Spellcrossed (31 page)

The first time we had made love, we’d been a little awkward and more than a little desperate for the fulfillment we had postponed for so long. Later, the knowledge of our parting cast a bittersweet shadow over our lovemaking. As for our wham bam quickie, that didn’t count as lovemaking at all.

Now, I could simply enjoy him. The otherworldly paleness of his body. The smoothness of his skin. The soft folds of flesh between his thighs, the most alien part of his anatomy and the one he had hidden from me the longest. The pink rosebud of a penis peeking out shyly, then rapidly losing its shyness as it shot skyward.

His hands gliding over my skin. His cheek rubbing against my thigh. That cat’s tongue teasing between my legs.

I think I screamed shortly after that. And made some unearthly noises. Rowan didn’t seem to mind. After he’d reduced me to a quivering Jell-O woman, he rested his chin on my belly and summed up with a succinct “Yum.”

When he reached for the box of condoms, I stayed his hand. “I have a better idea.”

I’ve never been Frieda Fellatio. The preliminaries are fine. It’s the inevitable ending that always gives me trouble. Which is why I’d never ventured into this territory with Rowan. But the way his eyes widened when he realized what I intended and his little moan of pleasure when I seized his hips and pulled him toward me encouraged me to take the plunge.

Unfortunately, I didn’t factor in the effect of faery power. It’s hard to give a guy a hummer when you’re gasping and moaning yourself.

I finally raised my head and said, “Rowan. Can you tamp down the power a bit?”

I felt like Santa in the animated
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
special asking Rudolph to turn down his nose. But this little experiment was never going to reach a satisfactory conclusion while I was experiencing secondhand arousal.

Rowan stared into space, his eyes glazed with pleasure. When I tapped his thigh, his gaze finally focused. “I’m not sure…it’s very difficult…”

“Maybe we should give this up and—”

“No! I’ll try. Very hard.”

There were a couple of dicey moments when his desire flooded my body and I was sure he’d have to finish without my assistance. But Rowan clamped down on his power and I clamped down on Rowan and, apart from the moment when his fingers tightened involuntarily in my hair, the inevitable ending proved oddly satisfying. Oddly for me, that is. He tasted the way he smelled, sweet and musky and warm. I licked up every delicious drop and smiled smugly as he collapsed onto the bed.

“That was amazing,” he breathed, giving my not-so-inner Aphrodite an added boost.

“You mean no one’s ever—?”

“You know perfectly well you’re the only person who’s ever seen me naked.”

“Well, you don’t necessarily have to see the flagpole to polish the chrome.”

He gave a startled yelp of laughter. “In my day, it was discreetly called the French way.”

“In your day, they didn’t have chrome to polish.”

“Gods. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it.”

“A credit to your control.”

“A credit to my imagination. I pictured myself going off like an unattended fire hose and—”

It was my turn to yelp.

He propped himself up on his elbow and grinned. “I don’t suppose you’d care to polish the chrome again?”

“I’ll get lockjaw. Besides, the actors will be arriving soon and you can’t possibly…”

My eyes widened.

Rowan lay back and folded his hands behind his head. “Faeries have extraordinary recuperative powers.”

“Smug bastard.”

“Chrome polisher.”

I pinned him to the mattress and straddled him, a pretty easy task since he wasn’t putting up a fight. Then I kissed him, and he shivered.

“Is that what I taste like?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Did you…was it…?”

“Yum.”

I was more aware of the pleasant ache between my legs than the performances at the matinee. Afterward, I raced back up to the apartment and found Daddy perched on the sofa, scowling at the plate of crudités.

“I told him that was all he could have,” Rowan called from the kitchen, “until everyone arrives.”

Fortunately for Daddy, there was a knock on the door a few minutes later. I hung back to let Rowan greet his guests. The men solemnly shook hands. Mei-Yin clapped him on the shoulder. Catherine gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

Janet brought up the rear. She hesitated on the threshold, just as Rowan had the day of the barbecue. They went through the same Gaelic gargling. Then Janet stepped inside and I let out my breath in relief at surmounting another hurdle.

