by T. M. Cromer
“Good night, sweetheart.”
Tears threatened, but she ruthlessly blinked them away. How was it possible for the inches between them to feel like a million miles?
After what seemed like hours, but must’ve been only mere minutes, Ryker rolled toward her. The nerve endings along her spine tingled with awareness.
“GiGi.” His voice was raspy and raw, as if he’d swallowed a mouthful of habanero peppers.
“What?” she whispered, not turning. Shifting to face him would force her to see his tortured expression. She didn’t have it in her to resist him if she witnessed the stark, aching hunger reflected in his tone. As a natural healer, her instinct was to ease the pain of another. Yet easing his meant betraying herself.
“We never truly talked in detail about what you saw that night.”
“And if we had? What would you say? What would you change?”
His “everything” came out breathy and with such raw sincerity that she finally faced him.
“So talk.”
“Marg—”
She placed her fingers over his lips. “Don’t you dare say her name in our bed.”
In the low light, it was hard to make out what he was thinking, but he nodded. The gesture brought her attention to his thick, wavy hair. It was as dark as his midnight-colored eyes. Those luscious locks also begged to be touched, to have her fingers tangle in their silky depths, to caress their roots at his scalp. Because she desperately wanted to keep touching him, she withdrew her hand.
“Go on.”
“She-who-shall-not-be-named was in league with Zhu Lin.”
“I should have known.” She groaned her disgust. “It always comes back to the damned Council’s war with the Désorcelers.”
Zhu Lin had been head of a large faction devoted to snuffing out witches. The Witches’ Council had recruited young, idealistic men like Ryker and had created a spy network to tear apart their enemies from inside their organization. Zhu Lin had been just as bad as his demented warlord father before him, until the day GiGi’s niece killed him.
“Yes, it always came back to that damned war,” he said heavily.
Her eyes met his.
He’d lost his father in the war, and his sister, Trina, to murder within the next decade. Ryker’s mother had never recovered. Losing her husband and daughter broke her spirit and her mind. Five years after Trina’s death, Kathryn Gillespie’s failing heart removed her from this world.
After losing the last member of his immediate family, Ryker had wallowed in a drunken stupor. Until the day GiGi had shown up and verbally knocked some sense into him. Even though they had been separated at the time, she couldn’t stand to see him self-destruct.
“Continue,” she urged.
“It was Harold Beecham’s idea. He said he had it on good authority there were important documents in the Champeau safe. I was never informed about what those papers contained. I was supposed to do my job like a good little soldier, no matter what, and get them.”
“You knew she wanted you. Harold did, too. It’s why he suggested you for the job, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Were you always meant to seduce her?”
“It’s what Harold suggested. I told him it was a one-and-done deal. I’d go there, find a way to trick her, and get the damned correspondence, but in no way did I intend to become her lover.”
“And yet you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
She snorted her disbelief.
He lifted up on his elbow and leaned in, imploring and desperate. “I didn’t, GiGi. I swear to you on my family’s graves.”
Instinct told her he was telling the truth, but she’d seen them half-undressed.
He read her confusion because he said, “My last night there, I was no closer to finding that blasted safe than I was the day I arrived. I didn’t know at the time, but it constantly shifted locations to deter theft. No more than four hours in each spot.”
Ryker laid his head back on the pillow beside her.
“You said once you were waiting for the drug you’d slipped her to kick in,” she said to encourage him to continue.
“Yes. At dinner, I basically roofied her. I was out of options. For the record, she has the constitution of an elephant. It took forever for those damned sleeping pills to kick in. I couldn’t magically help the medication along, because she was immune to that type of thing.”
The disgust in his voice made her want to smile.
“Like I said, it was my last night, and failure wasn’t an option. Or so I believed until the second you showed up. Then I didn’t give two shits about the Council or those papers. I only saw the betrayal on your face, and I knew I had to fix things.”
She jerked into a sitting position. “Wait! You never got the papers?”
He sat up slowly and wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees. “No.”
“Oh, Ryker!”
To think their marriage had been destroyed and he still hadn’t achieved his mission was a sucker punch.
“What happened?” And why didn’t you come after me? She had wanted to ask that a thousand times over the years, but refrained, as she did now.
“Mar—uh, she-who-shall-not-be-named shot me.” He dropped his legs and twisted to show a small round scar below his ribcage. “It’s a good thing she was a horrible shot. Or maybe the Zolpidem finally kicked in and she couldn’t see straight.”
The blood drained from GiGi’s face, and she stared at that small puckered mark in sick wonder. “How did I never know this?”
“I’m not sure. I’m surprised neither of your brothers told you.” He grimaced and shook his head. “Actually, now that I think about it, I guess I’m not. They both believed I’d cheated and that I’d been shot in a lover’s quarrel.”
“A lover’s quarrel? Let me guess, that’s how Beecham decided to spin the situation to cover up his involvement.”
“Yes.”
“It’s a wonder neither of my brothers killed you.”
He laughed; his smile a flash of white in the low-lit room. “I believe they thought you should have that honor.”
