His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  “Maybe he’s into kinky sex,” Tabitha whispered.

  Gillian’s laughter overflowed the room and caused every head to turn in their direction. The photographer snapped a picture as tears of mirth filled her eyes. “Oh, Tab, you’re priceless.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes before the moisture had a chance to damage her makeup. “You always know just the right thing to cheer me up.”

  Tabitha’s dark brows rose in mock horror. She leaned in closer so no one bustling around the room could overhear. “What if he pulls out black leather and chains tonight?”

  Gillian bit her lip to stifle another fit of laughter. If Mason wore leather, it would definitely be black. Mason had a preference for black in all his clothing. She couldn’t even picture straight-as-an-arrow Mason thinking about the S and M scene, let alone acting on it. “Oh, Tab, stop it before I have an accident. This gown wasn’t designed for Mother Nature calls.”

  Tabitha grinned as Gillian’s mother finished securing a crown of flowers onto a bouncing Celeste and made her way in their direction. Tabitha bent down and whispered, “What if he wants to smear your body with whipped cream and pretend he’s a cat?”

  Gillian stood up, forcibly controlled another bout of laughter and smoothed down her gown. She gave her mother a warm smile before leaning closer to Tabitha’s ear and whispering back, “I’ll remind him that turnabout is only fair and that I’ve been having fantasies about chocolate sauce and sprinkles lately.”

  Both women looked at each for a long moment before busting out laughing. Leave it to Tabitha to make everything seem so easy.

  Tabitha had been more involved with her wedding plans than Gillian herself had been. She had made the flowered headpieces for her attendants and herself. She had also seen to the white lattice arch and the hundred white roses decorating it. Dozens of huge palms and ferns had been brought into the senator’s garden to add more background, and the forty-odd tables set up for the reception held centerpieces designed by Tabitha and her staff. Flowers from her shop and from the senator’s garden were everywhere throughout the house. Tabitha had also designed each bouquet being carried down the aisle. Tabitha’s flower shop on the outskirts of the city had a wonderful and growing reputation as being the best.

  Gillian reached for Tabitha’s hand. “How can I ever thank you for all you’ve done?”

  “Make me a godmother to one of your dozen or so babies.”

  She squeezed her hand. “The very first. I promise.”

  Tabitha gave a ghost of a smile before looking away. “Here she is, Mrs. Barnett,” she said to Gillian’s mother. “All ready to walk down the aisle, and I didn’t have to resort to my grandmother’s soothing tea recipe.”

  Gillian grimaced. Every grandmother had a “soothing tea” recipe. “I still don’t see why a stiff drink now and again is against the rules.” From everything she had seen and heard about brandy, she could sure go for a snifter right about now.

  “Now, dear,” purred her mother, “you mustn’t talk so. The rules are for our protection, not to punish us.” Her mother reached up and straightened the alreadyperfect veil. “It’s time.”

  “Go ahead down, Mom. We’ll be coming.”

  Her mother seemed to hesitate for a moment. “There’s so much I should have told you.”

  Gillian noticed Tabitha silently slipping away to give her and her mother a moment of privacy. She gave her mother an amused grin. “I already know about the birds and the bees, Mom.”

  “Birds and bees have nothing to do with it.” Her smile matched her daughter’s. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  “It’s a little late to change my mind now.”

  “If you want to, your father and I will stand beside you.”

  Gillian wasn’t shocked. She knew her parents loved her and would never force her to do something she didn’t want to do. Council or no Council, her parents would honor her decision. “Thanks, Mom, but it’s okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Mom, you and dad had an arranged marriage and it worked out beautifully.”

  “But you don’t know Mason that well. Your father and I fell in love from the moment we first saw each other. I was fourteen and scared to death to be in the Council’s chambers when your father walked into the room. I took one look at him and knew everything was going to be all right.”

  “People are different.” She took her mother’s elbow and started for the door. She didn’t want to discuss her feelings for Mason. “Some of us take a little longer to take the plunge.”

