Never Again

by Michele Bardsley

  “Now?”

  That got Ember’s attention. Her one dark eye zeroed in on him. Gray resisted the urge to look away. He refused to feel ashamed about not giving Lucy a dream wedding. She had agreed it should be simple and quick. They were not in love. They’d made a . . . a business deal. With perks for them both.

  “You not gonna give the girl a chance to plan?” Ember snorted. “She need a dress, and some flowers. You got her a ring, already?”

  Gray flushed. He hadn’t thought about a ring. At the very least, the Guardian’s wife should have some sort of symbol signifying his bond to her. He had no jewelry, at least none that he wore, and none that he could give her. Shit.

  “You agree they should be married?” asked Taylor. He looked at Ember as if she’d grown a second head. “Seriously?”

  “If’n my grandson thinks he ought to get hitched, then that’s that,” said Grit.

  “Specially if she’s a gorgeous babe,” added Dutch.

  “Excuse me a minute.” Gray scooped up the books.

  “Whoa, dude. Easy on the binding.”

  “Dagnabit! Where are you takin’ us?”

  “To the library.”

  Both books started complaining. Grit said the other books rubbed his cover the wrong way, and Dutch thought the library was stuffy and creepy. Gray put them on the desk, which was crowded with other books, old papers, and trinkets he’d never found a place for. Like every room in the house, it was crowded with lives past, his and other Calhouns’, and he wondered how everything had gotten so out of control.

  “How long we gotta stay in here?” asked Grit.

  “I have to get married,” said Gray. “And then my first outing with my wife will be to say good-bye to the girl she almost died to save. After that, we’re going to bed.”

  Dutch snickered. Gray thumped his cover. “Enough, you. Lucy needs rest.”

  “Uh-huh. She’s pretty, right?” asked the surfer. “Bet she looks good naked.”

  “You’ll never know.”

  “That’s harsh, dude. Way harsh.”

  “I’ll be back for you tomorrow. If you both behave.”

  “I hate being a book,” said Grit. “Why’d I ask for a soul imprint on a book? Shoulda asked to be a chair. Or a wind chime.”

  “Good night, Grit. Be good, Dutch.”

  They muttered their good-nights, and Gray returned to the kitchen in time to hear Ember say, “It’s meant to be. But I don’t agree with dis coldhearted method of sayin’ da vows.”

  “Lucy and I agreed to keep things simple,” said Gray. “We’re both very clear that this is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

  “So she get protection,” said Ember quietly, “and what you get?”

  “A wife who won’t sell me to a demon to save her own hide.”

  Ember rolled her eyes to heaven. Then she sighed. “I can perform the ceremony. I am a priestess of the Goddess.”

  “No, thank you, Ember.” Lucy’s apologetic voice drifted from the doorway of the kitchen. “Gray and I would like Sheriff Mooreland to do it.”

  Gray stood up from his chair, his gaze on hers. It felt like his heart had turned over in his chest, and he rubbed the spot absently as he hurried to meet her. She leaned heavily against the frame, looking frail and beautiful in his mother’s light green dress. It was far too big for her, but the color was stunning. Her hair hung down in ringlets that caressed her shoulders. “Brown” wasn’t a good enough description for her hair color—it was streaked with caramel and auburn. It looked shiny and soft, and he couldn’t resist winding a curl around his finger. Her skin was creamy smooth, her mossy gaze fringed by long, dark lashes. Her cheeks were a little too hollow, but not even illness could dim her beauty. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t need any adornment. His gaze dropped to her lips, pillow soft and the color of pink wine.

  “Hello,” she said.

  He dropped the curl and drew her into his embrace. “I would’ve come for you.”

  “I know,” she said, pride edging her tone even as she clung to him, still too weak, “but I had to try.”

  “You’re strong,” he agreed. “I imagine you’ll be carrying boulders by tomorrow.”

  “Someone has to do the heavy lifting around here.”

  He grinned at her.

  “I don’t believe it,” muttered Taylor.

  “What did I tell you?” asked Ember smugly. “Meant to be.”

