Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
For JoJo. This time it is so all about you.
"And he stood me up! Stood me UP! Can you believe that?!"
"No."
"I went home and I checked my voice mail and the voice mail on my cell and my e-mail. I even looked out the bloody window for a carrier pigeon. Not a thing. The slime-ball didn't even have the courtesy to offer a lame excuse!"
"He's a slimeball."
Randy Berry glared at her cousin. "I'm detecting a certain lack of sympathy in your voice, Cass."
Cassidy Poe Quinn rolled her eyes and continued to shove onesies into a voluminous diaper bag. "Miranda, it's four forty-five in the afternoon. I had two hours of sleep last night because the twins were up with colic starting at midnight, and Sullivan and I have a plane to catch in just over three hours. I'm sympathetic, but I'm also half-comatose. Take what you can get."
Randy held up a hand. "Okay, rewind. Can we bring it back to me here? I'm having a crisis."
Her cousin snorted. "Of course, Ran. How could I have forgotten that it's all about you?"
"You're saying that like I'm some sort of selfish git. Believe me, I'm sorry you're exhausted, but you've got a husband who's so sexy there ought to be a law against it, two gorgeous little babies who could star in Gerber commercials, and you're packing to go spend six months at a sixteenth-century castle in Ireland that happens to be your family's second home. Me? I'm withering up like an unused piece of parsley no one wants garnishing their plate."
"Bitter, party of one, your table is ready."
"Hell, yeah, I'm bitter," Randy said. "I think I've got good reason. I'm thirty-two years old. If the term 'spinster' were still in use in today's vocabulary, I'd be the poster child."
Cassidy shut the top drawer of the nursery dresser and made a loud sound of disgust. "Oh my gods, Ran, you need a Valium or something. What the hell has gotten into you? This aging, man-crazy desperation thing is so not you."
"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," Randy shrugged, shifting in the enormous rocking chair she'd commandeered while her cousin packed baby gear in preparation for her trip. "I've been nursing this mad-on all day, but then I realized maybe the problem here isn't the guys I date. Maybe it's me. Maybe I drive men away, and I need to start resigning myself to a lifetime of loneliness and pet cats."
"Okay, now I know you need a Valium."
"No, what I need is a man."
Cassidy laughed and grabbed a handful of tiny white socks. "Trust me, you've had your share of men, Ran."
It was hard for Randy to take offense over something so true, especially since she didn't see any reason to think of it as a bad thing, but she gave it a try. "Gee, thanks, Cass. Here I am, baring my soul to you in my time of need, and you're calling me a whore."
"What I meant was that you've never had trouble finding men, and you know it. I think what has you all tied up in knots right now is that you don't just want a man; you want a mate."
Randy flinched. "You're forgetting that I'm from the black sheep side of the family, Cass. 'Mating' is for Others. I'm as human as heartburn."
"Stop splitting hairs. You're just bent out of shape because you've finally realized you want someone to settle down with instead of someone to take you to the newest nightclub."
"Oh, great. So now I'm a vapid whore."
"Miranda Louisa, you could try the patience of a saint—"
"Which is something I'm very pleased to report you're a far cry from, Cassie love."
Both women turned to the door of the nursery at the sound of that deep, masculine voice. Even after more than a year of marriage, the sight of Sullivan Quinn could still make Cassidy visibly melt, and Randy had to admit that the sight of the six-foot-two-inch werewolf standing there with his arms full of drowsy little babies would make any woman's stomach give a flip. His son snoozed away on Quinn's left shoulder while his daughter rubbed the sleep from her eyes with a chubby pink fist.
Cassidy rushed forward immediately. "I'm sorry, honey. I was just finishing up their bag while they were napping. Have they started fussing again?"
"They're fine. I told you a drop of whiskey would settle them down." Quinn dropped a kiss on his wife's forehead and turned to raise an eyebrow at her cousin. "It might help you, too, Randy. You look as if you could use some calming."
"What I need isn't going to be found in your liquor cabinet. Unfortunately."
Quinn glanced down at his wife, a second eyebrow climbing to join the first.
"Randy is having a little… crisis of couplelessness," Cassidy explained, shrugging the bulging diaper bag onto her shoulder and leveling a pointed gaze at her cousin.
Randy felt herself squirming on the inside, but on the outside she restrained herself to crossing her arms over her chest and glaring. "Shut up," she muttered.
Quinn grinned. "It's nearly five, love," he said, turning back to Cassidy. "The car will be waiting for us downstairs, and we want to leave plenty of time to run through the mess at security."
"Right. Why don't you give me Molly? No sense in you trying to keep them both." She reached out and took her daughter, balancing the little girl on her hip. "Are the bags downstairs?"
"All but what you're carrying. I had the doorman arrange for someone to take them down."
"Good. Then we're all set."
Randy watched, sulking, as Cassidy and her husband linked their free hands, each with a baby on one hip and a glow of marital contentment on their faces. She wasn't sure if it was a lack of sleep or the stirring of jealousy in her belly that made Randy feel vaguely ill.
"Have fun," she managed grudgingly. "I'll make sure the plants stay watered and the mail gets forwarded, and I promise to clean up from any keggers before you get back."
"We'd appreciate that." Cassidy leaned forward to press a kiss to her cousin's cheek. "And if you can manage to look in on Gran once or twice, we'd appreciate that, too. She had a party last night, but we couldn't go because of the twins."
Randy rolled her eyes, but she didn't forget to give Cassidy a hug that encompassed both her and Molly. "Oh, yeah, because you know how thrilled Dame Adele always is to see me. It's going to make her day if I start hanging around and trying to take care of her. She'll probably smack me upside the head with her cane. You're gonna owe me for that one."
"Your sacrifice there is duly noted. But seriously, she's been upset lately with all this stuff with the Council. The fact that her suggestions are constantly being preempted by members of the Witches' Council is really getting her down."
"Whatever." Randy took no interest in the politics of the Council of Others in which her grandmother and cousin were so involved. "You're still going to have to make this up to me, which means you should give me the name of someone with a talent for love potions."
Cassie shook her head and headed for the door with a laugh. "The last thing you need is a love potion, Rand. You've always had men lining up at your door. All you really need to do is to make up your mind."
Before he moved to follow his wife, Quinn took Randy's hand with his customary Irish gallantry and drew her forward to drop a kiss on the top of her head. "And I think the last thing you should fear is spinsterhood, Miranda darling," he murmured, "but if you truly wish to find yourself a mate, I think you know what you ought to do about it."
Randy stroked a hand over baby Declan's fuzzy head while she frowned up at his father. "And what exactly is that?"
Quinn winked at her. "Make it happen. Remember, cousin, all's fair in love and war. And personally, I've never quite been able to tell the difference."
The apartment had gone way too quiet now that everyone had left. That had been great while she'd been unpacking her bag in the guest room and helping herself to her cousin's bubble bath, but now it was eleven P.M., there was piss-all worth watching on television, and Marc, the jerk who'd stood her up last night, still hadn't managed to locate her cell phone number and grovel like the unworthy, slime-sucking bastard he was. And she had gotten no closer to figuring out what Quinn had meant with that last remark of his than she'd been when he'd first made it.
Flipping past four channels' worth of eleven o'clock news programs, Randy stared at the flat-screen TV and brooded. Cassidy had been right. This mood wasn't like her. Miranda Berry tended to be the sort of woman who figured there would be plenty of time to worry about the future when it got to be the future. She'd always been much too busy enjoying her life, and the men who moved in and out of it, to worry about settling down. As she liked to say to her friends and family, she'd been brought up never to settle, and she didn't intend to introduce the word to her vocabulary at this late date.
The problem was that she'd come up with that particular witticism when she'd been eighteen. Now she was pushing thirty-three, and being footloose and fancy free was starting to feel more like just being alone. It didn't help matters that almost all of her friends had gotten married by now—some of them more than once, it was true—but all the same, she was starting to feel left out of the marriage game. Looking at Cassidy and Quinn had gone from making her roll her eyes at their palpable enthrallment with each other to making her wince with envy. And she didn't even want to get started on the way her ovaries had started wailing and gnashing their teeth every time she saw Molly and Declan.
Gah. It was almost like she was finally growing up.
Randy sighed and tucked the chenille throw closer around her legs. Her tank top and sleep shorts might be comfortable, but they didn't do much in the warmth department. She wasn't so far gone into despair, though, that she planned to trade in her customary pajamas for a flannel granny gown. That would mean giving up entirely, which was something Randy Berry was constitutionally unable to do.
If you truly wish to find a mate… make it happen.
Quinn's words returned to haunt her. He made it sound like it was easy. Like all Randy had to do to find the man of her dreams was to click her heels together three times or wave her magic wand, and…
She froze.
Magic.
Bolting to the edge of the sofa, Randy let the blanket in her lap slither unnoticed to the floor.
That was it! Magic!
When she'd asked Cassidy for a love potion, Randy had been kidding—mostly—but that didn't make the idea worthless. Randy knew very well that magic existed, that it could do things most people never would have thought of before the Others Unveiled themselves to the mortal world, but Randy had grown up in a half-Other family. She'd seen magic happen since before she'd understood that not everyone had a grandmother who could turn into a fox whenever the situation warranted. Randy knew magic could do amazing things, so why couldn't magic find her a man?
"By George," she muttered, "it just might work!"
Springing into action, Randy jumped up from the sofa and ran down the hall to the study. The built-in shelves that lined the walls held Quinn's books on mythology and folklore alongside Cassidy's anthropology texts and obscure academic treatises, but unless she was very much mistaken, Randy would be willing to swear that those same shelves sported a small collection of books on magic and spell casting.
They had been part of her cousin's doctoral dissertation on the use of magic in native populations around the world. At the time, Randy had been unable to imagine anything more boring—especially given the dense, technical language Cassidy tended to use when talking shop—but now her heart beat faster at the idea that one of those books might hold the key to her future.
Shoving open the door, she flicked on the light switch and rushed into the room. Bless her organized little heart, Dewey and his decimals had nothing on Cassidy Quinn. Her shelves were sorted into subject areas, the titles alphabetized by author's last name. Randy didn't give a shit about authors, but at the moment, subject matter had become her utmost concern.
She scanned the shelves. "Languages… Latin American tribes… local history… Maa?… magic!"
And was this Fate speaking to her, or what? Displayed prominently in the middle of the shelf with an eyecatching red dust jacket sat a book entitled Love Spells.
Score!
Randy snatched it up and flipped to the table of contents. "To mend a broken heart? I think not." She dragged a finger down the page. "To attract a woman? Not really my thing… Ah ha! To attract a man! Page ninety-two."
Paper rustled.
" 'As I said in the beginning of the book, to cast a spell that forces one person to fall in love with another would be both immoral and contrary to the creed by which all witches must live. To bend another being's will is unforgivable, but that doesn't mean there's no such thing as a love spell. The spell described here is one that does not compel one person to love another, but instead allows the spell caster to guide her future love into her life.'"
Excitement made Randy wriggle. This was perfect!
" 'Of course, the same cautions apply to this spell, as to all the others in this book. Magic is not something to be used by those uneducated in its power. Casting a spell without truly understanding it can cause it to backfire in a way that could result not in true love, but in—'"
"Oh, whatever." Randy broke off and turned her attention to the actual steps of the spell listed on the next page. "Some lawyer probably made the author put a disclaimer in there." It didn't apply to her. She had magic in her blood. Almost. She scanned the instructions briefly and felt a rush of adrenaline that had her grinning for the first time in more than twenty-four hours.
"I can totally do this," she muttered to herself. "After all, how hard could it be?"
"I'm disappointed there's no eye of newt," Randy announced from her seat on the floor in the living room to no one in particular. The apartment was still empty, and the man of her dreams nowhere in sight. She optimistically chalked that up to the fact that she hadn't gotten around to casting the spell yet.
