Twelve Shades of Midnight:

by Liliana Hart

  Ben plunged into her with a long groan, hissing his pleasure, his big body tensing then stilling inside her. His lips found hers; his tongue, still with the taste of her on it, plunging deeply into her mouth.

  The pounding in her ears began as he stroked her, stretched her, filled her until she trembled beneath him and that fire—that raging fire—ignited, taking over, making her forget everything but his cock imbedded deeply inside her.

  Ben’s tight muscles tensed when he thrust one last time, leaving her whimpering against his neck for fear Lola would hear them.

  She clung to his shoulders as white-hot heat pooled in her belly, prepared herself for the intensely sharp wave of release.

  Winnie came hard, contracting around him, her orgasm ripping through her as Ben’s head reared up and he came, too.

  Their hips crashed together, and their chests heaved as they rode the wave to completion and relaxed into each other.

  Ben entwined his hands with hers and kissed her. Long, slow, lazy. “That was nice,” he muttered against her lips.

  She giggled. “I guess it was okay.”

  He looked down at her, his blue eyes narrowing. “Okay? Just okay? You got nerve, Foster.”

  Just as she was about to respond, there was a light knock at the door. “Uncle Ben? I’m hungry.”

  “Get off me, you big lug. We’re going to get caught,” Winnie hissed at him, fighting a grin when he jumped off the bed as though they’d just gotten busted under the bleachers.

  Ben rushed to pull his jeans on as Lola knocked at the door again. “Uncle Ben?”

  Winnie pulled the covers over her head, but Ben peeled them off and planted a kiss on her lips. “Later, Foster. There’s more where that came from”

  “Uncle Ben?” Lola’s voice was becoming insistent.

  Winnie began to giggle so hard, she had to put the pillow over her face.

  “Coming!” he yelled back, popping the door open and scooping Lola up in his arms. “Miss Winnie’s still sleeping. Hear her snoring?”

  Winnie faked a snore, trying not to burst into another fit of laughter as Ben and Lola headed down the stairs, their voices drifting to her ears and making her smile.

  She tucked the covers under her chin and snuggled into the sheets that smelled of Ben and their lovemaking, and she grinned again.

  Happy. So happy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The day had been long, the excitement over Halloween amongst the children almost boiling over. With the holiday only five days away, it was hard to contain their enthusiasm—or her dread.

  As she rummaged through the toy box outside on the playground at Miss Marjorie’s, she forced the end of her parole and what would happen to her to the back of her mind.

  She and Ben hadn’t discussed anything that had happened between them at this point. She had no right to bring it up anyway. Yet, the three of them had fallen into an easy routine with each other. They had dinner together, they watched TV together, they did chores as a group, and she and Lola spent a lot of time in Moira’s garden.

  Like a family.

  But there was something. Something she couldn’t define. Something that woke her in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, terrified. She knew she hadn’t been dreaming when she’d climbed that roof. She knew she’d seen Lola. So what the hell was going on?

  What kept eating at her?

  She wondered if it wasn’t the idea she’d have to leave Paris when all was said and done. She wondered if part of her terror was starting over from scratch, leaving Lola and Ben.

  But that didn’t terrify her. It hurt her. So she did what she did best—ignored it, trying to focus on this uneasy feeling she couldn’t shake.

  “Bye Miss Winnie!” one of the children called to her from the parking lot.

  She waved and smiled. “Bye, Jordie! Remember what Miss Winnie told you about underwear!”

  As the boy jumped in the car, Jordie’s mother shot her a grateful glance and mouthed a “thank you” to her for encouraging Jordie to put his underwear on under his jeans rather than over.

  The playground stilled, the chatter of children gone now. It was one of her favorite parts of the day, the part of her routine she looked forward to because it gave her time to think.

  Rolling up her sleeves, she began to pick up toys, almost laughing at how ridiculous she must look in her metallic jumpsuit. But when she’d promised herself she was all in, she’d decided wearing the clothes Daphne had given her wasn’t part of the lesson Baba Yaga wanted her to learn.

  She’d given her those dreadful clothes for a reason. Maybe to humiliate her, maybe to remind her not everyone had magic they could call upon when the mood struck them.

