The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2 (21 page)

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“Okay, Annie Oakley. Which prize shall it be?”

Clarissa’s eyes went huge. “I
won
?”

The carnie guffawed. “That’s usually what happens when you smoke every dang target.”

“Oh wow.” Her attention drifted to the pink gopher. “Can I…have that one?” She indicated her choice by pointing her index finger.

“Shore thing.”

She accepted the stuffed animal like she almost couldn’t fathom how she’d won this holy grail of prizes. There was no way in hell Logan was going to spoil her joy by telling her the toy probably came from China and cost less than what it took to win it. While she clutched the gopher to her chest, he flipped the carnie a Lincoln. Pressing his palm in the small of her back, he steered her toward the next sight. The rich, buttery smell of caramel corn wafted to his nostrils, making his stomach rumble. “Time for dessert.”

She blinked at him. “We just ate.”

“We’re at a carnival, shug. You haven’t eaten until your gut feels like it’s gonna bust and the Mylanta is callin’ your name.”

“That doesn’t sound very fun.”

“It is. Trust me.” Before she could hem and haw, he followed his nose to the proper vendor and scored them a bag to share. They walked through the rest of the amusements until they came to the section of the midway where the rides were located. The flashing lights, music and gleeful shrieks from the other carnival goers appeared to have Clarissa dazzled. She stared at everything in wonder. Within the depths of her eyes, he spotted the little girl who’d never been allowed to just play and do all the things a kid was supposed to enjoy. It made him sad and angry for her, as well as all the more determined to give her everything she’d missed out on.

He squeezed her hand. “Come on, let’s go snag a ride on the Ferris wheel.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Aren’t we supposed to wait half an hour until our food finishes digesting?”

“That’s only for swimmin’,” he assured her before cupping her elbow and guiding her in the right direction. The wait for the big wheel was relatively short compared to the coasters that seemed to attract the majority of teens gallivanting about. Within a few minutes they’d reached the head of the line, and the attendant ushered them inside their own private little cart. Clarissa figured out the seat belt on her own and buckled herself in, her expression bordering on trepidation. He squeezed her knee. “Relax. These things hardly ever get stuck.”

“They get
stuck
?” Her exclamation morphed into a hiccupped yelp as the cart began ascending.

He smothered his grin, but it was damn hard. “I said hardly.”

“That’s reassuring.” Despite her shaky tone, she inched forward on the seat and peered out at the multicolored canvas of lights and people milling beneath them. A gasp caught in her throat. “It’s so…beautiful.”

“Not half as beautiful as what I’m lookin’ at.”

She turned and their gazes collided. He leaned into her, one hand framing her cheek and the other curling around the hand she had flattened on her lap. He lifted their linked fingers and splayed them over his rapidly thudding heart. “Feel that? Happens every damn time I simply look at you.”

Her fingers rubbed against the cotton of his shirt, and a shuddering sigh snaked past her lips. He brushed his mouth over hers. “I wanna spend the rest of my days making sure each one of yours is full of happiness.” He tasted the salt of her tears on his tongue and pulled his head back.

Her eyes waterlogged, she stared at him. “I…”

“What, Rissa?” His heart pounded faster, each beat like an endless, echoing plea for her to say the three words he ached to hear.

“I’m afraid. Afraid of wanting this. Of wanting you.”

Her admission wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped for, but it was better than what he’d expected. “I know, baby. But you don’t have to be. I’m yours always. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

The tears collected in her eyes spilled past their dam. As if she were ashamed of even that show of emotion, she buried her face against the crook of his neck. He hugged her tight while the cart softly swayed and his heart silently broke for her.

Chapter Seventeen

It was just a little over an hour until the start of Jemma and Griffin’s wedding, and no one had suffered a nervous breakdown yet. Or inadvertently—or not—cast a spell to turn someone into a toad. Considering the number of high-strung witches running around, that last prospect had been slightly dicey.

A grunt came from Ms. Peach. “Whose brilliant idea was it to tie bows on one hundred and fifty chairs?”

Clarissa fluffed the ribbon she was securing before glancing toward the grumbling Ms. Peach. “I believe that would be you.”

“I did?” Peach frowned. “You should know better than to listen to me when I’m behind on my meds.”

