“I’ll get towels.” Stephanie darted into the kitchen.
He tried to hold his hands around the puddle so the beer didn’t spill everywhere.
What was I thinking? He was about to tell Stephanie he thought she was the greatest thing ever.
Had he lost his mind? He knew this woman. Not in the biblical sense, but right now he wouldn’t mind exploring that option too…
Ugh. There he went again.
“Here.” Stephanie dropped two towels and got on her knees to help him wipe up the spill. “You win the klutz award tonight.” She leaned down, reaching under the couch to catch more.
He looked at her, and at the angle, he could see straight down her top, into her…
Holy moly.
Damn, she had the most amazing rack he’d ever seen.
He turned back to the floor and continued wiping up the beer. “I think you’re right.” Though he wasn’t about to tell her why that seemed extra applicable tonight.
She had brought an extra towel—a damp one—to wipe everything again, and then a dry one to clean it up. They worked together, and he had to make himself not look down her shirt again, because he swore it was falling open, just begging him to examine her boobs.
And if Stephanie noticed, she didn’t say a word.
“I think that got it,” she said, standing. All of a sudden, all he could see was her five miles of legs, right in front of his face.
“Yeah,” he muttered, forcing himself to stand as well. The towel dripped as he stood there, staring at her.
Stephanie took the wet cloth and walked back to the kitchen, and he heard the clunk of the washing machine lid.
She came back a moment later, stopping in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. “What were you going to say before?” she asked, rubbing her hands together.
“About what?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. You were going somewhere before you spilled your beer.”
And before Roark could stop himself, words tumbled out of him. “I think we should date.”
Stephanie stared at him, her eyebrows going up, her mouth opening as if to speak, but she clamped it shut.
Professional Stephanie clicked into gear, and when she sat on the couch again, she tossed back her shoulders and met his gaze with the same look he’d seen her give countless clients.
Dammit, he wasn’t being difficult. He knew he wasn’t. Whether it wasn’t the most suave way to say it, it was what he thought. And it pissed him off she shifted into business mode, the one he’d seen her use a million times to tell clients who wanted the moon that it wasn’t for sale.
Right now, he felt like he had shot for the moon and come up short. Way short.
“You think we should date, huh?”
Roark nodded. “I think we should try it.”
She let out a soft laugh. “Man, you have wedding bliss.”
“I have no such thing,” Roark said, crossing his arms over his chest before sitting on the couch. People, still high on the happiness of weddings, wound up hooking up with whoever was around. Roark had noticed it during the many weddings he’d gone to with Stephanie. They joked about it all the time, guessing who would go home with who just because it was funny.
Even Stephanie had received dozens of marriage proposals or other propositions from wedding bliss.
She shook her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. You do.”
He gritted his teeth. “I am not a fool.”
She patted his leg. “Don’t feel bad. It happens to lots of people.”
“I have been to dozens of weddings with you, Steph.”
“I know, which is why I liked taking you. You never get wedding bliss. Guess there’s a first for everything.”
“You are off your game tonight,” Roark countered. Wedding bliss wasn’t what ailed him. He knew that. Just exactly what had prompted this whole shake up of emotions, he wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t wedding bliss.
“Fine, then. Let’s analyze, shall we?” She leaned forward and held up one hand. “First, you get all stiff and posture when your friend asks about taking me out. Two, you stare at me with that whole deer-in-headlights thing twice that I noticed at the wedding. Three, I’m willing to bet you were tracking me all over the reception.”
“I was not.”
“Where was I before I came over to you at the bar?”
“Talking to the DJ.”
“Ha! And now, here you are, suddenly wanting to date. It’s wedding bliss, I tell you.”
Roark shook his head, but he couldn’t deny her logic. Maybe he just had wedding bliss today. A friend from high school had married a really great gal, and even last night, at the bachelor party, he’d been talking about craving that slice of happiness. Now all of a sudden, he wanted to date his best friend?
Sounded incredibly unusual. Very out of character for him.
“If I have this wedding bliss, then what do I do?”
Stephanie snorted. “It’s not a disease. It’ll pass. Give it a few days. Get back to your life. Then you’ll see it was just a phase, brought on by the wedding and all that joy and stuff. That should snap you out of it.”
“And what if it isn’t?” Roark asked.
Stephanie shrugged. “If it’s not and you still feel this way, then we’ll see about your whole ’dating’ proposal.”
Roark nodded. “Fair enough.”
Christy let out a sigh.
At least one of them had a level head about this.
And it certainly wasn’t her charge. Christy waited until Stephanie left, and made sure the antidote had seeped into Roark’s system before going home herself. She had to use more magic than she wanted—drying his mouth so he’d drink all his beer—but finally he’d consumed the antidote. A bit after, Roark’s aura started to calm down, and she decided it was safe to go for the night.
