Spellbound with Sly

by Shelley Munro

  “Oh. I’m sorry. I’ve interrupted your peace.”

  “No, come and eat with me. Join me.”

  When she hesitated, he tugged her hand.

  “Thank you.”

  Sly led her to the blanket he’d spread on the sand. He poured her a drink in his sole beaker and handed her two savories. Her stomach gurgled, and he laughed. “You’re hungry too. Eat. The kitchen staff packed plenty of food. I’ll never eat it all.” A lie. He could demolish this and more, but he’d grab food later. Right now, he wanted to spend his time with Cinnabar.

  “Do you have family here? I’ve noticed men who resemble you.”

  Sly took a savory and reclined, his elbow propping him up. “I have four brothers and quite a few cousins who have the same coloring as me. One of my brothers is also my identical twin. Do you have family?”

  “No. Not any longer. Are your brothers older or younger than you?”

  Sly shrugged inwardly. She didn’t seem to want to talk about herself. He’d listened to his sister and his brothers’ mates prattle. He knew how to chitchat if necessary. “I have three older brothers. My twin and I are next in line, then we have a sister. She’s the youngest.”

  “Are you the oldest twin?”

  “I am,” he said in surprise. “I’m four minutes older.”

  She nodded. “I don’t think you’ve been on Tiraq for long.”

  “No.” Sly studied the springy red curls framing her face, the anxious press of her pink lips as she worried about his reply. Why did he get the sense she was pumping him for information? He hesitated, then decided none of the answers were confidential. Anyone at the resort would have ready answers. “We come from a planet called Earth, and no, we haven’t been here long.”

  “I visited the resort before when the owners had left it to grow wild,” she admitted. “I live on the Tiraq mainland. You’ve done wonders with the place.”

  “We’ve worked hard to make it a success,” Sly said. “We’ve talked a lot about me. Where exactly on Tiraq do you live?” He sat up and handed her a piece of nectar fruit, watching her white teeth bite into the golden flesh. The juice ran down her chin. “Wait.”

  She froze like a fuzzy zylon, alert to danger as he leaned closer.

  He’d intended to use his fingers to wipe away the juice, but her enticing scent and her sharp intake of breath, dragged his thoughts off Good Intention Road. Instead, he turned onto Temptation Alley…and used his lips in a gentle kiss.

  This close, he heard her rapid breathing, felt the pounding of her pulse, but she didn’t shy away from his touch. This was fast, maybe too fast, but unable to resist, he removed the remaining nectar fruit from her trembling fingers and tossed it aside. He eased her onto her back then trapped her with his chest and arms, telling himself she’d come to their resort for romance and the hope of a capture.

  Her blue eyes rounded again and she quivered, but she never offered a protest as he lowered his head and made clear his intentions.

  Then he was kissing her again, tasting her gently, savoring her curves pressing against his chest—and then everything in his world went topsy-turvy.

  Chapter Three

  He was kissing her.

  If the princess learned of this, her fury would rattle the kingdom of Seelie.

  Sly Mitchell was kissing her and Cinnabar never wanted him to stop. His firm lips were softer than she’d imagined. Gentle and cajoling, enticing her to participate in the intimate caress. The instant she responded, he increased the pressure, and the kiss transformed from incredibly sweet to more demanding.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and threw herself into the moment, despite the possible repercussions. For so long, the princess’s spell had bound her to the form of an owl. No one had touched her or held her or offered comfort.

  Oh, the princess kept her safe and fed her micelets because it amused her to witness Cinnabar’s disgust of the wriggling gray creatures. A form of silent gloating, because she’d cast a spell on Cinnabar and not one of the residents of the royal court had guessed Cinnabar’s fate. Everyone believed she’d left Seelie to run off with a group of visiting players from Unseelie, who had entertained the court.

  Wandering thoughts. No. No. Concentrate on the man kissing her. Sly Mitchell. The lazy stroke of his tongue. His talented make-her-forget-everything lips. Savor the remaining time before the curse dragged her back to owl form. She ran her fingers through his black hair. Silky and fragrant. She approved of cleanliness in a man. Yes, she must treasure this moment snatched from her boring routine and try not to feel too guilty about lying to him.

