by AJ Nuest
“You laughed.” She chuckled, though the slight blush of her cheeks and her heavy lids bespoke of a woman fully gratified…and completely his. She wrapped an arm backward around his neck and brushed a kiss along his jaw. “Right at the end, you laughed.”
Assuredly his reaction had been strange, yet the details behind it were of no concern. Not with the way he still nested inside her, and the water aided the course of his palms over her ivory skin.
“You bring me joy, my love.” Resting his arms about her waist, he swayed them back and forth, nuzzling her ear. “‘Twould seem my body is of one accord with my heart.”
“Well…” She laughed again. “Have you ever done that before?”
“No.” And, moving forward, no other woman would be presented a similar occasion. He leaned them down together and grabbed the vanilla essence from the side of the tub. A small squirt into the center of his hand and he soaped her back, her shoulders and arms. His cock jerked and lengthened inside her as he reached around and lathered her breasts.
“Uh oh.” She slumped. “Let me guess. Your muscles are starting to tense up again.”
Yes, one muscle in particular was becoming exceedingly tense. He leaned to the side and caught her eye, waggling his brows.
Her face remained deadpan. “Okay, fine. But when we get back, you’re building me a shower in Castle Austiere.”
When they returned—if they both returned—he would build her whatever apparatus she damn well pleased. “I fail to see the losing end of that bargain, my love.”
“Yes.” Her seductive smile spread slow and lazy. “In this realm we call that a win-win.”
Chapter Four
“We’re home!” The front door slammed under the call of Oliver’s greeting. “If you’re naked, consider this fair warning!”
Rowena smirked at Caedmon from their spots opposite a corner of the kitchen table. The embers of lust smoldering in his gaze heated her body several degrees, settling to a slow lazy swirl in her belly. Good thing Jon and Oliver returned when they had. Half an hour earlier and Oliver’s disclaimer would have held merit.
After her and Caedmon’s recreational activities in the bathroom, followed by a nearly frenzied fifteen minutes against one wall in the hall, not to mention the two languid hours they’d spent exploring the mesmerizing facets of one another’s bodies in the bedroom, every inch of her skin tingled with an awareness she’d never before experienced. A simple glance from Caedmon, the subtle shift of muscle when he moved or the soft brush of his fingertips along her arm and, before she knew it, she was writhing beneath him again—or above him, or beside him—while he murmured his undying love in her ear. If not for this lunch break to rehydrate and boost their flagging energy, Jon and Oliver could have easily walked in on them going at it like two insatiable, love-struck teenagers.
The husky chuckle that rumbled in Caedmon’s chest echoed her thoughts, and she fanned her warm cheeks, grinning. Oh yeah, his mood had definitely improved, but he wasn’t getting off that easy. He still had some cleaning up to do.
She sat forward and kept her voice low. “Now, when Jon comes in, be nice.”
He pushed away from the table and stood, keeping her fixed within his sights. He rounded her chair, tangled his fingers in her hair and tipped her head back, plying her lips with a searing kiss. “I am nothing if not nice, my love.”
The nip of his teeth at the corner of her mouth sent her pulse skittering into hyper-drive. But he was certainly wrong about one thing. Nice didn’t begin to describe all the tantalizing sensations he coaxed from her body.
The kitchen door swung open and Jon and Oliver entered. Several dry-cleaning hangers hung from the bent index finger Oliver held near his shoulder, the cellophane wrappers wafting in the air as the door swayed to a stop behind him. He appraised the two of them with a calculating scrutiny as Jon strode straight for the counter and unburdened himself of the three bulky grocery bags in his arms.
White paper and plastic crinkled as Oliver draped the dry-cleaning over the back of a chair. His focus came to rest on her and he lifted a shrewd brow. “You have a love bite on your neck.”
Rowena huffed. Her neck, her shoulders, her breasts… Hell, Caedmon had marked her as his from nape to knees. “You should see the rest of me.”
Jon cleared his throat, opened the refrigerator and began restocking the contents. Yet the pointed way he refused to acknowledge their presence spoke volumes about his state of mind. His feelings had been hurt, and only one person in the room held the power to talk him down off his emotional ledge.
