart to Led Zeppelin to Nine Inch Nails. She liked both classical music and classic rock the best and had the endearing habit of dancing and singing along—badly—when she thought he wasn't looking.

She turned over onto her stomach, totally engrossed in the story. The soft, well-worn material of the sweatpants clung lovingly to her shapely ass, defining each perfect cheek. His mind called up the memory of how that sweetest part of her anatomy had felt in his hands.