WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1) (15 page)

Ravish treated me to her sexy, throaty laugh. “You’re a character, Willem.”

“That’s what people keep telling me.”

“And I’m so lucky to be your prize.”

The idea of winning seemed about as real to me as unicorns leaping over rainbows, but I guess some people would say that ghosts don’t haunt hotels, and long-deceased pioneer women don’t temporarily occupy oil-painted portraits in red cocktail dresses. The idea that this heavenly creature might think she was lucky to get me was mind-boggling.

I searched her eyes and shook my head, not knowing what to say. Seemed to me that it was only a matter of time before she changed her mind about being lucky. Sooner or later she’d find out who I really was and feel tragically unfortunate. I’m just a penniless guy who spent ten years chasing a dream that wasn’t even mine. That probably defines loser. Further, I was pretty sure I was about to make the world’s lousiest groom-for-a-year.

For one thing, I’d never been in the habit of putting somebody else first and I’d heard that’s one of the things you do when you want a long term relationship. I shrugged internally, deciding that I was gonna have a hell of a lot of fun before they discovered that I was a fraud.

Harmony winked at me as she handed scrolls to both Ravish and Deli. Yeah. I’m talking about
actual
parchment scrolls, rolled up and sealed with wax. When Ravish broke the seal and began to unroll, I saw that it had been written in hand-inked calligraphy. My fingers itched to touch it almost as badly as they wanted to roam over Ravish’s body.

She turned to me. “It’s written in Old English language and script. You may not be able to read it.”

“No. I can. My hobby has taken me in that direction so it’s not new. You want me to read it?”

She held out the scroll and nodded. “It says that you will enter into a trial marriage with me for a year. At the end of a year and a day, which is when the ceremony will take place, you can decide to leave or make it permanent.”

I don’t know what made me say it because, at the moment, the only thing I wanted was to sign on the dotted line, but something made me say, “I can leave, no hard feelings?”

The way she looked at me made me sorry I’d asked the question. Her smile disappeared and her eyes looked, I don’t know, almost plaintive. “Of course,” she said, but I could see that I’d planted a seed of worry in her heart. I regretted it, but at the same time, thought perhaps it was for the best.

Just in case.

Because contracts are serious.

I opened the scroll and read through. It was just what she’d said except that there was also a lot of language about the benefits of being a first year groom. And every one of them sounded like a lottery win.

I smiled, hoping to restore her good mood. “Yes. I’m all yours.”

It felt strange to say the words, ‘I’m yours’, to another person. I’d never had a girlfriend for longer than two weeks. My inexperience informed me that I knew nothing about managing the practical or emotional aspects of a long term relationship. But I knew, with Ravish standing next to me in all her delectable perfection, that I’d be an idiot to walk away.

“Where do I sign?”

Ravish pointed to a high table with a bottle of ink. When I got up close I saw that it wasn’t a quill pen, but an ink pen decorated with a feather. I picked it up and looked at the bottle. I’d never loaded an ink pen before.

“It’s full,” she said. “Just take off the cap. You want to go first. Or me?”

“Me.”

I signed in my best cursive, glad that I have a decent looking signature, then handed the pen to her.

She signed underneath, never taking her eyes off me. Her signature was just like her. Feminine with a hint of formidable will underneath.

She capped the pen, pressed the front of her body into me, pulled me down so that she could rest her forehead against mine, and said, “Take me home.”

“Unless you want to go to a third floor room at the Charmed Horse, that’s going to have to be my line.”

She laughed softly. “Your things have already been moved to
our
home. Let’s go.”

“They must have been pretty damn sure I’d say yes.”

She laughed while sliding her arm around my waist. My arm went around her shoulders as naturally as if we’d done that a thousand times before. As we walked toward the door, there was some applause behind us, but all that I and my male bits could think about was what was coming next.

As we emerged from the entrance, there was a red Porsche Boxster Spyder sitting right in front of us with the top down.

“You want to drive?” she asked.

“Hell, yes.” She started toward the passenger side. “But I haven’t driven in a long time. I don’t have a car in L.A.”

“You didn’t forget how, Willem. And it’s not far away.”

She smiled and that smile made me feel like I could do anything. So I slid behind the wheel and she handed me the key. I loved that the car had an actual key ignition and not a button start. The fob proudly displayed the colorful Stuttgart stallion emblem and was a work of art in itself.

The engine rumbled to life, purring like it wanted nothing more than to eat up the road.

“Take us home,” she said.

Those were three words I never thought I’d hear a woman say to me. I supposed I might get used to it. In time.

At the foot of Kellan’s driveway she pointed left. “That way.”

We drove around the base of the hill then climbed even higher. She directed me to the last house on the right. I pulled into the circular drive and whistled.

It was a Greek revival with Corinthian columns. On seeing it for the first time, my thought was that it suited her perfectly. Sexy, elegant, and slightly at odds with the Hill Country environment.

“Let’s put it in the garage,” she said, indicating that I should drive around the house.

