Witch Of Blackshire

“Witch of Blackshire” Jasmine LeVeaux MS Re ade r (LIT) ISBN # 0-9707169-1-5 Mobipocke t (PRC) ISBN # 1-84360-011-0 Adobe (PDF) ISBN # 1-84360-010-2 Othe r available formats (no ISBNs are assigne d): Adobe (PDF), Rocke tbook (RB), & HTML (c) Copyright Jasmine Le Ve aux, 2002. All Rights Re se rve d, Ellora's Cave . Ellora's Cave , Inc. USA Ellora's Cave Ltd, UK This e -book may not be re produce d in whole or in part by e mail forwarding, copying, fax, or any othe r mode of communication without author pe rmission. Edite d by Lee Haskell and A.N. Reddy Cove r Art by Angela Knight

Chapter 1 Salem, Ohio She had everything a witch on the go could possibly need. Herbs, roots, tarot cards, runes, clothes, shoes, bottled spring water, British currency, tampons—for when the red goddess came courting—and of course, a paperback romance novel written by her cousin Candy Crawford for the long flight over to England. Soleil Xavier, spell-caster, fortune teller, and telekinetic summoner extraordinaire, nodded in satisfaction of her packing skills before slamming the trunk of her sister Luna’s Volkswagen Bug shut with one fell mental swoop. “Well, it looks like I’m ready to leave for the airport.” Luna Xavier, single mother of one, and Salem’s other resident witch and seer, threw her little sister a thoughtful, dreamy glance. “How I envy you, Sunny. Chances to join such an exclusive coven come along but once every lifetime.” Soleil nodded succinctly. “I know.” Smiling contentedly, she squinted her eyes closed a tad as if contemplating a vision. “Moving to England to study under Madame Zelda is going to do wonders for all of us. And,” she added giddily, “perhaps after my studies commence, my Familiar will at last make himself known to me.” At Luna’s nod, she walked on light feet to where her sister stood and placed a loving hand on top of one slight shoulder. Soleil could read her sister better than any other witch could ever hope to. “Don’t worry, Luna. Subtle shifts in your aura indicate that you won’t have to wait until the next lifetime to get your shot. A major life change will commence somewhere around October’s middle. From there on out it will only get better.” Luna’s hand flew to her heart. She gasped dramatically. “Do you really see it, Sunny? You’re such a better aura reader than I am.” “Yes I see it. And don’t be ridiculous, Luna, you read auras just fine.” Luna brushed that bit of praise away with a flick of her wrist. “I can sense that you are humoring me, Sunny, but that’s okay. I know I can cast a spell that can give even the most powerful witch a run for her money, and let’s face it,” she added proudly, “my visions put Nostradamus to shame, but my only other true gift is conversing with the dead.” She pinched her lips into a frown. “Stanley used to call me morbid. Perhaps that’s why men never ask me out twice.” Soleil was about to deny the claim that Stanley, one of Luna’s ex would-be boyfriends had made, when the memory of her sister’s last date with Walter Plink flitted through her mind. The poor farmer had been horrified and more than a little frightened when Luna had asked him to drive her out to the local graveyard to get advice on Walter’s erectile dysfunction from a famed prostitute who had been dead for

close to a hundred years. Apparently Walter didn’t care to have his masculine problems discussed with prostitutes. And most especially with dead ones. As if reading Soleil’s mind, Luna’s back stiffened defensively. “I was only trying to help him. Walter seemed to be very upset by the fact that my racy black underwear wasn’t doing the trick.” Soleil bit her lip. She pondered the matter over for a moment or two before acquiescing with a nod. “Don’t fret over it, Luna. There are bigger and better fish out there just waiting for the right witch to catch them and clean them.” At her sister’s furrowed brow, she clarified that vision somewhat. “I, uh, I mean that you’re going to meet someone else.” Luna’s hand flew from her heart to her neck in the blink of a Familiar’s eye. She gasped louder. “Do you really see that, Sunny? Will he be here or will I meet him in England when Star and I join you on the moon-rising before the Day of the Dead?” Soleil smiled at the reminder. It was breaking her heart to move away from her sister and ten-year-old niece Star, but Madame Zelda had insisted upon beginning their studies right away, teaching her how to refine her spells and telekinetic powers to an art form. The wizened instructor had claimed that the universe would be ripe for knowledge-seeking for several weeks following the summer solstice. Soleil hated to leave her family behind, but knowing that they would be moving to Blackshire with her in a few months did wonders for restoring her sagging spirits. As soon as Luna sold their modest home, and Soleil was certain she would sell it a week before the Day of the Dead, her family would be permanently reunited. Then she and her sister could make their life dream come true. They would open up their very own coffee shop slash séance café. “He will be from the United Kingdom,” she murmured, “though not originally from Blackshire.” “England? Scotland? Wales?” Soleil shrugged. “I don’t know. But somehow he’s connected to wheels.” “Wheels?” “Uh huh.” Luna waved her hand airily. “That’s it? Nothing else? Not even a first name?” “Afraid not.” Soleil sighed. “Your aura isn’t ‘fessing up.” “Damn aura,” Luna bit out. “Yes,” Soleil agreed, “they can be rather bitchy.”

***** “Auntie So-lay.” Soleil smiled. Other than being the only person of her acquaintance that still called her by her proper name, her ten-year-old niece Star also had a rather cute way of dragging the syllables out. “Yes, sweetheart?” “Did mommy’s aura really tell you that we will get to move to Blackshire on the Day of the Dead?” “Actually on the moon-rising before it.” Soleil strode away from the lit up board that listed flight numbers, gates, and departure and arrival times and indicated with a wave of her hand that the group needed to head down the concourse to the left. “You’re not doubting your favorite aunt’s powers, are you Star?” Star pursed her lips thoughtfully, an action that made her look every inch Luna’s daughter. “Of course not. And by the way, you’re my only aunt, Auntie So-lay.” “Then I have to be your favorite.” She giggled. “Yep.” “Right over there,” Luna announced, effectively changing the topic. “There’s your gate, Sunny.” Soleil nodded, then followed her sister across the concourse. When they arrived at their destination, she handed her electronic ticket receipt to the gate agent working the check-in counter. The gate agent, whose nametag read Michael, glanced up at Soleil and grunted. “I have good news and I have bad news. Whadaya wanna hear first, doll?” Soleil harrumphed. He better not even think to tell her that her flight had been cancelled. Delayed she could deal with, canceled no way. “Don’t be silly,” Luna replied to the airline representative like the pragmatic witch she was, “there is no such thing as bad news. All of life’s events transpire to serve the goddess’ ultimate plan.” Michael the gate agent wrinkled up his nose and stared at Luna for a suspended moment. Finally, he shook his head. “Whatever you say, lady.” Clearing his throat, he then turned to Soleil. “The bad news is, we oversold the flight…” She groaned. “The good news is, we have room left in first class, so I’m bumping you up in it.” Soleil beamed. Luna was right. The goddess’ ultimate plan. “Stellar!” She reverently clutched the proffered boarding pass the gate agent handed to her against her breast. Leaning in closer to Michael’s desk, she whispered to him in a conspiratorial tone. “I’ve never ridden in first class before.” The gate agent looked Soleil up and down, from the crown of her long, curly gold hair to the

hippie-esque sundress she wore, to her Birkenstock-clad feet. “No kidding.” Five minutes later, Soleil hugged Luna and Star good-bye, making them both promise to send her spirit good vibes each night before they went to sleep. “Of course we will, Auntie So-lay,” Star informed her. “Each and every moon-rising before we move to Blackshire.” “And every morning too,” Luna added. “Oh Sunny,” she whispered, “we’re going to miss you so much.” “I know.” Soleil sighed as she pulled her sister and niece back into her embrace and hugged them tightly. “I’m going to miss you too. More than words can say.” Luna nodded, still teary-eyed. And then she gasped as a vision struck her. Clapping a hand to her forehead and groaning, her eyes rolled back into her head until only the whites were visible. Soleil ignored the passengers who were making a wide path around them. Nothing out of the ordinary there. She released her sister to give her more room to vibe out. “What’s the matter, Luna? Are you having another vision?” “Yes,” she moaned, “and a powerful one.” “Well…what is it?” Luna held one hand out in front of her and twisted it back and forth like she would if changing the radio station in the car. She continued to moan and groan, her eyelids rapidly fluttering open and closed, revealing only the whites of her eyes. Soleil grinned excitedly, knowing the vision was going to be a good one. Luna only made the channel switching gesture if the images were so overwhelmingly powerful that they needed to be tuned for clarity. So what if people were staring at them. There was no way in the goddess’ universe she’d ever attempt to stop her sister in the midst of a vision. Giddy with anticipation, Soleil rubbed her palms together and waited for the verdict eagerly. What would Luna predict for her? Good fortune? A thriving business? A stellar love life? An— “Olive.” Soleil’s smile faltered somewhat. “Olive?” Luna came out of her trance and nodded definitively. “In your future, I see olive.” Soleil’s brow knit together, forming a dramatic golden arch. “As in the color or the food?” Luna shook her head. “I don’t know. The dead man sitting over there won’t ‘fess up.” “Damn dead men,” Soleil muttered. “Yes,” Luna agreed, “they can be rather bitchy.”

Chapter 2 Cleveland-Hopkins Airport Lord Oliver John Frederick Sebastian, Viscount Blackshire, was having a decidedly wretched day. He was tired, his feet hurt, the food at the pathetic excuse for a hotel he’d been squirreled away in for the past week had been awful, business had not gone well—the Cleveland based firm had decided not to sell after all—and now, on top of everything else he had endured this unbelievably horrid day, the infuriating gate agent was telling him that he’d just given away his first-class seat on the only non-stop flight headed back to London’s Gatwick airport today. “Look Olive, the airline—” “That’s Oliver,” Oliver bit out. “Viscount Blackshire.” Michael the gate agent wrinkled up his nose. “Okay, look Oliver Viscount Blackshire…” A tic began to work furiously in Oliver’s cheek, but he listened to the agent’s rambling without interruption. “The airline has the right to give away your seat if you don’t show up an hour before departure time. ” He eyed his watch dramatically as he tapped on it. “Looky here. Whadaya know. It’s twenty minutes prior to departure time.” “Oh? And why did no one think to inform me of this bloody rule when I paid over six thousand American dollars for my seat?” Michael shrugged. “Dunno.” Oliver sighed. “Do you have any more seats left on the plane?” “Only in first class.” “My seat,” Oliver stated distinctly, “is in first class.” Michael splayed his hands at either side. “I can put you next to the doll I gave your seat to, but you can’t have the window. You forfeited the window when you failed to appear an hour before—” “Just put me in the bloody aisle and be done with it.” It occurred to Oliver that his tone made him sound every inch the pompous lord he hated to be viewed as, but no matter. The gate agent was on the outside of irritating. Oliver ripped the boarding pass out of the airline representative’s hand, muttered something about insane Americans, and strode briskly toward the gate doors that led to the aircraft. Just as he was about to make his way through them, a raven-haired woman of medium height ambled in front of him. She clapped a hand to her forehead, began to moan, and twisted her hand back and forth in front of her as if

switching the dial on an old-fashioned telly. Oliver sighed. Insane Americans. “Sex,” the bizarre woman muttered. “I beg your pardon?” “Sex.” The moaning woman, who would have been rather attractive had it not been glaringly obvious she was an escapee from a mental health ward, came out of her no doubt drug-induced trance and placed a hand upon his chest. “I see sex in your future. A lot of sex.” “I’m certainly glad one of us does.”

***** Oliver marched down the noisy, drafty corridor that lead to the aircraft with his briefcase in one hand and his gray Armani suit jacket in the other. He tugged at his tie, loosening it a bit. He pushed his wayward wire-framed spectacles up the bridge of his nose. It was a bloody hot June day. No doubt London would be just as muggy as Cleveland this time of the year, but luckily he didn’t plan to stay there outside of a few days. He would give his father, the Earl of Clydon, the bad news about the buy-out, pay his respects to his grandmother, the dowager countess, and be on his way to the country. Oliver could scarcely wait for the torture to end. He had done his duty, carried out the business transactions his father had asked him to handle, and now more than anything else, all he wanted to do was immerse himself in the solitude of his estate in Blackshire and bury his nose in his books. Kant. Locke. Descartes. The original philosophical treatises of the grand masters were awaiting him even now in his library, begging to be examined word for word, pleading to be picked apart and analyzed. The thought was enough to make him erect. His father would undoubtedly criticize his choice in pastimes, Oliver thought glumly, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t like the earl or his elder brother, desirous of acquiring, dissembling, and selling off companies. Oliver was quite content living off the fortune he’d acquired in various world stock markets and using all of his free time to devote himself to reading treatises and writing articles on the knowledge he’d gleaned from them. When he had argued to his father that all noble gentlemen had done as much up until several years past, the earl had merely shook his head and sighed. There was no pleasing his father anyway. All of his life, no matter what Oliver had done or achieved, it had invariably been compared to his brother James’ multitude of accomplishments and found wanting.

At the age of thirty-five, he simply no longer cared. There were, however, a few dismal attributes that the earl accused his youngest son of harboring that weren’t far from the truth. Yes, Oliver was a recluse. Yes, he loathed making the social rounds in London. And yes, he had yet to sire an heir. Since his elder brother James was unable to have children of his own, it was the latter abomination that concerned the earl the most. Without an heir, the earldom would die out. Oliver’s father preferred for him to father a son, he had made a point of telling him just last week, but a daughter would do just as well, for she could always pass the title on to her own first born son. Whatever. What, precisely, was Oliver to do about fathering any child when he hadn’t yet met a woman he could live out the rest of his life with? Or even the next week with? Truth be told, most females of good breeding were a bore to him, but then again he hadn’t exactly meshed with any commoners either. At this point in the game, the earl would no doubt content himself with any wife his son chose, whether well bred, common, or the bearded lady at an American circus Oliver had once attended. If she could bequeath an heir, she’d be in like flint. Oliver, however, had come to the undeniable conclusion five years ago on his thirtieth birthday that he was simply meant to live and to dwell alone. It was true that his body most certainly suffered the agonies of his reclusiveness, and if he were honest with himself, his heart suffered the occasional pang of regret for what would never be as well. But such was life. Or such, at least, was Oliver’s life. Women found him odd, he realized, and he acted and reacted to them accordingly. A vicious cycle of self-fulfilling prophecy if ever there was one. Oliver knew that once he opened his mouth and began to spout passages of Kant, or began to question the meaning of life, women would give him a look quite similar to the one he’d bestowed upon the poor bizarre creature minutes past that had declared he was to have a lot of sex in his future. And then they would be gone. Gone the same as he’d bolted past the moaning, raven-haired female as soon as chance had permitted. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism or perhaps it was just who he was, but Oliver was at the point in his life where he found himself spewing his philosophical musings even when he didn’t want to, even when he desired to clamp his mouth shut that he might lure a female his way. But in the end, the drivel would always come out, the woman would hightail it in the opposite direction, and Oliver would end up, again as always, utterly alone. No matter. Or so he told himself.

Oliver rounded a curve in the corridor and was happy to note that the aircraft’s door was now within his sights. He gave a lordly nod to the two flight attendants that were smiling brightly at him, then passed them by and made his way to his seat. He stopped abruptly, staring wide-eyed at the vision before him. Good god in heaven. Oliver felt his breathing hitch as he took a hard look at the exquisite woman who had absconded with his original seat assignment. He might have been relocated to the aisle seat next to her as a punishment for not showing up precisely an hour ahead of schedule, but no matter. So long as he could sit next to her, so long as he could enjoy the privilege of gazing upon her at his leisure for the next several hours before retiring to his solitary life, then no matter. She was, in a word, enchanting. Not perfect of face and form, not even beautiful in the conventional sense perhaps, but enchanting. Her hair was long, darkly golden, and unruly with wild curls. Her body was medium of height, lithe, and nicely tanned. She wore a thigh-high flower-child sundress of baby blue that dropped low in the middle and confirmed the fact that she wore no brassiere beneath it. Her nipples were long and thick, no doubt poking out from the excess chill in the first-class cabin. Around her graceful neck was a black necklace, a choker of sorts. The pendant it clutched was odd, but Oliver recognized it. He just had no idea what it meant beyond the obvious. It was the symbol of woman and the symbol of eternal life—the Egyptian ankh—joined together as one. One of the woman’s legs was crossed over the other, idly rocking back and forth as she read from a book. She was fleshier of thigh, hip, and breast than what was considered cosmopolitan, but he liked that. It made her look fertile, desirable. Oliver could see that her toenails were painted a shameless red. For some reason or another, it was that last thought that caused his slacks to tent around the groin. Her sexy red toes were making him agonizingly hard. Out of sheer curiosity, Oliver craned his neck in such a way that he might glean the title of the book she was reading. The Spinster Virgin. The author was a Candy Crawford. As if finally realizing that she was no longer alone, the woman chose that exact moment to look up from her reading and meet his gaze straight on. Good god in heaven. Violet. Her eyes were violet. Dame Elizabeth Taylor violet. Erotic, wet dream inducing, lust-provoking violet. When the woman smiled fully at Oliver, he felt as if he was the only man in the whole of her universe.

He started to sweat. His glasses began to fog up just a bit. He removed them at once and smiled shakily back. “I’m Olive—Oliver,” he managed to stammer out, “do you by chance read Kant?”

Chapter 3 Olive. Oliver. Olive. Oliver. Hmm. Soleil mentally shook her head. It was best not to latch onto and go with the very first thing—or in this case person—that could be the answer to one of Luna’s visions. The last time Soleil had done that, she’d rolled around naked in a thatch of poison ivy and itched from head to toe for two consecutive weeks. Not that Oliver the Olive wouldn’t be worth itching over, she thought bemusedly. He was certainly handsome enough, with his tall frame, chestnut brown hair, and jade green eyes. And there was something else about him too, something that radiated power. Oliver was definitely possessed of a powerful build, not big and hulking like a weight lifter, but sleek and muscularly chiseled like a panther. But that wasn’t it. It was something else entirely. His aura—yes, of course! His aura radiated an internal power. It spoke volumes in favor of Oliver’s character. He was a man who had endured much pain and knew little joy in the bargain. How sad. Soleil pulled herself from her musings, an unfortunate state she often fell into that was inevitably a major turn-off to males of the species, and accelerated her smile up from welcoming to all-consuming. “ Kant? Are you referring to Bubba or to Immanuel?” Oliver shook his head to clear it. The woman was not turning away from him. Not yet at any rate. He quickly stuffed his briefcase and suit jacket into the overhead compartment, then took his seat next to the violet-eyed, red-toed temptress. “I daresay I’ve never heard tell of a Bubba Kant. Is he a philosopher? An expounder of ethics?” Soleil placed a bookmarker within The Spinster Virgin and snapped it shut. “He thinks he is, but to be honest, he’s sort of the town drunk where I come from.” Oliver chuckled. “And from what town is that, Miss…or is it Mrs.?” Soleil waved her hand dismissively. “Nope. I’ve never been married. And the town I come from is called Salem. And no, not in Massachusetts, but in Ohio.” “I see. And what is your name? If I may be so bold as to inquire.” “Soleil,” she answered with a grin, “but everyone except for my niece Star calls me Sunny.” “So-lay,” Oliver phonetically repeated, letting the sound of it roll around on his tongue. “How apropos,” he murmured. “What’s that?” Oliver’s cheeks stained crimson. He shook his head. “Nothing. Soleil is a beautiful name. It’s French

for ‘sun’.” When she merely nodded, he cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. Oliver had never been known for his ability to commence idle social chatter, but for once in his life, he was wishing it was a skill he had taken the time to acquire. “You, uh, mentioned that you have a niece named Star. Tell me, are all women of your relation named after stellar bodies?” Oh brilliant Oliver, bloody damn brilliant. “Actually, yes.” Oliver’s jaws dropped agape. Again, by some mystical power unseen, he had apparently said the socially permissible thing. “Th-They are?” Soleil nodded. “Uh huh. I have a sister named Luna and my mother, may the goddess rest her aura, was named Andromeda.” “Unbelievable,” he muttered. “What’s that?” “Nothing.” Oliver took a deep breath. This couldn’t be happening. He was actually having a conversation with a female of the human species and she was most definitely not staring at him as though he was possessed of dual heads. “Do you by chance read Immanuel Kant?” Damn! Damn! Bloody damn! “Yes.” Soleil inclined her head gracefully. What?! “Though I must admit, I really don’t agree with his belief that it’s never ethical to tell a lie, even when that lie is told to save another’s life.” She shrugged. “I’d lie without a qualm if it meant saving another person’s life, wouldn’t you Oliver?” Oliver forcibly closed his gaping jaws shut with a click of his teeth. He cleared his throat and met Soleil’s gaze. “Well yes, I happen to agree with you.” A thoughtful expression permeated his features as he warmed up to his topic. “Although I do hold in esteem many of Kant’s musings, I daresay he goes too far on that score. Where a life is concerned, the telling of a lie is most indeed ethical.” Soleil nodded. Oliver’s attention was snagged by the foot that was wiggling back and forth, playing absently with the sandal meant to enclose it. “I was just saying that very same thing to my sister Luna yesterday.” “Y-You were?” Oliver’s stare tore away from her foot and settled back upon her face. “Definitely.” Soleil frowned thoughtfully, her violet eyes squinting slightly as she considered the matter further. “If I’m not mistaken, I said that to Luna right after we finished discussing the philosophical ramifications of Descartes Demon.”

“Good god in heaven,” Oliver mumbled. “What’s that?” “Nothing.” He shifted in his seat, hoping the slight movement concealed his raging erection. Oliver signaled the flight attendant for a glass of wine. He needed a drink and he needed it now. “I’ll have a Merlot.” He stole a quick peek at Soleil’s red toes, then abruptly changed his mind. “Make that a Scotch. Straight.” He whimpered when she bent over to retrieve something from her handbag and revealed in the process more cleavage than a man had the right to see. “A double.” He snapped his head to attention and turned pleading eyes toward the flight attendant. “Now. I beg it of you.”

***** Soleil turned to the next page of The Spinster Virgin. She nibbled on her lip as she continued to read. It looked as though the good part—the sex scene—had finally arrived. No! No! No! Emily tore her swollen lips away from Lord Anthony’s and drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She could not do this. She could not make love with the ton’s most profligate rake. He would take not only her virginity, he would claim her very soul. Emily clutched the crucifix she was holding against her breast. She clung to it as though it were a talisman. “Do not do this, my lord,” she pleaded with him on a sob. “I haven’t the will to deny you.” “Then do not deny me, Emily.” Lord Anthony’s smoldering gaze branded her with its possessiveness. His nostrils were flaring like a stallion in full rut. His breathing was labored. Emily realized at once that it had nothing to do with the fact that she’d accidentally kneed him in the scrotum and everything to do with his desire to bed her. “Noooo!” she screamed, the word ripping violently from the depths of her soul. “Noooo!” Emily held the crucifix before Lord Anthony, warding him off as though he had the powers of the undead. Her hand shook with the effort. She wanted to make love to him, but she needed to remain steadfast. Emily closed her eyes as if in pain. The hand that held the crucifix continued to shake frantically. She wielded it before him as she dropped to her knees and sobbed. “I beg you, my lord! Have mercy upon me!” Lord Anthony ripped the crucifix from her hand, inducing Emily’s sobs to grow stronger and

more desperate. He set the crucifix on the table behind him and turned to regard her. “It’s time, Emily. It’s time to claim what’s mine…” Soleil gulped. She could feel a languid ache pooling low in her belly. Her cousin Candy had always had a way with words. “What in the bloody hell do you mean, the food is all spoiled?” Soleil glanced over toward Oliver. She absently book-marked her place in The Spinster Virgin and set it away from her. Soleil had tried to maintain conversation with the handsome man, but he had kept sweating and stammering, obviously unnerved by the idea of furthering their acquaintance. She hadn’t been surprised, though perhaps she had been a tad hurt. Soleil had thought, after all, that they had been getting along rather well, but it became rapidly apparent that Oliver had thought her as odd as other men typically did. “I’m sorry, sir,” the flight attendant demurred. “I know this must be a terrible inconvenience, but the food the catering company left behind isn’t edible.” She handed him a bottle of Merlot and smiled like the winner of a Miss America pageant. “Compliments of the airline.” “This is the first class cabin,” Oliver muttered, “it’s complimentary anyway.” After the flight attendant scowled and walked away, and after Oliver sighed and uncorked the bottle of wine, Soleil reached down into her carry-on and pulled out the food she’d brought with her. She cleared her throat daintily. She knew Oliver wasn’t interested in talking to her, but hopefully he wouldn’t look down on her offering of a meal. “You can share mine,” she said in a quiet voice. Oliver turned to Soleil and met her violet gaze. He blinked. For the past interminable half of an hour, he’d desperately racked his brain trying to come up with something to say to her that wouldn’t sound stupid. Or overly intellectual. And then she had taken up her reading, throwing an even bigger wrench into his plans. But now, by the grace of god—or this goddess Soleil seemed to favor—he had been given another chance to redeem himself. Could he be so lucky? Would the airline’s spoiled food actually aid his cause? “I shouldn’t want to impose.” “It’s no imposition.” Soleil’s back straightened defensively. She thrust her chin up a notch. “So long as you think it’s good enough for you to eat.” “Well of course.” It occurred to Oliver that his lack of conversation up until this point might have actually worked against him instead of for him. Another first. He had obviously offended this lovely young woman he was so desirous of winning over. “It is I who is unworthy of a gift from a lady so kind, generous, and beautiful.” He blinked. Had he, Oliver Sebastian, managed to say something poetic?

Obviously he had. She was gifting him with one of those outrageously bright smiles again. “Perhaps you can ask the flight attendant for two plates and I can divide out what I have between us.” Oliver looked deeply into Soleil’s eyes. For once, he wasn’t feeling nervous. For once, he was able to relax and enjoy a woman’s company. And for once, the woman in question wasn’t reacting to him as though he’d just asked her to rip her clothes off, dance naked in a graveyard, and recite Locke’s theory of empiricism by heart. Not that there was anything wrong with the aforementioned activities. “That would be wonderful,” he murmured. Thirty minutes later, Oliver closed his eyes long enough to savor the bite of dessert he’d just forked up into his mouth. “This is exquisite. Just exquisite. Everything was truly delicious, Sunny. Thank-you.” “You’re welcome.” Oliver paused before taking another bite. “What was this called again?” “Sweet potato pie.” Soleil motioned toward a container laying at her feet. “There’s one more piece if you’d like it.” Her eyes widened and she blurted out quickly, “All of its ingredients are of the earth, so two pieces won’t hurt you!” She nodded, as if that cleared everything up. Oliver wasn’t quite certain how that announcement mattered in the grand scheme of things, but no matter. He wanted the last piece of pie more than words could express, but he’d been raised to behave more refined than an ill-mannered, gluttonous hog. “I shouldn’t want to impose.” Soleil waved that pronouncement away, then retrieved the piece of pie in question. Oliver’s eyes lit up as she placed the dessert on his plate, making it socially inexcusable for him to refuse it. “You’re certain?” he asked solemnly, giddy on the inside. “Definitely.” Soleil nodded succinctly. “I can always bake another one when I get to Blackshire.” “Blackshire?” Oliver’s eyes rounded in disbelief. Could he be so lucky? He momentarily forgot all about the manna on his plate awaiting his indulgence. “As in England? As in the country? As in right off Solway Firth, the inlet of sea that lies near the border of England and Scotland?” Soleil smiled. Oliver had the cutest little dot of sweet potato spotting his mouth. She took out one of the monogrammed handkerchiefs Luna had made for her and dabbed at his upper lip with it. She then handed the small silky square over to him, ignoring his gasp of mortification. “Well yes, as a matter of fact. That’s exactly the Blackshire I’m moving to. Do you know it?” Oliver wadded up the handkerchief and jammed it into his pants pocket. His embarrassment was forgotten in a trice. “Know it! Know it!” He grinned, displaying a deep dimple on his right cheek that Soleil hadn’t noticed before. “I live there!” “You’re kidding?” “Unfortunately in most cases, but fortunately in this one, I never jest.”

Soleil chuckled, inducing Oliver’s heart to thump pleasurably in his chest. “You just did. Jest, that is. ” Oliver smiled slowly. He peered into her eyes. “I suppose I did,” he quietly agreed.

Chapter 4 “When do you plan to marry, my boy?” Lord Charles Sebastian, Earl of Clydon, sipped from a glass of brandy as he regarded his youngest son. He was a tall man like Oliver, possessed of a well-sculpted face and physique, and still suitably honed for his seventy-two years. Widowed over a decade ago, the elder ladies of society had been clamoring for the earl’s favor since his wife the countess had been placed in the ground. Vultures, the lot of them. But that didn’t dissuade him from his unwavering desire to marry off Oliver, the title’s only hope of carrying on. “I haven’t any notion when I’ll marry.” Oliver accepted a glass of brandy from a servant, then took his seat on the other side of his father’s desk with a resigned sigh. The earl always brought him into the study whenever he wanted to nag him half to death, he thought grimly. Over the years, Oliver had come to despise the mere sight of this room and each session in nagging that it represented. His father grunted. “Are you engaged to anyone at least?” “No.” “Dating?” “No.” The earl scrunched up his face. Scratching his head, he gestured negligently in Oliver’s direction. “ Enjoying intimate relations with a human of the female variety?” “No.” “I see.” The earl studied his son in silence for a long moment before finally speaking his mind. “Do you…” His face flushed as he motioned vaguely with his hand, “have…desires for intimate relations with humans of the female persuasion?” Oliver’s eyes narrowed into green slits. “What are you asking?” The earl met his son’s gaze defiantly. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Are you a homosexual, Oliver?” Oliver choked on his brandy. He took a moment to glare at his father before brushing at the few drops of alcohol that had saturated his pants. “No.” “Thank God for that,” the earl muttered. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a handkerchief, then absently tossed it toward his son. “I was beginning to worry.”

Shaking his head, Oliver mentally rolled his eyes. Every visit with his father started the same, progressed the same, and invariably ended the same. Though this was the first time that his father had ever mentioned a worry over homosexuality. He set the glass of brandy down, laced his fingers together behind his neck, and leaned back into them. “On that score, you needn’t concern yourself, father.” “I just don’t understand it,” the earl stammered out, paying him no heed whatsoever. “Women desire you. You are a handsome man.” He nodded definitively. “And, you are a cut above most ladies’ expectations for a husband in terms of breeding, wealth, and title.” He shrugged his shoulders and took a deep breath. “So why not marry one of them?” “I don’t know where you get your information, father, but I’m hardly the social catch of the decade. Besides,” Oliver stated in his own defense, “the women of my acquaintance bore me.” Except for one woman, he thought with a satisfied inner smile. But that woman he still needed to track down and claim. The earl drummed his fingers atop the desk. “I can name plenty of women that are desirous of a connection with you that are clearly not a bore.” Oliver let his hands drop from behind his head. He picked up the glass of brandy and sipped from it, his expression one of bored indulgence. “Name one.” “What of Lady Imogene Smith?” “Talks too much.” His father grunted. “Lady Amanda Parker?” “She thinks Kant’s a tedious bore.” “He is a tedious bore,” the earl mumbled under his breath. Clearing his throat, he glowered at Oliver. “Miss Evangeline Strutherby?” “She wants nothing from me but my title and money.” “Lady Margaret Harrow?” “She makes a bizarre hee-hawing sound when she laughs.” “True,” the earl muttered. “Alright, I will concede to that. But certainly there must be others. What of—” “Miss Jane Merriweather.” Oliver started at the sound of his brother’s voice. He hadn’t heard him come in. He wished that he had. Oliver had never been a fan of surprises. Smiling hesitantly, he inclined his head toward him. “James. ”

“Oliver. Father.” “James,” the earl murmured in greeting. James wheeled himself over to where Oliver was seated. Oliver’s muscles tensed at once, a common reaction of five years habit. Ever since his brother’s riding accident, he was simply at a loss for how to go about communicating with him. James had been angry at the world ever since the day he had lost the ability to walk. “How are you feeling?” he asked in the way of conversation. James’ eyes narrowed into green slits reminiscent of Oliver’s. “How am I feeling? Or how does it feel to be stuck in this chair?” Oliver sighed. “James, you know that’s not what I meant. I—” “I know.” James closed his eyes briefly, then looked up and nodded. “I know. I…apologize,” he rumbled out begrudgingly. Oliver scanned his brother’s features. He looked haggard, worn out, as though he hadn’t been sleeping well at night. “It’s alright,” he said softly, “forget it.” “So,” the earl interjected a little too brightly—as he always did whenever he was confronted with James’ obvious anger—“I was just helping your brother to decide on which woman of society he should settle his intentions upon.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “No, you weren’t.” “What of Jane Merriweather,” James intoned again. His jaw clenched as he brought his line of vision up to meet his brother’s. “She very much wants to be a viscountess and then a countess one day, but of course, not as wife to a cripple unable to sire heirs.” “Don’t do this,” Oliver murmured. “Do what?” James finished pouring himself a glass of brandy, then held it up as if making a toast. “ We were engaged once, Jane and I. Before my accident. But I believe she now carries a torch for you, Oliver.” He drank deeply of the alcohol and sighed lustily. “You, after all, can sire sons.” “James,” the earl replied in low tones, “that’s enough, my boy.” “Boy,” James echoed. “I’m thirty-eight, yet that’s all I’ll ever be.” Oliver stood up to take his leave. He could bear to hear no more. He had suggested to his father that they shouldn’t allow James to steep in his own self-pity, but the earl refused to listen to his advice. Fine. But that didn’t mean Oliver had to endure the ramifications of his father’s well-intentioned but misguided coddling. “I should go. I promised grandmother we would tea at one o’clock.” “But what of Jane?” James called out loudly to his back. “She wants to marry you, Oliver!” Oliver didn’t bother to respond until he was at the study’s doors. He opened them, then turned and

met his brother’s belligerent stare. “I wouldn’t marry Jane if she was the last woman on god’s green earth.” “Oh?” James gritted out. “And why ever not? She is well bred and beautiful.” “Because,” he answered softly, “she is just like you.” James’ eyebrows shot up. “What the bloody hell do you mean by that?” Oliver shook his head sadly and sighed. “Superficial.” And with that enigmatic comment, he took his leave, allowing his brother to wonder precisely what he had meant.

***** Oliver waited impatiently for the rental car representative to hand over the keys to the leased Mercedes. His had gone on the fritz a little over an hour ago, the result of his madcap driving no doubt. Oliver had been enthusiastic about returning to Blackshire many times in the past, though always because it meant a return to his library and the treatises ensconced within it. Now his enthusiasm had turned into a near desperation, an obsession. He wanted to see Soleil—Sunny—again. But he needed to find her first. Oliver still had an unkind word or two to say to the asinine fates that had thought to separate he and Soleil at Gatwick airport in London four days past. One moment they had been side by side, alighting from the aircraft together, and then the next, their connection had been severed irrevocably by a wave of harried travelers cutting between them. “Here you are, Lord Blackshire.” Oliver returned his attention to the task at hand. Nodding his thanks to the rental car agent, he sprinted toward the parking lot to retrieve the Mercedes, then zoomed out of the town of Carlisle at top speed. Veering on to A7, he breathed a sigh of relief knowing that he was now back on track, Blackshire bound. Oliver hadn’t been able to claim much in the way of leisure time these past four days, but what time he had procured he had spent teaching himself how to be suave, debonair, and charming. Everything a profligate rake would be. Everything Lord Anthony was in The Spinster Virgin. At first, Oliver had felt on the outside of idiotic purchasing Candy Crawford’s romance novel at a London bookshop named Lace & Petticoats—obviously geared toward those of the female persuasion.