  Gray ignored the peanut gallery. Lucy felt so small and light against him. Not only was he going to take her shopping; he was going to fatten her up. He felt like if he moved the wrong way, she might crumble beneath his fingertips.

  She looked him over, smiling. He’d taken the time to put on a dress shirt and black pants. He was wearing his fancy boots, too, the black ones with the silver trim. She looked pleased with his appearance, and that made him glad he’d gone to the effort.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He knew she wouldn’t appreciate being treated like a weakling. The woman had struggled down two flights of steps and across the mess-strewn living room so she wouldn’t have to ask for his help. He would allow her the dignity of appearing as though she could stand.

  He turned, and she placed her hand along his arm. He put his hand over hers, trying to pour his strength into her. She stood close, leaning against him. He felt her quivering, and he knew it was costing her great effort to keep upright.

  “Wait, now,” said Ember. “Mooreland, get over dere and say your hellos to da bride. Gray, you let me straighten you out. Goodness, you look a sight.”

  Gray glared at the woman, but she calmly ignored his ire, fully expecting both men to do what she said. Taylor gave in before he did. He watched his friend stomp over to Lucy, completely unthrilled with the whole situation. Still, he was gentle as he put his arm around the bride.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Lucy. “I really need a day planner.”

  Taylor laughed, and Gray had the sudden urge to bash his friend’s face in. They might have a marriage of convenience, but Lucy was his, damn it. And he didn’t like Taylor getting all . . . funny with her.

  “Guardian, c’mere.”

  He followed Ember to the corner of the kitchen, casting looks over his shoulder as Taylor and Lucy had a low conversation. It seemed as though his bride was melting the icy exterior of the lawman. He wasn’t sure he liked it.

  “Here.”

  Gray looked down at the delicate ring Ember offered him. Three strands in various shades of silver had been woven together to create the circlet. He’d seen it on Ember’s forefinger, one of several rings she wore. He knew immediately that Lucy would love it. “How much?” he asked.

  Ember reached up and smacked him on the back of the head.

  He blinked down at her, stunned.

  One dark eye shot daggers at him. “You got no manners. You don’t ask to pay for a gift.”

  “Okay, already. Sorry.”

  “Go get married, you jackass.”

  Feeling thoroughly chastised, he pocketed the ring, and returned to his bride. She was looking pale, but holding steady.

  Gray and Lucy stood before Taylor and spoke their vows.

  The ceremony took less than five minutes. Legalizing a marriage between magicals wasn’t that complex, especially in a town where wizards made most of the rules. In no time at all, Taylor turned to Gray and asked, “What do you offer your bride to show your faith in the bond you now share with her?”

  Gray pulled the silver circlet from his pocket. The look on Lucy’s face made him immensely grateful that Ember had given him the ring. “I offer this as my promise to be faithful, and to cherish you.”

  “I accept your gift.” She took it and slipped it on her finger. She smiled at him, and the glow of happiness in her eyes made him feel like he’d done something right. They could make this work. It would be far better than his bond with Kerren because they were enterin
g into their marital agreement with eyes open and no expectations for a future together. They could enjoy each other—and when it was time, they’d walk away.

  Taylor turned to Lucy and asked, “What do you offer your groom to show your faith in the bond you now share with him?”

  Gray opened his mouth to say he expected nothing, but he was surprised to see Lucy reach into the folds of her dress and pull out an object.

  In the center of her palm, she showed him a small circle of braided hair. “I offer this humble ring as my promise to be faithful, and to cherish you.”

  She’d cut and braided her own hair to make him a ring. Somehow she’d woven a blue ribbon within it. He sensed the magic, too, and noticed how smooth and shiny it was, like it had been lacquered. She had nothing, but she’d still managed to create something. He was touched by the gesture. No, more like he was rocked to the core by it.

  He stared at it for too long.

  Lucy’s fingers closed over the ring. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. You probably wouldn’t want to wear such a silly—”

  He grasped her hand and pried her fingers open. He picked up the delicate braid and placed it on his finger. “I accept your gift.”