The four-car garage was rear entry. She snagged the remote from the driver’s side visor and pushed the button so that the door was opening when I made the turn. I pulled in next to a four-wheel drive Jeep.

“You go off-roading?” I asked with an eyebrow raised, trying to picture that.

She lifted a shoulder and looked coy. “Sometimes.
Would you like to walk around and go in the front? Since it’s your first time here?”

It seemed like what she wanted, and since I was eager to please, I said, “Sure. You’re going to give me the grand tour.”

She laughed softly. “If you want.”

We walked back around the house to the front door. She didn’t use a key, but walked right in. When the front door opened, lamps came on in the entry hall and adjoining rooms.

“You leave your door unlocked?”

“Our
door,” she corrected. “And yes. No one can come in uninvited.”

“They can’t?”

She laughed again. “No, Willem. What kind of a witch would I be if I couldn’t protect my own property from trespassers?”

“Well,” I said, “I suppose that’s true. About the witch thing…”

“Come in. Let me show you around. Then we can have a drink and talk as long as you like.”

I had to admit that talking wasn’t my first priority and the idea of a long talk was a little disappointing, but I’d opened the door, so to speak.

The ceilings were sixteen feet high. The décor was simple and livable, but luxurious. Minimalist softened to plush posh. Very Architectural Digest.

I whistled. “Your decorator is really something.”

“That would be me.” She beamed. “Come on. Let’s do a run-through. This is the music room.” She pointed to the right. There was a shiny black grand piano shell with a Roland keyboard inside. “I don’t play, but Destiny does. It gives her something to do when she visits.

“This is the living room. It pretty much goes unused except for occasional guests.” I followed her down the hallway past the staircase that rose from the rear rather than the front of the house. She waved to a room on the right. “That’s the study. I don’t use it much, but the architect insisted the house wouldn’t be complete without it.”

I stood staring into the room covered in rich mahogany with its coffered ceiling and built-in shelves and thought, “Yeah. I could see myself there.” The room was just about the same size as the entire apartment I shared with Hector and worth more than the entire apartment building. The walls followed the windows as they bowed outward into a semicircle.

“What does the view look like in the daytime?”

“Oh,” she said, “you can see the hills, a few of the other houses, the river and part of the town. I think it’s nice.”

“Sounds like. It’s a beautiful room.”

“If you want it, it’s yours, Willem. You can redecorate it any way you want.”

“
That’s very generous. I might take you up on that. If you’re really not using it.”

“Willem, you can have anything you want. All you have to do is ask.”

That was going to take some getting used to. Whoever thinks they’re going to be standing in front of a preposterously gorgeous creature, possibly of supernatural origins, being told you can have anything you want? It occurred to me that I could be dreaming, but everything was just too real, including the smell of Ravish’s hair when she passed close by. I don’t know scents enough to tell you what she smelled like, just that it was intoxicating.

“You want a drink before we go upstairs?” she asked as she was walking away.

I followed. “Sure. What do you have?”

She laughed. “Everything.
We
have everything.”

The kitchen left me almost speechless. The cabinets were painted white, with glass fronts and interior lights. Some of them were so tall that a ladder would have been required. There was a slate island three feet wide and twelve feet long. Above that were a series of lighted pot racks with hanging cookware, copper bottoms gleaming like they’d never been used. One entire wall was dedicated to refrigeration. There was a two-foot-wide wine column, a double freezer column, and a triple refrigerator column.

She pointed to the refrigerator column that had a glass front. “We could open wine if you want, or something stronger. But like I said, we have everything.”

True to her word, the glass front column held every kind of soft drink, water, wine cooler, and beer. My eyes ran over the rest of the room. Triple oven. Six burner gas stove.

“Do you live here alone?” I asked.

“Not anymore.” She smiled. “Sit.” She pointed to one of the leather stools around the island. “Let me get you something. What will you have?”

“What are you having?”

“Hmmm. Coffee?”

I grinned. “Sold.”

“How do you take it?”

“I like girlie creamers when I can get them. Otherwise, couple spoons of sugar and milk.”

“Girlie creamers?” she asked, as she pulled open one of the other refrigerator columns. “We have every variety of Baileys. Hazelnut. French Vanilla. Original. Crème Brulee. Caramel.”

“Stop. That’s the one.”

“Caramel? Hmmm. I’ll have that, too.”

She set the Baileys caramel creamer on the bar in front of me and went about brewing the joe in a pod coffeemaker. I remembered that it was days ago when I’d been thinking I wanted to own one of those one day.

She pushed my cup in front of me along with a silver sugar bowl and spoon.

“Fancy.”

“The sugar bowl? Is it?”

“Yeah, Ravish. It is.”

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“No.” I laughed. “Hopefully it would take more than a bit of silver to make me uncomfortable.”

She brought her coffee, sat beside me, poured creamer, and used my spoon to stir it.

“This is good,” I said. “I don’t have a toothbrush with me.”

She grinned. “Yes. You do. In fact all of your stuff is upstairs.”