Alastair Thorne had made it a point to study the interactions between his son and Ryanne Caldwell for some time. Nash needed a strong partner who would keep him in check, and his sassy assistant might be the woman to do it.
Of course, there was the fact that throughout history, Thornes fell in love only once in their lifetime. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but there had been times when a Thorne’s significant other had not been the most stellar character on the planet. Alastair doubted Ryanne fell into that category. Her relatives, on the other hand, defined said category.
He had met Ryanne’s mother and father once, and a worse pair of role models would’ve been difficult to find. Because she’d been a small child at the time, Ryanne’s memory might be vague. In addition to being horrific parents, it seemed Paul and Marsha Caldwell had been con artists intent on using their twin girls in their larcenous pursuits.
Yes, it had been a blessed day for Ryanne and Rylee when their parents died. But how did one reveal such a thing? They didn’t. The other problem, as Alastair saw it, was explaining that sometimes the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. He only hoped Nash moved forward in his relationship with caution and common sense.
“Your parents didn’t block your powers. The Witches’ Council is responsible for the action against you,” Alastair revealed.
Ryanne’s shocked face mirrored Nash’s.
His son’s response was understandable. He worked for the Council, and Alastair doubted that Nash had heard tell of the Caldwell scandal of years past.
“Why?” Nash demanded, ever Ryanne’s champion.
“Years ago, Paul and Marsha manipulated the girls into using magic to break into depositories and safes for their personal gain and to amass their fortune.”
“I don’t understand.” Ryanne looked between him and Nash. “Why don’t I recall that part of my childhood? I remember my parents well enough.”
“The Council wiped your memory clean at the same time they bound your powers.”
She wrapped her hands around her stomach as if to comfort herself. “I was a thief?”
“No, child. Your parents were thieves. You and your sister were their tools.”
A sheen of tears coated her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to the floor to hide her emotions.
“Ryanne.” Nash drew her into his chest and kissed the crown of her shiny head. “Don’t take this upon yourself. You were a small child.” He looked to Alastair for confirmation.
“Indeed. This is not your fault, dear girl.”
After she wiped a shaky hand beneath her eyes, she met Alastair’s direct gaze. “Will I be bound for life?”
“Between Nash and myself, we can reverse the spell. But it means going against the Witches’ Council, which my son is always hesitant to do.”
Nash’s stormy gaze snapped to him. “Don’t presume to tell me what I will and won’t do.”
“Did I say you wouldn’t do it?” Alastair shrugged. “I’m almost positive I didn’t.”
“I’m willing to help her regain her powers,” Nash informed them.
Alastair studied him for a brief moment before he nodded. “All right. But I’d like a word in private before we continue.”
“Anything you say to me, you can say to her.”
Ah, young men in love. They were clueless at times. They were also quick to defend their women without ever having the facts. “Nevertheless, I will not reverse the spell without a few moments of your time, son. Your choice.”
He imagined he could hear the grinding of his son’s teeth. He was under no illusions that Nash held him in contempt. How it must have grated to call for his help.
Nash faced Ryanne. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
When they were alone, Nash turned to him and snapped, “What was that all about?”
“Are you certain this is the course of action you wish to take?” Alastair moved away to study a shelf of ancient artifacts. He noticed a few he might utilize, but knew his tight-assed son would never part with the items in his inventory. Not if it meant upsetting the Council. “Do you trust her?”
“What kind of question is that?” Nash scoffed. “Not three hours ago, you were encouraging me to go after her.”
“True, but then I didn’t fully know about her past.”
“I trust her.”
Alastair pivoted on his heel to face his son. “Then call her in and let’s get started. But know this; if she hurts you, I will smite her from existence.”
“Don’t you dare threaten her!”
He cocked his head and smiled. “It does my heart good to see the fire in you. It’s like you’re a chip off the old block.”
“Goddess forbid,” Nash muttered.
Five minutes later, they merged their magic to remove the spell. For Alastair, who’d seen the original spell when he scried, it was a matter of reversing the process. When they were done, he lifted Ryanne’s hand in his and sent a test arc from his fingertips. “Do you feel any different, child?”
“I feel strange.”
“In what way?”
“Overly warm, as if I’m heating from the inside out. Does that make sense?”
“It does. That’s the regeneration of the magic within your cells.”
“Will this be a constant feeling?”
“No. Only when you conjure, teleport, or perform spells. Most times you will feel normal,” he informed her.
A shimmer in the air around them caught his attention. “How strong are the wards protecting this room?”
Nash was by his side in an instant. “Why?”
“Someone’s trying to spy on you.”
“Shit! Achoo! Damn! Achoo!”
A laugh shook Alastair. “If you continue to swear, we will have the entire population of trash pandas from North Carolina on your doorstep in minutes, son.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Nash growled.
“When you swear, you sneeze and raccoons appear?” Ryanne made an admirable attempt to contain her humor. “Is that normal?”
Nash shot a glare o’death in Alastair’s direction, and he struggled to hold back his amusement.
“Yes, and no,” Nash finally confessed. “It’s a gift from my sperm donor to all his children. Remind us, Father, what is the result of your swearing?”
Alastair dusted his hands together. “Right. On that note, I will leave the two of you to carry on with your evening. But do remember to reinforce your wards, boy.” He walked to the shelves containing the magical objects and selected one. “My payment for services rendered.”
“You can’t take that!”