The instructions had been surprisingly complicated, and the list of necessary ingredients, minus any newt eyes, had proven a momentary setback. It named several items Randy had never heard of and more than one whose existence she frankly doubted. Still, no one had ever said the road to Prince Charming didn't contain some potholes—just look at what Cinderella had gone through!—but she knew that when she got there, it would absolutely be worth it. He would absolutely be worth it.
For once in her life, Randy had gone into something fully prepared. She'd actually read through the entire spell twice and made a mental list of what she would need to cast it, and she'd gathered her ingredients ahead of time, something she never did when cooking or, you know, packing. Normally she was a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants kind of girl, but she wanted to do this right. Otherwise, there'd be no point in doing it at all.
The book's instructions were elaborate, but Randy had determination and a certain level of adrenaline on her side. She'd cleared off her cousin's coffee table, a low, round expanse of mahogany that shone dark red in the light of the dozen flickering candles she'd placed on its surface. She'd turned all the lights off, per the spell, even though that meant squinting to read the text in the uneven illumination of the candle flames.
On the plus side, the heat the candles threw out certainly kept the chill away.
Fidgeting in anticipation, she bent to the book and read aloud.
" 'In a shallow silver bowl full of moon-bright river water…' Check." She pulled the stainless steel mixing bowl she'd brought from the kitchen a little closer and poured water almost up to the brim. Cassidy would never miss those bottles of Evian, and seriously, where in Manhattan was someone supposed to get "moon-bright river water"? The Hudson? Get real. The candle cast a nice little glow over the surface. That would do.
" 'Place seven scarlet petals from a fully bloomed red rose.' Check." That one was easy. Quinn, bless his besotted heart, brought his wife flowers so often, his florist had named the latest baby after him. In fact, there were so many of the things around the apartment that Randy threw in an extra handful. Might as well do things right.
" 'Add half of what you need and of what you want a quarter, for love is never lasting that on whims of fancy grows.'"
She glanced down at the two lists the spellbook had instructed her to make: one contained two columns of the things she thought she needed in a man; the other outlined in four corners of a second piece of paper all the things she wanted in a man. And she was just supposed to throw out most of these?
Yeah, right. No way was she giving up "sexy." Especially not since she'd put it on both lists.
She tossed the two complete lists into the bowl and watched the paper slowly darken and sink into the water, dragging rose petals down with it. Her heartbeat quickened.
" 'To the mix add heartsease and a single tear of Venus.' "
Okay, those had been challenging, since Randy wasn't sure what the hell either of them was supposed to be. She'd had to improvise. Venus, she knew, had been the goddess of love, the Roman equivalent of Aphrodite. She remembered vague stories from a unit on classical mythology in her high school English class, something about seduction and sensuality. After a moment of thought, she'd settled on a drop of the very expensive perfume Cassidy kept on the top of her armoire. That had to be close, right? It made a certain amount of poetic sense to Randy, at least. Carefully, she tilted the bottle until one drop rippled the surface of the water.
Her substitute for heartsease was more prosaic. She threw in an antacid. It eased heartburn, didn't it?
" 'A tablespoon of honey and a pinch of bitter tea… '" Easy-peasy, thanks again to Quinn in all his tea-swilling Irish glory. The two ingredients turned the water an interesting shade of gold, but maybe it was supposed to look that way?
" 'A dash of salt to savor…" Randy picked up the ceramic Tweety Bird salt shaker and bounced it vigorously over the bowl. " 'And a bit of rue for patience… '"
At this, she scowled. " 'Rue' what? McClanahan?"
Wait, didn't to rue something mean to regret it? How the hell was she supposed to add regret to a bowl of soggy stationery? Clearly some witch had not thought this spell out thoroughly.
"Eh, I'll just skip it," she scowled at the flickering candle. Suddenly the warmth it gave off felt more like an inferno than a tiny flame. "It's only one ingredient. And I think by this point the idea of me being patient for this whole thing is ridiculous anyway. What's the worst that could happen?"
The candle sputtered, and Randy glared at it before reading the final instruction. " 'And stir three times with willow for to bring thy love to thee.'"
Okay, this was it. Taking a deep breath, Randy lay aside the book and picked up the wooden spoon she'd found in the kitchen drawer. She couldn't swear it was made of willow—how the heck could a person tell?—but it was a wooden implement specifically designed for stirring. What could be more appropriate?
Ignoring the disconcerting heat of the candles and the unexplained buzzing in her ears, she bit her lip and slowly lowered the spoon into the disintegrating mess in Cassidy's mixing bowl. With her heart in her throat, she stirred three times and repeated the phrase the book had instructed to seal the spell.
" 'As I will, so mote it be.'"
That's when the room exploded.
"Well, well. What have we here? A late arrival?" Randy frowned into the blackness and tried to remember where she was. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel a distinct chill in the air and something hard and rough under her legs. She could also hear. Oh boy, could she hear, because those questions had been asked in a voice as dark and smooth as cocoa.
But why didn't she recognize it? She really ought to recognize a voice that made her want to purr, shouldn't she?
Her frown deepened.
"Miranda Louisa Berry! What exactly is the meaning of this?"
Okay, that voice, she recognized.
Stifling a groan, Randy forced her eyelids open. That took care of the blackness, but no matter how many times she blinked, she couldn't manage to brush away the pinched, disapproving face of her grandmother that currently hovered over her.
"Oh, shit."
"Miranda, I will thank you to watch your language in my home."
In "her" home? She was at her grandmother's house? How the hell had she managed that? The last thing she remembered was sitting cross-legged on Quinn and Cassidy's floor casting that silly love spell. "Shit in a shitstorm!"
"Miranda!"
Randy struggled to prop herself up on her elbows and glanced around her. Not only was she in her grandmother's house, she was in the harridan's formal entry hall lying smack dab in the middle of the hideously expensive oriental carpet that covered the marble floor. Being stared at by at least two dozen people in formal wear. And she still had on her pajamas. No wonder she was freezing.
"Young lady, pick yourself up off the floor this instant. You are causing me a great deal of embarrassment in front of my guests."
"So what else is new?" Randy muttered, but she found herself pushing to her knees anyway. That was how things always went with Adele Berry. No matter how much Randy wanted to thumb her nose at the old biddy, she inevitably found herself obeying the woman's orders as if Randy hadn't managed to come of age more than fourteen years ago. Adele's power of arrogance both awed and mystified mere mortals.
"Allow me to assist you."
The cocoa voice slid over her skin again, raising goose-bumps that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. In fact, that seemed to rise every time it spoke, and this time the speech came accompanied by a lean, tanned, masculine hand that extended into her line of vision from somewhere above her.
High above her.
Craning her neck, Randy followed the sleeve of a dark, severely tailored tuxedo jacket up to a chest of impressive breadth before finally resting her gaze on a face that made the word "breathtaking" sound insipid.
The man had the features of a fallen angel, all dark and chiseled and so perfect they verged on beautiful. Only the somewhat heavy and sharply arched brows and the wicked twist decorating his mouth saved him from any taint of the feminine. His eyes helped, too, all deep and blue and twinkling with naughty humor.
"Take my hand, Miss Miranda."
Worrying that she might have drool dripping off her chin, Randy resolutely dragged herself back to reality and clasped that strong, warm hand in hers. Then she had to worry if anyone else had noticed the way she'd shivered the instant her hand had touched the stranger's. The jolt of electricity that coursed through her at the contact could have lit up the Empire State Building for a week.
Judging by the widening of his wicked grin, the man at the other end of that handclasp had definitely noticed.
She allowed herself to be lifted to her feet, the pile of the carpet under her bare soles somehow helping her to regain her composure. "Randy," she said, using her free hand to brush back a tangle of her strawberry blonde hair. "No one who knows me actually calls me Miranda."
"Randy, then. My name is Michael. And I must say it is entirely my pleasure to meet you."
The hand clasping hers squeezed briefly before retreating with a gentle slide of fingertips across her palm. It made her thighs clench together.
Dear Lord.
"I thought this evening's invitation list was quite exclusive, Adele." A man of average height and above-average conceit stepped away from the crowd and raked Randy's figure with an insulting gaze. "We have serious business to discuss, after all. Business that will affect the Council. This is hardly the time for… uninvited guests."
The insult dispelled the energy between Randy and Michael and had her turning narrowed eyes on the source of the interruption. "And I thought you had to have balls to affect the Council. After all, my grandmother is so very good at it, and if that's not evidence, I don't know what is."
The man puffed out his chest and took a threatening step forward, but Adele stepped in front of him and raised a quelling hand. "Please, Harold, excuse my granddaughter. I can assure you I will deal with this interruption with all possible speed." Her bejeweled hands gestured to a set of double doors that had been thrown open in welcome farther down the hall. "Friends, let us continue our migration into the sitting room to relax after the excellent dinner my chef prepared. I have a very fine bottle of brandy I would be pleased to share with all of you. If you will."
Of course, her guests fell in like obedient little soldiers and filed into the other room. Not that several of them didn't cast curious glances in Randy's direction, and Harold continued to stare daggers at her. Adele, though, pretended not to notice as she herded everyone before her. Then she shut the doors behind the last of them and rounded on her granddaughter like a prizefighter swinging his way off the ropes.
"I demand an explanation for this behavior!" she hissed, stalking forward at a march that conclusively proved she had no need of the cane she never went anywhere without. "You have pulled some outrageous stunts in your day, my girl, but I do believe that tonight you may have outdone yourself. Do you have any idea who those people were in the group you so obscenely burst in upon?"
Out of the corner of her eye, Randy noticed that Michael hadn't joined the others in the sitting room but propped himself against the wall near the doors, arms folded over his chest and a very interested expression on his face. Adele, though, was too worked up to realize that she and her granddaughter were not completely alone.
Randy had been down this road too many times to mention it. You never knew when the presence of a witness might be the only thing preventing a murder. Might as well take advantage of it. "I dunno, Adele. They looked like the same old bunch of stiffs you usually invite to dinner. Was the president of the Weird Fuckers Society here tonight?"
"I told you to watch your mouth. Your father might not have raised you to behave like a civilized person, but I'll thank you to pretend to the title while you are under my roof."
While she might be one of the women in her family who didn't have fur, Randy could feel something rising on the back of her neck that felt remarkably like hackles. "My father raised me perfectly well," she growled, clenching her hands into fists. "He was at least willing to love his kid no matter what she turned out to be, which is a damned sight more than I can say for you!"
"Ladies." Michael stepped forward, an easy smile on his face, and a hard, glittering expression in his eyes. "I'm certain no one needs to work themselves up over this."
Adele turned on him, her expression going predictably regal and discouraging. "This is a family matter, Mr. Devon. It is none of your concern. If you would step into the sitting room, someone will help you to a glass of the excellent brandy I have already mentioned."
As a grand dame of Manhattan's Other Society and a long-time member of the Council of Others governing that society, Adele's tone of voice made it clear she was not a woman used be being gainsaid.
Michael Devon's response made it clear he didn't give a damn what she was used to. "Ah, but it's such a lovely family, ma'am. You can hardly be surprised that a man like me might take an interest in it."
"And neither of you should be surprised when I leave to let you duke this out," Randy said, giving the two of them a tight smile. She appreciated the sexy Mr. Devon's help, but she could take care of herself. And her grandmother's disdain had stopped hurting her feelings a long time ago. Turning on her heel, she stalked toward the front door.
"Where do you think you're going?" Adele demanded. "I haven't finished with you yet."
"You finished with me the second I was conceived, because you knew I wasn't going to fulfill the family legacy, so let's not kid ourselves."
"Whatever I may or may not have done, young lady, I'd much prefer that you refrained from airing family grievances in front of my guests. Though I suppose that must be too much to ask of you."
