A Very Special Man

by Deborah MacGillivray

  Simon was thrilled his memories were becoming clearer. It seemed the more he thought like a man, the more vividly he recalled his past, and now understood what happened to him. After his father turned his back on him, he had landed in a small village on the edge of Paris. Unfortunately―or in light of him ultimately finding Dezzy, fortunately―his path had crossed that of a woman, Tamina Wybranda. She was of Friesian blood, an ancient enemy of the Picts, though he failed to recall that fact upon their first meeting. From the start she’d targeted him for her lover, but Simon refused. Race memory, possibly, caused an immediate distrust of her and her motives. He learnt she was a witch, of modest talent she thought, who understood his powers only too well. She saw the chance to increase her abilities through controlling him.

  When he refused her continual advances, she put him under a dark enchantment―come the seven nights of the next full moon he’d be unable to resist the change. Once transformed, he would stay in his cat shape until he found true love. Only a woman who loved him with her whole heart could break the spell. What he didn’t know―Tamina fed him a potion that slowly triggered the change in him, and also dictated the type of cat he became. He tried to fight the curse, but each night the moon rose his resistance waned. As he understood what was happening to him, he’d set up a peculiar trust fund for the ‘heirs’ of the Viscount. All properties and funds would be held in trust until the new Viscount showed up with the seal of Moordon to prove he was the true heir to the line. In the end, his shapeshift was into that of a mere cat, not the panther form he usually took. Poor Tamina never understood just how powerful a witch she really had been.

  It had been three centuries, three long centuries, so long, he began to forget who he was and give over to the cat side. Then, he found Dezzy. He could barely recall the various journeys that brought him from France, back to Scotland and then eventually to the Colonies. It’d been a slow path to Dezzy. That night, nearly a year ago, he felt so lost, and didn’t know where his feet carried him. The rain was icy; he was tired and hungry. He just wanted a home and someone to love him. Suddenly, at the end of the long winding road, he saw the large house sitting up on the hill. The gates at the bottom of the drive had lampposts glowing softly. It seemed a welcome beacon.

  And Dezzy had opened the door to him.

  He stared at her now, drinking in her quiet beauty. Dezzy drifted toward dreamland unaware that he watched every breath, treasured every sigh. He opened his mind and allowed it to brush hers, judging how deeply she slept. It was imperative she’d reach a certain level, the stage when the subconscious is still awake while the consciousness slumbers. Lucid dreaming, some call it. When she reached that plane, her mind would hear him as clearly as if he spoke. He hoped to reach her and plant the suggestion of what she needed to do.

  The clock on the mantle softly chimed the first of twelve times. The Witching Hour.

  Simon smiled. When all things were possible.

  ***

  Desdemona drifted. In the background, she heard Bugs Bunny wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. Distantly, she realized the shows must’ve switched, but she couldn’t find the strength to get up and go to bed. She was resting peacefully, Simon’s warm body lending his heat to make her cozy. On the fireplace mantle, the clock chimed.

  Desdemona . . .

  The sexy voice filtered through her light dream state. A voice of culture, British, with a hint of Scottish burr. Her dream lover. It was almost as if her body recognized him just by his nearness. Oh, why couldn’t she find a man in real life like him? A very special man...someone who would love her, cherish her, hold her at night?

  Desdemona...I am here. I love you. I cherish you above all others. Above my own life. I want to hold you...but first, you must make a wish.

  A wish? Could it be that simple? She thought back on the past few years and all that had occurred to her. Surely, she’d made hundreds of wishes.

  For a wish to work, you have to do it properly, lass. Different wishes require you to do different things and perform them in a set order. You think you just say I wish and abracadabra it would happen? This is magic, my love. You have to assemble the right ingredients, work the ritual.

  What ritual? Desdemona thought this a strange dream. Her night lover had never spoken of such things before.

  I have not spoken thusly because I had to know you are the one. Trust is earned, Dezzy. I trust you because I love you and know you love me. The clock is striking twelve. Now is the moment. All you have to do is speak the words and kiss the nose of your cat.