“No need to stand in the office,” Rowan said a little too heartily. “Let’s all go into the other room.”

Hal let out a soft shriek as he entered the living area; obviously, he’d never seen it. Nor had Bernie who gave a low whistle and murmured, “Man, oh, Manischewitz, such a hayloft.”

Because of the Follies, we were serving nonalcoholic beverages, but I couldn’t resist buying two bottles of champagne to mark the occasion. Rowan opened one, splashed a swallow into Catherine’s glass, and filled the rest.

“As you probably guessed, this was Maggie’s idea. I have to admit I was…”

“Horrified?” Janet prompted.

“Taken aback,” Rowan conceded. “But she assured me it would be fun. So a long overdue welcome. To colleagues. To family. To old friends.”

We clinked glasses, all of us savoring this extraordinary moment. Then Daddy said, “Can we eat now?” and we exchanged solemnity for laughter.

Daddy circled the room like a shark as he sampled hors d’oeuvres. The rest of us milled around and exclaimed over Rowan’s food.

“You MADE this?” Mei-Yin demanded, examining a basil leaf topped with a tiny ball of pine nut-coated goat cheese.

“Maggie helped.”

“Mostly, I gouged out cucumber cups for the salmon mousse.”

Hal popped a mango shrimp in his mouth and mumbled, “Yum.”

I studiously avoided looking at Rowan.

“I’ll never fit into my Follies costume,” Hal declared. Then he immediately plucked a puff pastry from Lee’s plate. “Ooh! What are these?”

“Lemon parsley gougeres,” I informed him.

“Goo-who?” Lee asked.

“Who cares?” Catherine replied. “They’re terrific.”

Her happy laugh gave me almost as much satisfaction as her heaping plate. Morning sickness seemed to have given way to a rapacious appetite. And although she would probably fall into bed after the Follies, her face—if not exactly glowing—was less drawn.

“I had no idea you were such a good cook,” Javier said.

Daddy paused long enough in his circling to note, “There aren’t any mini-hot dogs.”

“Try a bacon-wrapped date,” I advised.

“Try…what
are
these, anyway?” Bernie asked.

“I hope you’re not kosher,” Rowan said.

“Only at Passover.”

“Prosciutto crostini with lemony fennel slaw.”

Alex laughed. “I never imagined I’d hear those words coming out of your mouth.”

“You’re as bad as Maggie. I informed her that the miniature quiche is properly called a mushroom pomponnette and—”

This time, everyone laughed. Hal picked up two tiny quiches and exclaimed, “Two—four—six—eight. Who do we appreciate? Rowan. Rowan. Rowan!”

Rowan looked pleased but confused until I explained the “cheerleader with pom-poms” allusion.

For the next hour, he was a consummate host, unerringly finding something to appeal to each of his guests: explaining the origin of the battered trunk to Javier; lingering with Alex by the antique melodeon; showing Janet the silver-framed photograph of Jamie and his family.

When he saw Reinhard gazing raptly at one of the bookcases, he nudged me and whispered, “Library lust.” As we wandered over, Reinhard carefully removed one volume and cradled it in his hands. “I still cannot believe you own a first edition of this.”

I craned my neck, and he turned the book so I could read the faded lettering on the bright blue cloth cover:
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, Tom Sawyer’s Comrade
.

“Holy crap,” I whispered.

Rowan smiled. “The first book I ever owned—and the first novel I ever read. I preferred travelogues and newspapers that offered me glimpses of the world. But I enjoyed
Roughing It
so much that Jamie’s son Andrew bought me that.”

“Do you know how much this is worth?” Reinhard asked.

Rowan shook his head.

“At a guess…twenty to thirty thousand dollars.”

“Holy crap,” I whispered again.

Even Rowan looked shocked. “Well, at least now I know I can support myself.”

“You’re not selling it,” I told him flatly.

“No. It has too much personal history. But most of the other first editions are just…old books.”

“You should have them appraised,” Reinhard said. “I am no expert, but I have a friend who is an antiquarian bookseller. She will give you an honest estimate.”

“Thank you, Reinhard.” Rowan cocked his head. “I believe the other guests are arriving.”

