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Chapter Forty-Nine

W hit offered Llewellyn his credit card. “I’d like the six-session bundle, please.”

Llewellyn stood with his arms crossed near the entrance of the studio. None of the other students had arrived yet.

“I told you not to come back here.”

“Are you refusing me service?”

“Damn right.”

“On what grounds? Full disclosure: My cousin is a lawyer.”

Llewellyn raised an eyebrow. “Last time I checked, winter sorcerer isn’t a protected category under the Civil Rights Act. Besides, you caused a disturbance.”

“If I recall, you threw the first punch. That’s assault.”

Llewellyn barred his teeth. “There are at least three other yoga studios in Forest Haven. Why do you insist on coming here?”

Whit sighed. “Look, think about this logically. Are you really never going to see your sister again? You clearly love her very much. Don’t you think it’ll be easier for her if we can at least pretend to get along?”

“So what’s your plan? Did you think patronizing my business would endear you to me? Or did you think I’d just get used to you if you stuck around long enough?”

“Will it work?” Whit asked.

Llewellyn pursed his lips as he snatched the card from Whit to run it through his reader. “It will not. And by the way, you look like shit.”

Whit knew that already. After Clover had left his room the night before, he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. He played their exchange over and over in his mind; he couldn’t manage to erase the feeling of her lips on his. And even though his logical mind insisted that changing their relationship with physical intimacy was a bad idea—as it always had been in the past—the rest of him wanted to throttle the fucking nerd that called itself his brain. Even after he’d dealt with his raging hard-on, it still hadn’t been enough. For the first time since he could remember, his right hand was no replacement for a woman who clearly wanted him.

Whit clenched his jaw against the fresh wave of frustration Llewellyn’s insult had elicited. “You’re one to talk,” Whit grumbled.

Unlike Whit, Llewellyn looked like he’d been in a fist fight the week before. His bruises were yellowing but had yet to heal completely.

“Yeah? Well, I blame you for it. My parents wouldn’t heal me unless I told them who I’d gotten into a fight with. Erie won’t even let me see Crane until I’m completely healed.” Llewellyn handed the card back to Whit and turned the reader toward him to sign.

Whit glanced up at his brother-in-law after he was finished signing. He kept our fight a secret when he could have used it to turn her family against me even further. “Thank you for not saying anything,” Whit said.

“Shut up and go get your mat.”

Whit smiled as Llewellyn turned his back to him and headed toward the other side of the room.

The class was the same as it had been the week before, and the other students welcomed him back—even Rania after a furtive glance toward Llewellyn. And though he was sore afterward—but not as sore as after his fist fight—the poses were more familiar to him.

As he pulled out his phone at Pets and Scritches to tell Clover he’d arrived, movement inside made him pause. He could easily see the bright room through the giant window. Among the cat trees, Clover stood with that guy—whatever his name was—she’d been with the week before.

Sitting outside in the cold dark night, Whit watched his wife laugh at something the man said. Her eyes shone in that way he’d come to recognize as amusement. He sucked in a breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring. But when the man leaned in close to her, Whit clenched his cellphone until the sides ground into his hand painfully.

With black spots floating before his eyes and a burning in his chest, Whit got out of his truck and slammed the door shut. His muscles were tense and his footsteps loud as he stomped into the building.

A cheerful little bell chimed above the door when he entered. Whit tried to sigh out his anger but not much escaped him. At least he managed to adopt a neutral expression by the time Clover and the guy came into the room.

Clover’s friendly smile faltered and slipped when she saw him. “Oh, hey, Whit, I’ll just get my coat. Are you okay to close up by yourself, Orion?”

Clover turned her eyes to Orion, and Whit hated everything about her attention on another man.

Orion nodded, smiling easily. “Yeah, no problem. You go on home, and…don’t forget what I said.”

Clover glanced at Whit before looking to Orion again with a frown. “I won’t.”

As she headed down the hall, Orion turned to Whit, who leveled a glare at the man.

Orion seemed completely unfazed. He offered Whit a smile—stiff and polite as it was. “I don’t think we’ve met.” He boldly closed the distance between them and held out his hand. “I’m Orion. I’m the one who told Clover about this place.”

Whit resisted the urge to spit at hearing his wife’s name in Orion’s mouth. He reached out and clasped the other man’s hand firmly. “I’ve heard of you.”

Orion grinned. “Oh? Does Clover talk about me?”

Whit clenched Orion’s hand tighter so as not to smack the look off Orion’s face. “Briefly.”

Orion continued to smile that irritating smile and tightened his grip as well.

As they struggled in a silent war—Whit glaring into Orion’s annoying pleasantness—Whit realized they were evenly matched. Finally, smirking to himself, Whit injected a bit of winter magic into the effort.

The ordinary winced and pulled his hand away.

“All right,” Clover said, rushing toward them. “Let’s go.” She gave Orion a nod. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Nice meeting you,” Whit said with dark satisfaction before opening the door for his wife.

Once in the truck and buckled in, Clover glowered at him. “What the hell was that?”

Whit lifted his chin and started out of the parking lot. “What?”

“You know what. You used magic on him. Why?”

Whit scowled. “Barely. Only enough to prove a point.”

“Which was?”

“Now he won’t forget you have a husband.”

Clover crossed her arms and turned toward the passenger window. “Oh, now you want to act like a husband,” she grumbled under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she snapped.

A strained silence settled between them—laden with tension from the night before and her fresh anger at his behavior toward her friend. Whit frowned, his insides churning. He didn’t want to fight with Clover. He’d resisted his desire for her in order to maintain the peace of their relationship—a relationship that was still fresh and fragile.

“Did you have fun volunteering?” Whit nudged gently with his words.

“It was fine.”

He tried one more time. “Would you tell me about it?”

Clover sighed heavily. But when she began talking about the last few hours, especially when she mentioned the little white kitten she’d named, she seemed to let go of her anger and cheer up a bit.