To Have & to Hold

by Mackenzie Lucas

  And how the hell had Michael found her? She’d been in contact with none of her old acquaintances in England. There was no way, short of magick, he could have found her. None at all.

  Cate touched the air with her fingertips and spoke the incantation. Reveal your source of magick.

  The air snapped and crackled. Energy sparkled and then fizzled almost immediately. The trail had gone cold. The man had been gone too long for her to trace the magick. If a human wielded this magick, it spelled trouble for not only her but the Dragon Consortium, because even though she couldn’t track the source, she could smell the almondy scent that, thanks to her husband, she’d come to associate with dragons.

  Dragon magick had definitely been used to track her down.

  But Michael James was no dragon.

  Chapter Six

  “David will be here later today,” Hattie announced when Cate entered the kitchen half an hour later.

  “David Pierson? Why?” She dropped her purse and keys on an antique sideboard and studied the soft lined face of the older woman. Hattie never showed anxiety, but today tension pinched her mouth. In her late fifties and thin and wiry, Hattie McDaniels wore her platinum gray hair short. An inch and a half all over, it stuck straight up at wild angles. Big bronze hoop earrings dangled from her tiny ears. The blue scoop-necked cotton knit top that perfectly matched her shrewd eyes was cinched at her waist with a matching bronze belt dangling into the folds of her multi-colored skirt. Hattie’s bohemian style seemed earthy and natural on a dragon mage midwife.

  “Trouble’s brewing.”

  “What kind of trouble now?”

  “Michael James. He’s come looking for you. David asked us to deter Michael until after he arrives. He’d rather you didn’t meet him alone.

  Cate laughed. “Why not? I can handle Michael.”

  “They found a murdered woman in the London office of your trust solicitors. Evidence links her to Michael.”

  “No, that can’t be right. Michael wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

  “David didn’t elaborate and it’s not my position to question the Consortium leader.”

  “I thought I saw Michael today when I went into town.”

  “Did he follow you home?”

  “No, I don’t think so. I lost him on the street in Mystic Springs.”

  “I’ll have Declan and Anu patrol the perimeter of the property.”

  “Are you certain he said Michael James? I can’t believe he’d harm anyone.”

  “Are you calling the Consortium leader a liar?”

  Cate shook her head, confused. “No. Not David.”

  “If he sent a warning, there’s a viable threat. He’s never wrong, that one.”

  “Understood.” Cate worried her bottom lip. “I’m going upstairs to rest.” Something was brewing, and it was more than trouble stirred up by a very human Michael James. Cate smelled a Consortium rat. She just didn’t know where or who, yet. But she would.

  She walked through the great room and watched while a gray sheet of rain moved across the sky, the high winds whipped the treetops. Rain lashed the windows as darkness settled in, and the noonday sun disappeared. An artificial twilight cocooned the chalet. Lightning split the sky. A chill ran up her spine and the hairs on her neck rose. Static electricity? Or an omen?

  Hattie had followed her into the great room. The midwife touched her temple. “I’ll be downstairs in my room if you need me. I have a pounding headache.”

  They’d struck a comfortable balance since she’d arrived. Hattie had given Cate plenty of room to adjust to the pregnancy over the past four months. She didn’t hover, didn’t expect to be entertained, didn’t hope to be Cate’s best friend. She provided support when asked and listened when Cate felt like talking.

  “Thanks, Hattie. I’m not the best company today. Sorry.”

  “No worries, darling. I understand. Call me on the intercom if you need me.”

  Cate nodded and hugged herself. She’d been more tired recently, feeling the tug of the growing baby on her own body. A flutter behind her navel made her pause. She pressed the flat of her palm against it and caressed once. The quiver of movement stopped. She waited, but he didn’t move again. She didn’t know when she’d started thinking about the baby as a he, but she knew the baby growing inside her was male. And she loved it. A boy. A rumbling, tumbling, rough-housing boy. She couldn’t wait to meet him. Sadness pressed in on her, stealing her breath. Grayson would never know his son--never fish on the banks of Linn Run with him, never play catch in the yard or teach him to throw the perfect spiral pass. And that just depressed the hell out of her.