  “Do you love him, Gillian?”

  Ah, the million-dollar question! She couldn’t tell her mother that she didn’t love Mason, but only wanted his body and what his kisses promised. Tabitha, yes, her mother, never. “Mom, you better get going. You don’t want to keep your new son-in-law waiting, do you?” She opened the door and handed over her mother to her father, who had been patiently waiting in the hall with his grandson, Turner, the ring bearer. “Tell her to go on down, Dad.”

  “Patricia, they’re waiting for you downstairs.”

  Her mother turned toward Gillian. “But…”

  Gillian reached out and gently kissed her mother’s cheek. “Everything is fine, Mom. The longer it takes you to take your seat, the longer it will be before your next grandchild is conceived.”

  “Gillian!” cried her mother.

  Luther Barnett’s boisterous laugh filled the hallway.

  “Come on, Pat, don’t you know yet when Gilly’s teasing?” He took his wife’s arm and gently led her to the top of the stairs.

  Gillian watched them as they walked away arm in arm. Her father had been wrong. She hadn’t been teasing.

  She gave her nephew a wide grin. He looked adorable in his black tux, complete with a pink carnation boutonniere, and slicked-down hair. “Ready, Turner?”

  “Okeydokey.”

  Everything was “okeydokey” in Turner’s life. No matter if it was good, bad or ugly, he always answered with the same response. Maybe he had something there. He just described how she felt about this wedding. It wasn’t real good, but it wasn’t real bad. It definitely wasn’t ugly. It was okeydokey.

  Gillian turned back into the room and managed a smile for everyone. “Well, ladies, I believe it’s time to get this show on the road.”

  Five hours later Mrs. Mason Blacksword took the last sip from her champagne glass and wiggled her nose. The bubbles from the ginger ale tickled her nose. Well, the deed was done. She was now officially a married woman. The bouquet had been thrown, the cake cut and the garter had been flung. Her feet were killing her from all the dancing. Her scalp ached from the pins anchoring what now felt like a twenty-pound veil. And her shoulders and back were screaming under the weight of her wedding dress. Who would have guessed that the simple white dress would feel like sixty pounds after hours of dancing, socializing and eating?

  Under the cover of her lashes she snuck a peek at her husband standing beside her saying his farewells to their families. Mason looked devastating in his black tux. He still looked as neat and pressed as he had when she had caught a glimpse of him standing by the arch, waiting for her as she walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. Her breath had caught and something akin to hope had flared within her heart. He had looked magnificent. When she joined him, and the veil had been raised, she had tried to read the expression burning in his dark eyes, but she couldn’t. His emotions seemed to be shifting like sand during a squall. The instant the justice of the peace proclaimed them man and wife, she felt his shields drop as she lowered hers. She refused to read him. It would be like cheating on a final exam.

  If she was going to pass the test, she wanted to do it on her own merits and not take the easy way out. She wanted a normal marriage and that meant no hocus-pocus. Mason must have agreed with her because she hadn’t felt the slightest probing.

  There was something very rewarding about doing a job well, and doing it with no special help. She never used
her powers while doing her job. Tracking down men who didn’t want to be found by using her brain, skills and know-how was a challenge—one she enjoyed immensely. She wasn’t about to deprive herself of that joy in her marriage by cheating. The same rules applied now. If her marriage worked, it would be because she cared.

  “Gillian, are you listening to a word I’m saying?” her grandmother questioned.

  “Of course, Grandmother. You said I’m to wear the white negligee tonight and the black one tomorrow.” She smiled with amusement and love at her grandmother. “I won’t repeat your other advice.” Who could possibly take offense at such a well-meaning gesture? Her grandmother had given her not one, but two peignoir sets for a bridal-shower.present. She glanced at Mason, hoping he hadn’t overheard her grandmother’s unsubtle hints on how to seduce one’s husband. Mason was shaking her father’s hand goodbye.

