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  “Of course I can stand,” he snapped. “What the f—”

  Surprised into silence, she could only stare as his shoes vanished. They both gaped at his sock-clad feet in wonder.

  “What the hell happened to your shoes?” she wondered aloud.

  “If I knew that, I…” He growled as his socks went by way of his shoes. Barefoot and livid, he clamped his jaw shut.

  She was positive he intended to make a cutting remark. It seemed the disappearance of his footwear and socks was an additional joke her brother had thought up to amuse himself.

  Glancing around, she tried to detect the faint tell-tale trace of another witch. Alastair’s emotions put off a light pulse of magic, and if a seasoned witch knew what to look for, they could usually detect his presence.

  Nothing.

  He wasn’t in their house. Either he’d utilized a scrying technique, or he’d found a way to tap into their home security system.

  “You’re unusually silent,” Ryker said, careful to keep his voice neutral.

  She took exception to the term “unusually,” as if she rarely kept quiet at all. “What the hell is that supposed to—oh!” Her footwear vanished.

  Ryker shook his head and grinned. “That wily bastard.”

  “I’m not sure I completely understand what’s going on.”

  Barefoot, they both padded to his study. After guiding GiGi to a leather club chair, Ryker poured them both a stiff drink. With a critical eye, she noted his tumbler was a little fuller than hers. More and more, when she saw him of late, he was drinking heavily. It pained her to see it—his hurt at her decision—but she was unable or unwilling to ease his plight. She had to keep reminding herself the deterioration of their relationship had been his fault.

  She accepted the glass he offered and took a small sip. Unlike Ryker and Alastair, she didn’t care for the brandy unless it was in tea. Yet times like these, when it appeared her brother was attempting to teach them some type of lesson only he had a clue about, harder alcohol was necessary.

  “Your brother is forcing us to settle our issues,” Ryker finally told her. “If I had to guess, I’d say the old buzzard is trying to play matchmaker—again.”

  GiGi wanted to swear a blue streak. “Why can’t he leave well enough alone?”

  “Tell me how you really feel, sweetheart,” Ryker said dryly.

  She snorted a laugh and almost choked on her second sip. Ryker had always had the ability to tickle her funny bone with his witty comments. Shoving aside her desire to joke with him, she carefully set down her tumbler.

  “I don’t suppose he is going to risk a tongue lashing, so he won’t answer his phone.” She focused on the purple polish on her toes. How was she ever going to get out of this situation? Spending any amount of time with Ryker was likely to weaken her resolve. Her overbearing, deceitful brother suspected as much, or he wouldn’t have locked them in together.

  Finally, she met Ryker’s thoughtful, dark gaze. “What do we do?”

  The mischievous twinkle brightening his eyes told her exactly what he’d like to do. Yes, she recognized that expression easily enough.

  “Other than that,” she added.

  “When did you forget how to have fun?”

  Her anger was like a punch to the diaphragm—swift and painful, sucking the air from her lungs. “Oh, I don’t know. Let me think. Perhaps when you—dammit!” Her sweater went by way of her shoes.

  Would Alastair’s stupid-ass spell leave them naked and exposed if they continued to fight? GiGi jumped to her feet and ran for the stairs. Ryker was hot on her heels.

  “What’s going on?”

  She didn’t answer him. Instead, she whipped open her closet doors. Sure enough, all her clothing was missing. Closing her eyes, she lifted her arms and visualized a stunning white ballgown. Nothing. The realization she would be nude if she continued to fight with her husband clicked into place. How could Alastair do this to her? Knowing how much she needed to be free of this toxic relationship, how hurt she was over Ryker always putting her last, how—oh, what did it matter now?

  “It looks like the clothes we are wearing are what we are stuck with,” she said. “I’m curious as to how long Alastair intends to play this infantile game.”

  “Is it so bad being locked in with me, GiGi?”

  She wanted to scream “yes,” but doing so would cost her another article of clothing, and she didn’t relish running around without pants or a top.