But when he had considered the dreamy expression that had smothered Soleil’s face as she had read from The Spinster Virgin—or the way that her breath had sucked in and her nipples had puckered

beneath her sundress when she got to one of the juicier parts—Oliver’s resolve to become the man Soleil desired above all others overrode any tremors of potential embarrassment he might have otherwise experienced. Like a government operative absconding with top secret information from the enemy camp, he had tucked the book into his suit jacket, darted his head back and forth to make certain none but the salesgirl had bore witness to the transaction, then fled from Lace & Petticoats as if the hounds of hell had been nipping at his heels. Before reading the book, Oliver had spent a half-hour or so merely contemplating the cover art. The heroine was on her knees, her mammoth breasts spilling out of her gown, as she reached upward, one hand clutching the hero’s thigh, the other one grasping in desperation toward the parted shirt that highlighted his almost completely bared torso. The hero merely raised a lordly brow. He could do this. Or so he kept telling himself. The reading of The Spinster Virgin had been, without a doubt, an eye-opening experience. Oliver hadn’t realized that any reading material without pictures, outside of the philosophical treatises of course, could make him hard. He planned to order the Candy Crawford novella that was due to come out next week—something about an American baseball hero. Though this time Oliver was going to be smart about it. This time he was going to order it from Amazon.co.uk on the internet. Therefore, no more treks into Lace & Petticoats would be of necessity. Oliver smiled smugly as he continued his top-speed promenade down A7. His internet plan was a fine one. He hadn’t, after all, spent the majority of his youth being teased about the size of his brain for nothing. Oliver absently scanned the scenery about him as he became lost in his thoughts. The plans he had for claiming Soleil were just as firm as the plans he had for obtaining the novella. They were solid as a rock. He would find Soleil. He would invite her out to dine. He would send her flowers and candies, recite poetic verses, and see to it that his horses took top honors at the next race in Derbyshire. He didn’t own any racing steed, but since this had worked well for Lord Anthony, he would endeavor to purchase a few. Oliver smiled arrogantly as he considered the practicality of his plan. He could already imagine the bright smile on Soleil’s face when his horse took top honors… Soleil jumped up and down in excitement, her large breasts jiggling wantonly. She turned to Oliver and smiled.

His very nearness seemed to affect her. Soleil gasped as need surged through her body. Her hand flew to her neck. She clutched it as she dropped to her knees before him. Her other hand reached out in desperation, begging for his touch. “Oh Oliver—Oliver! I need you. I can wait no more!” she sobbed, tears coursing down her cheeks. “Please Oliver, I beg you! Make me a woman! Show me what it means to truly live!” Oliver raised a lordly brow. Chewing rakishly on the piece of straw between his teeth, he patted the bottoms of the two mammoth-chested stable girls, Babette and Dominique, then set them away from him. He removed the piece of straw from his mouth and threw it away from him. Reaching out to grip Soleil’s chin with his hand, Oliver’s nostrils flared in time with his desire. His breathing was harsh, labored. He began to sweat. He released her. He opened a book of Kant and began to read from it. “No, damn it! I did not do that!” Oliver frowned as he turned off of A7 and headed east. “ Shakespeare! Bloody Shakespeare!” He opened a book of Shakespeare and began to read from it. Soleil’s sobs grew louder. She knew she wouldn’t have the strength to resist him when he decided to take her. She knew he would claim her, brand her, spoil her for all other men. He would make her his love slave. “What are you doing to me, Oliver?!” she cried out brokenly. “Do not torture me so!” Oliver snapped the book of sonnets shut. He raised a pompous brow. “Why Sunny, my dear, I ’ve only just begun…” Oliver shook his head gloomily. What had he been thinking? He could never get away with this. He didn’t even have the necessary stable girls to pull the ruse off with. The closest thing he had to a stable girl in Blackshire was Una, a strapping lesbian he sometimes played cards with. And if memory served correctly, Una was missing a few teeth, sported a light beard, and was a proficient boxer. She would probably beat him to a pulp if he dared to pat her on the bottom. Oliver sighed dejectedly. He could spend the rest of his life trying to perfect the role and he would never, ever be a profligate rake. What was the bloody use? Grumbling imperceptibly at the fates that had conspired against him, he pulled the silken handkerchief Soleil had left behind out of his pants pocket. He smoothed it between his fingers and sighed, glancing morosely down at it. How could he make her see him as a potential mate? How could— He sucked in his breath. His eyes widened in shock. He did a double take.

Oliver had been the possessor of the black silk square embroidered with the sun, moon, and stars for four days now. But this was the first time he had noticed that it was monogrammed. Dumbstruck, he ran a finger over the lettering. SEX Soleil’s initials spelled “sex”.

Chapter 5

Soleil opened the back door of her cottage, breathed deeply of the night air, and smiled. Languid with happiness, she made her way down the back steps and headed for the cobblestone path that led into a small, densely forested area. She had been curious to discover just where it was the path led to since the day she’d arrived and set up tent, so to speak. Because Soleil had been busy cleaning up her modest cottage, shopping in the village for supplies, and introducing herself to Madame Zelda and the other eleven witches who made their homes here in Blackshire, this was the first opportunity the goddess had granted her to assuage her curiosity. Soleil absolutely loved living in Blackshire. Everything about the place was stellar. It called to her on so many levels. The villagers, the witches, the food, the sea, the cottage… She loved her cottage! Constructed strictly of stone and wood, and featuring only five tiny rooms— the kitchen, living, spell-casting, bathing, and sleeping chambers—it was completely of the earth. Perfect for a witch. Perfect for a seer and summoner whose powers were at their peak while surrounded by non-synthetic things. Soleil followed the cobblestone path around a curve and found herself, not even a full minute later, atop a majestic cliff overlooking the sea. She smiled brightly, now understanding where it was that the magnificent, balmy breeze that cooled her cottage in the moon-risings was coming from. Soleil had known, of course, that the area of Blackshire lay at Solway Firth. She had not known until just now, however, that said firth was right at her back door. Stellar! Soleil watched the water lap against the rocks below. She had never felt more at peace, more at home, than she did right now. In just three days, Feill-Sheathain—the summer solstice—would arrive and her studies within Madame Zelda’s exclusive coven would begin. The knowledge of her impending power-honing only added to her sense of exuberance and contentment. Being in Blackshire, living amongst others that had been born like her, made Soleil so happy that

even the scars she bore from childhood no longer cut quite so deeply. Over the years, she’d lost track of how many rocks had been thrown at her, how many children had run screaming at the mere sight of her. She was so used to people walking a wide path around her that she scarcely took notice of it anymore. But here it was different. When Soleil went shopping in the village, people greeted her with smiles, even asked for her help. The children were eager to be near her, all of them clamoring to be the next one that got their aura read. She grinned, remembering an adorable little boy named Albert who just this very morning had come to her cottage in tears, begging her to help him find his lost kitty. Soleil had found Snuffles in a jiffy. She snorted arrogantly at the memory. That had been child’s play. Albert, of course, had been elated. His parents had stopped by not even an hour later and gifted her with a freshly baked loaf of bread, a crock of home-churned butter, and a jar of natural preserves. When Soleil had questioned Madame Zelda this afternoon about the wonderful way people were treating her in Blackshire, the affable—and very unique—older woman had answered her by explaining the village’s history with witchcraft. Witches, it seemed, had dwelled in peace amongst the villagers here for centuries. Even during the height of Europe’s witch-burning craze, no hangings, crucifixions, or hunts had ever touched this part of the firth. Soleil could easily envision that, as Blackshire was a remote area that still to this very day didn’t see much in the way of outside visitors. Madame Zelda had gone on to explain that the villagers could easily recognize her as a witch by the amulet she wore around her neck. Used to seeing them don the necks of every witch ever to reside here, the villagers of Blackshire—unlike the people of any other community Soleil had ever visited— understood exactly what the symbol meant. The eternally-living woman. The goddess. The universe. Soleil sighed dreamily. She was finding her balance, the peace she needed. Maybe now a Familiar would make himself known to her—her very own Familiar. She had wanted one for so long, yet none had ever come to claim her. She had a gut feeling that would change now. Her aura was definitely vibing out with Familiar vibrations. Stellar! So far as Soleil could surmise, there was only one piece of her contentment missing. And that was Oliver the Olive. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, or dreaming about him. She couldn’t stop remembering the few hours they’d been granted together in between Cleveland and London. Oliver was by far the most handsome, masculine man—both physically and spiritually—that Soleil

had ever met. Spiritually, his aura was breathtakingly powerful, radiating all the alpha characteristics she found provocative in the male animal. He was stable, reliable, determined, unrelenting, and possessive of what he considered his. By the grace of fate, it also contained the requisite beta characteristics necessary for balancing out the alpha…kindness, caring, and acceptance of differences in others. Soleil closed her eyes and smiled wistfully. She shivered at the memories of him. Oliver’s aura could get her so damn horny. And that was without even taking the time to consider him on the physical level. Where his aura contained just enough beta characteristics to make him the perfect, well-rounded alpha male, his body was completely devoid of them. There was nothing beta about Oliver’s physical strength, his sleek muscularity, or his powerful build. The masculine planes and angles of his face brooked no compromise. No siree. His body was one hundred percent, no holds barred…alpha Stellar! If only she had had the foresight to get his last name. Ah well. How was she to have known that they would be separated at Gatwick airport? Even a witch can’t foretell everything. Soleil had considered asking around in the village to see if anyone knew him. She decided against that within ten minutes of her first shopping expedition, having made the acquaintance of three other Olivers within that short period of time. Apparently Oliver wasn’t the unusual name in Blackshire that it was in America. So, being as it was that her options for finding him weren’t exactly numerous, Soleil had done the only other thing that a witch in her position could do… she had sent out good vibes to him every moon-rising before falling asleep, bidding him to come to her. He would find her eventually. Perhaps it wouldn’t be tomorrow or even the next day, but eventually he would come. Maybe, she thought excitedly, it would be on the Day of the Dead when her powers were at their most awesome! Soleil shivered deliciously at the thought. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she and Oliver were reunited on the very day she was most attuned to the universe? Wouldn’t he be impressed with all that she could do? He was from Blackshire after all! He would be able to accept that she was a witch! She could envision their reunion now… They ran toward each other in slow motion from across a field of wheat and flowers, as the theme song from Chariots of Fire danced through their heads. When at last their bodies met, Oliver lifted Soleil up into his embrace and swung her around and around in circles. She was getting dizzy, but she didn’t care. Oliver had found her at last.

“Oh Sunny—Sunny! How have I lived without a witch of your caliber in my life all of these years? Please, my love, tell me again what my aura does to you.” Soleil smiled provocatively. Her grin had sex vixen written all over it. “Shall I tell you O-man, or shall I show you?” Oliver’s spectacles began to fog up. He ripped them off of his face and hurled them to the ground. “Show me, my love.” His nostrils flaring, he peered deep into her eyes. “Marry me, Sunny. Let every day between us be the Day of the Dead. Let every man in Blackshire envy me for the powerful witch I have claimed as mine.” “Oh Oliver—Oliver.” Soleil’s hand flew to her heart. “I was hoping you would say that…” “Oliver.” Soleil sighed dreamily. Her slight smile was nostalgic. “Come home to me, Oliver.”

***** Oliver meandered along the streets of the village, hoping to spot Soleil. Although he’d never traversed through the hamlet that was at the heart of Blackshire land before— he’d always sent a servant out to fetch whatever was needed—Oliver had to admit that the place was oddly quaint. The streets were narrow and paved of cobblestone, giving the entire three block area lined with craftsmen, healers—not doctors he noticed—bakers, and seafood merchants, a very Old World, almost medieval feel to it. The villagers themselves appeared to be rather on the eccentric, superstitious side. And most of them had an apparent proclivity toward the donning of the color black. Everywhere Oliver looked, signs had been placed on shop doors announcing that tomorrow was to be Feill-Sheathain. He had no notion as to what this holiday could possibly be about, but seeing as how there were pictures of witches scattered all around the hamlet, he assumed that witchcraft had much to do with the event. Oliver tried to figure out the meaning of Feill-Sheathain by using logic where his knowledge well ran dry. Pondering the matter somewhat, he considered what tomorrow’s date was. The twenty-first of June. The twenty-first of June? Hmm. The twenty-first of Ju— Ah yes! Of course! The summer solstice. Apparently Feill-Sheathain was simply another name for the celebration of the day when the sun was at its hottest. That thought only led to thoughts of another sun, his sun—Soleil. And yes, damn it, she was his whether or not she knew it just yet. Oliver came to a halt before the shop of a jeweler. Ordinarily, such an establishment wouldn’t have caught his interest, but he could see from the street that this particular artisan specialized in rather bizarre creations.

Instinctively he knew that if Soleil were to buy a piece of jewelry in Blackshire, it would be from within this shop’s doors. Well, Oliver thought bemusedly, perhaps it wasn’t total instinct. Perhaps it was also the fact that a wood carving of the same exact emblem Soleil wore around her neck decorated the outside door of the jeweler’s place of business. Oliver walked slowly into the shop and took a quick assessing look around. The light from within was dim, so it took his eyes a moment to adjust. How anyone could fashion trinkets in this poor light, he hadn’t the foggiest notion. Oliver looked left and right, high and low, but no one appeared to be inside. Odd, that. If the place was empty, certainly the owner wouldn’t have left the front door open for all and sundry to— “Hallo.” Oliver started, his head snapping over to where the voice had come from. An elderly man of perhaps eighty or more years shuffled out from behind a black curtain and made his way—slowly—over to the jewelry counter. “If’n ye’ve come to get yer fortune told, me daughter is preparin’ for Feill-Sheathain with the rest o’ the thirteen.” Oliver raised a brow. He cleared his throat and nodded respectfully to the elderly man. “Fortune telling? I thought this place was a jeweler’s shop.” “That too.” The elderly man grinned, displaying the five teeth he had left in his mouth to their utmost advantage. “I be the jeweler, me daughter be the seer.” “How nice.” Oliver mentally sighed. This man, like the rest of the village, was as superstitious as a gentleman by the name of Bertie he’d met at university years past had been. Bertie had believed that a witch had cursed him, explanation enough as he saw it for why his grades were never passing. “ Thank-you, but I don’t care to have my fortune told anyway.” “Ye must be from out o’ town then, guv.” “Actually no,” Oliver confessed rather stiffly, “I’m Viscount Blackshire. I live just—” “I know where ye live.” The old man’s grin turned into a frown. He waved away whatever Oliver had been about to say. “Seein’ as how ye’ve never graced us with yer presence afore”—Oliver could sense sarcasm when he heard it—“it makes a man wonder why ye’ve come down here now.” Oliver’s face flushed scarlet. This was precisely why he never ventured about. Every time he opened his mouth to speak to another human being, though most especially to a female human being, he made a cad of himself. “I meant no offense, sir.” Oliver shuffled awkwardly on his feet, gazing down at the cold stone floor. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “As you can see with your own eyes, I’m not a very socially skilled person.” He glanced up and smiled hesitantly. “Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been a bit of a

recluse.” The old man looked Oliver up and down as if sizing up his worth, his character. Apparently he was convinced that the viscount’s contrition had been genuine, for the five teeth popped back out charmingly into view. “I’ve never been much a man o’ words either, guv.” He nodded once and held out an aged, wrinkled hand. “The name’s Morris. Morris O’Malley.” Oliver immediately clasped his hand and shook it. “Oliver Sebastian.” Morris nodded. He released Oliver’s grasp as he looked him up and down again. “Ye’ve a ladylove yer thinkin’ to buy a trinket or two for?” “Actually,”—Oliver cleared his throat—“actually I’m trying to find my ladylove.” When Morris threw him an odd look, he quickly summed up how he had met Soleil and how they had been separated at Gatwick airport. “Sunny was her name, ye said?” “Yes.” Morris scratched at the ten or so hairs left atop his skull. He squinted his eyes a bit, as if the doing jarred his memory. Perhaps it had. “I met her just a few days past. Lovely girl. She came into the shop with me daughter Zelda.” Oliver’s heart thumped excitedly in his chest. “So you know which cottage is hers then?” he blithered out. He met the old man’s gaze eagerly, in anticipation. At last, he was going to find— “No. Can’t say she mentioned as much.” Oliver’s shoulders slumped dejectedly. “How will I ever find her?” he mumbled to himself. Blackshire was far from being a large metropolis, but there were still at least a couple hundred cottages within its borders. Obviously Morris’ ears hadn’t been as affected by age as his hair and teeth had. He responded to Oliver without missing a beat. “Go to the Feill-Sheathain celebration on the morrow. Yer Sunny will be there along with the rest o’ the thirteen.” “Thirteen?” Oliver’s brow furrowed as he shook his head, not understanding. “That’s twice you’ve mentioned the number thirteen. What do you mean by that?” Morris’ bushy eyebrows shot up dramatically. He stared at Oliver in a way he was overly familiar with, as if he was possessed of dual heads. “The thirteen,” he repeated as though that should clear everything up. Morris made a vague, meandering gesture with his hand. “Sunny is o’ the thirteen. The coven.” “C-Coven?” Oliver’s jaws dropped open as he stared incredulously at the jeweler. He snapped

them shut and pushed his hands back into the pockets of his trousers. “Coven?” he asked in what he hoped was a calm sounding voice. Morris nodded succinctly, definitively. “Sunny is a witch.”

Chapter 6

A witch. Soleil was a witch. For the first time in his thirty-five years, Oliver had made the acquaintance of an attractive woman— a woman who responded to him as though she considered him fascinating and handsome rather than an anomaly or a mere cash cow—and she was a bloody witch. No wonder she hadn’t thought him odd, Oliver thought grimly. He imagined his love of the philosophers was a mild quirk in comparison to shape-shifting and spell casting. No doubt most men Soleil took up with were able to turn gentlemen like him into toads. Perhaps he had rated relatively normal in comparison. Oliver closed the massive tome he’d been studying from and sighed. For once, he simply could not concentrate on his treatises. All of his thoughts revolved around Soleil and her rather peculiar occupation.

Would it be so bad, he asked himself, entering into a relationship with a witch? Assuming, of course, that Soleil would be desirous of having one with him. Perhaps being a witch wasn’t quite so awful as the stories made them out to be. Or perhaps, he thought hopefully, Soleil was no different from any other woman out there. So maybe she could foretell things, know what was to transpire before it did. Maybe she was simply more intuitive than most. There was nothing so horrid in that. Nothing Oliver couldn’t handle. But what if, just maybe, the stories Morris had told him yesterday of Soleil’s powers were true. Was it possible? Could there really be people on planet earth capable of moving objects with their minds? And if there were, could Soleil truly be one of them? Everything in Oliver’s upbringing told him he should be wary, demanded him to keep his distance and stay as far away from an alleged witch’s sights as was possible. But his keen intellect, the deep-seated core within him that was fascinated by philosophy and other things one couldn’t hold tangibly in their grasp, was enchanted. Foretelling of the future, he could handle. Even moving things telekinetically, Oliver could handle. Yes, the more he thought on it, the more certain he became. He really could manage this. Foreseeing the future could be explained rationally. Telekinesis could even be couched within scientific terms and the rest of it explained philosophically. Surely, Oliver persuaded himself, surely the spell-casting myth was just that, naught but a legend. If spells held real power, after all, everyone from heads of state to individual citizens to authors wanting

their books to sell would be frequenting witches, begging for their potent powers to turn the fates in their favor. Oliver harrumphed. Fantasy, that. So long as Soleil couldn’t cast a real spell, he didn’t see anything worth fretting over in a witch’s life. On the other hand, if she could cast a true spell, then Oliver knew he’d be purchasing a ticket to Fret City, population one. The implications of wielding so much power were a trifle oversetting. What would happen, for instance, if Soleil had the ability to cast a spell and then Oliver did something that caused her to become angry with him? Would she zap him into some manner of ghastly creature? Make him a mute? Dress him up like a dolly and bid him to suck on his thumb? Oliver grimaced. He removed his spectacles and set them down upon the closed tome. He tried to bar the unwelcome images from entering into his mind, but they wouldn’t relent… “What do you mean your horse didn’t take top honors at Derbyshire? How can you stand yourself! Just look at you! You’re pathetic!” “But my love,” Oliver reasoned, “The steed was supposed to be a cut above. I had it on good word…” “I don’t want to hear it!” Soleil spat out, her nostrils flaring. Her fingers began to wiggle back and forth menacingly... “No Sunny,” he begged her hoarsely. “Do not do this thing again. Do not dress me up like a dolly and bid me to suck on my thumb.” Oliver backed away slowly, cautiously. “What of the children we have together!” he shouted. “What will they think to hear their papa cry for his mum?” Soleil paid him no heed. She raised her wiggling fingers high above her head and grinned evilly… “Good God in heaven,” Oliver muttered. “I couldn’t ever stand for being dressed like a dolly. I’m a viscount for the love of Christ.” Anger surged through him. Primitive. Powerful. He pounded his fist upon the oak desk where he sat. “Sunny and I are going to have a long talk,” he said through clenched teeth. “She will be mine and she most certainly won’t be concocting any horrific spells!” Oliver shot to his feet and began pacing. How could she even think to affront his masculinity in front of their children! How could she be so bold! How could she—

He stopped pacing and frowned. They didn’t have any children together. They weren’t married. They had never so much as been out on a solitary date. No matter. Oliver retrieved his spectacles and shoved them back onto his face. “Where is that bloody address? ” he bit out as he rifled through the drawers of the oak desk for Soleil’s direction. He might not have attended Feill-Sheathain himself, but he had made certain his butler Biggs had. And Biggs had followed her home. “Here it is.” Oliver’s nostrils flared as he scanned the piece of paper. “123 Moonbeam Street. Last cottage at the road’s dead end.” Oliver pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, then stuffed the direction into the pocket of his trousers. “We’ll see about this dolly business!” he shouted to no one in particular as he strode purposefully toward the study doors. “No one dresses up Lord Oliver Sebastian, Viscount Blackshire, as a dolly and continues on as they were!” Oliver ignored the bewildered stare Biggs threw his way as he retrieved his jacket from the butler’s hands. “Can you believe the woman’s audacity!” he spat out. He shook his fist as he marched through the front doors. “And right in front of the bloody children!”

***** Soleil closed her eyes tightly and concentrated. She had left the sanctity of her spell-casting room within the cottage in order to attempt to perform her magic outside in the moon-rising’s crisp air. She could do this. She could cast a healing spell over the sickly squash that John Reilly had brought to her. Poor Mr. Reilly. He was determined that his squash would win the blue ribbon at the Blackshire summer fair to be held next week. Soleil could well imagine the horror on the farmer’s face when he woke up this morning only to find that his potentially prize-winning forty pound vegetable had grown a deformity of sorts. The deformity was not only ugly, but it was also a bit on the obscene side. Soleil had never seen anything like it. She hadn’t known vegetables could grow, uh, protrusions. Soleil cleared her throat. Raising her hands high above her head, she took a deep breath and began to wiggle her fingers back and forth. Opening her eyes, she commenced the healing chant: “Healing goddess, Earth, water, air Healing goddess, Your squash has despaired

Healing goddess, Hear your servant’s calls Healing goddess, Shrink the squash’s balls…” Soleil wiggled her fingers rapidly, twitched her nose, and sent out good vibes to the vegetable. Casting her energies on the obscenity in question, she twitched her nose one last time, grinned, and shouted, “Take that!” The balls shrank away. Soleil gasped. She had done it! She had really done it! She had— “Do you make a habit of shrinking scrotums everywhere you go, Sunny?” Soleil started at the sound of that welcome, familiar voice. She whirled around, smiling brightly. She couldn’t believe her good fortune that he had found her so soon. “Oliver!” Oliver raised a lordly brow. Truth be told, the sight of Soleil so obviously eager to see him did funny things to his insides. But he refused to cave into said feelings just yet. His pride was at issue. His dignity. And if Soleil’s performance with the squash was an indicator, so were his balls. “Do you?” he asked again, his gaze smoldering—a look he’d practiced in the mirror several times after finishing The Spinster Virgin. He had given up on the fifth try, considering it a lost cause. Apparently it was a look that could only be cultivated in real life situations. “Make a habit of shrinking testicles, that is.” Soleil’s smile faltered a bit as she came to a stop in front of him. She looked up into his eyes questioningly and shrugged her shoulders. “Only when they need to be shrunk.” Oliver visibly gulped, his Adam’s apple working in time with his swallow. “I see,” he squeaked out. He cleared his throat and thrust his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker. “And you have declared yourself judge and jury,”—he removed one hand from his pocket and waved it agitatedly—“over whether or not a man’s balls need to be shrunk?” Soleil’s golden brow rose together. “It was a squash, Oliver.” “That isn’t the point and well you know it!” “Then what,” she said slowly, as if speaking to a babbling child, “is the point?” “You are never to shrink my scrotum!” Oliver’s nostrils flared as his chin thrust up arrogantly. “I am Lord Oliver Sebastian, Viscount Blackshire, and I—” “You’re one of those lord guys?” Soleil grinned. “That’s so cool, Oliver.” “Yes, well, thank-you,” he mumbled. “You’re welcome.” Oliver harrumphed. “I have allowed you to stray from the issue at hand.” He raised one eyebrow

while the other stayed put—another hot tip he’d picked up from Candy Crawford. “Let us return to it.” “Ah yes.” Soleil nodded. “I’m not allowed to shrink your noobies.” “That is correct.” Oliver raised a hand and began to tick off the rest of his list. “Nor will you ever make me a mute, poof me into some manner of ghastly creature, or dress me as a dolly and bid me to suck upon my thumb.” The other eyebrow shot up to meet with the first. He ignored the fact that Soleil was staring at him as though he was possessed of dual heads. An issue was at stake. A very important issue. And his balls. He simply couldn’t forget that fact. “Is that clear, Ms. Xavier?” “Very.” Soleil sighed. She had no idea what the man was ranting about, but whatever it was, it seemed to be important to him. And because it was important to him, she would try her best to be patient. “I will never do any of those things.” She nodded solemnly, stroking the amulet she wore around her neck. “A witch’s vow.” Oliver searched Soleil’s gaze. “Odd, but I find those words comforting.” His voice had gone down in timbre and had become potently seductive in the process. Her breath caught in reaction. She licked her lips. Slowly, gently, he lifted his hand to her jaw and cupped it. “I’ve missed you, and I want to see you again, Sunny.” Soleil peered into his eyes, her emotions there for him to see. “You have?” she asked breathlessly. “ You do?” “Yes.” Oliver lowered his head until their lips were scarcely a breath apart. “Very much,” he murmured. “On both counts.” She smiled, her violet gaze never leaving his face. “Are you going to kiss me?” she whispered. “Yes.” She searched his eyes. “Then do it, O-man.” Oliver smiled gently. He lowered his head a fraction until their lips touched. Then leisurely, reverently, he brushed his bottom lip against Soleil’s. She shuddered, nipping at him softly in return. “Mmm…Sunny.” Oliver nipped back as he reached out to grasp the back of her head. “I’ve fantasized of this for days.” Before she could respond, he brought his mouth down fully to cover hers and thrust his tongue between her slightly parted lips. Soleil whimpered as she clutched the lapels of his windbreaker and drew herself in closer to his body. Oliver groaned into her mouth as their tongues mated, imitating the very act he had dreamed of

doing to her for days. He ground his hips into Soleil’s, pressing his erection fully against her belly. Liquid fire shot through every part of her body. She moaned, pressing in closer to Oliver, accepting his hungry kisses with erotic abandon. She had never felt quite like this before. She had never known, until this moment, what it was to need a man with every part of her being. “Oliver.” Oliver released the back of Soleil’s head and drew his hands around her backside to cup her buttocks. He squeezed them, kneaded them, as his tongue continued to delve in and out of her hot mouth. Soleil twined her arms around Oliver’s neck and kissed him feverishly. He was making her feel things that overwhelmed her, making her want things she wasn’t altogether certain she could name. But she realized one thing with total clarity: she needed and wanted him and only him. Shuddering with desire, Oliver lifted Soleil off of the ground high enough for their hips to meet. Cupping her buttocks, he smashed her pelvis against his, grinding his jutting shaft into her heat. For all the fabric that separated their writhing bodies, Oliver was certain he’d never been closer to heaven, or to hell. He’d been fully into women and never felt like this. Not even close. Not even once. “Oliver.” Soleil expelled his name on a ragged breath as she closed her eyes and threw back her head, allowing his lips full access to her neck and shoulders. She moaned when he began to kiss there, delicious nibbles and licks in just the right spots making her belly clench and contract. “Oh yes—Oliver.” “Sunny.” He took her mouth again, claiming it, branding it as his own. All thoughts of plans and of worrying over what Lord Anthony would do in his situation were long gone, as his own primal instincts took over and lay siege. He wanted this woman, needed to possess her permanently and irrevocably. As their tongues danced and their bodies ground into one another, Oliver recognized Soleil for what she was: his. His woman. His mate. But he would not join her to him like this. Not yet. Slowly, begrudgingly, Oliver broke their kiss. He peered deeply into Soleil’s bewildered eyes and grunted smugly. She wanted him. It was there to see, plain as day. He set Soleil gently to her feet as he continued to cup and knead her buttocks possessively. “Dinner. Tomorrow evening. I shall arrive at seven.” He raised a lordly brow. “Any questions?” “N—No.” Soleil shook her head quickly. She ran her tongue over her swollen lips, inducing Oliver to suck in his breath. Smiling, she tilted her head up and regarded him as a woman with a newly acquired skill at seducing.

“I’ll even bring my book on Kant. We can,”—she batted her eyelashes coyly and ran her tongue over her lips once more for good measure—“discuss the implications of his theory on the Science of Right.” Oliver’s nostrils flared. His breathing grew labored as he regarded his woman. “Have you ever discussed this theory with another man?” he gritted out. “Never.” Oliver raised his lordly brow again. He was getting damn good at it too, if he did say so his self. “ And you never will.”

Chapter 7 After the breath mint was completely dissolved on his tongue, Oliver cupped his hand in front of his mouth, blew out a puff of air, and inhaled the scent of mint sprig that was certain to drive a particular witch wild with want. Smiling knowingly into the rearview mirror of his again functioning Mercedes, he alighted from the car and proceeded to the door of Soleil’s cottage. It didn’t escape Oliver’s notice that he felt as eager and as nervous as he had on his very first date with Miss Frederica Polbrook a month after his sixteenth birthday. He could only hope that this date went better. He could only pray that Soleil didn’t feign a headache, desirous of retiring early for the evening in order to escape his dull presence. And yet, regardless to her boredom, Frederica had still desired to marry him. At sixteen years, her parents had already groomed her to become a devout title chaser. Oliver took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and knocked three times on the cottage’s front door. He was both startled and delighted when the door swung open immediately, indicating that the woman of his many erect, erotic dreams had been waiting for him quite impatiently. He decided to take that as a good sign. “Oliver!” Soleil smiled brightly, not bothering to play games and conceal her enthusiasm over discovering him on the cottage’s front stoop. “Are you ready to go?” Oliver couldn’t seem to stop staring at the beautiful picture she made. He had met beautiful, gorgeous women before that seemed to grow less and less attractive with each viewing. But not this woman. With Soleil, the effect was the polar opposite. Every time he beheld that exuberant smile, each time he peered into those large, violet eyes, she only became that much more appealing to his senses. Some men might have thought her no more than passing pretty, but to him, she was the most beautiful woman to have ever lived. “You look ravishing tonight, Sunny.” His eyes flicked over her form, lingering at her full breasts and then on her face. From her long golden curls swept up into a chignon, to her black sundress that clung to the valley between her breasts and halted at mid-thigh, to the sleek black sandals that soled her red-polished toes, she was mouth-watering. “Truly breathtaking.” Soleil waved that bit of praise away with a fluttering of her hand and a blush across her cheeks. “ Not nearly as nice as you look.” She had done a thorough inspection of his attire and found nothing wanting. Soleil hadn’t realized casual clothes would make Oliver appear even more alpha male than he did in

a suit, but they did. The expertly cut black slacks he wore molded perfectly against his well-muscled legs. The white silk shirt he had donned called attention to his rather impressive biceps and his vein-roped arms and hands. Good goddess she was getting wet. Licking her suddenly dry lips, Soleil accepted the bouquet of flowers Oliver had brought for her. She smiled brightly, then stood up on tiptoe and gave him a quick thank-you peck on the cheek. Searching his eyes, she clutched the gorgeous daffodil and violet arrangement tightly to her breast. “Don’t go anywhere, O-man,” she whispered breathlessly, “I’ll put these in water and be right back.” Oliver inclined his head—then gasped. He didn’t know whether to be delighted, amused, wary, or all three, when Soleil proved so anxious to be in his company that she—right there before his very eyes—summoned a water-filled vase from what had to be the kitchen, flicked her wrist to arrange the flowers into it, then pointed to a mantle that the vase was to rest upon. Beaming, Soleil turned to him and took his hand. “Let’s go!”

***** “I have to disagree with his critics.” Soleil’s thoughtful expression was one of deep contemplation as she picked up her bottle of ale and drank of it. Setting it back down upon the tabletop, she regarded Oliver. “I think Kant’s beliefs concerning causation and natural laws as they apply to his views on freedom are by no means paradoxical.” She shrugged elegantly. “His critics just aren’t deep enough to see that. Can you pass the cheesy buns please?” Oliver’s eyes caressed Soleil’s face from across the small, intimate table as he handed her the bowl of warmed cheesy buns. They had been dining together for well over two hours at Witch Stop, the most popular—and only—café slash pub in Blackshire. Two hours and they were both still having a marvelous time of it. Good god in heaven, his erection could give Mohs Scale of Hardness a new standard by which to test the physical elements. “I agree,” he said in low tones. Soleil shivered tellingly, not at all an uncommon reaction while in Oliver’s unnerving alpha male presence. Her nipples grew thick and erect, her pulse beat picked up and drummed out a wanton beat. The man had been driving her to the boiling point the entire evening with his lowly murmured words, gentle touches to her hands, and his soul-piercing gazes that clearly said he wanted her. Whether they were swapping stories about their childhood, discussing the weather this time of the year around the firth, chitchatting about their favorite foods, or musing over Immanuel Kant, Soleil had been wetter than a drowning witch the whole moon-rising.

