“How so?” Sydney asked seriously.
“He obviously wants me, I can feel it. He can feel it. We both are engulfed by an overpowering passion whenever we are together and yet—” She shook her head.
“He refuses to act on his emotions?”
“Refuses? Ha, he’s downright adamant about not satisfying my simple request.”
“You did cast a spell on him when you first met?”
Ali hesitated and with reluctance said, “Yes.”
Sydney’s posture stiffened. “What spell did you use?”
“A good one,” Ali insisted.
“Alisande Wyrrd, I will not ask you again, what spell did you cast on this unsuspecting mortal?”
Ali knew better than to defy or disrespect her aunt, and besides she needed to confess her rash actions to someone. So her answer was forthcoming though with a bit of trepidation. “The magical love spell.”
Sydney gasped and collapsed back in her chair. “Do you realize what you have done, child?”
Ali held her chin defiantly high, her bravado a mere mask to cover her own misgivings. “Yes, I made an important life decision. And I hope you respect my wisdom enough to support my choice.”
Sydney spoke with love and concern. “You should have discussed this decision with an elder.”
“And they would have attempted to talk me out of it,” Ali insisted.
“Are you prepared to face the consequences of your rash actions?” Sydney asked her tone sympathetic.
“I tell myself I am, but when the time comes I wonder if I will be able to live with the outcome,” she admitted honestly, her worry finally surfacing.
“Do not doubt your abilities,” her aunt cautioned.
“What abilities?” Ali laughed with disgust. “I am almost powerless.”
Sydney smiled and offered her own wisdom. “My dear, what better way to win a mortal than by his own rules? Perhaps you have not allowed yourself to truly understand his ways. Remember, you must know your opponent even better than you do a friend.”
“I don’t think of him as an opponent.”
“You have waged a battle for him and for a dear price,” Sydney warned. “I would suggest you do all that’s in your power to win him, or you will learn the true meaning of sorrow. Another lesson that you have chosen, and may I suggest you keep in mind a favorite mortal expression.”
“Which is?”
“Look before you leap.”
o0o
An hour later Sydney left Ali sound asleep on the chaise. She retired upstairs to the comfort of a small room off her private quarters. It housed her precious collection of books and memorabilia, which she had collected over the centuries. Here is where she took teas, continued her studies, basked in the solitude, and listened to the silence. It was also a room where many sought comfort from her and advice.
“I expected you sooner, Dagon,” Sydney said, sitting in a petit point cushioned rocker near the window that looked out on the grounds of the vast Wyrrd estate.
Dagon stepped from the shadows in the corner of the room, and after an acknowledging nod from Sydney, he sat in the chair opposite her.
“What are you going to do?” He demanded and softened his tone when she sent him a chastising glance.
“You heard?” she asked, though the query wasn’t necessary.
“You were fully aware of my nearby presence at the pool. I half expected you to scold me in front of Ali for eavesdropping.”
“Nonsense,” Sydney said, “you did it out of love for her, not deceit. You care and therefore worry over her.”
He smiled, a wicked grin that usually had all women staring at him as if he were their favorite dessert. “I cherish her as if she were my sister. We played with fairies, rode dragons, and skinned our knees together. I have only the fondest of memories of growing up with her.”
“Yes, you two were always inseparable when you were young.”
A frown robbed Dagon’s smile. “Ali had a recurring dream that she would meet a man who would be her life mate for eternity. She insisted that she would know him when she saw him, as he would know her. Once they united they would never part. Time would stand still and they would be one.”
Sydney shook her head. “Magical love.”
“You must do something, or she will most certainly be hurt.”
“She has cast the spell. There is nothing I can do,” Sydney said helplessly.
Dagon stood, his shadow spreading over the room along with his temper. “I refuse to stand by and watch her get hurt. I swear on my family’s honor that if this mortal hurts her, he will pay dearly.”
“You cannot interfere, Dagon,” Sydney reminded firmly.
“If asked I can.”
“Ali would never ask you. She is proud and wants this mortal on her terms.”
“But if requested by either party involved in the spell, I may help,” he said, yet looked to Sydney for confirmation.
“Yes, if asked for help, you are permitted to give it.”
“I will keep that in mind,” he said, almost as if he already knew how he would use it to his advantage. “In the meantime I think we should look into this mortal’s background and see if he fits well with our Alisande.”
Sydney smiled brightly and motioned for Dagon to sit down, which he did. “You always looked before you leaped, dear boy. A marvelous trait.”
“I always felt it was better to be at an advantage than a disadvantage.”
“Exactly,” Sydney agreed, “which is why I have had a thorough background check done on Sebastian Wainwright.”
“By which methods, may I ask?”
Sydney grinned. “Need you ask, Dagon? I wanted pertinent information, not statistical facts.”
He leaned closer to his aunt and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Do you plan to share?”
She winked. “Oh, I have a plan all right.”
o0o
Ali dozed in and out of sleep, her restless state disconcerting. Her aunt’s words resounded in her head like a litany.
What better way to win a mortal than by his own rules.