  “I’m going to sleep now, Ryker. Could you please shut the door on your way out?”

  He moved closer. Close enough for her to feel his powerful energy at her back, but not close enough to touch her.

  “Please understand, I had nothing to do with this, sweetheart. I wouldn’t force my attentions on you. I get that you wish to be free of me.”

  She gave a short nod, not bothering to face him or open her eyes. “Good night, Ryker.”

  As he strode toward the door, she asked, “If you had to guess, how long do you suppose he intends to lock us in for?”

  “I couldn’t begin to speculate. The only person who may have even a slight inclination of the way your brother thinks would be you. While I’m never surprised by what he comes up with, I am always impressed.”

  Finally, she faced him. It was a struggle to keep the irritation from her voice, but she managed it. “What about this impresses you? This is manipulation and torture. Simple cruelty, really.”

  Disappointment flashed in his eyes, and sadness took up residence on his features. “Yes, you would see it that way, wouldn’t you?”

  The resignation in his voice tugged at her heart. GiGi forced that defective organ to shut down all sentiment and lifted her chin to glare. No clothing was lost to her pique. Thank the Goddess.

  “Sleep well. Tomorrow, I’ll try to figure out a solution to break your brother’s spell.”

  Ryker left the room, feet leaden and heart heavier still. As he closed the door to the master suite, he wanted to sit on the hallway floor and bawl like a thwarted toddler. Alastair had meant well, but he’d never change GiGi’s mind. The woman was as stubborn as a century was long.

  With a shake of his head, he turned the knob of the guest room across the hall. The door wouldn’t budge. Again, he tried. Again, the door remained closed. Ryker had a sick feeling he knew where this was going. If he didn’t sleep in his wife’s bed, he wasn’t getting any sleep. The damned sofa in the parlor was a cream-colored, nineteenth-century, fancy French piece with no real back or sides to speak of. It creaked every time he sat down and wasn’t meant to be comfortable, much less provide support for a good night’s rest. It also wasn’t long enough for his brawny, six-feet-two frame.

  “Alastair, you can be a true bastard some days,” he muttered.

  The bedroom door swung open.

  “Who are you talking to?” GiGi demanded.

  “I’m cursing your asshole brother to Hades.”

  Ryker’s pale blue, button-down shirt went by way of his socks and shoes, leaving him bare-chested and fuming.

  “Oh!” she gasped.

  A quick glance at his wife’s face showed her eyes had widened and zeroed in on his muscled pecs. Okay, so maybe Alastair did know what he was doing.

  Inhaling deeply as if to sigh, Ryker noted the look of hungry desire flare to life on GiGi’s face. As quickly as she could, she banked her emotions and cleared her throat. He struggled to keep the smile at bay.

  “What did he do, other than the obvious?” she asked.

  “It appears the other bedrooms in the house are locked.”

  “What? No!”

  GiGi jiggled the closest door handle. She moved to the next room down the hall and repeated the action, adding a shoulder shove against the wood panel.

  He could see the fury bubble up and held up a hand. “Don’t cuss him out. You’ll lose another article of clothing. Exhibit A.” He swept his arm down his torso. Again, her eyes locked on his chest. Her tongue made an appearanc
e as she wet her lips, and Ryker nearly groaned.

  He called himself seven kinds of fool for his gentlemanly behavior. What was more glorious than his wife without her top? His wife without a stitch of clothing on.

  “Can you conjure a cot?”

  Shaking his head, he replied, “It’s doubtful.” But, to appease her, he tried.

  And promptly failed.

  With a dark frown and compressed lips, she charged into the bedroom and came out a moment later with a pillow and a chenille throw. Wordlessly, she handed them to him.

  “Let me guess, I’m supposed to sleep on the floor?”

  “Or the sofa. Your choice.”

  The sofa. Right. All the horrible words he wanted to spew to malign the oldest set of Thorne siblings remained locked inside. He’d be running around here bare-ass in less than thirty seconds if he opened his mouth.