  Mason turned to her and asked, “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” No! I could use some more time here. Can’t you see how nervous I am ? She reached up and gave her father a kiss on his cheek. “I’ll call you and Mom in a couple of days.”

  “You better, young lady, or we’ll come looking for you two.”

  Mason took hold of Gillian’s arm and led her out the front door of the senator’s house and toward his car parked in the circular driveway. The front entrance and path was lit by concealed lights. “Watch your step here.”

  Gillian allowed Mason to escort her to the car. She had both hands full trying to hold up the hem of her gown and maneuver the train that had been hooked into a huge bustle of satin. Someone—and her guess would be her sister, Raine, and her boyfriend, Jason—had painted the words Just Married on the back window of Mason’s car in white. Gillian prayed it wasn’t paint and that whatever it was could be easily removed;

  Mason scowled at the artwork and the three strings of tin cans tied to his bumper, but didn’t comment. He opened the door and helped her and her twenty-seven yards of satin and lace get in. “Can I ask a question?”

  “What?”

  “Are you comfortable in that dress?”

  “What do you think?” It took her three tries before she could get all the dress into the car so he could shut the door.

  “I think beauty has its price.” Mason closed the door and walked around the car to the driver’s side.

  Gillian watched as he slipped in behind the wheel and started the car. “I think there was a compliment in there somewhere.”

  “There was.”

  She waved to her parents and Mason’s mother, who were still standing in the open doorway seeing them off. The sound of tin cans clanging against the senator’s cobblestone driveway filled the night. She suppressed her laughter and watched beneath lowered lashes as Mason expertly drove down the drive and onto the main road. He drove about a quarter mile before pulling over to the side of the road and stopping the car.

  “Thank you for keeping them on this long. I’m sure whoever decorated the car appreciated it.”

  It astounded her that he had allowed the cans to stay on. Mason wasn’t the type of man who liked to call attention to himself. Driving a car pulling enough tin to make a roof out of was indeed calling attention to himself. The racket they made as they drove down the street had every dog within two miles barking its head off.

  “Do you know who did it?”

  Did she detect a streak of mischief in his voice? “I have my ideas.” She couldn’t very well accuse Raine when she wasn’t totally sure. It could very well have been one of his sisters. Both Amy and Kara seemed to have taken great pleasure in watching Mason tie the knot earlier.

  “Let me know when you plan your revenge.” He got out of the car and walked toward the back bumper.

  Gillian twisted as far as her dress would allow. Three minutes later the trunk was open and the clanging of cans echoed throughout the car as he dumped them all in. The car shook momentarily as the trunk was slammed shut. She watched as he slid behind the wheel, and they once again headed off into the night toward his house and their wedding night.

  Mason paced the floor of the master bedroom while waiting for his wife. They had arrived over an hour ago and his bride still hadn’t seen fit to leave the guest bedroom, where she had retreated as soon as they entered the house. The most he had seen of her was when she turned her back and asked if he would undo the pearl buttons. He had counted twenty-eight buttons. Each one slipping through its hole had weakened his control. By the time he finished with the last button he had been so hard that he feared for the brass zipper on his pants. He had almost dragged her down onto the hallway carpet and satisfied his lust. The look of desire mixed with confusion gleaming in her pale blue eyes had stopped him before he could do more than whisper her name.

  It made sense when she fled to the guest bedroom. Most of her belongings were there. Thursday night she hadn’t had the time to put away most of her clothes or toiletries. Her bed had been set up in the room and it was piled with a small mountain of presents from her bridal shower. Whatever she needed to do before she came to him had to be done in that room.

  He had heard the shower start about thirty minutes ago and had done the same. The penetrating cold water had done nothing for his desire. Within minutes of toweling himself off and slipping into a pair of black silk pajama bottoms he was hard as a rock once again. Even his fingers trembled slightly as he shaved for the second time today. The small nick under his chin was a silent testimony to how tense he was.