She leaned in closer, her eyes forging a trail over his lips. Lips she knew could kiss every sane thought out of her head. “Do you really believe that, O-man?” she asked in a husky, seductive voice, “or are you just saying that to get me hot?” Oliver’s nostrils flared. He breathed in the scent of her, so feminine and desirable, so Soleil. “Yes,” he said unabashedly, “on both counts.” “Oh Oliv—” “Well hallo there, Sunny.” Damn! Damn! Bloody damn! Oliver reigned in his temper before glancing up to ascertain what man had had the unmitigated gall to interrupt the most enjoyable, not to mention seductive, conversation that he had ever partaken of. He was not happy to note that said man was rather on the handsome, rakish looking side. A Lord Anthony if ever there was one. Seething with a possessive fury unknown to Oliver before this very moment, he clutched Soleil’s red-nailed hand from across the table, boldly laying his claim. He branded her with his gaze, then turned to glare at the Lord Anthony look alike. “Hi Anthony!” Oliver winced. He must be a tad on the psychic side. “You look very beautiful tonight, Sunny.” Anthony took it upon himself to pull up a chair and join them at the table without invitation. He turned to Oliver and, raising a definitely lordly brow, held out his hand to shake it. “As you’ve probably already surmised, I’m Anthony, Baron Rothsford.” Oh, he was good. He even spoke and gestured as Lord Anthony would have. Frowning, Oliver did the gentlemanly thing and shook the profligate rake’s hand. “Oliver Sebastian,” he mumbled in a low growl. Ever the one to press his advantage, he added rather pompously, “Viscount Blackshire.” When Anthony didn’t release his hand immediately, but applied more pressure instead, Oliver did a little brow raising of his own. Oh yes. The gauntlet had clearly been thrown down. The bastard wanted Soleil. And he was trying to intimidate Oliver by gripping his hand far too tightly. But Oliver was not to be intimidated. Soleil belonged to him. He would make certain the rake knew it. Clenching his jaw in fury, Oliver gripped Anthony’s hand and clutched it until the rogue winced and let go. That would show him. Oliver settled back into his chair feeling vastly victorious, much like a lion no doubt felt after slashing a particularly juicy jugular. He had won this battle. And he would definitely win the war. “So Anthony,”

he drawled out as he possessively rubbed the palm of Soleil’s hand back and forth in a bold display of territorialism, “what brings you to Witch Stop?” Anthony lit a cigarette, allowing for a billow of smoke to curl around him before answering. It was clearly the calculated move of a rake, giving him an Old World mystique. Oliver hated him immensely. “I came to see Sunny.” “Did you?” Oliver’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Why?” he barked. “Oliver,” Soleil whispered in a chastising tone, “you’re being rude.” Doing her best to ignore the panty-wetting alpha scowl he was shooting toward Baron Rothsford, she turned to Anthony and smiled. She could always jump Oliver’s bones later. “That was very nice of you to stop in and say hello. Are you enjoying your visit with your sister?” “Tremendously.” Anthony removed his gaze from Oliver and flicked it appreciatively over Soleil’s fertile form. “She seems to be well settled in Blackshire.” “Yes, she is.” She grinned. She turned to Oliver and explained. “His sister Vega is of the thirteen, but a new initiate like me.” “I see.” Oliver frowned, not caring whether or not the gesture was rude. Not only did the rogue want his woman, but the bastard could also claim a legitimate connection to Soleil, giving him a reason to seek out her company. When Baron Rothsford raised a brow in challenge, Oliver decided against rising to the bait. Clearly, the rake hoped for him to make a cake of himself, which would make it that much easier for Anthony to look the more sporting of the gentlemen. Plastering a half-smile onto his face—that probably resembled more a sneer than anything—Oliver inclined his head. He would not rise to the challenge. He would do as any gentleman of his station would do. He would set Biggs to following him. And if Biggs reported anything disturbing, Oliver thought with a predator’s satisfaction, he would send out his enforcer to shake the rogue up a bit. Una was always looking for a spot of fun. “Give your sister my congratulations. I understand the coven is quite exclusive.” “Yes it is.” Soleil smiled giddily, the topic of the thirteen never failing to brighten her already cheery face. “Vega and I were very lucky to be called upon while still so young.” Baron Rothsford inclined his head. “True, that.” He retrieved his pocket watch from his trousers and checked the time. Oliver rolled his eyes. Clearly another rakish maneuvering. Who the hell carried a pocket watch these days? “I really should be going. No doubt Vega will be expecting me.” Oliver grunted. About time. “I understand.” Soleil smiled at Anthony as she watched him rise to his feet. “Thanks for stopping by to say hello. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Anthony’s lips kicked up into a charming half-grin. He nodded to Soleil, then met Oliver’s gaze. The tendrils of smoke billowed around his face like an ominous mist. Oliver well and truly hated him. “Most definitely.”

***** Soleil worried her lip as she sat quietly next to Oliver during the drive back to her cottage. He was acting strange and she wasn’t certain what to do about it. Ever since Anthony had taken his leave from Witch Stop a little over half an hour ago, Oliver had been watching her in an altogether disturbing fashion. She felt like an animal being stalked by a very large and very hungry predator. A predator that wanted to make his kill before another predator could beat him to it. Even Oliver’s aura was throwing up warning flags. It was smoking reds and greens—brilliant and bold reds and greens at that. His nostrils were flaring, his jaw was rigid. Clearly, the alpha male was feeling both possessive and horny. Good goddess alpha men could make her wet. Soleil shivered as she continued to nibble at her lower lip. Her cottage was in sight now. Any moment and the Mercedes would be pulling to a stop in front of it. And still no conversation passed between them. Uncertain as to what she should do next, Soleil took a steadying breath, then turned to face Oliver in the seat. Her smile was inviting. “I had a lot of fun tonight. Thank-you.” Oliver eased the Mercedes to a halt near the stone cottage’s front stoop and cut off the ignition. He turned toward Soleil and studied her features, branding her with his heated gaze. “As did I, Sunny.” He leaned in closer, causing her eyes to widen. Soleil’s breathing hitched as the moment of truth grew closer. He was going to take her. He was going to make her his in every sense of the word. He was— “May I be so bold as to…” “Yes?” she asked breathlessly. “…ask for the pleasure of your company tomorrow evening?” Soleil blinked. Her expectant smile faltered somewhat. She had entertained visions of riding him harder than the Lone Ranger had ridden Silver and he had nothing but the next moon-rising’s dining plans on his mind? “Well of course,” she answered a bit stiffly. “But wouldn’t you like to come in for a drink or something tonight?” Slowly, Oliver shook his head in the negative. “Not tonight,” he said thickly, meaningfully. “Not yet.”

Her heart pounded in her breast. She licked her parched lips. The alpha male was even more dangerous than she’d first thought. He didn’t mean to merely claim her. He would seduce her and then possess her, making his brand all the more potent. She gulped. Good goddess she needed a change of panties. “I see.” Oliver brushed his fingertips across Soleil’s parted lips. He ignored her gasp and trailed lower, stroking her from the top of her neck down to the swell of her bosom. “Do you?” She blinked, trying to form a coherent thought. “Y-Yes.” He went lower still, tracing the outline of one nipple through the black sundress. She whimpered. He grunted with satisfaction. Oliver explored the other nipple until it stabbed his palm through the thin fabric. “You will allow no other man to touch you.” It was a statement, not a question. “No,” Soleil whispered, “I won’t allow another man to touch me.” “Until tomorrow then, my beautiful Sunny.” Oliver dragged his perusal from the nipple responding so gloriously to him up to meet his woman’s wide violet gaze. He kissed the tip of her pert little nose. “ Sweet dreams.”

Chapter 8 Soleil was having a rather difficult time concentrating on her studies when thoughts of what might happen this moon-rising kept intruding. Dinner by candlelight. Engaging conversation. Silk sheets. Slow seduction. Whispered words. Licks and nibbles. Multiple orgasms. She sighed. Casting spells and summoning objects telekinetically was hard to get excited about with a virile man like Oliver on the brain. She could well imagine the string of broken hearts he must have scattered about from here to London. “Sunny dearest, you are not paying attention. Convoluted thoughts make for convoluted spells.” Soleil winced. She made a thorough assessment of what she’d done to the broken statue of Venus she had been trying to magically reassemble. The goddess’ breasts were planted on her forehead and her heart-shaped butt was where her mons should be. Soleil then turned to face Madame Zelda, throwing her a disgruntled look in the process. The head witch looked positively radiant today in head to toe black, her nails a blood red. Soleil could only pray to the goddess that she would have such a young, healthy appearance at age sixty. “I’m sorry Madame Zelda,” she demurred, “I’ll try again.” The leader of the coven smiled slowly. Her neat white teeth formed an impish grin. “Still thinking of your young man?” Soleil worried her lip. Eventually she nodded. “Yes.” She gave her best woe-is-me sigh, then motioned dejectedly toward the mauled statue of Venus. “For all the good it does me.” Madame Zelda half cackled and half chuckled. “The alphas will do that to you.” Soleil glanced around the circle of thirteen and was even more embarrassed to realize that none but she had made a mess of their magic spell. Even Vega, the coven’s other initiate and Baron Rothsford’s sister, was standing before a statue that she had reassembled perfectly. Vega looked lovely today in a sheath of purple and blue. It matched her glorious mane of thick black hair to its best advantage. “Damn alphas,” she muttered. Madame Zelda clucked her tongue. She motioned for the other witches to gather around where they stood atop the cliff overlooking the firth. She turned to Soleil and waved a heavily ringed and bangled hand toward her. “Tell us your problem, my dear. Perhaps, as your friends, we can be of some assistance.” “What seems tae be yer trouble, Sunny?” Emelda, a seventy-year-old witch that hailed from Glasgow put the question to her. Scrunching up her facial features, she glowered in commiseration. “Is the mon bedevilin’ ye, lassie? Would it help yer cause if’n I shrank his monhood tae the size of a wee

pencil fer a week or so?” Li inclined her head regally. Originally from China, she was the eldest amongst the thirteen at seventy-six. “That could work. If not, I can reverse that spell and give him a jo-jo the size of an elephant’ s trunk.” Soleil gifted the members of the coven with a teary smile. She still couldn’t believe her good fortune at having so many wonderful friends to call her own. After a lifetime of feeling like an outsider, it was nice to be a part of a clique. Squeezing Vega’s proffered hand in gratitude, she shook her head. “You are the most stellar women in the entire world, but my problem with Oliver can’t be solved that way.” “Tell us your troubles, Sunny,” Madame Zelda again prompted her. “I’m certain we can help if only you would confide in us.” At the thirteen’s murmured consent, Soleil shrugged and sighed. “I’m having no luck in bedding him. ” She released Vega’s hand and threw her own toward the heavens in exasperation. “I can tell by his aura that he’s as attracted to me as I am to him, but I can’t seem to get him to make love to me! I’ve tried twice!” “Have you sent his aura sex vibes?” Li asked. “Yes. Every night.” “Have you dropped verbal hints?” Madame Zelda inquired. “Yes. I even told him I’m on the pill and we have already discussed the fact that we are both disease free.” Vega inclined her head. “Then he knows you want him, yet he makes a game of it. He doesn’t deserve a witch of your caliber.” Emelda raised her bony fist and shook it menacingly. “Let me shrink his bloody mon parts. He willna be a witch tease after that week in purgatory, I can tell ye.” “Thank-you Emelda, but no. If you do that, there is no point to seducing him.” “So you want to seduce the viscount?” Madame Zelda conjured up another impish grin as she rubbed her hands together in glee. “That is my specialty.” Soleil chuckled. “I suppose with three husbands and ten children it would have to be.” Madame Zelda pointed a ringed finger her way. “They all left me of natural causes, my husbands. Not even one fled in terror of me.” “Really?” Vega asked curiously. The expression on her face bespoke of awe and reverence. “I, on the other hand, can’t seem to hold on to any man long enough to lose my virginity,” she admitted

morosely. “Me neither,” Soleil mumbled under her breath, “and I’m twenty-nine. Talk about embarrassing.” Vega grasped her hand and gave Soleil a smile filled with understanding. Turning back to Madame Zelda, she searched her eyes. “They are terrified of me, Madame, the entire lot of them. However did you manage to claim three without forcing them by way of a spell or keeping them as pets?” The head witch ran her tongue seductively across her upper lip. Grinning, she waited until she had the coven’s undivided attention before making her confession. “I probed their auras for their most longed for fantasies,” she murmured conspiratorially, “and I gave life to them.” Li clucked her tongue. “You gave them threesomes, you mean.” “Yeeck,” Emelda spat out. “This witch willna share mon parts.” Madame Zelda puckered her lips into a frown. “That is the fantasy most men think they want, but if you probe their auras deeply enough, you will find an individual desire unique to each man.” She turned to Soleil and winked. “Guaranteed.” Soleil nibbled on her lip as she considered that. She was a stellar aura reader. She’d have to make certain she probed the hell out of Oliver’s this moon-rising over dinner. She could only hope that Madame’s claim was accurate where he was concerned. “But what if his deepest desire turns out to be a threesome?” Madame Zelda sighed. “Then we set Emelda on him.”

***** Oliver stared glumly at Soleil from across the dinner table. The brooding look he steadily threw her way reminded her of a dog denied a meaty bone. She felt bad for him—and for herself. Now that she had probed Oliver’s aura fully and knew exactly what he desired, she wanted to give it to him. That, however, would be a difficult stunt to pull off with Oliver’s father and brother in attendance. Soleil decided to make the best of the situation. Her seduction of Oliver would have to wait—for the moment. Picking up her glass of Cabernet, she smiled sweetly at the newly arrived Sebastian men. The brother was nice enough. But the father. Good goddess, but the father was a trial to a witch’s sensibilities. “How’s London?” The earl downed his glass of Cabernet, then motioned for a servant to refill it. He fixed his grim, disapproving gaze on Soleil. “Bloody hot.” Turning to glare at Oliver, he pinched his lips together and frowned. “She is not gently bred.” Oliver winced. He couldn’t believe his father would be so callous as to insult Soleil within hearing.

He had expected as much behind her back, though Oliver would have defended her of course, but to her face? Not even he had thought his father could stoop so low. It was inexcusable that the earl thought she wasn’t worthy of him, but to say it aloud was unforgivable. He was angry enough at his father and brother’s unexpected and uninvited arrival, but insulting his woman was going beyond too far. Oliver glanced toward Soleil. One look at her red-faced, ashamed expression was enough to send him over the edge. Just as he was about to ask his father to take his leave of Blackshire altogether, he found aid in an unexpected corner. “That’s enough, father,” James muttered. “Sunny is a delightful woman.” Oliver was pleased by his brother’s defense of his choice in a mate. He was even more pleased when Soleil cast one of her beautiful smiles James’ way. “Indeed,” he seconded, glaring at his father. “I am unworthy of a woman so fine of character as Sunny Xavier.” The shocked, grateful look Soleil bestowed upon him made Oliver’s heart turn over. It was apparent that she was accustomed to being shunned, and sadly enough, unaccustomed to being protected and defended. Oliver would change all that. He might not be able to erase the pain of her past anymore than he could swipe away his own, but he would plant good memories to supercede the bad ones. The earl studied Soleil from his place across the table. He grunted, then raised his glass to take another sip of wine. “I apologize, Miss Xavier,” he offered in slurred tones. Downing the remainder of the drink in one swallow, he set the empty glass upon the tabletop and regarded her with grim resignation. “ Please tell us more of yourself. Do you have a career or are you in the habit of being kept by wealthy, titled gentlemen?” Oliver slammed his open palm on the table. “Take your leave, father,” he bit out through a set jaw. “ You only make a fool of yourself.” “Father,” James chastised, shaking his head in disbelief, “you’ve had too much to drink.” The earl opened his mouth to defend himself, but whatever he had been about to say was interrupted. “It’s okay. I’m not ashamed of who I am.” Soleil glared at Oliver’s father from across the table. She paid no mind to the servants ensconced within the lavish dining room, but said her piece heedless of them. “I’m a witch,” she answered proudly, ignoring Oliver’s dire gasp. “And I’ve never taken money from anyone in my life that I didn’t earn honestly.” “A witch?” James repeated, wide-eyed. “A witch?” The earl’s face reddened in anger. He threw a hand toward Oliver as if to prove a point.

“A charlatan more like.” Snorting incredulously, he rolled his eyes. “If you call foretelling false prophesies making an honest living, I’d hate to become acquainted with your idea of bilking the citizenry.” “Father,” Oliver growled warningly, “I have asked you once already to take your—” Soleil held up a palm to silence Oliver’s defense. She had had enough of Charles Sebastian’s accusations and from this point forward she meant to defend herself. She had been tramped over all of her life. Well no more. In Blackshire she didn’t have to hide from the truth. In Blackshire, she belonged. Focusing all of her energies on the earl, she regarded him…belligerently at first, and then…sadly. It was hard to stay angry with the man when his aura was so wretchedly haunted. The cynical earl had become what he was today the hard way. Thinking more to offer him solace than proof of her abilities, she took a deep breath and scanned his features. “Your wife did not kill herself,” she said quietly. Oliver and James shot bewildered stares toward Soleil. “Of course she didn’t,” Oliver said defensively, “mum died of an accidental overdose of pain medication that had been prescribed due to her cancer.” “But your father thinks otherwise.” She met the earl’s gaze head on and held it. “Don’t you?” she inquired softly. The earl swallowed against the bile rising in his stomach. He no longer looked quite so intimidating, Soleil thought. More like a lonely man still grieving the loss of his best friend and soul mate. Blinking his eyes to ward off tears, he inclined his head stoically. “Perhaps.” Oliver and James gaped at their father. Neither of them had had any notion of this. “She was very sick,” Soleil continued quietly, “for a very long time. But she loved you too much to give up without fighting every step of the way.” The earl closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. She could see that his aura was overwhelmed with sadness, but also surging with relief. “Thank-you.” A long moment passed in shocked silence. Neither Oliver nor James quite knew what to say. It occurred to both of them that they would still be in the dark concerning their father’s misguided beliefs had Soleil not thought to prove herself a witch. When he was once more fully in control of his emotions, the earl opened his eyes and peered at Soleil. “I apologize for the things I said,” he stiffly announced. Clearing his throat, he glanced away and said no more. Realizing that that was as much of a concession as Oliver’s father was ready to make, Soleil inclined her head and smiled. “Apology accepted.” Deciding to have a bit of fun—and lessen the somber mood that had overtaken the dining room a bit —she waved her hand toward the earl and grinned. “One of the witches in my coven likes to shrink man

parts to prove herself. Be glad I’m not her.” “Good God,” James muttered. “That’s awful.” He looked to his brother to gage his reaction. Oliver merely grinned, the deep dimple in his right cheek giving his matured masculine features a boyish glint. “Though Sunny has been known to shrink a scrotum or two herself. Saw her do it with my own two eyes.” The earl gurgled something imperceptible as he gawked at Soleil. “He can’t be serious. Certainly no one can perform a feat like that!” Soleil smiled. There were no vegetables laying around in dire need of a little shrinkage, so she demonstrated her powers using a different method. She waved her hand toward the decanter of Cabernet sitting across the room. Soleil took extreme pleasure from the gasps of astonishment the earl, James, and the servants emitted as they watched the decanter float to the table and refill everyone’s glasses of its seemingly own volition. “Would you care to place a wager on that?” she asked the occupants of the room in general. The men—titled and servants alike—held up their palms and spoke in unison. “No.”

***** “She’s lovely, Oliver.” James accepted the glass of after dinner port from his brother’s hand. He waited until Oliver took his seat behind the massive desk in the Blackshire library, then grinned. “Even if she can shrink scrotums.” Oliver chuckled. He scanned James’ appearance and attire and found neither lacking. His blue polo shirt and black trousers were pressed and still unwrinkled, his complexion was healthy instead of casting off its usual gaunt sheen, and his emerald green eyes had a definite twinkle in them. Hopefully all of this meant that his elder brother was sleeping restfully at night again. If that was the case, then he wouldn’t feel too depressed about having to forgo his planned seduction of Soleil this evening. “I admit that I am quite taken with her. I can only pray she feels the same,” he mumbled as an aside. James’ light golden brow shot up. “I daresay that’s a given. She stares at you like a woman thoroughly enraptured.” Oliver harrumphed, though he was delighted to hear such an observation spoken aloud. He searched his brother’s eyes hopefully. “Really?” he asked hesitantly. “Can’t you tell?” “I fear not.” Oliver sighed, shaking his head bemusedly. “I haven’t much experience with women in

these matters, outside of the usual bevy of title chasers. You were the one the ladies always sought out when we were growing up.” Oliver’s head shot up. He should never have said that! Mentally castigating himself, he called himself ten kinds of fool. His brother was in good spirits. How could he have been so cruel? Reminding James of what he’d lost was the most unthinking words that he could have spoken. “True, that.” Oliver’s brow formed a surprised arch. He let out a breath of relief. Apparently, for once, James wasn’t going to revert into his shell of anger, remembering what had been and what would never be again. James captured Oliver’s gaze and held it. “But as you said in London, those women were superficial. Just like me. Or just like I was until a few days ago, at any rate.” “James,” Oliver muttered, “I should never have—” “No.” James shook his head firmly, with conviction. “You were right.” He took a deep breath, then searched his brother’s features. His smile was genuine. “I’m glad you said it, for it’s nothing but the truth. I just wished I’d looked at my”—he motioned vaguely toward the wheelchair he was sitting in—“ situation like that five years ago.” Oliver studied James from across the desk. He wasn’t ready to place too much emphasis on his brother’s words because he didn’t want to be disappointed if he suffered another relapse and resumed his self-pitying ways. Nevertheless, Oliver couldn’t help but to feel something he hadn’t experienced in over five years. Hope. Perhaps he’d get his big brother back yet. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured. James grinned ruefully. “Yes. I’m certain you’re not at all put out by my and father’s unexpected arrival.” Oliver grinned back. “Perhaps a bit.” Growing serious, he inclined his head toward his brother. “I understand why father is here—to nag me half to death to be sure—but why are you here?” “To help defend you against father’s well-meaning but hopelessly misguided notions toward marrying you off to some stuffy earl’s daughter, of course.” “Oh?” “Yes.” James winked playfully at Oliver, just as he had when they were younger. Just as he had until the day of his riding accident. The unmistakable gesture of brotherly camaraderie filled Oliver with pleasure. “I know how, uh, tenacious Charles Sebastian can be.” “I just hope he doesn’t run Sunny off with his deplorable attitude.” James shook his head. “I wouldn’t fret over it. Something tells me your witch can hold her own.”

Chapter 9 Oliver bolted upright in bed, waking with a start. His breathing was ragged and a thin layer of perspiration coated his bare, muscled chest. Glancing down toward his cotton drawstring pajama pants, he visually confirmed what he’d already known. He was hard enough to split a diamond into halves. He’d been like this every night since first he’d made Soleil’s acquaintance. At precisely midnight each evening, he woke up to the feel of sexual vibrations pulsing through his body, and most specifically his groin. Oliver sighed dejectedly. It was midnight. Soleil should be here in the bed with him. But instead of being able to turn to her and bring them both to their late night pleasure, he woke up to find himself alone as usual. Not being able to make love with her was going to be the death of him. Whether or not his family was still in residence, he would go to her tomorrow evening and pray that she’d still have him after the inexcusable way his father had spoken to her. Following dinner this evening, Soleil hadn’t said much. She’d merely kissed his cheek and bade him to enjoy visiting with his father and brother. She’d see him later, she had said. But what, Oliver asked himself, constituted later? Later as in tomorrow? Later as in next week? Or later as in never? He’d have to make certain that later never became the equivalent of never. Oliver drew in a deep, steadying breath, then looked down again. No, it hadn’t worked. Breathing deeply had absolutely no affect on his raging erection. He needed relief and he needed it now. “Oliver.” His eyes widened at the sound of that welcome, throaty voice. How she had gotten in here, he had no notion. Nor did he care. What was important was the fact that he wasn’t dreaming and she was well and truly here in his bedroom. “Sunny? Where are you?” he whispered. Cloaked in a black cape, Soleil slowly emerged from the shadows of his bedroom. She walked on light feet to stand next to the bed where he lay raised up on his elbows. He could scarcely see her face, but he sensed that she was hesitating. Over what he was about to find out. “Do you want me, Oliver?” Oliver gulped. Whether the action had been borne from nervousness or anticipation he couldn’t say. Probably a little of the former and a lot of the latter. This scene was like something out of a movie, waking up to find the only woman he passionately desired drawing nearer to him in the black of night, wanting to make love. His penis was stiff with unquenched need. He dragged a breath of air into his lungs and regarded her shadowy figure. “More than

anything,” he admitted plainly. Soleil came to a stop next to the bed where Oliver lay propped up on his elbows. She had wanted to give him his deepest fantasy for their first time together, but she couldn’t wait any longer. She needed him now. She could always save the fantasy for another moon-rising when she needed it more. Soleil sensed that, for now at least, she was doing just fine on her own. “Good god in heaven.” Oliver watched in painful anticipation as Soleil slowly unzipped the front of the black cloak she was sporting. It became obvious within seconds that she wore nothing underneath. Red nails forged a path with the zipper, trailing down low, and lower still. She stopped when she reached the top of her mons, her ample cleavage and delectable navel in full view. “This is what you want, Oliver?” Her voice was throaty, a smoky whisper, and just the slightest bit hesitant as if fearing rejection. “Yes.” Oliver’s eyes glazed over as desire permeated every cell in his body. He swallowed to get his salivary glands working again. “Take the rest of it off,” he whispered thickly. “I want to see all of you, Sunny.” Soleil hesitated for the briefest of moments before complying. Red nails forged lower, exposing the dark gold curls at the juncture of her thighs as the zipper came all the way undone. When Oliver sucked in his breath, letting her know without words that he liked what he was seeing, she removed the cloak and cast it to the bedroom floor. Oliver’s eyes trailed appreciatively over the whole of Soleil’s body. As he drew himself up to his knees, he took in everything, memorizing every curve and angle of her body. Bracing her neck with his large hands, Oliver trained his palms slowly down the front of her, touching everywhere, branding everything as his own. “So beautiful,” he murmured. Soleil closed her eyes and indulged in the exquisite feel of his exploration. She had almost chickened out and not come here tonight, as afraid of being rejected by him as she was. Now she could only be glad that she’d pushed aside her fears and come to him heedless of them. His hands meandered downward from her neck to her shoulders, then lower still to her breasts. She gasped when he cupped a full breast in either palm and kneaded them gently. Oliver delighted in the sounds of Soleil’s pleasure. Plucking her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, he massaged them back and forth until they stood out thick and long for him. Her moans sent heat spiraling toward his groin. Moonbeams spilled into the bedroom, casting just enough light for Oliver to notice that her large nipples were the color of ripe raspberries. The new bit of knowledge sent another tendril of arousal through him, inducing his stomach muscles to clench.

“Sunny.” Oliver expelled her name on a hoarse groan as he cupped her breasts fully, drawing them up to eye level. He craned his neck and in one long lick, forged a wet trail from her left nipple to her cleavage to her right nipple. Soleil’s moan erupted into a groan when he curled his tongue around the hard peak and drew it all the way into the warmth of his mouth. “Oliver,” she groaned. Running her fingers through his thick chestnut hair, she whimpered as he began to suckle from her. Spasms of desire contracted in her belly as he used his fingers to massage the nipple he wasn’t sucking on. “Oliver—yes.” His breathing ragged, Oliver lifted his head and drew Soleil closer to him. “Come lie on the bed with me, darling,” he said hoarsely. Oliver backed up, making room for her to lie next to him. When she was there, he quickly divested himself of his pajama pants then propped himself up on one elbow to gaze down at her. Soleil placed her palm over Oliver’s heart, then trailed her red fingertips through the hair on his chest, grazing down over his flat nipples. When he sucked in his breath and exhaled shakily, she felt the same desire pass through her own body. “Touch me, Sunny,” he said hoarsely. Soleil smiled into his passion-narrowed eyes. “Where would you like me to touch you?” she murmured. Rather than answering her with words, Oliver took her hand and placed it on his jutting erection. He almost came then and there when she clasped it tightly and began moving her hand up and down the length of him. “Sunny.” “You’re magnificent, Oliver.” Soleil made her admission breathlessly. She had never been this close to a naked male before. She had dreamed of touching a man like this more times than she could count and now that her dreams had finally become a reality—and with Oliver no less—she wanted to savor every moment of the experience. “Breathtaking.” Oliver closed his eyes briefly to steady his self. He allowed Soleil to masturbate him a few moments more before he removed her hand. He wanted to claim her before he exploded. His body craved release, but he needed to come inside of her. Settling himself between her thighs, Oliver prodded at her vaginal opening with the tip of his penis. Her arousal was evidenced by the provocative wetness that saturated him. “Invite me inside,” he told her. “Now.” Soleil reached around him and grasped a firm, steely buttock in either hand. Breathing unsteadily, she met his possessive gaze. “Make love to me, Oliver. Please.” He braced his elbows on either side of her head, then bent his neck to kiss her. Sweeping his tongue

inside of her mouth, he expertly rubbed the head of his penis against her swollen clit as he drank deeply of her. Her hoarse moans drove him to the edge of his control. Soleil’s sounds of pleasure vibrated into his mouth, heightening his own need. And then she came apart. The entire bed seemed to shake as Soleil unraveled in his arms, groaning as her climax ripped through her. Oliver released her lips and poised the head of his shaft at her wet opening. He could stand no more. He needed her now. Thrusting slowly, he drove partially into her—and stopped. His eyes widened in stunned amazement. “Sunny.” Soleil threw one of her tremulous smiles up to him. She clutched his buttocks firmly. “There is only you, Oliver.” His gaze could only be called territorial. It singed her insides with its heat. Breathing in through his nostrils, his jaw clenched. “You belong to me now, Sunny. Never forget that.” With one long thrust, Oliver breached her hymen and drove into her fully. “Oh God—Mine.” Soleil gasped, but continued to cling to him. The pain wasn’t as bad as she’d been led to believe. It was minimal and fleeting, gone as quickly as it had come. Much like a pinch. When he felt her vaginal muscles relax around his shaft, Oliver began to move inside of her in deep, slow thrusts. “Oh yes—Oliver.” “Do you like that?” he gritted out. “Oh yes.” “Mmmm.” He continued to thrust, slowly but steadily speeding up. He wanted to savor their first time together, prolong it as much as was possible. But his body was demanding the opposite, craving its release. A minute later, he picked up the pace of their lovemaking to fast, furious thrusts. “What about this?” he rumbled low in his throat. “Do you like this?” Oliver rocked in and out of her tight opening in a mating frenzy. He was oblivious to anything save the sounds and feel of the woman beneath him. His woman. “Yes.” Oliver rotated his hips and pounded into the depths of Soleil’s body. Perspiration soaked skin slapped against perspiration soaked skin. “What about this?” he asked arrogantly. Soleil closed her eyes and gasped as a new set of tremors overpowered her. It was all she could stand as she came undone in his arms.

Between watching her convulse in ecstasy and the feel of her vagina milking his shaft, Oliver could maintain his control no longer. Clenching his teeth, he thrust into her once, twice, three times more, then gave himself up to his own release. Oliver growled low in his throat as he spurted his orgasm deep inside of Soleil’s womb. He lay there breathing raggedly, suspended over her body, bracing himself at either side by his elbows. He fell gently onto her a few moments later, then—when he was once more breathing semi-steadily —rolled onto his back and took her with him. So many emotions overwhelmed him. Possessiveness. Desire. Longing. Arrogance at being her first —and only—lover. A need to make Soleil realize she belonged to him and no other. He had waited so long to find her. So very long. There was also another emotion lodging itself deep within his heart, but it was an emotion he wasn’t quite ready to deal with. For now, this was enough. It was more than enough actually. It was the single best experience he’d ever had. “Thank-you Sunny,” he whispered into her hair. “No woman has ever given me so wonderful a gift.” Soleil raised her head from his chest and smiled. She searched his gaze, feeling more content than she’d dreamed possible. “I’m glad it was you, Oliver.”

***** Oliver awoke early the next morning to the feel of Soleil’s mouth moving up and down the length of his erection. He closed his eyes and groaned, knowing he had created a monster, and not in the least inclined to complain about it, he thought somewhat bemusedly. Last night had been ecstasy incarnate. Oliver had made love to Soleil three additional times after their first mating, until they had both collapsed together in the tangled sheets, thoroughly spent and utterly sated. He knew that she had to have been sore, yet each time he had given her that look that clearly stated he wanted her, she had welcomed him inside of her body with open arms. And she had done so eagerly. He had made several new discoveries last night, though a few stood out more prominently than the others: no one climaxed better than a witch, no one tasted better than a witch, and, he mused, no one rode better than a witch either. Oliver drew in a shaky breath and groaned. He opened his eyes and watched Soleil’s swollen lips devour the length of him. Apparently she intended to make up for all of the years she’d retained her virginity outside of one night, for she was sucking him avariciously. “Mmmm…Sunny.” Oliver tangled the fingers of one hand into Soleil’s mane of unruly dark gold curls. He brushed her

hair away from her face, wanting nothing to impede his view of his rigid shaft disappearing into the depths of her mouth and throat. “Is there any reason in particular you want me so hard?” he asked thickly. “Is there anywhere in particular that you want me to put it?” Soleil didn’t stop sucking on him long enough to respond, but she did throw her gaze meaningfully up to him as she picked up the pace of her erotic activity. “Christ,” Oliver ground out, his breathing growing labored. He knew from the sexy look she’d given him that she meant for him to climax in her mouth. Apparently his eager pupil wasn’t quite done with her lessons. Oliver closed his eyes again and gave himself over to the hedonistic pleasure Soleil was gifting him with. When her hand joined into her ministrations a few minutes later to massage his tightly drawn scrotum, it was all the arousal he could stand. Bursting, Oliver climaxed violently on a loud groan. He’d made another discovery he realized. No one could suck better than his witch either.

Chapter 10

Soleil woke up in a glorious mood. For the past week, she had spent her days making magic and her moon-risings making love…and sometimes vice versa depending on what hour Madame Zelda sensed was the ripest in the universe for knowledge seeking. Oliver had been very accommodating to date. Whether Soleil came to him in the heat of the day or the darkness of the night, he was always ready, willing, and able—not to mention mouthwateringly hard. They had made love in Oliver’s bed, in her bed, in Oliver’s library, in every room of Soleil’s cottage, on the cliff atop the firth, in the forest, and even once, she recalled with a shiver, while eating at Witch Stop. Now that had been a dinner to write home about. She hadn’t, of course, bothered with writing home. She’d telephoned Luna instead to give her all of the juicy details. Stretching like a sleek cat—and one that had definitely overslept, she noticed with a jolt, as she regarded the wall clock with a frown—Soleil sent out good afternoon vibes to Oliver, knowing she wouldn’t be seeing him for a few more hours because he would be spending the majority of today with his father and brother. The Sebastian men planned to attend the Blackshire fair with she and Oliver this moon-rising, but were scheduled to return to London the following morning. Naturally, Oliver wanted to spend as much time as he could with them before they left. Soleil was delighted with Oliver and James’ renewed friendship and increasing signs of brotherly bonds. James was a genuinely decent person. A handsome, sincere, amusing man who, confined to a wheelchair or not, would make any unclaimed witch proud to call her own. Too bad James himself wasn’ t quite ready to believe that. The earl, Charles Sebastian, was also growing on Soleil as the days went by. Much like a fungus, but growing on her no less. He could get on her nerves—then again he could probably get on anyone’s nerves—but more often than not she found the bickering they engaged in more amusing than anything. Soleil always appreciated a good verbal sparring with a man not in the least afraid she was going to zap him into something wretched. And if the glint in the earl’s naturally argumentative eye was any indication, he rather enjoyed their harmless banter as well. Sighing happily, Soleil padded into her bedroom to get dressed. She had a lot more to get done today before having her fun this evening at the fair. Madame Zelda figured that Soleil and Vega would be honed enough to cut their studies down to a couple of hours a day after another week or so of complete concentration. That meant that Soleil and Vega would be able to set up shop and earn their individual livings.

