Page 85 of Which Witch is Willing?
Aerin whirled on him. “Listen here you slack-jawed yokel, if I catch you looking at my tits—”
“You can catch me at anything, my lady,” He swiped his trucker hat from his balding pate and held it over his heart. “I’d wrangle a gater for one of your smiles.” Red had taken to addressing them all directly as “my lady” as he figured a coven of powerful, goddess-blessed witches as noble as any title holding royal on the entire flat earth.
Just then, a hum of energy glided across Aerin’s senses like a smooth, silken breeze feathering over naked flesh, which could mean only the arrival of one individual.
Julian Roarke approached looking alarmingly gorgeous in dark Brioni Vanquish Bespoke suit. He’d the stride of an immortal, languorous and long. His pale skin and Byzantine bone structure cut a sharp contrast to the dark hair shot through with threads of silver. His was not a brutal beauty, but a haunting one. She was instantly so struck and aroused by him, she almost forgot to be angry.
“Are you going to do anything about this?” she demanded of the horseman.
One dark brow arched. “Is there a reason to?”
For a man who put Einstein, Plato, and Aristotle to shame, he could sure be a dumb ass.
“They’re hitting on your…”
His other eyebrow joined the first. “My what?”
They hadn’t DTR’d, so to speak. Her inner feminist wouldn’t allow her to say “your woman” even though she was. “Girlfriend” wasn’t strong enough. Soulmate sounded trite and stupid. Wife…well she couldn’t let her mind go there. And they hadn’t technically soul-bonded yet. The “L” word was often said against a pillow in their more intimate moments.
Though not broached in public.
Amusement danced in his Baltic blue eyes. “While your coterie of knight’serrantleave much to be desired in their comportment—and hygiene—their loyalty is commendable and their veneration of you unequivocally comprehensible. Moreover, if your affections toward me were endangered by them, we’d have more dire augury calamities than the impending apocalypse to occupy us.”
“If I find out you were just insultin’ me.” Mookey shoved his sleeves up his forearms.
“I don’t even think he’s speaking American.” Little Earl shook a mallet-sized fist at him.
Ignoring them, Julian said, “I’ve been sent to inform you ladies that the garden arch has been prepared, and we’re ready to begin at the bride’s convenience.”
“Not without me,” Sal jumped to. “I’m officiatin.’” He leaned down to drop an air kiss on Moira’s temple before scurrying away. “Come on, boys, if you want to get all the good seats afore these towering jack holes steal the front row.”
No one bothered to tell them that the only guests at the impromptu wedding were, in fact, the wedding party.
Aerin’s particularly favorite ‘jack hole’ executed a bow that would have impressed at the court of Queen Elizabeth I, and with a fond look in her direction, he strode away.
Damn, but the man was smooth.
And his ass was just so,sofine.
Moira took in a deep breath before letting it out between two pressed lips with a decidedly equine sound. “I feel so crazy stopping in the middle of an apocalypse to get married. Especially when it’s sort of a moot issue what with being soul bonded and all. But… it’s worth a try, I guess. I just wish I didn’t have to fitthatdress overthismess.” She gestured to her midsection.
Though she’d been pregnant for less than a handful of weeks, she was big enough to make a person wonder if there weren’t four babies in there. The consensus was she should have given birth days ago, and the fact that they’d failed to kill Lucifer, the princess of darkness, herself, was the cause for the delay.
Sal, ever the helpful hillbilly, posited—well more like insisted—that her living in sin with the “baby daddy” was “Not right with the Lordt,” and decided a shotgun wedding was imminently necessary.
So here they were.
Moira struggled to her feet and reached for her dress. “I’m so desperate I’ll try anything. I’ve been following all the online advice. Hikin’ my ass all over town. Scarfin’ food hotter than the devil’s nutsack. Riding Nick like a rented mule. If this wedding don’t work, I’m going to find me a pogo stick.”
“Even if this doesn’t work,” Claire said, helping Teirra wrestle with the dress, “it’s nice to have something to celebrate during a time like this. Some hope to cling to.”
Aerin had to agree. She reached over to help, and realized she was still clutching her ruined shoes. She’d overreacted, she supposed. But when she had to keep her shit together about so much tragedy. When it was all out of control and crazy… her emotions seemed to go volatile over the other things.
“Aerin, would you go tell them we’ll be ready in ten minutes?” Moira asked, her gaze gentle with a knowing—an understanding—that made Aerin want to squirm. Here it was Moira’s wedding day and Aerin was the one acting like Bridezilla.
“Yeah,” she muttered, sufficiently chastised. “It’ll give me time to change my shoes.”
* * *