  Then, because he couldn’t give voice to the emotions crowding his heart or to the fears that somehow this was more than it should be and perfect all the same, he leaned down and kissed her.

  “Guess I don’t have to say this part,” said Taylor drily.

  Ember sniffled. “Oh, shush, you big idiot.”

  Lucinda sat at the kitchen table, a bundle of nerves. She hated feeling feeble. It seemed she had felt that way ever since the great reckoning. Like she couldn’t catch her breath. Like she couldn’t see into the darkness. Like she couldn’t step in a single direction without falling into a spiked pit.

  And all the while, helpless.

  Weak.

  Stupid.

  But now? Holy Goddess. I married Gray.

  A few minutes before, Ember hugged her until her spine cracked and then gave her a great smacking kiss on the cheek. Taylor had been much more circumspect in his congratulations. A firm handshake and “Good luck to you both.”

  The sheriff was probably still annoyed with Gray. He’d tried to ask her about Marcy’s death, but her new husband had cut him off. She’d promised to answer his questions tomorrow, and then Gray had insisted she sit down, and frankly, she was relieved to do so. He walked the sheriff and Ember to the front door.

  After Ember left, she heard Gray ask Taylor to wait and then his footsteps pounded up the stairs. When he returned, they’d gone outside. She wondered what they had talked about. Her?

  Her stomach clenched and she pressed a hand against her belly. Oh, what did it matter? It was taking refuge as Gray’s wife or in Mexico, and at least here she wouldn’t be looking over her shoulder as much. Even Bernard would hesitate to challenge Gray outright.

  But she was just as sure he’d figure out a way to get to her.

  He always did.

  “Are you all right?” asked Gray. He stood in the doorway, studying her. “That’s an idiotic question. Never mind. Ember made some special tea for you. I’ll pour you some.” He crossed to the stove, and she saw the teapot on the front burner. He started opening cabinets, which were either empty or piled with all sorts of objects—none that actually belonged in a kitchen. “I just have to find you a mug.”

  She was surprised he could find anything. Every room she’d been in was a ceiling-to-floor mess. The front room had big, bulky furniture piled with clothes and books and boxes. It spilled over the tables and onto the floor. She’d spotted cobwebs in every corner and dust coated everything—including the family photos, mirrors, and clocks.

  What on earth did Gray do every day that he couldn’t be bothered with even minor housekeeping? Maybe his Guardian duties kept him so busy that he didn’t have time to pick up. She glanced around the kitchen, and grimaced. Dishes towered on both sides of the ceramic sink. Spellbooks, spice jars, bowls of herbs, and crystals littered the counters. The stove needed a good scrubbing; she shuddered to think what the oven looked like.

  Lucinda determined right then and there the first way she could help Gray. She would get his house in order. That was something that a wife did, right? She didn’t have a lot of experience with housework. She’d never had chores as a child—and her mother certainly hadn’t known a dishrag from a duster. After her mom died, Lucinda spent a lot of time struggling to survive—and hadn’t lived anywhere long enough to clean it. When she became Bernard’s mistress, she never had to lift a finger—not even when she’d been relegated to the penthouse harem. Still. How difficult could it be?

  She glanced around the kitchen, feeling even more inadequate. She wasn’t much of a cook, but she could do some basic recipes like lasagna and stew. Determination straightened her spine. She could learn her way around the kitchen. It was a goal—a goal that didn’t involve figuring out how she was going to eat, where she was going to sleep, what else she had to do to escape Bernard’s very long reach.

  Clean house. Learn to cook. Be a good wife.

  Simple, right?

  “You’re pale,” said Gray. He stopped searching for a mug and crossed to her, kneeling at her feet. His gaze roved over her face, and he looked so concerned. Why? She knew the truth of their marriage. He’d made it clear that feelings were not involved in their relationship. She had to remember that. She knew too well how easy it was to fall into the trap of the heart—though Bernard had never truly held hers. He was a master manipulator, a puppeteer who knew which strings to pull. She was ashamed that she’d fallen for his tripe, that she’d allowed herself to become snared in his silky web.