All of the witches of Blackshire plied a trade of some sort. Some of the women that were getting up there in years, such as Emelda and Li, confined their business activities to purely witchy endeavors such as palm reading and spell casting. Most of the thirteen, however, operated businesses that pursued more than the magical. Madame Zelda and her father ran a jewelers shop, Constantina operated an herbal apothecary, and Nessa owned the business that marketed and mailed out all of the Blackshire shops’ goods—whether owned by witches or not—to the rest of the UK and a few countries abroad. Vega was getting ready to start manufacturing funky, hip, hand-stitched clothes she designed herself. She was already advertising in town for seamstresses looking for employment. Soleil could hardly wait for Vega to open up her shop, as she planned to be her first customer. Soleil and Luna had already decided to open up their own coffee slash séance shop before Soleil had left the United States. Although Luna wouldn’t arrive in Blackshire until October, Soleil planned to get as much of a jumpstart on getting their business off the ground as possible. She’d already rented out half of Emelda’s shop to operate out of. Slithering into a long emerald green skirt that began just below the navel and a form-fitting shirt that fell to just above the navel, Soleil glanced at her image quickly in the mirror, threw on a pair of shimmery gold sandals, and headed for the cottage’s kitchen. Inhaling deeply, she smiled as the aromas of the different baked goods she’d stayed up half the moon-rising concocting hit her senses. Pies, cakes, patisseries, and breads with chocolate dip filled the tiny room’s counters to overflowing. The individual scents mingled together invitingly, inducing her stomach to growl. A car horn beeped, letting Soleil know that the wily Emelda was outside waiting for her. Unfortunately, there was no time to eat just yet. She needed to get the baked goods to Emelda’s shop and her new place of business within the hour. To help promote her and Luna’s soon to be opened coffee and séance shop, Soleil had decided to give away free samples of her sweet concoctions at the fair this evening. Luckily Emelda’s palm reading and spell casting shop was located right in the middle of downtown Blackshire’s main cobblestone road, so fairgoers couldn’t possibly miss the lure of Soleil’s free food. The main activity of the fair—pony rides and face painting for the kids, flower and vegetable growing contests for the adults, and music and dancing for everyone—was all set to begin in two hours time all up and down the main drag. Stellar! It occurred to Soleil as she carried her first load of baked goods to Emelda’s car, that she’d forgotten to mention her soon to be business to Oliver. She supposed he’d find out at the fair. She’d

made a sweet potato pie especially for him. “Hurry up, lassie,” Emelda yelled from the window of a black car whose make Soleil didn’t recognize, “we’ve a lot tae get done afore the fair starts.” “I’m coming!” Soleil returned as she alighted from the cottage with a pie in either hand. “Can you summon open the trunk? My arms are full.” Emelda waved her hand and up went the lid of the trunk. Not only that, but all of Soleil’s baked goods came flying out of the kitchen to land perfectly in the back of the car. Soleil telekinetically slammed the trunk closed and grinned. Her hands flew to her hips. “That was so stellar, Emelda! I can’t wait until I’m honed enough to do that!” Emelda harrumphed, though the praise delighted her. “Child’s play, that.” Her Familiar jumped up onto her shoulder and perched himself comfortably around her neck. She glanced at his head and frowned. “Dinna be scratchin’ me George, if’n ye have a care fer yer mon parts.” Soleil jumped into the passenger’s seat and buckled up. “Let’s go!”

***** “What do you think?” With a wave of her hand, Soleil indicated the five green and black tables and matching chairs she’s summoned outside and set in front of her and Emelda’s shop. Emelda had just finished setting up a booth in front of their store where the women would hand out the desserts Soleil had whipped up to passing by fairgoers. “Five tables and twenty chairs is plenty, don’t you think?” Emelda wobbled over from the booth to the tables and chairs, her Familiar George still perched around her neck. She pinched her lips together thoughtfully. “Aye. Most of the villagers will be wantin’ tae take their desserts with ‘em and eat whilst they walk. We’ve no need fer more.” Soleil nodded succinctly. “Agreed.” She thrust her hands to her hips and nibbled nervously at her bottom lip. Sighing, she threw a hand toward Emelda. “The moon-rising is almost here. We should be seeing fairgoers any time now.” “Aye. So why the worry, Sunny? Ye look like yer goin’ tae a funeral and no’ a fair.” Soleil closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath. She reached for the elder witch’s hand and squeezed it affectionately. “What if no one likes my American desserts?” she asked quietly. “What if the villagers think they’re awful?” Emelda scoffed at the notion. “That willna happen,” she pompously sniffed. “How can you be certain?” “Because I have taste buds, ye ken?” Emelda puckered her lips into a glower. “And if’n the villagers

dinna agree, then I foresee many a shrunken mon part in their futures.” Soleil giggled. “Oh Emelda, you’re so bad.” Emelda winked and grinned, two facial gestures that made the seventy-year-old witch look a mischievous seventeen. “Tae the bone.” An hour and a half later, it turned out that all of Soleil’s worries had been for naught. The people of Blackshire loved her desserts. She and Emelda were busy handing out free mugs of flavored coffee with slices of pie, cake, and other sweet concoctions when the Sebastian men put in an appearance. “Sunny.” Oliver greeted her as he strode to her side with his brother and father at his heels. “I didn’t know you were going to be working the fair, darling.” Soleil handed a slice of chocolate cake with white frosting to a villager named Peter, then glanced up at Oliver and smiled affectionately. The arrogant male look in Oliver’s eyes sent a shiver of longing down her spine. She had a feeling he would be visiting her cottage later. Soleil smiled as she poured Peter a steaming mug of mint flavored coffee. “My sister Luna and I are going into business with Emelda,” she proudly announced to Oliver. “Emelda is in charge of spell casting and palm reading and Luna and I are establishing a coffee and séance shop.” She handed Peter his filled mug of coffee, then turned to the Sebastian men. “You remember me telling you about Luna don’t you?” “Your sister in the states?” James inquired politely as he wheeled himself closer to the booth. “Yes. She’ll be moving to Blackshire during the last week of October.” “Is this the same sister that converses with dead people?” the earl asked with a lordly frown. “One and the same,” Soleil cheerfully replied. “I can’t wait for her to get here. I miss her and my niece Star so much.” The earl grumbled something imperceptible. “Are all women of your relation named after stellar bodies?” “As a matter of fact,” Oliver informed his father with a grin, “they are. Sunny’s mother was named Andromeda.” James chuckled. “Unique, that.” He wheeled his chair closer to the booth and smiled at Emelda. “I take it you are Sunny’s partner in crime, madam?” Emelda looked the disabled viscount up and down and grinned. She wobbled out of the booth and placed her hands on her rounded hips. Soleil had to admit that Emelda was quite striking in appearance for a surly witch of seventy years. “Aye. I’m the spell caster and palm reader. Need yer fortune told, lovie?” James’ smile vanished. His expression turned remote. “I’d rather not,” he quietly admitted, “but I

thank-you for the kind offer.” Oliver and his father looked distinctly uncomfortable. Soleil tried to think of a way to remedy the situation as she handed a slice of pie to another fairgoer. It was obvious that James believed his future to be a grim one. The earl cleared his throat. “Perhaps we should go back to your brother’s estate,” Charles said a little too brightly. “It’s my understanding that your favorite comedy is on the telly this evening.” James rolled his eyes. His aura told both Soleil and Emelda that he was tired of his father treating him like a child. Wheelchair bound or not, he was a man. Before James could open up his mouth to reply, Emelda snatched his hand and held it in her own. “’ere now, let me see this palm.” “Madam please,” James retorted desperately, “I’d rather not.” He was sweating profusely, clearly frightened of the possibility that the elderly witch might see nothing but loneliness in his future. Oliver and Charles both opened up their mouths to stop Emelda, but Soleil silenced them with a look. She shook her head slightly, letting the gentlemen know that all would be well. Thankfully, they both backed down, though their identical mutinous expressions said neither of them wanted to. “Calm yerself, lovie,” Emelda replied soothingly. “There is naught in yer future tae fear.” James closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wished he could believe the witch’s words, but he wasn’t ready to take that chance. At least in ignorance, a man could still dream. Opening up his eyes, he met Emelda’s gaze. “Madam I—” “The goddess will send unto ye a woman, dark of hair and violet of eyes,” Emelda began. Soleil could feel the tension in the air. The Sebastian men were unmoving, not breathing. “Ye will meet her afore the winter solstice, but how long it takes tae make her yers is up tae ye.” Emelda continued to clasp James’ hand as she searched his eyes. Soleil felt as though everything around them was happening in slow motion. She knew the elder witch was about to say something prophetic, but what she hadn’t a clue. Apparently even Oliver and the earl sensed it, for they were leaning in closer, wanting to hear Emelda’s words. Emelda’s gaze narrowed. Her lips pinched together thoughtfully as her vision unfolded before her. “ The woman,” she said distinctly, emphasizing each word, “will bear yer son.” Dead silence ensued. Even the very air about them grew dense and motionless. Soleil could plainly see that the Sebastian men were too shocked to speak. “B-But madam,” James finally stammered out, “that’s imposs—” “The woman,” Emelda repeated in a tone that broached no argument, “will bear yer son.” She released his hand and walked back toward the booth. “Mark my words,” she threw over her shoulder.

Soleil clapped her hands together and grinned. “That’s so stellar! Isn’t it Oliver?” Oliver cleared his throat. Wide-eyed, he slowly inclined his head. “If it’s true, then yes, it’s wonderful news.” The earl snorted incredulously. He shot his acid gaze Emelda’s way. “It is very cruel of you to—” “I dinna lie, guv. I see what I see.” “The doctors said—” Emelda waved a hand dismissively. “I dinna care.” Gifting the earl with one of her mischievous smiles, she nodded toward the selection of desserts. It was time to change the subject. She saw what she saw and that was that. “Would ye like a slice of somethin’ temptin’, handsome Charley?” Charles turned a delightful shade of red, causing the others to laugh. He cleared his throat and glared at Emelda, but Soleil saw a twinkle of what looked remarkably like desire surge through his aura. “Very well madam,” he accepted in a lordly tone, “I’ll have a piece of Sunny’s sweet bread with chocolate dip.” Emelda wiggled her eyebrows. “Good choice.”

***** Two hours later, Oliver and Soleil walked hand-in-hand back to the cottage. The moon was almost completely full and was casting flickering beams of light to guide their path. It was a balmy, breezy evening as the winds and the water of the firth mingled together and cooled the air. Oliver was the first to speak. “Do you really think it possible? You know, what Emelda said about my brother?” “Definitely.” Soleil nodded, squeezing his hand for emphasis. “She’s very powerful, Oliver. Extremely well-honed. Heads of state and wealthy businessmen seek her out all the time. I wouldn’t take any of her visions lightly.” “I pray that’s true,” he murmured. “I can think of nothing that would make me happier than to see my brother wed and father to his own heir.” “I understand.” Oliver went on as reflected over his brother’s life during the past five years. “James has had an incredibly difficult time of it since his accident. Forget the heir—a woman to love could mean all the difference between his living life and giving up on it entirely.” Soleil cast her gaze toward Oliver. She knew she shouldn’t pry so early in their relationship, but she couldn’t help wondering if he was growing as attached to her as she was to him. The last ten days together had been undeniably intense. They had come to know each other more intimately than some

couples Soleil knew that had been together for months—even years. Perhaps even longer. Clearing her throat, she replied lightly, “From what you’ve told me, it would also take a lot of pressure off of you. You know,”—she fluttered her free hand about in a gesture meant to look nonchalant—“so you don’t have to worry about getting married and giving your father a future earl.” “Here, here.” Oliver chuckled, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Soleil had stiffened up next to him. “What freedom that would be.” He squeezed her hand affectionately. “We’re almost to your cottage, Sunny.” He released the hold he had on her hand and wrapped his arm around her waist. Pulling her in closer to him, his voice went down suggestively. “What will it be, sweetheart? Name your pleasure.” Soleil’s heart was in her throat, making it difficult to speak. Realistically she had long understood that ordinary men—let alone cultured, wealthy men—didn’t view witches as the marriageable type. Still, she had let herself hope where Oliver was concerned. Foolish fantasies. “I—I’m not sure,” she said shakily. “ Perhaps we could just debate Locke’s theories this moon-rising.” Oliver chuckled, apparently deciding she was teasing him. “Perhaps another night,” he replied jovially. “Tonight,” he growled, “I plan to see how many orgasms I can give to you in an hour’s time.” Soleil smiled hesitantly. Maybe she should just make the most of the situation. She had long desired intimacy with a man and now that she had the man she desired above all others to herself, at least for now, she might as well enjoy herself. Besides, it was hardly Oliver’s fault if she wanted more than he was willing or ready to give. “That sounds nice.” “Nice?” Oliver reeled her in closer and kissed her forehead. “I should hope it sounds more than nice, darling.” He rubbed his thumb over her nipple and purred. “Much more than nice.” All thoughts of a marriage that would never be and children she would never bear flew from Soleil’s mind as the familiar need Oliver could always elicit in her took over. “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely, “ much more than nice.”

Chapter 11 Soleil separated the beaded curtain that dangled from the ceiling, dividing Emelda’s spell casting lair from her and Luna’s coffee and séance shop, and buzzed through it. Emelda was busy with her client—a wealthy American entrepreneur that traveled to Blackshire to consult with the elder witch at least twice a year—so Soleil considered it a good time to finish the preparations for tomorrow’s grand opening. She wished with all of her aura that Luna and Star could be here to celebrate the beginning of their new business venture together, but Soleil planned to have a second grand opening on the Day of the Dead to commemorate Luna’s stellar addition to the coffee shop—her ability to communicate with the dead. What better way to introduce Luna to Blackshire than on the very day when her powers would be at their most awesome, able to communicate quite readily with the spirit world? It was now August, a month having passed by since the Blackshire fair. Madame Zelda had cut Soleil and Vega’s instruction time down to an hour a day since the two of them were now fairly well honed. Neither of the women were anywhere near the level of expertise in summoning objects as the other witches in the coven, but being the two youngest initiates, honing to the elder witches’ level was more a matter of practice than learning any new techniques. It had been a glorious month, Soleil fondly reflected, both personally and professionally. On a professional level, the coffee shop was set to open up tomorrow, offering dozens of varieties of coffees and teas, as well as her baked goods. On a personal level, everything was bliss in O-man land. Soleil glided over to the refrigeration unit and removed the big ball of cookie dough she had prepared last moon-rising. She sprinkled flour across the countertop, threw the ball of dough onto it, and began rolling it out with a wooden pin. Oliver had suggested baking sugary cut-out cookies in the shapes of the sun, moon, and stars for her grand opening. Soleil had thought it a grand idea. Now that Soleil had given up on the idea of marriage to Oliver and put it far from her mind, she was enjoying their relationship immensely. She accepted the fact that their affair couldn’t last forever, so rather than allowing herself to become saddened over the inevitable fate most true witches met when in a relationship, she gloried in the here and now and took each moment of pleasure it afforded her. The only aspect of her future that she wished could be different was her childlessness. Soleil should have gone to a sperm bank like Luna had in order to cease the relentless ticking of her biological clock. Luna, knowing and accepting a witch’s fate in the romance department, had done the right thing. Carving out her own destiny, her elder sister had driven over to the sperm bank in Cleveland and nine months later, bore her precious daughter Star. Part of the goddess’ ultimate plan, as Luna would say. Of course, Soleil reminded herself as she continued rolling out the cookie dough into a large

semi-circle, she could still go to a sperm bank and become impregnated after she and Oliver’s relationship was no more. She grimaced, not quite ready to ponder the eventual rending of their affair. Soleil glanced up at the clock mounted on the coffee shop’s wall. Three o’clock. Oliver should be returned from London within another four hours. He had been in London for two days now, helping his brother James with his move to Blackshire. James, Viscount Brummel, had his own estate not even a twenty minute drive away, but Oliver had talked him into moving in with him for an undetermined amount of time so that the witches of Blackshire could help heal him. Emelda had made it clear that she didn’t have the powers to make James walk again, but Constantina—the witch that owned the herbal apothecary—could concoct elixirs that would do wonders for restoring his health. That and the fact that Emelda was pretty good with man parts had persuaded James to at least try. Emelda figured her spells could help get him erect again. “If’n ye want tae please yer future ladylove,” she had told him, “then ye best let us fix ye up, lovie.” James had finally consented, sincerely doubting he’d ever again have a ladylove, but finding himself uncharacteristically willing to work on restoring his musculature and overall health and, uh, his erections. Soleil was pleased with Oliver’s relentlessness in bringing his brother around and getting him to agree to move to Blackshire for the present. The coven would be able to work wonders on him. Soleil telekinetically summoned the gas stove to light, then mentally set the switch to preheat the oven at 191 degrees Celsius. She set down the rolling pin and began using the cookie cutters to punch out the desired shapes by hand, a chore she took immense pleasure in doing so would never summon it to be done by her powers. There was something restorative to Soleil about baking with one’s own hands. No doubt the same way an artist felt wielding her brushes on a pallet, or the way a pottery maker felt while sitting at the wheel with damp clay oozing between her fingers. There was much to be said for taking worthless ingredients and giving them a vitality all their own. The jingling of the beaded curtain separating Emelda’s shop from her own caused Soleil to snap her head to attention. Emelda came ambling through the black and green crystal barrier a moment later, looking resplendent in a long, shimmery black sheath with her hair pulled up into a neat silver bun. Soleil grinned. “Your client is gone?” “Aye.” Emelda plopped down onto the barstool that sat in front of the counter adjacent to the kitchen. She summoned a chocolate chip cookie out of the cookie jar and munched thoughtfully for a moment or two. “These are good.” “Thanks.”

“Are they of the earth?” “Of course.” Emelda nodded, sinking her teeth back into the cookie. Her Familiar George meowed as he sashayed into the coffee shop, hopping up onto the barstool next to his human. The witch rolled her eyes, broke him off a piece of cookie, and set it on the stool for him to devour. She looked up to where Soleil stood. “Do ye need any help cleanin’ up or whatnot?” Soleil glanced up from the cookie sheet she was placing the sun, moon, and star cut-outs on and wrinkled her nose. “Hmm…you could summon the tables and chairs on the outside patio to be cleaned. Other than that,” she enthused, “I’m all ready for tomorrow’s grand opening!” Emelda waved her hand, inducing a broom and dustpan to fly out of the storage room and toward the outside patio enclosure. She continued to nibble on her cookie as she stared at Soleil. Soleil peeked up from her work long enough to grin at her friend. “What is it, Emelda? What’s the matter?” She chuckled when Emelda threw her a disgruntled look, clearly not having realized the younger witch could read her aura so well. “Please confide in me. I tell you all of my troubles.” Emelda sighed dramatically. She polished off the rest of the chocolate chip cookie then brushed the remaining crumbs from her lap. “Alright. The long and the short of it is this…what do ye think of yer Oliver’s da?” Soleil’s brow shot up. Her forehead creased as she regarded Emelda. “Charles?” “Aye, Charley Sebastian.” “He’s pompous and overbearing, used to getting his own way, and prepared to crush anyone who won’t give it to him.” She threw Emelda an amused look. “But he’s also warm and generous and although he doesn’t like for anyone to know it, he has a heart of gold. Why do you ask?” Emelda completely ignored the latter part of Soleil’s description and focused on the first part of it. “ If’n he’s pompous and overbearin’, mayhap ye would no’ mind if’n I got him out of yer way?” Soleil blinked. “Out of my way?” “Aye.” Emelda made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Mayhap if I kept him fer a pet, ye and his sons would no’ have tae be ferever bedeviled by the old coot.” Soleil felt tears burning at the backs of her eyes. She gazed at Emelda sadly, understanding and empathizing with her feelings. The seventy-year-old witch had never known a man’s love. She thought the only way to keep a man she was interested in was to force her will upon him. “I don’t think that’s necessary,” she said softly. “His aura clearly desires you as much as you desire him.” Emelda’s ivory skin turned a charming pink. “I dinna ken yer meanin’,” she sniffed. Standing up, she

sauntered toward her side of the shop. “I dinna desire Charley Sebastian, Sunny, so dinna think that I do. ” Soleil smiled as she watched the wily Emelda disappear through the beaded curtain. The mischievous witch might deny it, but Charles Sebastian, the Earl of Clydon, was Emelda’s version of hot stud material. Summoning the cookie sheet into the oven, Soleil folded her arms under her breasts and grinned. “Stellar!”

***** Oliver rolled his eyes to the back of his head as he listened to his father drone on about the lack of a parking facility in downtown Blackshire. When he had convinced his brother to move into his estate with him, he had no notion that the earl would insist upon joining them in the country to make certain James was settled in properly. “—and why can we not park directly in front of Sunny’s store?” the earl grumbled. “Why must we park at the end of the bloody cobblestone street and walk the—” “Father,” Oliver cut in, gritting his teeth to keep from yelling, “no one forced you to make the trek with us.” He slammed the door of the Mercedes closed. “James asked if he could come with me to say hello to Sunny, and hopefully have a slice of cake and a cup of tea. You needn’t have come if it puts you out to such a degree.” The earl’s face fell, sending a streak of guilt through Oliver’s conscience. “I apologize, father,” he offered quickly. “I’m just nervous.” Charles Sebastian inclined his head, accepting his words as the truth. “I understand, son.” James chuckled low in his throat. “Do you have the ring?” “Yes.” Oliver sighed. “What if she says no? What if Sunny won’t marry me?” “What rubbish,” the earl scoffed. “The woman clearly adores you. The question you should be asking yourself is whether or not it is wise to wed with a woman capable of shrinking scrotums. A ghastly business, that.” James grinned, a dimple much like Oliver’s popping out to accent his cheek. “Father’s right on one score.” He nodded seriously as he wheeled himself up to his brother’s side. “I’m certain she’ll agree to become your viscountess.” Oliver patted the pocket where his grandmother’s engagement ring was ensconced. “I pray you’re both correct on that assumption.” He sighed wistfully, thinking on how perfect a marriage with Soleil would be. Discussing Kant and Locke over candlelight dinners, making long and lingering love throughout the night, waking up in each other’s arms, making love again…

“I say!” Charles Sebastian sputtered. “Who in the bloody hell is that rake conversing with Emelda?” Oliver’s eyes narrowed into green slits as his gaze focused on the outside patio of Soleil and Emelda ’s shop. He wasn’t concerned about the rogue conversing with a woman old enough to be his grandmother. What irritated and worried Oliver was the fact that Anthony, Baron Rothsford, was sitting far too close to a giggling Soleil. Oliver felt his heart rate accelerate into fighting mode as anger coursed through his veins. Baron Rothsford was having coffee and dessert at an outside table with Soleil and Emelda. He was obviously charming the women with witty anecdotes and rakish glances at his pocket watch, for they were laughing uproariously at whatever he’d just said. Oliver gritted his teeth, trying to hold on to his temper. He had thought Lord Anthony long departed from Blackshire. Obviously the bastard had returned under the guise of wanting to visit with his sister Vega. “His name is Anthony, Baron Rothsford,” he said under his breath to his father and brother, “and the man is a rake of the first order.” The earl stiffened, clearly not having a care for that description. “Emelda apparently thinks him charming,” he ground out. “Just look at the way the witch is fawning all over him.” James’ eyebrows shot up. Was his father so far gone in lust that he actually considered the possibility that a gentleman no more than thirty years would carry on an elicit affair with a woman forty years his senior? His lips curled into a wry grin. He hoped Emelda gave the earl a run for his money. “I wouldn’t fret over it, father.” Charles Sebastian’s cheeks tinged a ruby red. “I’m not worried. In fact, I couldn’t care less.” He hrrumphed. “I daresay I’ve no reason to care one way or the other.” Oliver was amused enough to smile for a moment. “Of course, father.” His amusement was forgotten in a trice as Lord Anthony lifted a napkin to Soleil’s mouth and dabbed at her lip with it. He fisted his hands at his sides and picked up his pace, leaving his father and brother to bring up the rear. “You look delightful with frosting at the corner of your mouth,” the baron murmured, smiling into Soleil’s eyes. Soleil blushed. “Anthony, I don’t think that—” “What in the hell are you doing with your hands on my woman?” Oliver came to a halt directly in front of the table. The muscles in his neck corded as his nostrils flared. His breathing was harsh and unsteadied. “Remove them.” Soleil gasped. She had never been more embarrassed. “Oliver! What are you—” “Stay out of this, Sunny.” Oliver held up a palm, silencing her with a look as cold and deadly as sharpened ice. “This is between me and the rake.”

James wheeled up in time to hear his brother’s outlandish order to Soleil. “Oliver…” Oliver glared his brother into silence. The alpha male was well and truly pissed. Soleil was divided between feelings of anger at being gainsaid and a traitorous, panty-wetting euphoria at his primitive display of jealousy. When Oliver grabbed Anthony by the shirt collar and pulled him up to his feet, anger won out. She jumped out of her seat and boldly inserted herself between the two grappling men. “Enough!” she said furiously. “Anthony came into town to visit with his sister! I invited him to have dessert with me when I saw him walking down the street! If you’re going to blame somebody, blame me!” “Oh I will,” Oliver spat out venomously, “just as soon as the baron and I have attended to our unfinished business.” At Soleil’s shocked gasp, Emelda stood up and glowered at the brawling men. She quickly surmised that Anthony was rather enjoying himself, which made his actions suspect and no better than Oliver’s. Had the baron been forewarned by Vega that Oliver was scheduled to arrive this evening at the shop? Had the baron orchestrated this entire episode in a hopeless effort to drive a wedge between the couple?

“Enough.” Emelda folded her arms under her impressively endowed breasts and frowned. “If’n the deuce of ye choose tae behave like small boys, then I will shrink yer mon parts tae an equivalent size.” At the earl’s intake of breath, she turned to him and lifted a pompous brow. “Do ye have somethin’ tae say Charley Sebastian?” The earl harrumphed. He eyed Emelda like one might a recalcitrant child. “We will discuss this later, madam.” She harrumphed back, but said no more on the matter to him. Baron Rothsford turned a chalky white. He apparently decided that no woman was worth having one’s testicles shrunken over, for he backed off immediately. Inclining his head, he bore his gaze into Soleil’s. “If you ever decide to ditch His Dictatorship,” he growled, “have Vega call me.” And with that, he strode off. Oliver was about to follow after him when Emelda caught his eye. Disgruntled that she had the power to do such ghastly damage to his manhood, he took a deep breath and calmed himself. “Fine.” He held his hand out to Soleil and lifted a lordly brow to her. “If you are finished flirting with other men, let us speak of it in privacy.” Soleil had never been more appalled. When she realized that she was actually gaping at Oliver, she forcibly closed her jaw. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” she bit out. “Sunny—you will come with me at once.”

Soleil couldn’t believe his nerve. She was simply stunned. “In fact, now that I think about it, I don’t want to hear from you ever again!” She threw down the napkin she had been clutching and fisted her hands at her sides. “I can’t believe I was so wrong about your aura!” She turned on her heel and ran from the shop’s patio as fast as her feet could carry her. James’ hand stayed Oliver from following. “You best let her calm down,” he warned. “I never thought to see Sunny so overset.” Oliver ran a hand tersely through his hair and groaned. “What in the bloody hell have I done?” He shook his head and took a steadying breath. “She’ll never marry me now!” he roared. Emelda’s eyes widened. “Ye plan tae ask fer Sunny’s hand?” “Yes.” She considered that for a suspended moment, then nodded her head. “Ye best give her a day tae cool off then.” “An entire day?” She puckered her lips into a scowl. “Ye acted a fool, ye did.” Oliver closed his eyes briefly at that description. He knew Emelda was right. The more he calmed down, the more embarrassed he became over his deplorable behavior. What had come over him? He sighed dejectedly. Soleil had come over him. When he had seen how close she had been sitting with the baron—laughing at his jests no less—the primordial part of his brain had taken over, needing to conquer and lay claim. And sadly enough, he didn’t feel any differently when all was said and done, only now that the fog had cleared from his mind, he no longer blamed Soleil for Rothsford’s actions. “Good god in heaven,” he muttered, “what a bloody mess.”

Chapter 12 “Dinna ye think yer takin’ this no’ talkin’ tae the lad a wee bit far?” Emelda looked pointedly at Soleil as she scavenged her fourth chocolate chip cookie from the glass jar. “I agree,” Li chimed in, “the poor man looks like he stepped on his jo-jo.” Soleil glanced over to where Oliver was seated across the room with his father. She refused to be moved by his lost little boy look after the embarrassing way he’d treated her last moon-rising. So what if he had tried to apologize several times since then? So what if he was currently gazing at her as though she held his heart in her hands and was squeezing it dry. She would not be moved, damn it! Soleil ignored the way her traitorous hands itched to reach out and run into the dastardly viscount’s embrace. She glanced away, her heart wrenching as she heard him…mew? The man was upset enough to mew? Alpha males don’t mew! Well, she conceded, apparently hurting alpha males do mew. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if not being able to see him would keep her from succumbing to his virile overtures. Today was the grand opening of Witch’s Cupboard, so customers were scurrying in and out of the shop to place their orders and make their purchases. She was pleased with how crowded her store was already and it was barely ten o’clock in the morning. Soleil opened her eyes and glared at Vega when she too turned traitor and jumped to Oliver’s defense. She rang up a customer’s purchase as she listened. “The poor man.” Vega absently clucked her tongue at Soleil as she tickled the head of the toad sitting in the palm of her hand. Whatever the toad croaked in reply sounded ominous. “How I envy you, Sunny. Oliver looks so pitiful. It’s obvious that he…loves you.” She kissed the toad wistfully. “And you don’t even have to zap him into a pet to keep him.” Madame Zelda smiled in a gesture of approval. “Agreed.” She regally lifted one brow and eyed Vega. “And you, young lady, know better than to zap gentlemen into toads in order to keep them.” “Good god,” James muttered, wheeling away from Vega and moving in between Soleil and Emelda without thinking about it. “That’s a man?” he asked incredulously. His eyes widened as the toad turned its head toward him and nodded while croaking out something that sounded suspiciously like froggy curse words. James swallowed harshly. He could only be glad that this raven-haired woman was green-eyed, not violet-eyed. That meant she was definitely not the woman of Emelda’s vision. Not that James exactly believed in her vision, he reminded himself. Vega’s lips turned pouty, as they always did whenever she was being chastised for making pets of

men. This was the fourth time in as many weeks. Though Soleil had to admit, Vega was far fonder of this particular toad than she had been of the others. “I like him,” she whispered softly. “He was nice to me.” The toad cocked its head and studied her forlorn expression without Vega realizing it. “And this is how you repay his kindness?” James shook his head. “I daresay I’ve no desire to cross your path when you’re repaying an unkindness.” Vega’s back stiffened defensively. “I didn’t mean him any harm.” Her gaze softened as she smiled down at the creature. “I love him.” “Then let him go,” Soleil gently prodded her. “You know this isn’t right, Vega. He could have family somewhere that thinks he’s dead.” The toad croaked out a melancholy tune. Vega closed her eyes and clutched him tightly to her breast. “Oh alright.” She sighed morosely. “I’ll let him go after we have some of your American coffee and a slice of cake.” James’ dark expression lightened considerably. “A jolly notion.” He grasped Soleil’s hand and absently stroked the palm. “But what of my brother?” he asked quietly. “Just look at him, Sunny. He’s wretchedly sorry, you know.” Soleil’s free hand flew to her hip. She made an exasperated sound, somewhere in between a gasp and a snort. “Has everyone forgotten that the man almost became violent with another man last moon-rising?” Vega shook her head and frowned. “I love my brother, but he isn’t exactly a team player, Sunny. When he wants something he goes for it, no matter the cost to others.” The toad snorted, as if to claim that the pot had no right to call the kettle black. “What do you mean?” Vega shrugged. “He knew Oliver was scheduled to arrive at any time because I told him myself that you had mentioned it when I ran into you.” She groaned dramatically. “I love Anthony to distraction, but I’m certain he was hoping to cause a fight last moon-rising between the two of you. My brother doesn’t understand how to be a gracious loser.” Soleil chewed that over for a moment. “Well…” “My brother told me that Anthony clearly challenged him for your affection the day the two of you first ran into him at Witch Stop,” James further informed her. “Obviously yesterday was not the first time the baron tried to—” “That hardly excuses violence, James!” Soleil scoffed at that. “He was going to hit him.” “And,” James continued undaunted, “Oliver realizes he was wrong. You, however, have not allowed

him the chance to apologize.” He tssked, shaking his head back and forth in a chastising manner. “I’ve known my brother all of his life and I can promise you he has never resorted to physical intimidation tactics before.” He chuckled. “The man has always been far more interested in his philosophical treatises than in fighting for a woman’s affections.” When he noticed that his words were causing her to bite her lip indecisively, he went in for the kill. “ Come now, Sunny. Can you not allow him to apologize at least? Cannot a witch so wonderful and beautiful as you find it in her heart to invite him and father to table for a slice of cake and a cup of American coffee?” Soleil threw a desperate look toward her friends from the coven. She should have known no help was coming from that quarter. They had all gone soft from the first moment Oliver had plodded his way into Witch’s Cupboard an hour ago, shoulders sagging and expression forlorn. Even Emelda had turned on her, refusing to fiddle with Oliver’s man parts. Puckering her lips into a frown worthy of Leona Helmsley, Soleil knew when she had been beat. “ Alright,” she hissed, “I’ll invite Conan the Barbarian and his father Attila the Hun over for coffee.” When they all murmured their approval and threw bright “we won” smiles her way, she gritted her teeth and waved toward a table. “Everybody sit down and be quiet. James!” she snapped. “Yes Sunny?” “Please help Emelda bring out the coffee and desserts. Since its morning time, perhaps coffee cake would be nice.” James smiled. “Of course.” He wheeled himself around and grinned up at Emelda. “I thought you could summon everything out here. Why must we retrieve it by hand, madam?” “Sunny does no’ want me scarin’ off customers.” She rolled her eyes. “Imagine that. Bein’ frightened of a wee bit of magic.” Soleil watched as James and Emelda disappeared into the kitchen, chattering away. When the others had taken their seats at the table, she turned on her heel and met Oliver’s gaze. He was throwing her that puppy-dog look that she simply couldn’t turn away from. Muttering something about alpha men in puppy-dog clothing, she tore off her apron, threw it on a nearby chair, and strode toward the table where he and his father were seated.

***** This had been the worst fourteen hours of Oliver’s life. He wanted his woman back and he wanted her back now. Though his first instinct was to do something wickedly primitive—like beat on his chest, scoop Soleil up into his arms, and run off with her to the nearest cave to ravish her lest she forget whom

she belongs to—he sensed that such a move would probably not go over very well at the moment. That left no recourse but one. To sit at table with his father and look like the pathetic, lovesick fool that he was. He glanced up from his morose thoughts and saw that Soleil was busy talking to her friends, his brother included. It was plain to the eye that she no longer considered him of her inner circle. Well, he thought grimly, he would simply sit here and listen to his father remind him of what a bloody fool he was, over and over again, until at which time Ms. Xavier deigned to lower herself to gift him with her attention. Funny how even his father, at one time Soleil’s worst critic, was now her most begrudging champion. Oliver’s eyes narrowed as James began stroking the palm of Soleil’s hand. For the sake of his sanity —and his brother’s life—James had better be touching her with no more in mind than friendly affection. Oliver groaned. Good god in heaven, what had become of him? A woman happens into his life and he turns into a jealous, seething idiot. Well not just any woman, he reminded himself defensively. Soleil. A beautiful woman. A beautiful woman who could quote Kant and Locke, make a mean sweet potato pie, and suckle a man until he damn near went blind. Good god how he missed her. “Look at how close to Emelda your brother is sitting,” the earl grumbled. “Do you suppose he carries a passion du coeur for her?” Oliver pulled himself from his self-pitying indulgence long enough to cast a horrified look his father’s way. “Good god, no.” He grimaced. “That’s the most unpleasant mental image a person’s words have ever forced me to entertain.” The earl harrumphed. “She’s a comely woman, Oliver.” He rolled his eyes. “Yes, for a seventy-year-old. Father, James is barely thirty-eight years in age. What you have implied goes beyond disgusting and looms on the horizon of morbid.” Charles Sebastian pinched his lips into a lordly frown. “I see that we have risen from the wrong side of the bed this morning, Lord Grumpy.” Oliver shook his head and sighed. “I have risen from an empty bed is the problem,” he muttered under his breath. “I heard that. It isn’t proper to discuss such things in front of one’s father.” “Oh? And contemplating whether or not James would take a seventy-year-old to his bed in front of one’s youngest son is within the realm of propriety?” The earl merely harrumphed. Oliver closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He felt a headache coming on. He shouldn’t be over

here on the far side of the room during the grand opening of Soleil’s coffee shop listening to his father’s muttered depravities. He should be across the room with her, united as one, reveling in her victory. Opening his eyes, Oliver’s gaze sought out Soleil’s. She, of course, was engrossed in conversation with the others, so was paying him no heed. If only she would look at him then he— Okay, she was now looking at him. Dear god, she was looking at him and he had no idea what to do to keep it that way. Ordering her about last evening had clearly not produced the desired effect. She had insulted his aura and vowed never to speak to him again. That left him no alternative. He would have to pull out the big guns. His shoulders sagging, Oliver threw her his best hurt puppy-dog look. This look had worked wonders last week when Soleil was premenstrual and didn’t feel up to warming his bed. She had given in and ridden him like a rodeo champion, climaxing more times than a man had the right to luxuriate in. He could only hope his luck with “the look” held true. Soleil came to a halt in front of the viscount and his father. Frowning, she crossed her arms under her breasts and eyeballed them both. “I came over here to…” “Yes?” Oliver asked hopefully. She cleared her throat. “I came over here to…” She scowled. “Stop that!” His features convalesced into innocent mode. He blinked as if he had no idea what she was referring to. “Stop what, sweetheart?” Soleil grunted. A rather unladylike gesture, but the best one to describe how she was feeling at the moment. “Stop looking at me as though I was a witch who stepped on an innocent puppy-dog’s tail!” Oliver schooled his features into a look of astonishment. “My dear, I would never think to—” “Oh shut up, Oliver!” Her nostrils flared to intimidating proportions. “I’m not quite done being angry with you, but I have decided to set our problems aside until later.” Oliver visibly exhaled a breath of relief. All thoughts of reeling her in with aggrieved looks flew out the proverbial window. “You have not left me then?” he asked quietly. “No.” She narrowed her eyes and gritted her teeth. “But I expect you to make it up to me in spades. Because as I said,”—she splayed her hands at her sides—“I am not quite done being angry at you.” “Here, here,” the earl intoned, “a smart girl.” Oliver threw his traitorous father a sour look. He turned to Soleil and reached for her hand. “ Thank-you, darling. I truly am sorry for what happened last night and I do understand why you’re so angry. I apologize for embarrassing you,” he murmured, genuinely contrite. An unnerving silence stretched out between them. Oliver peered into her eyes, waiting to hear her

pronouncement. She looked so lovely today in an ankle-length black skirt slit up to the lower thigh and a jade green top that accentuated her generous bust line. Her wild dark gold curls were pulled back into a ponytail and her nails were polished that bedeviling red again. It was all he could do to not pull her into his embrace and kiss her madly. “Alright I forgive you,” Soleil muttered. “But you better never pull a stunt like that again for as long as you live.” “I won’t. I swear it.” She took a deep breath, then nodded. “Stellar.” She waved toward the table where her friends sat, waiting for the trio to join them. “Would the two of you care to join us for coffee and breakfast cake?” The earl harrumphed. “A splendid notion.” Oliver smiled slowly. “I feared you’d never ask.”

