by P. C. Cast
Candice had taken a long bath, delighted with the unaccustomed soreness of her body. And then, replete, she’d slept till noon. Noon! And only woke up then because her cell phone had toned at her, telling her she had a text message. She flipped it open, feeling a rush of pleasure even before she saw the text.
Are you busy tonight? I have a surprise for you.
What was he up to now? She grinned and replied:
More spidey sense?
His reply was a single word.
Better
She laughed out loud. This was fun! And, no. She wasn’t going to go on and on with herself about how long it’d been since she’d had this kind of fun . . . and that she might be having too much fun too soon. No. She was just going to enjoy herself.
I think I can fit you into my schedule.
She waited impatiently for the tone that signaled his reply, and when it came it sounded like beautiful music—even though she was completely aware of how ridiculously romantic that seemed.
Be on your deck at dusk. And be ready . . .
Be on her deck at dusk? And be ready for what? But she forced herself not to text him back and ask for details. She wanted to break her old habits. She overanalyzed things (“things” being defined as “men”). She knew she did it, and she knew she had gotten worse as she’d gotten older.
“Not this time,” she muttered as she fixed herself a cup of her favorite green tea and stuck a couple pieces of toast in the toaster. “This time is going to be different. This time I’m not looking for a husband; I’m looking for fun.”
Candice took her tea, toast, a pencil, and the pad of paper she’d started writing her poem on the day before out onto the wonderful wood deck that wrapped the length of the back of her house and looked out into the woods that surrounded Mysteria. She curled up cross-legged on the comfortable wicker rocker that sat beside the little wicker table.
It was such a beautiful day! The woods, always magical (literally and figuratively) looked like a romantic dream come to life. All that it lacked was the knight and the white horse and . . .
Good lord! What was happening to her? She was making her own self sick.
“Snap out of it and get to writing so you can get to the good stuff tonight.” Then, humming “Tonight, Tonight” from West Side Story she looked at the partially written poem.
Keep your Errol Flynns, Paul Newmans, Mel Gibsons
all puppets—empty masquerades.
Tom, Dick, and Harry, too
the boy next door
I want no more.
You ask, what now?
Well, love comes with the night,
in the most inexplicable places
leaving the most unexplainable traces.
You see . . . a wolfman is the man for me!
She smiled and began to write from there.
True, hair in the sink is copious,
Two hours later she should have been frustrated and annoyed. She was, after all, staring at the same line she’d written earlier and nothing else was coming. Well, not exactly nothing. She’d written line after line after line, but nothing seemed to work. Nothing could begin to capture the new, crystal bright feeling of happiness and expectation that was building inside of her, and that was the feeling she wanted her poem to evoke.
“Ah, hell! Never mind. I’ll write it tomorrow.” She had a date to get ready for, a really hot date at that, which called for eyebrow plucking, leg shaving, a full pedicure and manicure, and lots of hair primping. Not to mention that she was going to dig through some of the boxes she’d moved into the basement to find what she’d done with her really sexy lingerie.
“Tonight I will not be wearing a sports bra and grandma panties,” she promised the air around her. Had she not been so busy trying (unsuccessfully) not to giggle like a girl, she would have noticed the gaggle of pink-winged fairies who, overhearing her, had taken off in a burst of silver glitter and musical laughter out over the trees, heading in the direction of their favorite witch’s house.
Justin wanted to do something special for her. He’d been up most of the night thinking about what he could do—and about her. Her skin and her body . . . he’d never felt anything as lush and inviting. So this was what it was like to be with a woman versus a girl! Twenty-somethings paled in comparison to Candice. And he could talk to her! He’d actually talked with her about dreams he’d thought were long dead. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even thought about painting, yet here he was, heading to her place with the huge book he’d checked out from the library, one with glossy, full-color pictures of famous pieces of art, tucked under his arm. With his other arm he carried a bag filled with several cuts of prime fillet steaks from his family’s restaurant, each broiled and spiced to perfection, and one of the brightly checked tablecloths they used in the dining room. He smiled as he got closer to her house and left the road to circle around to her backyard. When he could peer through the thick trees and just barely make out her deck, he put the book and the bag down, spread the tablecloth out over the leafy ground, and opened the boxes, letting the aroma of expensive steak waft in the light evening breeze.
He didn’t have long to wait. He heard their giggles and the whirring of their wings before he saw them. Then, poof! He was standing in the center of a cloud of fairies who, as soon as they spotted the steaks, squealed with pleasure and began a dive-bomb-like descent.
“Wait!” He growled menacingly and stood protectively over the delectable meal. The fairies paused, midswoop. “If you want the steaks you have to do something for me.”
Four of the glittering miniature nymphs glided toward him. They were only about as big as an outstretched hand, but their beauty was not diminished by size. They smiled coquettishly at him.
“We know you, wolfman,” the four trilled together, magically harmonizing. “We’ve often watched you pleasure females in the forest.” They ran their hands suggestively down their naked bodies. “We would be happy to do something for you.”