  His touch gentled while his hand glided over her shoulders and upper arms. He lifted his head, his dancing green eyes glowing in an unworldly way. His breath caressed her cheek as she stared, mesmerized by his face and the sensual emotion etched into his features. An unusual rhythmic vibration accompanied their muted breaths.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

  “Me?” She gaped at him while ripples of shock battered her mind. He meant it. Certainty filled his voice, and that stole her breath, stalled her protest. He truly considered her beautiful. Princess Iseabal taunted her, told her she was lucky to be an owl since she’d never attract a man. You suit feathers.

  Frying fungus! She refused to let Princess Iseabal spoil this moment for her.

  “I’m not beautiful,” she whispered. “But thank you. I shall treasure the compliment.”

  He stroked her cheek, his lopsided grin pushing her pulse to speedy. “Maybe not in the traditional sense. But your smile is bewitching. I love your red hair, your bouncy curls. Your sensual lips that entice me to touch and stroke. And you have pretty eyes. They’re kind and radiate honesty.”

  Guilt kicked her in the rear end. There was nothing honest about her visit to Middlemarch Resort. She came to reconnoiter, to spy for the princess, to betray this man.

  “When did you arrive?” He brushed a lock of springy hair from her eye.

  “Today.” In this, at least, she could offer honesty.

  “I didn’t see you with the new arrivals.”

  “Some of them were very eager,” Cinnabar said carefully. “I skirted the trampling hordes.” This was also true. She’d witnessed the new arrivals and their shocking behavior. The pushing and shoving. The sly pinches and displays of selfishness amongst the women, as if they thought they might miss out on something important. It was behavior she saw every day at court amongst the bored courtiers. Power and prestige didn’t go hand in hand with decency and common sense. This she knew, to her cost.

  Oops, and there she went again. Spoiling this special treat by letting reality intrude.

  “The women are…pushy,” Sly said in understatement.

  “I think you’re diplomatic.”

  He grinned, his joy wide and bright and reaching his green eyes to make them glow. Before she knew it, she was returning his smile and laughing, suddenly much lighter of mind.

  He lowered his head and kissed her again. The contact started slow, somehow more intimate, as he pressed her into the blanket with the weight of his muscular chest. It was sweet. It was tender. It was exquisite. He explored the recesses of her mouth with his tongue and her stomach went into a wild swirl. Need crashed down on her, pulsing through her body and prickling her breasts.

  Gentle kisses.

  Deep, drugging kisses.

  Urgency.

  Emotions gathered and eddied through her mind. Pleasure. Oh, yes, there was much pleasure in this encounter. But also helplessness at her situation. The knowledge that in a brief time, the spell would work its wickedness, and once again she’d become an owl with no future, a puppet to do as the princess willed.

  A tear welled and trickled down her cheek. Another followed, and another in quick succession.

  Sly reached for her hand and gently squeezed her fingers. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Cinnabar shook her head. Even if she told Sly the truth, he couldn’t change her
life. And despite her guilt, she knew when the princess chased a goal, she never surrendered until she won her desired prize. Soon she’d seize Sly, turning his life into a nightmare. It was what Princess Iseabal did. No one ever checked her when they feared the possible consequences, her magic too strong for minor nobles or servants to counteract.

  Other residents had disappeared from the princess’s entourage. Rumors flew as fast as dragons winging across the skies of Narenda.

  “Cinnabar? Please let me help you.”

  She stared up at Sly, his earnest expression. This man would help if she asked. This man, who was essentially a stranger, offered his aid when not one of her people would lift a finger. But the particulars of Princess Iseabal’s spell prevented Cinnabar from blabbing of her misfortune. She’d warned Cinnabar that telling others would have dire consequences, although she hadn’t explained further. Cinnabar shivered. The warning was enough.

  No, only the princess had the power to break the curse.

  “I’m sorry.” Cinnabar swallowed the obstruction in her throat and attempted to circumnavigate further questions. “I’ve had a difficult day. It’s nothing I can talk about,” she added. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your evening.”