  It didn’t matter. It was part of her punishment, and she’d damn well wear them until the bitter end.

  “Are you Winnie Foster?”

  Winnie shaded her eyes from the sun, catching a glimpse of a man, his strides brisk as he strode into the playground where she was tidying up. “I am. You are?”

  He stalked up to her, straightening his red tie. “I’m Wyatt Jackson’s father, Randolph. Who the hell do you think you are, confiscating my wand?”

  She peered up at him, his face sharply angled, his mouth a thin line. Was this one of those tests cooked up by Marjorie and BIC? Because if so, Mr. Jackson was good. He looked as if he wanted to eat her face off.

  Rawr.

  Think before you react, Winnie. Squaring her shoulders, she inhaled and exhaled then smiled. “Is this another test?” She peered around the playground, looking for someone to pop out from behind a tree and congratulate her for checking first.

  “A what?” he asked, his eyes on fire.

  Okay. Probably not a test.

  “Did you hear me? Who the hell do you think you are, taking my damn wand?”

  “Who the hell are you, letting a child of six come to school with a wand as powerful as that one is? Do you know what he did with it?”

  He jammed his face in hers. “Got some news for you, lady, I don’t care what he did with it, and don’t tell me how to parent my kid. Now go get my damn wand or I’m going to Council and lodging a complaint. I bet they’d love to hear an ex-con stole my wand.”

  Just as Winnie fought a tidal wave of anger, as she used every last ounce of her willpower not to send him sailing into the nearest wall, Ben was there, putting his arm around her waist and moving her behind his broad back.

  Hovering over the bulky Mr. Jackson, he said, “There a problem here?”

  Wyatt’s father looked up at Ben. “Damn right there’s a problem. She stole my wand.”

  “You mean the wand Wyatt used to summon a demon who looked just like my dead sister? The demon my daughter believed was her mother and almost joined in the Underworld? That wand?”

  “I don’t care what he summoned—”

  “Maybe that’s the problem, Jackson,” he growled down at him. “You don’t care. But I care, and if you threaten Miss Foster again, I’ll go to Council and tell them Wyatt had your wand. You know the kind of responsibility that comes with having one. It’s like giving him a loaded handgun. And what the hell are you doing with a wand, anyway? I thought only witches had wands?”

  Oh, dear. He’d taken a stab at Mr. Jackson’s virility.

  But Mr. Jackson waffled, his words blustering. “It was my wife’s. She left it behind when she moved out.”

  “And Wyatt found it,” Ben pointed out. “That’s damn dangerous, Jackson. Now, go get your wand and lock it up somewhere so Wyatt can’t find it, because if I learn he’s upset my little girl again, or you come here again, shooting your mouth off and threatening the teacher, the next time we meet won’t be nearly as damn chatty.”

  Mr. Jackson’s jaw clenched and his fists balled, but he began to take his leave with a final parting shot to Winnie. “You watch yourself, convict,” he warned.

  That’s when she lost it. Grabbing onto Ben’s shoulders, seething with rage, she attempted to climb up
over the top of him, her hands preparing to shoot fireballs at Mr. Jackson’s retreating ass.

  But Ben grabbed them in his own, curling his long fingers over her white knuckles. “Winnie,” he warned. “Don’t do it.”

  Lola tugged on the leg of her metallic-silver jumpsuit. “Remember what you told me, Miss Winnie. Think before you use your magic. Think about it hard then shake it off,” she encouraged. “C’mon, Winnie. I’ll shake with you.”

  “Me too, Miss Winnie,” Ben teased, releasing her hands.

  A breath of air gushed from her lungs in defeat. Schooled by a six-year-old. She slid off Ben’s back and down onto the ground again.

  “Like this, Winnie!” Lola giggled, shaking her arms and legs, and Ben followed suit.

  As her anger dissipated and she watched them being silly together, her heart contracted.

  The worries she’d had about Ben and Lola were beginning to subside. The bridge she was building between them was getting stronger. They’d be okay without her.

  But would she be okay without them?

  Ben grabbed her hand and shook her arm, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “C’mon, Miss Winnie. I wouldn’t mind seeing you shake. You’ll be like a human disco ball.”