He quickly put his hands up, as if fending off an attack. “No, no, no. You don’t understand. The favor I need is not quite so personal.”
“What a shame.” They pouted prettily.
“Do you want the steaks or not?” He already knew their answer. Fairies craved red meat, but they never got enough. They could really be a pain in the ass; they were almost as bad as termites or fleas. His dad had to spray the restaurant for them monthly.
“We want the meat!” the entire group answered together.
“Good. Then this is all I need you to do.” He picked up the thick art book and then hesitated before he opened it to one of the three pages he’d marked earlier. “Do you know the teacher who lives in the cabin right there?” He pointed through the trees at Candice’s house.
As a group the fairies nodded.
“You know what she looks like?”
They nodded again, causing their long, shining hair to sparkle and glisten and float around them like slightly tarnished, then glittered, haloes.
“Excellent. Here’s what I need you to do . . .” Justin opened the book. The fairies flocked around him, making curious little cooing noises as he gave them their orders.
Candice was going to be totally surprised!
Candice was sitting in her wicker chair sipping an excellent glass of chilled chardonnay when he stepped out of the forest and onto the grass of her backyard. There was just enough light left in the dusky sky to see that his smile was reflected by the sparkle in his amber eyes.
“Hello, Ms. Cox,” he said mischievously.
“Hello, Justin,” she said in her best teacher voice. “Did you stop by for a little detention?”
“I don’t know.” His grin widened. “I think I’ve been a pretty good boy lately.”
“Yes, you certainly have,” she said, feeling suddenly very warm.
“Not that I wouldn’t like being locked in a room alone with you.”
“So my surprise has to do with locks?”
Candice didn’t think she’d ever been so grateful for having good legs.
“Thank you. Wine?” she offered.
“I’d love some, thanks.”
She poured him a glass of sun-colored wine. Just before he sat in the empty wicker chair across from her he looked out toward the forest, raised his hand, and yelled, “Action!”
Instantly, the sky over the trees began to glitter like Fourth of July sparklers, and the breeze carried the sound of silly feminine laughter to them.
Candice scowled. “Fairies. What are they up to?”
“Keep watching,” Justin said, sipping his wine.
“I do not like fairies,” she grumbled. Still frowning, she looked back at the sparkling sky and gasped. A picture was forming from the glistening fairy dust.
“Oh, my God! It’s the Mona Lisa!”
“Keep watching,” Justin repeated.
Mona Lisa’s face changed. Candice mouth fell open. “It’s me!”
Justin laughed and lifted her hand from where it rested on the little table. He kissed her palm. “Yep, it is.”
Candice was still staring at the glowing portrait when the picture shifted and changed. Now she was looking at a hauntingly beautiful woman with long red hair who was sitting in a small boat.
“Waterhouse’s Lady of Shalott!” Then it, too, changed and she was watching herself frozen in time as the lady who was cursed to sing her last song as she floated down to Camelot.
Entranced, she watched the picture dissipate and begin to form again as another famous woman. This time it wasn’t a painting the fairies were reproducing. It was the eternally graceful statue of the winged Nike. And then, as if the Greek gods had ordered a miracle, Candice’s face and neck, even her long blonde hair, appeared to complete the glorious statue. Candice laughed and clapped her hands.
Justin hardly glanced at the fairy artwork. He couldn’t stop looking at Candice. Uninhibited joy had transformed her face from pretty to stunning. Everything inside him screamed, Her! She’s the one I’m meant to be with!
Candice gasped again as the new painting took form. “This is one of my all-time favorites! Meeting on Turret Stairs by Burton.” She made a happy little cry. “Justin! It’s us!”
Then he did pull his eyes from her to look at the sky. Sure enough, the incredibly romantic scene of the knight passing his lady on the narrow stairway had been altered so that it was the two of them. The knight was kissing his lady’s arm as she leaned dramatically against the stone wall of the castle; both of them were clearly overwhelmed by a desire so real it seemed to leap off the painting and become tangible. He hadn’t told the fairies to re-create this scene—just as he hadn’t told them to put his face in any of the paintings—but he was glad they’d added to his instructions. He’d have to remember to bring them a couple more steak dinners. Soon.
The fairy dust painting faded slowly, leaving only the darkening sky. Finally Candice turned to him.
“How did you do that?”
Her eyes were alive and her face was slightly flushed. He wanted to push the little table that was between them out of the way and take her in his arms and kiss her until his touch was what made her eyes sparkle and her face flush.
“Magic,” he said.
“But magic doesn’t work on me.”
“It worked on you tonight.” He took her hand and kissed her palm again. “Maybe you just needed the right partner to find your magic.”
“Or maybe your magic is so strong that even I can’t stop it.”
“I like that. I like that anything about me could be strong enough to attract you.”
“Everything about you attracts me,” she said, her voice low and sexy.
“Show me. Show me how much,” he said.