Randy snorted and reached for the doorknob. "You can take your martyr complex and shove it up your—"
A large hand covered hers. "Though I hesitate to appear as if I don't believe you can take care of yourself, Randy, you may want to delay leaving for the moment. It's nearly freezing outside, and… ah, I believe you may have neglected to bring your coat."
Against her will, Randy found herself glancing down at her clothing, the white tank top with the slogan "How 'bout these apples?" emblazoned over two pieces of bright red fruit that had been printed in strategic and eye-catching locations. Her silk shorts of the same color barely qualified as more than tap pants, and her legs were bare down to the tips of her cherry-red toenails. Not exactly the clothes for schlepping back across town to Cassidy and Quinn's apartment.
Although she'd probably get a few offers to help her work off her cab fare.
Still, never let it be said that she failed to out-stubborn the very woman who had passed the trait on to her. "I'd rather freeze to death than stay here," she scowled. "I know exactly how welcome I'm not, so I'd rather go back to my cousin's apartment where I know I am welcome. Even if I get hypothermia along the way."
Adele made a sound of disgust. "For heaven's sake, Miranda, can't you leave Cassidy and Sullivan alone for one night? They leave for Ireland tomorrow and will have more than enough to do preparing themselves and the twins for the trip without having you drop in unexpectedly. Have a little consideration for once."
Too pissed off even to point out Adele's mistake about the travel plans of the granddaughter the old woman actually approved of, Randy shook her head and twisted the doorknob. "Screw you, Adele."
She tugged, but the door never budged.
"Please." Michael laid a free hand on her shoulder. "It's much too cold to go outside like that. I'm sure we can find something else for you to wear before you leave."
"What? Wear something of my grandmother's?" Randy glared. "I'm certain she'd tell you the fabric would burst into flames the moment it touched my skin. If I didn't break out in hives at the same instant."
His mouth quirked. "Your grandmother does not strike me as the kind of woman to be caught unprepared. I feel certain she would have something set aside in case one of her guests was to meet with emergency. And failing that, I understand she has a live-in housekeeper. I'm sure she would be willing to lend you a pair of sweatpants, at the very least."
Trish would be happy to do so, Randy knew. But damn it, he was ruining her dramatic exit.
He must have seen the hesitation in her face and decided to press his advantage. "I'll even do the asking for you. Please. It would be silly to leave like this."
Looking up into those dark blue eyes, Randy found herself relaxing enough for a ghost of a smile to quirk her lips. "Right, because everyone loves a Mexican standoff."
"I hear ammo makers are nuts about them."
His smile made her stomach give a funny little flip. Actually, everything about him made something in her flip. She hadn't felt this on edge, this instantly attracted to a man since… ever.
"Michael, I beg you will forgive my granddaughter's appalling manners and let her go to the devil in her own way," Adele announced, punctuating her statement with a thump of her cane. "I can assure you that is what she will do regardless."
Randy opened her mouth to reply in language that probably would have sent her straight where her grandmother had just predicted, but Michael stopped her with a gentle pressure from the hand on her shoulder. Her mostly bare shoulder.
She shivered.
"Mrs. Berry, I can assure you that you have no reason to apologize," he said, his voice all smooth and elegant, two things Randy had never much gone for in men. Before. "I take no offense at your granddaughter's behavior. I find her charming."
Adele's snort might not have been ladylike, but it was expressive.
Randy ignored it. "You're not so bad yourself," she said, wishing she'd met this man in a bar or a club or a prison. Anywhere but in her grandmother's house. "But really, I think we'll all be a lot happier if I just leave."
"I won't be," he murmured, his voice and his glance turning intimate while the hand on her shoulder tightened. "In fact, I would be very unhappy indeed."
That time, her stomach flipped, her thighs clenched, and her vision blurred, but Randy Berry was made of stern stuff. She pulled herself together through sheer force of will. "I appreciate that, and trust me, if you think I'm not going to slip you my phone number before I leave, you're kind of an idiot, but I do have to leave. I'll be fine. It's not like I'm going to walk home. I'll call a cab."
"You appear to have left your purse somewhere alongside your coat."
She scowled. "Shit."
"Isn't that just like you?" Adele said, her tone disapproving. Not that she ever spoke to Miranda in any other way. "I suppose you would have the driver take you to Cassidy's home and then expect her or Sullivan to pay your fare as well? Your lack of consideration is truly astounding, Miranda. I don't know why your cousin puts up with you, but I can assure you that if she and her husband were too busy to attend my dinner this evening, they would certainly not have time to deal with one of your escapades."
Okay, that was it. Randy turned on her grandmother, her eyes sparking in fury. "And I can assure you," she bit off, "that you are full of shit, Grandmother. You might value people based on what they can do for you, but Cassidy loves people for who they are, not who she wants them to be. And clearly that means a hell of a lot more, since you can't even keep the day of their departure straight. Cassidy and Quinn's plane took off more than four hours ago. They're not at home packing right now; they're somewhere about thirty thousand feet over Greenland!"
In the back of her mind, Randy hoped that seeing smoke billow from her ears and nostrils wouldn't turn Michael off, but at the moment, there wasn't much she could do about it. And it was probably better that he know what she was like before he asked her out. That way she would just be able to relax and be herself until she tripped him and beat him to the floor. Her attention, though, remained on Adele. No sense in turning her back to the cobra.
The old woman drew herself up like a queen, wrapping herself in a cloak of dignity and wounded innocence. "I am sorry to hear you think so little of me, Miranda, but I'm certain you will find yourself mistaken. I know very well when Cassidy and Sullivan are traveling, and I know their flight leaves on Saturday evening, not on Friday."
"It is Saturday."
Behind her, Michael shifted and cleared his throat. "Um, actually, Randy, your grandmother is right. Today is Friday."
She half-turned to stare at him as if he were demented.
She really hoped he wasn't, because that could put a damper on their potential relationship. "Uh, no, it's not. If it were, I would have been at work today, and I wasn't. I was at home brooding about the inevitable idiocy of men."
"No matter how highly you think of yourself, Miranda," Adele snapped, "even you cannot change the calendar to suit yourself. Today is Friday, March the seventh. If you don't believe me, turn on a television set or open up a newspaper."
That odd ringing Randy had heard in her ears as she'd cast the spell earlier suddenly reappeared, twice as loud. Her head spun drunkenly. "Friday?"
Michael responded to her hoarse whisper. "Yes, Friday. Randy, is something wrong?"
"Oh, no," she laughed, the sound tinged with hysteria. "Nothing at all. I'm fine. Just fine. So what if I went back in time? That happens all the time. Right?"
Michael stepped in front of her, but Randy's vision had gone all cloudy. "Actually," he said, his expression concerned and frowning. "It doesn't. It almost never happens. At all."
For a second, Michael thought Randy was going to keel over right in front of him. His hands shot up instinctively to catch her as she began to sway, but she remained on her feet. Barely. Her huge, velvety brown eyes went unfocused, and she turned the color of schoolroom paste, but she didn't faint. He almost thought it might have been better if she had.
Better for him, anyway. Then he could have gotten his hands on those sleek curves.
Swearing, Michael pushed away the thought and carefully grasped her upper arm. Her skin had gone icy. "Randy? Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?"
She gave another one of those disconcerting, high-pitched laughs. "No, no. I'm fine. I may very well have lost my mind, but other than that, everything's perfect."
Adele shot him a look of confusion and something else. Concern. "What on earth is she talking about? Miranda, what is going on here?"
"I have no friggin' clue, Gran. You're the Other; you tell me. How is it that I could have woken up on Saturday, spent Saturday doing things I distinctly remember, seen my cousin and her husband off for a flight that left on Saturday night, and then blacked out for a second and woken up on Friday, a day I also distinctly remember having already lived through? Got any ideas?"
Michael felt his curiosity stirring. "Only one," he said. "Magic."
Adele blinked. "That is impossible."
"Completely impossible," Randy agreed.
Michael found himself thinking this may have been the first time ever. He pushed past it. "I disagree. Look at the evidence. You say Randy wasn't on tonight's guest list, Mrs. Berry?"
"No. Miranda has no place in Council business, nor has she ever expressed any interest in it."
"Then how do you explain her appearing on your carpet just as your guests were leaving the dining room?"
Adele cast him a chilly glance. "I believe most visitors tend to use the front doors, Michael."
He shook his head. "That would explain how someone got inside, not how they appeared in the middle of the carpet seemingly out of thin air. And that is exactly what happened with your niece. If you'll recall, I left the dining room ahead of everyone else to take a phone call. I was here in the hall—the empty hall—when Randy appeared."
"Out of the question. It cannot have happened like that."
Michael felt his mouth tighten. "I was here to see it, Mrs. Berry, and I can assure you that I'm not lying. I have no reason to." He turned to the younger woman. "Randy, you say that the last thing you remember is it being Saturday night?"
She nodded, still looking a little dazed. "A little before midnight. I was at Cassidy and Quinn's apartment. They asked me to spend time there while they're away and keep up with things for them."
He had met Cassidy Quinn and her husband on several occasions when Adele invited members of the Witches' Council along with the Council of Others into her home.
Neither of the Quinns held positions on the Council of Others, but both had consulted when their expertise had been called for, and Adele seemed to value their opinions. It was a bit like the arrangement he had with his uncle Harold. While Harold held the family seat on the Witches' Council, Michael couldn't take part in their activities, but he did offer his advice when he felt it was called for, and often when it wasn't. Harold tended to rely on his cunning above his intellect, something that often led to trouble.
"Do you recall anything unusual happening while you were there?" he asked.
"No, I was just—" Randy broke off and shifted her feet. Her lips pursed and she looked down at her polished red toenails.
"Just what?"
"Miranda Louisa, what on earth have you done this time?" Adele glared at her.
She crossed her arms over her chest, pushing those apples together until Michael's mouth watered with the urge to take a bite.
"I didn't do anything," Randy snapped, her entire posture radiating defensiveness. "It was just a lark. I didn't think it would do anything. Especially not right away."
Adele thumped her cane on the floor. "Young lady, what did you do?"
"I cast a spell," Randy mumbled, "but it was just a little one."
If anything, Adele's skin turned paler than her granddaughter's. "That's… not possible."
"What? You think just because I'm not a Foxwoman, I can't do anything special? I'm not an idiot, Adele. I can follow the directions in a spell book just as well as the next person."
Michael felt his eyebrows shoot toward the ceiling. "You attempted to work magic?" He frowned at Adele. "Your granddaughter is a witch?"
"Of course not! She's a Berry. There are no witches in our family tree."
"From the look of things, you may have missed a branch." Michael turned back to Randy. "I admit I'm surprised. Witches tend to be human, not Other. You may be the only Other witch I've ever met."
Randy shook her head. "I am human."
Michael tried to conceal his surprise, but he had the feeling he hadn't completely succeeded. "Not a Foxwoman?"
"No. As much as she might hate to admit it, Adele is my paternal grandmother, so my father put a cork in the inheritance of those particular genes. The Foxwoman thing only passes from mother to daughter, not from mother to son, or from son to daughter."
The explanation made sense, given what he knew of Foxwomen, but it didn't answer all of Michael's questions. "So your mother was human, too?"
She nodded. When she spoke again, she was talking to him, but her eyes were on her grandmother. "Adele had a hard enough time accepting the fact that she'd given birth to a human. Can you imagine how she would have reacted if my father had tried to 'pollute the bloodline' by marrying some other sort of Other? She'd have blown like Vesuvius. They'd still be digging the city out from under the ashes."
"That is untrue!" Adele protested.
