by Craig, Emma
“Oh? Is that all you can say? Oh?” He chuckled, one of those deep, dark chuckles that curled through her like a river of fire, heating her blood and making her heart bump crazily.
“I—I—” It was no use. She couldn’t speak.
He drew her into his arms. She folded up like a concertina and all but melted against him. “Ah, Sophie, I love you so much it scares me sometimes. And I know I’ll never be able to make up to you for what you’ve lost. Nobody will ever be able to replace Joshua. But you know, I really like kids, and if we were to have a couple, it might make you feel better.” He drew back and looked down at her. She was too moved to do anything but swallow and try not to bawl like a baby. “What do you say? Will you marry me? If you say no, I’ll kidnap you and run off with you.”
Making a monumental effort, Sophie managed to tilt her head back and look up at him. “Yes.” It was only a whisper. She wanted to shout the word to the world. “Oh, yes.”
“Good.” As if he feared she might change her mind, he tightened his embrace. He didn’t let her go until they reached the Gladiola. Even then, he kept holding her hand all the way up to Juniper’s room.
* * * *
“Our dog snores.” Gabriel, replete after loving Sophie completely and with absolute honesty—not to mention the sweet incense of sandalwood, orange blossoms, jasmine, and magic—thought Tybalt’s snoring was kind of cute, actually.
“I know he does.” Sophie, her breathtaking body, gleaming white in the moonlight and damp with the sweat of their lovemaking, smiled at him, and Gabriel’s heart overflowed. It had been doing that ever since they’d returned to the Gladiola.
“This was a brilliant idea of yours, Sophie,” he said, deciding not to prolong the snoring conversation. “Taking a room together next to Juniper’s, that is.”
“It was, wasn’t it? You see? Not all of my ideas are maniacal.”
“Thank God for that. If you ever decide to kill anybody else, take it up with me first, all right?”
“Of course, Gabriel.”
She sounded intolerably submissive, and he didn’t believe it for a minute. He decided to subdue her in his own way, propped himself on an elbow, and leaned over to suckle one of her perfectly spectacular breasts. She sighed happily and reached for his sex, which was stiffening up satisfactorily.
“We’re really good at this,” he mumbled around a nipple.
“We certainly are.”
When he slipped into her warm, moist sheath the second time that night, Gabriel realized Sophie’s prediction had come true absolutely and beautifully. And he was glad of it.
Their first child, Martin George Caine, was born ten months after their marriage, in the bedroom of their lovely San Francisco home. The family business, being carried out in a theater owned by Gabriel and a friend of his, was prospering better than any of them could have predicted—except, perhaps, Sophie, although she didn’t much go in for predictions any longer.
Gabriel knew the Madrigal family magic had carried over to another generation as soon as he saw his son in Sophie’s arms. Nothing but the magic of love could have transformed his magnificent Sophie so completely.
Juniper agreed, although she still dealt the cards, lit candles, and prayed a lot. That was all right with Gabriel. Life could be rough sometimes. Anything that helped a body get through it was aces up with him.
So he was happy to let Juniper have her magic. Personally, he preferred love. Fortunately for him, he had plenty of both.