Without speaking she stood up and led him into her house, through the cozy kitchen, the comfortably decorated den, and into her bedroom.
“I want to undress you,” she said. “Is that okay with you?”
He bent and kissed her softly on the lips. “Anything you want is okay with me, as long as you still want me.”
“I can’t imagine not wanting you,” she said, guiding him over so that he stood beside her bed while she sat on the edge of it. He was wearing a black pullover, and she skimmed it up his body and over his head, letting her fingers trail lightly down from his shoulders over his naked chest and abdomen, loving the way his body shivered at her touch. Then she unbuttoned his jeans, taking her time to slowly unzip them while her lips teased his chest and her fingers caressed the hard lump that was pushing against his pants. When she finally got his pants undone she stood, and then, hooking her fingers in his waistband, slid the jeans down, pressing her body against his as she did so.
On her knees in front of him, she took him in her hands. He was hard and hot and his body jerked and quivered under her hands. When she closed her mouth around him he moaned her name, and had to lean against the bed to stay standing.
“Your mouth,” he rasped, “is a dream. A very sexy dream.”
“Wet dream?” she asked when she paused.
“Oh, God, yes,” he moaned.
She laughed, but before she could take him in her mouth again, he pulled her to her feet and in one quick movement, lifted her onto the bed. Lying beside her he unbuttoned her shirt.
“Now that’s sexy,” he said, running his finger lightly over the delicate white lace bra. “Too many women think red or black or some other godawful bright color is what men want. I don’t know about other men,” he murmured, “but I think white is the sexiest. You can see right through it.” He circled her nipple with his finger, causing it to harden. “But there’s something innocent about it. Like what it’s covering has been waiting just for you.” He bent over her, taking her nipple into his mouth right through the sheer lace of the bra.
Candice’s breath left her in a rush. “My panties match,” were the only words her lust-clouded mind could form.
Justin moved from her bra to unbutton the short cotton skirt she was wearing. He pulled it down and then knelt between her legs, gazing down at her body. She watched him closely and suddenly saw herself reflected in the desire that was so clear on his face, and knew she’d never again think of herself as old or fat or frumpy.
“Feel what you do to me,” he whispered.
He took her hand and pressed it to his chest so that she could feel the racing of his heart. She let her fingers rest there for a moment, and then held the hand that had so recently covered hers against her breast.
“Feel what you do to me,” she echoed.
“It’s good that we’re in this together,” he said. “I don’t think I could stand feeling all of this alone.”
“You’re not alone,” Candice said.
“Give me a chance,” Justin said. “Say you’ll take me seriously, even though you think I’m too damn young.”
“Justin, I don’t expect—” she started.
“Expect!” he blurted. “Can’t you just expect magic? Even if it’s never happened to you before, can’t you let me prove to you that there’s more than one kind of magic in this world, and that we can make it happen together?” He leaned down and cupped her face between his hands. “I want you, Candice Cox. Not just tonight. I want you in my life. Let me make you love me.”
His words scared and thrilled her. She should tell him no. Or she should lie to him and say yeah, whatever, so that they could have more good sex, and then send him on his way. But she didn’t want to. It might be stupid. It probably wouldn’t work. But Candice wanted more than anything else to take a chance on loving Justin. Unexpected tears came to her eyes when she answered him.
“I’ve waited a long time to feel like this, Justin. I can’t let you go now,” she said.
He smiled and wiped the dampness from her cheeks. “Well, you had to wai
t for me to grow up.”
“Hush and kiss me.” She pulled him down to her.
Soon neither of them could talk anymore. All they could do was feel.
Eight
Candice slept till noon again the next day—this time curled up against Justin’s body. And she awoke to his gentle caresses and they made love slowly, whispering erotic secrets as morning gave way to afternoon. They’d said good-bye like lovers had for centuries, with lots of long looks and lingering touches.
And tomorrow . . . they were meeting tomorrow. He’d wanted to see her again that night, but as he’d been kissing her good-bye for about the zillionth time, his cell phone had interrupted them. He’d taken the call, albeit reluctantly, and after he’d hung up he’d apologized, saying that it was a call from his family’s restaurant. They needed him to go to Denver tonight because . . . hell. She didn’t remember exactly what he’d said. She’d been too busy floating on a cloud of sexual satisfaction.
But that wasn’t all it was, Candice reminded herself that evening as she poured a glass of white wine and took it to her writing desk. She was floating on more than a sex cloud. She really liked him. Her lips tilted up in a secret smile as she remembered the text message she’d received from him not long ago. It had simply said:Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.
First DeMass, then Frost, and now Shakespeare! He was smart and interesting and so sexy she wanted to begin at his mouth and lick her way down his body . . . and then back up again. And he wanted her to be in his life—to love him. No matter how improbable or impossible, she found herself wanting the same thing. She sighed happily and sipped her wine. Creative juices flowing (along with all the rest of them), she picked up her pencil and reread the poem she’d started.