Michael held up a hand. "I don't think there's time right now to settle this particular family quarrel. Let's go back to the issue at hand. Randy, you are human, with no experience with magic, and you decided to cast a time travel spell? Were you under the influence of a mind-altering substance? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
"Hey, buddy, I don't need anyone else on the 'Randy is a screw-up' bandwagon," she said, glaring at him. "And for your information, I didn't cast a time travel spell. Why the hell would I do that? As far as I'm concerned, Friday sucked rocks. The last thing I wanted was to relive it."
"Then what kind of spell did you cast?"
She suddenly looked uncomfortable, and a rush of hot color stained her cheeks. When she spoke, her chin was tucked down to her chest and it came out in a rushed mumble. "Uhluphsplakay."
"Excuse me?"
"A love spell, okay?" She shot him a killing glance, then swiftly looked back at the floor and scuffed her bare feet against the carpet. "But it wasn't supposed to mess with the time space continuum. It was just supposed to issue a kind of magical cosmic personal ad." Michael had a hard time believing this woman needed to resort to personal ads. She had the sort of blatantly feminine figure that made a man's palms itch and a face that captured attention the minute it caught the eye. She also had the sort of personality that drew attention instantly. Not the sort of woman who faded into the woodwork.
Now, he could definitely see pinning her up against some woodwork and—
He cut himself off and cleared his throat. If only he could clear his libido so easily. "Are you sure that's what the spell was? Could you have misread something?"
"Like I said, I'm not an idiot. It came out of a book of love spells and it was titled 'A Woman's Spell to Attract True Love.' What's there to misunderstand in that?"
"I think I should take a look at that spell."
Randy threw her hands out to her sides and shot him an exasperated look. "Well, it's not like I'm carrying it around in my pocket, is it? Besides, how would you looking at it help?"
He smiled. "I know a thing or two about magic. I am a witch, after all."
A click from the sitting room doors drew everyone's attention. Uncle Harold stuck his head out of the door and glared at them. "Is there a problem out here, Adele? We're getting a bit restless. There's a great deal of business to discuss tonight, and it's getting late. If you aren't prepared to give tonight's meeting the attention it deserves, maybe it would be better if we—"
Adele stepped forward, her cane clicking in time with her obvious annoyance. "You know very well that the Council's business is always my first priority, Harold. Simply give me a few more minutes to—"
"That won't be necessary," Michael said. He wanted a few minutes alone with Randy anyway. For a number of reasons. "Mrs. Berry, I'm more than capable of sorting things out and giving your granddaughter any assistance she needs. You go ahead and attend to your guests. Uncle Harold, I'm sure you can handle things without me for the evening?"
"Of course I can." Harold's scowl deepened and turned from Adele to his nephew. Michael ignored it. Harold's disapproval wasn't something he worried about. "But I don't see what you have to do with the girl. Let one of Adele's servants see to it and let's move on."
"Take me. Take me now," Randy snarked, looking disgusted. "You must be a real ladies' man there, Harold. I know I'm all a-quiver."
Michael stifled a chuckle and took Randy by the arm to turn her toward the stairs. "If you'll excuse us, I'm sure we'll have this all taken care of in no time."
Before anyone could argue, especially the scantily clad woman beside him, he turned his back on the sitting room and propelled Randy toward the stairs. He definitely had some things to clear up with her. And one or two of them even involved magic.
Randy couldn't decide if she'd fallen and hit her head while casting the spell and was having an extremely vivid nightmare, or if she was being punished by God for one of her more significant transgressions. Maybe more than one.
As she climbed the stairs beside Michael Devon, she tried to sort out just what the hell was going on. If they were telling her the truth and it really was Friday again—God forbid, because that meant she was supposed to be being stood up again even as she thought about it—then something in that spell had not gone as expected. She wasn't supposed to go back in time. She wasn't supposed to go anywhere. She was just supposed to stir that damned mess, blow out the candles, and then meet the man of her dreams when she ran out for bagels in the morning.
Instead, she'd landed in her grandmother's house twenty-four hours before the idea of casting the spell had so much as occurred to her, being led around by a man who exhibited several of the qualities that had topped her wants and needs lists, outrageously sexy being chief among them. He also seemed intelligent, fairly mellow, and overflowing with charisma, but he lacked the one thing she'd underlined three times on her needs list—he wasn't human.
Or at least not completely human. He was a witch, and while she knew the difference between those and the Others, when she'd written down human, she'd been envisioning someone… normal. Not someone who could perform magic by waving his wand in the air.
The vision that popped into her head with that thought was not helpful.
She squeezed her eyes shut, then had to pop them open again to keep from tripping on the stair treads. "Where exactly are we going?"
He didn't glance at her. "Upstairs."
"Well, duh. Can you be a little more specific?"
"Somewhere we're not going to be interrupted."
Randy wasn't sure if she should be wary or enthusiastic. "What are we going to be doing that can't be interrupted?"
That time he did look at her, and his grin was positively predatory. He didn't answer. Instead, he ushered her down the hall with a warm hand at the small of her back and leaned around her to push open a door. "Please, ladies first."
She stepped inside reflexively. By the time she'd registered that he'd led them to a bedroom, the door had already clicked shut behind him. Randy spun around and fixed her gaze on his face. She didn't feel nervous, exactly, but neither was she perfectly comfortable under the circumstances. She didn't think the love spell had really brought her to Michael, but what if it made him think they were meant to be together?
"Okay, it's not like I have anything against sex," she said, fighting the urge to take a step backward. "In fact, I'm a huge fan. I love sex. It's fabulous. But I don't usually have it with men I've only known for twenty minutes."
He glanced at his watch and then grinned at her. "I'll keep that in mind."
"I heard what you said to Adele, but I can take care of myself perfectly well. I don't need you to 'sort things out' for me. All I need is to go home."
He shook his head, not budging from his position between her and the door. "I don't think that's a very good idea."
"Why not?"
"That spell you cast that brought you here. I want to talk about that for a few minutes."
She sighed. "What about it? Is this where you lecture me about the dangers of silly little humans playing with dark powers they can't possibly comprehend?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't planned on it. Do you think I should?"
"Of course not. Trust me, the world is in no danger of my summoning the apocalypse. I don't even plan to pull a rabbit out of a hat after this." She made a face. "I think it's pretty clear that this whole magic thing didn't work out well for me."
He took a step toward her. "It didn't?"
"Hell, no. I thought I was going to meet a nice guy and instead I ended up half naked at one of my stuck-up grandmother's swanky dinner parties. I'd rather have a root canal with chamomile tea as the anesthesia than go through this again."
"You and your grandmother do seem to have an… interesting relationship."
"Absolutely. In the Chinese sense of the word."
" 'May you live in interesting times'?"
"Exactly." Randy shrugged. "It's no big secret that I'm a huge disappointment to my grandmother. Adele likes to pretend her bloodlines have never been tainted by anything as plebian as a human, let alone that she herself gave birth to one. She's spent most of her life ignoring the men in the family because of their species. The fact that one of them had the nerve to procreate and spawn a female of that same inferior species drives her crazy."
"So you do your best to make yourself impossible for her to ignore."
"Oh, Adele does a fine job with the ignoring routine. Every time I turn up for family dinners, she gets that sour look on her face, like someone let a mongrel into the kennel with her purebreds." She paused and gave a short laugh. "Though now that I think about it, that's a bad analogy. If I could turn into a dog, she'd probably respect me more. Not as much as a real Foxwoman, of course, but more than a human."
Michael tilted his head to the side, a gesture Randy tried not to find adorable. "I'm not sure a lack of respect is how I'd describe Adele's view of you."
"Trust me, it's accurate. Cassidy she respects, but me? Not in this incarnation."
"What makes you so sure?"
"The evidence." She scowled. "Not once in my life has she tried to involve me in her life, not the life that's important to her. Cassidy is the one she calls on to help her out. I'm just an embarrassment. She obviously invited Cassidy and Quinn to this evening's festivities. Do you think for one second it occurred to her to invite me? Of course not. I'm human, therefore I'm of no use to her."
"Hm, interesting. But maybe we shouldn't talk anymore about your grandmother."
"Fine with me."
He took another step, which brought him close enough that Randy could smell him. Not that he wore some kind of an overpowering cologne or anything, but he had a smell that made her want to suck him in, all spice and musk and warm, clean man. "Why don't you tell me some more about this spell?"
It wasn't a question.
"What do you want to know? I already told you I'm not likely to give it a second try."
"Oh, I'm sure you won't. But I'm curious." He smiled, and a shiver rushed through Randy. Just from him smiling. "Humor me."
She shrugged. "I didn't memorize it or anything. I read it out of the book while I did it, so it's not like I remember all the words."
"The basics will be fine."
Damn, he was persistent. "Fine. It said to get a bowl of water, add a bunch of herbs, some honey, salt, a couple of other things. Rose petals, mainly. Then you add some paper. That's pretty much it."
"Was there anything on the paper?"
Randy glared up at him. "Yes." He just waited, looking at her, until she caved. "It was two lists of qualities you were looking for in a guy. It said to write them out and then add part of each of them to the bowl."
"Only part?" he looked curious.
"Yeah, I didn't get that. Why write everything out if you weren't supposed to use it? I threw them both in."
His lips quirked. "Ah. I see."
"That's pretty much it. It was kind of disappointing actually. I was expecting bat wings and thirteen drops of blood or something."
"No blood called for, I take it?"
"No, unless blood is euphemistically known as a 'tear of Venus.' And then, it only required a single one. I couldn't figure that one out, so I had to improvise."
He shook his head. "No, I believe it may be some sort of exotic flower."
"Damn. Oh, well. Maybe that's why the spell didn't work."
His brows shot up but he didn't comment. "Hm. And were there any special instructions about how things were to be added?"
"I put them into the bowl in the order they were listed, if that's what you mean, but it didn't say to wave them through a haze of incense first or anything."
"I was thinking more along the lines of mixing, actually."
"No." She paused. "Well, the last instruction was to stir everything three times, but that's it."
That seemed to catch his interest. "And did you?"
"Sure. I was trying to do it right."
"How did you do it?"
She looked at him for a second. Was this really that interesting to him? And to think when they'd first gotten upstairs, she'd been worried he might be planning to jump her bones. At the moment, he looked more inclined to pull out a set of tarot cards and chant something in Sanskrit. "With a spoon," she finally said, slowly.
"No," he said. "Show me how you stirred it."
"Fine, but I think you need to get a new hobby." Biting back her disappointment and feeling like a big idiot, Randy pantomimed stirring the spell mixture three times.
When she looked up, Michael was nodding, apparently satisfied.
"That explains it," he said.
"Explains what?"
"How the spell misfired and sent you back in time. Someone familiar with magic would have known to stir the spell clockwise. Deosil, it's called. If you did what you just showed me, you were stirring widdershins. Counterclockwise. It completely changed the energy of the spell and sent you here."
Randy stared at him. "That's it? I got sent back in time because I stirred in the wrong direction?"
He grinned. "Well, that was part of it. The other part may have had something to do with your 'improvisation.' Spells are tricky. You need to be exact to get them to work right."
"Great," she threw up her hands. "Good to know that's the reason why the thing had about as much effect as making a wish while blowing out my birthday cake."
Michael took another step forward until all of a sudden, Randy could feel his breath stirring her hair when he spoke. "What makes you think the spell had no effect?"
Her stomach began a gymnastics routine. "Okay, I know it had an effect, because it landed me here, but it had absolutely no effect on my love life."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Michael purred just before he sealed his lips to hers and sent her stomach flying off the uneven bars in a triple somersault dismount.
And damn if she didn't nail that landing.
Michael felt the surprise on her lips, tasted it on her tongue, and smiled. Beneath its sharp tang, she tasted even better than he had imagined, like whiskey and honey and a bright burst of citrus. The flavor was beguiling, addictive, and he stroked his tongue over her lips to gather it like nectar.
