His Chosen Bride

by Marcia Evanick

  Mason quickly filled two glasses and met her near the foot of the bed. He handed her a glass. “How about a toast?”

  “To what?”

  He noticed how her gaze seemed riveted to his chest and wondered if she was observing how fast his heart was racing. Lord knew, he could hear the damn organ thundering away like a racehorse. He raised his glass to hers and said, “To us.”

  Gillian shot a quick glance at the bed behind him before lightly tapping her glass against his. “To us.”

  Mason watched as her lips closed on the crystal brim. A shudder of desire departed his stomach and traveled southward. It ended in the base of his manhood, where it flared to life. His mouth suddenly felt as dry as the Mojave Desert. He took a deep gulp of the sparkling water and silently cursed the Council and their rules. What he needed now was a drink. A stiff drink, to match the part of his anatomy howling for relief.

  Gillian replaced her glass on the tray and looked somewhere over his left shoulder. “This is a little awkward, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve been in more comfortable situations in my life.” It was the understatement of the year. He couldn’t remember ever being so tense in his life. One part of him wanted to assuage the fear he saw in Gillian’s eyes and tell her he’d sleep on the couch until she was ready. The howling part wanted to haul her into his bed and not let her up until the howling stopped.

  She clasped her hands together in front of her and nervously worried her lower lip with her teeth. “Maybe if we kissed, it would get better.”

  Was she crazy! If they kissed now it would be all over before it began. He’d never last, and the one thing he was bound and determined to do tonight was satisfy Gillian. He gave a casual shrug and placed his empty glass next to hers. “We could.”

  He studied her face, partly because he was trying to figure out what to do next, but mostly because he was petrified to. look below her chin. His control was unraveling faster than the plot of a B movie. He took a step closer and lightly drew the back of his fingertips down her jaw to the provocative curve of her chin. The pad of his thumb stroked her moist lower lip. He wondered if she felt the heat of his kisses, or was it only on his end? The last thing he wanted was to appear a fool. “What happens to you when we kiss?”

  Gillian parted her lips against his fingers. Her gaze was now riveted to his mouth. “I can’t think when you kiss me.”

  “Is that good or bad?” He couldn’t think when he kissed her, either. He tilted his head to the side and stroked the soft, dewy inside of her lip. Would she be this moist when he sank himself deep within her?

  “Good—” she nipped his thumb “—very, very good.” She brought her hand up and captured his fingers. “Kiss me, Mason,” she begged.

  He didn’t need another invitation. His mouth slanted down on hers with desire born of frustration. Ever since she waltzed into the society party months ago wearing nothing but sequins and a light, flowery scented perfume, he had wanted her. Lord, how he wanted her!

  Gillian sighed softly into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck. The soft diaphanous material of her gown brushed the dark curls covering his chest, which then arrowed down before disappearing beneath the black drawstring tie of his pajama bottoms.

  Mason pulled her closer and heatedly stroked the length of her back, crushing the sheer material beneath his fingers. He cupped her curved bottom and lifted her off the carpet; He groaned softly before leaving her mouth to trail a string of heated kisses down her throat to the white satin bow tied between her breasts. His teeth took one end of the bow and pulled. The gossamer gown parted, revealing Gillian’s hidden treasures.

  Her hot fingers toured his back and shoulders as he captured first one nipple then the other between his lips. The sweet, soft purrs coming from Gillian’s throat drove him on. He took a step backward and brought them closer to the bed. With a deft movement he removed her gown with a gentle brush. It pooled at her feet like a liquid puddle of melted snow.

  In one swift movement he picked her up and gently deposited her in the center of his bed. He untied his pajama bottoms and allowed them to join her gown on the carpet before lowering his body next to hers.

  Her graceful arms reaching for him was his ruin. How could he not respond to such a sweet request? His mouth captured hers once more, and with her hands urging him on, he made Gillian his wife.

