Twelve Shades of Midnight:

by Liliana Hart

  Chapter Ten

  The idea had begun last night just before she’d been rendered comatose, and it grew during the day as a way to keep her mind off Wyatt Jackson’s careless father.

  Now, she sat in the middle of Moira’s unkempt garden, digging at a particularly difficult weed, the temptation to use her magic to remove it killing her.

  “So I hear there was more drama at school today?” Ben’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Winnie turned, wiping the sweat from her forehead with her forearm, also blocking out the ugly-hot sun. “There was. Talk to Miss Marjorie. She can tell you all about it.” She turned her back to him once more, refusing to admire his beauty while she was wearing a pair of sweats that read “I Like Big Butts” on the seat of them.

  He sat on the edge of the garden’s stone front. “Maybe I’d like to talk to you about it.”

  “Maybe I’m busy, and nowhere in those stupid rules does it say I have to talk to you about anything.”

  “But you were a witness to it. Firsthand. Lola tells me she saw Moira.”

  Winnie’s heart clenched in that way that was becoming so familiar to her, her fingers tensing. “That was not Moira. I don’t know what kind of magic that wand has, but it was powerful, and I handed it over to BIC so she could speak to Wyatt’s father.”

  “I don’t understand how a kid ended up with a wand so powerful.”

  “Yeah. Good question, but something’s not right, Ben. I can feel it, and it worries me. Why would a warlock have a wand like that?” Typically, warlock wands weren’t as strong. They utilized other objects like pocket watches to facilitate their magic.

  A wand was every witch’s accessory, almost as much as a purse or lip gloss. She missed hers a great deal after having it confiscated.

  He leaned in to gaze into her eyes, putting his hand on hers to stop her from digging. “I agree it doesn’t make any sense. Wyatt’s newer to town. Moved here just before Mora died, so I don’t know much about him. His mother is out of the picture, maybe she left her wand behind?”

  Winnie made a face at him, letting the warmth of his palm seep into her gloved hand. “What witch in her right mind leaves her wand behind, Ben? It’s not something you can replace.”

  “You left yours behind at my place once.”

  Because she didn’t think she was going to leave his place forever, and she’d forgotten it in the heat of passion, not with the intention of never coming back.

  Winnie stiffened, pulling her hand from beneath his. “That was a different scenario altogether and you know it.” She tugged on the infernal weed harder, yanking as though it had become a representation of their new relationship—difficult.

  “Maybe I should talk to Yaga? Find out a little about Wyatt and his dad?”

  “Maybe you should.” And maybe you should move away from me so you can stop filling my head with your decadent scent of a man and your plethora of muscles?

  “Anyway, thanks for saving Lola again.”

  “She was pretty mad at me. Wouldn’t speak a word the rest of the day.”

  Ben sighed, his chest rising and falling, making her eyes zero in on the spot where she’d once laid her head. “I know that game. We play it all the time.”

  Winnie didn’t know how to stop herself from asking, but this affinity she felt for Lola needed background information. “What happened to Moira and her husband?” The image of Moira, so beautiful and young today, tore at her.

  “Car accident,” he murmured, the grief in his eyes still fresh.

  “My mom, too.”

  “Your mom died in a car accident?”

  Winnie gulped a breath of air. “Yeah. Just before Christmas when I was five.” She closed her eyes, warding off the memory.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, low and gentle, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She wanted so much to curl into it. To accept his comfort, but it was only a surface condolence. Just one of those things you said when you didn’t know what else to say. “It was a long time ago. So what about your parents? Can they help you with Lola?”

  Ben barked a laugh. “My dad-turned-playboy since my mother died? He isn’t exactly a great example for Lola. Believe that. His heart is good. His carousing with the ladies, not so much.”

  Winnie leaned back, planting her hands behind her in the cool dirt. “So where does Yaga fit into all of this? Was she your mother’s sister or your fathers?”