One hand rose to cup the back of her neck while the other arm snuck around her waist to draw her against him. He felt her shiver at the touch of his chest against her breasts, felt her stiffen, then melt against him, running hot and rich like butter.
She might have decided that her love spell had been a dud, but Michael knew better. It had brought the two of them together, all right, and whether she recognized it or not, he was her dream man. Now all he needed to do was to convince her.
Hard work, but he was willing to make the sacrifice.
Pressing his advantage, he parted her lips with his and dipped inside, exploring and claiming in the same moment. The hand at her nape tangled in the bright red-gold of her hair while the other swept over the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips, and snaked around to cup her bottom and settle her hips more definitely against him.
Her moan tasted like heaven and went to his head like moonshine. He had to have her.
Changing the angle of the kiss, he drew her even closer and began to walk her backward toward the foot of the bed. He wanted her beneath him, naked and open and eager. The sooner the better.
The back of her knees struck the mattress, and she tumbled down to the soft surface. Michael followed, stretching out beside her, one leg pinning hers down, holding her, but not overwhelming her, no matter how much he wanted to.
And holy hell, did he want to.
He kissed her more urgently, lips pressing harder, tongue stroking deeper, and she met him, welcomed him, returned his kiss with a heat and sensuality that threatened to make his eyes cross. Oh, yeah. If she thought they weren't going to be together, she had another think coming.
She was the one who pulled him over her, who parted her legs to wrap them around his waist, who settled his hips in the cradle of hers and rocked suggestively against him. None of that was his fault, but it was his fault when he broke their kiss long enough to shove her stretchy tank top up off her breasts and leave it bunched in a tangle somewhere under her chin. That was all him, and he had no intention of apologizing. Especially not after he got his first look at her breasts, all white and pink and pouting eagerly up at him.
With a groan, he bent his head and fastened his mouth around one firm peak, sucking strongly, pressing the warm little bud against the roof of his mouth while his hand stroked over its twin with something akin to reverence.
Randy moaned, a strangled, desperate little sound that felt almost like a hand stroking his cock. Her hips twisted, rubbing against him like a cat and just as eager for stroking. Dragging a hand up the outside of her leg, he drew his head back and rasped the edge of his teeth across her swollen nipple in the same instant that his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shorts to find her slick heat.
They both froze.
Randy's eyes flew open, the brown velvet looking even softer through a haze of arousal. Her lips were parted, curved into a silent 'o' of surprise and pleasure. He watched her while his fingers stroked, teased, explored. He saw every ripple of pleasure in her eyes, felt every shiver, heard her breathless cry when he circled her entrance with one finger before sliding in deep.
"Oh, my God."
Her head fell back, her eyes drifted shut. She clenched around him, her body struggling to keep him close, and her hips arched to take even more of him. Michael bit back a curse of his own. He practically shook with the need to take her. Desire rode him brutally, and he wanted nothing more than to strip off the rest of her clothes, unzip his trousers, and sink into her until they both forgot their names.
The need surprised him, confused him, but he couldn't deny it. He'd never wanted this badly in his life, never knew with such gut-deep certainty that this was right, that this woman was meant to be his. After hearing about her miscast spell, he knew it wasn't magic that made him feel this way; it was something even more powerful. It was fate.
Starving, shaking, Michael forced himself to focus on her face, to watch as her eyes drifted open and locked on his. Her breath came in shallow pants, and her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she spoke.
"I told you… I don't have sex with men I've only known twenty minutes."
Without even bothering to look at his watch, Michael leaned down and caught her lower lip between his teeth. Tugging gently, he twisted the hand between her thighs deeper and listened to her gasp. Then he soothed the sting of his bite with a stroke of his tongue and stared intently down at her. "It's been at least forty-five."
Her eyes glittered and her lips curved as she lifted a hand to his neck, tugging him down to her. "Well, in that case…" She pressed her lips to his, kissed him so deeply, so hotly, he swore he could feel his eyebrows burst into flames. "Do carry on."
"I'm pleased to see you taking so seriously the values your parents and I worked to instill in you, Miranda." If anything in the world existed that had the power to kill Randy's libido faster and more thoroughly than having her grandmother walk in on her during what promised to be some really amazing sex, Randy would put a bounty on its head and display the preserved carcass on her living room wall.
Uttering a tortured groan, she broke away from Michael's über-hot kiss and let her arms, legs, and head bounce backward onto the mattress. "Just kill me," she muttered to the ceiling. "Kill me now."
"For heaven's sake, girl, put some clothes on," Adele ordered as she closed the bedroom door with herself on the wrong side of it. "I should hardly need to tell you this behavior is completely unacceptable."
"Feel free not to."
"But we have more important things to discuss at the moment," her grandmother continued as if Randy had never spoken.
Randy's teeth clenched tight and she yanked down her top with unnecessary force. "Fine." She pushed herself away from Michael and rolled off the end of the bed to stand on legs that hadn't caught back on to the whole muscle-control thing yet. She locked her knees to stop the quivering. "I'll just leave you two kids to chat and see myself out. No, no. Don't anyone bother themselves about me. I'll be fine. I'll call. Really, I will. Toodles."
Michael caught her wrist before she'd taken so much as a step. "That's not necessary." His tone stayed mild, but his eyes glittered a warning. "You should hear this."
"Oh, trust me, sweetie, I've heard it all before."
Adele drew herself up and gave him her Queen of the Universe stare. "I am sure that's not necessary, Michael."
"Yeah, Michael." Randy tugged at her wrist. "Not necessary at all."
"Oh, but I beg to differ." Rising himself, Michael tugged Randy to the small sitting area near the fireplace and urged her onto the love seat. When that didn't work, he gave her a little push. Her butt hit the cushions and bounced twice, but at least she had the satisfaction of landing with her eyes on a level with his crotch and seeing that he was no happier with Adele's interruption than she'd been.
He turned away from her and waved Adele to the armchair opposite while he settled down beside Randy. "Adele, I think it's time you told your family what's been going on. That is why you invited them, after all."
"Mine must have gotten lost in the mail."
Adele scowled at her granddaughter's comment. "I invited Cassidy and Sullivan."
"See, that's just one of my many talents," Randy said, moving to rise. "Not only do I always know when I'm not wanted, but I also know when I want to be somewhere—anywhere—else. So, if you'll excuse me?"
Michael pressed her down with a hand on her shoulder, but his words were directed at Adele. "True, but Cassidy and her husband were unable to join you, while Randy is sitting right here."
"Under duress," she muttered.
"I may be old," Adele snapped, "but I am neither a fool nor blind. I can see my granddaughter clearly. What I do not see is how you think she can assist in a problem among the Others. Perhaps you have forgotten, but she is only human."
And she's got a mean right hook, Randy thought, but she kept that to herself. Both the thought and the hook. You'd think that after all these years, she'd be used to hearing her grandmother condemn her with words to that effect.
You'd think.
"Human, maybe," Michael said and laid his hand on Randy's knee. She suppressed a shiver. "Ordinary, I think not."
Adele looked skeptical. "Isn't that what being human means?"
"Seriously," Randy rounded on Michael with a roll of her eyes. "Do I need to sit here and listen to this?"
"I think you both need to sit and listen." Exasperation finally broke through his façade of calm. "For two incredibly capable, intelligent women, I have to say you're acting like idiots."
Adele opened her mouth to protest, but Michael cut her off. "You," he said, jabbing a finger at her, "are holding so tightly to your preconceived notions and your old-school prejudices that you refuse to acknowledge what's right in front of you. You keep calling Randy 'human' like it's a fatal weakness. Did you happen to miss the fact that no matter what you call her, she not only managed to perform magic, but actually put a wrinkle in the fabric of time? I know ninety-year-old elders on the Witches' Council who have never managed to pull that off! Say what you like about her parents or her species, but your granddaughter has talent."
Randy blinked. "I do?"
"And you," Michael continued, turning that finger on Randy, "you've erected a wall against your grandmother that's so high, just looking at it would give a Tibetan Sherpa altitude sickness! You refuse to even give her a chance to approve of you. You're so busy being rebellious and demonstrating that you don't need your grandmother's approval that you make it impossible for her to give it even if she wanted to. I don't know how you two got to this point, but I think it's time to declare a cease-fire. Even an idiot could see that the main reason you keep sniping at each other is that you're each too stubborn to be the first one to try something different!"
Adele shifted. "It is?"
Michael glared at her. "Don't start with me."
Unsure whether to offer him a cigarette or throw him out the nearest window, Randy settled for a short laugh. "Okay, then. Feel good to get that off your chest, tiger?"
His expression told her he was not amused. "Peachy."
"Much as I appreciate your attempt to break up this cat-fight," she said, ignoring the roaring in her ears and pushing to her feet, "I think this situation is a little more complex than you're giving it credit for."
"What's complicating it?" he demanded, standing with her so he could maintain his advantage of height. "Your godawful stubbornness? Your inability to give up so much as an inch of your wounded pride and offer your family an olive branch?"
Shaking with fury, she stood toe to toe with him and shouted right back into his face. "How about the fact that my family seems to be allergic to olive branches and it's none of your goddamned business that my grandmother wouldn't even ask for my help washing the dishes, let alone give me credit for actually being capable of making a valuable contribution to anything! If Adele wanted my help, she'd ask for it, but since I'm human, and therefore worthless, your little kiss-and-make-up scene isn't going to change anything! So BACK the HELL OFF!"
"Miranda!" Adele's cane thumped against the carpet. "Michael is merely trying to help. There's no reason to act so abusively toward him. I expect better of you."
"Yeah?" Randy had more than enough fury to go around by this point. "Since when?"
The old woman's lips tightened, but she remained silent.
Randy just shook her head. "Perfect. Everything is so much better now, Michael. How can I ever thank you?"
"By parking your ass back on the love seat and hearing me out."
That wasn't so hard to do, especially now that Randy seemed to have yelled herself out. She didn't so much park as collapse and bury her face in her hands. "Fine. Whatever. Just get it over with so I can go home, okay?"
Michael settled back down beside her, but he didn't try to make her look at him, which was a relief. She'd probably have bitten his hand off if he tried.
"I'm not going to defend your grandmother's decision not to involve her whole family in the current situation, but I will admit that these events are somewhat sensitive."
Randy snorted into her hands. "Is that why I saw at least thirty people coming out of the dining room? You guys certainly have a different idea of confidentiality than I do."
"I had sixteen guests," Adele said, sounding almost sulky, which Randy supposed represented a slight improvement over disdainful. "Not thirty. Four witches, four shifters, four vampires, and four of the minor Others. And all of them have a vested interest in what's going on."
At that, Randy raised her head and looked across the short space at Adele. "And what is the situation? A thousand-ton asteroid is hurtling through space toward us and the Others are going to blast it out of the sky with their amazing powers of laser-vision and hubris?"
"Sarcasm isn't going to be helpful, Randy." Michael's tone carried a warning. "It's nothing quite so movie-of-the-week, but your grandmother does have quite a situation on her hands. She didn't just invite us all over for the pleasure of our scintillating company."
"I have no trouble believing that." Randy let herself fall back against the cushions of the love seat and adopted a world-weary expression. "So what vast conspiracy against your rightful claim to the throne is afoot now, Adele?"
Michael shot her a killing glance and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you would care to rephrase that?"
Randy debated saying no, but something in Michael's face told her she might end up eating her words. She sighed. "Fine. What seems to be the problem, then?"
Adele inclined her head to acknowledge the wording. Randy thought she'd never looked more like a queen. "The bottom line is that someone is trying to undermine my position on the Council of Others."
"Someone seems to be intercepting the plans Adele prepares to present before the Council and rushing to put them to the membership before Adele has the chance to do so," Michael clarified. "Then when the ideas are approved, the liar gets the credit and your grandmother is forced to grin and bear it or else look like a sore loser who can't resist saying, 'I said it first!'"
