Cuckoo in the Coven

She covered his hand with hers. “No. Let’s finish the wine and listen to some music first. I’m in the mood for dancing.”

They adjourned to the sitting area.

Cullen sat on the low sofa and watched as his beautiful brown-eyed wench hummed to the sounds from the strange box on the shelf, as if she knew them inside out, as if they made sense to her. Uncanny, he decided, because the sound was so odd, yet it brought him deep pleasure to see her enjoy it so much.

The music changed to someone wailing. “What in god’s name is this sound?”

“It’s chants and dances of the native Americans,” Sunny said, and smiled at his bewildered expression.

Her description didn’t help.

She flipped the music box and a different strange music filled the room. It seemed to come at him from all angles, as if there were musicians hiding in all corners of the room.

Sunny kicked off her shoes and danced barefoot on the rug. Her hips moved from side to side, drawing his attention to her womanly form. Her arms lifted, fingers rising through her long hair. “I’ve had one of Celeste’s teas,” she announced, “as well as the wine.” She giggled.

“Ah,” he said, relaxing back against his seat.

She hummed with the sounds, following the music.

“It’s strange,” he commented, “as if you were one of the instruments, as if the music comes through you.”

“This is how we dance now. We feel the music.” As she spoke, she drew her fingers up her centre, over her torso and between her breasts, her body swaying all the while, in time with the music.

Reaching out her hand to him, she beckoned. “Come on, dance with me.”

“How in heaven’s name am I supposed to dance to this?” Nevertheless, he rose to his feet.

“Oh my, are you blushing? Here, just watch me.” She moved across the floor, following the rhythm and moving her hips, her skirt swishing around her lovely legs.

Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent, committing it to his deepest memory. “I have never met anyone like you. You are so different, so unusual.”

She stayed in his arms, but drew back and looked up at him. There was sadness in her eyes.

“Have I said something wrong?” he asked, sensitive to any change in her mood.

She shook her head, but looked a little fretful. “Is that why you like me, Cullen?” she asked, looking at him from under her lashes. “Is it because I’m ‘different’?” Her expression was serious, as if it was most important to her.

“No, I love you because you are a brave woman with a passionate soul. You understand me as no other, and you speak boldly in ways that I appreciate.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, as if pleased.

She hummed to the music, and closed against him. “Tell me, does it concern you that we’re falling in love because a bunch of white witches have cast some spells?”

So that was it. “Hellfire, Sunny. You’re fretting over nothing.”

“It’s important for a woman to know these things.” She lifted her shoulders in a gentle manner, as if it was excuse enough.

“No,” he assured her, squeezing her in tight against him again. “Not at all. I would have fallen in love with you regardless, of that I’m sure. I’m grateful to them for their help in bringing us together, however. We were meant for each other, my beautiful brown-eyed wench.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I love you.”

“And I love you.” She melted against him.

He stroked her hair, comforting her. How could she doubt it? Had he not indicated it enough? Perhaps not. “It disturbs me to think on it, but I fear without their magic, and yours, we would not have passed one another during our lifetimes, and that troubles me most.”

She met his gaze, no longer moving to the music, and simply stared up, her eyes searching his. “That means so much to me. If you were taken away, if Fox sent you on that awful ship–”