The Wedding Spell

by Donna Fletcher

  His words stung, but he saw that she recovered quickly, though he didn’t. It disturbed him that he had senselessly hurt her.

  “I will not stay if you don’t want me,” she said gently and reached for his glass of champagne, stroking her fingers along his until he relinquished it. She pressed her lips to the clear glass, titled and sipped, then returned it to him.

  Her words sang like a spell and weaved around him. “If you dare place your lips to mine, my taste will linger all evening time.” Her long red nail poked him in the chest, and she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Sebastian blinked and focused on the crowd. James was beside him as was Tasha and Lynn. All three were a-chatter about the marvelous event. He stood as he had before Alisande’s arrival as though her presence had never been known.

  His tall height afforded him a good view of the ballroom and he hastily glanced around attempting to spot her. He couldn’t find her anywhere. He held up his champagne glass and stared at the red imprint her lipstick had left.

  She was playing another game with him. A game he had no intention of losing. He turned the glass in his hand and took a sip, her lip imprint mating with his own lips.

  He braced himself for a reaction, and when none came he silently berated himself for even considering that her spell had been real. She was no witch. Witches were nonexistent—at least the broom-flying kind.

  He deliberately took another sip and joined in the conversation intending to ignore his encounter with Alisande Wyrrd... and then he felt it.

  The sensation jolted his senses.

  Hell and damnation.

  His slips tingled, ached, pulsated and he damn near shook his head.

  Pressure.

  Sweet, hot, lustful pressure of a kiss packed with a passionate punch. His knees buckled but he fought to maintain his dignity.

  “Are you all right, Sebastian?” James asked with concern. “You seem startled.”

  “Too much champagne,” he joked and patted his friend on the back, partly in jest and partly to maintain his balance.

  Lynn suggested that they help themselves to the buffet, and Sebastian eagerly agreed, hoping the taste of food would combat the odd sensation stinging his lips. Perhaps he had drunk too much bubbly and combined with Ms. Wyrrd’s cute poetic phrase a suggestive thought was placed in his already champagne-induced brain.

  He quickly disposed of his glass and joined the line of people at the buffet table. He chose a variety of appealing appetizers, popping a scalloped wrapped in bacon into his mouth followed by a mushroom cap stuffed with crabmeat.

  He sighed at the pleasurable flavor that permeated his taste buds and lingered on his lips. He licked his lips like a young boy finishing a favorite treat.

  The lusty sensation hit him full force, and he braced his hand flat on the table for support. He abandoned his partially filled plate in search of water. He found an overflowing fountain near the end of the buffet table and filled a crystal glass with sparkling clear liquid. The flavor of lemon and lime filled his senses. He drank greedily like a man in need.

  His lips felt refreshed, cold, wet. So wet. Wet from the drink, he convinced himself and snatched a napkin from the table to wipe his lips. The napkin did little to alleviate the wetness, and he suddenly realized his lips were no longer cold, but warm, tingling warm and slightly swollen.

  He casually ran his hand over them and almost groaned with the pleasure that shot through his arm. He quickly dropped his hand away. He bit at his lips, thinking the harsh pressure might negate the sensual sensitivity. It fueled it, and he realized with dismay it was as if he was in the throes of a kiss.

  His glance shot over the crowd, searching for the woman who had planned the suggestively erotic thought in his mind. Her little mind game was affecting him more than he cared to admit, and he was about to give her a piece of his own mind.

  He saw her across the room engaged in conversation with two women and a man. He started toward her and when he was only a few feet away from her, Sydney Wyrrd stepped in his path.

  “I have been so looking forward to meeting you, Sebastian Wainwright,” she said and hooked her arm in his. “I, for one, am in need of champagne. Will you join me?”

  Sebastian was about to graciously decline when Sydney smiled and tapped his chest. “I think you will find my champagne less stimulating.”

  He sent her a cautious smile along with a nod and followed her to a table where two glasses of bubbly sat waiting. She handed him one and took the other.