Randy frowned. She had to admit this wasn't what she'd been expecting to hear. From the way her grandmother told it, Adele's family had built the Council from bare stone, and it would collapse the minute she or one of her heirs stopped holding it together through force of will. From what little her father had told Randy about the Berry family, a Foxwoman of their bloodline had always served on the Council, rarely as the head of it, but often as a power behind the throne.
"How is that even possible?" she asked, truly puzzled. "You've been on the Council for nearly forty years. From what Cassidy says, every single person presently on it knows how significant your part is in it. How could anyone think they could undermine you at this point?"
"Quite easily," Adele said, her bearing almost painfully regal. "Power is a strong motivator. Someone who could convince the Council that their advice would serve them better than mine would find himself with an awful lot of it in a very short period of time."
"But who on earth could possibly accomplish that?"
Michael took Randy's hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing gently as he held her gaze squarely with his. "We think it may be my uncle."
At first, Randy laughed, but when Michael and Adele didn't join in, just sat there watching her with intense expressions, she fell silent. When she finally spoke, her voice sounded slow and uncertain, even to her. "You're serious. That pompous twit?"
"Absolutely." He nodded. "It's why I came to this meeting tonight."
Damn it, Randy thought, this sucked. It was one thing for her to plot the old woman's humiliation, but she'd be damned if she'd put up with anyone else doing it. This wave of protectiveness she felt toward her grandmother was unprecedented and unsettling. She wasn't at all sure she liked it, or liked Michael for setting it in motion.
"I asked Michael to help me," Adele said, "just as I planned to ask your cousin and her husband. We may think we know who is causing all of this trouble, but we can hardly stop him without evidence."
Randy looked at Michael. "And what's your plan? What do you get out of this? The guy you suspect of being behind this is your uncle. Are you going to try to intervene before anyone else finds out so that you can hush everything up and spare your family from the rest of the community knowing your uncle is a power-hungry sleazeball?"
"Miranda, that was uncalled for!"
Michael shook his head. "No. You might find this hard to believe, Randy, but I like your grandmother, and I have a lot of respect for her. I don't think she deserves what Harold has been doing to her."
" 'Has been doing' to her? This has been going on for a while?"
"Nearly six months, we think. It was a while before anyone recognized the pattern of what was happening, and another two months before we were able to narrow it down to a manageable list of suspects. So we've only had three weeks or so to figure out what's been going on."
When Michael stopped and just looked at her with those killer blue eyes gone all patient and expectant, Randy sighed. Damn it, he was going to try to make her be the bigger person here, wasn't he? "Fine," she broke down, "I don't suppose you'd care to explain it all to me?"
At least he had the grace not to allow his expression of satisfaction to linger. "As you said before, Adele takes her position on the Council of Others very seriously. It's something that's quite important to her."
No one needed to tell Randy that. From what she could tell, the Council had always been more important to Adele than most of her own family.
"I feel very strongly that I have a responsibility not only to uphold the legacy of our family, of all the other Fox-women in our lineage who have served the same role, but also to make a contribution to the way the Others are adjusting to their new place in society," Adele said. She sounded more plausible than most presidents Randy had ever heard. "I'm sure you know what a pivotal point in history we're currently going through."
Of course she did. Randy wasn't an idiot. She might be human, but she was related to people who weren't, and she'd be damned if she'd stand at the door and wave when the species police came to take them away. She'd followed the Unveiling and the subsequent treaties negotiated between the human and Other delegations more closely than she'd ever followed anything in her life. Except for the year when Missy Rubino had been running against her for Homecoming Queen, and there had been extenuating circumstances back then. No way had she been willing to let the slut who stole her boyfriend get that crown, not if she had to rip it off Missy's skanky blond head.
"Yeah, I get that," Randy nodded. "I might not pay a whole lot of attention to the everyday crap the Council fixates on, but I do own a TV and I have read a newspaper once or twice. I've heard all the scare tactics. I know about leash ordinances and Jim WereCrow laws."
"Then it won't surprise you that some of us are very concerned about ensuring that the Others don't become the next great victims of discrimination. It also should not surprise you that there are quite a few people in the Other community who see the current situation as a way to gain power, potentially by discrediting those of us who already possess it."
"And Harold is one of those people?"
He nodded, his expression grim. "We believe he planted some sort of surveillance system here in your grandmother's house. At this point, we're reasonably sure it's confined to the first floor."
"A surveillance system?" she repeated, nonplussed. "As in bugs in the telephone receivers? What, is my grandmother the new Godfather all of a sudden? Is your uncle gathering evidence for a racketeering charge?"
"Of course not. Don't be ridiculous," Adele said. "This isn't some silly human crime investigation. Harold Devon is a witch, just like Michael is. We believe he's set up some kind of spell in this house that lets him listen in on my private meetings."
Michael stepped in before Randy could react to the 'silly human crime investigation' remark. "Adele is a very important woman in the Other community, and at the moment, that makes her an important woman in politics in general. The leaders of our communities are spending their time these days with international heads of state, negotiating treaties and making laws that affect every sentient being in this world. Your grandmother has the power to call the President of the United States, the Chancellor of Germany, and the Prime Minister of Japan, and make them take her calls. That's the kind of power some people would be willing to do anything to get for themselves."
Randy's head spun. She got what he was saying. For the first time in her life, she really got it. For a split second, Adele ceased to be just her grandmother, and Randy's mind allowed her to see that having Adele as a mostly estranged grandmother was a little like having Queen Elizabeth as a great aunt—Randy was far enough removed from royalty to not be interesting to anybody, but close enough to resent how much everybody wanted a piece of her relative.
The realization tilted her whole world on its axis, made Randy feel almost petty. She didn't like it at all.
"This is serious business, Randy," Michael prompted when her silence stretched on.
She dragged her gaze back to his face and glared at him. "I got that part, Michael. What I'm trying to figure out is how spying on Adele going on about her daily life gets your uncle any closer to landing a spot on the Prime Minister of Japan's bowling team."
"It's not that much of a stretch, Miranda," Adele said, sounding almost non-condescending. "All someone has to do is find out what strategic suggestions I'm planning to make to the Council of Others—who in turn will make them to the Commission on Equal Rights—and preempt them. Then the eavesdropper gets the credit for the suggestions, and I and the Others I've been working with are cut out of the process. Not only that, but if we try to protest, we either look like sore losers, or like leaders who can't manage their own security well enough to prevent our ideas from leaking out before we're ready. Either way, we lose and Harold wins."
"But wouldn't the Council get a little suspicious?" Randy asked. "I mean, if Harold is a non-entity for years and then all of a sudden he becomes one of the great political minds of the century, wouldn't that raise a few flags?"
Michael shook his head. "Harold is not a member of the Council of Others. He's on the Witches' Council, which has only been working with the Others for about five years now. And not only that, Harold's term just started nine months ago. Our council representatives are elected every five years. This was our election year."
When he fell silent, Randy took a very deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, shit," she said mildly, shaking her head. "What are you guys planning to do about all this?"
When, oh when, would Randy learn to keep her damned mouth shut? Whenever it was, it would be too late to keep her from skulking around her grandmother's house in the middle of the night like an inept cat burglar. At least cat burglars knew what they were looking for. All Randy had to go on was Michael's vague description of what to look for that might be serving as an anchor for the spying spell and his and Adele's insistence that it must be found tonight.
You'll know it when you see it, he had assured her. Remember what you felt when you performed the last part of that love spell you cast, that weird, shaky, light-headed feeling? That was from the magical energy. If you felt it then, that means you're sensitive to it, so you should feel the same thing if you come into contact with the anchor. Then just let me know, and I'll take care of it.
When she'd asked what "you guys" were going to do about this situation, she had not been using the term euphemistically. She'd really meant what they were going to do about it, not what she was going to do to help. Randy had always thought of herself as more of a moral support kind of girl.
She thought that even more when she stubbed her toe on one of the legs of an Edwardian settee.
"Shit!"
She hadn't been in this room in years, and now she was paying for her unfamiliarity with the layout.
"Shh," Michael hissed. "What's the matter?"
"I stubbed my toe because someone wouldn't let me turn on the friggin' lights," she snapped, which wasn't nearly as satisfying when she had to do it in a whisper. "What was the reason we couldn't do that again?"
"The meeting is still going on right down the hall and the rest of the house is supposed to be empty." That time his voice came from right beside her ear, and Randy jumped. She hadn't heard him approach. "We don't want anyone to know we're searching in here, especially since Adele went back and told them we already left with me escorting you home."
"And the reason we had to do this tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow when everyone is gone and we can, you know, see what we're looking for?"
She felt him sigh impatiently against her ear. "Because once we find the evidence, we'll need to act fast. The only way to put an end to his ambitions is to publicly discredit him. If we find his spell tonight and confront him with it in front of all of the people he's been lying to, his dreams of political power will go up in flames."
Randy grumbled something and went back to squinting into the darkness and keeping a weather eye out for that buzzing sound in her head she'd heard at Cassidy's.
"Besides," Michael murmured as he slipped past her, his hand finding her bottom unerringly in the darkness and giving it an affectionate squeeze, "the faster we get this out of the way, the faster we can get on with what we were doing upstairs before your grandmother interrupted us."
The man could have a second career as a motivational speaker.
After a few more minutes of enthusiastic but futile searching, Randy was beginning to feel grumpy. "You know, it would help out a lot if you could give me some kind of a physical description here. I mean, is it bigger than a breadbox?"
She could almost see that look of his, the one that said he wasn't amused. "It's magic, Randy. It doesn't have a physical description. It's like electricity that way, all right?"
"You don't have to get all grumpy."
"Well, pardon me, but—"
Whatever he'd been planning to say, he stopped and went suddenly silent. Randy turned toward the direction from where he'd last spoken and opened her mouth to issue another quip when she felt it. The sudden thickening of the air in the room, the weight of something heavy abruptly making its presence known. And then she heard the buzzing.
"You found it."
"Here. On the desk. It's attached to a small sculpture or something."
If he said more, she couldn't hear it. For a few seconds, she couldn't hear anything, but at least her eyes had begun adjusting to the dark. She could just make out a dark silhouette near the bookcase on the inner rear wall of the study. She moved cautiously toward it, giving the settee a wide berth.
She didn't notice until she got five or six feet from it that it was the wrong shape to be Michael, too squat and too wide, but by then it was too late. She was already within reach.
The buzzing in her ears ceased abruptly the second the man laid hands on her. In its place, she heard nothing, or an eerie sort of silence that should have sounded like nothing, but was too noisy for that. She knew even in the darkness that this was Harold, not because she remembered his face, but because the anger and hatred rolled off him in clouds of poison gas.
If Randy could have held her breath, she would have, but she was much too busy shouting for that. "Michael!"
"Shut up, you little bitch." Harold shifted and the back of his hand made violent contact with Randy's mouth. She cried out involuntarily this time and tasted the sweet coppery tang of blood.
It wasn't just the unexpected blow that made Randy's head spin, it was the thick, oily stench of magic that surrounded him. The magic she'd felt in casting her love spell had been dense, but not… icky. Harold's power had a definite ick factor. It made her feel dirty where his skin had touched hers. Damn, but she wanted a shower.
First though, she wanted to demonstrate to this jerk what happened to men who hit Randy Berry.
Everything seemed to happen simultaneously. Even before the blow registered, she heard Michael's roar of fury and sensed him launching himself at her attacker through the darkness. As impressive a speed as he clocked, though, he wasn't nearly as fast as Randy's knee. It came up with the swiftness of reflex and the power of righteous anger, and it made solid, vengeful contact with Harold's gonads.
He uttered a strangled screech, but instead of releasing her, the hand that had grabbed her upper arm clenched tight, the fingers digging into her skin like vice grips.