With a wave of her wand, Christy transported back to her home in the Fairy Realm. On the same plane as Mount Olympus, the Fairy Realm remained just out of phase of human perception. The fairies did not work for the gods and goddesses, but the Council on Mount Olympus liked to be kept apprised of fairy activities.
In theory, fairies and gods and goddesses shouldn’t mix, ever, except for said meetings.
But that was the theory, of course.
And it did not help they were, in essence, neighbors.
Humans fed the Fairy Realm—every time a human created imaginary worlds, they added to the well of magic. Seventy-five percent of imagination came from children, the other quarter came from adults—each creation producing magic. And all of it came here.
Because of the finite amount of magic flowing in, fairies had to retire after three hundred fifty years of service. New fairies came in on a regular rotation. If all remained for eternity, there would not be enough reserve to keep the magic flowing.
Christy loved it in the Fairy Realm, and would miss it terribly when she retired. Her home, no different on the outside from many of her neighbors, was in essence a simple white box—a single room with white walls and floors. The epitome of a blank slate.
She waved her wand, the blue sparkles of magic darting out.
“Roman bathhouse,” she murmured. The space transformed into marble walls, a large pool-like tub with gold sconces glowing to light the room. Steam came off the water and the tub dominated the space. Christy basked in the warm smell, rocking her head to each side before stripping off her clothes. With a flick of her wrist, her wand disappeared.
She flapped her wings, flew into the air over the water, and slowly let herself ease in—toe first. The warmth crept through her body as she lowered into the pool. When her wings touched, she shivered, for it tickled, but when the water reached just under her breasts, she tipped back, soaking her tired wings. She bent back far enough to get
her very pale blonde hair wet, letting it float around in the water before rising back up.
One important element she’d forgotten to include in her bath.
Soap.
Flicking her wrist again, the wand appeared, and she conjured a floating table, designed like a model boat, and filled with all her favorite shampoos and body washes. With a dollop of shampoo, she started washing away all the dirt and grime of the day, and dipped back down, letting the water cascade over her again. Another soak before ringing out her hair.
“Now that is just beautiful.”
Christy spun around—her husband stood at the edge and started stepping into the bath.
She grinned. “You will get your clothes wet.”
He waved his hand. The clothing disappeared, and he stood gloriously naked before her. Even after two hundred fifty years of being together, he still made all her desires come alive.
He walked slowly into the water, pulling the boat of soaps to him. “Feeling dirty?”
Christy shrugged. “Cupid always makes me feel dirty.”
Her husband snorted as he closed in.
Christy slapped her hand across her mouth. “I cannot believe I just said that.”
Ewan placed a kiss on her shoulder. “So how bad was he?”
“My charge?” She let out a sigh. “He seemed to think he was suffering from wedding bliss.”
Ewan’s lips ran over her neck. “Wedding bliss?”
“That high from being at a wedding—how humans couple because of the stimulation.” She let out a moan as he caressed her hips just below the water line.
“Well,” he said between kisses, “if he believes that, his will won’t be bent…”
“As…long as…Cupid stays away…” Her words were barely able to come out because of her husband’s ministrations.
Ewan pulled her against him and captured her in a blazing hot kiss. She clung to her husband and they started to move up. In a moment, they were floating over the bath, and her husband changed the bathhouse into a very large bed, guiding her down into the plush covers.
They rolled across the surface and he pinned her down. “I say, forget the day. Tomorrow, start anew.” He kissed her throat, his wings spreading out over them like a low canopy.
“Yes…” She slid one hand in his hair, and ran the other down his back, along the edge of his wings until finding perch on his rear. She slid her fingers along the curve, feeling the way his hips and back met.
He pressed his bare hips into hers. “Tonight, you are mine…”
She grinned. Her husband was brilliant. He always had the best ideas.
Chapter Five
Wednesday
Roark pulled each bottle of perfume from the display shelf, wiped it off and dusted the miniscule amount of dust on the glass.
He’d been at this all morning. The mindless task he’d done for years had always centered him when he’d been discombobulated. It was his mother’s fault, of course. She made him do this all the time when she was in charge of the shop. While he hated it as a kid, he learned as he got older it truly was a great way to relax his mind, especially when he was so out of sorts.
Stephanie had not left his thoughts once in the last four days—her prediction of him merely suffering wedding bliss seemed a bust.
She’d only called on the pretense of business, and never asked how he was feeling. They had defaulted to this stark business relationship.
And he hated it more than anything.
They needed to get together and talk about this.
Properly.
“Roark, what are you doing?” Glenda said as she came onto the retail floor. Glenda—his acting manager—usually oversaw the care of the retail area, along with two other college girls. Today, just he and Glenda manned the store, and she was supposed to be doing the tedious paperwork he eagerly turned over to her skilled hands.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Her resemblance in demeanor to his mother could not be overlooked.
“Cleaning,” Roark said, though the chore truly didn’t need to be done.
“You know I just did that yesterday,” Glenda said, helping him put the bottles back on the shelf. “What is the matter with you? You’ve been moping around here all week.”