  He smiled fondly. His affection for Yaga was clear and probably one of the reasons her sentence had been so harsh. “My dad’s sister. She helped raise us when our mother died. She wanted Moira and I to be close because she and my father weren’t close to their other siblings.”

  She didn’t hold back her surprise. “There are more Yagas out there on the loose, spreading their love of bad eighties music and ripped sweatshirts?”

  Ben grinned, leaning back on his hands, too, making his T-shirt stretch tight across his chest. “Just one, but no one’s seen her in a long time. The other was killed years ago.”

  So much death between the two of them. It wasn’t easy to kill a witch, but it happened.

  “So this was all sort of thrust upon you, huh?”

  “Can you tell I’m a little out of my element?”

  She laughed. “Well, judging by how crooked those pigtails of hers are, I can see your struggle. Why not just use your magic?”

  “Then what’s the point of learning anything if you can just use your magic? I want to learn.”

  Of course Gandhi wanted to learn. “Well, if you need help with them, just let me know.”

  He paused for a moment and stared at her before saying, “Can you help me reach her? Is there some magical in I’ve missed? I’d rather have her pigtails crooked forever if she was just happy again.”

  The pain in his tone was real and raw, and it stabbed at her. Ben might have ditched her, but he was doing the best he could with a little girl he’d been an uncle to—not a parent. The titles were worlds apart. Yet, it was clear he loved her fiercely.

  “I wish I knew how to express to you how hard this is for her. I wish I knew the right things to say to help you make it better.”

  “Do you?”

  Winnie looked directly into his blue eyes and nodded, the sizzling connection between them returning full force. “I do. I really do. Also, I’ve been meaning to say something to you. So for just a minute, can we set aside the angry barbs and animosity?”

  “My barbs aren’t angry.”

  “Ben, please…”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”

  One deep breath later, and what she’d practiced in the mirror before she’d come to the garden fell out of her mouth. “I’m sorry I blew up your warehouse. It was an accident. I didn’t mean for my magic to spread so far. But it was immature and childish, and even though I knew no one was in it, I left people without jobs because of it. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

  He studied her face for a moment as though he were deciding something. “Let me ease your mind just a little. Those people were from a temp agency, and their jobs would have been finished within the week. We were in the process of interviewing permanent employees at that point.”

  “It was still wrong of me, Ben.”

  He looked as if he had more to say, but then his lips returned to a thin line. “That’s true. It was still wrong, but I accept your apology.”

  She wanted to ask what had become of his venture but refrained. The last thing he’d want to do was talk about that night. “Thank you.”

  Ben pulled away first, rising to his feet. “So what’s all this?”

  “My mom had gardens a lot like this. Moira’s reminded me of hers. So, I thought it might be nice to straighten this one out. It gives me something to do to keep my devil’s hands busy. You don’t mind, do you?” She looked down at her feet, realizing she’d been impulsive again. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have asked first.”

  His reply was quiet, almost thoughtf
ul as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “No, Win. I don’t mind. I think Moira and maybe even your mother would like it.”

  She turned back to the stubborn weed to hide the throb of her pulse and her relentless desire to beg him to take her in his arms.

  “Don’t forget, tonight’s your night to clean the bathrooms. There are five, by the way,” he taunted on his way out of the garden.

  She jammed the shovel back into the packed soil. “Can’t just let a nice moment be, can you, Yagamawitz?” She grunted the words as she threw the shovel down and began to pull the weed with two hands.

  “Not where you’re concerned, Foster,” he called out before she felt the tremor of male magic swish in the air.

  Ben’s magic.

  Suddenly, the weed let go and she fell backward on her ass to the tune of Ben’s cackling laughter.

  After spending more time in the garden, alternately fuming and patting Ben on the back for trying so hard with Lola, she’d cleaned all five bathrooms while he’d broodingly inspected them and given his final approval.

  Then she’d offered to make dinner so she didn’t have to suffer another meal like the one they’d had last night. She was a selfish witch, but she’d learned a lot while she’d held some of the best chefs hostage and made them cook for her.

