Never Again (22 page)
She reared back so violently, she bounced off a table, and thudded to the floor.
Gray shared a look of astonishment with Lucy, and then they looked down at the prostrate woman.
“Well,” said Taylor. “Don’t that beat all.”
Ren and Trent stood a couple feet behind Cathleen, but only the deputy bothered to come to the woman’s aid. Gray didn’t want to touch the crazy woman, much less help her, and it seemed as though Taylor felt the same way. Ren’s expression suggested he’d rather be shoveling manure than helping Cathleen Munch into a nearby booth.
“You need some water?” asked Ren. “Maybe a saltine?”
She wouldn’t meet his gaze. In fact, she didn’t look around at all. She seemed to have shrunk in and wrinkled, like a prune left out too long in the sun. “Just leave me alone,” she said.
Ren stepped back, and Cathleen suddenly scooted out of the booth. She stood in the middle of the café, her eyes wild. She turned and pointed at Gray. “There’s the demon! And the demon’s bride.” She spit at them, but the globs of saliva fell harmlessly to the floor. “The Calhouns killed my daddy! And now they got a Rackmore witch to do their dirty work. I hope you both burn in hell!”
Silence was so thick Gray felt like he could choke on it. He was stunned by Cathleen’s breakdown—and the expressions of the townsfolk revealed the same shock. Cathleen trudged behind the counter and went into the kitchen. The oppressive atmosphere deepened. Gray felt like he was gonna suffocate, and no doubt everyone else felt the same.
He’d had enough of this farce.
“We’ll miss Marcy,” said Gray. “She was a good girl who deserved a much longer life. Sheriff Mooreland assures me everything is being done to find the person who killed her. I swear to you, as your Guardian, she will get justice. Thank you all for your donations. The sheriff will ensure the funds go toward a proper headstone for Marcy’s grave.”
People took the hint and headed toward the exit. A few stopped to offer their congratulations to Gray and Lucy, including Trent and Josie Gomez, but most folks shuffled by without a word. In no time at all, Gray, Lucy, Taylor, Arlene, and Ren were the only ones left.
Cathleen’s weeping had quieted, but she seemed to be pacing. Her shoes squeaked against the linoleum in a consistent, endless pattern.
“I’ll stick around,” said Ren. “Make sure everything gets locked up and she gets home okay.”
“Thanks,” said Taylor, clapping his deputy on the shoulder. “I appreciate it.”
Taylor scooped up the donation jar. Gray took Lucy’s hand and followed him and Arlene outside. It was a clear night, the moon bright and full. The air seemed clean, and so much lighter than what they’d been breathing in the café.
“Got your marriage certificate,” said Arlene. “Just need your signatures. Then I’ll make you a couple of notarized copies tomorrow.” She dug inside her gargantuan purse and pulled out a folder and a pen. “Here. Let’s use my car.”
Like most folks in Nevermore, Arlene had a truck. Hers was a 1986 short-bed Toyota, just the right size for its hood to serve as a desk.
The moonlight was enough to illuminate the paper. Gray signed his name above “Name of Groom, Magical,” and handed the pen to Lucy. She actually took the time to read the whole thing, and as it was a document created by magicals, its language was formal and in some places archaic.
She pointed to the sentence above where she was supposed to sign. “What does that mean?”
Arlene leaned in and read, “ ‘I hereby relinquish the name of my father’s lineage and take that of my husband’s, which I will henceforth honor and use as my own.’” She snorted. “Well, so much for women’s rights. I think the magicals need to update their paperwork.”
“It’s just a formality,” said Gray. “And you don’t have to take my name. Whatever you decide, our marriage will still be legal.”
She nodded, and looked down at the certificate, still apparently unsure about which name she wanted to use. It reminded him how Kerren insisted she remain a Rackmore. She’d marked out that same sentence. He didn’t blame Lucy for not taking his name—after all, one day their marriage would be dissolved and it would probably be better for her to keep “Rackmore” anyway.
She leaned down and scrawled her signature:
Lucinda Therese Calhoun
.
Lucinda Therese Calhoun
.
Gray tried to tell himself he wasn’t pleased by her choice, but . . . well, he was. Yeah. It made him old-fashioned and maybe a chauvinist, as well. She picked up the paper, and then flinched. “Ouch.”
“What?”
“Paper cut,” she said. “Crud. I got blood on the certificate.”
She showed it to him, and he watched the red smear fade into the paper.
What the—
What the—
Both their signatures turned silver and one by one the letters lifted from the page. They swirled together in a dance of bright, merry magic. Then slowly returned to their original positions and faded to the black ink.
“What the hell kind of magic was that?” asked Gray.
“The marrying kind.” Arlene gently took the certificate from Lucinda and placed it in her folder. “I have to get these babies directly from the Grand Court ’cause of the spellwork. Magical notaries do that stuff themselves, but don’t you worry, even though I’m a mundane, my seal will work just the same. It’s why I order the certificates special.”
Gray frowned. “That didn’t happen when I signed the certificate with Kerren.”
“Well, maybe you had the wrong kind of paper,” huffed Arlene. “You damned sure had the wrong kind of wife.” She patted Lucy on the cheek. “This one’s perfect. I suggest you keep her.” She stuffed the file back in her purse and shooed everyone away from her truck. “I gotta get home. Y’all do, too. G’night!”
They all backed away from the truck.
Taylor tipped his hat. “I’m tuckered out. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He patted the jar he still held. “I’ll make sure this all goes to Marcy’s headstone.”
“Get her the best,” said Gray. “I’ll pay whatever’s left.”
Taylor nodded. “Good night.”
Gray and Lucy said their good-nights, and then Gray took his wife’s hand. They had walked to town because Lucy insisted she wanted the exercise. It wasn’t that far, but he still regretted not bringing her down in Grit’s truck.