  She tugged his hand to still him, her eyes serious. “Thank you for sticking up for me, and for keeping me from doing something I know I’d regret.”

  He squeezed her hand before letting it go and scooping up a wiggling Lola. “Anytime. Now, I say we go get some ice cream. You game, Miss Winnie? I seem to recall you being a big fan of Cookies and Cream.”

  He remembered. They’d gone for ice cream on their third date. It had been so hot out and she’d ended up with more ice cream dripping down her fingers than in her mouth, and Ben had licked it off while they’d laughed.

  More damn tears clogged her throat.

  “Ice cream! Yay! C’mon, Miss Winnie. Uncle Ben never lets me have ice cream before dinner!”

  She cleared her throat. “You guys go grab Lola’s stuff, and I’ll meet you back here. I just have a couple of things to clean up and I’m done for the day.”

  “Back in a flash,” Lola yelled as Ben squeezed Winnie’s shoulder one last time and chased after Lola.

  Winnie dropped to the seesaw, listening to their chatter as they wandered up the path to the front door.

  “You said a bad word, Uncle Ben,” Lola chided as they headed inside.

  “I did say a bad word. But he was being mean to Miss Winnie, and it made me angry. Nobody can be mean to Miss Winnie, right?”

  “You like Miss Winnie, don’t you, Uncle Ben? Because I like Miss Winnie a gajillion times.”

  Ben’s chuckle floated to her ears. “I like Miss Winnie a gajillion times, too.”

  Winnie hid her face in her shoulder as the hot sun beat down on her and she was overwhelmed with emotion.

  A gajillion was a lot of like.

  But she was sure she liked Ben and Lola a gajillion times more.

  And that would be incredibly hard to leave.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” Ben said, pulling Winnie behind him.

  “No peeking, Winnie!” Lola shouted with excitement.

  Lola had been all secrets and giggles tonight after dinner, demanding she stay out of the gardens until they came and got her.

  She’d solemnly promised to stay inside and clean up the kitchen until Ben called for her.

  Now, he was leading her outside, the thick air swarming her face and exposed skin like a humid glove.

  “Okay, now sit,” Ben said in her ear.

  She reached behind her, feeling for the chair, and dropped down into it.

  Ben’s fingers draped a sweater around her shoulders. “Oh, thank you, but I don’t need that. It’s too hot.”

  “Hold tight,” he said, dropping a kiss to her ear. “Because you will.”

  She heard a snap of fingers and the wind shifted, bringing with it a cool, but not uncomfortable breeze.

  “Ohhh,” she sighed out loud. She’d bemoaned the heat for days, relentless and never ending. Cool weather was one of the things she missed most about Massachusetts.

  There was a hissing noise and a scuffle of feet then she heard Lola and Ben whispering to one another. “Okay, you two, if I keep my eyes closed much longer, I’m going to pass out. Dealing with you little monsters all day is exhausting. Miss Winnie’s plum worn out,” she teased.

  “Just one more second!” Lola squealed.

  She heard Ben say, “Ready, Lola-Falola?”

  “Ready!”

  “On three you can open your eyes. One, two, three—open your eyes!” They yelped simultaneously.

  Winnie’s eyes sprang open—and she gasped when she looked at where she was sitting. “Ohhh,” she murmured, putting her hand to her mouth.

  Candles glowed from every corner. The lights in the trees, lights she’d had a hell of a time getting to work all at once, winked at her, and fall leaves fell in clusters, swaying to the ground in the cool air.

  The weathered wrought iron table now had a pink tablecloth on it, and a miniature tea set. Crowns, one for each of them, made from construction paper, sat in front of their place settings.

  A tea party. Just like the ones she used to have with her mother.

  “Surprise! It’s a tea party, Miss Winnie!” Lola said with a grin. “Uncle Ben said I could wear my party dress for it.” She twirled in her red taffeta dress, swishing and swaying.

  “It’s beautiful,” Winnie managed, her throat tight. “This…this is for me?”