Rowena rolled her head back on her shoulders to search Caedmon’s gaze, appealing to his chivalrous side with a silent plea.
His lips firmed and he nodded once before releasing her. He circled the table to stand at Jon’s side, emptied the young man’s hands of a package of bagels and grasped Jon’s fingers in his.
She and Oliver exchanged a wide-eyed glance before Ollie scooted a chair from the end of the table and centered it behind Jon’s knees.
“I owe you an amends, Jon.” Caedmon lifted his bowed head and Jon plopped to the seat with a heavy thump. “Though you are fair of face and posses a joyous nature, the tides of our lives run an opposing course. And while I’ve no qualms we’d undoubtedly be well suited, alas my heart and the desires of my body do now and will always belong to my beloved Rowena. You see, in comparison to her, all others pale.”
Rowena lowered her chin against a chuckle. Hot damn, the man was good—softening his rejection with a compliment, paying due respect all while expertly deflecting any further advances.
He’d always had a talent with words, though. Coupled with how he’d literally interpreted her advice and appealed to Jon’s feminine side, attending him as if he were a maiden at court, Caedmon practically had the young man eating out of his hand.
Wait a second… She squinted. Just how often had Caedmon practiced this speech?
“No, Sire.” Jon’s eyelids fluttered, his chest heaving. “I’m the one who should apologize. I overstepped and that was terribly rude. I certainly didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He glanced over his shoulder at Oliver. “Or insinuate anything more than how happy I am that you’re here.”
Uh oh… Rowena peeked at Ollie from under her lowered lashes. His chin was elevated a notch, his arms crossed. Apparently the two of them had shared a tense discussion about appropriate behavior while out running errands.
“Quite right.” Caedmon cleared his throat. “And I consider Oliver a lucky man.” He hesitated a moment, leaned down and perfunctorily pecked Jon’s cheek, though the slight grimace which followed came across as if Caedmon had just sucked the juice from a lemon.
Jon reverently placed a hand on his cheek, his jaw unhinged.
Caedmon straightened and shot her a private wink, and Rowena expelled a sarcastic huff. Yep. He’d had plenty of experience doling out that same persuasive discouragement in the past.
Oliver approached the back of Jon’s chair, tilted his lover’s head back and pressed a kiss to Jon’s forehead. “Thank you,” he mouthed.
Good grief. Now if someone would just cue the Disney music, all would be right in the land of flowers and unicorns. Unfortunately, they had more pressing matters at hand. Rowena jerked her chin toward the layers of dry-cleaning waiting on the chair. “So what’s the plan, guys?”
“Right.” Oliver squeezed Jon’s shoulders before facing the table. He lifted the garments and divided them by individual bags, handing them out around the kitchen. “I think you’ll find the wardrobe selections meet with your approval, but we don’t have much time if we’re to make it to Violet’s soiree by nightfall.”
Rowena frowned, trying to page through the hangers inside the plastic. Whatever Oliver had chosen for her was white, with sheer diaphanous tiers and a silk cape. What, did he think she was getting married at this affair? She’d been hoping for leather pants, just like the ones she wore at Castle Austiere. How, exactly, did he expect
her to sneak in undetected wearing a poofy dress and a veil?
She shot him a scathing glare and he wiggled his fingers at her. “Spit-spot kids and let’s get changed. Our travel time is over two hours and I still need to do Ro’s hair.”
Oh God. Her shoulders fell. How could she have forgotten? Oliver was the male incarnation of Marcelene.
Crumpling the dress in one hand, she stood and led Caedmon down the hall to their room. A quick scan of his outfit after he’d tossed it onto the bed and she muttered a heated curse. The leather pants and white shirt were almost identical to his usual garb. All he needed was a scabbard and sword and—
Dammit. She tapped her foot as he tore into the wrapping and held the shirt at arm’s length. They’d given him a baldric and blade. She thumbed the hilt from the leather casing and slammed it back into place. Sure, the silver was fake and the edges blunt, but it was still a blade.
Grumbling her way into the gown, she crammed her arms into the sleeves, tugged her head through the collar and centered the seams on her shoulders. The neckline seemed off, way too high up her chest and pulling at an odd angle across her breasts. The laced column near the end of each sleeve hung at least a foot past her fingers, and what was with the wide white ribbons attached to the sides?