  She chuckled, stirring. That brought her awake more. Kiss Simon? Dreams were silly things. Garbage in-garbage out, they say. Yet, a dream also bespoke of your hidden desires. Your guards were down and you were dealing with the emotions and yearnings you couldn’t hide from. She wanted someone to share her life with, a man to laugh with…to have him love her. Oh, she didn’t expect anything extraordinary like marrying Prince Charming. In fact, she doubted Prince Baby really existed. But just to have that very special man, one you would die for without a moment’s hesitation, now that would be a Christmas wish come true, indeed.

  Simon stood on her chest and bumped his head against hers. She chuckled. “Silly cat. You’re not a small puss.”

  All you have to do is speak the words and kiss the nose of your cat and all you yearn for will be made real.

  What the hell? It was a lovely Christmas Eve dream. Yawning, she struggled to open her eyes. The cat purred loudly, rubbing his face against her cheek. Pushing him back she tried to sit up. However, with Simon the baby leopard standing on her chest, she couldn’t muster enough strength.

  “Oh, Simon. My dream told me to make a wish and kiss your nose. My magical puttytat, eh?”

  “Merrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” He rumbled even louder.

  She exhaled deeply. “Let’s see if I can stay awake long enough to do the ritual. Some ritual, kissing a cat on the nose. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained―here goes. I wish I had a very special man who loved me, let me love him, and that we could be so happy together.”

  She smiled at the whimsy. It wouldn’t happen. There was no Christmas Eve magic. No enchanted pussycat. Still...she put her hands around Simon’s large head. He had stopped purring and seemed to be holding his breath, as if he waited for her to finish the ritual.

  “Simon, I love you. I don’t know what I would do without you.” She pulled his big boy face down and kissed his nose. “There. I made my wish and kissed you. You’re supposed to give me Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome with a biffity boffity.”

  Hearing the clock tick on the mantle, she waited, holding her breath like Simon did, as though she truly expected something wondrous to happen.

  Then it did. The clock stopped ticking. She could hear Burl Ives singing Frosty the Snowman, as another cartoon came on the screen, but the world held its breath. Slowly, her sleepy vision wavered. Simon got off her chest, but he still oddly hovered just above her. He became less distinct as if she looked at him through a fog. Then slowly, the smiling cat faded away, the swirling mists growing so thick they screened him. With a swirl the fog parted, Simon’s face was no longer there.

  She stared at the face of a man. A handsome man. A beautiful man. He had longish hair, which lay in waves around his face and brushed the back of his neck. Black hair. Not that dark brown that appeared black; this was true blue-back. His eyes struck her, a pale amber that twinkled with a sexy smile.

  Maybe wishes did come true.

  Maybe she’d had too much eggnog.

  ***

  Simon watched Dezzy’s eyelids close. As he looked at her, his hands shook from wanting her so badly. His Dezzy. The woman he loved more than life. By damn, she’d done it―her love had broken his curse! After all these years. It had taken him traveling halfway around the world to find this one very special woman.

  Only, it had been too long for him being in his Cait Sidhe form. He hardly knew how to stand or act as a man again. He wanted to share so
many things with his Dezzy, but he had to rein in, control his eagerness, his ravenous hunger for her. She would need time to adjust to him being a man. He needed time to adjust to being a man.

  Simon reached out and smoothed her hair away from her face, then with his index finger devotedly traced its contours. Loving that he could now touch her as a man. She wrinkled her nose as he kissed it. His Dezzy. What a precious gem she was!

  Simon gently picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. His first steps were wobbly, but he quickly recalled the motions of walking upright on two legs instead of all fours. Ever so slowly, he placed her down on the bed, then reverently knelt down on his knees on the floor, his hands on the bed’s edge, as he just watched her. With a near kitten mew, she stirred then settled on her side. Satisfied that she was resting, he slid off her jeans and left her in the soft sweater and her red thong. He smiled. His Dezzy had a secret passion for sexy underwear.

  There was so much love inside his Dezzy just waiting for the right man to help her release it. And he was that man. Her very special man.