“I feel so strange,” she said.
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Like I was tied down and someone cut me free from the ropes.” She smiled up at him. “I feel like I’m floating.”
“Sounds like a good feeling.”
“It is,” she said. She stopped, and he did, too. She stepped into his embrace and stood up on her tippy-toes to brush a kiss across his mouth. Her small hands drifted down his chest, fluttering along the edge of his pants.
His balls tightened.
“I don’t feel like doing the dishes after all,” she said.
“Oh?” he asked. He brushed her hair back and let his fingers drift down the side of her neck. “What do you feel like doing?”
“You.”
He scooped Lucy into his arms and hurried up the hill toward the house.
Chapter 9
Anticipation buzzed through Lucinda as Gray carried her all the way up the stairs and into his bedroom. Ever since she’d signed the certificate, she’d felt an odd sort of freedom. Maybe it was only that she knew she was safe—that Bernard couldn’t touch her again. Not ever. Oh, he might try, but it wouldn’t matter. Not now. And if she had to live with her curse for all her days, then so be it.
Gray put her down onto the freshly made bed and then rolled in beside her. He gathered her close, and her heart started to pound. He was so gorgeous. She traced the line of his jaw and dragged her forefinger across his lower lip.
“What now?” she asked.
His breath skirted her lips as he leaned down and took her mouth. It was a tender assault—but one that made her ache. Made her want more. His hand slipped through her hair and cupped the back of her head. He deepened the kiss, thrusting his tongue inside to mate with hers.
Heat flared. Oh, yes. There was the lust that Gray inspired so well. Need was an ache that he both encouraged and fulfilled. She had never felt this way before, and she reveled in her first true tastes of passion.
His lips moved down her throat, lingering at the base. His tongue dipped into the concave between her collarbone, followed by the soft brush of his lips.
His hands slid under her shirt, and she shifted so that he could reach the back strap of her bra. He easily unsnapped it.
“Sit up.”
She did as he asked, nerves plucking her stomach, her skin tingling, her body aching for his touch. Everywhere. She wanted to feel him everywhere.
He took off her shirt, her bra. Then she lay back on the pillow and let him. His stroking fingers made her want to purr. Oh, how she loved his touch.
“What happened?” he asked. His fingers danced along her scars—and there were so many. He’d made her forget that she was flawed. That Bernard had damaged her.
Shame filled her. She tried to sit up, to push away his hands, but he pressed a kiss to her belly, and she stilled.
“You’re beautiful, Lucy.” He looked up at her. “We all have scars. Some you can see. Some you can’t.”
She reached down and put her fingers on the scar that twirled down his temple. “I don’t see your scars,” she said softly. “I just see you.”
“Let me love you.”
Her breath caught at his words, and for an aching second, she wanted to know that Gray really did love her. How wonderful it would be if their marriage was real, and she was truly his bride. The woman who held his heart.
But that could never be.
Instead, she gave herself over to his tender ministrations. He kissed each and every scar, and with every bestowal of affection wiped away her shame. Though Bernard’s marks remained on her flesh, the memories of his cruelty faded. Bernard’s final hold on her crumbled away—shattered by the man who worshipped her now.
There was only Gray.
Touching.
Kissing.
Loving.
He trailed a path to her breasts, raining tiny kisses over each of them, cupping them in his hands and squeezing lightly.
Then his mouth closed over one turgid nipple.
“Oh,” she said. “Oh, Gray.”
He paused and looked at her with a heavy-lidded gaze. “I love when you say my name.”
“Gray,” she offered. “Gray.”
He kissed her, this time with rough possession, to show her that his control was snapping. She wanted him so much. She felt the same unleashing of her desire, hot and slick and wild.
“More,” she said. “More.”
She tangled her fingers in his hair. He gave her nipples torturous attention, suckling them so hard, the pain turned to pleasure.
Her heart pounded.
Her blood raced.
Her body burned.
His hand coasted down her stomach and wiggled beneath her jeans, her underwear. He infiltrated the nest of curls at the apex of her thighs. He lightly pinched her clit between his thumb and forefinger, released the tiny nub, and pinched again.
Lucinda moaned.
Not content with those small torments, Gray slipped two fingers inside her and curled them up slightly.
He began to stroke.
Pleasure spiked. Raw electricity, flaring bright and hot.
“How are you doing that?” she panted. She arched, trembling. Her eyes rolled back in her head as sensations built in intensity. She lost the ability to breathe, to think. He made her feel so good. And however he’d managed to find such a sensitive spot within her . . . oh, she was glad.
He was looking at her, his eyes dark with passion as he penetrated her. “Yes, baby. Like that.”
Lucinda grabbed his shirt and twisted the fabric. Her heart pounded and pounded—waves against the shore, stars crashing to earth. She moved her hips in rhythm with his strokes. She couldn’t look away from those blue eyes, the sky on fire, the sea raging.
“Come for me,” he whispered.
“You,” she managed. She shuddered, sucking in air. “Not without you.”
“We have all night,” he promised. “This is for you.”
He leaned down and laved one taut peak . . . then lightly bit.
Lucinda felt the world shatter all around her. She cried out, giving herself over to the rolling pleasure, riding wave after wave. She held on to Gray tightly as she fell endlessly into light and heat and beauty.
She collapsed against the bed, thoroughly sated.
But Gray wasn’t finished with her.
All night,
he’d said. She managed to open her eyes. “Again?” she asked.
All night,
he’d said. She managed to open her eyes. “Again?” she asked.
“Damn straight.” He yanked off her jeans and underwear, and then dragged off his own clothes. She caught a flash of his gold dragon tattoo on his pectoral, and the scar that covered his right shoulder.
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