  “To a future filled with surprise and promise.”

  Sebastian added his own toast. “And to the beautiful and eccentric Wyrrd women.”

  The liquid rushed over his lips, and the strange cold sharpness stung his sensitive flesh, leaving in its wake refreshing numbness. He felt nothing. Nothing at all.

  He smiled as did Sydney. “Do not judge my niece too harshly. She is unique and has unique needs. Learn her true nature and understand her, only then will you be able to accept the unacceptable.”

  Sebastian never passed up an opportunity. He could learn a lot about Alisande from her aunt. “Tell me about your niece.”

  The woman laughed, and Sebastian could have sworn the brilliance of her smile made her appear ten years younger.

  “No, no, my dear boy,” she scolded playfully. “You must discover the secrets for yourself. Only then will you have the power.”

  He leaned down and whispered, “Are you a witch too?”

  Sydney patted his arm. “Why, of course, my dear, all the Wyrrd women are witches.”

  Okay, so she wanted to play the game as well. Why not? Maybe he could learn more about the lunacy that ran in the family.

  “And how long have you been a witch?”

  “Since birth, it is after all, an hereditary trait.”

  “Exactly how old are you?”

  “That is not a polite question to ask a woman,” she reprimanded teasingly.

  “Appease me.”

  Sydney laughed; a gentle laughter that soothed. “Since you will unite with our family soon I see no harm in you knowing. I am six hundred years old.”

  “Approximately or give or take a few years?”

  Her laughter rippled around him once again. “I like your sense of humor. You will suit my niece well.”

  “You have a strong sense of humor yourself.”

  “Most witches do.”

  “Even the evil ones?”

  Her smile faded and she lowered her voice. ‘Evil exists in all races, creeds and religions. Love is its nemesis. Remember that and evil will never touch your heart.”

  He felt as if he had just been taught a wise lesson, and somehow the thought made him feel more empowered. “I need to speak with your niece.”

  Sydney reached for the bottle of champagne on the table. “Then I suggest another glass of my special bubbly before you face off.”

  He laughed and held up his glass. “My armor?”

  Sydney filled his glass and smiled. “Defend with love and victory is yours.”

  Sebastian raised his glass and drank, her words echoing in his thoughts as he took his leave and went in search of Alisande.

  o0o

  Alisande stood glancing at the late-night sky; a thousand twinkling stars lighted the vast darkness. She moved slowly along the brick patio to the stone banister overgrown with lilac bushes, their sweet scent heavy in the hot summer night. She reached out and touched the full blossoms, and a few dropped gently into her hand. She raised her cupped hand and sniffed appreciatively at their luscious fragrance.

  “Thank you,’ she whispered to the plant.

  A soft summer breeze rushed around her, sweeping the petals off her hand and alerting her to the presence of a man behind her.

  “You dared to taste,” she said without turning around.

  “I dared to believe.”

  She turned then with a smile. “I am glad you believe.”

  He walked over to her and was assaulted
by the sweet scent of lilacs rich on her skin. “Do you know what I believe?”

  He drifted closer to her until the small of her back was pressed against the stone banister and his body was pressed hard against hers. He braced his hands on either side of her affectively blocking any chance of flight.

  She answered in a whisper. “That I am a crazy witch.”

  “Crazy,” he corrected.

  “Witch,” she rectified.

  He shrugged. “Little difference.” His lips moved closer to hers.

  “All the difference in the world,” she said and ran her tongue slowly over her lips, preparing them for him, tempting him and inviting him.

  “Damn,” he whispered and leaned down to trace the very path her tongue had traveled with his own. She was wet and warm and tasted sweet, and his tongue savored every inch of her lips before eagerly entering her mouth.

  He felt the jolt and relished it, his arm slipping around her waist and bringing her harder up against him. Hard enough for her to feel how much he wanted her.