  Lola nodded, the ribbon in her hair straight as an arrow. “Uh-huh. I told Uncle Ben your mommy used to have tea parties with you and he said maybe, because you were missing Massatwochets so much, we should surprise you with one. He helped me find the tea set in Mommy’s closet.” She held up a delicate cup with blue flowers on it, only big enough for a thimbleful of tea at best, and smiled.

  Ben had one of the kitchen towels thrown over his arm and a smile on his face. “That’s Mass-a-chu-ssetts, Lola. So will you join us for tea, Miss Winnie?”

  Lola clucked her tongue and wrinkled her nose. “It’s Madam Winnie. We’re fancy tonight.”

  “Oh, right.” Ben nodded his head. “Sorry. Madam Winnie, will you join us for tea?”

  “Worst British accent ever,” she teased under her breath in an effort to hide her tears.

  He wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m much better at a brogue.”

  Winnie giggled. “I’d love to join you for tea.” She settled back in her chair, taking in the place settings with the miniature tea set, folded napkins with mint green and yellow streamers on them, and Oreo cookies arranged in a pyramid on a plate.

  Lola stood on the chair next to her and put a pink paper crown on her head. “You’re the princess of the party today, so you get the biggest crown.”

  Winnie had to take a deep breath to keep from crying. “Did you make this crown for me?”

  Lola leaned down and put her chubby hands on Winnie’s cheeks, nodding her head full of dark curls. “Me and Uncle Ben. He taught me how.”

  “So that’s what that mess was on the kitchen table.”

  Ben leaned over her, holding the teapot. “May I, Madam?”

  She was so full to the brim right now, she almost couldn’t speak. Winnie held up her cup. “Please,” she whispered, biting the inside of her cheek.

  But Lola caught on anyway. She touched Winnie cheek. “Why are you sad, Miss Winnie?”

  Shaking her head, she tried to reign in her ridiculously out-of-control emotions. “I’m not sad, Tinkerbell. These are happy tears. Sometimes, silly girl witches cry happy tears. It’s because I’m so glad to be here with you, having a tea party.”

  “And Uncle Ben, too, right?” Lola coaxed, sitting in her chair.

  “Absolutely. And Uncle Ben, too,” she whispered.

  Ben poured the tea then sat in the chair opposite hers, teetering his very own crown on the top of his head precariously, making Lola giggle. He
held his cup up and tipped it in her direction, grinning. “To you, Miss Winnie.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” Lola chirped, jumping down from her chair. “I’ll be right back.” She ran off toward the house, leaving Ben and Winnie alone.

  She had to swallow hard to try to form words. “Why would you do this for me?”

  He looked surprised, but his smile was tender—a direct contradiction to his gruff exterior. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because I don’t deserve…” She couldn’t articulate what she didn’t deserve. She just knew she didn’t deserve something this memorable.

  Lola came flying back out of the house with an object in her hands, thwarting further conversation. She raced up to Winnie and held out a doll.

  A Cabbage Patch doll. A girl Cabbage Patch doll.

  “Look! This was my mommy’s when she was little. Her name is Persimone. She has adoption papers and everything. Now she can play with your Cabbage Patch doll.”

  “Noooooooooo!” Icabod screamed from her window just above the gardens.

  Winnie laughed. “You know, I’ll have to sew his head back on before he’s fit for company, but I bet Icabod’s gonna love Persimone.”

  “No, he won’t!” Icabod groaned.

  Winnie took the doll from Lola and sat her in the chair next to them. “I think we should pour her some tea, don’t you, Sir Benjamin?”

  Ben grabbed the teapot and nodded his head. “Of course, Madam. For you, Miss Persimone.” He made a big deal of pouring the tea with flourish, his strong features under the glow of the candles and his big fingers trying to keep a hold on the teapot, comical.

  But when he gazed across the table, his eyes held hers. And as leaves in deep orange and yellow fell around them and candlelight flickered, making shadows on the cobblestone path, he reached for her hand, and Winnie felt at peace.

  So much peace.

  “Persimone?” Icabod protested.

  Winnie grinned down at him. “Lola requested that she sleep in here with you tonight so you two can be friends. So move over, chair hog, and make room for your new girlfriend.” She propped Persimone next to Icabod, standing back to admire the new couple.