  Right now, he wanted just to hold her. In the living room, Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer played on the box. He liked cartoons. There was an innocence about them that appealed to him. The perfect backdrop to cuddle chastely with his Dezzy. He pulled the comforter over her, then lifted it so he could slide down beside her.

  Holding Dezzy was pure heaven. And when daylight came and she opened her eyes, she’d see that wishes do come true.

  For them both.

  ***

  In the hours before dawn, Desdemona sighed deeply, a sound that nearly resembled a purr of contentment. She was so warm; the hot flesh curled against her and half over her was delicious. So nice to have a man to hold her.

  A man?

  Her eyelids flew open and she blinked, trying to see. Her vision was hazy; it took several heartbeats before she could actually focus. When she did, she stared into the smiling face of a handsome man. No, handsome failed to describe this beautiful male. She raised the cover and peeked under the duvet―the beautiful naked male!

  “Holy Moly,” she told herself. “I’m dreaming.”

  “Morning, Dezzy.” The stranger reached up to stroke her cheek, then finally inclined to her and brushed a light kiss to her shocked mouth.

  The kiss felt real. Oh boy it felt real! Dezzy? That’s what her dream lover called her. He smiled slyly, then started to lean in to her for another kiss. She wanted that kiss, but this was simply too much for her mind to absorb. At the last second, she put a finger to his lips to stop him. The amber eyes flashed in devilment as his tongue stroked out and laved two fingers. In response, her toes started a slow burn―she started a slow burn.

  “Kiss me, Dezzy, I’ve been waiting all night for you to awaken.” His eyes roved over her face as if she were the most rare and precious object he’d ever seen. “Waiting for you a very long time.”

  Bloody hell, how was a woman to resist that? If this was a dream it was a wonderful one. “So let me dream,” she whispered to herself more than him.

  “No, Dezzy. This is real.”

  Her brain barely registering his words, her hand reached out to touch him. So warm, so vital, his heart pounded under her palm as she placed it against his chest. Like a hungry child pressing its nose to the bakery window, she wanted this to be reality, only she knew the disappointment that could come in believing was too much to pay. Life had hurt her so many times before. She didn’t think she could stand another disappointment. Unable to let go and trust, she stared into his pale eyes, mesmerized by the myriad of emotions reflected in them―everything she could hope to see in the man she loved―aching inside because, despite logic telling her otherwise, she so wanted this magic to be genuine.

  A spark of hope ignited in her heart, only the fragile acceptance was instantly shattered, when her hand reached up to caress the side of his neck. It took a heartbeat for her mind to shift gears; when it did, she jerked straight up about six inches. This was beyond acceptance! She stood up in the bed, wobbling backward until her hips hit the headboard, and her head cracked against the wall.

  “Ow...” Rubbing it, she stammered out, “Who...ar...are you? Wha...what are you?” She dragged the duvet up before her like a shield. “Tha...that’s Simon’s collar.” But Simon’s collar would be too small for a man. Feeling the onslaught of shock hitting her, she gazed at the devastatingly sexy man sitting on her bed, wearing nothing but a duplicate of her cat’s choker.

  “Who am I?” He smiled, rolled his eyes, then turned his hand to his chest and tapped it. “I am Simon.”

  “You are not my bloody cat.” A note of hysteria crept into her voice.

  One side of his mouth quirked up in a confused half-frown. “Actually, I am.”

  “Don’t try to tell me that. Don’t even start.” Desdemona skirted around the edge of the bed, dragging the comforter with her.

  “Oh, but I must. I am Simon. To be specific, I am Simon Glashiel Ravensdale, Viscount Moordon, Earl Glendour, and I am most pleased to finally be able to converse with you, Dezzy.” He reached out and stroked her calf muscle. “Touch you.”

  “Don’t say that! You cannot be Viscount somebody or other and a cat, too.” She waved her free hand to add impact to her sentence.

  “You spoke the words, ‘I wish I had a very special man who loved me, let me love him, and that we could be so happy together.’ Then you kissed me on the nose. You broke the spell and set me free.” He tilted his head in challenge, daring her to refute it.