  The slight smirk twisting her lips told more than words how amusing she found his dilemma.

  Screw it. “You know what? You and your damned brother can bite my ass!” Whoosh went his pants.

  Was there anything more vulnerable than a man without a lick of clothing to protect his junk while a woman laughed? That was the last time he went commando. He wrapped the throw around his hips and headed for the staircase.

  Her giggles haunted him his entire descent to the first floor.

  Alastair Thorne covered his wife’s dancing blue eyes the second Ryker’s pants disintegrated. He hadn’t really believed his friend would say the words to lose his last piece of clothing.

  The hilarity of the situation was emphasized by Aurora’s belly laugh. Tears of mirth streamed from her eyes, and she wiped them with a shaky hand.

  “Her face!” she crowed. “Did you see your sister’s face when his pants went bye-bye?”

  Alastair chuckled and swiped a hand over the mirrored surface. “I think from here on out we should give them their privacy.”

  “Watching a naked Ryker storm around his house might be interesting TV, darling. The man has seriously beautiful buttocks.”

  He snaked an arm around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “Don’t make me kill him. He’s my best friend.”

  She bit her lip to suppress her giggles when her clothes disappeared.

  “Ryker who?” she asked forty-seven minutes later when they were horizontal and satiated.

  3

  The sofa was roughly two feet too short. The front of the seat also had a tendency to slope toward the ground, so every time Ryker thought he might be besting the beast, the temperamental French P.O.S. dumped him on the floor. Wedging his wrist between the back and the seat, he drew his legs into a ball and clung for dear life.

  Until he heard the thud from the room above his.

  A litany of curses accompanied the noise, and Ryker was hard-pressed not to run upstairs like his ass was on fire to see if GiGi had lost what remained of her clothing.

  He let the fantasy of making love to the incomparable GiGi take up residence in his brain. In less than a minute, he was hard and randy as a teen who just discovered Playboy Magazine. He pictured his wife dressed like one of the Playmates, bunny ears and all. Careful to keep one arm hooked behind the seat back, he rested his heels on the rickety side arm and spread his legs to one-handedly encircle his erection.

  He’d only gotten in one good stroke when the not-so-dulcet voice of his irritated wife demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Ryker’s eyes snapped open when he heard her squeak.

  Without turning his head, he laughed. It had to be her top that vanished. That was an oh-my-God-my-breasts-are-exposed sound if he’d ever heard one.

  He stroked himself again.

  “Stop doing that!” She snapped. “Oh!”

  Yep, she was nearly there. Two more good bursts of temper and she’d be as nude as he was. “If you take off that bra-and-panty set and come here, I wouldn’t need to.”

  Fists on hips, she glared. Through gritted teeth, she counted to ten—backwards.

  He laughed again and sat up, keeping his hand on his dick and spreading his legs to give her a view. Another stroke.

  GiGi stopped counting around five. The redness in her cheeks was no longer from anger, but from the becoming blush of a woman trying not to let her interest show. They had like ninety-nine problems, but sex wasn’t one of them.

  “I need you,” she whispered huskily.

  Hot damn! He came off the couch like his ass was alight.

  “There’s something wrong with the bed. It keeps collapsing and tilting to the side.”

  And there he stood, dick in hand and egg on his face. “You only need me to fix the bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Right.” He sighed heavily and wrapped the chenille blanket around his hips. He’d be damned if he’d put his worldly jewels on display if she wasn’t going to appreciate them. “Come on.”

  He trudged up the steps and stopped short in the bedroom entryway.

  “Uh, sweetheart.” Ryker pointed to the mattress. “Nothing’s wrong with the bed.”

  She ducked under his arm and came up short. Turning back to him, she wore a look of utter confusion. “I swear I’m not lying.”

  “I believe you.” A brief inspection of the bed showed it to be in tip-top shape with no faulty legs or trick springs that might dump its occupant out. “Lie down.”

  She complied.

