The Wedding Spell

by Donna Fletcher

  He yanked open the door and was surprised and in a way strangely pleased to see his very own witch standing there.

  His very own?

  When did he begin to think of her as his own?

  And a witch?

  At least this time she was fully clothed, and he had to admit he liked her diverse style; she always managed to appease and tease. She wore white wide-leg pants with a white and gold embroidered button-down vest. Her honey-blond hair was fashioned in a simple braid that hung almost to her waist, and she wore large gold hoop earrings, and dozens of gold bracelets chimed at her wrists. His glance purposely drifted to her feet tucked in gold sandals; the tiny toe bell sparkled in the sunlight.

  “Are you going to invite me in, or do witches intimidate you?” Her smile erupted into soft laughter.

  Her nature was mischievous, her grin contagious, and at that moment with his own smile broadening he wondered if she hadn’t actually cast a magical spell over him.

  He moved aside.

  Her step was light and followed by a whimsical chime, her bracelets to be sure, he convinced himself trailing behind her.

  She made her way into his family room and made herself comfortable on the beige sofa.

  “Iced tea would be lovely,” she said.

  He stared at her and gave a brief shake of his head. He had thought of asking her if she cared for iced tea, but had he verbalized his query?

  He nodded, went to the kitchen area, poured them each a glass, and returned.

  “I’m here to talk, not tempt,” she informed him after accepting the tall frosted glass.

  He sat on the opposite end of the sofa and braced himself in the corner to keep his distance.

  Ali sipped while admiring the snug fit of his faded jeans. They curved and hugged in the best places and his pale blue knit shirt defined his excellent physique so very nicely. When she met his dark eyes, she saw amusement mixed with pleasure.

  “I like what I see,” she admitted.

  “But wasn’t he about to ask her that? He had thought it, but had he voiced it? No, he was sure he hadn’t.

  “You’re a mentalist,” he said with sudden realization and relief.

  “One of my many abilities.”

  “I wasn’t aware that witches read minds. I thought they cast spells and followed rituals.”

  “Real, honest-to-goodness witches have many unique powers.”

  “You mean you could turn me into a toad if you so pleased?” He laughed.

  “I don’t waste my inherent ability on adolescent tricks, and besides,” she said, reaching for the book on witches that lay on the coffee table, “you should be more aware or knowledgeable shall we say, on the subject.”

  “I was curious,” he confessed.

  “About me?”

  He could tell she wasn’t teasing, she was serious. “About what you claimed to be.”

  She returned the book to the table. “You won’t find the answers you are searching for in books.”

  “Are you saying these books aren’t factual?”

  “To a point they are,” she conceded.

  “What point?”

  Her smile turned provocative. “That we exist. We are real.”

  “Then prove it,” he challenged. “Float an object, cast a spell, and show me you are who you claim to be.”

  She sighed. “I wish I could, but unfortunately my powers have dwindled considerably, and I can’t perform any such magical feats, though in my prime I could move you across the room with a crook of my finger.”

  He laughed, he couldn’t help himself. He found her antics delightful. “And that is why you need me.”

  She hesitated briefly, and he wondered over her fleeting misgiving. “Yes, Sebastian, I need you.”

  It sounded like a whispered pleas, almost as if he were her salvation. The odd sensation unnerved him.

  “But,” —she cautioned— “you must want this union, this coming together of our souls, this uniting as strongly as I do.”

  Crazy as it seemed, or as she was, he probably wanted it more, or at least at the moment he felt that way. His one consuming thought was to unbutton the row of pearly knobs that ran down her vest, slowly spread the intrusive material aside, and gently release her ample breasts from the confines of her silky garment. Then he would taste and tease her nipples until they grew hard, he grew hard and she grew wet.

  Her moan brought him back to reality reminding him of the fact that she could read his mind. Her face was flushed a faint red, and he was certain if he ran his hand across her breasts, her nipples would be rock hard.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, though not convincingly.

  She answered in her candid way. “I’m not. It proves just how much you do desire me.”

  “You’re crazy, and I’m crazy for being attracted to you.”

  She moved closer to him. “Then why deny us at all?”

  Her familiar sweet, potent scent assaulted him and further ignited his need. Her arms slipped around his neck and her mouth inched closer to his.

  He remained still, his one arm braced on the back of the couch and his other resting on the cushioned arm. He sat open and vulnerable, and she moved in with the lithe and grace of a skilled predator.

  Her lips met his with a tender touch, and her body maneuvered against him ever so gently, her breasts skimming his chest and her slim leg rubbing along his.

  Her kiss was pure magic, her lips gently persuading a response, and how could he deny her? His tongue greeted hers enthusiastically and she responded eagerly.

  He fought to maintain control of his senses, his desires, but she worked pure, hot undeniable magic on him, and he was soon lost to her enchanted touch.