  Desdemona felt the blood drain from her brain. Words she’d spoken to Simon before kissing him on the nose. No one else was in the house. There was only one way he could know…

  He just grinned when her mouth worked trying to find logical words and came up empty. And oddly enough, there was something about the eyes...a glittering, light shade of amber that reminded her of―Simon! Where was he? He rarely left her side. Where was her cat? Warily, she eased off the bed, stepping down, doing her best not to fall while still holding the quilt up between them. The man didn’t move, merely watched her intently. Just like Simon does.

  “Simon? Here, kitty kitty.” Keeping a half eye on the stranger in her bed, she whistled, lifting the dust ruffle to peek under the bed. “Simon. Here, kitty kitty. Please come here. Please...”

  With a panther’s power, he lunged crosswise over the bed’s plane and snatched the quilt. She didn’t even have time to blink, though she gave a small squeal. With one jerk, he spun her like a top until she landed across the bed, her legs half-dangling over the edge. Before she could draw a breath, he was over her, his hands on the bed beside her shoulders, and his knees planted on either side of her thighs. He was still smiling, but there was a predator’s gleam of triumph of having cornered his prey.

  “No, here, kitty kitty,” he smirked. The penetrating gaze bore into hers, almost seeming to read her mind. “Yes, to some degree I read your thoughts and emotions. It tells me how perfect we are together. I have never experienced that until I came to you, Dezzy.” He frowned down at the duvet as if it were a snake. “I don’t like this thing between us.” He snatched it away and tossed it to the floor, landing in the same spot where she’d found her quilt every morning this past week.

  A frission shuddered through her, but one of sexual awareness not fear. Odd, here she was pinned under a very virile man―a very virile naked man in a cat collar―and yet, she didn’t fear him. Logic said she should be screaming, or trying to bash him over the head with the lamp on the nightstand―things a person usually did when they awakened to a naked stranger in their bed. Instead, as she stared into the mesmerizing eyes, the hungry side of her, lonely too long, roared to life.

  She shut her eyelids tightly trying to focus her thoughts. “Things like this just do not happen.”

  “They do and did. I understand the change is jarring―”

  “Jarring? Jarring?” Her voice rose. “I go to sleep cuddled up with my cat―”

&nb
sp; He countered, “You went to sleep very lonely, aching for someone to love you.”

  With those simple words he disarmed her in a fashion she couldn’t fight.

  He saw into her, understood her need to love and be loved. She swallowed hard struggling against the tears.

  “Accept me. I am your very special man. Oh, Dezzy, for so long I have watched you, hungered for you, wanted you. It was maddening.” The emotions were clear in his eyes, and threaded in the reed of his voice. “You are the light in my life. My reason for going on. Without you there would be no meaning to my existence.”

  His softly spoken words cut straight to her womb, it contracting and cramping with the need to believe him, then the power slammed into her heart. She wanted him with a soul deep craving that went beyond the physical, beyond simple emotions. In that simple breath, she didn’t know how or why, she just understood magic did exist.

  “Simon...” The name came on a whisper of awe, of her yielding.

  He smiled relief, victory, and perhaps even a little vindication in her acceptance…her surrender. “I love you, Dezzy. I have never felt what you bring to me, never felt as if I belonged to another human being. Never wanted to possess one as I want to possess you, own you, brand you. Love me, Dezzy.”

  He lowered his soft lips to hers, gently tasting her, coaxing her to open to him. Despite the overwhelming circumstances, the implausibility, she did believe him, did want him. Kissing Simon was magic, pure and simple. Anything else failed to say what he made her feel.

  Heat filled the pit of her belly, making her nearly cramp with intense yearning, then it ricocheted, sped like wildfire to scorch her heart. She was dizzy, aching with a primeval need to belong to this very unusual man. To be one with him. The scent off his skin was an aphrodisiac, filling her mind until nothing else mattered but Simon. All the worries and the questions would have to wait. Nothing was more important than this moment, than touching him, having him touch her.

  He pulled back, watching, waiting. He wanted her to offer her surrender, not to take it.