  The Barefoot Contessa didn’t remember a thing about her experience in Winnie’s posh, cold kitchen, but Winnie remembered every last ingredient to her roast chicken.

  Now she was outside, sitting on the front porch in one of the rockers she’d admired, enjoying a glass of wine, surrounded by the beautiful abundance of flowers and the loud buzz of the last of the season’s cicadas.

  “Miss Winnie?”

  She craned her neck around the back of the chair and smiled. “Miss Lola?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Wiggling a finger, she summoned Lola to her. “For?”

  “For calling you mean.”

  Winnie grabbed her hands and held them lightly. “It’s just a word, monkey.”

  Lola clung to them, her wide eyes downcast. “But it’s not nice, and Uncle Ben said words can hurt just as much as your hands. I said it on purpose to hurt your feelings. I say things that aren’t nice sometimes, but I don’t know why.”

  Winnie brushed her wet hair from her cheek and smiled again, tilting Lola’s chin upward. “I know why, Lola.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re sad. Sometimes, when we’re so sad, we don’t always know how to share our feelings the right way, and everyone handles sadness in different ways. Everything’s changed so much for you lately, hasn’t it? But you don’t know how to tell Uncle Ben how that makes you feel, right?”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip. “I like Uncle Ben, but he does stuff different than Mommy did.”

  Winnie tweaked her belly. “Like that yucky spaghetti?”

  “It tastes so bad! He always burns the sauce. But I liked your chicken. It was deliscus.”

  Winnie laughed, her heart contracting. “Delicious, and I’m glad, kitten. You do know your Uncle Ben knows nothing about cooking, right? He was a bachelor for a long time.”

  “What’s a bachelor?”

  “It’s a man who doesn’t have a wife or a girlfriend.” Because something renders him brainless and he suddenly forgets how to use a phone.

  “Maybe you could be Uncle Ben’s wife. Then you could live here with me,” she suggested softly.

  Her chest tightened and her heart stung. “Oh, I have to go home after Halloween, Lola. Your Aunt Yaga said so.”

  “Aunt Yaga makes nice braids in my hair. Uncle Ben pulls too hard.”

  Winnie chuckled and nodded. “He doesn’t know anything about little girls, does he? But he’s trying so hard, Lola. He really is. He loves you to the moon and back.”

  She appeared to ponder that for a moment, before she asked, “Will you read me my bedtime story tonight?”

  “I might, but you have to make me a promise first.” She gave Lola a solemn look.

  “Okay.”

  “You know what a promise is, right? It means if you break your word, I’ll be very, very disappointed, and it’ll be hard to trust you the next time you make a promise. You should always try to keep your promises.”

  “I know what a promise is.”

  “Okay, so first, no more running off with anyone ever just because you don’t want to do something, and if you get mad, before you say one single word, think about how you’d feel if someone said those words to you. Do we have a deal?”

  Lola nodded.

  “Pinky swear?”

  Lola latched onto her pinky and grinned, her eyes glittering under the dim porch light. “Pinky swear.”

  “Well, all right then. What’s on tap for tonight’s story?”

  Lola held up a finger. “Wait one minute, okay?” She scurried off inside the house and came rushing back with a book and a blanket, her long pink nightgown scraping the porch floor.

  Climbing on top of Winnie’s lap, she snuggled down, letting her head rest just under Winnie’s chin. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle and pears, and when she held up the book, Winnie’s chest grew tight once more, her throat constricting. Goodnight Moon had been a favorite for her and her mother.

  As she flipped to the first page, with the stars twinkling above them and Lola’s body curved into hers, something shifted inside her. Something so deep, something so new, she had to grip the arm of the chair to keep it to herself.

  “Do you think Mommy’s up there, Winnie? In the stars and clouds?”

  Winnie squeezed her eyes shut. “I think your mommy and my mommy are up there together—in their gardens, talking about flowers.”

