I lifted my head and shook off the hood. Night air soothed my bald head.
“I want to stay,” I said.
“Then we should begin.”
A king-sized bed on a platform commandeered one-quarter of the floor space in Maritza’s bedroom. I removed my cape, draped it over my arm, and surveyed the stage where the next act of my life would begin.
“Alabastair.”
I cleared my throat. “Call me Bas, Maritza. Please.”
“Bas,” she said, her voice a whisper. She touched my spine, right between my shoulder blades, as I stared straight ahead. “I’m sorry if something I said hurt you. I react badly to being grabbed without first offering an invitation.”
“It’s not you,” I said, “it’s me.” And I left it at that. I had signed a mentoring contract with this woman. Fate informed me she was also to be my lover. Therapist was the last thing I wanted to add to that heavy combination of roles.
“I would like for you to undress me.”
My body responded with alacrity. Maritza and I would never again have this first, and I knew how to undress another. I savored the coming undone of a well-set closure more than I savored anything served on a plate.
I turned slowly and set my cape on the chair near the bed. Reaching around my Demesne’s shoulders, I located the pull on her dress’s zipper. As I drew downward, my fingertips met the pale brown silk of Maritza’s back. She rolled her shoulders inward and shrugged out of the dress. Small breasts with darker brown nipples brushed my chest. Her only undergarment was a whisper of charmeuse tap pants with a hand-rolled hem.
“All of me,” she added.
I sank to my knees, this time with slow deliberation, and curled my fingers over the sides of the delicate undergarment. Maritza stepped out, parting her thighs and releasing her scent. A cool hand found my forehead. I stared at the cleft perfectly positioned in front of my nose.
“You should know it is not possible for you or anyone else to impregnate me.”
I shifted my gaze to her hip bone. “You should know I am incapable of impregnating anyone at this time.” Not taking the plump curve of her inner thigh between my teeth required every ounce of control I could muster.
“And what about sexually transmitted diseases, afflictions, or curses?” Mari asked. I ignored the call of her scent and transferred my attention to the prominent bone of her other hip.
“Negative. I choose my sexual partners with care and perform full scans regularly.”
“Do you understand there will be painful consequences should one or both of us take a lover?”
“I assumed that much,” I said, then glanced up at her and teased, “What if we choose the same person?”
“As long as we’re together at the time and operating under the same…understanding.” Maritza swayed and gave me a tiny smile. I pulled away from her touch and stroked my thumbs around her kneecaps.
I shifted my gaze to the undisturbed covers on her bed, to the side-by-side pillows with elaborately monogrammed borders. A slight breeze lifted one of the sheer curtains away from the sliding glass doors that were ubiquitous to the estate. Mari turned. Her backside swayed, calling to a wellspring of inner longing. I wanted to crawl after her, a leash between my teeth, and sleep curled at her feet.
There would be opportunities to approach her on my knees later. I stood, went to her side, and reached under the pillow to take hold of the bedding. One more irrevocable step toward commitment.
As I peeled back the covers, the curtain again lofted up and snapped over the bed. Maritza gasped and ducked behind me. A strip of cut-out paper dolls attached hand-to-hand was arranged atop the center of the bottom sheet. I forced my pulse to slow as I surveyed the five figures. “Mari, do these mean anything to you?”
“Moira,” she said, pressing her breasts against my back and wrapping her arms around my waist. “It’s Moira. Did you see the curtain?”
“I did,” I said, reaching behind me. Mari’s trembling triggered the caretaker I took pains to keep reined in. “Maybe I would have paid more attention to it if you hadn’t been naked beside me.”
“My bloody family and their bloody timing.” She snorted and peeked out from under my arm. “The paper dolls represent her, Heriberto, and their daughters. It was my sister’s calling card.”
One side of Mari’s butt was completely engulfed by my hand. The evening had moved from the sublime to the ridiculous to the surreal. Touching skin-to-skin gave me a sense of grounding. “If Moira’s here now,” I said, running scenarios through my head, “then we have the perfect opportunity to invite her ghost to come forward—especially if she’s feeling cooperative.”
Maritza groaned and bumped her forehead against my spine. “Bas, my understanding of the Demesne is that the curse is rather unforgiving. We have less than twenty-four hours to—” She groaned again, and muttered, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
I found myself wishing I had brought the bottle of cognac to the room with us. “Maritza, if this is Moira’s Death Day, then we have only until midnight to capture her. Plus, there’s no way I’m getting into your bed and attempting to make love with you when there’s an active ghost in the room.”
We laughed at the absurdity of our predicament. “It does put a damper on things, doesn’t it,” she said.
“If this is any indication, yes, it does.” I gestured to my deflated nether region, which sent Maritza into a fit of giggling. The curtain snapped up and out again, sending a draft through the room that blew out all the candles. “That’s it. I’m getting dressed.”
“Thank you,” Mari said, lifting her heels and kissing my collarbone. I gave in to the urge pulsing through me and lifted the witch in my arms. She wrapped her legs around my waist.
“Maritza, before we
