Spellbound with Sly

by Shelley Munro

  He snorted. And wasn’t that like the caveman Scarlett had called him? Delight weighed on the scales with alarm. His memory had more holes than his Ma’s old tea strainer, but he refrained from chasing the fleeting memories. That way lie frustration.

  Sly shook himself and concentrated on Cinnabar. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. Taking this step will place us both in danger.”

  “No.” She released his hands and placed her warm palm on his cheek. “It’s not that. I’ve been cursed to live in feathers for so long. No one acknowledges me. I have no physical contact. Touching you, knowing you want to touch me in return… It’s everything, Sly. Yes, it’s hazardous, but I want this so much. If you’re willing to step into danger, I intend to stand at your side.”

  “We’re moving fast. If I’m going too fast or pushing you, tell me.”

  She swallowed and one of those slumbering tears leaked free. “We don’t have the luxury of time. The first of the banns will be read this coming holy day.”

  “You need to tell me more about this banns crap. The concept isn’t familiar.”

  “Of course.” Cinnabar swiped her cheek. “The banns are read three times on successive holy days.”

  She had a smattering of freckles on the tip of her nose and a few on her cheeks. Cute. He drew her closer and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. “Later,” he murmured. “Tell me later.”

  He pulled back and drew off his jacket—this one blue and about four shades darker than Cinnabar’s eyes.

  “I wish we had the entire night,” Cinnabar whispered. “I must leave soon to complete a task for the princess.”

  “It won’t always be this way,” Sly promised. “I won’t let it.” Big words. His gut cramped at the thought of a marriage with the princess. A forced marriage. At least he’d made a friend in Liam, although he couldn’t trust him. Not when he was Princess Iseabal’s brother.

  Sly spread his jacket on the ground and turned to Cinnabar. “We can do a quickie. It will still be outstanding.”

  “I haven’t done this before.”

  Sly cocked his head. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

  “Hush. Sly, I trust you. Our acquaintance might be short, but you have demonstrated more kindness than I’ve ever known.”

  Stung by her words, he said, “I don’t need sex in payment.”

  “No, silly. This is for me. This is pure selfishness.”

  Sly studied her for an instant longer, then swung her into his arms. He placed her on his jacket, took a second to loosen his trousers and joined her. Her arms came around him instantly, her lips met his, and he was gone, sinking into passion and desire.

  Need.

  Something worthwhile to combat his sense of helplessness, the growing fear his life was running out of control.

  He slipped his fingers beneath the neckline of her gown, savoring the warmth of her skin, loving her gentle floral scent. The friction from her shapely contours drove back his anxiety and filled him with peace. Desire stirred, his blood flowing south to stiffen his cock. He ended their kiss and nuzzled the graceful curve of her neck, his mouth lingering at the hollow of her throat.

  “Sly,” she whispered, the tension in her limbs communicating the need for haste.

  His hand settled over one breast, and he toyed with her nipple while he dipped his head and kissed the valley between. He pinched her nipple and captured her groan with his caress.

  “I love your lips. I can’t get enough of your taste.”

  Cinnabar flicked her tongue against his in pure provocation, and his joy and happiness rang out. Sly repositioned his body and lifted her skirts. She parted her legs for him, and his heart thundered at her easy acceptance.

  He moved farther down into the V of her thighs and lifted her to his mouth. Her flavor exploded on his taste buds as he tongued her slit and settled in to tease her nub. She quivered and cried out as her clit spasmed beneath his touch.

  Sly continued until the vibrations tailed off, then he rose up her body and jerked his trousers down enough to free his dick.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  “Yes,” Cinnabar whispered.

  “I’ll try to go slow, but this first time will hurt.”

  “I don’t care. At least I’ll feel alive. I want this. You.”

  Sly nodded, thankful for her confidence. Pacing himself, forcing himself to go slower, he kissed her again, wanting her soft and wet and needy for him. He caressed her clit again, pleased when she arched into his touch, silently demanding more.

  “I want to fuck you so much,” he whispered.

  “Do it,” she urged. “I want you to.”