Fiona and Jade appeared to lend a hand, and Clarissa used the opportunity to go check on things in the kitchen. Fortunately the giant persimmon was gone, its bountiful flesh now residing in two of the world’s largest fruit salads and a cheesecake. She inspected the five-tier wedding cake Gloria was putting the finishing touches on. A garland of incredibly lifelike fondant roses and butterflies cascaded down the side of the masterful creation. “You’ve really outdone yourself. Jemma is going to love it.”

Gloria beamed under the compliment. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. Speaking of our bride-to-be, I should see if she needs anything.” Leaving the cook to take care of things on her end, Clarissa headed upstairs to the bedroom that’d been temporarily turned into the bridal-party headquarters. Jemma was sitting on the four-poster bed, her shoulders slumped. Hannah Finnegan—Jemma’s mother—was stroking her daughter’s arm reassuringly. A thread of worry snaked through Clarissa. “What’s wrong?”

Jemma lifted her head, her expression glum. “I look like a white gumdrop.”

Clarissa stared at her, uncertain how to respond. “Um…”

“It’s the hormones talking. I told her she looks gorgeous and glowing, but she refuses to believe me.”

Jemma sniffled. “You’re my mom. You’re not above lying to make me feel better.”

Clarissa strode toward the dresser and picked up the braided ivy and stephanotis flower garland Jemma had chosen in place of a veil. Returning to Jemma, she carefully situated the headpiece on her blonde curls. “Well, I think you look like a princess. And have you ever known me to lie to you?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me right away that Antoinette Delacroix was my grandmother. Technically, that’s a lie by omission.”

Clarissa slid a glance toward Hannah. “Is she always this stubborn?”

“You have no idea.” Hannah clucked her tongue.

“Hold on a sec. I think I know who might be able to help with this.” She rushed two doors down to where Griffin and Jemma’s father were getting ready. Grabbing Griffin’s arm, she hauled him from the room.

“What is it? Jemma—”

Taking a cue from Hannah, she gave Griffin’s tensed biceps a soothing pat. “She’s fine. But I think she really needs some reassurance that only you can provide right now.” Giving his back a gentle shove, she coaxed him through the entry.

He slammed to a halt just past the threshold of the doorway, and Jemma lurched to her feet. “Griff! You’re not supposed to see me yet.”

“Baby, you look…
damn
.” A loud purr rumbled from Griffin.

Jemma’s face lit up, and she smoothed her knee-length organza skirt, preening a bit. “Are you sure it doesn’t make me look like a gumdrop?”

“Hell no. And I’m going to prove it after the ceremony.”

Hannah cleared her throat. “Hello. Mom unit standing right here. I don’t need to picture your guy’s kinky tiger sex while my precious daughter is reciting her vows.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. Taking that as a cue that her work was done there, Clarissa snuck from the room and headed for the stairway. She planted her foot on the top step just as Logan sauntered into the front entrance. In honor of today’s auspicious occasion, he wore a beige suit and white button-down shirt, the cut of the jacket emphasizing the broad width of his shoulders. A sunbeam snuck through the palladium windows, giving his hair a glossy sheen. Her heartbeat kicked up several notches.

Feel that? Happens every damn time I simply look at you.

He wasn’t the only one. As if he possessed a direct link to the frenetic race of her pulse, he lifted his gaze to her. The heat in his eyes was like a visual caress, and goose bumps danced across her skin. Curling her palm around the railing to steady herself, both in body and mind, she slowly started down the stairs. By the time she reached the bottom, the butterflies in her tummy had settled.

“How’s everything today?”

“Couldn’t be better. Despite some nerves on Jemma’s part, I think we’re good to go,” she assured with a smile, even though she suspected he wasn’t so much referring to the wedding plans, but rather her total meltdown yesterday.

“You look beautiful.”

She glanced down at her strapless emerald green sundress. “People will probably be shocked that I own a dress. And that it’s not black. You look beautiful too, by the way.”

He grinned. “Don’t you mean blindingly handsome?”

“Sorry, but you’ve used up your daily allotment of ego stroking. You’ll have to be happy with beautiful.”

“I am. I’m deliriously happy just standing here with you. Well, almost, anyways.” He leaned closer, the heat of his palm curving on her hip. His lips brushed her earlobe. “I’d be even happier if I were kissin’ you right now.”

“Only kissing?” Her lips twitched. “That’s kind of disappointing.”