She tied them into one big bow at her back and assessed her image in the dresser mirror. Fabulous. Two huge cinnamon buns affixed to either side of her head and she’d be the perfect, blonde, Princess Leia.
Caedmon strode into view behind her, settling the baldric over his left shoulder. His lips turned down in judicious appraisal and he nodded. “Very attractive, my love. I’ve always enjoyed you in white.”
He had to be kidding. She aimed a finger at the glass. “The only attractive thing in that mirror, is you. I mean, come on, Caedmon, just look at this mess.” She swooped up the meringue tiers of skirt and bounced them in her arms. “If this room had a fireplace I would toss the entire works straight into the flames.”
A soft rapping and they both turned as the door came ajar. Oliver poked his head inside, his smile slowly fading as he skimmed her from head to foot. He stepped into the room, closed his eyes and swept his middle finger and thumb along his cheekbones to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You really are a hopeless cause, you know that?”
“It’s this horrible dress, Ollie.” She tip toed around the hem to face him. “I can’t tell what’s heads or tails in this thing.”
“Here’s a thought.” He flipped his hands open at his sides. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have put it on backward.”
“Oh.” She dropped the skirt—or rather the train—to the ground. But how was she to know? Whoever had designed the garment had neglected to sew a tag into the collar.
Caedmon sputtered behind her and she whirled to find him intently inspecting the stitching along his ruffled cuff.
Sure, go ahead. Yuck it up, big boy. Once she got her daggers back, they would see who had the last laugh.
“Come on.” Heaving a labored sigh, Oliver grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the hall. “We may be a while, Your Highness. No telling how long this will take.” He snatched the remote off the desk and aimed at it at the flat-screened television hanging opposite the bed. The applause from some cooking show showered from the speakers and Oliver flipped the channel to NFL Live.
Caedmon slowly sank to the edge of the mattress. “Take however long you need.”
The next hour painfully ticked by while Rowena stood in the center of Oliver and Jon’s bedroom, arms raised then lowered, head back then chin down, letting them position her body while they strapped her into the gown. Admittedly, once the ribbons were criss-crossed tightly around her torso, the dress better fit her shape, and the little dabs of spirit gum Jon applied to the tips of her shoulders secured the scoop neckline at perfect forty-five degree angles.
A sneer threatened as they dragged her toward the master bath, but she bit her tongue and kept silent. And only a small groan leaked out as Oliver twirled her around and slammed her butt onto the vanity chair. Rowena closed her eyes and struggled to locate her happy place—riding Belial in the woods, Caedmon atop his steed at her side, nothing but wide blue sky and miles of verdant green hills unfurling before them.
A sweep of eyeliner across her lids from Jon’s adept hand, and she flinched. A tug on her hair as Oliver tamed her unruly waves, and she grimaced. Powder pressed her nose, brushes swept her cheeks, lip gloss daubed her mouth. Evidently Jon’s association with the theatre was a good excuse to keep cosmetics readily on hand.
She reeled as the chair swiveled toward the door. They lifted her by both arms and marched her before the bedroom’s full-length mirror.
Rowena gasped, withdrew a step, then moved closer. Soft material gathered along her breasts from under a gold-embossed neckline, the layers held in place by the wide white ribbons that accented her waist. Juliet sleeves laced up her forearms, the thin gold cords tied into neat little bows inside each of her wrists. An embroidered belt rested comfortably on her hips, the decorative strip bisecting a skirt that wafted to the floor as ethereal as a cloud.
The hem swirled around her toes when she turned to the side. Her hair tumbled loose past the draping back, several small sections plaited and wound amid a mass of white coils that framed the edge of her face.
She fully faced the mirror a second time and blinked. They’d done it. With barely a thought to their actions, they’d transformed her into the Candra-Scinlæce after whom she’d been named.
Jon opened the silk cape and draped it over her shoulders, reached around and secured the crystal studded clasp at the base of her throat. Smiling, he withdrew and linked himself to Oliver, each of them resting their arms around the other’s hips.
“You look breathtaking, doll.”
She grinned at Ollie in the glass. “All thanks to the two of you.”