"God, you suck!" She tried to ram her elbow into his solar plexus, but since he'd bent double from the force of her knee, that target was nowhere in sight. Instead, she threw herself off balance and nearly toppled ass-over-elbows across his back.
"Randy! Move!"
Michael issued the order in a barely intelligible growl, but it didn't matter. "I can't! He's got my arm!"
She heard Michael swear and felt the impact when he charged into Harold from seemingly out of nowhere.
The darkness was driving her crazy. She hated the vulnerability of not knowing exactly where everyone was, of not being able to plan effectively for each person's movements so she could either get out of the way or give some assistance. All she could see were vague shapes and shadows, mostly just differing shades of black. She would have given her eyeteeth for a Maglite.
She heard a thud and a grunt and felt herself yanked abruptly to the left.
"Damn it, Randy, stay still!" Michael barked.
She decided to ignore that, since it was an idiotic order, given the fact that she wasn't precisely moving under her own steam here. Instead, she decided the best she could do was to upset Harold's balance. In one swift motion, she stopped struggling to pull herself away and leaned hard into his grip while at the same time letting her knees buckle under her to send her to the floor.
She heard curses—some from Harold and some from Michael—and felt her attacker's hold momentarily loosen. Desperately, she yanked again at her arm and felt his hand slide away.
"Damn you!" Harold roared.
Randy could have given a rat's ass. "I'm loose!" she shouted. Crawling to safety seemed ridiculously slow, so she dropped to her stomach and rolled several feet away across the carpet. The front panel of Adele's desk brought her to an abrupt stop when it made solid contact with the side of her head.
Damn it, at the rate this was going, she could spend a week in an Epsom salt bath and she was still going to look and feel like the loser in a ten-round heavyweight title match.
Michael didn't bother to answer her, but she could forgive him for that. It sounded like he had his hands full.
From the other side of the room, she could hear grunts and curses and the solid thud of fists of flesh. It sounded like a schoolyard rumble. Weren't witches supposed to duke it out in a more civilized manner? Magic wands at twenty paces?
Deciding she'd had more than enough of this bastardized game of Marco Polo, Randy reached out and grasped the edge of the desk. She hauled herself up carefully and traced the smooth surface of the wood toward the corner until she felt the cool metal of her grandmother's banker's lamp.
"Yes," she muttered, and being very careful not to tip it over, she traced the curve of the neck up to the base of the lightbulb and found the switch with trembling fingers.
She flicked it on.
For an instant, even the dim, shaded light of the desk lamp blinded her, and Randy blinked against the reflexive tears that welled in her eyes. More curses echoed behind her and she spun around just in time to see Harold yank himself out of Michael's weakened grip.
The older man stumbled into the bookshelves lining the wall behind him and struggled to catch his breath. His previously immaculate navy suit looked like he'd just stripped it off the body of a bum, wrinkled and askew with buttons missing and hems torn. His tie had disappeared completely, one shoe lay in the center of the floor where he and Michael had recently struggled, and his hair resembled that of Albert Einstein after a close encounter with an electric socket. His sneering face looked flushed, and Randy could see where he'd be sporting a hell of a black eye in a few more hours.
Michael looked a bit disheveled himself, Randy decided, but on him, it was sexy.
"I always knew better than to trust you, Michael," Harold panted, his lip curled into an expression that made him look like a disgruntled jackass, which Randy supposed was pretty much what he was. "You're so much like your self-righteous father. Neither of you ever understood what it takes to get ahead in this world."
"That's a hell of a statement from someone who's spent most of his life trying to take what his own brother built through work, talent, and integrity. Even after he died, he was still a better man than you," Michael said. Randy could see his hands clenching into fists at his sides, but he kept his cool no matter how much it was costing him. "What you should have realized was that I'd never let you get away with cheating your way to the top any more than he would have."
Harold laughed, the kind of braying, slightly manic laugh the villain always gave just before he made his last, desperate bid for freedom. Randy couldn't decide whether or not that counted as a good sign.
"You're a good deal too late," he crowed, sneering at his nephew. "I've had months to advance my plan. The votes have already swung my way. All I need is one more triumph over that Berry bitch, and I'll have both Councils eating out of my hand."
"But you're not going to get one more triumph, Uncle Harold. It's over."
The older man's face clouded with rage. "It will be over when I've left you both dead!"
Some instinct made Randy drop behind the apron of sturdy old oak in the same instant that Harold raised his hands and shouted a word she didn't understand. She had no trouble, though, understanding the impact of something powerful hitting the wall above her head, just about where she would have been if she'd remained standing. She also understood the acrid tang of the smoke that told her anything standing where she had been would now be raining down on her like ashes from Mount St. Helens.
The disadvantage of having good reflexes, though, meant that the desk now effectively blocked Randy's view of the rest of the room. She couldn't see what Michael was doing or whether he needed her help. All she could do was listen and pray that he had ducked as quickly as she had.
"Randy!" His voice made her scramble to her knees and peer cautiously around the side of her barricade. The coffee table and a couple of armchairs obscured her view, but she could still make out that Michael remained in one piece and that Harold appeared to be gearing up for another attempt to change that. "Smash the bug!"
The bug? She was afraid for his life, and he wanted her to swat flies? Had he sustained some kind of a head wound?
"No!"
It was Harold's cry of protest that jogged her memory. In a rush of motion, she stood and lunged for the small, abstract glass sculpture beside Adele's phone. Even before she touched it, she felt the energy that pulsed off of it, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Harold turn abruptly and throw himself at her with a screech of protest.
Her hands closed over the cool glass and lifted high above her head. Later, she would think it would have been much more satisfying if she'd planned it this way, but what happened was frankly a total accident.
She intended to hurl the sculpture to the bare wooden floor beside the desk and let it shatter into a million pieces, but Harold's thick skull just got in the way. Instead of throwing the sculpture to the floor, she bashed it hard against the man's skull and felt it come apart in her hand. Harold's cry died in mid-utterance, and he collapsed into a heap at the side of the desk.
Michael actually stepped on him in his haste to get to Randy.
"Are you all right?" he demanded.
"I think—" She looked down at her hand and broke off. "Oh, shit."
Her hand looked like it had gone through a paper shredder. She had blood and bits of glass everywhere and even as she looked at it, the hand began to tremble.
Michael's curse was much pithier.
The door flew open and banged into the wall behind it. A crowd of onlookers gathered in the entryway.
"What's going on in here?" Adele demanded, pretending to be shocked at the sight in front of her. "What's happened to Harold?"
At least, Randy assumed she had started off pretending, but when her gaze fixed on her granddaughter's bloody hand, the shock turned genuine.
"To hell with Harold," Michael growled, not bothering to look in Adele's direction. He'd already begun stripping off his shirt, and he used the cloth to wrap around Randy's hand in a makeshift bandage. "He's not hurt, just unconscious. But Randy is bleeding. We need to get her to the emergency room. She should have stitches."
"I don't need stitches," Randy protested, knowing it was probably a lie, but she also knew from the quivering sound of her voice that she was probably going into mild shock.
"Let me look at that," a woman said, pushing forward and striding briskly to Michael's side. She had curly, sand-colored hair that had been cut short, a decided air of competence, and freckles on what looked like every inch of her skin.
Randy didn't think she'd ever seen the woman before, but when Michael glanced at her, his expression shifted into distinct relief.
"Betsey," he practically sighed. "Thank god you're here. Do you think you can do something with this?"
Randy frowned as he passed her hand over to the stranger. "Do something? Like what? Finger painting?"
Betsey chuckled. "I'm sure you could do that yourself, hon, but Michael here was asking if I could fix it." She unwrapped the shirt from Randy's hand with great care. "I'm a witch, too. Healing work is my specialty."
Randy tried not to look skeptical. "Abraca-Bacitracin?"
"Not quite, but I like that one. Mind if I use it in the future?"
"Knock yourself out."
Michael hovered over her the entire time Betsey worked. He winced every time the witch hummed and actually whimpered when he saw the tiny shards of glass lift from Randy's flesh and dissolve into thin air. Randy had to admit the entire experience may have been more traumatic for him than it was for her. By the time her hand looked as if it had run into nothing worse than a kitten with a bad temper, Michael looked as white as a sheet and had little drops of sweat glistening on his forehead.
"All set," Betsey announced cheerfully. "Just keep it clean and slap a bandage over the really bad spots for a couple of days and you'll be good as new."
"Thanks." Randy rubbed her thumb over a long, pink scratch and grinned. "I have to admit, I'm impressed."
The witch wrinkled her nose. "Thanks, but it's just parlor tricks. Luckily, there wasn't any nerve or tendon damage, or I would have had to send you to the hospital. I'm great with first-aid, but not so much with the major wounds." She sighed. "Power is a fickle mistress."
Adele appeared at Betsey's side and squeezed the other woman's hand. "Be that as it may, we're all grateful," she said. "I wish there were something I could give you in return."
Betsey's expression took on a hint of speculation. "That's not necessary, but if you wanted to explain to me why Harold Devon is lying unconscious on the floor with a minor scalp wound while we all ignore that fact, I wouldn't tell you to shut up."
Adele smiled a bit grimly. "That's a bit of a long story, Betsey, my dear. One that I think calls for more of my best brandy."
Michael had seized Randy's hand almost the minute that Betsey released it, and he wasn't satisfied until he'd examined every inch of it to make sure she hadn't missed a single wound. Once he was satisfied, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a tender kiss into her palm.
Randy felt it all the way down to her toes.
"If you don't mind, Adele, I think Randy has had enough excitement for one night. She needs some rest." Michael laid a hand against the small of Randy's back and urged her toward the door. "I'm sure you can explain all this without us. If you'll excuse us?"
For the second time that night, Michael began to shepherd Randy away from a crowd of her grandmother's curious guests. She had no reason to protest, but this time her grandmother stopped her before she'd taken three steps.
"Miranda."
Adele placed her hand on Randy's arm and hesitated. Looking down, Randy noticed for the first time how that hand had grown older. It bore wrinkles and age spots on the pale, delicate skin, but its grip remained sure and unexpectedly tender.
"Randy." Now Adele's voice softened, and Randy raised her head in surprise. "I want to… to thank you. For your help tonight. You did me a great favor."
Her grandmother's voice sounded rough and awkward, but none of that mattered. Randy could feel her heart fluttering almost nervously, and she realized that what mattered wasn't the ease with which Adele was saying this; it was that she was saying it at all.
"You're welcome," she managed, and her own voice was rough. She cleared her throat.
Tentatively, Adele leaned forward, paused, then closed the distance and pressed her lips to her granddaughter's cheek. Randy's heart stopped for a split second, then resumed beating with even greater strength.
When Adele pulled back, her eyes almost looked misty. "I would very much like it if you would come for dinner on Sunday." She glanced at Michael. "Both of you, if you'd like. But you especially, Mir—… Randy. It would make me very happy."
For the first time in her life, Randy couldn't quite manage to speak. She nodded instead.
"Good." Adele took a deep breath and stepped back, resettling her commanding air like a cloak onto her shoulders. "You go up to bed. I'll handle everything else down here."
"Good," Michael muttered, resuming their trip to the door at a greatly increased pace. He walked slightly behind her, masking the way his hand slipped from the small of her back to caress her bottom through the red silk of her shorts. "Because there are a few things I intend to handle upstairs."
Sheesh. All the man had to do was touch her, and Randy was ready to trip him and beat him to the floor. It amazed her. It baffled her.
It made her want to weep with joy.
By the time they reached the stairs, her skin tingled and her heartbeat had reached the speed of sound. On the landing, she had to press her thighs together to ease the ache between them. And when her back hit the same mattress he'd pinned her to earlier, she had already decided that if he didn't come inside her in the next fifteen seconds, she was going to die of a brain aneurysm. Her circulatory system had not been designed to take this kind of pressure.