***** “Here’s the dozen sugar cookies and the loaf of French bread you rang ahead for.” Soleil smiled at John Reilly as she handed him his bag of perishables. “Please come again.” Mr. Reilly inclined his head, thanked her for his purchase, then shuffled out of Witch’s Cupboard with his baked goods in tow. Soleil’s head snapped to attention as she watched Oliver close and lock the door behind her last customer of the day. He pulled the blinds shut and turned to her with a very calculating glimmer in his expression. She gulped, recognizing that glazed over look in his eyes all too well. The lost little puppy-dog was gone and in his place was the virile alpha male prepared to claim the mate that had been denied him last moon-rising. “Your grand opening was a veritable success,” Oliver praised her as he walked stealthily to where Soleil stood. “You should be very proud, Sunny.” She looked around. Yep. They were definitely all alone in the shop. Even Emelda had already gone home. “I—I am.” He crooked an eyebrow. “Are you?” “Yes.” “Then what’s the matter?” Soleil’s eyes widened as he came to a stop before her and took her chin in his hands. “Nothing,” she squeaked out. “Nothing?” he murmured. Oliver bent his head and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. When her mouth

parted ever so slightly, he took advantage of the situation and darted his tongue into the opening. Her small whimper of pleasure shot straight to his groin. He pressed his erection into her belly, making certain she was aware of his need for her. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered thickly, “every moment without you is unbearable.” “Oh Oliver—” He kissed her into silence as he pulled her up more fully against his erect body. Oliver needed Soleil tonight in a way he’d never needed a woman before. He wanted to make love with her not so much for the undeniable pleasure it would bring to the both of them, but because he needed to be reassured that she still belonged to him and desired no other man. He’d felt restless ever since they’d fought last evening. He might not know how to put such a bedraggled feeling into words, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t make her understand how sorry he was for causing it to begin with. “I need you, Sunny,” he said hoarsely. “I need you right now.” When she went limp in his arms and kissed him back with all of her considerable passion, it was all the prodding he needed. Fumbling with the button on his jeans, Oliver backed her up against the nearest table without breaking their kiss. His erection sprang free a moment later. He groaned when Soleil grasped it in the palm of her hand and squeezed it just the way he liked. “Sunny,” he growled. “Jesus.” Oliver grabbed Soleil’s skirt and hoisted it up to her waist. She exhaled on a small groan as he pulled down her soaked panties and let them drop to her ankles. Soleil kicked them off, then released his erection when he picked her up and set her on the edge of the table. “Do it now,” she breathed out. Oliver stepped in between her splayed thighs and guided the head of his shaft toward her wet opening. He entered her body in one long thrust, gritting his teeth at the exquisite feel of her tight sheath closing around him, accepting him inside. “Oh god.” “Oliver.” Soleil sucked in her breath and moaned as he began to move inside of her. She rotated her hips and thrust back, meeting him stroke for stroke. Oliver grabbed her gyrating hips and pounded into her relentlessly. “Jesus Sunny,” he ground out. “ Do you have any idea how good you feel? How tight you are?” “Tell me,” she shamelessly prodded him. Oliver rotated his hips and slammed into her deeper and harder, again and again. He basked in the sounds of her labored moaning. “Let me show you instead,” he arrogantly replied. He drove into her mercilessly, groaning with pleasure as she met his thrusts with eager wanting. Oliver gently forced Soleil to lie back completely on the table, splaying her before him like a pagan sacrifice. He pumped faster, making her moans grow louder. “You will marry me, Sunny.” He could

always get down on his knee and ask her properly with his proffered ring when they finished. For now, it was enough that she realize how much she meant to him. Plus, it was getting more and more difficult to talk. “Oh Oliver…” Soleil opened her eyes long enough to smile up at him. She closed them just as quickly, moaning as her climax drew near. “Yes!” she offered up to the heavens, a simultaneous answer to Oliver’s question cum demand and a thank-you for the pleasure she was receiving. Oliver continued to thrust in and out of her body as he pushed her top up over her breasts, unsnapped her bra, and drew her freed breasts into his palms. His hands kneaded her bosom while his thumbs grazed over her nipples, taking Soleil over the edge as he’d known it would. “Come for me, Sunny,” he bit out. “Do it now.” But Soleil needed no further prompting. Arching her back, she thrust her hips up to meet Oliver’s thrusts one last time and moaned long and loud as her climax overpowered her. Her nipples shot up and speared his palms as the familiar rush of pleasure rippled through her, heating her face and contracting her belly. “Oliver.” Oliver’s jaw clenched as he drove fully into her twice more, then poured his self inside of her snug opening. “Oh god—Sunny.” He threw his head back and growled low in his throat. He closed his eyes as the most satisfying orgasm of his life tore through him. His energy depleted, Oliver collapsed on top of her, his face falling onto her breasts. Curling his tongue around one plumped up nipple, he sucked on it languorously as he steadied his breathing. He made no move to disjoin their bodies and neither did she. Soleil ran her fingers through his thick chestnut hair but said nothing. Oliver obviously needed this connection with her right now, so she would do nothing to take away from it. She sighed contentedly as he lazily suckled at her breast, enjoying the feel of him more than words could express. Some minutes later, Oliver raised his head and gazed deeply into her eyes. He pushed his sexy wire-framed spectacles up the bridge of his nose. Soleil giggled and pulled them off, laying them next to their joined bodies on the table. Oliver grinned. “You find humor in my lovemaking, Sunny?” She giggled, but shook her head. “No.” “Then what’s so funny?” “You just look so…so…” She grinned fully. “Cute.” “Cute?” Soleil nodded. “Cute and adorable.” “Good god in heaven,” Oliver muttered. “At a moment such as this, the last thing a man wishes to look is cute and adorable. That makes me sound like a damned kitten.”

She chuckled, then rotated her hips when she felt him growing thick and long inside of her again. “ What do you want to look like?” she asked breathlessly. Oliver hoisted his torso off of Soleil and stood upright between her thighs to make love to her on the table again. “Manly,” he stated as he stroked slowly into her. “Virile and powerful.” She sucked in her breath and moaned. “There is that, too.” “Good. And let us get a couple of issues straightened out, darling.” “Yes?” Oliver thrust fully into her and palmed her breasts as he rode her body. He played with her nipples as she moaned wantonly. “You will marry me,” he ground out. “And”—he thrust again—“you were not wrong about my aura. Are we in agreement?” He pummeled into her harder, lest she decide to disagree before thinking better of it. “Oh goddess,” she moaned, “We agree!” “Good.” Oliver thrust into her again, tweaking her nipples into tight buds as he drove in and out of her wet heat. “Now then,” he groaned, “let’s make love.”

Chapter 13 Soleil handed her apron over to Emelda and thanked her for manning the café long enough for her to sit outside and have a bite to eat. “Take yer time, lovie,” Emelda insisted with an incline of her head that brooked no argument, “I dinna ha’ a client fer another three hours.” Grateful, and all but dead on her feet from the early morning rush, Soleil took a tall glass of chilled Cinnamon Crème coffee and a piece of cinnamon raisin bread to the outside patio. She plopped down in the nearest seat, half sighing and half grimacing. Business was good, she mused, so she couldn’t very well complain about the fact that her muscles had endured a strenuous work-out today. Ten o’clock in the morning and she was already sore all over. Hopefully her muscle tone would soon catch up with the rigorous demands of the early morning and early evening rushes. After a mere week in business, she had already discovered that those were the two busiest times of the day. Soleil could scarcely wait for Luna and Star to get here in October. Witch’s Cupboard needed all the help it could get. Besides, she missed them fiercely. She really should have taken Oliver up on his offer to assist her in the mornings and evenings at the shop. But she hadn’t. And for completely non-stellar reasons at that. Soleil still didn’t know what to make of Oliver’s marriage proposal. She was wearing his grandmother’s betrothal ring, a beautiful emerald surrounded by diamonds and a band of white gold. She couldn’t begin to estimate its value. She was wearing the ring, they had agreed to wed on All Hallows, and all should be well. And yet it wasn’t. There was a missing piece of the puzzle that continued to plague her thoughts relentlessly, giving her bad vibes and even a couple of hellish nightmares. Oliver had never once said that he loved her. As a couple they have much in common, she thought, as she set out her breakfast before her. They both enjoy having philosophical discussions together, they both delight in taking long walks along the firth and engaging each other in conversation, and they have a stellar sex life. But is that love? On her part, yes. A thousand times yes. But on his? She wasn’t so sure. Soleil was fairly certain that Oliver loved her, but who could say for certain? On one hand, he’s always attentive and can’t stand to be separated from her for more than a few hours at a time, but on the other hand, he had never actually said those three little words of “I love you.” But then again, neither had Soleil. Soleil sighed wistfully as she spread a light coating of sweet cream butter on her slice of cinnamon raisin bread. Perhaps Oliver had never said the words because he was waiting for her to say them first.

Or perhaps he had never said them because he hadn’t yet realized that what he was feeling was love. Or perhaps, she thought morosely, he had never said the words because he didn’t feel them and never would. Soleil stuffed the piece of bread into her mouth and angrily tore off a chunk of it with her bared incisors. Good goddess but she hated being uncertain of his feelings. He definitely showed all the signs of a man in the thrall of a grand passion, but in the thrall of a grand love? It was impossible to tell. At any rate, this was why Soleil had gently declined Oliver’s offer to assist her at Witch’s Cupboard. If for whatever reason Oliver never grew to love her and they ended up going their separate ways, she wanted to have at least one place in Blackshire that wasn’t loaded down with Oliver memories. She couldn’t enter her cottage without thinking of all the places in it where they had made love. She couldn’t walk around the firth without remembering all of the occasions during which she and Oliver had fell to the ground and loved each other until they were utterly depleted and satiated. Soleil hadn’t permitted him any more intimacies with her inside of her café since the night of its grand opening and vowed that she never would again. At least not until she was assured of his feelings. Meow. Soleil snapped out of her musings. She stopped chewing mid-bite. Her ears perked up. Meow. The hairs on the nape of her neck stirred. Meeeow. Her eyes widened. The call was getting louder, more forceful. Meeeeooow. Even more forceful. MEEEEOOOOW. Okay, the cat was pissed. Apparently she wasn’t responding fast enough to suit him. And it was a him. Good goddess she was certain it was a him! Soleil gulped nervously. She lowered the cinnamon bread to the table and very slowly turned around in her seat. “Good goddess,” she muttered. Eyes wide, she took in the sight before her. There, perched high atop the sign that read Witch’s Cupboard, sat the fattest, scraggliest Familiar Soleil had ever seen. He was the most wretchedly ugly cat that had ever been born to the feline family. But he was hers. All hers. This was definitely her Familiar. Stellar!

Grinning, Soleil jumped to her feet and clapped her hands together in glee. She waved an impatient hand, summoning her very own Familiar into her arms. The cat made some sort of hair-raising, scared out of its skull, gurgling sound as it flew toward her at top speed and landed into her embrace. His next meow was more of a screech, clearly pissed off at having been summoned to her side so ignobly. But Soleil couldn’t think of that just now. She hugged him tightly against her breasts, causing him to purr lecherously, but contentedly. “You’ve finally made yourself known to me! I can’t believe it! I’ve waited and waited for you, you know!” He purred silkily, as if to say, yeah babe, what witch hasn’t. “But you’re mine!” she laughed delightedly. “All mine!” The fat black cat laid his head back on her breasts and purred low in his chest. Soleil clutched him tightly against her. “You need a bath.” She put a finger under his chin and tipped his face up to study it. “ And you’re missing an eye! Good goddess, what happened?” Her Familiar meowed out a forlorn story about getting in a cat fight over a fish he’d stolen from a seafood merchant in London. Every witch knew, of course, that only a witch whom the Familiar had been born to could understand what her male feline was saying to her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But you’re here now and will never want for anything again.” She hugged him and smiled. “We’ll get a patch to cover up that missing eye and I’ll bathe you until your fur is glossy again.” She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. “You’ll be the feline stud of Blackshire before long. All the female felines will be after you.” He purred, as if to say, yeah babe, now we’re talking.

***** Oliver frowned at the wretched cat. The damned thing hated him immensely. He had driven from his estate two miles out with a dinner for two prepared by his chef, hoping to surprise Soleil with a warm, French meal. He hadn’t counted on male competition coming from a rather unlikely corner. Soleil had been surprised and pleased with the meal, he conceded rather happily. They were sitting on the outer patio of Witch’s Cupboard eating their chicken cooked in mushroom sauce and sipping from a bottle of vintage Sauvignon. All would have been bliss were Soleil’s newly discovered Familiar not a perverted one-eyed rake of the feline variety. Said rake was even now slumbering on her breasts, purring contentedly. He should be the only male allowed to do such things, he thought grimly. Somewhere in the back of Oliver’s mind was the sane thought that it was simply not logical to get jealous over the attention given to a cat. And ordinarily he wouldn’t have. But this cat was definitely not an ordinary cat. The horrid beast delighted in taunting him, nesting his obnoxious head in the swell of

Soleil’s bosom, wiggling his kitty brows at him as if daring him to say something negative about him to his mistress. Oliver shook his head to clear it. His future viscountess’ Familiar was a damned nuisance. “What’s its name?” he muttered to Soleil. Soleil looked up from her meal and grinned. Her fork stopped halfway between the plate and her mouth. “François.” “François? He’s French?” “Uh huh.” She smiled nostalgically. “He came all the way from Paris to find me. Isn’t that stellar, Oliver?” “Oh yes. Bloody stellar,” he mumbled. Well, Oliver thought glumly, that certainly explained a lot. The one-eyed cat with its pirate patch was a damned Frenchmen. He rubbed his temples and sighed, deciding to say nothing more on the subject. There was sanity and then there was the high dive into the abyss of lunacy. Allowing himself to feel threatened by François was definitely one foot off of the high dive. François was a cat after all. Oliver moaned. Good God what had Soleil done to him? He was feeling jealous of a bloody cat! The loud, clanging, British rock group called Def Leppard had said it best: Love Bites. “Oliver?” Soleil’s golden brow arched quizzically. “You’re moaning. What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” Oliver shook his head and chuckled to himself. Even the cat was looking at him as though he’d lost his mind. “Nothing at all, Sunny. Tell me, are you enjoying your meal, darling?” “I love it.” She reached across the table and clasped hands with Oliver. François glared out of his good eye. Oliver smiled. “It was so sweet of you to think of me like this.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It was nothing.” Oliver rubbed the palm of his fiancée’s hand, forgetting all about Soleil’s Familiar in the doing. “How was your day, sweetheart? Are you still overtaxed in the mornings and evenings?” Soleil gnawed on her bottom lip. She didn’t want to go there yet. Not until Oliver said the three magical words that would make everything right for her. “I’m fine. Really.” Oliver knew she was lying, but hadn’t the first notion as to why. Being overworked was hardly a subject worth stretching the truth over. He decided to let it go for now. “My father is mortified by the fact that our vows are to be spoken on All Hallows.” He chuckled lightly, remembering the earl’s grimace. “I daresay he finds it horrifying at worst and decadent at best.” Soleil looked up from her chicken. She chewed slowly then swallowed as she gazed into Oliver’s eyes. “Are you sure you want to marry me?” she murmured.

His eyebrows shot up. “Of course!” Oliver’s gaze narrowed. He absently handed a piece of chicken over to fat François, endearing himself to the Familiar without even realizing it. “You do desire to wed with me…don’t you Sunny?” “Of course!” Oliver released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “Good. Let us speak no more of it, love, for I fear my heart cannot take much in the way of suspense these days.” Love. He had called her love. But was that merely a verbal endearment or the way he felt inside about her? Soleil nodded quickly. “Yes—yes. I agree.” Oliver smiled warmly. He stood up and bent to kiss the tip of Soleil’s nose. “I best go.” He espied his watch. “I need to stop by the herbal apothecary before it closes thirty minutes from now.” “Oh that’s right!” Soleil returned his smile and kissed him back. “I forgot. James is supposed to start his therapy with the coven tomorrow. Is he excited?” “Nervous more like.” Oliver sighed. “But father and I have done just as Emelda instructed this past week, pumping him full of the specific herbs she prescribed.” Soleil nodded. “Madame Zelda says that even though Emelda no longer practices the healing arts for pay, she’s damn good at it. The best. Tell James not to worry.” “Why don’t you tell him yourself, sweetheart?” When Soleil furrowed her brow, he grinned. “You do plan to come over for a glass of wine later this evening, don’t you?” “Oh yeah. I forgot.” She smiled sheepishly. “Forgot?” Oliver leaned down and kissed her on the lips. “Mmmm.” He moved his attentions to her ear and swirled his tongue in the whorl. Soleil sucked in her breath. “You best not forget,” he whispered provocatively in her ear. “You know how surly a viscount can get when denied his witch.” Soleil ran her tongue over her lips. “Do you know what I want to do to you this moon-rising?” she asked in low tones. “Mmmm. What?” She whispered a particularly wicked enticement into his ear that gave Oliver an immediate and painful hard-on. He retaliated by grabbing the back of her neck and bringing his mouth down on hers. Hard. He kissed her long and deep, boldly laying claim, not caring a wit who should happen by and see them making out like two sex-starved teenagers. When he raised his head some minutes later, Oliver had to take a deep breath to steady his labored breathing. “Now that,” he said, smiling slowly, “is what I call stellar.” Soleil grinned. She kissed him quickly before sending him on his way. The apothecary would close

soon and James needed his herbs. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, O-man.” Oliver grinned, pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, and strolled off whistling. She licked her lips again, most appreciative of the view of his killer buns of steel. Her husband-to-be was definitely a Superman in Clark Kent’s clothing. Soleil watched him go until he was out of sight. The wheels in her head were turning a mile a minute. It was time for the wily female to bind her alpha male mate to her irrevocably. It was time to use Madame Zelda’s advice and grant Oliver his aura’s hottest desire. Did she have the courage to do it? She looked down at her Familiar and grinned. “What do you think, François? Will it work?” François meowed something rather cutting, then laid his head back down on her breasts. “Don’t be jealous. He’s a good man.” The Familiar mewed begrudgingly, conceding that point. Soleil licked her lips, thinking about the pleasures she would soon be bringing to Oliver. Good goddess she needed to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret underwear.

***** “Father, Sunny and I are both immensely private people. We’ve no need of a betrothal party in London.” “It’s already done. My secretary tells me that the invites were sent out by personal courier yesterday.” Oliver closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his temples. He and Soleil had enough to do in preparation for their nuptials without this added bit of nonsense. But neither did he wish to hurt his father’s feelings. Charles Sebastian, Earl of Clydon, had done what Soleil would call a 180 and was now, regardless of the fact that he and his intended constantly bickered back and forth, one of her staunchest allies. And as much as Oliver disliked parties, he appreciated the fact that his father wished to make his support of Soleil publicly known. Oliver opened his eyes and cast them about the parlor. Emelda was seated betwixt his brother and father on the Queen Anne sofa sipping from a glass of Burgundy and pinching her lips every so often in a gesture of disapproval. What she was disapproving of at the moment was difficult to conjecture on. Soleil was seated next to Oliver on the matching settee across from the trio. She was currently doing that thing with her sandal where she let it dangle from her painted red toes while nibbling at her lower lip. Oliver found his first smile in long minutes just looking at her. The woman was adorable. And better yet, like Emelda, she’d left her Familiar at home.

“I will hear no arguments to the contrary, my boy. My mind has been made up.” The earl inclined his head, then sipped from his port. Emelda sniffed at that. “And we all ken that Charley Sebastian doesna ha’ much a mind tae be makin’ up. Ye best accept the party and be done with it, lovies.” She rolled her eyes. Soleil’s hand flew to her mouth. She snickered behind it. Oliver looked toward the ceiling, holding a smile in check. James was the least circumspect. He threw his head back and laughed outright. “Now see here, madam,” the earl sputtered. “Quit speaking nonsense.” Emelda puckered her lips into a distinct frown Oliver had come to recognize. It meant that she was about to give a piece of her mind to one Charles Sebastian and woe betides if he chose not to listen. “Ye dinna think o’er much of Sunny whilst ye were plannin’ yer party, Charley.” She raised a hand to silence him when he opened his mouth to speak. “What of Witch’s Cupboard? Who will operate it whilst she is in London? I can help out a wee bit, but I ha’ clients of my own tae see tae.” “I hadn’t even thought of that,” Soleil muttered. “Emelda’s right.” She threw an apologetic glance toward the earl. “I’m sorry, Charley, but I can’t go.” Oliver shook his head nostalgically. It still amazed him that a man as uptight as Lord Clydon allowed two women he’d known barely a month to call him Charley. Even the widow Dumphries whom he’d once dated for over a year had either referred to him as “my lord” or simply as “Clydon”. “Perhaps the party isn’t a good idea,” James said pragmatically. “You can always host another, father.” “Here, here,” Oliver muttered under his breath. The earl ignored them both. “Then I’ll hire a temporary employee to come wait on Sunny’s customers.” His face turned a blotchy red as he stabbed his finger in Soleil’s direction repeatedly. “I will hear no argument on this subject, young lady. I am to be your father and as such I am entitled to the last word.” He harrumphed, then glared at a sniffing Emelda. Soleil burst into tears, surprising everyone. “Sunny darling,” Oliver said, reaching for her hand, “what’s wrong, love?” “Is she alright?” James asked worriedly. “I don’t know,” Oliver answered honestly, “I’ve never seen her in such a state.” He glared at his father. Emelda pinched her lips into her “I-told-you-so” frown. “Now look at what ye ha’ done, Charley Sebastian. Ye’ve set the lass tae cryin’.” She turned to Soleil. “Are ye in need of a handkerchief, lovie?”

For once, the earl looked truly repentant. He rose quickly to his feet and made his way to the settee were Soleil sat, still bawling away as if there was no tomorrow. “Sunny. I—I apologize. We can cancel the bloody party—” “N-No.” Soleil accepted a handkerchief from the earl and dried her eyes with it. She hiccuped twice then smiled tremulously at him. “We’ll find a way to m-make it work. We’ll c-come.” “We will?” Oliver’s eyes widened. “Then why are you crying, love?” Soleil smiled wistfully at her fiancé, then turned to meet the gaze of the earl straight on. “I have n-never had a father before.” Her eyes teared up all over again. “Thank-you for saying you’ll be mine,” she whispered softly. Total silence ensued. It was at once the most heart-wrenching and eloquent moment of Oliver’s life. He had never fully understood, until this very second, how truly shunned Soleil had been throughout the whole of her existence. But now he knew. And it was breaking his heart. “Oh Sunny,” his father said quietly. “No man could be prouder to call you daughter.” He drew Soleil up to her feet as he blinked back a tear. “No man.” And then he embraced her. “For the love of God,” James muttered, “I’m damned close to crying myself.” Emelda pulled out a hankie. She blew her nose with one hand and slapped James with the other. “Ow! What was that for?” “Ye shouldna be cursin’, Jamie Sebastian. ‘Tis a sorry habit.” James muttered something imperceptible, but relented and said no more. Oliver smiled. He took a contemplative look about the room as he did so. He was a lucky man. He’ d make certain Soleil never regretted marrying him.

Chapter 14 Oliver crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. He had not known that this was how James’ therapy amongst the thirteen was to proceed. It was pathetically obvious, however, that his brother didn’t mind in the least. The brother in question looked as content as an Arab pasha reclining amongst his harem. Worrying over trivialities such as the fact that his harem possessed the powers to shrink scrotums and turn men into pets was obviously not uppermost in his mind. James was lying naked on his back, stretched out on a rock that Emelda had claimed was as old as time itself. The witches were surrounding him on all sides, chanting as they sprinkled herbs about his body and rubbed more herbs into his skin. Moonlight shone down upon the rock, bathing his brother and the witches in a sensual, mysterious light. This Oliver could have lived with. But the fact that all thirteen witches surrounding James were completely divested of clothing—Soleil included—was another matter entirely. “I daresay,” the earl sputtered, “this is a rather bizarre turn of events.” He looked Emelda up and down appreciatively. “The witches are all naked,” he whispered in a scandalized voice. “You don’t say.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the hot tip, father. I never would have noticed their nudity without your keen powers of perception to intervene on my behalf.” “I see that Lord Grumpy has come calling yet again this evening.” Oliver reverted into a brooding silence. He was feeling grumpy. He could hardly be angry with his fiancée for disrobing in front of his father and brother when it was part of a ritual meant to heal James. That did not mean, however, that he had to like it. Thankfully, Charles Sebastian seemed not to notice Soleil’s nudity at all. His father’s every glance was aimed at Emelda. Oliver had to admit, the woman had a pleasant enough body. In fact, all of the witches did. Whether young, old, or in between, it didn’t matter. When he viewed the scene dispassionately, it was odd that all of the members of the coven had retained superior physiques even into old age. It occurred to him that he would ask Soleil about this anomaly later. At any rate, Oliver could only be grateful for his father’s lack of interest in seeing an unclothed Soleil. His brother James, on the other hand, was another animal altogether. He had already cast her voluptuous, fertile physique quite a few appreciative glances. It was enough to set Oliver’s teeth to grinding. The chanting continued in many languages. At first, Oliver had distinctly heard Latin, but understood very little of it. When he heard Nessa chanting in Italian, he gleaned a bit more. Goddess healing della notte,

Sentire le chiamate dei vostri servi. Offriamo unto voi il corpo di James Sebastian, Benedirla prego e farla bene. Constantina began to chant in French, which Oliver knew as well as he knew English. Déesse curative de la nuit, Entendez les appels de vos domestiques. Nous offrons unto vous le corps de James Sebastian, Veuillez la bénir et faites-la bien. He mentally translated the chant for himself. Healing goddess of the night, Hear the calls of your servants. We offer unto you the body of James Sebastian, Please bless it and make it well. The thirteen continued to chant, low and relentless. Oliver had to admit that the scene was spellbinding. He felt like he was standing in the midst of a storybook, watching as a pagan coven offered up its virgin sacrifice to forces unseen. Though James was, he thought bemusedly, far from innocent. Before his riding accident five years past, he had been a rake of the first order. “I say,” the earl intoned softly, “James is sweating profusely. You don’t suppose this is too much excitement for him after a five year sentence of celibacy?” Oliver quirked a brow. He studied his brother’s reclining form intently. His breathing was harsh, definitely labored. His hands were balled into fists at his sides. “I don’t think what he’s feeling is sexual,” he murmured. “I think it’s painful.” “Painful? Why the devil would it be painful?” Oliver shoved his hands into his pants pockets. He vividly recalled what Soleil had said about retuning James’ body to be in balance with the universe. “Sunny told me that the ritual we are being made privy to is as old as time, dating back prior to the invent of written word, when folk lore and legends were passed from mother to daughter.” “Fascinating,” the earl muttered. “Indeed.” Oliver gazed at the pagan scene before him, thoroughly enraptured. “The ritual we are watching is called the Spell of Osiris. I did some research on it,” he murmured, “Osiris being the name of the Egyptian god of death, of the afterworld.” “D—Death?”

“Yes. Osiris was the god credited for dying and then resurrecting each year without fail. A symbol of the harvest, of life and death, if you will.” The chanting continued, growing louder, faster, more frenzied. The moon hung low overhead, full and portent. “The spell was first performed,” Oliver continued, “on a pharaoh that lived somewhere around the year 2000 BC. This ruler of the Nile, the possessor of over seventy wives and three hundred concubines, was without heir and believed the cause of his malady to be a curse of the dark god Osiris. The spell of reversal was performed by a sect of high priestesses who little is known about.” The earl’s eyes had widened considerably. He visibly swallowed. “Witches?” “Definitely. Or at least the Egyptian version thereof.” “Jesus…” Oliver inclined his head, but did not remove his gaze from the thirteen. “The spell, if you believe the magic of incantation possible, is allegedly quite painful.” “Painful. You said that before. Why?” “The Egyptians thought it physically taxing to work evil out of one’s body.” “Evil?” Oliver shrugged. “To them it was evil, as it was to many philosophers of that time period. To us it is merely the body not working properly.” “Fascinating,” his father said softly. They watched the ritual unfold in silence for long minutes, neither speaking, either of them hardly blinking. James was clearly in a torment of some kind. He was sweating out buckets full of perspiration, gritting his teeth, and occasionally moaning like a wounded animal. Every muscle he possessed control over was tensed and corded. It seemed that even the ones he couldn’t command were being commanded for him. Charles Sebastian drew in a steadying breath. He closed his eyes, listening with his sharpened senses to the low chanting, which was winding down to a collective murmur. He opened his eyes and regarded Oliver. “Do you believe, son?” he asked quietly. “Do you think there is such a thing as magic?” Silence stretched out between them. Oliver didn’t speak for so long that the earl thought he’d either not heard him or decided against replying. Finally, he answered. “Prior to meeting Sunny I would have answered you an emphatic no.” “And now?” he asked hesitantly. Oliver sighed. “Much has happened these past two months, father. Things I never would have

dreamed possible. Spells, telekinesis…” Falling in love. It was there on the tip of his tongue. He refrained from saying it aloud. Whatever the earl had been about to say in way of a reply was forgotten when the gentlemen’s attentions were snagged by the sound of Emelda’s distinctive voice speaking to James. “Well, lovie, we’ re done with ye fer now.” James took a deep breath. He was panting heavily. “Did it work?” he asked, still trying to catch his breath. “In terms of your health, it definitely did,” Soleil answered in her usual cheerful tone. “As far as the other…” She blushed, then coughed into her hand. “We’ll know soon enough.” His eyes flicked appreciatively over her naked form. Oliver gritted his teeth. “How?” Emelda waved her hand and everyone’s clothing was back on. She turned toward James and inclined her head. “If’n yer mon part gets as hard as stone within the week, then it worked. If’n it doesna, then we must repeat this ‘ere spell.” Soleil patted James on the shoulder. “I’ll check your progress every moon-rising.” Oliver’s jaw clenched. Not bloody likely. Clearing his throat, he strode purposefully to where Soleil stood. “That won’t be necessary, sweetheart. I will check my brother’s progress each night.” James grinned knowingly. He winked at Emelda, then turned a serious expression toward his brother. “Hmm. I’d prefer it if Sunny checked.” “Be. That. As. It. May,” Oliver bit out precisely, “I will be the only one here looking at your man part.” He frowned and shook his head when the ridiculous sound of that statement struck him. “You know what I mean,” he muttered. “Or,” he said dryly, “father can check it if you’d prefer.” “W—Well,” James sputtered, no longer finding his brother’s irritation quite so amusing, “I suppose it would be alright if you did the checking, Oliver.” “I say,” the earl grumbled, “James is hardly a lad of ten. I think he’ll know when he has a damned erection. No one needs to check for him.” Oliver and James’ faces turned crimson. They’d both overlooked that fact. Soleil giggled. “Well duh!” When the men looked at her curiously, she rolled her eyes in exasperation. “When I said I’d check his progress every moon-rising, I meant that I would ask him if he’ d gotten a…you know.” She cast her gaze amongst the thirteen who were all snickering behind their hands. “Don’t laugh!” Vega stepped up to stand next to Soleil. Her long black hair flowed around her shoulders seductively, casting her vixen looks into a sharp contrast against the reality of her innocence. She glanced

at James and sighed wistfully. “I’d be happy to check his progress every moon-rising for you, Sunny.” Memories of gentlemen turned into toads danced through James’ head. He paled considerably. “As much as I appreciate the offer, I’m certain I can handle the task on my own,” he choked out. Vega shrugged. “If you change your mind, my lord, you know where to find me.” “You’ll be the first one I call.” He smiled a shade too brightly. She looked at her watch and sighed. “Well, I better go.” “Yeah,” Soleil added, “me too. I need to get some rest in preparation for tomorrow’s early morning rush at Witch’s Cupboard.” “Of course.” Oliver took her hand in his and clasped it at his side. “Father?” The earl cleared his throat. “Go on. James and I can see ourselves home.” He cocked a lordly brow at Emelda. “Would you, uh,”—he tugged nervously at the neck of his polo shirt and cleared his throat again—“like to, uh…” “Aye?” “Come up to the estate for a glass of wine?” Emelda’s entire face lit up. “Aye, Charley Sebastian. I thought ye’d never ask.”

***** Oliver removed his spectacles and set them upon the closed tome he had been studying from. It was one of his favorite purchases. A verifiably original copy of Descartes’ Principia Philosophiae. He had purchased it at the estate auction of an impoverished baron four years past. The edition had come to him dust laden and on the cusp of mildewing, but he had cleaned it up quite admirably. He rubbed his temples and regarded James through narrowed eyes. His brother was sitting in his wheelchair on the other side of Oliver’s desk in the Blackshire study. He reminded himself that Soleil belonged to him, she was in fact, his fiancée. Truly, there was little point in getting angry over his brother’ s compliments. “You were saying?” “Hm? Oh…” James shook his head and chuckled ruefully. “Nothing much. I was only congratulating you on acquiring so lovely a bride-to-be.” He squinted slightly, as if contemplating the matter at great length. “To be honest, I’ve always been attracted to the small, skinny girls with long legs and small breasts. But Sunny…” He cleared his throat and nodded. “She forces a man to change his opinion. Quite voluptuous.” Oliver forced a smile onto his lips. “How wonderful of you to notice,” he bit out. “Come now. There’s no call for sarcasm. I was but paying her a compliment.”