  “You haven’t.” Sly used his thumb to brush a tear from her cheek. “My day hasn’t exactly been stellar.” He sat up and rifled through his basket of food. “Ah. The kitchen staff packed fruit tarts for me. Would you like one? They’re my favorites.”

  “No, I won’t take one. They’re meant for you.”

  “They’ll taste even better if I know you’re sharing them. Honestly, Cinnabar. Meeting you has made my day so much better. Here, wipe your eyes and share my fruit tarts.”

  He handed her a tissue, and she blotted the moisture from her eyes.

  “Thank you. Can you tell me about your day?”

  He studied her for a moment, his green gaze dissecting her, his intelligence obvious in that one glance. Too much man for the princess. Honesty and integrity. Then, there was that kindness. It wasn’t a characteristic common amongst Princess Iseabal’s friends.

  “You truly want to know? Most women who visit Middlemarch Resort are only interested in sex. We could get to the fun, sexy stuff instead of eating and talking.”

  Cinnabar gawked at his bluntness. “You want to… With me?” She was used to men ignoring her because she blended with the background, or at least she had until she’d spilled a drink on the princess and ended up cursed.

  A shudder tore through Cinnabar as she recalled the princess’s order to aid her in changing. Once they’d reached privacy, the princess had suffered a meltdown at the stain on her new gown. She’d thrown her own goblet at Cinnabar before chanting her spell; the reason the dress Cinnabar wore bore a red stain during her fleeting return to human form.

  Sly barked out a laugh and took her hand. “Contrary to what the women here might think, I do not go around kissing the guests unless I want to. I refuse their sexual offers because none of them attract me. You’re different. I wanted you from the moment I saw you dancing in the moonlight.”

  “Oh.” No. No, no, no.

  She’d never be able to hide the truth from Princess Iseabal. She jerked her hand from his touch, away from temptation. This man, he enticed her to act against common sense. Another of Princess Iseabal’s spells aimed her way might kill her. “I thought you were going to share your fruit tarts with me.” A definite improvement on squeaky micelets. Cinnabar’s stomach churned, nauseated by the way her owl form devoured micelets without a blink.

  She swallowed rapidly. Once. Twice. Forced her thoughts from owl food.

  “Here you go.” Sly held a tart to her lips.

  Almost too pretty to eat. The red fruit lay in slices over the surface of the tart. A shiny substance kept the fruit in place and made it glisten.

  Cinnabar took a bite and moaned.

  Sly chuckled and urged her to take another bite. “I knew you’d fall under the tart spell. Eva is the best cook, and she trains her helpers well.”

  Cinnabar savored the burst of sweet and bitter and swallowed. “It’s delicious. Can you tell me about your day? What went so wrong?” It was better than answering his questions such as where did she come from. She accepted the last bite with a moan of appreciation.

  He studied her while he ate a tart in two bites. “Joe, my twin, and I want to run a farm rather than work in the resort. I’m tired of getting groped and propositioned and objectified by the female guests who come to the resort. I know Saber—he’s my oldest brother, and the one everyone turns to for leadership—is doing the best he can with our resources, but Joe and I want different things. Our crop of grapes is doing well, and I think we’ll have a bumper crop to make wine for the resort, but we want to expand to animals. We want cattle, but Saber says the profits must go into the resort and advertising, provide houses for our people. I understand that. I do. I sound ungrateful but I want to follow my interests. Joe thinks the same way.”

  Ah, the grapes must be the crop that grew over the land of Seelie. That would contribute to the health of the plants, not that she’d admit that. Most Seelie people kept to themselves unless the outside world intruded or necessity made it so. Apart from Prince Liam, of course. He made his own rules.

  “Saber says we can buy stock if we make the money ourselves. But even if we could, Joe and I haven’t heard of any cattle for sale.”

  “Describe cattle for me,” Cinnabar said. “Maybe I can help.” Seelie residents might be isolated by choice, but they weren’t uninformed. Thanks to the prince, they traded with outsiders and external gossip flowed in to the kingdom. Listening to Sly’s ambitions, his passion for doing something he loved, pushed aside her self-pity. “Yes, tell me of these beasts.”