  Mason’s eye slowly peeked open and stared at the clock on the bedside table. It was after ten in the morning! He never slept past eight, but then again, he had never slept with Gillian before. After he recovered from the shock of learning his wife had been a virgin he had tenderly made love to her all over again. Gillian had dated a lot of different men before their wedding. Considering today’s standards, virginity wasn’t as highly prized as it once was. He hadn’t expected her gift of innocence. The second time they made love he had regained his control and demonstrated to Gillian that speed wasn’t a requirement. As dawn had stolen into the room he awakened to find Gillian’s inquisitive hands tentatively exploring his body. He had allowed her a moment’s curiosity before pushing her over onto her back and playfully showing her what her wandering fingers had started. The morning light had brightened the room as they had fallen asleep in each other’s arms.

  Mason smiled into his pillow as he contemplated how to greet his bride. Maybe being married wasn’t as bad as he first thought. His blushing bride had shown amazing willingness to learn. He could no longer feel her soft, sweet body up against his and he missed its warmth. He could become quite used to sleeping with Gillian.

  He turned his head toward her side of the bed and opened his eyes. She was gone! With a jerk he sat up in bed and glanced wildly around the room. Where did she go? He hadn’t heard her get up, but then again, he wouldn’t have noticed if thieves had pulled a moving van up to the house and stolen every piece of furniture, including the bed.

  Mason got out of bed, pulled on his discarded pajama bottoms, and frowned at the empty bathroom. Maybe she was hungry? Hell, he was starving after all they had done between the sheets. Gillian was probably downstairs in the kitchen whipping up a fancy breakfast to impress him with. Maybe he should climb back into bed so her surprise wouldn’t be ruined. It wasn’t every morning that he received breakfast in bed. Then again, it wasn’t every morning he woke up married.

  He paced the room for a full minute before heading for the stairs. She was taking too long, and he missed her.

  Chapter 6

  Mason parked his car behind Gillian’s well-used hatchback and glanced up and down the street. It was barely the lunch hour and already the strip joints were open, loud music pouring from their yawning doorways and tainting what should have been a peaceful Sunday morning. A Sunday morning when he should have been lying in bed with his bride of less than twenty-four hours instead of tracking her down to one of the roughest streets within The Blades.

  What in the world possessed her to leave his bed, hop into her car and go chasing down deadbeat fathers the first day of her married life? Did she prefer these streets to his touch? That was an unsettling thought. By her response and her willingness to participate in their lovemaking, he had thought everything went well. Extremely well. What they had shared was not an act of duty to consummate their marriage. It had been mind-shattering and body-satisfying. Gillian Barnett Blacksword in his bed had been worth the price of his freedom. Now if he could only find her.

  Mason surveyed the gaudy neon lights, black-painted windows and life-size posters—slapped onto every available wall—of nude women with black boxes strategically placed over their most private parts. Tough-looking men leaned against the walls and tougher-looking women strutted their wares. This was the bowels of the city and his Gillian was around here somewhere. Her office was six blocks over. When he had arrived there, he’d found it empty, but he sensed her presence nearby.

  When he had entered the kitchen expecting to find his wife preparing breakfast the only thing he had found was a note: Mason, went t
o work, be back in time to start dinner. Gillian.

  What the hell kind of note was that? Went to work! Not only was it the morning after their wedding vows, but it was a Sunday. Gillian had no business working on a Sunday. He had crumpled up the note, tossed it into the trash and had been tempted to head for the country club to play a couple of holes of golf. The thought of some of the members of the Council spotting him on the green was enough to squash the temptation. But his real worry had come from Gillian herself. What could be that important for her to leave the warmth of their bed and head for this hellhole?

  Something wasn’t right. He had noticed it before, but didn’t push the issue. Something or someone was frightening Gillian, and it wasn’t him or the wedding. He had sensed it weeks ago on the day she was in his courtroom. Before she had raised her shields, her fear had been palpable. He should have made her confide in him. How could he help her if he didn’t know what was going on?