Oliver sighed. He stood up to pour them both a glass of port at the mini-bar within his library. “I’m sorry. Truly. But James, I can hardly stand knowing that you—and father of all people—have seen Sunny naked, even if her nudity was done to aid a noble cause.” He handed a half-filled glass to his brother and saluted him with the other. “I hardly desire to discuss the matter. In my place, would you not feel the same way?” James’ cheeks tinted a dull scarlet. “Quite right,” he mumbled apologetically. “Forgive me. My commentary was most improper.” Oliver waved that away. “Forget it. No harm intended and no harm done.” He took a long, relaxing sip of his port then leaned against the back of the desk. “So tell me. How are you feeling?” “Much improved.” James set his glass of port down and clashed gazes with Oliver as he warmed to his topic. “My muscles feel more workable and much less tense. Hell, even my eyesight feels improved upon.” “And, uh…” Oliver coughed into his fist, his face coloring slightly. “…the…other?” James grinned. “Nothing yet.” He looked down to his lap, then smiled sheepishly at his brother. “ Though I have high hopes.” “Yes,” Oliver replied. “One would.”

***** “Is this vintage to your liking, madam? I d-daresay it’s one of my favorites.” Charles Sebastian silently cursed himself as ten kinds of idiot. He had finally managed to get Emelda to himself for a bit and he was making a proper mess of it. That was the third time he had asked her if she was enjoying her wine. He might be a tad on the rusty side as courting goes, but he remembered the drama of it well enough to realize he was going about it all wrong. She’d never want to see him twice, let alone swoon into his arms and declare herself caught by Cupid’s bow. “Aye, Charley.” “Good,” he mumbled. “Glad to hear it.” Emelda sighed. What had she been thinking, coming here to take wine with Charley Sebastian? In all of her seventy years, her body had been possessed by only one man. And that man had been placed under a spell to keep him from running away when the deed was done. Eventually, of course, she had let him go. After a year or so. After enough time had gone by that she could no longer live with a lie, having forced herself to realize deep within that ‘twas no more than magic binding him to her. She would never do that to a man again. Or to her heart.

Had she thought that Charley Sebastian—a gentleman of the peerage no less—would be different, not needing a spell to bind him? If she had let herself believe that a nobly born Englishman could find love in his heart for a lowly born Scots woman of his own accord, she was quickly discarding that notion as fantasy. She’d been up to his son’s estate for more than an hour now and he’d hardly spoken a word to her. Unless it had to do with the taste of the wine. He had a thing about wine, Charley did. Emelda sighed forlornly. An old fool. She was naught but an old, lonely fool. “Aye, Charley,” she repeated. She forced a smile onto her face as she stood up, preparing to bow out of the parlor gracefully. She couldn’t bear to be in his presence another minute. It was too painful. “The wine was lovely fer a certainty.” She nodded stiffly, very business-like. “I thank ye fer invitin’ me.” Charles Sebastian rose quickly to his feet. “You are…y-you are not leaving…are you?” He was being polite, Emelda reminded herself. Don’t be fooling yourself into believing there’s more affection in those green eyes than what’s there. “’Tis best, I’m thinkin’.” She straightened her back and inclined her head once more. “Take care of yerself, Charley.” She smiled and turned on her heel. The earl’s heart wrenched as he watched her walk toward the parlor door. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She was placing her hand on the doorknob. Another moment and she would be gone. And somehow he knew, just knew, he’d never be given another chance. “Wait,” he croaked out hoarsely. Emelda’s hand faltered at the knob. It trembled slightly. She took a deep breath and turned her head to meet his gaze. “Aye?” “Don’t go.” There. He’d said it. Softly. But meaningfully. He spoke no more. Just that. But it was enough to give her hope and hope was the last thing she needed or wanted. “I—I dinna ken.” Emelda felt tears welling up in her eyes. She needed to leave before she disgraced herself. “I better go, Charley.” “No.” Emphatic this time. Forceful. Charles Sebastian took a deep breath, regrouping mentally as best as was possible. He peered into her eyes from across the small expanse that separated them. “I’m an old man, Emelda.” His voice was quiet and reflective, slightly apologetic. “An old, crusty, widowed man who doesn’t remember the first thing about courting a lady. I…” He shook his head and sighed. “Ye…ye what?” she asked softly. “I never thought to feel love in my heart for another woman after James and Oliver’s mother passed on ten years ago, especially not so soon after making your acquaintance. But I…” Her breath caught in her throat. “Aye?” “…I love you.”

Charles Sebastian, son of a high born lord, held out his hand to Emelda MacGregor, daughter of a low born field worker, and waited. “Say you love me too, Emelda mine?” Her lips trembled. A tear glistened in her eye, but stubborn as its mistress, refused to fall. But he knew it was there. He knew. “Aye, Charley Sebastian.” She held out her hand as she slowly walked toward him. Seventy years she had waited for this man. Seventy long years. “I thought ye’d never ask.”

Chapter 15

Thump. Thump. Thump. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. Thump—Squeak. Thump—Squeak. Squeak—Squeak—Squeak—Thump. Oliver’s brow rose inquisitively. Seating his self at a barstool in front of the counter in Witch’s Cupboard, he cast a curious look toward Emelda’s side of the shop, separated only by a curtain of beads at the connecting entryway. “What on earth is going on over there, Sunny?” Soleil set down the bowl of freshly caught fish she’d been preparing for François, waited for him to meow approvingly, then glanced back to Oliver. She wiped her hands on her apron and shrugged dismissively. “Ever since your father and Emelda got together, they’ve been going at it like rabbits.” Oliver made a small choking sound. “Good god in heaven. That is my father thumping and squeaking about?” She nodded quickly. Her smile was wistful. “Yes. Isn’t that so stellar?” He gurgled something in reply, but Soleil couldn’t make out what. “Oliver? Are you alright?” Thump. Thump. Thump. Squeak. Thump. Squeak. Thump. “Uh…yeah…er…uh…I…” Thump. Thump. Thump. Oliver closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. When he opened them, he was steady once again. He smiled hesitantly. “I’m fine, darling. I…” Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. “Oh for the love of Christ! They bounce as well?!” Slap. Slap. Squeak. Bounce. “Take that, Scottish vixen.” “Oooh…aye, Charley…” Oliver clapped a hand to his forehead and moaned. “Oliver?” Soleil asked worriedly. She untied her apron, threw it on the counter, and rushed to his side. “Are you okay? You’re worrying me.” She removed his hand from his forehead and clapped her own there. “You don’t feel fevered. What’s wrong?”

He eyed her belligerently, but welcomed the feel of her cool, satiny hand against his warm brow. “ You mean aside from the fact that I’m liable to entertain nightmares for the next month?” “Nightmares?” Oliver’s jaw dropped down. He couldn’t believe it. Soleil honestly had no notion as to why he was upset. He didn’t know whether such knowledge should make him laugh or cry. “I’ll be fine,” he croaked out. “You’re sure?” She bit her lip. Thump. Squeak. Slap. Thump. Thump. Bounce. “Y-Yes.” She nodded. “Would you like a cup of tea?” Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. “Ah Charley…” “Emelda! Here I com—” “Something stronger perhaps?” Oliver growled. He pulled off his spectacles and gave the lenses a brisk cleaning. “Coffee? Whiskey?” Rrrooooarrr. “Morphine?” he bit out. Soleil nibbled on her lower lip as she studied her fiancé’s pale complexion. She could sense from his aura that Oliver was having difficulty accepting his father’s new love, or more to the point, the sex life that love had culminated into. Why, when it was an intimacy as natural as breathing, she couldn’t fathom. But then, she’d never had a father or a brother either. Perhaps it was difficult for a son to accept a father’s humanity. Soleil waved a hand and summoned shut the front door of Witch’s Cupboard, simultaneously causing the open sign in its window to flip over to closed. That accomplished, she took Oliver’s hand in her own and rubbed it soothingly, cooing to him like an infant in need of some extra TLC. She drew him against her breasts where he contentedly snuggled his face. “Why don’t I close early today?” she said quietly. “I’ll take you to my cottage and whip you up a stellar homemade dinner.” She smiled warmly. “It’s my understanding that a documentary on Kant is going to be on BBC this moon-rising.” She lifted his chin and gazed at him. Her smile kicked up from warm to tremulous, as if trying to coax a young child into doing her bidding. “Will that make you happy?” Oliver grunted. He knew he was being appeased, but for some odd reason he was enjoying the novelty of it enough to allow her to continue. “What will you cook?” he grumbled out, nestling him head

back between her cleavage. “All your favorites.” Thump. Thump. Thump. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. He shuddered, then quirked a brow. “Not anymore. A change in menu tonight, my dear.” “Oh? What would you like?” Thump—Squeak—Thump—Squeak Oliver’s jaws clenched. His teeth ground together. “Rabbit.”

***** Soleil nestled herself into the comfort of Oliver’s side. Thoroughly sated, she purred contentedly as one of her hands idly stroked the chestnut colored hairs on his chest. She loved his chest. Adored it. It was all hard planes and masculine muscle. Not too much hair, nor too little. Just perfect. The sound of Oliver’s snoring made Soleil grin. The poor man was exhausted. But in a good way, of course. He had taken her to the heights of carnal bliss seven times this moon-rising. Seven times during the course of two couplings. Seven times. Good goddess she was in love with the man. They were scheduled to leave for London in two days, she and Oliver. James was returning a day earlier with his father to make certain everything was ready for the engagement party to be held at the townhouse three days hence. Soleil thought it sweet that her future father-in-law and brother-in-law were concerned to the degree that they were, wanting everything to go off without a hitch. Neither of the gentlemen seemed the party planning type, and in truth, they probably weren’t, which made the gesture all the sweeter. Soleil realized that the earl’s secretary, Mr. McKinnon, had done most of the grunt work, but it was still a pleasant feeling to know that Charley and James cared as much as they did. She would have to thank them again before they left for London tomorrow. Which brought other thoughts to mind. Dismal, depressing thoughts she didn’t care to ponder over to any great degree. What should she wear to the engagement party…her engagement party? How should she style her hair? How should she behave at a gathering that was on such a grand scale? The last thing she wanted to do was to embarrass the very men going to such great lengths to envelop her into the familial fold. Soleil sighed, then craned her neck to place a kiss on Oliver’s chest. She snuggled back into the warmth of his embrace and closed her eyes.

Tomorrow was another day. She would sleep now and worry later. Besides, there was a woman amongst the thirteen who could help her. Vega had been born into the British peerage. Her father, like Oliver, was a viscount. She would be able to teach Soleil everything she needed to know. It was good to have so many close friends within the coven. A witch could never have too much back-up.

***** Feeling wary all of a sudden, Soleil eyed the evening gown Vega was holding up. She wrinkled her nose ambivalently. “Are you certain that this is”—she waved a hand toward the dress in question—“ appropriate for the engagement party?” “Absolutely.” Vega pressed the scant dress up against Soleil’s form and smiled. “You will look perfectly fetching in it, Sunny.” “But will I look appropriate?” She sighed. “I’m nervous enough about meeting the rest of Oliver’s family and their friends without the added complication of worrying that I look like some sort of a sex vixen.” She grinned at Vega. “Although I would like to look like a sex vixen for Oliver one time.” “Trust me.” Vega’s hand fluttered about dismissively. Her silky black hair was pulled back into a chignon that rested at the nape of her neck. A pencil was speared through it, rending a competent air about her. As usual, Vega looked classy and radiant today in a sheath of brilliant red. “I was raised amongst the tiresome nobility, Sunny. I promise that you will be showing off far less flesh than many of the women who will show up to the betrothal party.” Soleil tapped her foot indecisively as she nibbled at her lower lip. She really did like the dress. An ankle-length shade of shimmery violet that matched her eyes, it was split on the side clear up to mid-thigh and showed off her breasts to their best advantage. Soleil knew she wasn’t what one might call gorgeous, but when she had been wearing that dress, she had felt like it. Vega was an excellent modiste. “Well?” Vega asked. “What will it be? This?” She held up the violet dress. “Or…”—She hoisted up a black dress and frowned—“…this monstrosity.” Soleil rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “You’re calling your own design a monstrosity?” She chuckled wryly. “Don’t make that a habit. It won’t be good for your new business, Witch Designs.” Vega grinned. She really was a beautiful woman, Soleil thought. A truly vampish beauty if ever there was one. Why Vega kept resorting to turning men into toads for companionship was beyond Soleil. Of course, she hadn’t turned any more men into green creatures since the last one she’d let go. But neither was she dating. “True, that.” Vega smiled impishly. She thrust the violet dress toward Soleil. “But I really want you

to wear this one, Sunny. It looks breathtaking on you. The perfect dress to introduce London society to the soon-to-be Lady Blackshire.” “A lady.” Soleil giggled. She pointed a finger toward herself and shook her head. “Can you imagine? Me, Soleil Xavier, a lady? A viscountess?” Her grin devolved into a frown as a thought struck her. “To be honest, I’m not even sure what a viscountess is beyond the fact that Oliver told me it’s a title.” After Soleil accepted the violet dress from her grasp, Vega began packing away the black one as she idly spoke of English titles. “A viscountess, the wife of a viscount, is a degree below a countess, who’ s married to an earl, and a step above a baroness, who’s married to a baron.” Soleil chewed on her lower lip. She nodded briskly. “Got it.” “Even though Oliver’s family name is legally Sebastian,” Vega continued, “your common name will become Blackshire. Soleil Blackshire, or more simply, Lady Blackshire.” Soleil opened up her mouth to ask a question on that point, but ended up sighing and giving up. Marrying a viscount was a confusing business, she decided glumly. Ah well. Hopefully one day soon it would all sink in. “You’re coming to the party, aren’t you? I can use all the moral support I can conjure up,” she muttered. Vega patted her on the back affectionately. “Fear not. I’ll be there right alongside Emelda and Madame Zelda.” “Are the others coming?” “Unfortunately, no.” She sighed. “Most of the witches’ businesses are at their peak. It will just be four of the thirteen, yourself included. But,” she added cheerily, “they will all be sending out good vibes your way.” “I hope that’s enough.” Vega smiled nostalgically. “It will be a wonderful party. Besides, what’s the worst that can happen?” Soleil pinched her lips into her Leona Helmsley frown. “I could make a complete and utter fool of myself, embarrass Oliver and his family, and be run out of London on the broom I rode in on.” Vega chuckled. She clapped Soleil on the back. “Oh don’t be silly! Besides,” she said pragmatically, “our kind haven’t ridden brooms in ages. Prehistoric, that.” “Thanks,” Soleil muttered, “I feel so much better.”

***** Soleil wiggled her toes as she closed the cap on the red nail polish bottle. It probably didn’t help them to dry any quicker, but toe wiggling beat the hell out of just sitting there and doing nothing any day

of the week. At least it was proactive. At the shrill sound of the telephone ringing, she sighed. Wasn’t it just her luck to get a phone call when the nails of both her feet were wet, and she couldn’t walk into the kitchen to retrieve the phone? Praise the goddess for telekinesis. Waving a hand toward the wall console, Soleil answered it the moment the phone was in the palm of her hand. “Star, is that you? It’s so good to hear your voice, sweetheart! How are you?” Soleil listened to her niece go on about the sale of the house for a few minutes. Apparently there were a couple of interested prospective buyers already, a fact that only further assured Soleil that she’d foretold the future well. Her niece and sister would definitely be here before the Day of the Dead. “Yes, sweetheart, I’m so glad you called.” She closed her eyes for a moment, basking in the mutual affection she felt for her one and only niece. “No, I can’t wait to see you either.” She smiled wistfully. “I love you too. Put mommy on the phone before you go.” Soleil opened her eyes and idly blew on the nails of one hand as she waited for Luna to come on the line. She hoped Oliver appreciated her efforts. She’d worn her nails plain the last couple of weeks because she’d been too busy to give them attention. She knew this was his favorite color. His aura went haywire every time she donned it. “Hi Sunny! How are you?” “Great Luna! Good goddess, we haven’t spoken in close to a week. I’ve missed you. Is everything okay on your end?” “What? Oh yes, of course. Star and I have been busy packing up all of our belongings. The very moment we close on the house, we’ll be on the first plane headed to England.” Soleil grinned. “I can hardly wait!” The phone slipped a bit, so she hoisted it back up to the cradle of her neck and shoulder. “Just a little bit longer, Luna, and then we’ll be together again.” “I know. The goddess’ ultimate plan is unfolding right along schedule. So anyway, how are things in Blackshire?” She groaned. “Don’t ask.” “That good, huh?” Luna chuckled. “I hope everything is okay with Oliver since you plan to marry him.” When Soleil didn’t respond, Luna prodded her as only an older sister can. “Come on, Sunny. Fess up. What’s wrong?” Soleil groaned dramatically. She went on to tell her about the engagement party and how she was afraid she was going to make a royal ass of herself. “I don’t know how to behave in front of titled people, Luna. For goddess’ sake, the most elegant social function I’ve ever attended up until this point is the potluck dinner the brothers at the Elk Lodge put together when Bernie Peters won that drag race

down Main Street against Stinkie Muldune from Youngstown.” She paused to catch her breath. “I seem to recall men picking their teeth at the table and commenting on how good the grub was when the meal was over.” Her nose wrinkled distastefully. “Didn’t Bernie’s sister Marge actually take her teeth out before she picked them?” Luna asked, able to remember the potluck dinner distinctly. She had met Walter Plink at that dinner. The same farmer with the erectile dysfunction who’d dumped her after their first date together. He’d said he had to wash his hair. The fact that he was bald led Luna to believe that perhaps he might have been a tad frightened of her powers. Nothing unusual there. Most men tended to be. Soleil groaned. “Yes. Thankfully they were false teeth.” She sighed agitatedly. “My point is that I simply don’t know how to behave in front of a bunch of lords and ladies.” “Just be yourself, Sunny. That’s enough. And if it’s not enough, then Oliver doesn’t deserve a witch of your caliber. Believe me,” Luna said quietly, “I know of what I speak.” Soleil chewed over her sister’s words for an extended moment. There was something about the heartbroken way she’d spoken that caused her to believe there was more to the story than what Luna had offered. An old doubt rekindled in Soleil’s mind, sparking to life. “Luna?” she asked softly. “Yes?” “Tell me the truth.” She took a deep breath. “Star isn’t the result of a visit to a sperm bank, is she?” Luna was quiet for a long time. Too long. Soleil knew the answer before her sister confirmed her long-standing suspicion. “No, Sunny, she’s not.” Soleil nodded, though Luna couldn’t see that over the phone connection. “He hurt you, didn’t he?” Luna sighed, long and deep. “I don’t know if he meant to, but he did.” Soleil could hear her nostalgic smile without seeing it. “He was so beautiful, Sunny. I fell in love with him at first sight. When he told me all of the things I’d longed for ages to hear, that I was beautiful, that I was desirable, that he wanted me forever…well, I was a goner.” “Oh, Luna…” “No. Don’t feel sorry for me. He gave me Star,” she said in her usual pragmatic way. “For that I will always be grateful to him.” “Oh, Luna…” Soleil blinked away the tears forming at the backs of her eyes. Her heart was breaking for her sister. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?” “I don’t know.” She expelled a breath and gathered her thoughts. “I guess I was afraid of how you’ d react. I was afraid you’d think I’d gone and done something stupid. And I am the big sister. You were supposed to look up to me.”

“I respect you more than anyone on earth, Luna. I just can’t understand your reasoning. The women of our line have been single mothers for generations. Why would I look down on that?” Luna said nothing in response. She sighed instead. A sound she’d made a lot these past few minutes. Soleil’s heartbeat accelerated. “Luna? Good goddess, there’s more, isn’t there?” She clapped a hand to her forehead and felt it for warmth. “You might as well get it over with while I’m an ocean away and unable to murder you. My powers don’t extend as far as the next continent over. What really happened that weekend when you’d allegedly visited a sperm bank? I know it wasn’t a sperm bank, so where did you go?” Luna sighed again. “Las Vegas.” “Las Vegas? That’s a far cry from Cleveland. You went with a man to Las Vegas?” “No, I went to Las Vegas and met a man when I was there gambling. I was in the mood to live a little, okay? And everyone always says that Vegas is the place to do it.” “I see. Apparently you did more than gamble, but go on.” Luna groaned dramatically. “I don’t want to go through this, Sunny. It’s too humiliating and painful for me to relive.” Soleil immediately dismounted from her high horse and grew contrite. “Humiliating? Good goddess, what happened there?” “Remember the man?” “The one that impregnated you? What about him?” “I…uh…I…well…” If there had been a way to telekinetically rip the words from her sister’s mouth, Soleil would have done it. “Yes? You what?” “I…” Luna’s voice began to trail off. “…I married him.” “You what?” Soleil screeched. She closed her eyes and moaned. Her eyes flew open and rounded considerably. “I simply don’t believe this! You’re married, Luna? You’ve been married for ten years?” “Closer to eleven actually.” “Yes of course.” “Don’t get snippy. You sound just like mother when you do that.” “I do not snip!” Soleil snipped. “And I sound nothing like mother!” “Uh huh.” Luna grunted into the phone line. “Now you can see why I never told you. It’s humiliating! ” Soleil shook her head to clear it. Somehow she had lost the thread of the conversation. “How is that

embarrassing?” “Because he left me the morning after we spoke our vows!” Luna wailed. “We got married, made Star, I went to go get breakfast for us before he woke up the next morning, and my husband was gone before I returned. I never saw him again!” Soleil rubbed her temples with her free hand. She had momentarily forgotten that nothing had come of the marriage. No wonder her sister felt humiliated. “And you didn’t tell me because you were afraid I would think less of you for falling victim to his meaningless vows and believing in him enough to make Star with him.” She closed her eyes briefly and winced. “Oh Luna,” she said softly, “I never would have blamed you. I’d have hunted your husband down and zapped him into a pair of elephant balls, but I never would have blamed you.” “Thank-you,” she sniffed. “I know that now. But at the time I was depressed, embarrassed, and I knew I was pregnant. A witch knows these things, you realize.” She took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. “Can you forgive me, Sunny? I’ve never lied to you before. This has eaten at me for years, so I’m glad you know. Please forgive me.” Soleil waved that away. “There’s nothing to forgive.” In truth, she was more shocked than she could say, but she wouldn’t do anything to add to her sister’s burden. Besides, she was glad that Luna had finally confided the truth in her. “I love you Luna Xavier. You are a warm and wonderful woman who deserves as much happiness as the goddess can dish out.” “And I love you, Soleil Xavier.” Soleil couldn’t see her sister, but she knew her well enough to know that right about now Luna’s hand would be resting on top of her heart. Her almond-shaped violet eyes would be round with conviction. It was a cute and endearing habit she had. “I’m so happy you have found a real husband in Oliver. I just hope he realizes how special you are.” “I just hope he realizes how special we are together,” she muttered. Soleil summoned a glass of wine from the cottage’s refrigerator. She needed a drink. “By the way Luna, is your last name really Xavier or did you take your husband’s?” “It’s really Xavier. Thank goddess I had the foresight to retain my own.” Soleil harrumphed. “Agreed.” She wiggled her toes back and forth and absently blew on her fingernails as she considered whether or not she should ask the question foremost on her mind. With a sigh, she gave in to curiosity and put the question to her sister. “Who is your husband, Luna? Will you tell me that much?” Luna was silent for an unnerving moment, but finally spoke. “There really isn’t much to tell, Sunny. You never met him. I never even saw him again beyond the night he got drunk, then married and bedded me. As ignorant as it sounds now, I was too naïve at the time to figure out the fact that he wasn’t sober

for myself—I thought he was merely tipsy.” “But who was he?” Soleil waved a hand about agitatedly. “What was the man’s name?” “His name was James. And he was English.”

Chapter 16 James wheeled about the Sebastian London townhouse, telling himself he wasn’t searching for a woman with violet eyes and black hair, but knowing deep down that he was. It was odd that Emelda had declared that he would fall for a woman of such a description, when that very combination had been his favorite for years. Ever since he’d gone to Las Vegas and conjured such a woman up in his mind. In those days, James had been a renowned rake, hopping from one willing woman’s bed to the next. He had also been a heavy drinker, blacking out at times and losing chunks of his memory. Las Vegas had changed that. Ironic that the very town whose name was synonymous with destroying souls was the very town in which he had reclaimed his. James would probably never know for certain what had transpired that fateful night, but by the time he had left the states and took a flight back to London, his subconscious had been shaken enough by the experience to forgo heavy drinking for all time. All he knew for certain was that he had awoken from a bout of drinking to find himself sleeping in a stranger’s hotel room. Worse yet, no dark-haired woman with violet eyes had been present. He had been completely alone. When it had finally dawned on him that the loving, passionate woman had been naught but the musing of a drunk’s vivid imagination, he had left the stranger’s room severely depressed and flew back to London a reformed man. After that night, he had never again entertained the desire to drink with the purpose of becoming sotted. James blew out a breath and shook his head. None of the women attending Oliver and Soleil’s engagement soirée was dark of hair and violet of eyes. Bah! He didn’t truly believe in Emelda’s prediction anyway. The simple truth of the matter was that James was a cripple and was therefore unlikely to attract a longstanding interest from any woman, let alone the enchanting one he’d fantasized of since eleven years past. Hell, he wasn’t even able to get an erection without a physician prescribed chemical injection to induce it. Hardly what many women would call a good catch. He could only hope that the coven would be able to correct that sad state of affairs, if nothing else. “What’s wrong? You’re surrounded by food, drink, and women, yet you look a thousand miles away.” Oliver strolled up to his brother’s side and rolled his eyes bemusedly. “I understand exactly how you feel.” James pulled his scattered thoughts together and grinned at his brother. “Not enjoying your own engagement party? For shame.” He craned his neck and scanned the room. “Where’s Sunny?” “Not yet in attendance.” He glanced at his watch. “Vega is still helping her to dress I presume.”

“She’s nervous?” “I think that’s a given.” Oliver sipped from the glass of white wine he’d carried over as he considered Soleil’s feelings. “I daresay I can understand her reticence all too well. I have never had a care for the London social scene and I was raised in its midst. Sunny, on the other hand, has never had to endure the superficial functions of the nobility before. One can only assume she’d be feeling out of sorts.” “Poor girl.” James shook his head. “Let us just hope my former fiancée doesn’t sink her claws into her. Jane Merriweather can test the patience of a saint.” He chuckled as he accepted a glass of wine from a passing servant. “It should be interesting to see how a witch deals with such a woman. Would it be too much to hope that she zaps her into a four-titted toad?” Oliver grinned, inducing his dimple to pop out. “Sunny is typically more circumspect than that, though Emelda is another story entirely. The party is barely under way and she’s already given the evil eye to the two women daring enough to flirt with father.” At James’ laugh, Oliver changed the subject a bit. “But what of you? Are you alright with Jane being here? Though why,” he muttered under his breath, “father invited her in the first is beyond my reasoning abilities.” James waved that away. “He hadn’t the choice. Jane’s mother was a dear friend of mum’s, if you’ll recall. Lady Merriweather would have felt slighted had father not invited them.” “Too bad Jane is nothing like her mum. A fine woman, Letty.” “True, that. Even Letty knows it.” James winked good-naturedly at Oliver. “I can read the worry for me in your eyes and I’m telling you not to. Ever since you confronted me in father’s study concerning your feelings on Jane’s superficial character, I have never looked back again on that score.” He shrugged his wide shoulders. “Truth be told, I’m glad I didn’t marry the woman. She’s not what I want in my viscountess.” Oliver clapped him on the back approvingly. “I’m so glad to finally hear you say as much and know that you truly mean it. I have never carried a fond torch for one Jane Merriweather.” James snorted incredulously. “She better not get catty with Sunny. Watch her Oliver, if you take my meaning. The woman has a tongue as sharp as a predator’s claws and everyone knows that after my accident, she set her sights on becoming your viscountess, since you are for all intent purposes, my heir apparent to the earldom.” Oliver flicked his gaze to where Jane stood holding court. Several gentlemen were gathered about, fawning prettily over her. It irritated him the way she tried to upstage the room and make herself the focus of the evening’s event. But then again, that was Jane Merriweather. Selfish to the core of her meaningless, shallow existence. The woman was the very caricature of the type of evil scheming mistresses one sees in B movies.

Just then Jane glanced up and met Oliver’s bored look. She smiled coquettishly, letting him know in no uncertain terms that should he change his mind, the invitation to attend her in her boudoir was still very much open. Assuming, of course, such an invitation evolved into marriage. “Hmm. You’re right.” Oliver turned back to his brother and frowned. “I’ll have to make certain Jane and Sunny are never alone together this evening.” “A sound notion, that.” Oliver was about to respond, but closed his mouth at the sound of his father’s raised voice. He turned himself bodily about to see what was going on. His father looked rather dapper tonight, he had to admit, dressed to the nines as he was. Though the bloom about Charles Sebastian was due less to his impeccable attire and more to his budding relationship with Emelda. The duo was inseparable. Literally. “If I could have everyone’s attention,” the earl regally intoned. “I should like to thank you all for coming to celebrate so wonderful an event as my son Oliver’s engagement to his dearest Sunny.” He inclined his head solemnly. James cast a quick glance toward Jane, then inwardly smiled at her pinched-lip expression. Being upstaged and outmaneuvered didn’t suit her in the least. Not that Sunny had purposely outmaneuvered her, for she didn’t even know who Jane was. Still, he realized Jane would still view it as such. Superficially, such knowledge delighted him. “And on that note,” Charles Sebastian continued, “I should also like to be the first to introduce my future daughter-in-law to you, our many friends.” “I take it Sunny and Vega are finished dressing,” James murmured. “Apparently,” Oliver quietly agreed. He looked at his brother and took a deep breath. For a reason he couldn’t begin to explain, he was one hundred percent nervous over the prospect of seeing Soleil for the first time at their engagement party. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen her a hundred times prior to this night. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made love to her practically every night since they had first consummated their relationship. And yet, there it was…nervousness. “Take another deep breath,” James whispered in an amused sounding voice, “you look as though you’re ready to pass out.” “I am,” he muttered. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the earl continued, “it is my distinct privilege to introduce you to Miss Soleil Xavier, the future Lady Blackshire. Oliver, please come join us.” A moment later, when Soleil appeared in the doorway adjacent to his father’s standing position, Oliver sucked in his breath. “Jesus,” James breathed out, “she looks ravishing.”

Oliver wasn’t able to respond. He could barely think let alone speak. She looked so damned beautiful. Wearing an ankle-length dress of violet that matched her eyes and seemed to glisten as she walked—not sparkle, but glisten—his jaws dropped open as he took in the elegant appeal of her. This was a face of Soleil he’d never seen before. Her lips and nails were tinted a scarlet red. Her hair was left unbound, cascading all around her into a stunning pool of dark golden ringlets. The dress she wore was split up to mid-thigh, showing off the legs Oliver loved to have wrapped around his waist, accepting his thrusts. And dear lord, but her breasts looked a mite bit too tempting, pushed up and out as they were. As nervous as he’d been the day he’d first met Soleil, Oliver had the sudden desire to pontificate on the glory of Kant. He simply couldn’t believe so fine a woman was his. All of his old insecurities shot to the forefront of his mind, causing his legs to stay grounded. “Go,” James prodded with a chuckle, “you’re drooling while Sunny is left waiting for you.” Oliver nodded absently. Somehow or another, he got his feet to work and to lead him to the other side of the room where his father and fiancée awaited him. He wasn’t so far gone that he didn’t notice the appreciative, lusty way several of the gentlemen present were eyeing Soleil up and down. Nor did he miss Jane’s petulant look of jealousy. Oliver strode determinedly to where his woman stood and took her hand in his. He kissed the palm, causing her to shutter deliciously, then met her gaze and smiled. Soleil’s breath caught in her throat when she got her first good look at Oliver. Good goddess he looked yummy enough to eat. She had forgotten these past months how well he filled out a suit. The black Armani pants and jacket with the gray silk shirt he was wearing could send any witch into a near swoon. She squeezed her thighs together, reminding herself it was best not to go there until later when they were alone together. Somehow she doubted it would make a good impression amongst his friends to ravish him here at the party and have her wicked way with him. Civilization. What a horrid concept. Clearly not a part of the goddess’ ultimate plan. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the earl declared, “I present to you my son’s future wife and viscountess, Soleil.” He smiled. “Though we fondly refer to her as Sunny.” Soleil’s heartbeat picked up as the guests began crowding around her and Oliver, introducing themselves one at a time in turn. Luckily, she had Oliver’s shoulder to lean on—metaphorically if not physically. He kept their hands clasped between them, squeezing occasionally to let her know he was there for her and that he understood how frightened she was. She knew that he appreciated her efforts to please his father, which made any amount of uneasiness and discomfort she was experiencing more than

worth it in her book. A few minutes later, after she’d talked to and laughed with a bevy of lords and ladies—Oliver’s charming and outrageously amusing grandmother included—she was able to relax a bit. Luna had been right all along. Being herself seemed to be more than enough. Granted, the attendants of this party were a far cry from the war veterans that frequented the Elk Lodge, but when push came to shove, they weren’t that much different. Thankfully, however, none of these guests seemed to be the teeth-picking type. Soleil managed to have quite a few pleasant conversations with the guests and even met one woman, a baroness who originally hailed from America named Veronica, whose aura definitely sparked off genuine friendship vibes. Soleil had agreed to call her soon so that they could have lunch together and, oddly enough, she was looking forward to it. After all, with the exception of Oliver’s family, Soleil had never had a non-witch friend before. There was only one person at the entire party that made her feel uncomfortable and that was the beautiful, perfect-looking Jane Merriweather. Soleil didn’t know the whole story, but she quickly surmised that Jane and Oliver were acquainted. On top of that rather depressing thought was another one that was distressing in the extreme: Jane’s calculating aura was hot for Oliver’s alpha bod. Soleil plastered on her best fake smile and welcomed the woman as warmly as was possible, knowing as she did of her desire to bed Oliver. “It’s nice to meet you, Jane. Please…call me Sunny.” “Sunny you say?” Jane lifted a perfectly tweezered eyebrow and regarded her. She smiled condescendingly, then looked to Oliver. “How…provincial.” “I’m rather fond of it,” Oliver said with a glare. “A refreshing name for a marvelously refreshing beauty.” Soleil grinned at Oliver. What a charming thing to say! Jane’s back went ramrod straight. She forced herself to relax and look nonchalant. “Indeed,” she gritted out. “Oh look, there’s the Earl of Marsh. I really should be mingling. Oliver, give your brother my regard.” “Why don’t you give it to him yourself?” Oliver bit out. “He’s sitting right there behind you.” Jane turned on her heel to find that James had wheeled himself up to where they were standing. She looked him up and down distastefully, keeping her distance. Soleil felt her teeth gnash together and commence a grinding motion as she watched. The mean-spirited woman was acting as if James’ condition was contagious. She was making it clear that she didn’t wish for him to wheel any closer to her. “James. How…”—Jane eyed him up and down again—“delightful to see you. Do take care.” And with that thinly veiled insult, she sauntered off toward the Earl of Marsh’s side.