  “Maybe they’re having a tea party with princess crowns.”

  She grinned against Lola’s head, a teardrop escaping her eye. “Did your mommy do that with you? Have tea parties with crowns?”

  “Uh-huh. In the garden.”

  Her mother had done that, too. She remembered it as vividly as if it had just happened yesterday. “Then I bet they are.”

  Lola burrowed deeper against her, pulling her worn blanket to her chin. “I like thinking about that.”

  “Me too, sugarbuns. Me too,” she whispered, tucking her arms around Lola.

  They sat that way for a long time, rocking in silence.

  Together.

  Chapter Eleven

  She was just coming out of the bathroom, her floral muumuu with the snaps up the front billowing around her, when she crashed right into Ben and fell back against the wall.

  The soft nightlight in the hall enhanced his tight, rugged features as he righted her, his grip firm on her upper arms. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  Her heart began to clamor again when their skin met, so she attempted to skirt her way around him. “No problem.”

  But Ben wasn’t letting her go so quickly. He put his hands on either side of her head, now pressed against the wall. “Winnie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you for tonight,” he grumbled, deep and low.

  “For tonight?”

  His bronzed throat worked when he swallowed, as though the words were hard for him. “For caring about Moira’s gardens, for cooking that amazing meal, for reading to Lola on the porch. Moira did that often…”

  Putting a hand on his chest, she looked up at him and smiled. “You’re welcome. I figured you needed a break. Most housewives and mother’s do, I hear,” she teased, trying to keep the moment light, to escape what he was doing to her.

  But Ben’s eyes were anything but light. The blue orbs swirled with something dark, something hot, something that made her breath catch in her throat. He grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips, nipping her fingertips and making her nipples tighten.

  “What is it about you, Winnie Foster? Why the hell can’t I stop thinking about you?” he asked, his teeth clenched, his enormous body emanating heat.

  Her mouth grew dry, her legs weak. “I don�
��t know, but you should stop thinking about me. Right away. I’m bad news. Ask anyone who knows me.”

  “Don’t make jokes right now, Winnie.”

  His demand made her squirm. “But I’m so good at them. Especially when tensions are high.”

  The tic above his right eye pulsed, and it was all she could do not to smooth her hand over it to ease whatever was troubling him, the way she once had. “Don’t say another word or—”

  “Or what?” she challenged, her body on fire.

  “Or this.” He wrapped a long arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him, so tight, she melted into every rigid line and muscle he possessed before he let his lips lie on hers. Simply resting, unmoving.

  Her throat grew tight, the slam of her heart against her ribs almost painful. Their harsh breathing echoed down the long hallway.

  And then his tongue swiped hers, and Winnie Foster forgot everything. Forgot that Ben had all but forgotten she’d existed after they’d made love. Forgot that he’d done nothing but take his licks out on her since she’d come to Paris. Forgot everything but his hot, deliciously silken tongue.

  She drove her hands into his hair, whimpering when her tongue met his, pulling him closer until she remembered that intoxicating exhilaration his body pressed to hers brought.

  Ben groaned into her mouth, pulling her closer, driving his tongue against hers, making her nipples ache for him.

  Using her arms, she hiked herself up, wrapping her legs tight around his waist.

  His hand cupped her ass, squeezing it, the rigid line of his cock hard and thick against her. “Not here,” he said, tearing his mouth from hers.

  Winnie didn’t care where—she didn’t care that when his lips pressed to hers, she forgot everything.

  She wanted him inside her. Now.

  “Your room?” she moaned when he cupped her breast, thumbing a hard nipple.

  Without saying another word, he walked them down the hall toward his bedroom as she buried her face in his neck, pushing the door open with his foot and setting her on the bed.

  His clothes fell to the floor as he stripped off each piece one by one, leaving her a moment to admire his wide shoulders, his tapered waist, his thick thighs sprinkled with dark hair.