  His control slipped from his grasp, or perhaps it was stolen, he wasn’t sure and at the moment he didn’t care. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, maybe even more. His hands shot out, gripping her, turning her until she lay beneath him and he took command. Gentleness vanished and in its wake followed undeniable passion. His tongue thrust into her mouth like a warrior wielding his mighty sword and she met his lusty thrusts not defensively but with equal skill.

  His fingers went to work on her buttons, popping one or two in his hasty attempt to free her breasts. He pushed the material aside and snapped the clip on her bra, and when the firm mounds broke free... he grew harder than he ever had.

  “My beautiful witch,” he whispered and caught her nipple with his teeth, teasing it stiff and before his mouth captured the rosy pebble whole.

  Her fingers gripped his arms, her long nails dug into his flesh, and her lustful moans filled his ears. All sensible thought vanished in the wake of heated passion. His mouth fed on her, his hands roamed her body, and her sensual cries speared his soul.

  He wanted nothing, nothing more than to be inside her, feel her hot and wet around him, hear her cry out for him, feel her climax along with his own.

  “Tell me you want me,” she said. “Please Sebastian, tell me you want me, need me like I need you.”

  Need.

  This was all to satisfy a need, a lustful need. Was that all he wanted from her? His body ached, swelled with desire for her, but what was it he really wanted from her, needed from her?

  “Sebastian?”

  He gently tasted her nipples once again and reluctantly withdrew his lips from her silky flesh and brushed a soft kiss across her lips.

  “I need to think about this before we take the next step,” he said and sat up, his hands going to her breasts to help cover her.

  She shoved his hands away. “I’ll do that.”

  He pushed her hands aside. “No, I’ll do that.”

  His demanding tone warned her not to argue, and she bit back a retort, realizing arguing would get her nowhere.

  Two top buttons were missing from her vest, and after he helped her to sit up, he went in search of them.

  She was about to inform him that his search was unnecessary, that she had extras, but she understood that
the buttons provided the distraction he momentarily needed.

  Ali straightened as best she could, though ignoring her raging hormones was a different matter entirely. She ached horribly for him, the pain so palpable that she thought the need for him just might kill her. She crossed her legs and stifled the moan that rushed to her lips.

  Instead she smiled when he handed her the two pearl buttons and frowned when he turned his back and moved to sit in the oversized chair across from the couch.

  He had put a safe distance between them, and she could sense that he meant to keep it.

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” she said, not wanting him to believe her only reason for coming here was to seduce him.

  “Didn’t you?” His expression was stern, his voice cautious, and his intent gaze roamed to her vest and the area where the two absent buttons left the tops of her full breasts exposed.

  “Want it, yes, plan it, no,” she admitted.

  Sebastian respected her frankness; now if only she would drop this farce of a story and confess her true intentions. He decided a change of conversation just might prove beneficial for them both. And besides, if he didn’t get his mind and eyes off her, he was definitely going to do something he would regret.

  He reached for his glass of iced tea that was anything but cold now.

  “Let’s get to know each other better.” He instantly regretted his foolish remark.

  She laughed and crossed her leg setting the tiny toe bell ringing gently.

  He silently cursed himself and swore that one day he would get his hands on that little bell of hers and—

  He shook his head. He damn well would make that toe bell never stop ringing.

  “What is it that you want to know about me, Sebastian?”

  That teasing erotic tone of hers could tempt a saint. Ignoring it the best he could he said, “Let’s start with where you went to school.”

  “I was privately tutored at home.”

  That would account for the absence of early childhood education records, but not the later years. “For how long?”

  “Until a teenager, then I attended an exclusive and very private school in Europe.”

  Suspicion put him on alert and his dark, studious eyes widened just a fraction. “Where in Europe?”

  “Ireland,” she volunteered, but with what Sebastian felt was a definite reluctance.

  “Where in Ireland? I have visited the country often and found it quite enchanting.”

  “Oh, that it is,” Ali said with a laugh, recalling her years of lessons with others like herself. Learning from the fairies in the woods, casting spells with masters, chanting, listening to stories and languages of the past and plans for the future, but how did one share such esoteric knowledge with a mere mortal?

  She sensed he waited impatiently, and he would continue to wait until she felt he was ready. “My lessons were diverse.”

  She was leading him away from where he intended to go, but then people often attempted that diversionary tactic on him, it never worked.

  “Your favorite lesson?” he asked, confident of answers.

  Ali’s smile was bold and beautiful and for a moment stole his breath. “Do you really want to know?”

  He managed to nod, his breath still locked in his throat and his heart beating like castanets in his chest.

  “Remember, you asked,” she warned, intending to be honest even if she risked seeming more insane to him.

  He nodded, thought he briefly wondered if it was a wise decision.

  “I simply adored playing and learning with the fairies in the woods.”

  All right, he would play along with her little game. “The woods were enchanted?”

  “All woods are enchanted. Nature thrives in abundance there, and therefore the fairies thrive,” she answered as if he was a student and she the teacher.

  “What did these fairies teach you?”

  “Secrets,” she whispered and pressed her finger to her lips.