Soleil took one glance at James’ face, which had gone red with shame and embarrassment, and felt her blood boil over in a way she wasn’t familiar with. Never had she felt hate in her heart for another person. Not like this. Not even close. Her fingers started wiggling back and forth before she could stop them. Oliver gasped. “Sunny!” he whispered forcefully. “What the hell are your fingers about? Please, darling, do not go spell casting during our engagement party. It will likely send some of the elderly matrons into swoons.” “I can’t help it,” she muttered, somewhat mortified by her trembling hands, “they won’t stop!” Soleil eyed them disbelievingly. It was like they had a mind of their own. “Jesus,” James breathed out, his eyes wide with anticipation. “Whatever you’re about to do to Jane, I beg of you to make it ghastly.” “James,” Oliver seethed, “father will go into a sputtering fit if women begin flying about the room. Do not egg Sunny on!” He turned to his intended and grunted. It was time to quit asking and start demanding. “Sunny, do not—” But it was too late. Oliver knew as much the moment he heard the sound of Jane’s shrill scream. He winced. “Good God in heaven, what have you done?” he muttered more to his self than to her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, truly contrite, “my powers have never gotten away from me before like that.” James, however, was thrilled. “I can’t see what’s happening! Sunny, dear, what did you do to her?” “I’m not exactly sure.” She bit her lip. Oliver stood up on tiptoe to try and see what had become of Jane, but the crowd gathering around James’ former fiancée blocked his view. Just then, he saw the Dowager Duchess of Fairfax fall into a dead faint. A second later, the elderly Countess of Clare toppled over, landing face-first into a bowl of punch. “Good God in heaven, noblewomen are fainting left and right.” He turned to Soleil and James and grimaced. “Matrons are going down like flies.” James tugged at Oliver’s shirtsleeve. “But what has happened?” he asked excitedly. “What has become of Jane?” “I don’t know. I can’t see her.” Just then Emelda, Madame Zelda, and Vega made their way over to their group. Madame Zelda was the first to reach them. “Good goddess, what positively dreadful thing have you done to the woman? ” Madame asked bemusedly. “I can’t see her.” “I have an idea, but I’m not certain of the results,” Soleil admitted. “We can’t see her either.”

Vega chuckled. “I can’t wait to find out! I’ve known Jane Merriweather for an age and she has always been too snooty to have a care for.” Emelda stepped in between James and Oliver. She stood up on tiptoe and tried to scan the crowd. “ Damme, but I’m tae short. I canna see how good yer spell was, Sunny.” Emelda had barely finished her sentence before a screaming Jane made her way doggedly toward the exit. Elderly women continued to faint as she passed them by, clutching their hearts and toppling over as ladylike as could be. Luckily, Soleil told herself, Jane would have to pass by them in order to get out. The anticipation was killing her. She needed to see exactly what she had done. As much as she disliked Jane, she could only hope it was nothing irreversible. Though a good wart or two in a couple of strategic locations would certainly not be amiss, she thought defensively. “Good goddess,” Madame Zelda breathed out reverently. “She’s positively atrocious to look at, Sunny.” She clapped her on the back to congratulate her. “You have made your coven proud this day.” Oliver closed his eyes while he groaned. He could only pray that Madame Zelda was making the situation sound far worse than what it was. He was yet to see Jane. “For the love of god,” James mumbled, “I do wish I could see what’s going on. The moment I’ve been waiting for for five bloody years finally arrives and I can’t see a blessed thing. I—” He choked on his words. He stared wide-eyed at the monstrosity ambling toward them. “Jesus! Is that Jane?” Oliver’s mouth flew open in shock. He clutched the back of his brother’s wheelchair to keep from toppling over. “What,” he hissed, grabbing Soleil’s arm with his other hand, “is that?” Soleil clapped a hand over her mouth to suppress a bubbling fit of laughter. She steadied herself before speaking. “All I did was order the fates to turn Jane’s outward appearance into a match for her inward one. I knew Jane’s character was far from stellar, but this?” She shook her head in awe. “How could I have known? Emelda thumped James on the shoulder and snickered. She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes as James grinned up to her. “Truly,” he chuckled, “how could Sunny have known?” Vega and Madame Zelda giggled behind their hands like there was no tomorrow. Soleil and Oliver watched in mounting horror as a very ugly creature drew nearer. Jane’s appearance was that of a quasi-human, quasi-ape. Much like a Neanderthal woman had no doubt looked in the days of sleeping in caves and donning animal pelts for clothes. The Raquel Welsh version she was most definitely not. Stellar! Jane’s eyebrows were bushy and drawn together in one thick line across a protruding forehead.

Apparently she couldn’t decide whether to act the ape or the human for she kept beating on her chest and making “Eeee Eeee Eeee” monkey sounds, then interchanging it with a thorough scratching in the region of her armpits. She repeatedly followed her actions up with a shrill human scream, in horror of what she’d just done. More hilarious still, she was wearing an evening gown and high heels, and her hair was pulled up into an elegant coif. Madame Zelda was right. Soleil had done a stellar job. The goddess’ ultimate plan was a groovy thing to behold at times. “Good God,” Oliver said, his eyes never leaving Jane. “She’s disgusting.” “Very.” James’ smile could only be described as brilliant. “Though I don’t see why the ladies are swooning. She’s not that horrific looking.” Oliver’s hands fisted at his sides. He answered his brother’s question as he peered at Soleil. A muscle in his cheek ticked furiously. “She turned into a cave woman before their very eyes! I’ve no doubt as to why they fainted!” “Mayhap so,” Emelda agreed with a nod, “but Jamie is right. She ain’t so bad tae look upon as that. I…ohhh…” She slapped her leg and cackled. “Look at what she’s doin’ now!” Suddenly, everyone knew exactly why the elderly ladies were fainting all over the townhouse. Apparently Jane’s animal-like urges were overpowering her sensibilities and causing her to do some rather, uh, unladylike and outrageous things. “Good God in heaven,” Oliver muttered, “she’s sniffing at the crotch of the Dowager Viscountess Ornsby.” The assembled group watched in varying degrees of fascination and shock as the dowager viscountess fainted dead away. A plump matron of fifty-five, she landed on the skinny Baron Rothchild standing behind her, inducing him to lose his footing and fall to the floor beneath her. Jane beat on her chest and made “Eee Eee” ape noises, then followed the baron down to the ground, sniffing at his privates until he fainted alongside the dowager who had felled him. James clutched his stomach, unable to breathe for laughing so hard. Just then, Jane let out a shrill human scream and took off out the front doors. A reviving Dowager Viscountess Ornsby held up a kerchief and pressed it to her temple. “Quickly!” she shrieked. “ Somebody call Scotland Yard!”

Chapter 17 Soleil said nothing as Charles Sebastian closed the study door behind him with an ominous thud. He crossed his arms over his chest as he regarded her from across the room and scowled for too telling a moment. He grunted as he walked toward where she sat on the other side of his desk. “Well young lady, what do you have to say for yourself?” Soleil bit her lip, indecisive as to how she should answer. She looked to Oliver for support, but he looked away. Just like that. Cold. Unfeeling. Resolute. Her stomach plummeted. She felt like he’d pulled the rug out from beneath her. Jane had not received anything this moon-rising that she wasn’t deserving of. Besides, it’s not like the party had been ruined as a result of her transformation. After Jane evolved into her true self and disappeared into the night, the party had managed to go on. Dinner had been tasty and the guests had enjoyed themselves immensely, all of them chattering on about their different theories as to how the seemingly impossible could have happened. Everyone, that is, except for Oliver and his father. They had put on their pleasant company faces, but it was easy for Soleil to see that it was all an act. Oliver had barely spoken a word to her since Jane’s ignoble departure from the Sebastian townhouse. Soleil cleared her throat. “I’m not sure what to say, Charley.” She made a helpless motion with her hand. “I tried to stop myself—truly I did—but my powers got away from me. That’s never happened before.” “Father, there is no call for being harsh with Sunny,” James countered through narrowed eyes. He was the room’s only other occupant, so Soleil was grateful for his defense of her actions. “Sunny didn’t mean to do anything malicious to Jane,” he continued as the earl glared in reaction. “ Besides, no true harm was done. Madame Zelda, Vega, and Emelda are all out scouring the streets of London for Jane as we speak. The moment they find her she’ll be transformed back into the mean-spirited, self-centered woman she is.” He shrugged dismissively. “Though hopefully a little less so as a result of her experience here tonight.” Soleil reached for James’ hand and squeezed it. What an eloquent way to stand up for her. Oliver should have been the one to defend her since she really had tried to stop her fingers from exacting their vengeance, but he wouldn’t even look at her, let alone tell his father to stop giving her the third degree. “ Thank-you,” she said softly to James. The earl ignored his eldest son’s proclamation. He was in a pique and no one would be able to pull him from it until he was good and ready. “You do realize,” he droned on in his lordly tone, “I had a devil

of a time inventing excuses as to what possibly could have happened.” His nostrils flared incredulously. “ Luckily, I was able to convince those poor swooning widows that Jane had probably had no more than a bad reaction to her cosmetics.” Soleil’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a chuckle. She refused to laugh. Oliver and his father were obviously quite upset. This would absolutely not be a good time to laugh. “You think this is amusing, Soleil?” Oliver stood up and pinned her with his heated gaze. Her stomach clenched when she realized he’d called her by her formal name instead of by Sunny. It was the first time he’d ever done that. “I’m glad you do, for I certainly do not. My only solace is in knowing that none of the party goers will ever be able to guess that Jane’s transformation was because of my affianced.” “Oliver,” she said quietly, “I’m sorry.” Her eyes softened. “I really didn’t mean to—” “And that,” he said with a mirthless chuckle, “is what frightens me.” Oliver shook his head. “How often will your powers get away from you?” he asked mockingly. “Will my wife embarrass me everywhere we go, turning people into Neanderthal, crotch-sniffing creatures if they displease her? Where, precisely, does it end?” Soleil looked down at her lap. She clasped her hands together. “I never meant to embarrass you,” she offered shakily. Oliver came to a standstill in front of her. He lifted a chastising brow. “But,” he said distinctly, “you did.” His eyes bore into her. “To behave in such a way amongst the superstitious bumpkins of Blackshire is one thing. To do it in front of father’s peers, my peers, is quite another.” “Oliver,” James murmured, disbelieving as to what he’d just heard his brother say. Soleil’s face tinted pink. Her heart wrenched painfully. In that moment, she knew she’d been living a lie. Oliver would never accept her for what she was. Deep down inside, he didn’t think she was good enough for him. Soleil rose to her feet unsteadily. Her legs were trembling as she stood her ground. She offered Oliver a feeble smile, but couldn’t quite bring herself to meet his gaze. She knew the revulsion she’d see there. She’d had plenty of experience with being shunned. She couldn’t bear to witness it in Oliver’s eyes. Anyone else’s, but not in his. “I’m truly sorry for embarrassing you,” she whispered in a painful rasp. Soleil’s breath caught in her throat as she fought to hold back a sob. Shakily, she removed her engagement ring and laid it on the desk. “Sunny,” Oliver said quietly, shocked out of his poor display of temper, “what are you doing?” His eyes widened apprehensively. “Put the ring back on.”

“Sunny,” the earl added contritely, “this goes too far. Let us put this behind us and move on.” James was about to say the same, but was waylaid by the sound of Soleil’s wobbly voice. “I can’t,” she said simply. “Sunny please,” Oliver rushed out, “let us talk about—” She held up a palm to silence him. “No, Oliver.” She took a deep breath and steadied herself to meet his gaze. “I realize now that you have never really accepted the fact that I was born what I was.” She straightened her shoulders proudly. “I’m a witch, Oliver. I was born a witch. I will live a witch. And, ” she said, saddened by the fact that he couldn’t accept her, “I will die a witch.” “I realize that—” “Here you realize it,” she said quietly as she pointed toward his head, “but not here.” She placed a hand over his heart. Oliver covered her hand with his own. His voice was gravelly with emotion. “Sunny, don’t do this to us. We can make it work. I know—” Soleil closed her eyes briefly as she shook her head no. “I accepted you as you were from the beginning, Oliver.” She met his penetrating gaze bravely. “But you never truly accepted me.” Soleil removed her hand from Oliver’s grasp and walked toward the study doors. She telekinetically summoned them open, then turned to smile at him before she left the room. “Good-bye, Oliver. I’ll always love you…” His breathing hitched. “…but I have to say good-bye.”

***** Soleil disappeared from the Sebastian townhouse and seemingly fell off the face of the earth. For a solid week, no one heard heads or tails of her. Oliver was beside himself with grief and worry. Eventually, however, she contacted Emelda to let her know she’d be back soon to reopen Witch’s Cupboard. Emelda never divulged where Soleil had been, where she was presently, or where she was going, but the elder witch assured him that she and François were merely tooling about England and were fine. “The best ye can do, Oliver,” she had said, “is tae give Sunny’s heart time tae mend. Ye hurt her bad, ye did.” As painful as it was to hear the words aloud, he knew Emelda had spoken nothing but the truth. He had hurt Soleil profoundly, perhaps even irrevocably. The words he’d said to her had been borne of anger and shock, but that hardly excused them. The reality of it was that there was no excuse. He had

acted a pompous, condescending prig, uttering words he had never truly meant. And now it was quite possible he would never be given audience to refute them. Two weeks after Soleil’s disappearance, Oliver stood in his Blackshire study sipping from a glass of port and staring broodingly out the window. For days, this was all he had done. He had barely eaten, couldn’t sleep, rarely bathed. All he could do was stare. Not even Kant could pull him from his depression. Every morning when Oliver rose from bed, he stoically walked down to the library after breakfast with the intent of studying his philosophical treatises. He was never able to pay enough attention to do so. For the first time in his thirty-five years, immersing himself in philosophy was of no solace. Where was Soleil? What was she doing? And more to the point, who was she doing it with? That last thought, one he’d entertained far too often in the past two weeks, caused his stomach muscles to clench and knot painfully. The thought of her in another man’s arms was tormenting. Oliver absently fiddled in his pants pocket with the engagement ring resting there. In one night, the evening of his own betrothal party no less, he had managed to go from having it all to having nothing whatsoever. And all because he had let his tongue take off with the better part of his brain. And now he could scarcely eat for being so depressed. He could barely sleep. The nights. Good God, the nights were awful. “Oliver,” James said softly from behind him, “you’re killing yourself.” Oliver started at the sound of his brother’s voice. He hadn’t realized he’d had company. He turned around and regarded him grimly. “What precisely do I have to live for?” he asked matter-of-factly, wearily. “Don’t even begin to talk like that,” James muttered. His voice shook with anger. “You will work this out with Sunny. I know in my heart you will.” Oliver snorted at that. He gave a resigned sigh. “She’s been gone two weeks, James. I think if she was willing to forgive me, she would have come back long ago.” He turned back to the window and stared lifelessly at the view of the firth below him. “I’ve lost her,” he said softly. James glared at his brother’s back. “And you will just give her up without a fight?” he asked incredulously. He couldn’t believe it. “Hm,” he said to goad him, “I’m certain Baron Rothsford will be delighted to hear—” “Do not,” Oliver said forcefully, without looking away from the window, “speak that man’s name in my home. If something becomes of he and Sunny, the knowledge of it will kill me.” James expelled a long sigh. He threw up his hands. “So it’s true then? You will just accept Sunny’s decision, a decision based on hurt feelings and a lifetime of fears no less, without so much as attempting

to get her back?” “What do you mean?” Oliver turned back to face his brother. He set his glass of port down on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you mean that her decision was based on hurt feelings and a lifetime of fears? A lifetime of fears…what exactly does that enigmatic statement mean?” James shrugged. “Sunny is an excellent listener and I am a man with many complex worries and problems. There were a few times since meeting her that I sought her out at Witch’s Cupboard without your being around, just to have cake and coffee and talk to her.” “Oh?” Oliver bit out. “I didn’t know this. Why didn’t you tell me?” James rolled his eyes. He waved a hand toward his brother. “For this very reason. Oliver, I do not know what has become of you since meeting Sunny, but you’ve been acting a jealous, possessive ass. Then two weeks ago you took it one step further and became a condescending ass as well.” He shook his head distastefully. “What were you thinking, insulting the people of Blackshire to her? Those are Sunny’s friends. And as of late, if you’ll recall, they have become ours as well.” Oliver closed his eyes briefly at that setting down. “Don’t I know it. Christ, James, I don’t know what possessed me to say such a thing.” He took a deep breath and regarded his brother. “I do know, however, why I’ve been acting the jealous idiot.” He shook his head and snorted self-disgustedly. “I’m in love. I’ve never been in love before.” Oliver slipped his hands into his pants pockets and walked back to the window. He looked out of it but saw nothing. “All of my life,” he admitted without inflection, “I’ve been in your shadow. You were always the most handsome, the most athletic, and the heir to the earldom to boot. I was the second son. A viscount only by the grace that father held two viscountcies and wanted both of his sons to bear titles.” He turned back to his brother and peered into his eyes. “But do you know something, James? I never cared. I never begrudged you any of it. I didn’t want to be a star rugby player, nor did I want any of the superficial, title-chasing women you always had preening and primping about you. Nor did I ever want the damned earldom.” “What did you want?” James asked softly. Oliver shrugged, though the gesture was far from nonchalant. “Acceptance. Love. Those things I never had.” “Mother and father adored you—” “That’s not what I mean,” Oliver interrupted him. He leaned back on the desk, half-seating himself on it. His expression and tone were deeply reflective. “I wanted it once—just once—from a woman.” James shook his head, not understanding. “Oliver, you have always attracted your fair share of female attention, I—”

“I have always attracted title-chasers and gold-diggers who were willing to overlook my penchant for philosophers and my dislike of town life to secure themselves into the upper echelons of British society. I have never,” he said adamantly, “attracted females who wanted me just because I was me.” Oliver didn’t leave his place at the desk, but he craned his neck to glance absently out the window. “ And then I met this woman, this beautiful, strange, fantastically odd woman who wanted me, Oliver Sebastian, from the start. She was a woman more at home in the country by the firth than in town, a woman who enjoyed debating Kant and Locke with me, and who didn’t love me despite of who I am but because of it.” He turned his face to gaze toward his brother once more. “I was jealous and possessive because this woman was the very person I had waited so very long to find and never really thought I would. It’s no excuse, but it is the truth.” James was quiet for a long time. When he spoke, he kept his voice as lowered as Oliver’s. “Is what Sunny said true, Oliver? Did she accept you from the beginning, but you never accepted her?” “No,” he said with much conviction, “I swear to you, on my honor, that is not the truth.” James nodded. “Then you must make her understand, for that is why she ran from you.” At the sight of Oliver wrinkling his brow, he plowed on. “Remember earlier when you asked me what I meant when I said that Sunny was running from a lifetime of fears?” “Yes. You never fully explained.” James steepled his fingers together on his lap as he considered his brother. “Oliver, you said you never felt accepted by a woman until you met Sunny, but Sunny never felt accepted by anyone outside of her sister and niece—period—until she moved to Blackshire.” “What do you mean?” he asked in growing trepidation. He had known Soleil bore scars. He had thought he’d known how deep they cut, but perhaps he didn’t. James took a deep breath as if steadying himself before imparting particularly horrific information. Oliver’s muscles tensed just watching him. “A few weeks ago I went to Witch’s Cupboard to visit with Sunny. She was her usual cheerful self when she saw me, inviting me to sit down and take tea with her. As we were talking,” he went on, “I noticed a faint scar at her temple. Have you seen it?” “Yes,” Oliver murmured. “Do you know how she got it?” he asked quietly. Oliver shook his head slightly, afraid of the answer. “No.” “When she was five-years-old, a group of older children chased her down, taunting her as they threw rocks at the witch.”

“Christ.” James locked eyes with his brother. “They eventually caught her. They spat at her and beat her until she was unconscious. She was in a coma for three days.” Oliver’s eyes teared up. His stomach lurched. He didn’t know if he could bear to hear anymore, but James continued on relentlessly. “It wasn’t the first time, nor the last, but definitely the worst in terms of physical scars. But emotionally…”—He shook his head—“Can you even begin to imagine what that would do to a child emotionally? Being shunned as a beast? A freak of nature?” “No,” he said softly, “I can’t.” “And yet,” James said wonderingly, “she never lost her bloom or her ability to see the good in people.” “No,” Oliver whispered raggedly, “she didn’t.” The brothers were quiet for a long time, contemplating everything that had just passed between them. Oliver felt like he was going to be sick. Irrationally, he wanted to find those children that had done her a harm, children who would now be adults near to his own age, and pound some sense into them. The cruelty. How could anyone raise their children to be so damned evil? Eventually it was James who broke the silence. “Do you see what I am trying to tell you, Oliver?” Oliver met his brother’s gaze and nodded. He had never felt lower or more wretched in his entire life. “Soleil never thought to meet a man who would accept her either. So when my temper got the better of me and I said those things I said, she took it to mean that I had never accepted who she was inside.” He shrugged his hands into his pants pockets and sighed. “A lifetime of fears,” he murmured. James left his brother to his thoughts for a long moment before saying anything further. When he did speak, he did so loud and eloquently, purposefully attempting to break through Oliver’s reverie and inspire him to action. “So what will you do about it?” Oliver snapped his head up and regarded James. He took one of his hands out of his pockets and balled it into a fist full of resolve. “I’m going to make her understand that I accept her, that I love her not in despite of who she is, but because of it.” “Good. Then you best get busy.” “She isn’t back yet.” “Don’t you want to be prepared when she does come back?” Oliver lifted a curious brow. “Of course. What are you saying?” James pinched his lips into a condescending frown. “I’m saying you smell,” he muttered. “Take a

bloody bath.”

***** Soleil leaned back on her elbows, reclining onto one of the cool rock formations that comprised Stonehenge. She gazed upwards into the night. Moonbeams shone down, penetrating the mist swirling about the air enough to emit a wan light. François curled up beside her, meowing discontentedly. Soleil puckered her lips into a frown. “Some Familiar you have turned out to be. You’re supposed to be mine, which, just for the record, means that you take my side in all things.” She harrumphed after he purred out something sarcastic. “I thought you didn’t even like Oliver. So why oh why have you spent the last two weeks trying to get me to go back to Blackshire…and to him?” François gazed into her eyes and mewed. Soleil reached out and fixed his eye patch since it was a tad crooked. She sighed dejectedly. “I know Blackshire is our home. We’ll go back soon. I just need to prepare myself for it. I’m not certain that I can handle seeing Oliver yet, knowing he and I are no longer getting married.” François hissed out a couple of choice thoughts on that subject. Soleil groaned and fell dramatically back onto the rock. “You weren’t there, François,” she said morosely. “You don’t know what you’re saying. It was more than just a fight. Oliver proved that he can never accept me.” She bit her lip. Hadn’t he? François raised a brow at her indecisiveness. He pounced on it, expounding on the facts until she could bear to hear no more. “Oh alright!” she exclaimed. Soleil threw her arms over her chest and scowled. “We’ll head back to Blackshire this moon-rising,” she decided. “If Oliver wishes to talk, I won’ t turn him away. But,” she warned her Familiar stiffly, “I will not be the one to approach him.” But what if he never approaches me. That consideration was there in her mind, but she refused to dwell on it. The thought was a distressing one. Perhaps it would be for the best if that happened, she tried to convince herself. Goddess knows she had all the heartbreak on her plate that she could bear for the moment. François purred approvingly. He jumped onto her stomach and licked her face. Soleil raised a brow. “I’m not doing this for Oliver,” she sniffed. “I’m doing it for us. Blackshire is our home and I’ll be damned if I’ll let him run us out of it.” The thought that Oliver had never tried to do so ran through her mind, but she squelched it mercilessly. She didn’t want to have any good feelings at all toward Oliver or his damn alpha male aura. Their break-up was still too new, too fresh and painful. Soleil needed to be angry. She needed to loathe him. Right about now a little dose of good

old-fashioned hate would have been a goddess-send. So why couldn’t she conjure any up? Why was it that regardless to all that had happened between them, she would still give anything to be lying in his arms right now, making love with him on the rock upon which she lay? Soleil groaned as she gazed up at the stars above twinkling through the blanket of mist enveloping Stonehenge. She couldn’t run from Oliver forever. He lived in Blackshire. She lived in Blackshire. Neither of them had any desire whatsoever to pick up and leave it to start anew elsewhere. That meant that eventually they would run into each other. It was a small village after all. Well, Soleil thought with a resigned sigh, might as well go back and get it over with now. There was no point in letting her café go to pot just because her feelings were bruised. She’d been hurt before and she’d survived it. She would survive this too. François nestled his face into the padding of her cleavage. He purred contentedly, as if to say, yeah babe, now we’re talking.

Chapter 18 “She’s back.” James wheeled himself into the dining room where his father and brother had just commenced breakfasting. “Soleil is back in Blackshire.” The earl’s spoon made a clanging sound as he dropped it carelessly to the tabletop. “You’re certain?” “Yes.” Oliver’s stomach unknotted considerably just knowing as much. He might not have her back yet, but she was in Blackshire. That was a start. “When did she return?” “Late last night, or so I’m told.” His jaw clenched. “Was she alone?” he bit out. James rolled his eyes. “Yes. Oliver, you best rid yourself of your jealousy before going to see her. You’ve already got one foot planted in the proverbial grave of your relationship. You don’t want Sunny to push you into it and start shoveling dirt atop your head.” Oliver glowered at his brother. “Point taken,” he growled. The earl chuckled. He jabbed a finger in Oliver’s direction. “Best not provoke the beast, James. Lord Grumpy can take but so much ribbing these days.” James grinned. He saluted his father and brother good-naturedly, then wheeled himself around and toward the doors. “I’ll see you both later.” “Where are you going?” Oliver called after him. “Witch’s Cupboard.” “Why?” When James reached the doors to the dining room, a servant opened them for him. He turned to grin at his brother. “Someone needs to soften her up where you’re concerned. Might as well be me. And what better way to ply her in favor of the Sebastian men than to help her work the counter during the early morning rush?” Oliver smiled. “True, that.” Charles Sebastian glanced at his unfinished plate of eggs and kippers. He frowned thoughtfully. “I daresay Sunny will have something far more appetizing to eat in her café.” He cleared his throat as he alighted to his feet. “I’ll drive you over James.” Oliver chuckled at that. “You’re going to help with the early morning rush, father?” The earl’s back stiffened defensively. His face turned a dull red. “I have been known to lift a finger

now and again, Oliver.” He rolled his eyes. “Besides, if something is too heavy,”—he coughed discreetly into his hand—“I can always ask Emelda to summon it for me,” he muttered under his breath. James and Oliver exchanged an amused look. “Tell me father,” Oliver asked, genuinely interested in his answer, “when do you plan to make Emelda our step mum?” The earl’s face went from ruddy to crimson in a heartbeat. “And what makes you think I plan to marry her?” he asked rather pompously. Oliver’s expression was one of bored amusement. “James and I found the marriage license in your rooms.” Their father’s back went ramrod straight. He sniffed at that. “Don’t you boys think I’m a bit old to go rifling through my things as if I was a lad of twelve hiding dirty books from his parents?” “We weren’t rifling,” James said with a grin. “We were searching for that license specifically.” The earl took the time to glare at his wayward sons before he strode toward the doors. “I shall ask her in my own good time,” he declared. He followed that announcement up with a regal harrumph. “Better not wait too long,” Oliver quipped, “you’re not getting any younger and neither is Emelda.” The earl lifted a lordly brow. He could give it as well as he got it. “You are hardly in a position to start handing out advice on my love life, Lord Grumpy. I daresay none of London’s premier newspapers shall be contacting you to write a column dispensing your gems of romantic wisdom to their reading populaces.” James threw his head back and laughed. Oliver merely glowered at him. “Don’t worry, Oliver. Father and I shall expound upon your many attributes to Sunny whilst we are helping her with her customers. We’ll even make up a few attributes if we have to.” The earl harrumphed. “If you have half a brain, my boy, don’t show up empty handed.” At Oliver’s raised brow, his father sighed like a martyr. “Bring flowers you lackwit.”

***** “François and I traveled all over England. I saw so many things I’d only read about up until now. It was totally stellar.” Soleil smiled at Charles and James during a rare free moment. The rush was worse than usual this morning since Witch’s Cupboard had been closed for two full weeks. Soleil was very grateful for the men’s offer to pitch in. She had to smile at the sight the earl made. His shirtsleeves were rolled up above his forearms as he packaged up a loaf of sweetbread and two jars of dipping chocolate for a customer. He was whistling as he did it. If Soleil hadn’t missed her guess, Charles Sebastian actually enjoyed working in her café.

“What all did you see?” James asked as he rang up the order on the cash register and accepted the pounds the customer handed to him. Soleil smiled at the memories. She wiped at the counter with a dishrag as she spoke. “Buckingham palace, a few museums, a couple of castles, and our last stop was Stonehenge. That,” she said wistfully, “ was stellar to the thirteenth power. I can’t wait for Luna and Star to get here. I am definitely going to take my two favorite witches there to see it.” At Emelda’s harrumph, Soleil paled. “I meant my three favorite witches! Oh Emelda, you know you ’re like a mother to me!” She nodded definitively. “As you will be to Luna. And Star would dearly love a grandmother,” she added wistfully. James’ eyebrows shot up. “She never knew your own mother?” “Unfortunately, no, not really. My mother loved her very much, but she died a few days before Star’ s fourth birthday. What memories my niece has of her grandmother are few and quite vague.” “How sad,” he murmured. Soleil nodded. Her smile was sweet, but bespoke of homesickness. “She has my mother’s eyes, though. Violet just like the rest of us.” She shrugged. “We like to think of it as mother’s gift to Star, making certain she’ll never forget her.” “Is the little girl’s hair a dark gold like yours?” James asked. He couldn’t say why he wanted to know, but he was genuinely curious. “No, it’s paler.” Soleil’s expression radiated thoughtfulness. “Genetically, she must have gotten her father’s hair because it looks nothing like mine or Luna’s, Luna’s hair being pitch black.” She put down the washrag and grinned. “Star’s hair looks a lot like yours actually. A lighter gold than mine. She even has the same chestnut highlights that you do.” Soleil’s smile faltered a bit as she remembered the telephone conversation she’d had with her sister a couple of weeks ago. His name was James. And he was English. She shook her head to clear it. It was impossible. They couldn’t be the same man. James Sebastian would never marry a woman, impregnate her, then take off, never to be heard from again. He didn’t have so despicable an aura. Soleil put the thought from her mind. There were more men named James in Blackshire alone than she could count. The goddess only knew how many there were in all of England. No, Luna’s husband and James Sebastian could not be the same man. So why did the connection continue to plague her aura?

The telephone rang, snapping Soleil from her upsetting thoughts. She summoned it into her hand. “ Witch’s Cupboard. Oh hello Mr. Reilly. Yes, of course. I just made three of them this morning.” She picked up a pencil and jotted down the rest of his order. “By four thirty? You got it. See you then.” Soleil ended the connection and summoned the phone back to its console. She pretended to wipe a counter as she edged closer to the topic she wanted to broach. The early morning rush was ending, bringing with it the chance to talk. “So James,” she asked in what she hoped was an extremely bored tone, “how’s Oliver?” Before he could answer, the man in question opened the front door to the café and strode slowly in, a bouquet of flowers and a wrapped gift in hand. Soleil’s breath caught in her throat. He looked so handsome. Wearing a simple, but finely cut pair of black trousers and an olive colored shirt, he was the epitome of masculine elegance. Every day she’d been gone from Oliver’s side had seemed longer than the last. Seeing him in the flesh made her heart ache a thousand times worse. Truth be told, she hadn’t expected him to confront her at all, let alone come to her bearing gifts. She had naturally assumed that once Oliver had time to reconsider what she’d said to him at the party about acceptance, or more to the point his lack of it, he would have agreed and moved on. Perhaps he had moved on, she thought grimly. Maybe he was here out of a desire to be friends. Oh joy. How completely non-stellar. “Hello, Sunny.” She cleared her throat nervously. “Oliver.” He made his way toward her standing position and held out the bouquet of flowers and the wrapped gift. “These are for you,” he said softly, his gaze never wavering from her face. Soleil got the distinct impression that Oliver was memorizing every angle of her features and expression as if they were water and he a man dying of thirst. No, she told herself firmly. She was just being romantic. And an outrageously mushy one at that. “Thank-you.” Soleil placed the package on top of the counter, then turned back to Oliver. Neither one of them said anything for a tense moment. Unable to endure the silence, which was weighing down on her like a guillotine ready to fall without warning, Soleil smiled weakly and inclined her head. “I’ll go put these in water. Thanks for stopping by. I—I better get back to work.” She whirled around to move away from him. “Sunny—” “Yes?” She turned half-way back and cocked her head. Oliver gulped nervously, his Adam’s apple working in time with his swallow. “Might I have a word

with you?” He glanced to where his father and brother stood, hanging on his every word, and glared at them. “Alone, if you will.” “I—I really should be getting back to—” “Please,” he said softly. He gave her the puppy-dog look, though this time it was an expression borne of sheer genuineness. Soleil looked wildly about her until her gaze settled on James and Charles. Realistically, she knew they’d never aid her against Oliver’s wishes, but she still held on tightly to the flicker of hope that they might. “I can’t just leave James and Ch—” “Oh do go on,” James quickly interjected. He shooed her away with his hand. “Father and I can handle whatever comes up while you and Oliver have your chat. Isn’t that so, father?” “Quite right.” The earl inclined his head. “I’ve a knack for this, I do believe. Sunny, you have found yourself a new order bagger. Luckily for you,” he added with a sniff, “I’m rich as Midas and will accept free food in lieu of wages.” Soleil and Oliver couldn’t help but to exchange an amused look. Soleil shook her head and grinned at the earl. “You’re hired. Where, by the way, did Emelda disappear to?” “She slipped out while you were on the phone. Had a client I believe.” He harrumphed. “A rakish looking fellow. Best keep his aura and his hands to himself.” He wiggled his eyebrows mischievously. “Or I’ll set you after him, my dear. Lord knows Jane could use a companion.” They all chuckled at that. “Indeed father,” James agreed with a sarcastically solemn look. Soleil giggled. When the moment of shared humor passed, she peered into the expectant faces of the Sebastian men and relented with a sigh. Oliver wasn’t going to leave until he said whatever it was he had come here to say. She handed the bouquet of flowers off to James, murmuring to him to put them in water. “Give me a minute Oliver.” He nodded. “Of course. Take your time.” Soleil smiled hesitantly up to him, then took off her apron and threw it at James. Picking up a few scraps of paper, she walked briskly toward the earl. “Here are three more orders ready to be wrapped up. Oh make that two. Mr. Reilly won’t be here for his until four thirty.” “Got it.” She craned her neck and stared at the slips of paper. Crinkling up her nose, she glanced at Oliver’s father. “Can you read that Charley? I can’t even read it and I wrote it,” she muttered. The earl looked down at the scraps of parchment. His expression was reminiscent of the one she and Luna had worn when they’d visited a museum showcasing Egyptian artifacts together and had tried

unsuccessfully to use their magic to decipher the hieroglyphics carved into the sculptures. “I say,” he sputtered, “I fear I can’t.” Soleil grinned. Oliver watched from the sidelines totally entranced. Whether they knew it or not, they made the perfect picture of a father-daughter domestic scene. And then his brother wheeled toward them and the image grew more distinct. The only piece of it missing was Emelda, and Soleil’s sister and niece. And himself. In that moment, Oliver knew he would never give up until Soleil Xavier was his wife. He would hound her without mercy if need be. Though he prayed it would never come to that. He wanted her to come to him out of love, not because she couldn’t stand hearing him beg any longer. Though at this point, he’d take whatever he could get, he thought glumly. “Mrs. Appleby will be here in about thirty minutes for this order.” Soleil pushed a pad of paper and a pencil toward James, deciding he could probably jot it down more legibly than she could. “I remember it verbatim.” She held up a hand and began ticking the list off on her fingers. “A sweet potato pie, two loaves of French bread, a pound of whole Irish Crème flavored coffee beans, and another pound of whole bean Colombian roast…” Soleil recited the other customer’s order, reminded James to answer the phone if anyone should call, then left him and Charles to man Witch’s Cupboard. “Don’t forget I’m right outside if you need me.” “Sunny,” the earl sputtered, “we are not idiots, though I daresay James can give one that impression. ” Soleil chuckled at James’ eye rolling gesture. “Okay, then I’ll leave you two to handle the rest.” She poured two mugs of steaming Cinnamon Crème coffee, handed one to Oliver, and gestured for him to follow her outside. When they were seated across from one another at a table on the patio, Soleil grew more and more nervous. Oliver was looking at her in such a weird way. A way that made it impossible for her to decipher its meaning. She cleared her throat. “I believe you wanted to talk?” She blew at her coffee and waited on pins and needles for him to respond. Oliver sat silently for a bit, collecting his thoughts and simply enjoying the experience of looking at Soleil. He had missed her more than he could put into words. When he could no longer stand the physical distance between them, he reached for her hand and gently clasped it in his own. “Oliver,” she said hoarsely. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Please don’t do this,” she whispered. He clutched her hand tighter, as if afraid to let go. “You were wrong, Soleil Xavier. You were very wrong.”