  He didn’t have time to comment on her compliance or savor how lovely she looked reclining on the bed. The edge of the mattress dipped toward the floor. He caught her right before she impacted the ground.

  “Another Alastair trick?” she asked. “I can’t see the reason behind this one.”

  “You know, the sofa was doing something similar to me. I assumed it was the design or a faulty leg.” He scratched the back of his neck and frowned. “See if you can lie crossways.”

  She laid flat on her stomach, with her glorious ass facing up.

  Ryker paused to admire the view before he lifted his eyes skyward, wondering what he’d done to deserve such torture. He didn’t have a minute to see that thought through before the frame pitched and she rolled toward the foot of the bed. Again, he caught her. It was a little harder to release her this time around—especially when she looked so delightfully rumpled and put out. With her body pressed to his, it wouldn’t be long before the thin blanket wrapped around his hips would give away his carnal thoughts.

  GiGi stared up at him, eyes wide and searching. Her breathlessness came across in light pants, and her mouth fell open enough for Ryker to contemplate the taste of her tongue.

  He couldn’t keep the heavy desire from his voice when he said, “Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. Bucking bed or not, I’ll have you on that mattress faster than you can say yes.”

  The laugh lines bracketing her eyes deepened, and a soft smile played about her lips. “Duly noted. Now, do you have any ideas about what’s causing the bed to actually buck?”

  “Obviously, it’s magical. Which, if we surmise it has something to do with Alastair’s spell, it must mean you cannot sleep in the bed alone.”

  Her brows collided together, and she looked down at the mattress. “Shall we try it?”

  “Dear Goddess, woman. Don’t throw suggestions like that around all willy-nilly, or my willy will be looking to connect with your nilly.”

  “Maybe this will help you keep your willy to yourself.” She waved a hand and, with a shower of twinkling lights, morphed into a tottering old woman with lavender hair, enough wrinkles that, when unfolded, would create two more people, and dentures that slipped when she grinned.

  Ryker stared at her in horror, all his passion packing up and heading for the tropics.

  Her amused cackle melted the ice he’d used to encase his heart. This was the GiGi Thorne-Gillespie he loved to distraction. The one who delighted in mischief and was quick with a witty comment or action. The one who didn’t take life seriously and found joy in the little things.

&
nbsp; He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. Wanted it to penetrate her steel-encased heart and revive what they’d once shared.

  The laughter left her face in slow increments, and the glamour followed. His serious, distant, soon-to-be-ex wife stared up at him. “Right.” She cleared her throat. “We should test your theory.”

  They both made for the same side of the bed and stopped short.

  “This is my side,” he said inanely.

  “We haven’t shared a bed in fifteen years, Ryker. You have no side anymore.”

  GiGi’s underwear stayed securely in place because she hadn’t been mean or nasty, just matter of fact. He wanted to roar his denial and tell her he did have a side. Tell her he’d take either side as long as he could always remain next to her.

  Stepping around her, he moved to the opposite edge of the mattress. “We both lie down on three?”

  She nodded and counted down. Both laid flat on their back, arms folded across their stomach. Not even a slight hiccup came from the bed.

  “I guess we found our answer,” he muttered.

  * * *

  Inside her mind, GiGi was screaming. How in Hades was she expected to sleep next to a naked Ryker all night long? She’d been hard-pressed not to jump his bones—er, boner—downstairs in the living room. Sitting there in all his wondrous nude glory and stroking his erection, he’d tempted her as nothing else had in years. Hell, his chest alone had made the saliva pool in her mouth. His magnificent physique hadn’t changed one bit. In fact, GiGi would go so far as to say he’d only gotten better with age.

  Suddenly, she couldn’t remember why she was holding on to her grudge when all she ever desired sat on the cream upholstered Louis XVI sofa she loved.

  “Are you okay?”

  His soft voice was sweet and considerate, and GiGi wanted nothing more than to turn to him for comfort. She’d been alone so long.

  “I’m fine,” she lied. Turning her back to him, she pulled the covers to her chin. “Good night.”