  Mason got out of his car and scanned the area for traces of his wife. His senses told him she was close. Real close. He walked past a hooker who looked sixteen—and stoned—and sadly shook his head at her offer. He stopped at the doorway of a bar and tried to glance inside. A curtain of three-inch red plastic strips blocked his view. His instincts were screaming at him that Gillian was inside.

  He glanced up at the red neon light above the door and frowned. What would his wife be doing in a place called Tasty Squeeze? By the thunderous music blasting through the doorway he could well imagine what he would find inside. This, or any other bar, wasn’t any place for his wife. He knew Gillian could take care of herself. But there always was a chance she wouldn’t sense danger coming. A bullet or a knife could kill her just as easily as any other mortal. Witch or not, she shouldn’t be courting danger.

  Mason pushed aside the plastic strips obstructing the view of the dancers and entered the bar. He allowed a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness before moving to his right. Two female dancers were doing an enthusiastic rendition of a sexual act to the beat of an old Beatles’ tune. A half-dozen patrons were cheering them on and waving dollar bills in the air. A bartender was behind the bar flirting with a waitress who had disregarded the city code and removed her top. His frown deepened. He didn’t see Gillian.

  He was almost to the bar when his senses alerted him to danger. Gillian’s danger. Within a heartbeat he raced for the door at the back of the room. The door banged against the wall as he raced down the narrow hall and heard voices raised in an argument. Gillian’s voice was one of them.

  * * *

  Gillian stood her ground and shouted down Ray Carnes, better known as Vice to his associates. “I don’t take kindly to threats, Carnes.”

  “Listen, you little bitch. Because of you I now have to pay that slut I was married to part of my hard-earned money.”

  She jammed her fists onto her hips and raised her chin a notch. Every nerve was on full alert, sensing danger. She had barged into Ray Carnes’s office and demanded to know if he was the one threatening her, and he wasn’t taking it calmly. She had gone through her computer records and Carnes’s name was at the top of her list. She figured if she cornered him, she could get a better read on him. So far his response had been predictable. He was furious with her for tracking him down nearly a year ago, but he wasn’t the letter sender.

  “You’re not supporting your ex-wife, Carnes. Your hard-earned money is supporting those two little boys you fathered.” She glanced around the office and cringed. She knew exactly how Carnes was earning his money and it sickened her. But it didn’t change a thing. Carnes’s ex-wife might have been a dancer at a different establishment when they had been married, but she was now a dental assistant who needed the child-support money to make ends meet.

  Carnes moved from behind his desk and took a threatening step closer. “I’m not paying a single dime more. Do you hear me?” His voice shook the walls. “Not one more dime!”

  Gillian held her ground and didn’t back away. Men like Carnes loved to see fear. The hair on the back of her neck stood up as pounding footsteps raced down the hall toward her. She threw up a shield to guard her back and glared at Carnes. “Who asked you to?” She had the answer she had come searching for. Carnes wasn’t the danger.

  The door was kicked open with enough force to shatter part of the doorframe. Mason followed the splintering wood into the office.

  Carnes took a staggering step back. “Who are you?”

  Gillian glanced over her shoulder and groaned. Now she had done it. Mason looked ready to tear someone apart. And that somebody was probably her.

  “He’s my husband.” She gave Carnes a small smile. It felt funny to refer to Mason as her husband. She didn’t know if it was a good funny or a strange funny, but now was not the time to examine her feelings. “He gets a little cranky if I keep him waiting too long in the car.”

  Mason glared at the man standing a few feet away from his wife, but didn’t say a word.

  Carnes backed up a couple more feet and put the desk between himself and the man who had just kicked his way into his office.

  Gillian lowered the shield and gave Mason a small shrug. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, Sugar Bear.” She walked over to him and gave his forearm a little pat. She was going to pay for this later, but she wanted Carnes to remember her visit, and especially remember her husband. Mason looked infuriated enough to rip the Tasty Squeeze apart with his bare hands.