Her eyelids grew too heavy for dozing, and wrapped snugly in her terry robe and curled comfortably on the lounge, she fell into a deep slumber.
o0o
She stood in Sebastian’s kitchen, a stranger in a foreign land. The place glowed in cleanliness. The countertops shined, the appliances bore no smudge marks or fingerprint stains, and yet the scent of freshly baked blueberry muffins from breakfast still permeated the air. The kitchen may have been kept spotless, but it was also well used and enjoyed.
What was that antiquated mortal saying? Ali thought, her finger tapping at her lips in concentration.
The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
She smiled triumphantly. “I will bake him a cake as mortals do, with my own two hands, a chocolate one with nuts and cherries and deliciously sweet and sinfully tempting chocolate icing.
Ali glanced down at herself; a yellow bikini wasn’t exactly baking attire, but it would have to do.
Armed with enthusiasm, she anxiously searched the cabinets. With little difficulty she located a cookbook, and perusing the pages, she found the perfect recipe for a chocolate cake she could easily adapt to her own taste.
She tucked the cookbook in the holder that cradled it at an angle that allowed easy reading, and silently praised mortals for devising gadgets that made their lives easier.
She set to work gathering the baking tools she felt were necessary to complete her task. She bubbled with excitement when she discovered an extra-large mixing bowl in the bottom cabinet and used it as a basket to hold all the other items she collected along the way.
With a light step and a joyful tune on her lips, she placed the full bowl on the extended, sand-colored countertop and went in search of the baking goods.
“Eggs, milk, chocolate, baking soda, baking powder, sugar, nuts, and cherries, too,” she sang, “this is so easy and exciting to d
o.”
Soon she was busy measuring, mixing, and chopping. Mortals made it relatively simple to bake with all their measuring gadgets and precise directions, though she relied more on taste adding a bit more of this and a little less of that and lots more cherries. She loved cherries.
When all the ingredients were thoroughly mixed, she cast a skeptical glance at the dark mixture, and deciding it was too dark, she added more flour. She dipped her hand in the flour canister, grabbed a handful, and dropped it into the bowl.
Without thought, she wiped her hand across her bare stomach, and then swatted at an itch on her nose.
“Sugar,” she said, liking sweets. “A handful.” She plunged her hand into the sugar canister and deposited a good amount into the bowl.
She blew at the loose strands of hair that fell on her forehead, and when they refused to budge she brushed them aside with her fingers.
The mixture was more difficult to blend than she had imagined so she grabbed milk from the fridge and added it until she was satisfied with the consistency. Bunches of cherries and chopped nuts followed.
When it was all done she smiled with satisfaction and went in search of baking pans. It took four pans to hold the entire mixture, and while it baked she got busy on the icing.
She wasn’t prepared for the difficulty of melting chocolate and soon she found that her hand had left smudges of chocolate on her yellow bathing suit.
She scratched her chin and rubbed her cheek and released a long sigh, deciding spells had their advantages.
Ali worked hard creating her own cherry-chocolate icing and it wasn’t until she caught the scent of burning cake that she realized the oven was smoking.
She yelped, swung open the oven door, coughed at the smoke that rushed at her face, and let out another yelp before grabbing the oven mitts and rescuing the charring cakes.
Ali stared in abject horror at the burnt and shriveled cakes, at the wretched mess that covered the counters, and at the chocolate icing spread over almost everything but the cake.
Where had she gone wrong? Mortals did this every day. Why couldn’t she?
Tears pooled in her green eyes as she stood in complete awe of the mess she had made of everything.
o0o
Sebastian arrived home from work worn out. He was looking forward to a light supper, a good glass of wine and hitting the sack early.
He found Ali standing in his kitchen—at least he thought it was his kitchen. He wasn’t certain if she had laid siege to the place or the kitchen had waged war against her. He had to admit that he certainly admired her war gear. One look at her in that yellow bikini would cause any fighting man to surrender. The chocolate smudges on her chin and cheek resembled war paint, as did the spot of flour on her nose and the streaks of flour spread across her flat stomach. She was certainly decked out in full war paint.
But it was the sparkle of sugar granules glinting in her hair that caught his attention, reminding him of their first meeting. She was even more bewitching now than she was then.
He blinked a few more times to make sure he wasn’t in the middle of a damn good dream. Then he caught the mist of tears in her eyes, and he instantly forgot everything. He dropped his navy suit jacket to the couch and rushed to her side.
He wrapped her protectively in his arms and kissed the flour off her nose, and the chocolate on her cheeks and slowly savored with his tongue the dark chocolate that streaked across her chin.
“Don’t cry, Ali,” he whispered. “Don’t.”
She sniffled. “I wanted to bake you a cake.”
“Witches don’t bake, they use their powers,” he teased and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.
She returned his kiss and sniffled again before she said, “I know, but I thought if I attempted to be mortal, you—”
He silenced her with another kiss. “I want you to be you.”
Ali eagerly slipped her arms around his neck. “I am a witch.”
“My witch,” he whispered and his warm breath rushed over her neck and sent a shiver of pleasure racing through her.
“I like that response.” He teased her lips with half kisses, half bites, and full passion.
His hand wandered around her bare waist, slipped over her backside, and gently squeezed her bottom.
