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Chapter Fifty-Seven

W hit finished putting the leftovers in the fridge but left the dishes for tomorrow. He felt raw as if all his nerves were exposed. He’d been so certain his family would keep cooler heads.

After Aunt Cheri had stormed out, the party just sort of fizzled and died. It was honestly a relief that everyone went home early. If there had been uncomfortable tension before her outburst, it had been unbearable after. The only salve on the wound was that his mother had stuck up for Clover, and no magic had been thrown around. He couldn’t imagine the damage that would have caused.

He’d been impressed at how quiet his brother-in-law had been, but then, Clover had made him promise to behave. If only Whit had been so diligent.

The moment the last guest had left, Clover retreated to her room. Whit climbed the stairs to check on her now that she’d had a little time to settle.

He knocked on her bedroom door gently.

“Come in,” she called, her voice thick and nasally.

When he opened the door, Whit wasn’t prepared for the heart-rending sight of Clover crying. Her beautiful eyes swam with tears, and she clutched the handkerchief he’d given her in her hand.

His heart squeezed, and his stomach clenched. He was going to ask her how she was doing, but the words died on his lips.

The corner of her mouth quivered as she tried to show him a smile. Her accompanying laugh bordered on a sob. “Well, that was an unmitigated disaster.”

Whit crossed the room and sat beside her on the bed. “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said soothingly. “It could have been worse.”

“How?”

“Well, your brother could have punched my elderly aunt.”

Clover chuckled. “Okay. Yeah, that would have been worse. Remind me to treat my brother to something delicious for being on his best behavior.”

Clover sighed, then leaned her head on his arm. Her warmth spread through him, and his heart skipped a beat.

“I guess I should just accept that our families will never get along.”

Whit put his arm around her, stroking her shoulder with his thumb. “Don’t give up just yet. On the whole, I think everyone did remarkably well.”

She was silent for a while. Finally, she turned her head to gaze up at him. “Do you think your grandfather will be as upset as your aunt said? After all, he’s why you got married in the first place.”

It was Whit’s turn to sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know exactly how my grandfather will respond. The fact is, I never thought he’d try to pressure me into getting married in the first place. But he doesn’t really have a choice but to keep up his end of the deal. We made a magical pact. So unless he’s willing to sacrifice all his magic, he’ll have to uphold his end of the bargain.”

Clover frowned. “That’s not exactly the same as accepting me. Even if he gives you the house, he could make our lives very uncomfortable.”

The worry that swam in Clover’s eyes tugged at Whit’s heart. He couldn’t help but want to comfort her. Reaching up, he brushed his thumb along her cheek. “Don’t borrow trouble. We still have a month before my grandfather returns.”

Clover smiled at him, and his efforts felt worthwhile. “What a very summer sorcerer thing to say, Husband.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. “Yeah, well, maybe you aren’t such a bad influence after all.”

She pouted her lips as she pulled back from his touch. “Damn, and I thought I was doing so well corrupting you.”

The light of mischief in her eyes, the curl of a smile playing at the edges of her mouth, even her playful tone, reminded him of the night they’d first met. His heart raced in his chest. The memory of her lips against his had not faded in the least. But suddenly, a mere memory wasn’t enough.

Leaning toward her slowly, Whit kissed her.

He retreated only far enough to see her reaction. Clover’s face was flushed, and her eyelids were low and heavy. Her slow breath shook.

And though he could feel she wanted him, her eyes seemed to hesitate—a little crinkle forming between her brows.

“Are…are you sure?” she murmured.

His logical mind seemed far away. He wasn’t even really comprehending what she was asking. All he knew was that he didn’t want her to pull away. He wanted her closer, much closer. And from the look on her face, she wanted the same.

Incapable of forming the appropriate words at the moment, he kissed her again with more fervor. She needed no further assurances.

Clover pushed forward, deepening their kiss. As she whimpered softly, a burning heat shot through Whit—stiffening his manhood and urging him on.

His hand traveled down the line of her body until it rested on her hip. She trembled at his touch, her fist crumpling the fabric of his shirt.

Any thoughts of why he’d been resisting this were long forgotten. It felt good—it felt right.

Grasping her other hip, Whit pulled Clover onto his lap.

She rested her hands on his shoulders, spreading her thighs on either side of his hips. As she slipped her tongue into his mouth, he could taste her faint magic—bright and sweet like fresh strawberries and soft peaches.

Shifting her weight, she ground her core against his cock. He shuddered—a groan climbing up his throat.

Clover tilted her head back, exposing her neck and gasping for air as she wrapped her arms around him.

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she whispered.

He pushed her long hair back and kissed along the column of her throat. “You’re crazy,” he said.

She shivered at the feel of his hot breath on her neck, squeezing her thighs and grinding against him again. She chuckled, her voice smoky with lust.

Then pulling back, she held his face in her hands. Her eyes shined as if they danced in the summer sunshine.

“I love you, Whittaker Crawford.”