Mysteria Nights

Eight

Candice slept till noon again the next day—this time curled up against Justin’s body. And she awoke to his gentle caresses and they made love slowly, whispering erotic secrets as morning gave way to afternoon. They’d said good-bye like lovers had for centuries, with lots of long looks and lingering touches.

And tomorrow . . . they were meeting tomorrow. He’d wanted to see her again that night, but as he’d been kissing her good-bye for about the zillionth time, his cell phone had interrupted them. He’d taken the call, albeit reluctantly, and after he’d hung up he’d apologized, saying that it was a call from his family’s restaurant. They needed him to go to Denver tonight because . . . hell. She didn’t remember exactly what he’d said. She’d been too busy floating on a cloud of sexual satisfaction.

But that wasn’t all it was, Candice reminded herself that evening as she poured a glass of white wine and took it to her writing desk. She was floating on more than a sex cloud. She really liked him. Her lips tilted up in a secret smile as she remembered the text message she’d received from him not long ago. It had simply said:

Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night.

First DeMass, then Frost, and now Shakespeare! He was smart and interesting and so sexy she wanted to begin at his mouth and lick her way down his body . . . and then back up again. And he wanted her to be in his life —to love him. No matter how improbable or impossible, she found herself wanting the same thing. She sighed happily and sipped her wine. Creative juices flowing (along with all the rest of them), she picked up her pencil and reread the poem she’d started.

Keep your Errol Flynns, Paul Newmans, Mel Gibsons

all puppets—empty masquerades.

Tom, Dick, and Harry, too

the boy next door

I want no more.

You ask, what now?

Well, love comes with the night,

in the most inexplicable places

leaving the most unexplainable traces.

You see . . . a wolfman is the man for me!

True, hair in the sink is copious,

She grinned at where she’d stopped and, inspired, started writing.

and the house at night tends to be a mess.

But

The ringing phone jarred her. The caller ID said Tawdry, Godiva.

“Well, hi there, girlfriend. Long time no hear from.” Godiva’s voice was smug. “So, has anything new come . . . uh, up recently?”

Candice’s breath came out in a rush. “Shit! You know! How the hell do you know?” Then she gasped, a horrible feeling lodging in her stomach. “Oh, no! Did you do it, Godiva?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t play innocent witch with me. How did you manage it? Magic doesn’t work on me.”

“It might not work on you, but it definitely works on werewolves.”

“You made him want me!” she shrieked, feeling even sicker.

“Certainly not.” Godiva sounded offended. “All I did was to cast a lupine drawing spell right after the last time we talked. If it caught a wolf who didn’t find you attractive, he would have never approached you. Think of it like baiting a hook. If the worm—which was you— wasn’t juicy and tender and appealing to the fish—or in this case, werewolf—he would never taste the bait.”

“Oh.” Candice grinned, feeling so relieved she was weak-kneed.

“Details, please.”

“Let’s just say this worm has been well eaten.”

They both dissolved into giggles.

“And,” Candice said breathlessly, “I’m meeting him again tomorrow. Godiva, baby, he’s quoting poetry to me! Poetry! And he made the stupid fairies make art for me. Can you believe it? He said he wants to worship me like a goddess, and, honey, let me tell you. I definitely can’t get enough of that kind of attention! But it’s more than just how completely sexy he is. He’s smart and funny and totally into me. And, Godiva, I really like him.”

“Sounds fabulous! Who is he?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“No. I told you—I just baited the hook. I had no idea which wolf would bite.”

“Oh, Godiva, it’s so deliciously naughty. He’s young, and”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“he’s an ex-student of mine.”

“Oh, my Goddess! How wickedly yummy. Give. Who is he?” Godiva gushed.

“Justin Woods,” she gushed.

“Who?”

“Justin Woods. You know, his family are the werewolves who own Red Riding Hood’s.”

“Oh, Goddess.”

“What? What’s wrong? I know he’s young, but it’s not like he’s still a teenager—which would be totally and completely disgusting—he’s twenty-six. And a half. Practically twenty-seven.”

“Oh, Goddess.”

“Godiva Tawdry, stop saying that and tell me what’s wrong!” Candice was beginning to feel sick again.

“I should have known,” Godiva groaned. “But how could I have known? I didn’t think it would be him.”

“Godiva. Tell me.”

The witch drew a deep breath and then blurted out, “He’s a slut.”

“What?!”

“He’s the most promiscuous werewolf in town—or out of town, for that matter. The pack tramp. Truly a dog in all the worst connotations of the word.”

“Oh, no . . .”

“Oh, yes. I promise you. My Romeo has told me all about him. He’s the pack joke. Thinks he’s some kind of furry Don Juan. He’s always licking coeds and cheerleaders and whatnot.”

“Cheerleaders!”

“I’m so sorry, Candice.”

“And all that stuff he said to me . . .”

“You mean about making a woman orgasm with his mouth?”

Candice gasped in horror.

“Let me guess—he licked your foot and sucked your toes?” Godiva said.

“Yes,” Candice squeaked.