  She moaned and he understood she wanted more and he gave her more. His teeth nipped down along her neck, over the tops of her breasts, and back up again to her lips. He nibbled along her lower lip until it plumped.

  He was in control, he commanded her, and he seduced her. He wanted her.

  He drew back from her slowly, keeping a firm hold around her waist until their senses returned to near normal and he could safely release her to stand on her own.

  He said nothing. He stared at her kiss-laden lips, watched her chest heave with breathless desire and knew that she wasn’t just moist... she was wet and ready for him.

  He had only to touch, to reach down and touch her, intimately, knowingly, lovingly.

  “Come to me, Sebastian,” he heard her say and yet he could have sworn she didn’t speak a word. “Come to me.”

  Dream or reality?

  He turned and walked away, and when he felt the slight tingle on his lips, he turned back around. She was gone. Or had she ever been there?

  Or was he losing his mind?

  “Enough,” he warned himself and entered the ballroom in search of his friends. He had had enough. Tomorrow he intended to continue his investigation and not stop until he uncovered the truth about Alisande Wyrrd.

  The absolute truth.

  Chapter Seven

  “No birth certificate,” Sebastian said to himself. “How could there be no birth certificate?”

  He shook his head. His plan to discover the truth was proving more difficult, if not impossible, then he had expected. He had assigned two highly skilled agents to the case with instructions to dig deep. So far their dig had provided purely surface information. No matter how hard they tried, they seemed to hit a brick wall, a purposely built brick wall.

  His own efforts proved just as fruitless. It was almost as though that wall had been purposely built brick by brick to keep the curious away or at least detour them. He had repeatedly checked all his resources even foreign ones, to locate birth certificates on Alisande and her aunt Sydney. Strangely enough, he had yet to uncover one... not one. There had to be some record somewhere, so why couldn’t he find anything on either of them?

  He ran his hand through his dark hair and mumbled beneath his breath. To say that he was frustrated didn’t even begin to touch on his annoyance. He had never in all his years working for the government and in his own business run up against such an odd occurrence. Documents of some type, whether school records, immunization records, or religious records, to name a few, usually popped up somewhere in the investigation. And one small lead could start the ball rolling in the right direction.

  He hadn’t even been able to locate school records for Alisande and she was obviously well-educated. You only had to converse with her to realize the extent of her education. She was highly intelligent with a quick and calculating mind. Could she have been educated abroad?

  Even if that proved correct, he would certainly find records of her attendance. And yet when he had searched, he found nothing. It was almost as if she didn’t exist. If wasn’t for her participation in the Wyrrd Foundation; he would not have located a speck of information on her.

  A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and when his friend and agent Pierce Knowlin entered his office, he was glad for the interruption.

  Pierce had joined the Wainwright force only last year and had proved to be a definite asset to the company. His average height and looks allowed him to blend easily with the crowd, though his deep sensual voice and well-defined body was a definite attraction to the ladies, not to mention his smooth-shaved head and full mustache.

  “I found something, though I don’t know if it will help,” Pierce said, dropping a sheet of paper on Sebastian’s desk.

  Sebastian picked it up and curiously scanned the list of names. “What is this?”

  Pierce took a seat in one of the two soft gray leather chairs that faced Sebastian’s desk. “A friend of mine is nuts about discovering her family roots, ands she has researched her family tree going all the way back to the sixteen hundreds. What you have in front of you is a list of births in the colony of Virginia sometime in the sixteen hundreds. The date isn’t clear. It’s, 1632, 1652, or whatever. Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “And?” Sebastian asked, not making any sense of the badly faded and barely legible ancient document.

  “Read it, Sebastian.”

  Sebastian did as instructed, though he wondered what in heaven’s name—

  He bolted forward in his chair.

  Pierce smiled. “I figured if we could get a lock on an ancestor, we might be able to move forward and trace the heritage to Ms. Wyrrd. Strange isn’t it, that her ancestor should possess the same name as her... Alisande Wyrrd.”