  “What must I do,” Gray asked as he cupped her face, “to chase away those shadows in your eyes?”

  Lucinda met his gaze and realized he was driven too hard by his own guilt. So ingrained were the concepts of duty and integrity in his conscience that he would fulfill every vow he made to her. In being her husband in all ways, he might make her forget her promise to remember nothing real lay between them.

  “I’m merely tired.” She ran her fingers through his hair, thrilled that she had the right to do so. Her husband. Had anyone told her she would one day marry Gray Calhoun, she would’ve called them crazy. But it seemed she was the crazy one.

  His gaze had darkened, from blue sky to stormy sea. He pulled her hand from his hair and kissed her knuckles. Did he realize how romantic such gestures were? Probably not. It was his nature to treat women with such care. Not even Kerren’s betrayal could erase his respect for females and his innate need to protect them.

  “Can you sit at the edge of the chair?” he asked.

  She didn’t ask why; she simply scooted to the edge, and waited. He seemed pleased by her acquiescence, and grasped the bottom of her thin but voluminous dress.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “It’s phase one in my plan to change that look in your eyes.” He gazed up at her. “Just for a little while, I don’t want you to feel sad.”

  “Oh? And you can do this how?”

  “I’ll show you, wife.” He gathered her dress, laying the folds across her thighs. “Hold on to this. And open for me.”

  “I didn’t . . . ” She clutched the material and licked her lips. “There wasn’t any . . . ” Her face went hot. Gray’s eyebrows went up as he waited for her to finish a sentence. “Panties,” she managed.

  “Show me,” he said, his voice husky. “Now.”

  She did so, revealing her lack of underwear. The ones she’d been wearing hadn’t been washed, she had no idea where her duffel bag was, and she’d been too embarrassed to ask Gray about procuring undergarments. She hadn’t even put on a bra, a fact made obvious by the thin material.

  For a moment, Gray said nothing as he took in his fill of her nether regions. She felt vulnerable and nervous. It was strange showing him her . . . goods like this. What was he doing?

/>   He leaned down and planted a kiss on her clit.

  She gasped. “Gray!”

  “What?”

  “You can’t think you’re going to”—she sucked in an unsteady breath—“do something. Down there.”

  He straightened and looked at her. “You’ve had lovers,” he said. “You’re telling me not one man has ever explored such a delectable spot?”

  Embarrassment flooded her and her whole face felt as though she’d dipped it in lava. She glanced away from him. “No.”

  “Lucinda. Look at me.”

  It took effort—she still had some pride—but she managed to meet his gaze.

  “I don’t care how many lovers you’ve had,” he said. “We are only for each other now. That’s all that matters.”

  She didn’t want him to think that she’d slept with a bunch of men. Maybe he didn’t care, but she did. She wasn’t a whore, even though Bernard had made her feel like one. And he had never, not once, put his mouth against her like Gray just had to bring her pleasure. In fact, she rarely received any pleasure at all from their couplings, which he’d squarely put on her. You’re frigid, darling. But don’t worry. I will always love my little ice queen.

  “How many men do you believe would sleep with a Rackmore?” she asked softly. “After the great reckoning, no one would talk to me, much less date me. I never knew a man until Bernard.” She couldn’t resist touching Gray’s hair again. He didn’t seem to mind at all. She’d always had to be so careful with Bernard. He didn’t like to be touched—and she had craved it. She always had to check her impulses to seek affection. To give affection. “He never made me feel the way you did in our dream.”

  “And how was that?” His gaze was enigmatic, his hands resting on her thighs, his thumbs rubbing circles.

  “Like I was on fire and you were the only one who could put out the flames.”

  “That’s how it should be,” said Gray. He studied her, and she couldn’t name the emotion glittering in his eyes. “You’ve only slept with him?”

  “I wish I hadn’t,” she said, her tone bitter. “I wish I had never met him.”

  “I know that feeling well enough.”