  He paced to the other end of the room and stared out into the night. What was taking her so long? The shower in the other room had been shut off before he was even done with his. So where was his bride? He wondered if she was expecting him to come to her. That didn’t make any sense. She was the one in the guest bedroom with a bed piled halfway to the ceiling with boxes. The door to the master bedroom was open, all she had to do was walk twenty paces and hang a right.

  Maybe she was reluctant. That made more sense than her pacing the room like a virgin bride waiting for him to make the first move. He could understand. He felt the same way. But it was too late now to change a thing. As soon as she showed up, he was planning to consummate the marriage and fulfill his vow to the Council.

  He glanced at the tray he had carried up from the kitchen. A bucket holding a chilled bottle of sparkling water and two glasses sat in the center along with a couple of small dishes containing things to munch on. He was unsure of Gillian’s tastes, so he selected an assortment of different goodies. There were fancy cookies, nuts, mints and chips.

  Okay, he thought, so I’m not going to jump her bones the second she waltzes through the door. I’ll give her a glass of water and a mint to suck on first.

  His fist balled the curtain into a wrinkled mess as he thought about that lucky mint.

  He wasn’t going to survive this. He barely got through the reception in one piece. For some absurd reason he couldn’t stand to have Gillian out of his sight. It was as if the instant the vows were spoken he became responsible for her. He was to provide, protect and cherish her. Providing and protecting were no problem. What was his he always took care of. Gillian was now his. But the cherishing end of the deal was iffy. It sounded too close to love for his comfort. He didn’t want Gillian getting any ideas into her pretty little head.

  Love had no place in his life and in this marriage. He married Gillian because she was his chosen bride. Chosen by the Council, not him. He wouldn’t have chosen Gillian out of a pool of a hundred different witches. She didn’t possess any of the skills he deemed necessary in a wife.

  With his job he needed a wife who would be comfortable entertaining in a multitude of settings. Gillian appeared to be a backyard-barbecue or call-for-a-pizza kind of hostess. He had ambitions of one day becoming an elder within the society, and to achieve that goal it was essential that he had the cooperation of his wife. Gillian didn’t seem to be in awe of the elders or their powers. How could he expect her to climb the society ladder beside him when
she didn’t desire to climb?

  He liked the idea that she had a career; it would give her something to do during the day while he was at work. But he loathed her career choice. Whatever had happened in her life to make her choose social work? Somehow, someway he would have to make her see the error of her ways. There were plenty of other careers she could choose from. He would gladly pay for any further education she might need to change careers.

  A faint sound at the doorway caused him to jerk around. All thoughts of careers and social climbing fled his mind. Gillian was standing in the doorway looking both breathtakingly beautiful and unsure of herself. The white lace of her negligee was as transparent as a light summer mist. Every delectable detail of her body was his to look at. And look he did.

  Firm, lush breasts were capped with dusty pink nipples puckered sweetly against the translucent material. He could span her waist with his hands, and the gentle flaring of her hips lengthened into luxurious thighs made to cradle a man’s body. The golden thatch of curls at the apex of those thighs captured his attention and his willingness to breathe. Who needed oxygen when he was about to enter heaven?

  “H—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hi.”

  Gillian shifted her bare feet against the carpet and gave him a ghost of a smile. “Hi, yourself.”

  He waved his hand toward the tray. “I brought up something to drink and eat.” He couldn’t believe this. He was as nervous as a schoolboy on his first date. Even his palms were beginning to sweat. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and promised himself everything was going to be okay as soon as he kissed her. When they kissed, there was no hesitancy, no shyness, no awkwardness. He still remembered her thank-you kiss for her birthday present, given to him Thursday after Chico and his friends departed. That kiss had been keeping him warm for the past two days. He fought his desire-primed body and moved toward the tray.

  “I couldn’t eat another thing, but a glass of ice-cold water would be great.” She took a couple of hesitant steps into the room.