  Sebastian stared at the name scrawled in barely readable chicken scratch. But nonetheless it was there. A lead, a place to start, and now they had only to trace it, a formidable task in itself, but at least a beginning.

  “What have you discovered from this?”

  “Whoa, boy,” Pierce said with a laugh. “I just discovered this little bit of info by sheer accident. Now my work begins, and besides, it’s common knowledge that the Wyrrd family dates back at least that far if not further.”

  “Then why the hell can’t I find a damn birth certificate for Alisande or her aunt?”

  Pierce shrugged as though the idea wasn’t implausible. “Who knows, maybe both women were born at home, the births never properly recorded. I wouldn’t be surprised with the eccentricity that runs in that family.”

  “I suppose,” Sebastian conceded, Pierce’s explanation sensible and certainly possible.

  “What exactly is it you’re looking for, Sebastian? You almost seem like you’re waiting to uncover a deep, dark Wyrrd family secret.”

  “Everyone has skeletons.”

  “With a family tree as old as the Wyrrd’s there has to be a mega amount of skeletons. But do you really want to unearth them? The Wyrrd family has some mighty hefty clout here in D.C.”

  “I need some answers,” was all Sebastian intended to say.

  Pierce stood. “Okay, fair enough,” —he stopped at the office door— “but you better ask yourself if the questions are worth it.”

  He pushed out of his chair as the door clicked shut and ran his hand through his hair, though he felt more like pulling the strands from the root and turned to stare out at the capital city he so loved.

  His life had been content, normal, orderly, but no more, not since Alisande. She filled his waking thoughts and invaded his nightly dreams. There didn’t seem to be a time he didn’t think about her, fantasize about her, and desire her. She had simply invaded his every thought, and try as he might be couldn’t purge her from his mind.

  She tempted his soul, but then hadn’t she said that magical love touches the soul? But this wasn’t love he was feeling, this was... lust.

  She spoke about a love affair, and a love affair was a lus
tful interlude, not a lifetime commitment. So the real question was why not have an affair with Alisande Wyrrd? She was more than willing, and he certainly wanted her, so what stopped him?

  “Practical,” he reminded with a heavy breath and a touch of regret. “You must be practical.”

  Alisande believed herself a witch, not a mere mortal woman, nor a woman practicing the Wicca religion, but a bona fide, spell-casting, object-floating and who knew what else witch.

  Until he could uncover solid, factual information on her, he couldn’t take the chance of making love to her. What if she turned out to be mentally disturbed?

  He shook his head. He didn’t believe that for one minute. She was a gorgeous and highly-intelligent woman. Perhaps he had been right all along, and she just enjoyed adding a little spice to her love affairs, and yet he couldn’t even find a man she had had a love affair with recently—or at all, for that matter. She certainly had succeeded in keeping her personal life discreet.

  “Damn,” he muttered. He was going to drive himself insane at this rate. At least Pierce had found a lead no matter how weak. It was a beginning and that was all that was needed to proceed.

  “I’m six hundred years old.”

  Sydney Wyrrd’s admission rag clear in his head.

  “Nonsense,” he said to himself. The woman was teasing him.

  Witches, especially six-hundred-year-old witches, didn’t exist.

  He walked to his desk and hit the intercom button. Ms. Smithers, do I have many appointments this afternoon?”

  “None that I can’t change if you wish.”

  He smiled at her astute efficiency. “Good, please re-schedule. I will be gone the rest of the day.”

  o0o

  Sebastian left the bookstore with an assortment of books on witches, magic, and Wicca. The material ranged from the practice, mythology, and history. He had it all covered. He planned to learn all he could, every aspect of witches. He would have a good working knowledge of the craft, and maybe he would finally understand Alisande’s deep-rooted interest.

  He slipped out of his navy blue suit jacket, folding it over the passenger seat of his Jaguar. He loosened his tie and opened the top button of his pale yellow shirt and rolled up the sleeves.