  “But what if—”

  She slapped a hand over his mouth. “I don’t care if this is all I have. All we have. This time with you is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I want it all.” And she kissed him, smothering his response.

  They kissed for a long time, until raw need had him trembling like a green boy and his balls drew so tight they became painful.

  He fit his cock to her entrance and hesitated.

  Her nails dug into his biceps and he drew back.

  “No,” she pleaded. “Don’t stop. Please.”

  He studied her face, her already familiar features for an instant, then forged deeper into her seductive heat. She gasped, froze, clung as he pushed past her resistance until he plunged balls deep. He stopped moving, just embraced the heat, the clasp of her hands clutching him tight.

  “Is that all?” she asked.

  Sly laughed, kissed her and thrust. She rocked against him, and a rough growl vibrated in his chest. Hot pleasure bubbled in his balls, the violent enjoyment stealing his breath. He came as he feasted on her mouth. Yeah, she stole his breath, his heart, his life.

  Suddenly Saber’s words made sense. He’d know when he found the right one.

  Never were truer words spoken, but who the hell was this Saber bloke?

  Chapter Eleven

  Middlemarch Resort

  Joe walked into the room they’d set up for Sly, past dozens of plants in black pots. Their red-and-white flowers perfumed the old storage shed with cinnamon and ginger. He and Saber had painted the walls a deep, rich red, and once the paint dried, they’d hauled in a bed—about the size of a large single, and not too big that the guests got the idea of climbing in with Sly. Casey contributed by sewing ruby-red curtains for the windows and Felix had designed a frame to turn the bed into one fit for a fairy tale. Pure white sheets and a white duvet added the finishing touch.

  Everything was in readiness for Sly.

  He and Saber had developed a special package, which cost the ladies extra. In the end, they’d decided to embrace the obvious and name the new attraction Sleeping Beauty.

  Joe snorted, his lips twitching. Sly would loathe this if he was conscious. But still, surely he would understand. Joe hated seeing his brother this way, so pale and still. He scanned the room in a final check. Hopefully, this wacky plan helped Sly regain consciousness.

  Half an hour later, the room smelled like a floral bouquet while Sly lay on the bed, dressed only in boxer briefs, although the visiting ladies wouldn’t realize that, since they’d covered his lower body with the white linens. A large basket sat next to the bed, full to the brim with flowers.

  He ran his fingers down his twin’s bare arm, a new habit he’d developed because without Sly around, he felt as if he were missing a limb.

  Almost ready to open for business.

  He checked on Sly a final time and did a double take. “What the frak?”

  Joe blinked and scanned Sly’s face. His brother wasn’t awake. He touched his arm again. Still cool to the touch although he warmed when Joe’s fingers lingered.

  “Saber!” With a scowl at Sly, he strode to the door. “Saber.”

  His older brother came running at his call. “What is it? Has he woken?”

  “No,” Joe said—and pointed at Sly’s groin.

  Saber’s eyes wi
dened, and they shared a glance before turning back to gape at Sly’s ginormous boner.

  “What are we going to do? We can’t let the ladies in here with him in this condition,” Joe said.

  “You didn’t notice this when you entered the room?”

  “No,” Joe snapped. “It’s kind of obvious. I would’ve noticed. It just happened.”

  “Maybe we should get Casey to—”

  “No way, Saber. That’s all kind of wrong. First, Felix won’t be happy if he learns you asked his mate to examine Sly’s dick. You’d hate Eva checking out another man’s junk.”

  A menacing growl broke free from Saber.

  “Exactly,” Joe continued. “And Sly wouldn’t be thrilled exposing his dick to his brother’s mate, either. Go and tell the women there will be a ten-minute delay.”

  Saber grimaced at the tented covers. “What happens if ten minutes isn’t long enough?”

  “Then we’ll have to check with Casey, I guess.” Joe cupped his twin’s shoulder, anxiety filling him at the coolness of Sly’s skin. “Sly needs physical contact. He seems colder than yesterday.”