“Oh, stop.” Jon waved away her comment. “You’re a natural beauty. We just highlighted what you already have.”
They exchanged a nod before breaking into a flurry of motion behind her, and though a vague, distant portion of her mind registered they were dressing for the event, Rowena remained focused on her image in the glass. Would Caedmon like the dress? Or would he think Oliver’s selection too over the top? Too…in his words…wantonly obvious? She stepped into the white silk slippers waiting near Oliver’s bed. Once, not long ago, she’d worn another elaborate white gown in Caedmon’s presence. On the beach, that first afternoon he arrived home from his imprisonment at Castle Seviere.
She jerked upright, her posture stiff as a board. When he saw her in something so similar, would his horrible flashbacks return?
“Do wizards ever really wear these things?”
Turning toward Oliver, she suppressed a chuckle at the long gray beard affixed to his cheeks, the gray wig trailing past his shoulders and heavy gray robes he’d tied with a rope at his waist. Had she known he was dressing as Fandorn, she would’ve told him to leave off the expensive cologne in favor of the acrid taint of burnt fish guts. In his hand, he held a high pointed hat, the silver stars and half moons sewn around the beaded, padded brim shimmering in the light. “Not any that I’ve ever seen.”
“Told you.” Jon poured rainbow glitter from a glass bottle into a small leather pouch. His chestnut hair had been tied back with a leather cord, the dark stubble of his five o’clock shadow trimmed to accent the hollows of his cheeks. He cinched the drawstring and tucked the ends into a leather belt, the brass buckle centered under a colorful phoenix silkscreened on his red polyester tunic. With those brown pointed elf shoes, blue tights, and the bow and quiver slung across his back…
Rowena widened her eyes. He was either the gayest Merry Man she’d ever seen, or a cross between and Prince Valient and the Jack of Hearts.
He met her gaze and smiled. “You two all ready?”
Oliver tossed the wizard’s hat onto the bed and swept his hand toward the door, waiting for her to lead them down the hall.
> Her pulse skipped a beat as they neared the guestroom. The canned cheers of a stadium crowd washed past her ears as the football announcers chatted over the post-game highlights. Her knees jittered and her breath grew thin. She wrung her hands and then shook them out at her sides. If Caedmon showed the slightest bit of discomfort, she would march straight back into the bathroom and change into her bib overalls.
A peek around the corner at Caedmon, still sitting rapt on the end of the bed, and she stepped into the threshold, clearing her throat.
He glanced over and then snapped his head around, his penetrating gaze absorbing the length of her from her hair to her toes. He slowly stood and lowered his chin. His shoulders bunched, and her heart leapt as his fingers curled in on themselves and his long stride ate up the distance between them. Each time he’d come at her with such determination before, she’d been left weak-kneed and gasping under the potency of his kiss.
Stopping before her, he reached for her face with both hands.
“Not her hair!” Ollie warned at the same time Jon blurted, “Don’t ruin her makeup!”
Caedmon darted an agitated frown over each of her shoulders, but his hands fell away and he knelt on one knee, clasping her fingers in his. “Your beauty outshines that of Helios, my love.” The wonder…the fierce devotion in his gaze sent joy cascading through her limbs. “I am humbled beyond measure to be the man at your side.”
A shimmering iridescence coated the air, and Caedmon sputtered then coughed as Jon’s rainbow glitter wafted down to catch in his lashes, sticking to his lips and blanketing his hair.
Rowena tossed a sarcastic glower at Jon before dusting the sparkles from Caedmon’s shoulders.
“What?” Jon asked. “If ever the moment called for a little magic dust, it was after a confession like that.”
They all shared a chuckle as Caedmon stood, secured her hand in the crook of his elbow, and led them down the hall to the door.
* * *
Rowena filled her lungs as she stepped from Oliver’s Land Rover, enjoying the sobering effects of the brisk night air. Thank God the two-hour trip was finally over. The greenish tint that had haunted Caedmon’s cheeks during Oliver’s expeditious route through the weekend traffic on the Dan Ryan expressway, epitomized the persistent anxiety tingling inside her belly. Much of the time Caedmon had kept his head down, staring at his feet, though the way he snapped to attention at Oliver’s most recent request proved his hearing still worked.