Her eyes flew open. “What do you mean?” she asked in a small voice. “I’ve always accepted you.” “Oliver, please…” “No,” he said firmly, more harshly than he’d intended. “These are not mere words I speak, Sunny, but an expression of my heart. Please do not stifle them.” Her violet eyes widened. She felt hope surge through her heart and she didn’t want it there, didn’t want to open herself up to any more hurt. “I want to believe you, Oliver, but I…” “Then believe me, Sunny. Believe in me. Believe in us.” She shook her head, though the action was forced. “I—I can’t…” “Yes,” he said adamantly, “you can.” Oliver squeezed her hand and waited for her to make eye contact. “I don’t know why I said the things I did at our engagement party because I didn’t mean them. Not really. Not deep inside.” Oliver reached across the table and took her other hand so that he held both of her hands in his. “I’ ve had a long time to consider my actions—too long,” he said pointedly, “and I will admit to you that while I was briefly shocked at just how much magic you wield inside, I never thought any less of you because of it. If anything I thought more of you and I suppose that frightened me.” He chuckled self-depreciatingly. “I suppose it’s rather like having a wife who has a black belt in the martial arts when the most her husband can do is box. It’s not that her husband wouldn’t be fiercely proud to call a woman so accomplished his own, yet in his weakest, most testosterone-poisoned moments, he might momentarily grow weary.” Oliver squeezed both of her hands. “But he will always be proud,” he said softly. “Do you understand that?” Soleil felt tears gathering at the backs of her eyes. She was afraid that if she attempted to speak, she ’d end up sobbing. She nodded instead. “I love you, Sunny. With all that I am, I love you.” “Oliver.” She blinked away the tears threatening to fall. “Say no more just now.” Oliver released her hands and rose to his feet. Soleil’s eyes widened in astonishment. She was about to ask why he was leaving, but he held up a palm to forestall her words. “I came here with the intention of getting you back into my life at all costs, even if I had to manipulate you to do it.” He shook his head slightly. “I don’t want that between us, Sunny. Not now or ever.” Oliver took her hand in his and drew it up to his mouth for a brief kiss. He closed his eyes to savor the feel of her silky flesh pressed against his lips, simultaneously praying that this wouldn’t be the last

chance he was given to do so. He met her gaze doggedly. “I want you to come to me not out of coercion, but because it’s what you feel to be right in your heart. I want your love, Sunny. I want all of you. And I want it freely.” His smile was at once warm and pained, as if he feared he’d never get the things he most coveted. “I want the magic and the everyday things, the smiles and the frowns. I want you when you’re happy and when you’re down in the dumps, when you’re spell casting and when you’re not. I want to make love to you every night for the rest of our lives. I want you to carry my babies in your belly, then raise them and love them with me. I want to grow old by your side, praising God every day for the rest of my life for giving me so wonderful a gift as you.” Tears streamed down Soleil’s cheeks unchecked. She could no longer control them and no longer tried to. “I want it all,” Oliver said simply. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” He reached into his pocket and set his grandmother’s antique engagement ring on the table in front of her. “I pray your thoughts lead you back to me.” Through eyes blinded by tears, Soleil watched him walk away. She never removed her gaze from him until he was in his Mercedes and driving away from Witch’s Cupboard. Picking up the engagement ring she’d taken off at their betrothal party, she bit her lip as she pressed it into the palm of her hand. Did he mean it? Was Oliver truly proud of her abilities? Did he really love her? Soleil sighed, swiping away the teardrops from her cheeks as she did so. Now wasn’t the time to think things through. This moon-rising, when she was alone, that was when she would do so. Placing the priceless piece of jewelry on her ring finger—the place it most wanted to be—she took a steadying breath and stood up to finish today’s work. When she spun on her heel to go back inside, she started at the sight that greeted her. Soleil folded her arms under her breasts and lifted a regal brow at the three faces pressed against the café’s glass windows, fogging it up as the trio apparently tried to talk and watch what had transpired outside simultaneously. She heard Emelda’s muffled warning that they’d best move away from the windows before they were spotted, then the three faces disappeared from sight. Soleil shook her head and ambled toward the front door. When she got back inside, her expression was bemused. The trio was acting as though they’d done nothing wrong. Emelda cleared her throat. “I best get back tae my client.” She inclined her head, then took off faster than Soleil had ever seen the surly witch move in her life.

“Father,” James said a little too loudly, his voice oddly inflected, “let me help you package up Mrs. Appleby’s order.” “Of course,” the earl intoned in an equally odd, raised voice. “A fine plan from a fine son.” “Do you really think me a fine son?” James asked in feigned surprise. “Thank-you, father, for I realize there is no son finer than Oliver Sebastian, Viscount Blackshire.” Soleil crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. James’ poorly inflected diatribe made him sound like he was reading from a pre-written script. He didn’t have what it took to become an actor, that was for sure. “Yes James. That is…” The earl flipped over the piece of paper he was clutching in his hand. “ …true.” He cleared his throat. “I daresay any woman fortunate enough to marry my Oliver shan’t be regretting her decision.” Soleil rolled her eyes. This was just too much. “I agree…” James continued on. Good goddess, Soleil thought, he couldn’t even say he agreed with something without it sounding superficial. Nope. James Sebastian would definitely never be nominated for an Oscar. But then again, neither would his father. “…oh, what lucky witch will claim his…” James flipped over his piece of paper. “…heart?” “An interesting question,” the earl intoned as he read on, “it will take a special witch indeed to claim the heart of a man like Oliver, renowned for his intellect and legendary powders.” Powders? “Prowess,” James muttered under his breath, “legendary prowess.” “Quite right. His legendary prowess.” The earl cleared his throat. “I say James,” he continued on, inflecting his voice at all the wrong times, “do you remember when Oliver won that spelling-bee in the—” “Oh give me a break!” Soleil screeched, unable to endure another moment of their badly scripted play. She was grimly satisfied when their faces turned a flaming red. “Why Sunny,” James said a little too cheerfully, “we didn’t hear you come in. Have you been standing there long, my dear? How did it go with Oliver?” She briefly flirted with the idea of calling their bluff, but decided in the end that it wasn’t worth it. Besides, they were only trying to be helpful. The Sebastian men only wanted to bring she and Oliver back together again. Their actions were kind of sweet when she thought about it in that light. Soleil stiffened her spine regally and sauntered toward the counter where the wrapped gift Oliver had left behind awaited her unraveling. “He gave me a lot to think about,” she sniffed. “Which I will do

this moon-rising…alone.” One eyebrow raised, she looked pointedly at both men. James and his father exchanged a glance that spoke volumes. For two intelligent males, she couldn’t believe that they actually thought for even a moment that their stupid little show had caused her to relent from her previous stance. Ah well…there was no point in disabusing them of that ridiculous idea. “So what did Oliver get you?” the earl asked, genuine curiosity threading the question. He pointed toward the package. “And ideas?” “No. I don’t know.” Soleil unwrapped the present slowly. She carefully picked at the tape and lifted it gently, for some reason or another not wanting to tear the paper the gift was ensconced in. The first thing she found when she opened up the small box was a brief note penned in Oliver’s hand writing. It was short, simple, and to the point. I love you. With trembling hands, she ripped open the envelope beneath it and pulled out two first class airline tickets. To Bali. Soleil blinked. At first she didn’t understand the significance of this gift beyond the fact that Oliver must want to go away with her. And then she saw the departure dates printed on the tickets themselves and she understood completely. November first through the fourteenth. The day after they were supposed to be married. Their honeymoon. Soleil muffled a sob as she clutched the tickets against her chest. What was she going to do?

Chapter 19 Oliver glanced around the empty schoolroom and sighed. Why his father wanted to meet with him at Blackshire’s only school, on a Saturday evening when it was closed no less, was beyond his fathoming capabilities. Perhaps he wanted him to cut another check to help fund some program or another. Who knows. The earl had been quite secretive about the entire thing. Very unlike him. Oliver took a seat in one of the tiny chairs in the small classroom. He was far too big for such a small chair, but it seemed sturdy enough to hold his weight. Glancing about the equally small room, the sight of the globe in the corner and the scent of newly acquired textbooks made him wax sentimental. Oliver smiled. He could remember his days as a young school lad all too well. And, of course, how could he forget Miss Marplewood, the teacher he’d had at age eight whose shapely legs and high heel clad feet had given him his very first erection? Oliver glanced down at his lap. He was amused to note that a schoolroom could still make him painfully erect. Unfortunate as it was in those days, ever since Miss Marplewood’s class he hadn’t been able to see a woman point a ruler toward a map without all but coming in his pants. Of course, he thought nostalgically, not even Miss Marplewood could compare to Soleil. He’d give anything to see her point a ruler toward a map. He would, that is, if she were speaking to him. It had been two full days and she still was yet to come to him. Every time Oliver considered the possibility that she might not come to him at all, his stomach knotted and he became morbidly depressed. Lord Grumpy, his father continued to call him. How apropos. It was important to Oliver that Soleil come to him of her own volition. Very important. But the more he thought on it the more he decided that he could live with it if he had to hunt her down and bring her back, so long as it meant that she was his. Soleil was his mate. His other half. The woman who made him a better man. She simply could not walk away from him. He couldn’t stand to think about how dismal life would seem if she did so. Oliver was pulled from his thoughts at the sound of the schoolroom door creaking open. He glanced toward it and frowned. “It’s about time, father,” he muttered, “you’ve kept me waiting for…” Oliver gulped. His eyes widened. He watched as if from outside of his body as Soleil strode purposefully into the room and shut the door behind her. She was alone. Alone and dressed up like…Miss Marplewood. Oliver’s penis thickened to its full length and breadth. “Good morning class. Today we are going to start off with a brief geography lesson before moving on to anatomy.” “Good god in heaven,” Oliver muttered. He squirmed in his seat. He was close to coming already.

“What was that, Lord Blackshire?” “Nothing,” he squeaked. Soleil nodded. Dressed in a plain Jane shirt and a no nonsense skirt that came to mid-thigh, plus black high heels that made Oliver grit his teeth in anticipation, her schoolmarm ensemble was completed with a hairstyle that pulled her golden ringlets into a tight bun. She even had a pair of too big black spectacles perched on the end of her adorable little nose. Soleil pulled down the overhead map. Oliver clutched either side of his seat until his knuckles were white. “Now then,” Soleil said shrilly, in her best Miss Marplewood imitation, “let us pick up where we left off yesterday.” Whipping out a ruler Oliver hadn’t even seen until that very moment, she gave him her back as she pointed to a spot on the map. “Does anyone know where I’m pointing to? Oliver?” Oliver swiped at his perspiring brow. “England,” he ground out. “A very good boy,” she praised him. “You’ll be rewarded for that.” His muscles tensed in reaction to her words. His penis throbbed when she wantonly tapped the ruler against the map again. “What am I pointing to now, young man?” He groaned. “B-Blackshire.” “Very good.” The ruler made a thumping sound as it fell to the floor. Soleil pretended surprise. Her lips formed a perfect O. “I’ve dropped my ruler. Let me bend over to pick it up.” “Sweet Jesus,” Oliver mumbled. This was his most arousing fantasy since boyhood. The ultimate wet dream. Soleil was giving it life. He was going to come. Oliver’s throat felt parched as he watched her bend over, her backside facing him, to collect it. He noticed immediately that she had nothing on underneath. Just like the fantasy. Two glistening folds of swollen pink flesh were completely visible, bared for his inspection. “Sweet Jesus.” Soleil retrieved the ruler. She stood upright and glanced over her shoulder. “What was that, Lord Blackshire?” “Nothing.” Soleil pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose. She turned around to face him fully. “That’s it for geography today. It’s time to move on to anatomy.” Oliver’s jaw clenched. He was so close to coming he feared doing it in his trousers. “Today we shall learn about the female form.” She handed the ruler over to Oliver, then took off the black spectacles and laid them down on the desk behind her. She slowly began unbuttoning her shirt. “

Since the anatomically correct doll didn’t arrive here in time for today’s lesson, I’ve decided to use my own body as a reference. Does anybody have any objections? Lord Blackshire?” “None,” he growled. She nodded. “Good.” Soleil continued to unbutton her blouse. Since he was able to see her nipples through the fabric, he guessed correctly that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. Again, just like in his fantasy. Oliver sucked in his breath. “Now then,” she droned on, affecting Miss Marplewood’s nasal tone rather well, “these are referred to as breasts.” Soleil removed the blouse, exposing her impressive set of breasts fully to view. “Lord Blackshire, since you answered the geography questions correctly, I will give you first crack at answering the anatomy questions as well.” Oliver could only nod. He knew his eyes were wide and glazed over with lust, but he couldn’t revert them back to normal size and shape right now if his very life depended upon it. He could only hope that his drooling wasn’t visible. Soleil dropped her blouse on the teacher’s desk and sauntered over to stand before him. Her large pink areolas capped off by erect buds of a darker pink were at eye level with Oliver’s gaze. Contrasted as they were against her tanned skin, the sight never failed to put him in a sucking mood. He opened his mouth to do so. She slapped him on the nose. He yelped. “Now then,” Soleil continued. “If you answer me correctly, you will be duly rewarded.” She unwound her hair from the schoolmarm bun and shook out her mane of dark gold curls. She had the urge to scratch her scalp, which had begun to itch from the coif’s tight pull, but resisted it. Scratching one’s head had never been considered a seductive gesture. Very non-stellar. She thrust her chest up closer for his inspection. “Point to the area of the female anatomy referred to as the areolas. Touch only the areolas, Lord Blackshire, and no more.” Oliver raised the index fingers of both hands and reverently traced the outline of the silky pink flesh surrounding her nipples. Now it was Miss Marplewood, er, Soleil, that was sucking in her breath. “Very good,” she breathed out. Soleil cleared her throat. She blinked her eyes a few times in rapid succession. “Now then,” she squeaked, “you are instructed to point out the area of the female breasts commonly called the nipples.” Oliver grunted. He did more than just point them out. He took them between thumbs and forefingers and massaged them expertly, from base to tip, tugging gently at the crests, just like she liked. Soleil momentarily forgot the role she was playing as she closed her eyes and whimpered. Her head fell back as the erotic massage continued, elongating her nipples into tight nubs of flesh. Oliver used his

hands to push her breasts closer together, then buried his face in her chest. She sucked in her breath when she felt the first contact of tongue to nipple. “Mmm.” Oliver feasted at the chest he’d been denied the pleasure of tasting for over two weeks. He continued to massage one nipple while he drew the other into his mouth and suckled from it. Soleil’s belly coiled in reaction. She moaned as he continued, then groaned when he switched nipples and suckled from the other one. When Oliver raised his head a few minutes later, he was panting heavily. Soleil licked her dry lips, blinking rapidly afterwards to regain her senses. “Now then,” she croaked, “you knew all the answers to those questions. Let us move on to a more complex area of the female anatomy.” Oliver’s nostrils flared in anticipation. He watched in agony as Soleil turned around and unzipped the back of the skirt. Slowly. Provocatively. Zippers and red nails. A new facet to the fantasy, but one that was definitely staying in it from now on. The skirt fell to the ground moments later, pooling at her ankles and highlighting the fact that she wore high heels, stockings, and a garter, but nothing else. She wiggled her rounded buttocks in his face, causing Oliver’s breathing to grow labored. Soleil waved a hand to summon the teacher’s desk closer. When it came to a screeching halt before her, she turned around and offered Oliver a view of the front that left nothing to the imagination. “Now then,” she said as she leaned back into the desk with her legs braced apart. “Can anybody point out my mons pubis? Oliver?” Oliver made a very Neanderthal sounding grunt. He reached out and ran his fingers through the triangle of golden curls at the apex of her thighs. The feel of it beneath his hand turned him on so powerfully that he had to close his eyes briefly to steady himself. When he opened them again, his breathing was still choppy. “Is this correct?” he gritted out. “Mmm. I mean yes.” Soleil forcibly removed his hand from her crotch. She jumped up enough to seat herself fully on the desk behind her, then splayed her legs wide. She reveled in the sound of Oliver’s breath hitching. “Since you located the mons pubis so well, I will let you point out the area of the female anatomy known as the vulva.” Oliver did so, luxuriating in the feel of her puffy folds of flesh beneath his fingertips. He massaged them expertly, then traced a finger toward the opening slightly beneath them. “I didn’t say you could touch the vagina yet,” Soleil admonished him breathlessly. “So send me to detention,” he growled. Oliver placed two fingers at her wet opening and eased them inside of her body. Soleil closed her eyes and moaned as he worked his fingers in and out, slowly and methodically. “

Very good,” she sighed. “And now the million dollar, er pound, question…” She splayed her legs wider, wordlessly inviting him to explore her further. “Where is the clitoris?” For an answer, Oliver fastened his mouth over the body part in question and suckled it vigorously. Soleil groaned loudly, bucking up off of the desk. That only made him suck harder. He continued his erotic assault, moving two fingers in and out of her vagina while his tongue, lips, and teeth paid homage to her clitoris. Soleil ran her fingers through his hair and pressed his face in closer to her body. Her moans of pleasure were music to his ears. “Mmmmmm.” The sound vibrated against her clitoris, sending her moans into a high-pitched fever. Oliver continued to lap at her, teasing her toward climax in all the ways he’d learned over the past couple of months to master her body. He knew just how much pressure to apply, when to increase it, and what kind of motion to give to it. A minute later, her scream of ecstasy told him he’d done his job well. He raised his head when her tremors ended and fastened his mouth around a nipple that had gone taut and erect as a result of her orgasm. Soleil closed her eyes as she struggled to steady her breathing. The most languid, sensuous feeling stole over her entire being, permeating every part of her. She lay before Oliver, eyes closed, legs splayed wide, as her breathing slowly returned to normal and he sucked on her nipple. Her eyes flew open wide, then narrowed in desire, when she felt his penis thrust into her body. Oliver seated himself fully, groaning as he jammed himself into her until she took him clear to the base. Fully clothed, his pants rode low on his hips as he began to thrust in and out of her in long, deep, full strokes. “I love you Sunny,” he ground out, “tell me this means what I pray to god it means.” Soleil wrapped her legs around his hips and locked them there. She moaned as he continued to rock in and out of her. “I love you too, Oliver,” she said on an expelled moan, “and it means that you will marry me if I have to drag you to the altar.” “Not necessary,” he whispered hoarsely, picking up the pace of his thrusts. “I’ll be there willingly.” “Oliver?” “Yes?” “I quit taking the pill.” Soleil’s breath caught when he pummeled a particularly sensitive spot of the female anatomy. A moment later she was flying apart, climaxing all over again. “Good,” he said through clenched teeth. Oliver thrust into her twice more, then closed his eyes and spurted his self deep inside of her womb. Soleil continued to rock her hips at him, eliciting from his body all he had to give. Oliver groaned, giving himself up to the longest, fiercest orgasm of his life. A few minutes later when his breathing had steadied, Oliver looked Soleil in the eyes and kissed her adoringly on the lips. “I love you,” he murmured. “Now and forever, I will always love you.”

Soleil smiled gently. Semi-flaccid, he was still fully embedded within her. “And I love you.” Her smile turned wistful. “I missed you O-man. And your powders.” His brow lifted inquisitively. “My powders?” “Never mind. I’ll explain later.” She grinned devilishly as she felt him harden inside of her. “Tell me,” she teased, “did I make a convincing Miss Marplewood?” He chuckled. “Miss Marplewood couldn’t have made a more convincing Miss Marplewood.” He flicked a nipple. “Or a more delicious one.” “Oh really?” “Mmm. Really.” Oliver began to move in and out of her slowly. Soleil’s breath caught. There wasn’t any feeling all the world over that was better than having the man she loved buried deep inside of her body. “Stellar” didn’t even begin to describe it. Reaching up, she cupped Oliver’s face and grinned. “I think it’s time for detention, Lord Blackshire. ” “Ah, Lady Blackshire, I thought you’d never say so.”

Chapter 20 Soleil squinted her eyes a bit as she read from the departures and arrivals board in London’s Gatwick airport. “I guess Luna and Star’s plane is going to be here early.” She grinned, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Oh Oliver, I miss them so much! I can’t wait to see them get off that plane!” Oliver rubbed her shoulders absently as he smiled. “No doubt.” He gleaned the information concerning the correct gate from the lit board, then tapped her gently on the back. “Come, darling, the gate is this way.” Soleil threaded her fingers through Oliver’s larger ones and allowed him to lead her down a series of corridors until they arrived in the correct one. “Just over there.” Oliver pointed toward the desired gate. He squeezed Soleil’s hand as they continued their promenade down the hall. “You know,” he said ruefully, “I’ll always carry a fondness for airports since I never would have met you without one.” “Me too.” She grinned. “I remember the conversation I had with my sister Luna just before I got on the plane in Cleveland. Luna told me that she saw ‘olive’ in my future.” She chuckled. “I remember asking her if she meant the color or the food.” She ran her tongue across her lower lip and smiled coyly. “ I guess she meant the food.” “Oh really?” he murmured. “And how am I like food?” “Sweet and yummy.” Soleil threw him a rather seductive look. Ever since she’d pulled off the Miss Marplewood stunt, she’d felt every inch the temptress to be reckoned with. At least where Oliver was concerned, which was all that mattered. “And you have a lollipop I’m particularly partial to the flavor of.” Said lollipop grew instantly erect. “Sunny,” he muttered under his breath, pulling her closer, “don’t get me aroused in the bloody airport.” Soleil giggled. Being a sex vixen was totally stellar. “If you’re a good boy and help my sister and niece with their bags, I might be persuaded to recite from Kant while I do a little”—she raised her arms and thumped her hips into Oliver’s—“bump and grind strip tease later this moon-rising.” “You’re on,” he growled. They strolled hand-in-hand as they drew closer to the gate. Oliver’s brow came together thoughtfully. “Come to think of it, I was also given a prediction before I stepped on the plane that fateful day,” he mused. “A moaning woman walked up to me, clapped a hand to her forehead, and told me she saw a lot of sex in my future.” He chuckled. “Later, when I realized that your initials spelled SEX, I thought back on that moment.” Soleil gasped. She stopped walking and whirled around to meet Oliver’s gaze. “Did she have black

hair and violet eyes?” “I don’t recall the eye color, but yes, her hair was definitely black.” “Was she holding her hand out in front of her and twisting it, as if pantomiming the act of tuning a radio dial?” Oliver’s eyes widened. “Yes! How did you know that?” Soleil’s smile was brilliant. “That was my sister Luna!” Oliver blinked. He blinked again. The woman he’d thought was an escapee from a mental health ward was to become his sister-in-law? Well, he thought bemusedly, that certainly figured. “Really?” he said as he took her hand and started them walking again. “I take it then that she is also a witch of full power?” “Uh huh. All the women of the Xavier line are in some fashion or another. Even our cousin Candy Crawford who refuses to go by her birth name and pretends she has no powers whatsoever is gifted.” “Candy Crawford? As in The Spinster Virgin Candy Crawford?” “One and the same,” she said proudly. “A bloody talented writer,” he admitted without a qualm. “Uh huh. And an extraordinary psychic.” Soleil glanced absently about her as they arrived at the gate. “In answer to your original question, yes, Luna is a witch of full caliber. She’s not good at summoning objects yet because she hasn’t been honed within a coven, but she’s a stellar aura reader. Her truest gift, however, is conversing with the dead.” “Conversing with the dead?” Oliver shook his head and sighed. “Our wedding ceremony should prove interesting.” “A Halloween wedding,” she said in a reverential tone, “it’s what I’ve dreamed of my entire life, Oliver.” He decided against commenting. Sometimes, he’d learned these past months, silence was the best way to keep his unusual, but highly entertaining relationship thriving. Besides, if Soleil was considering reciting Kant in the midst of a hot and heavy strip tease tonight, he’d rather not piss her off. “Mmm,” he said simply. “Oh my goddess!” Soleil’s hand flew to her heart. “There they are!” She let a delighted squeal rip loose as she ran toward a squealing raven-haired woman and a squealing child whose hair shone a light gold. “Auntie So-lay!” the little imp called out. She ran into Soleil’s outstretched arms and squealed again when her aunt plucked her up high off of the ground and rained a thousand quick kisses all over her head.

“You were right! We sold the house and got here before the Day of the Dead!” “Were you ever in doubt of Auntie’s powers?” Star giggled. “Nope.” A moment later, a woman Oliver now recognized as Luna threw herself into Soleil’s embrace and hugged her tightly. She closed her eyes and laughed when Soleil hugged her back with just as much muster. “Oh Sunny, we missed you!” She opened her eyes, the same violet as Star’s and Soleil’s, and laughed again. “You’re going to cut off my air!” “I don’t care.” Soleil hugged her tightly for an extended moment, then released her to swipe at her tearing eyes. “Come on, there’s someone here I want you two to meet.” Oliver smiled as Luna and Star came to a halt in front of him. Luna’s eyes rounded with recognition. “You!” she said as she chuckled. “And you,” he said wryly. Luna jabbed her thumb in his direction and grinned at Soleil. She looked so much like her, Oliver thought. The main difference being that her hair was black. Same tan, same violet eyes, same voluptuous physique. “Is this the olive?” Soleil snickered at that description of him. “Uh huh. Score another one for the Xavier witches.” All three Xavier witches licked their index finger and pretended to chalk one up. All Oliver could do was grin. Luna glanced back to Oliver. Her expression could only be called cocky. “And what about your prediction?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Came true in more ways than one from what I hear.” Oliver’s cheeks tinted slightly, but he still found a chuckle. “Yes, it did.” “That’s two!” Star called out. The women—and child—licked their index fingers again and chalked up another one. Soleil’s eyes widened as she remembered her manners. “I forgot to introduce you. Luna, this is my fiancé Oliver. Oliver, my favorite and only sister Luna.” “Though we are all sisters and brothers in the goddess’ eyes,” Luna reminded Soleil pragmatically. Soleil nodded as if that were a given. Luna would have made the perfect hippie, Oliver thought bemusedly. Luna extended her palm. Oliver smiled fully at her as they shook hands. She smiled back. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “And I, you.” “Star, come over here and meet your new uncle, Oliver.”

Uncle Oliver. The sound of that did strange, fluttering things to his heart. A moment later, a skinny little girl with long hair the color of sunshine skidded to a stop in front of him. Oliver’s eyes widened when she looked up at him and grinned. The little imp was a tiny replica of his brother James. How very…odd. Star’s face was, for lack of a better description, exactly what he imagined James’ would have looked like were he a ten-year-old girl. The resemblance was uncanny. But it made no sense. And because it made no sense, he shook off the vague feeling that something wasn’t quite right and extended his hand and smiled. “Hello there. I’m Oliver, your soon to be uncle.” “I’m Star.” She shook his hand animatedly, pumping it up and down. After the vigorous handshake ended, she wrinkled her nose up just as Soleil did whenever contemplating a matter, then glanced over to her aunt and giggled. “I love the way he talks. He sounds like James Bond.” Oliver’s shoulders straightened considerably at that compliment. James Bond indeed. Soleil and Luna laughed. Oliver pretended to be hurt. He clapped a hand over his heart. “You wound me. Am I not dashing enough to be a secret agent?” Soleil licked her lips. “I never said that.” “Hmm.” “Let’s go!” Star implored the group, tugging at Oliver’s hand. He smiled, then threaded his fingers through her tiny ones. “I can’t wait to see Blackshire!” she announced with the exuberance common to small children. “Mommy! Auntie So-lay! Uncle Oliver! Come on!” The very moment they began to walk toward the baggage retrieval department, Luna flipped out and started moaning. She clapped a hand to her forehead and began fine-tuning her psychic radio. Oliver’s face grew hot as people began making a wide path around them. He forced himself to pretend nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He supposed he’d grow used to such events given time. He couldn’t seem to stop, however, the small whimper of mortification that lanced through him. Soleil and Star, on the other hand, were obviously already accustomed to such things. They both looked indescribably excited as they waited for Luna’s vision to unfold. Star squeezed Oliver’s hand. “It’s gonna be a good one,” she whispered reverently. Oliver merely grunted. “Violet,” Luna said on a moan. Soleil’s expectant smile faltered a bit. “Violet? That’s it?” “No,” she moaned, “there’s more.” Luna fine-tuned the vision a bit more. She continued to moan and groan, much like a woman would in the peak of climax.

Oliver offered shaky smiles to the passengers walking around them. He looked to the ceiling and started to whistle. He could deal with this. No problem whatsoever. And then the moaning ceased completely. He offered a silent, heartfelt thank-you to the heavens before returning his gaze to Luna. Soleil thumped her sister on the arm. “Well?” she shrieked. “What did you see?” Luna jumped up and down excitedly. Her smile was brilliant. “Violet! Little girl violet!” All three witches squealed as they jumped up and down in glee. Oliver blinked. He’d obviously missed an important piece of this puzzle. He leaned over and whispered into the ear of the little girl clutching his hand. “Little girl violet?” Star glanced up at him and giggled. She slapped her hand to her forehead. “Like, duh!” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Auntie So-lay is pregnant with a female witch, silly!” Oliver nodded. “Of course. I knew that. I…” His eyes rounded. He sucked in a breath. His wide eyes flew up to meet Soleil’s teary ones. “Is it true, Sunny?” he asked hoarsely. Soleil nodded. “I suspected as much the moment it happened.” She cleared her throat. “Miss Marplewood,” she mouthed so that Star couldn’t hear. “And now my sister has just confirmed it for me.” She rushed to his side and kissed him fully on the mouth. “We’re going to have a baby!” “A baby,” he breathed out. “Not just any baby,” Star added haughtily. She pointed to herself. “A female witch like me!” Oliver envisioned a little baby witch with violet eyes and an impish grin, turning men into toads and summoning objects to her cradle. The thought filled him with so much tenderness he almost cried then and there. Suddenly, Oliver no longer cared how many people made a wide path around them. He had created a tiny witch and implanted it into Soleil’s fertile womb. He felt more primitively powerful than he ever had before. Oliver kissed Soleil’s lips quickly, then drew back and studied her face. His grin was so wide that his dimple showed deeper than usual. “A baby witch,” he murmured. “A baby witch,” she agreed with a breathless smile. Oliver winked at his soon-to-be bride. “Let’s go, my love. It’s time to take my witches home.”

Epilogue The moon hung low on All Hallows night, shimmering down on the guests assembled to watch the marriage ceremony of one Oliver John Frederick Sebastian, Viscount Blackshire, to one Soleil “Sunny” Xavier, spell-caster, fortune teller, and telekinetic summoner extraordinaire. François, the bride’s Familiar, stretched out and yawned as he watched the proceedings from the perch of Emelda’s comfortable lap. Her Familiar George didn’t particularly like sharing her, but too bad. Such was life. The rogue would simply have to deal with it. Emelda, the Countess of Clydon, had a lap worth fighting over, he mused. François smiled to himself when Emelda gazed up into her husband’s eyes and grinned that mischievous grin that had won the old earl’s heart. The Earl of Clydon bent his neck and brushed his lips across his countess’. Those two were a lesson in true love, a reminder that it’s never wise to give up the quest of finding your heart’s most precious desire, no matter one’s age. Next to the Clydons sat the Honorable Vega Fairchild. François’ heart went out to her as he considered the dreamy expression written all over her face while she watched the ceremony continue. Poor dear. You’ll get your chance. Remember that last toad you set free? You affected him more than you realize, dear girl. François grinned slowly, gamine-like. Ah yes. Vega, my dear, your mate will come to you soon. The man in question has already made it his mission in life to try and find you again. Can’t get you out of his mind, that one. Your day will dawn sooner than you expect it to, darling. François turned his gaze up to the heavens. Even the stars had decided to show up for the night’s gathering. Moon-risings like this one forced a Familiar to remember exactly what it was that he loved about being a guardian to the rare females born with the ability to command the universe. Witches, true witches, had a purity of soul and a goodness of heart about them that most people didn’t possess. It wasn’t that the average human was inherently bad, François thought. The problem with most mortals was that they were somehow unable to rise above their competitiveness and petty jealousies to find their true selves lying in wait, hoping to be discovered. But witches, the guardians to the universe’s secrets, were born to be in tune with their inner magic. No wonder they needed special mates to make them complete. And no wonder that their true mates were unable to find happiness without them. François turned toward the ceremony and cast his gaze upon one such special man. Nearest to the groom sat James Sebastian, Viscount Brummel. It had taken a horrific accident and five years of loneliness and mental anguish to prepare him for the special gift that the goddess in all of her wisdom was

about to bestow upon him. François chuckled. He was having a cat that ate the canary good time watching the viscount twist his head this way and that, trying to get a better look at the dark-haired woman standing near the bride whose shadowed form had given him the feeble pulsings of the first erection he’d entertained in over five years. Bad lighting, eh, James? Want a better look at her, do ya, pal? François smiled slowly. Not yet. Almost. But not quite yet. The goddess’ ultimate plan will unfold in the universe’s time, not in mankind’s. And just wait until you get a look at the little girl, James Sebastian. François chuckled to himself. Too bad he’d be half way across the planet honeymooning in Bali with his humans when it happened. He ’d love to see the look on the viscount’s face when he got his first gander at Star. Ah well. It would be fun to check out the local honeys in Bali. Meeow. François turned away from the disgruntled James Sebastian and fixed his gaze on another Sebastian man, Oliver. François sighed. He had to admit it. His human had done pretty well nabbing that one. Viscount Blackshire was a good man. A worthy mortal. He would make Soleil a happy witch. And he’d be a good father to the little witch scheduled to make her debut into the universe in roughly seven months time. Now that little witch was a story unto herself. François shook his head and clucked his tongue. That little witch would need a patient Familiar indeed. Her aura was mischievous already. The goddess only knew what trouble she’d be brewing when she hit puberty. And then the dreaded teen years. Familiars truly hated the teen years. François cocked his head to study the face of the other person whose marriage vows were being officiated by Blackshire’s one and only minister. He smiled as he always did whenever he gazed upon his favorite human Soleil. François had been at Soleil’s side ever since she was a small girl child, though she’d never known it. A Familiar, after all, can only reveal himself to the guardian he is to protect when the universe declares the time to be right. But that never meant she’d been neglected by him. Not even for a moment. Remember that story I told you about losing my eye in a cat fight over a fish, my girl? François shook his head slowly. I lost it battling humans. You were but a girl child of five and they were trying to hurt you. I never could have let that happen to you. Gladly would I have given the goddess my life in exchange for yours. Soleil’s head turned slowly. From where she stood with Oliver under the canopy of the moon and stars pledging her vows, she met François’ gaze and smiled shakily. Tears glistened in her eyes.

François blinked back the tears forming in his remaining eye. He was getting rusty. He hadn’t realized he’d sent out his thoughts to her. He inclined his head and sniffed when he heard a trembling thank-you in his mind. Ah well, you’re welcome, my dear. It was a beautiful Halloween moon-rising. A perfect night for a wedding in the quaint little English hamlet of Blackshire. The stars were twinkling, the villagers and other guests were smiling as they watched the ceremony unfold, and the bride and groom themselves were happy enough to pose as the poster couple for marital bliss. “…husband and wife. Lord Blackshire, you may kiss your bride, the new Lady Blackshire…” François smiled fully, displaying all of his white teeth. Well Sunny, my girl, he thought contentedly, you did it. Remember all of those nights as a girl child when you gazed dreamily out of your bedroom window and wished upon a star? Your prayers have been answered, my dear. You finally have it all.