“It’s why you never tried to patch up our differences right away,” she concluded.
“Yes. I was too ill.” He shifted to a reclining position and stared at the ceiling. “By the time I returned home, you had already worked yourself into a state. The doors were locked against me, and you refused to listen.” His lips tilted up slightly at the corners. “But damn, sweetheart, you were stunning in your rage. I thought for sure you were going to kill me with that tree.”
The tree in question was one she’d practically brained him with in the clearing behind their house on the day he finally arrived to apologize. The tree under which he’d proposed to her and she accepted. He’d caught her out by her garden and attempted to explain what she’d seen at the Champeau Mansion. She hadn’t wanted to hear his excuses.
“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” she muttered.
Again, he laughed. “You were fucking magnificent.”
“Were? I still am.”
His head turned, and even in the low light, she saw the intensity come into his dark gaze. “Yes. You still are.”
His fervor came across and made her feel edgy and awkward. A change of subject was required. “Did the bitch ever pay for her crimes?”
“No. No real proof to hold her because I never found the safe that night. The bitch walked away scot-free. The Council wouldn’t charge her with my shooting. I wasn’t supposed to be there to begin with, according to the ruling members. Apparently, this little side mission was all of Beecham’s making.” He sneered in his anger.
“I met up with her once. A few years after.”
His shocked gasp almost made her smile.
“She’d heard through the witchy grapevine you and I weren’t together anymore. She told me in great detail all the things you’d done the week you were there. All of them involved the horizontal bop.”
“She was lying, GiGi.” His tone was dark and dangerous. Murder shone in his eyes.
“I know that now. Maybe even then. She was trying too hard to needle me. She succeeded,” GiGi said flatly. His understanding expression was uncomfortable for her, so she looked down at her clasped hands. “The thing that stood out? She continued to walk around free. I told myself, if you were telling the truth, she’d be locked up or banished for her crimes.”
“Pretty damning for me.”
“Yes.”
“What do you believe now?”
Biting her lip, she looked down upon him. He lay sprawled like a fallen angel, arms to his sides and eyes full of trepidation, as if he were worried about his punishment. Perhaps they’d both been punished enough for something out of their control. She didn’t know anymore. All she did know, was that she was tired of fighting.
“I believe you.”
He closed his eyes and his mouth tightened. Swallowing hard, he rubbed the heel of his right hand over his heart. “Thank you.”
“It doesn’t mean I trust you, Ryker. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven completely. And it certainly doesn’t mean I want to go back to being a naive housewife, always in the dark about your activities.”
They remained silent for a short bit, each lost to their own thoughts or concerns.
“Ryker?”
“Mm?”
“Did you ever think about it? About Marg—”
He jackknifed into a sitting position and laid a finger over her lips. “She-who-shall-not-be-named, remember? Not in our bed.”
“Not in our bed,” she agreed. “Anyway, did you ever think about an affair with her? She has to be the most exquisite female on the planet.”
Ryker urged her chin up until she met his serious gaze. “No. Not once. And GiGi, she’s not the most exquisite female on the planet. You hold that title.”
“She’s far more beautiful than I am, Ryker.”
“Not to me.”
4
Their conversation waned, and they each curled up on their side of the bed, hugging the edge to keep from touching. Their magical bed was having none of it and dipped in toward the middle.
They crashed into each other, GiGi bumping her nose on Ryker’s solid chest. “Ouch!”
He chuckled softly as she wiggled her nose. “Come here, sweetheart.”
“I—”
“Trust me. We’ll fight this bed all night if you don’t.”
“I’m not having sex with you,” she stated primly.
“I wasn’t suggesting you do. I intended to hold you while you sleep. It’s the only way we are going to get any rest.”
As he watched, she seemed to weigh her options. Finally, she nodded and scooted back to allow him to spoon.
After ten minutes, Ryker could hear the subtle shift of GiGi’s breathing, indicating she was asleep. He inhaled deeply. Earlier tonight, he’d been furious with Alastair for the trick he’d played. Now, he was feeling a bit more magnanimous. Sure, his marriage issues hadn’t all been resolved, but perhaps now he had a chance.
GiGi was receptive in a way she hadn’t been since the unfortunate event, as he considered it. She had listened without judgment or ridicule. Perhaps it meant she was softening. Or maybe she was well and truly done. If she really intended to move on, she would seek closure. The only way she would achieve it would be to talk the issue through.
Dread curled around his heart and squeezed. His stomach churned at the idea of facing life without her. Sure, they’d been separated for a little over fifteen years, but he’d been able to check up on her. He would have been there for her in an instant should she need him. But if they divorced, he would be on the outside of the Thorne family, no longer welcome or able to call them his.
He was swamped with sadness. A deep melancholy that permeated his bones and made him want to weep. He’d missed so much regarding the family already: the Thorne sisters growing up, meeting their mates. All the years of not being able to make love to GiGi or wake with her in his arms were moments he could never get back.