  “Secrets that you cannot share?”

  “Not with mortals.”

  “And yet you tell me fairies exist; isn’t that against the witches’ rule book?” He was about to laugh when he caught the seriousness of her expression.

  “Such a pity,” she said sadly.

  He sat forward in his chair. “Isn’t there some kind of rule that stops you from reading my mind?”

  “You only need ask,” she said with regret.

  He was about to snap at her when he sensed her disappointment with his reaction, and gently he asked, “Would you please stop reading my mind?”

  “As you wish,” she said, “but if you change your mind you will let me know?”

  “I will let you know immediately.”

  Her smile once again returned. “And what was your favorite subject in school?”

  “All subjects interested me. I couldn’t get enough knowledge.”

  “But one, one in particular must have challenged you, compelled you to seek its wisdom. One you found more interesting than all others.”

  He laughed then, a robust laugh, as if what he recalled churned up happy and startling memories. My aunt insisted I take a particular course in the prep school I attended. I thought it foolish and a waste of my time, and yet it taught me more than I ever thought possible.”

  “What was it?” she asked eagerly.

  “Fencing,” he admitted without reluctance.

  “Oh, I love to fence.”

  “You know how?”

  “I was taught by—” She quickly stopped herself. How do you explain being taught by a man that was dead two hundred years? “— a wonderful man.”

  “In Ireland?” he asked, wondering over her brief pause, and besides, he wanted to get back to that school she attended and finally get a name.

  “No, in England,” she said and reached for her iced tea.

  “You attended a school in England as well?”

  She had, one hundred years ago. “Yes, and I always missed Wyrrd house when I was away. You know it has been in my family since the sixteen hundreds.”

  He was well aware of her attempt to change the subject, but now was as good a time as any to find out where she was born.”

  “It is a stunning place, and your family has preserved its past splendor while blending it with modern amenities quite well. Have you always lived there?”

  “I was born there.”

  “In the house?”

  “Right upstairs in the large master suite.”

  That might account for the lack of a birth certificate, though a doctor had to be in attendance and he was required to fill out documentation. There had to be a birth certificate somewhere. It was required as proof for so many things today.

  He decided to be blunt. “When is your birthday, Alisande?”

  “The winter solstice,” she said with pride.

  “December twenty-first of what year?”

  She laughed. “Are you trying to find out my age?”

  “Yes,” he admitted.

  “I’m much younger looking than my actual age.”

  Late twenties or possibly early thirties, he surmised. “Not going to tell me are you?”

  “Someday, Sebastian, you will know my age and much more. Until then let’s say I’m probably a wee bit older than you.”

  He didn’t think that was possible. He was thirty-six and she didn’t look anywhere near that age, but he would humor her for now.

  “I like older women. They’re intelligent, confident, and bring so much more to a relationship.”

  “Yes, the years can teach you much,” she said, thinking of the three hundred and so years she had lived thus far.

  He stood, marking the end of their conversation and obviously her visit. He didn’t trust himself to spend any more time alone with her. There was a hungry need in him for her, and he sensed the same in her for him and that disturbed him. He had been attuned to women before but never anywhere near the degree he felt for Ali. It was as if s
he were part of him and he was part of her and that type of close involvement frightened him. He had intended and wanted such closeness with the person he would spend the rest of his life with, the woman who would have his children, who he’d grow old with and who would love him forever.

  He walked to the door. “I’ll speak with you soon.”

  She stood only a short distance from him and yet he was aware of every part of her alive and vibrant with passion. It radiated from her like a pulsating energy. He was about to take a step back away from her when he thought he heard her cry out in disappointment.

  Her distress was so tangible to his senses that it forced him forward, his arms wrapped protectively around her, his mouth reach down for hers and they were soon lost in a kiss that robbed their senses and blended them together as one.

  This time Alisande brought their kiss to an end and with reluctance but haste she ran out the door without looking back.

  Chapter Ten

  Ali sat in the solarium deep in thought. Troubled thoughts, to be more exact, and of course the trouble was Sebastian. She had not stopped to consider that he owned a security firm and therefore would be more suspicious than the average person. The personal questions he had plied her with the other day when she visited him confirmed his skeptical nature.

  She worried how far he would go to uncover information on her. If one dug long and hard enough one could possibly find a minuscule amount of information that would eventually lead to further discoveries. She wanted him to believe her, to accept who she was... a witch. If he could accept her heritage, then perhaps he could also accept her true age.

  “Mortal trouble, my dear?” Aunt Sydney asked, entering the solarium and pouring herself a hot cup of honey lemon tea from the silver serving set on the table, then joining her niece on the wicker settee.

  “He asks too many questions,” Ali said with a sigh.

  Aunt Sydney studied her niece over the rim of the delicate china cup as she slowly sipped her tea.

  Ali shifted uncomfortably against the cushion, feeling unsettled and more than a little upset. “What if he finds the answers before he understands?”

  “What does he need to understand?”