  Everything would look better after a restorative nap. Rosy even. As if it could. She climbed the stairs to the loft, dread dogging her every step. The loft’s half-wall overlooked the great room below and opened to a sitting room lined with bookshelves and a stone fireplace on the far wall as well as the closed door to the master suite. Thunder rumbled overhead. Lightning blanched the room white.

  The beveled black and white photograph hanging on the wall comforted her. She missed her grandfather’s ready smile and caustic humor. He’d been a card, cutting up and making her laugh through most of life’s ups and downs. He’d know just how to handle this situation with Grayson. And her future.

  She needed a game plan for her life. Yes, she’d decided to put down roots here. But what would that look like for her? How could she get involved in the small-town community when she might have a dragon baby on her hip? Overwhelmed at the unexpected turn her life had taken, she just wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head. Disappear. Vanish. Or make her problems all go away. Sometimes she thought maybe it would have been better if she’d died in that sinking yacht in the Celtic sea. If they’d both died that day. A quiet, watery death might have been preferable to this agonizing pain she forced herself to face every single day.

  No. She rubbed her tummy. Then she’d never have become a mother. Never experienced the trials and joys of pregnancy and whatever lay beyond for her. She squeezed her eyes tight against the emotional pain that threatened to swamp her. She could do this. One day at a time. But first things first. A nap.

  Cate twisted the handle of the door to her bedroom and pushed it wide. She paused, allowing the calm the room evoked to steal over her. With its high, knotty pine A-frame ceiling and wall of windows overlooking her back yard and the forest beyond, the master suite provided a much needed refuge.

  Sage green walls and white trim blended with the lush green landscape visible through the bank of windows. She walked into the room then continued straight ahead to look out at the patch of garden next to the flagstone patio where she’d spent so much of her time this past month and a half, working the rich soil, trying to coax the stubborn primrose bushes back to life. She’d planted gerbera daisies, lavender, and Asian lilies just last week. The heads of the daisies swayed and bent low under the onslaught of bad weather. She didn’t know if the garden would survive the day.

  A cold draft of air brushed her bare forearms and curled around her neck. Her skin tingled, from her tattoo and radiated lower. Danger. The whispered word echoed through her brain in Grayson’s soft, husky timbre and had her head snapping to the sliding glass door on her right.

  The door stood open five inches or so. She couldn’t remember opening it before she left for town this morning. But who knew these days? Pregnancy, not to mention the added stress of her life, had a way of making her forgetful. Or at least that’s what Hattie said. Cate chose to believe her. Wind billowed the sheer white curtain. Rain blew inside, puddling on the wide plank floor.

  Cate grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wiped up the water, then locked the door to the porch that wrapped around the entire house. Over-sized green rocking chairs bobbed a ghostly dance. Wind and rain pinged against the glass. She hadn’t seen it rain this hard in a long time, if ever.

  She turned her back on the wild scene outside, ready to snuggle in her king-sized bed. Tha
t’s when she noticed it. A bottle of champagne sat propped on her pillow, a note beside it.

  She lifted the bottle and read the label. Not just any bottle of champagne. Nineteen-eighty-five Krug. Vintage. Expensive. The same wine she’d bought for Grayson for their anniversary that fateful night on the Celtic Sea. The night she should have died.

  Had Hattie delivered it for Grayson?

  She sat the bottle on the nightstand and read the note.

  I’ve missed you. Let’s celebrate new beginnings together.

  Grayson? He didn’t want to have anything to do with her or the baby. He’d made that perfectly clear in his dry-as-dust letter. So where had the bubbly come from? Hattie would know. She reached for the intercom next to her bed on the nightstand to ask. The machine didn’t squawk like normal when she pressed the button. She pressed again. Nothing. She followed the cord, only to find it unhooked from the wall jack. She stared at it. She was too tired right now to worry about the intercom. Nor could she begin to bend and twist herself to get it plugged in behind the heavy headboard.