Her head spun, her senses swam, her ears rang, and she didn't give a damn about any of it. All she cared about was the man above her, touching her, loving her, the fact that it was absolutely vital to the continuation of life itself that he never stop.
It was like they were picking up exactly where they'd left off before. The hand between her legs shifted, one finger withdrawing only to be replaced by two. She moaned and arched into the penetration, dazedly acknowledging that nothing in her life had ever felt so good. So right. God, if she could find this without a stupid love spell, maybe it was a good thing it had backfired. If sex with her dream man would be better than this, she wouldn't be able to live through it.
She wouldn't even be able to live through this if he didn't hurry it up.
Tearing her mouth from his, she sucked in a desperate gulp of air and slipped her hand between them until she cupped the ridge of his erection. Then she squeezed, half a caress, half a warning. "Seriously, you need to hurry up and get inside me. Like, now."
He shuddered above her and blew out a tortured breath. "Right. God, you're right."
His hand withdrew from her to strip her shorts off and toss them carelessly aside. Before her hips hit the mattress again, he had his own trousers down and was kicking them off with equal haste. Randy fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, getting enough of them open that the rest popped off when she shoved the halves aside and set her palms against the smooth ridges of his muscular chest.
He was too far gone to let her continue for long. Impatiently, he brushed her hands away and slid his own between her thighs, hooking them in his elbows and pushing her knees high as he settled himself against her.
Randy's breath froze in her chest at the first press of bare flesh to bare flesh. Her eyes widened and her heart stuttered and time spun away more crazily than it had when she'd cast that spell. It seemed to slow and stop all around them as he shifted and pressed within her. His gaze locked with hers, blue eyes burning into brown, as he sank deep and deeper still until he came to rest hilt-deep inside her. She pressed her hands against the tops of his shoulders, not to push him away but to brace herself against something solid as the world spun crazily about her. When he moved against her, beginning a slow, lazy rhythm specifically designed to drive her out of her mind, she realized the grip was futile. Her nails dug into his skin and her hips rose and she gave herself up to the amazing, glorious sensations of fullness, of rightness, of completion, that having him inside her created.
Every movement lifted her higher, pushed her further into a cloud of desire. The arousal shocked her with its strength, but it was nothing compared to the astonishing realization that she could no longer imagine being with anyone else. It was as if by coming inside her, he had pushed away every other memory, every other desire and set himself up in their place. He filled every corner of her, not just of her body, but her mind. And her heart.
Restlessly, she shifted, bringing her knees even higher, tightening her body around his, trying to absorb his very essence into her skin, into her self.
She heard him gasp and bite off something that may have been a curse, felt him stroke deeper, move faster. The tension between them coiled like a spring ready to snap. Randy felt it sweep over her, carry her along like a cresting tide toward shore.
Arching beneath him, she struggled to match his pace, then to urge him faster. Hands clutching him to her, she lifted herself into him, wrapped herself around him and threw herself into her climax, knowing even as her mind went blank that he followed her into the sunburst.
Miranda Berry had fascinated him from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her, and Michael knew that wasn't going to change anytime soon. And he wasn't just saying that because she currently lay damp and spent and panting beneath him. Really. There were a lot of other things he admired about her, and he was sure he'd be able to list them all just as soon as he remembered his name and how to control his muscle and skeletal systems. He had to admit that when he'd come to Adele Berry's dinner and meeting, he hadn't expected to end the evening buried in his hostess's granddaughter, but he couldn't regret it either. He'd never been half so content in his life.
The end of the scene downstairs provided the icing on his personal piece of cake. It made him ridiculously happy to see the wounds between Adele and Randy beginning to mend, and he intended to be there to witness each and every one of them heal over. At least half of their previous problems, he suspected, had to do with how much the two women had in common, though he still wouldn't say as much to either of them under threat of torture. Hell, he wouldn't mention it under real torture. The one who heard it would probably disembowel him, and then she'd get angry.
In the short time he'd known Randy—all of about five hours now—he'd seen how much of her grandmother she had in her, and he suspected it was an awful lot more than either of those women would be prepared to acknowledge. They both possessed sharp tongues, iron wills, and the kind of innate dignity that made weak men quiver and strong men wary. In Adele, those qualities aroused his respect.
In Randy, they aroused something entirely different. And if he didn't stop thinking about it, neither of them would be able to walk in the morning.
Shifting carefully, Michael pressed up on his palms and eased their bodies apart, coming to rest at her side. He draped one arm across her to keep her close and forced his eyes open just enough to look at her.
She was adorable. Her hair was tangled, her cheeks flushed, and her mouth open as she fought to calm her breathing. She looked like she'd been thoroughly laid, which of course pleased Michael to no end. If he had his way, she was going to spend an awful lot of time looking just like this until they were both too old to remember how it worked.
Randy cleared her throat. "That, ah… that was…" she paused to lick her lips, "… uh… fun."
Michael grinned into the bedspread and squeezed her in a one-armed hug. "I kinda thought so."
She didn't open her eyes, just lay beside him and breathed deeply and evenly. She didn't feel as relaxed as Michael would have liked. His brows drew together.
"Are you okay?"
She snorted. "Fine. You didn't hurt me, He-Man. I'm made of stronger stuff than that."
He slid his hand up to her chin and turned her to face him. "That wasn't what I meant."
Her eyes opened and locked on his. "What did you mean, then?"
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not claiming to be Casanova, but women don't usually end up more tense after I make love to them than they were when I first got started."
"You'd rather I started snoring?"
"I'd rather you tell me what's on your mind."
"You don't really want to know."
He waited.
Randy laughed. "I was thinking about Adele."
He pursed his lips. "Well, that's a new one. I've also never had a woman tell me that my technique in bed reminds her of her grandmother."
"It had nothing to do with your technique, which I'm sure you already know." She looked back up at the ceiling and grinned. "I was just thinking about what Adele would normally have said if she'd caught me in this sort of situation. Something about living down to her expectations, I'm sure."
"Because we made love?"
"It's not about the sex. It's about having the sex on the first date. Hell, we haven't even been on a date." She grinned. "So technically, I jumped into bed with you before the first date. This is not the kind of ladylike, decorous behavior Dame Adele expects from the members of her family."
Michael tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear, unable to resist the urge to rub a thumb over the delicate arch of her cheekbone. The light dusting of freckles there looked like cinnamon sugar. "Oh, well. She'll live. In fact, I think she'd better get used to it. Quick."
Randy turned her head to look at him and quirked an eyebrow. "Does that mean you have something more in mind than a one-night stand?"
Smiling, he leaned forward and captured her lips with his. When he raised his head, they both had to struggle to catch their breath. "I have quite a lot in mind. After all, it's not every day that fate and magic conspire to bring me together with the woman of my destiny."
"Is that what I am?" Randy grinned and wriggled closer.
"Among other things." Another heated kiss made his voice even darker, even rougher. When she slipped her hand between their bodies and squeezed him affectionately, he nearly lost the power of speech completely. "You little witch," he growled.
"Am I?" she asked, her voice genuinely curious. "I didn't think casting one spell qualified me."
Michael trailed a line of kisses down her throat and up the slope of her breast. "It doesn't. That was a figure of speech."
"Oh." Randy registered a vague sense of disappointment, but really, who wanted magic powers? If she had those, she might have to develop some sort of a sense of responsibility. Perish the thought.
Michael heard her quiet "Oh," and lifted his head. "Are you upset?"
She shook her head. "Nah, I'm pretty cool with who I am. In my family, if I had special powers, that would actually make me more ordinary." She wrapped her arms and legs around Michael and shimmied her entire body. When his eyes rolled back in his head, she laughed and pressed her lips to his ear.
"But since you've got the magic in this relationship, I think it's only fair to warn you that you'll have to fix my parking tickets for me. After all, there ought to be some benefits to dating a witch…"
"Oh, I'll show you benefits," Michael chuckled, his grin going sharp and wicked. Slipping his hand beneath her, he raised her hips high and speared deep within her body.
Randy shrieked and let her head fall back against the pillows. Every molecule in her body was suddenly focused on the intense, erotic heat of him, the utter completeness she felt with this man buried inside her.
"Oh, yeah," Randy sighed and curled her hand around his neck to tug him to her. "That works."
"And he left me some kind of message about me standing him up. Can you believe that?"
"No."
"Like I'd ever have agreed to go out with him anyway, even if it was weeks ago." Randy scoffed, pushing off with her foot to set the enormous nursery rocker in motion.
"Of course you wouldn't have."
Randy Berry raised an eyebrow. "I'm detecting a certain lack of attention to my conversation in your voice, Cass."
Cassidy Poe Quinn rolled her eyes and continued to shove onesies into a voluminous diaper bag. "Miranda, it's four forty-five in the afternoon. I had two hours of sleep last night because the twins were up with colic starting at midnight, and Sullivan and I have a plane to catch in just over three hours. I'm sympathetic, but I'm also half-comatose. Take what you can get."
Randy felt a distinct stirring of déjà vu and grinned like a madwoman. She was getting a huge kick out of reliving this conversation without the angst that had tormented her last time. "Bitter, party of one, your table is ready."
"Miranda Louisa, you could try the patience of a saint—"
"Which is something I'm very pleased to report you're a far cry from, Cassie love."
"Must be a family trait, because Randy wouldn't qualify for the title either."
Both women turned to the door of the nursery at the sound of those deep, masculine voices, but this time, Randy barely spared a glance for Sullivan Quinn and his twin babies. Her eyes went right to Michael Devon and locked on like a homing beacon.
"And that's exactly why you guys are crazy about us. Or at least, one of the reasons," she said, wriggling her eyebrows suggestively.
"Here I was thinking it was just because we guys are crazy," Quinn grinned.
Cassidy rushed forward immediately. "I'm sorry, honey. I was just finishing up their bag while they were napping. Have they started fussing again?"
"They're fine. I told you a drop of whiskey would settle them down." Quinn dropped a kiss on his wife's forehead. "Are you all set then? The car will be waiting for us downstairs."
"I'm ready. Why don't you give me Molly? No sense in you trying to keep them both." She reached out and took her daughter, balancing the little girl on her hip, then looked at where her cousin had taken up a position at Michael Devon's side and shook her head. "I wish we didn't have to rush off, so you could tell us exactly how this happened. It nearly bowled me over when the two of you showed up on our doorstep. I didn't even realize you knew each other, let alone that you were involved."
Randy glanced sideways at Michael and grinned. "Oh, it kind of took us by surprise, too."
"Well, I'll call when we get settled in and pry it out of you then."
Michael grinned down at Randy and took her hand in his. Together, they walked Cassidy, Quinn, and the babies to the door and waved them off.
"Have a safe trip," Randy said, giving Cassidy and Molly their good-bye kisses. "We'll make sure the plants stay watered and the mail gets forwarded, and we promise to clean up from any keggers before you get back."
Quinn laughed and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek. "Never mind that. Just make sure the bedsheets are changed."
"Quinn!" Cassidy used her free hand to smack her husband on the chest while he and Michael laughed like lunatics.
Randy just rolled her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head. "Men are such pigs. Makes you wonder why we put up with them."
"Ah, but I think the last thing you're fearing at the moment is how to put up with us, cousin," Quinn murmured. "You seem to have found exactly what you've been looking for."
Randy stroked a hand over baby Declan's fuzzy head and grinned up at his father. "I did, didn't I?"
Michael extended his free hand and shook Quinn's. "I'd say we both did."
They watched the little family load themselves into the elevator, then shut the apartment door and turned back toward each other. For a long minute, Randy just looked up at this man she'd magicked into her life and said a heartfelt prayer of thanks.
"You know what?" she murmured, as she stretched up to kiss him through her cat-in-the-cream smile. "I'd say you were absolutely right."