“Can’t I? Hmm.” With a snap of his fingers, Alastair returned home. His manservant, Alfred, was there to greet him. “Here, my man. Stow this away for safekeeping, won’t you?”
“Yes, sir. Right away.”
“That sneaky sonofabitch! Achoo!” Nash clenched his hands into fists.
Ryanne shoved down the laughter threatening to erupt. “What was it he took?”
“A rare thirteenth-century Japanese jar.”
“And what does it do? I mean, he didn’t take it for its beauty, that’s for sure.”
“It can transform any liquid into a toxic poison. If you want to murder your dinner guests, you can serve wine from that particular decanter.”
Her eyes widened in shock. She couldn’t fathom desiring to murder anyone, much less guests. “Why would he want something like that?”
“Because he’s Alastair Thorne and no one knows what the heck goes on in his head,” Nash grumbled. “But he’s right about one thing. I need to strengthen the wards protecting this room. He was able to teleport out. That shouldn’t have been possible with one of the objects, even for him.”
“Is there something I can do to help?”
“No. You have much to learn before that happens, babe. If you’ll wait for me in my office, I’ll wrap things up here and take you for that dinner.”
Before he could step away, she latched on to his wrist. “What’s the result when your father curses?”
She’d never seen such an evil grin in all her life, but Nash took great delight when he answered. “Locusts.”
Thunder boomed and shook the building.
“Then you shouldn’t have stolen my vase!” Nash yelled toward the ceiling.
Ryanne eyed him warily. What the hell had she gotten herself into? Was she buying into the belief she was a witch? Denying what she’d witnessed with her own eyes and felt within her own cells was difficult. A small part of her hoped she’d wake up and find it was all a dream. But a larger part of her was excited by the prospect of magical abilities. What were the limits to her powers?
While she waited on the white leather loveseat in Nash’s office, her thoughts turned to her parents. Larceny. Wow! Just, wow! Who would use their six-year-old daughters in such a despicable manner? If she could get Rylee to return her phone calls, she’d ask her sister what she might or might not remember.
For certain, their adopted parents didn’t know what they were, or that they’d had two witches in their midst. Chris and Hazel Jones had been two of the strictest, old-school, religious people on the planet.
Sadness crept in. Last year, a house fire took Chris’s and Hazel’s lives. Ryanne missed the steady love and support Hazel had always shown her. Maybe it was better that they’d passed. They would never discover what their daughters truly were.
Hot tears burned behind her lids, and she blinked to dispel the building moisture.
Despite their stringent, no-nonsense attitude, they had been good people, and she had loved them. The same couldn’t be said for Rylee. Growing up, her sister had rebelled every chance she could. After Rylee took off for New York, all that the twins shared was a handful of phone calls and the occasional secretive visit.
Her sister returned after the Joneses’ funeral. That was about the time Rylee went to work for Victor Salinger, claiming she needed to be close to family.
Ryanne snorted.
She still rarely saw her sister, and when she did, Rylee only talked about herself and how great her life was. Once or twice she tried to turn the conversation to Nash Thorne, but for whatever reason, Ryanne hadn’t been willing to discuss him or what she did at Thorne Industries. Something was off about Rylee’s obsession with Nash.
“Are you ready?” Nash’s deep baritone voice pulled her from her musings.
“Yes, and absolutely starved.”
“I could teach you how to conjure a meal.” His mischievous grin tickled her insides.
“Conjure a meal?”
“Yep. It’s something you’ll have fun with in the coming days—conjuring whatever your heart desires.”
“Like what?”
“What is your favorite food?”
She laughed. “Is this a trick question? I’m a woman. That would be wine and chocolate.”
“Watch and learn.” So saying, Nash held out his hands, and within seconds, a box of Swiss chocolates rested in one palm and he gripped a bottle of Krug Private Cuvee Champagne in the other.
Although both were out of her price range, even Ryanne knew expensive items when she saw them. “Holy crap! Is this for real?”
His deep laugh boomed. “It’s for real.”
One thing bothered her, and she voiced her concerns. “That is a private label Champagne, Nash. Did you steal that?”
“No. A good friend of mine works for Krug. She keeps me supplied. This was procured from my collection.”
“She?” Jealousy curled in her belly, making her insides a jumbled mess.
With great care, Nash set aside the bottle and the box. He stepped in front of her and used one knuckle to tilt up her chin. “She. But she is simply someone I grew up with. Our mothers were best friends.”
“So you never had a relationship with her?”
“Does spin the bottle count?”
Ryanne shoved his chest. “Why do I get the feeling you used your magic to always have the bottle land in your favor?”
Nash grinned and drew her close. “Maybe because you are starting to know me too well.”
“Mmhmm.”
“If it makes you feel any better, she is happily married with the two-point-five kids, a dog, and the white picket fence.”
“It does.”
“There you go.”
“Fine. Now kiss me and feed me because I’m starving.”
“Starving for the kiss or the food?” he asked in a silky, seductive voice.
“Both,” she admitted.
Nash dipped his head and settled his mouth on hers. The soft, lingering touch of his lips made Ryanne hungrier still.
She curled her hands around his neck and wove her fingers in his soft, blond hair. This time when his lips came in contact with hers, she opened her mouth to allow him full access. The taste of him was more addictive than all the boxes of Swiss chocolate he could conjure.
Nash pulled back just as Ryanne would have taken things a step further.
“Let’s get you fed and re-address this after dinner. I have something to propose to you, and I don’t want you to feel I’m taking unfair advantage.”