  She stared at the champagne bottle. Memories battered her. All the tender moments they’d shared. Tears welled in her eyes. God, she missed him. Who was she kidding by holding tenaciously to her denial? No one but herself. She wanted him more right now than she had four months ago. Lust tugged hard at her. It had been four long months. But who’d count those four months as a trial when she’d waited a whole year for him before that? Okay, so, four unbearable, lonely months, after the greatest sex in her life felt like an eternity. Abstinence, apparently, made reunion sex world-shattering. Yeowza. Heat rushed through her body at the mere thought of that day. His bare chest and ripped abdomen. The trail of dark hair that dove into his jeans, pointing the way to fulfillment. Muscular arms holding on to her as if she’d hung the moon and the stars, and his sweet tongue confirming she’d accomplished just that feat as he coaxed her to love him. Even when she didn’t want to love him.

  The sound of two glasses clinking behind her made her freeze. She sucked in a shaky breath. He was here. Grayson?

  She turned around slowly. Shock and a jitter of fear skittered up her spine.

  “Michael? What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chapter Seven

  “How did you find me?” Why was he here, inside her house?

  “I have my ways.” Michael smiled, the warmth touched his amazing blue eyes and fanned tiny laugh lines at the corners. “Hello, Cate. I’ve missed you. You look gorgeous. The mountain air agrees with you.”

  “What are you doing here? And how did you get in?” Did he not understand he looked like a stalker? Creepy. And how had he gotten by Anu and Declan? Or Hattie, for that matter. Something wasn’t right. A tingle of magickal awareness hovered in the room. Michael? Magickal? No. She would have sensed it before now. She’d spent the better part of the past year with him. She’d know if he was magickal.

  Cate muttered the same words she’d used outside The Tea Cozy, her voice barely above a whisper. The powerful words wrapped around her and spread out, a wispy trail of sparks dispersing in their wake. Reveal your source of magic.

  He cocked his head, the corner of his mouth lifted. He didn’t seem to notice the spell. “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “You did that, all right.”

  The magick swirling around Michael became visible to Cate. Dark golden swirls in an intricate pattern. An old language she recognized from her time with Grayson. Dragon magick. But different. Weaker. Not coming from inside Michael, but maybe from something he wore or carried.

  He walked toward her holding the glasses in one hand and pulled Cate close with his free hand. He kissed her temple, then brushed past her to set the champagne flutes on the nightstand. He picked up the bottle and removed the wire cage from the cork.

  The dragon tattoo on Cate’s neck prickled, like a premonition of something bad. But what? This was Michael, her friend and Grayson’s best friend. He couldn’t be a murderer. But she’d heard otherwise from Hattie, and now he wielded dragon magick.

  He popped the cork on the bottle. Vapor swirled from the lip like the smoke from a witches brew.

  “What are we celebrating?” Cate knew what his note had said. She wanted a better explanation.

  “New beginnings.” He handed her a flute filled with golden pale champagne.

  “Michael, it’s too early to drink.” She needed to come up with a plausible excuse for not drinking. She didn’t plan to tell him she was pregnant. She wasn’t sure why. Just that she wasn’t interested in sharing that bit of news with him. Maybe self-preservation?

  “Nonsense. Just a sip or two won’t hurt you or the baby.”

  She stilled. How did he know? Surely Grayson wouldn’t talk about his baby or how he’d abandoned them both, not even to Michael. Would he? God, she hoped not.

  “What? I know you’re pregnant.”

  Suspicions confirmed. Damn it, Grayson. How could you?

  Not from me. The sound of Grayson’s sexy-as-hell voice caressed her ear. She glanced over her shoulder to see if he also stood right behind her. Nope. The man wasn’t even here and he was fucking with her head.

  I hate you. Anger surged in her chest. She did hate him at the moment. For everything he’d done to her, every disappointment he’d foisted on her, for making her love him so she couldn’t walk away. Ever.