  “They have four legs and… Wait. Why don’t I show you pictures? Would you walk with me to my room? Joe and I have pictures of our prize-winning cattle from Earth. We had to sell them before we left, and it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

  Aware of the passing time, the curse ticking like a fast-running clock, she nodded.

  Sly stood and held out a hand to aid her to her feet. Such a gentleman. Gallant and strong. Her mind jumped ahead, thinking of a future with a man like Sly. With a regretful huff of breath, she watched Sly tidy the contents of the basket. He folded the blanket and tucked it under his arm, seized the basket and offered her his free hand.

  The physical contact had her breath catching, her pulse bounding ahead like an eager pet-pup.

  “It’s not far,” Sly said. “We’ll take the private paths, so we don’t meet anyone.”

  “Okay.” In Seelie, it was dangerous to wander with a single man, especially for a woman of little consequence. Anything might happen—attacks or worse—and rumors would fly.

  Sly gifted her with confidence, a sense of safety. She instinctively trusted him, since he didn’t scrutinize her in the same way she peered at her micelet dinners. That probably made her a fool, but the truth was, nothing much could happen in the brief time before she morphed back to owl.

  They strolled through beautiful gardens and under towering trees. Giggling carried from behind a hedge, and Sly paused, his big body freezing. She stilled, fascinated by the change in him. The stunning man at her side vibrated with menace. This new facet of him didn’t scare her but instead, intrigue bloomed.

  A black cat prowled from the shadows. One she’d seen earlier. The creature stopped in the middle of the path and sat, its attention wholly on her. Cinnabar edged closer to Sly and he slipped his arm around her waist. The big cat cocked its head then leaned closer to sniff Cinnabar’s fingers. A rough tongue swiped across the back of her hand.

  “That’s enough,” Sly said and pushed the cat away.

  The cat rubbed his head against Sly’s hip and let out a big purr before stepping clear of him.

  “Go away. No, don’t you dare.” Sly wagged his finger, but the cat sidled closer to her.

&nbs
p; The giggles they’d heard earlier grew louder. The cat growled and slinked off, melting into the darkness.

  Sly tugged her in the opposite direction. “We don’t need to meet anyone else.”

  “Who does the cat belong to?”

  “No one.”

  “Oh?” She stumbled because she was staring in the direction of the giggles, and he caught her weight before she fell to her knees.

  “Careful. Not much farther to go. This is a shortcut so we don’t run into any half-naked giggly guests.”

  Cinnabar grinned. “Does that happen a lot?”

  “You have no idea,” he said with feeling. “If we were the ones without clothes, that I could deal with, but after considering sweet-talking you out of that pretty dress, I’ve decided to go slow. We have time to learn each other first. I want to savor you like an exciting Christmas present.”

  “Oh.” Cinnabar’s cheeks heated. She didn’t understand half of what he’d said, but his meaning was clear. He wanted her. Her. She embraced the wonder of it for an instant before folding it away and stuffing the astonishment and awe to the back of her mind.

  Sly would never belong to her.

  She’d never own the right to observe him unclothed.

  “This is the bungalow I share with Joe. I have an old tablet that runs on solar power.”

  Cinnabar nodded, aware of the passing minutes.

  He opened the door. “Lights on,” he ordered.

  She followed Sly into the dwelling and peered around with interest. The room was tidy, with a long, comfortable seat, much like the one she’d noticed in the big meeting room. Pictures of various people covered the walls. A cooking area took up the far corner. The doorway to another room stood open and she caught sight of a bed.

  Sly strode over to a wooden table and scooped up a black square. He hit a button on the side and the square lit to reveal a picture. Sly tapped several buttons and swiped his finger across the surface. “Ah, here it is. I knew I had photos on my tablet.”

  Cinnabar peered at the picture. “Coos,” she said. “There are none on Ione Island, but on the lands to the west, they grow beasts like that there. You need to visit the Scothage people who live in the Highlands. Two, maybe three cycles’ journey from here.”