GiGi wiggled and backed her ass into his groin. He groaned aloud, and she stirred slightly.
“Ryker,” she said on an exhale.
Unable to help himself, he placed his arm around her waist and buried his face in her abundance of blonde hair. Again she shifted, pressing back into him. His eyes nearly rolled back in his head, and he prayed to whatever god or goddess would listen that he developed the strength to get through the night. Hiding his hard-on was out of the question, but maybe he wouldn’t embarrass himself by begging GiGi for sexual favors.
He must’ve eventually dozed off because the next thing he became aware of was the sun streaming through the curtains. It lit on his wife’s golden head, and the beauty of the moment made him catch his breath in wonder.
Her eyelids fluttered, and in slow increments, she woke. When she focused those devastating violet-blue eyes on him, they softened and she smiled.
“Ryker,” she whispered, touching his face.
He shut his eyes and let her fingers wander. As they got to his lips, he gently sucked them into his mouth.
Her light, breathy laugh made him instantly hard.
“Say the word, sweetheart. Please, please, please say the word.”
Her hand dropped, and he opened his eyes to stare at her. Gone was the warmth from seconds before, and in its place was cool caution.
“I’m getting out of bed now,” she warned.
To say he was disappointed was to put it mildly, but he refused to let it show. “On three?”
She nodded.
He bunched the sheet toga-style around his body and inched toward the edge of the bed. She shifted to the far side, and they rose in unison.
“Look at us, working together,” he quipped with a grin.
“Well, thankfully that’s over. Let’s figure out how to break out of this prison,” she said feelingly.
Prison. She would definitely view time with him that way. Ryker looked away and, for the first time, noticed the changes to their bedroom—or her bedroom. Not one item of his remained. His stomach flipped over. Some damned spy he was when he missed the differences the night before.
“I see you’ve redecorated.”
Her eyes traveled the room. “Yes.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thanks.”
Because their conversation was turning awkward as hell, he strode to the bathroom.
GiGi appeared in the doorway a few seconds later. “None of your toiletries are here, Ryker.”
“I can see that. Do you have a spare toothbrush, or should I conjure my own?”
“In the upper cabinet between the vanities.”
They brushed their teeth, each of them at a separate sink. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the most marriage-like action they’d had in forever. Still, it was a far cry from their old routine. Once, they would have shared the same sink. They would have exchanged light, flirty kisses throughout the teeth-brushing process.
He’d been a fool to come back here. Each memory was tainted by lies and pain. They were like open, gangrenous sores that would never heal.
“If you don’t mind, I need to use the toilet.” The light pink flush on her cheeks spoke of her uncomfortableness with the subject.
“Of course,” he returned. The politeness between them tickled his gag reflex and made him want to hurl. “I’ll go conjure breakfast. Do you prefer coffee or tea?”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll fix my own.”
Unable to be courteous a second longer and certainly not trusting himself to speak, he left.
In the kitchen, he opened the cupboard to get down a coffee mug only to find it bare. Frowning, he moved to another cabinet. Again, bare. He tried one more before he gave up and moved to the refrigerator. Nothing. He got a sinking feeling that grew exponentially when he found the pantry empty as well.
He was leaning back against the kitchen island when GiGi finally joi
ned him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Seems you’re out of mugs, plates, and silverware. I didn’t bother to check for pots or pans.”
As if she didn’t believe him, she rushed to the closest cabinet and pulled open the door. She repeated the action for five cabinets. No one could say she wasn’t stubborn or determined.
“What the hell?” she demanded. With her fists on hips, she faced him. “Your prank or Alastair’s?”
He held up his hands and tried to give the impression of complete innocence. It was hard to do when she glowered there in all her glorious fury and all he wanted to do was leap over the counter to ravish her.
“That rotten bastard,” she swore. “I swear to the Goddess, when I see him again, I’m going to rip out his guts and hang them from the nearest flagpole.”
They both blinked in wonder as her bra disappeared.
GiGi crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh!”
Ryker was forced to look away from her heaving bosom or show his own flagpole standing at full mast.
She exited the room in a huff, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief. If left to stare at her mostly naked form, he didn’t think he would hold out long. The animal inside was struggling to break free. After such a long hiatus from sex and a night of holding the love of his life within the circle of his arms, Ryker’s libido was on a hair-trigger.
A few minutes later, as Ryker was practicing Zen breathing techniques to cool his ardor, GiGi returned with the chenille throw tied like a towel around her torso.
“Have you tried conjuring utensils?” she asked in a controlled tone. Not easy for her to do, he was sure.
Eyes downcast to hide his amusement, he nodded. “Yep.”
“Food?”
“Yep.”
“Are we expected to starve?”
The shrillness of her tone set his ears to ringing.
“If I had to guess, we need to work together again,” he returned.
He was positive he heard her growl out “fine.”
She inhaled a deep breath that strained the limits of the valiant lap blanket, and asked, “How do you suggest we go about this?”
“Again with the loaded questions. Obviously it’s been too long if you’re asking things of that nature.”