“It is barely Wednesday. And I have not been moping.”
“Oh, sure, sorry. My, uh, bad,” Glenda said, her sarcasm not lost on him. Not to mention the fact she sounded even older when she tried to say “my bad” with all the wrong inflections.
He smirked, shook his head, and glanced at the bottle in his hand. Softly. The one Stephanie always wore. Damn, he couldn’t get away from her, even here. “Got a lot on my mind,” he finally said as he put the bottle back on the shelf.
“Well, get downstairs and make stuff. We—and I mean you—need to finish bottling the new mixes for those parties coming up. And you promised the Bridal Fair people a unique perfume set for the silent auction.”
He couldn’t help smiling at her. Again, Glenda sounded far too much like his mother when she nagged him about work. Glenda may not be his biological mother, but she treated him like one of her kids, even if he did sign her paychecks. Since his parents had retired from the store, it just didn’t seem right to not have some sort of mother figure on staff.
“Yes ma’am.” He headed toward the stairs that led to his underground workshop where he stored all his setting perfumes and ingredients. Well, all except the basket resting by the door—filled with flowers, plants and other items he’d stocked up on.
He scooped the basket in his arm and put his hand on the door to downstairs.
“Oh, and Roark?”
He glanced back at her. “Yes, Glenda?”
She clenched the cleaning cloth in her hand, wadding it around her fist. “Whatever it is that has you so flummoxed, go ahead and pray about it.”
Roark raised his eyebrow. “You know I’m not a faithful devotee…”
Glenda waved her hand. “It is not about one god verses another, Roark. I’m talking about releasing it and seeing what the universe sends back to you.”
He smirked. “I think I already did, and it’s been more problems than answers.”
“Then you didn’t ask the right question.”
Roark had, in a way, at the bachelor party. Throwing out into the universe his desire for the happiness William had, and now he was constantly plagued by thoughts of Stephanie. If the universe had a sense of humor, it certainly demonstrated it now.
Stephanie was someone he’d never considered more than a friend, ever. At least not since high school. Of course, that was stupid kid stuff. Who doesn’t crush on a girl they knew, at least for a little while?
Regardless, foolish actions in the past should stay there. He and Steph were better this way, weren’t they? More grown-up, adults. They were friends—the best kind, really, because they were each other’s fallback date. If Roark needed a date to something, Steph was the first person he’d call. No mess, no fuss. The same with her. It worked well.
Yet flashes of how well she filled out her bra Saturday night came back, and he started to harden in pants.
Damn. He had to get this under control. They were friends. They trusted each other. They knew each other’s tastes—their likes and dislikes. Hell, that was half of dating, wasn’t it? Getting to know each other?
And they already did.
Surely the idea of investing a little more wouldn’t be a big deal, would it?
He brushed off the thoughts. He had his own work to do, and he shouldn’t let his bizarre attraction of his best friend get in the way.
He slipped on his “mad scientist” lab coat—white and bleached within an inch of its life—and started spreading out his gear. The flowers he piled on one end, the herbs and oils in the middle. He walked over to the low shelves, and star
ted picking up the quart jars of already-mixed perfumes. Turning each jar over to agitate the ingredients, he forced his mind to focus on what he was doing rather than think about her.
Yet he couldn’t help his thoughts from wandering. And was quite thankful the loose lab coat covered what stuck out underneath.
Damn.
“Turn the bottles to mix the perfumes,” he whispered. He checked each date. Some had been made three weeks ago—two of the bottles, which he’d designed with a softer fragrance in mind, would be ready next week. Two more would be ready in a couple more weeks.
The newer ones would not be ready for at least three weeks.
He glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall. He had four weeks until the Bridal Fair. He needed to get a perfume mixed today or tomorrow in order for it to cure in time.
He headed back to his work table, grabbed his mixing bowls, and the base mixes for the different scents he had in mind. Arms filled with gear, he started spreading it out on the rest of the work table, next to his new supplies.
Scents he refused to admit were inspired by Stephanie. All the mingling smells teased his nose, and all he could think about was her.
This was getting obsessive.
He got out a large canister of coffee beans and dumped some in a dish. Coffee beans neutralized the pallet, and he made himself take a few good sniffs before getting to work.
Still, Stephanie remained foremost in his mind as he started his bases for the perfumes.
He ran his hands through his hair. “Fine.” He stared at the ceiling. “I’m putting this out there. If Stephanie and I are meant to be together, then bring us together.”
Christy got a huge grin on her face. “Your wish is my command.”
Chapter Six
Stephanie walked into Roark’s shop and took in the surroundings, again wondering what had made her come this way on her drive home. Yet after a long day of brides and caterers and directors, just walking into the door immediately relaxed her. Shelves of perfume, bottles of lotion, soaps, oils—all the fine items one would have in a good shop of scents, all crafted by his hands. Rose, gardenia, lavender, and citrus assaulted her senses.
Guys and Godmothers Page 3
