He won, but I insisted on wearing underpants.
Tanner also helped with lip-plumping, deploying his special brand of bites. He denied being part vampire, but suckle marks high up the inside of each thigh presented a counter argument. I was just about to swat him away when another yell from the kitchen signalled my delay had been noted and I should expect an escort if it extended much longer.
“You and I have a date, Calliope Jones.” Tanner kissed his invitation across my forehead and along my jaw. “Once the party’s over and everyone’s gone home, it’s our turn.”
“Are you asking me or telling me, Agent Marechal?” I asked, running my hands over his ass and giving a proprietary squeeze, when what I really wanted was to shut the closet door and wrap my thighs around his waist.
He held me at arm’s length and gave me a slow once-over. “Ms. Jones, I’m telling you I want uninterrupted hours of your time, and I’m asking you to grant them to me at your earliest convenience.”
“Ooh, so formal.”
He dropped to his knees, grabbed my hips, and planted another kiss right on my prominent mons. His voice husky, his fingers digging into my flesh, he murmured, “I’m on my knees for you, Calliope.”
I brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Then you have my unequivocal yes, Tanner.”
He slid his body up the front of mine as he stood, fixed his pants, and tucked his hair behind his ears. I preceded him out the door and down the hall, giving an extra sashay to my step. The soft groan behind me had me wishing the party was over and we were heading back to the sanctuary of my room.
My kitchen was in an uproar, and from what I could see through the windows and doors, the activity had spread into the living room, out the front door and all across my property. Harper and Thatch were hovering around the dining table, stabbing at platters of hors d’oeuvres with knives. New knives, from what I could see of the carved handles and the telltale swirls of hand-forged blades.
“Mom,” said Harper, folding and pocketing his knife at my entrance, “did you see we hired caterers?”
That explained the three people clad in server aprons bustling figure eights around my kitchen and living room. “I do see some unfamiliar faces and I would love it if you’d make introductions,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’d also love to hear about those shiny knives hiding in your back pockets.”
“Oh, you mean this?” asked Harper, showing me his blade. “They’re gifts from Kaz. He gave them to us the day we carved the runes for the wards.” He folded his knife in half, pocketed it again, and tugged on a cord around his neck. “The handle of each knife is made out of the same wood as our amulets.”
Thatcher stood closer to his brother and pulled out his knife and the amulet attached to the cord around his neck. “Kaz had us choose which one felt right. It was pretty cool, Mom.”
“I’m glad you have these,” I said.
A surprise wave of apprehension washed over me. Not one of those cold, heavy waves weighted with dread. More the portent-filled variety that accompanied those moments when I saw my sons as the young men they were becoming, with all the waiting joys and possibilities and challenges.
“How long was I in the bathroom?” I nudged Harper and took a longer look at my oldest son. “And where did you find an iron?” His flat front khaki pants were pressed, with a crisp line down the center of each leg, as was his shirt.
“Mom, we have an iron and an ironing board upstairs. Thatch presses all our shirts. Didn’t you know that?”
Huh. “Who’s here?”
“Lei-li’s parents would like to meet you. Let’s start with them.”
The entire outdoor area of the property had been utterly transformed while I was soaking, dressing, and being distracted by Tanner’s attentions. Garlands of herbs, leaves, and wildflowers looped around the rails fronting the deck and alongside the stairs, and little glass jars with votive candles glowed along the risers and the deck’s perimeter.
“Mom, this is Malvyn Brodeur and James Brodeur. Mal and James, my mother, Calliope Jones,” Harper said. Leilani unlinked her arms from her fathers’ elbows, her eyes twinkling with pride, and stepped behind Malvyn to embrace Harper.
“Malvyn, I’m delighted to meet you,” I said. “Especially now that we’ve figured out we have a few things in common.”
Both men greeted me in the European fashion, a kiss on either cheek, and both smelled absolutely divine, a citrusy scent that could have been custom-blended.
“Congratulations on making your Blood Ceremony, Calliope,” said Malvyn. “Sorcerers have something similar, but we are tied to an object, not a place.” He leaned in and undid one more button of his immaculate shirt, revealing a collar of linked metallic pieces. The collar sat low enough to hide underneath a regular T-shirt. “This never comes off.”
“And I studied botany,” said James, “bolstering my half-witch status with a great deal of science and an intuitive approach to plants and propagation.” He wore a similar collar under his open-necked, caftan-style shirt, only his links were delicately tooled renditions of leaves. His sleeves were folded to above his elbows, and a hammered gold cuff wrapped each wrist.
“May I?” I asked, gesturing to his adornments. “Do these have a specific function?”
“Simply to show my affection for my husband,” said Malvyn. “And I might have added a little something to ward off overly inquisitive men.”
The husbands shared a quick kiss and a heated private look.
“Your daughter has a very intuitive approach to her baking,” I said. “But you knew that already.”
“We did know Leilani has a gift for imbuing. The most obvious transference occurs when she’s in the kitchen; she can’t seem to keep her emotions