  Saber placed his palm on Sly’s chest and frowned. “You’re right. Okay, ten minutes. The line isn’t long, anyway. It will take time for word to filter through. There are so many other activities on offer.”

  Saber strode to the door and exited. Seconds later, he shot back inside. “Joe, we might have a problem.”

  “What?”

  “The line is already longer than when I came in here.”

  “How much longer?” Joe peeked out the door, his eyes widening upon seeing the excited women. The blue ladies who didn’t want mates stood in the front.

  “We’re eagerly anticipating this,” one of the blue ladies called.

  “I hope Felix and Leo made sure these women watched the movie about the correct way to kiss,” Joe said with a frown.

  Saber laughed. “Scarlett came up with the idea of making them kiss a balloon once they watch the movie. Anyone who pops the balloon with their tongue or teeth has to watch the movie again and go to the back of the line.”

  Joe gnawed his bottom lip, indecisive. Was this right? Sly was his best friend. He was closer to his twin than anyone else, and guilt roared through him. Was he doing this for himself or his brother? He straightened his shoulders. No, it was for both of them. He and Sly would have their cattle.

  His gaze darted back to Sly’s groin. “Saber, I think we’re good now. Give me five minutes, then send in the first three women.”

  Saber stepped outside and closed the door. Joe took a deep breath and gripped Sly’s forearm, willing his body heat into his brother.

  Sly’s chest barely moved. He was ashen now, and Joe’s throat thickened every time he glimpsed his twin. He’d been unconscious for almost three days, and Joe missed talking with him, having a joke, and griping about Saber and his lack of foresight regarding the farm.

  “You ready?” Saber asked.

  Things were back to normal with Sly’s dick, so he nodded. “Yep, send in the first three women.

  “First lady,” Joe said briskly. “Kiss him gently, like you kissed the balloon. If you wake him, you win a private date with Sly.”

  “I can do it,” the blue lady said with confidence. She bent her head and pressed her lips to Sly’s.

  Joe watched carefully but she played by the rules. She stood back, and Sly remained still. “Come stand by me,” Joe said, placing her hand on Sly’s arm. Might as well fill Sly with extra heat.

  The second lady kissed him. Nothing.

  The third. Nothing.

  Joe sent the ladies out after plucking flowers from the basket and tucking one each behind their ears. A consolation prize. Saber sent in the next three ladies, and they repeated the process for an entire hour.

  Not a single kiss woke Sly, but at least he was warmer now.

  Chapter Twelve

  The castle, Seelie, a week later

  Sly dressed in a flash suit—the silver and ruby-red garment given to him by Alfric, as per Princess Iseabal’s instructions. He stared at his reflection and snorted. He looked like a friggin’ girl with all the lace and frills.

  “Here is your hat, my lord,” Alfric said.

  “Do I have to wear that?” Sly turned the silver three-pointed hat in his hands. It sported a perky red feather. “Ah, what is it?”

  “A tricorne, my lord. It is part of the traditional dress worn during a banns reading.”

  He pushed out a sigh, fought back the dozens of smart-arse comments tickling his tongue and plopped the tricorne on his head. Transformation complete.

  “You’re running late, my lord,” Alfric intoned.

  “I’m going now.” Sly strode from his room and headed toward the Great Hall. Evidently, the chapel was in a room off the hall. His footsteps slowed despite his tardiness. He should recall offering marriage to Princess Iseabal. A life event like that should stick with a man.

  Once he reached the Great Hall, a steady stream of people pointed him in the right direction. The chapel. Princess Iseabal waited by the entrance, a dark glower on her golden face. Wisely, Sly blurted an apology before she started to speak. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “This is the first reading of the banns,” Princess Iseabal whispered in a fierce undertone. She wore a red gown with silver trim, which made them a matching pair. “You are making me look stupid. The priest is ready.”

  He was having trouble breathing. Sly surreptitiously tugged at his collar as he offered the princess his arm. He guided her into the chapel.

  “We sit at the front,” the princess said.

  Sly ignored the flurry of whispers and guided the princess to an empty pew at the front. Lord Calum, Princess Katrina and Prince Liam were already seated. Sly settled Iseabal and slid onto the pew beside her.