A few moments later, he ushered Lou, Bobbie, and Nancy into the living area. After the hugs, kisses, and backslapping concluded, I steered them over to Daddy. Nancy eyed him intently as she shook his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jack. Maggie’s told me so much about you.”

Lou settled for a more casual “Howya doin’?”

“Better,” Daddy replied, drawing uncertain glances from Lou and Bobbie.

I brandished the plate of cucumber cups. “Hors d’oeuvres, anyone?”

“I won’t lie to you.”

“Rowan made the salmon mousse himself.”

“I went through some bad times.”

I tramped on Daddy’s foot. “But right now, he’s enjoying the party.”

“Oh, sure. But don’t get your hopes up. There aren’t any mini-hot dogs.”

It was only a matter of time before someone asked Lou and Bobbie about their status. Naturally, that someone was Mei-Yin who demanded, “When are we gonna hear WEDDING bells?”

Bobbie blushed. “Well, now that you mention it…next spring.”

Rowan’s voice rose above our excited babble. “This calls for more champagne!”

As we raised our glasses, I wondered if our friends would ever toast our engagement or witness our wedding vows. Then I silently intoned my “one day at a time” mantra and reminded myself to enjoy this moment, this day, and the company of good friends.

Half an hour later, I shooed Nancy, Bobbie, and Lou out to the picnic area to grab some pizza with the rest of the audience. Rowan shooed the staff off to the Smokehouse to get into makeup and costumes.

Our first party. And everything about it—except the hors d’oeuvres—had been wonderfully ordinary.

“Post-party depression?” I teased as Rowan collapsed on the sofa.

“Post-party exhaustion. Do you think they enjoyed themselves?”

“They had a wonderful time. How about you?”

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

“Didn’t you have any fun at all?”

“Yes,” he replied, a faint note of surprise in his voice. “Once I stopped trying so hard and just let things…happen.”

“There’s hope for you yet, Mackenzie.”

He heaved himself off the sofa. “Stop patting yourself on the back and get to work, Graham.”

I banished my uncertainties about the future, content to revel in the wonderfully ordinary task of cleaning up after our guests.

I
F THE STAFF WAS NERVOUS ABOUT DADDY’S DEBUT, they hid it well. As we changed into our costumes behind the screens Hal had set up, there was a lot of good-natured teasing about
my
debut. Last year, I’d been too overwhelmed to take a role in the Follies. This year, my stomach was aflutter with nerves and mushroom pomponnettes.

When I emerged in my costume, the staff applauded. I laughed when I beheld my adorable forest creatures.

Over their tights, the staff wore shapeless knee-length serapes in various shades of brown and gray. Mei-Yin—our resident squirrel—had a bushy gray tail attached to her serape. Catherine had a bunny’s powder puff. Alex’s head was crowned with a stag’s antlers. In his black eye mask, Javier looked more like a dashing cat burglar than a raccoon. But a morose-looking Reinhard won top honors with his enormous moose antlers.

“The cast will lose all respect for me.”

“They’ll be too busy admiring your rack,” Hal replied. “Honey, my drapes are stuck again.”

As Lee fiddled with the draping that hung over Hal’s full-length mirror frame, the door to the Smokehouse opened. We all froze, but it was only Bea.

“My God,” she said when she saw Mei-Yin and Reinhard. “It’s
The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle
.”

Reinhard scowled. “If you have come to call places, please do so.”

“Places!” she sang out, still grinning. “Break a hoof, Dad.”

I adjusted Daddy’s floppy dwarf cap. “You’ll be great.”

Please, please, please let him be great.

Rowan kissed my cheek. “Just have fun. Both of you.”

I slipped out the Smokehouse door and eased aside so that Janet and Hal could squeeze in behind the backdrop that hung from the branches of the maples. The recorded overture blared from the speakers, prompting cheers and whistles from the assembled actors. When the lights came up to reveal Janet in her evil queen glory, they responded with a low “Oooh.” But Hal got the first laugh of the evening when he pulled open his draperies. He’d kept the weird mask from the Disney cartoon, but the rest of his costume was pure Carmen Miranda, complete with a towering headpiece of apples.