“Not when you consider where I wanna kiss you.”

The hot lick of anticipation curling low in her tummy made her shiver. Logan’s groan ruffled through her hair. “Smellin’ your wet panties for the next hour and not bein’ able to do a damn thing about it is gonna kill me.”

“The handfasting ceremony lasts at
least
an hour and a half.”

“Fuck.”

Chuckling at his tortured expression, she encircled his wrist and towed him down the hall. “You can help fasten bows on the chairs. It’ll keep your mind occupied.”

They stepped out into the chaos that was the back rose garden. Many of the guests had already started to show up and were pitching in with the last-minute preparations. Despite the disorganization—or maybe because of it—everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. The laughter and general camaraderie surrounding her soon put her mind at rest that the wedding would go off without a hitch, and Jemma’s special day would be picture-perfect. Even Floyd had ceased trying to gnaw off the bowtie that Peach managed to slip around his neck and was now just moping around, his pathetic look clearly a ruse to gain sympathy that might lead to a snack.

The ceremony officiant arrived, and Clarissa briefly abandoned her station to greet the woman and to make sure the silk cords that would be used for the handfasting were up by the altar. By the time those tasks were completed, the seats were almost filled to capacity with the remainder of guests who’d trickled in. She spied Griffin standing near the rear of the coven house, talking with Logan. She hurried in their direction, sending up a silent prayer that her three-inch heels wouldn’t trip her up and send her sprawling flat on her face in front of one hundred and fifty plus people.

Reaching Logan and Griffin with no embarrassing stumbles, she jerked her chin toward the doorway. “Is Jemma all settled now?”

Griffin nodded. “She’s in the kitchen, eyeing the cakes like she has a hot date planned with them for later. I’m a little jealous.”

Jemma’s father strode out the door and clasped Griffin on his shoulder. “You ready to make an honest woman out of my daughter?”

“I’ve been ready for ten years.”

His eyes suspiciously misty, Neil Finnegan embraced his soon-to-be son-in-law. Once the emotional scene passed, Griffin set off across the lawn while Jemma’s father ducked back inside. Logan offered his arm and escorted Clarissa to a pair of seats near the back of the assemblage. They sat, but he kept his hand tucked over hers on her knee. The entire moment felt more than a little surreal. A witch and her familiar tying the knot, something that until a few months ago would have been met with harsh punishment. Holding hands with
her
familiar while her heart skipped with a combination of joy and panic. The knowledge that, come tomorrow, all of this would end, leaving her with nothing but bittersweet memories. If even that.

But she didn’t want to think about tomorrow. For now, she would enjoy every second she had left.

Sweet harp music suddenly filled the air and everyone stood and turned as Jemma and her parents stepped onto the path of crushed rose petals. Clarissa didn’t need Constance’s gift of aura reading to notice how Jemma glowed with vibrant radiance, making it clear to all present that she was overflowing with love for her mate.

An irresistible compulsion drawing her, she glanced over her shoulder and locked gazes with Logan. The snap and sizzle of their connection spiraled around and through her, blocking out all else. It was as if they were the only ones existing in time and space. In her mind, she was transported back to their trip on the Ferris wheel, cocooned within his arms while the world continued to spin around them, unnoticed.

The rustle of clothing broke the spell, and she blinked, belatedly noticing that Jemma had joined Griffin and everyone was taking their seats. She and Logan both sat, and she made a concentrated effort not to look his way for the rest of the ceremony, even though she constantly felt the heat of his consuming focus. While Jemma and Griffin crossed their arms and held hands, forming the infinity symbol as the officiant wound the silk cords over the couple’s linked hands, Logan laced his fingers through hers. She easily sensed his desire for her, along with his wolf’s edgy hunger to proclaim its own mating rites. The fierce waves rolling off him didn’t terrify her, but the responding echo within her soul that screamed
yes, yes, a million times yes
to his mating call was another story.

The instant the ceremony concluded, she jerked to her feet. Logan’s grip didn’t loosen from her hand, and she met the hot intensity in his eyes as he stood. “No runnin’, shug.” He glanced toward the small crowd beginning to congregate around the newly married couple. “I’ll give you ten minutes to make your rounds before meetin’ me in the celestial garden. Don’t be late, or I
will
hunt you down.”