  A woman wearing a red robe, her hair covered by a hood, glided to the front of the chapel. She raised her hands in prayer and began a melodic chant. The rest of the congregation joined in. Sly kept his gaze down and remained silent. He expected the woman would stop after a while, but the chanting continued. He didn’t comprehend a word. Peculiar, since he understood everyone as a rule. The incantation went on and on and on. Sly yawned, then grunted at the elbow in his ribs from Princess Iseabal.

  Sly swallowed a disgruntled retort. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t understand how he’d found himself betrothed.

  The vocalizing ended on an exuberant hum. Finally.

  Sly straightened as silence fell.

  “Now for my final duty for today. It is with honor that I publish the banns of marriage between Princess Iseabal MacAsgain and Lord Sly Mitchell. This is the first time of asking. If any of you know any reason in law why they may not marry each other, you are to declare it. We pray for Princess Iseabal and Lord Sly as they prepare for their wedding.”

  No one uttered a word.

  Sly swallowed, everything in him protesting. An objection. Do it.

  But his protest remained unspoken.

  “Thank you,” the priest said. “I will see you next holy day.”

  Princess Iseabal turned to him with a beatific smile, her golden beauty dazzling in that moment. Her face glittered with happiness, with triumph, while Sly struggled with the how and the why. He forced a smile, tried to project pleasure and excitement, but a heavy weight crushed the unwilling emotions flat.

  This betrothal business trapped him, beat him down, snapped around him like a steel trap, and he felt as if he should try to gnaw his way free, but he had no idea of where to start.

  The next day

  Another interminable event with Princess Iseabal and her friends. This afternoon it was a tea party out in the gardens and singing. Sly scowled at the woman currently trilling vocals. The sort of singing that built raging headaches. Liam had left Seelie to attend a sale. Sly had wanted to go, but Princess Iseabal had created a fuss. Such a fuss, he’d agreed to stay and attend her stupid party. Huh. Screaming tantrum, more like. Tha
t boded well for future harmony.

  The diva came to the end of her song, holding the last shriek for an excruciatingly long time. She bowed and Sly applauded, glad, so glad, she’d finished.

  No one else clapped.

  Heads turned. Several of the ladies, young and interchangeable in his mind, giggled behind their hands.

  “Barbarian,” Lord Calum said, and flicked his wrist in Sly’s direction.

  Energy tugged and pulled, lifting the hair at the back of his neck. Big, fluffy gloves puffed onto Sly’s hands, muting his appreciation. The titters grew louder. Sly snorted and slipped off the lilac gloves. He stuffed them under his chair.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said. “I assumed everyone would show appreciation of the singer.” He rose, conscious of the sniggering expressions of Iseabal’s friends. Excuse me. Princess Iseabal’s friends.

  “Where are you going?” Princess Iseabal demanded.

  “I require fresh air,” Sly said, backing up.

  “But we’re outside.”

  Yeah. Fresh air. “I will return soon.”

  Another step backward sent him into a collision. He froze as drinks and tiny cakes flew in all directions and dropped to the ground. Ping. Ping. Ping. Crash.

  A feminine grunt sounded behind him.

  Sly whirled to view the carnage. The maidservant sat on the ground. Her tray—upside down—glittered from the garden. The rainbow-colored cakes had splattered gowns and velvet suits, pristine tablecloths. Silver goblets had disgorged their contents, mostly on Lord Calum.

  “You imbecile!” Lord Calum sprang to his feet, fury contorting his golden face.

  “It was an accident—” Sly said, breaking off when he realized the direction of the lord’s fury. It wasn’t at him.

  Lord Calum’s hand flashed, and black spots broke out on the servant’s face. “Clean up this mess. By hand,” he spat. “No magic.” He tugged his wet jacket away from his torso. “My clothes are ruined.”

  Someone behind Sly snickered, and Lord Calum’s face turned puce. The servant swallowed, panic stripping the color from her features, the black spots standing out in stark relief.