  “I’ll be seeing you around, Carnes,” she said as she steered Mason toward the door hanging crookedly from its hinges. She eyed the door and the splintered jamb with a weird sense of amusement. What in the world did Mason think he was doing busting into Cames’s office like some avenging hero? More important, what did Mason think she was doing in the office?

  She allowed Mason to lead her through the hallway, out into the bar area and then out onto the sidewalk. He was boiling mad and ready to snap at any moment. She wasn’t ready to push any more of his buttons. Maybe tracking down whoever was sending her the threatening letters had been a bad idea. But this morning, when she woke to find herself plastered to Mason’s chest, it had seemed like an excellent idea.

  Mason stopped at her car. “Get in and drive directly home.” His mouth barely moved and his words sounded strained, as if his jaws were clamped together. “We will discuss this there.”

  Gillian glanced at the people on the sidewalk and noticed their curious expressions. She and Mason appeared to be the center of attention. So much for discretion. “Can we stop for breakfast on the way?” She hadn’t eaten anything before running from Mason this morning, and she wasn’t really hungry now, but she knew Mason well enough to know he wouldn’t cause a scene in a restaurant.

  “No.”-He opened her car door and she got in behind the wheel. “We have plenty of food at our house.” He closed the door without another word and walked to his car, parked directly behind hers.

  Gillian pulled her keys from the pocket of her jeans and groaned. She was in for it now. This was one hell of a way to start off a marriage. She started the car and headed for Mason’s house. It wasn’t their house, not yet.

  When she had slipped from his bed around nine o’clock she thought she’d take a shower, fix some breakfast and spend the day unpacking her stuff. One look at the guest room piled with all her things made her realize how unsettled she was. She skipped the shower, but it had taken her ten minutes to find the box containing her underwear. After pulling on jeans and a faded T-shirt she had headed downstairs looking for coffee. Within five minutes she was out of the house and dangerously close to tears. She couldn’t find where Mason kept his coffee. His coffeemaker looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. And her favorite mug was packed somewhere over the garage.

  She had driven to her office, where she drank three cups of coffee and contemplated the real reason behind her frazzled state. Mason. It wasn’t his kitchen or the lack of her smiley-face mug that had caused her to run. It was Mason and what they had sha
red last night in his bed. Not only had she lost her virginity, but she was scared to death she had also lost her heart. What they had shared went way beyond sex. The mechanics of great sex had been present and accounted for, but there had been an added element she hadn’t expected. There had been magic.

  Gillian glanced in the rearview mirror and bit her lower lip as she spotted Mason’s car directly behind hers. What in the world was she going to tell Mason? The man deserved to know why she had felt compelled to leave his arms and go visit Carnes in his sleazy establishment. A missing coffee mug wasn’t going to cut it. And somehow she didn’t think Mason believed in magic.

  She parked carefully at the side of the garage so Mason would have plenty of room to park his car inside. Her old car was used to the elements. The only times it had ever seen the inside of a garage were when she’d appeared in court and had to use one of the parking structures dotting Center City.

  She slowly got out of her car and watched as Mason drove up the brick driveway, parked and then joined her. He looked devastatingly handsome, dressed once again almost entirely in black. His pants were black cotton twill and his pullover shirt was black with a narrow pinstripe of emerald green running through it. A small insignia of a roaring leopard was stitched over the left side of his chest. The leopard appeared more civilized than Mason. Where was the attentive lover from last night?

  She gave a heavy sigh and headed for the kitchen.

  Mason watched as Gillian walked away from him and entered the house. She appeared defeated. Defeated from what, he hadn’t a clue. What did she have to be so downtrodden about? Wasn’t he the one who had woken up alone in bed wondering where his wife had gone? He still couldn’t believe where he had finally located her. The Tasty Squeeze was located in the worst part of the city. What business did she have with that Carnes fellow? Was he one of the unsupporting fathers she was tracking down? That could explain the only remark he had heard, the one about not paying one dime more.