  No, you don’t. You love me. Don’t drink the champagne.

  Now she had certifiably gone over the edge. She lifted the glass to her lips, tilted it to prove a point. He couldn’t control her. Not from a continent away. Not standing in the same room.

  I don’t want to control you. I want to take care of you and the baby.

  She stopped, drink half-way to her mouth. That’s not what the letter said.

  Not me. Never me.

  “Grayson instructed me to draft the letter he sent to you about the baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d keep it a secret. He surely didn’t.”

  Liar.

  The skin on her neck itched. “Wait, what? I don’t understand. You wrote the letter?”

  Michael sat on the bed. Lifted one leg onto the counterpane and propped himself against the headboard, watching her. “Guilty. Yes, sweet Cate. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I wanted to find you. Tell you it would be okay. I’ll take care of you. Divorce the rat. Marry me, instead. I’ll be a good father to your child.”

  Over my dead body. Do not listen to him. He lies.

  Someone shoot her now. She was having a virtual conversation with her husband who was an ocean away. Pathetic how her mind created such a fanciful pastime in absence of the real thing.

  I am the real thing. I’ll be there shortly. Hold on. And for God’s sake, don’t drink the champagne. He’s drugged it. Like he did last time.

  Last time? On the boat? Yes, she’d fallen asleep without any memory of what had happened for several hours only to find herself locked below deck and her husband wounded in a sinking yacht. She’d assumed Grayson had drugged her to pull off some kind of elaborate embezzlement scheme that had gone horribly wrong. If it had been Michael, then why?

  “Michael, I can’t marry you.”

  “No, not when you’re still married to Grayson. But we can fix that problem. Easily.”

  “I don’t want to fix that problem.”

  Atta girl!

  Hush.

  “Drink the damned champagne, Cate,” Michael commanded, his voice a threatening growl. He looked manic. His eyes glowed feverish in his flushed face. He twitched, humming with an erratic energy, while he watched her every movement. He grew a little more tense with each second that ticked away.

  To place as much distance as possible between them, she sat in the white armchair in the corner. She lifted the glass to her lips, pretending to take a sip, then lowered it. “Mmmm. That’s good.” She placed the glass on a nearby white wicker table.

  He relaxed against the headboard again.

  “Michael, I don’
t think you understand. I’ve taken sacred vows.”

  Why would Michael want to hurt her or Grayson for that matter?

  He wants you and your money. Always has.

  She was getting damned tired of the whispered conversation taking place in her head.

  “If your vows are so sacred, why are you living in the middle of nowhere, separated from your husband? I’d say you’ve already given up on your marriage.”

  That’s kind of the way she felt, too. But she’d never admit it to Michael. “Family emergency. I had to come. My grandfather’s estate needed attention and I decided to take a prolonged holiday because I didn’t feel well.”

  Michael drank from his flute, but the liquid didn’t lower in his glass either. Hmmm. Interesting. She played with the stem of her glass and wondered if Grayson would come to her rescue.

  Count on it.

  There wasn’t much she could count on these days. Michael did show up unannounced in her bedroom. Which was crazy in itself.

  Your bedroom? Get the hell out of there. Now.

  Cate shifted in her seat, ready to stand. Why the hell was she listening to the whispered warnings of her imagination? She’d gone over the edge.

  She couldn’t help searching for the truth in Michael’s face. And there it was. His eyes had turned wary, like an animal about to strike.

  “Drink up. Shouldn’t be long now before you begin to feel more relaxed.” A self-satisfied smile crossed his face. He almost purred.

  The bastard had drugged her champagne.

  “Michael, I can’t. It’s not good for the baby.”

  In normal circumstances, a drink or two wouldn’t hurt. But she didn’t want to drink. Especially if there was even a remote chance that Michael had drugged her a year ago and was trying the same thing again. But why? What did that buy him?

  Cate changed the subject. “Why don’t you come downstairs and meet Hattie? She’s my companion and the midwife I’ve hired to help me through the pregnancy.”