“This has to be a dream,” he murmured against her mouth and continued to meet her eager kisses with his own.
“I am a witch, Sebastian, a witch,” she said frantically, moving her mouth away from his and tilting her head to the side for his lips to have free rein of her neck.
He kissed the silky column of her throat until he thought he would go mad with desire. “Damnable witch,” he mumbled. “Snared me with your spell and now I can’t escape.
“No,” she whispered softly. “No, you must want me— me.”
“Damned if I don’t,” he said, and his hands grabbed her face, holding it perfectly still for his lips to claim hers. And they did with an urgent passion that fueled her soul and woke her senses.
She returned his kisses with the same urgency, and then his hand moved to her bikini top and unsnapped the clasp, releasing it to fall away. She moved her mouth off his, though he didn’t relinquish the taste of her easily and so she rained kisses on his cheek over to his ear.
“Come to me, Sebastian, come to me,” she urged in a whisper.
She placed gentle kisses on his eyes, forcing them closed, and with the small amount of power she still possessed, she waved her hand, returning the room to its previous sparkling clean condition and vanished.
o0o
Ali woke with a start on the lounge and cast a quick glance around the pool area to make certain she was alone. She sighed and swatted at the strands of hair that fell in her face. Sugar sprinkled over her. She ran a hand over her face and came away with a mixture of flour and chocolate smudges.
“Oh, no,” she cried. “I saw the kitchen but forgot—”
Her eyes widened in realization, and she peeked down inside her terry robe. Oh, no,” she repeated and collapsed in disbelief back on the lounge.
Chapter Twelve
Sebastian woke with a start. His eyes widened as he attempted to focus on the digital clock on the nightstand. The numbers finally cleared and he jumped off the bed.
“Seven A.M.?”
Why had he slept so late and why hadn’t his alarm gone off? And what the hell was he doing in his clothes? He raced around his bedroom, stripping off his wrinkled navy trousers and white shirt. He remembered wanting a drink, wine to be exact, when he arrived home, but he didn’t recall having one. Had he collapsed exhausted on his bed and dropped into a deep sleep?
Work had been consuming a good portion of his time, but long hours was something he was accustomed to. To fall asleep fully clothed and sleep straight through the night was not a habit of his.
Not until Alisande.
He cringed at the thought and the too-cold water that greeted him when he stepped into the shower.
“Admit it, you idiot,” he said aloud, adjusting the water temperature. “You think about Ali all the time. There isn’t a moment in the day—”
He stopped talking, stopped washing his hair, and stood frozen in place, memories assaulting him.
His kitchen. The yellow bikini. Good God, the yellow bikini!
Shampoo trailed down into his eyes, and he turned his face to the warm spray and let it rain down over him.
Had it been a dream?
He shook his head. He didn’t know the difference between a dream and reality any longer. The whole matter was driving him absolutely crazy.
He grabbed the soap and started scrubbing, annoyed at himself. There was a perfectly reasonable explanation for last night.
Exhaustion. Overwork. Reading too many books on witches.
His exhaustion coupled with his subconscious had managed to produce—
“One hell of a dream.” He laughed, attempting to convince himself.
How could he think for even a br
ief moment that Alisande Wyrrd would be standing in his kitchen in a yellow bikini, smudged with flour and chocolate in an attempt to bake him a cake?
Like mortals do.
He shook his head, a common habit these days. He was going crazy, completely insane. He probably should admit she was a witch, make love to her and end the torment once and for all.
He shut the water off and grabbed the beige towel off the chrome towel bar as he stepped from the shower.
So what was the problem?
He found her attractive not only on a physical level but an emotional one. And the emotional part is what disturbed him the most. He didn’t understand enough of what he felt to make a sensible judgment, but his interest in her ran deep. Deeper than he cared to admit.
He went into his bedroom and dressed, his thoughts remaining on the crazy woman who made him crazy.
No, crazy was asking her out on a normal date and getting to know her, really know her.
His fingers stilled on the shirt button he was about to secure. Why not ask her out?
Like a mortal.
So far their encounters had been just that, encounters. How would she react to a normal date? Would she accept? Would she still claim herself a witch? Would she float dishes or cast spells? He laughed as he finished tying his gray tie.
The phone rang and he had no doubt it was his secretary calling to see how late he would be. It was almost eight and he was always to the office by seven, if not he would call.
He was surprised when she mentioned nothing about his tardiness and even more surprised with her reason for calling.
“You have been issued a command appearance by Sydney Wyrrd for lunch today at one. Ms. Wyrrd was certain you would clear your calendar for her and is looking forward to speaking with you. Ms. Wyrrd did not give me the chance to decline or confirm, but she was aware of your luncheon date with Senator Billings, and she assured me that the senator wouldn’t mind rearranging his schedule to accommodate her. And frankly, sir, no one turns down Sydney Wyrrd.”
Sebastian smiled. “I am well aware, Ms. Smithers, that a Wyrrd does not take no for an answer.”
He finished dressing and was headed out the door, deciding he would have coffee at work, when he suddenly stopped, backtracked, and took a hasty peek in the kitchen.
The Wedding Spell Page 9
