by Mia Sheridan
Kira. Who was now my wife.
No, not for real. Shut up. Stop repeating that to yourself.
She'd been a little spitfire yesterday. This morning, she'd been meek and subdued, except for the way she'd laughed at the chaste kiss I'd given her, heating my blood in front of God and our court-appointed witness, and provoking me—knowingly or not—to kiss her again in a way that was anything but platonic.
She had grown up in the very lap of luxury and yet she'd spent half a day (Charlotte had told me) scrubbing out what must have been a disgusting bathroom in that little cottage and was now living there. She was an enigma. I couldn't figure her out, and I didn't have the time or the inclination to try. And yet, for some inane reason, I had trouble resisting the allure of meeting the challenges she dished out, trouble resisting the desire to make that fire flash in her eyes. I craved it. The way she looked when she flew into a rage—her cheeks flushed, her eyes smoldering and filled with indignation . . . She kept me constantly off balance and for the life of me, I couldn't figure out why I liked it so much. That's why I'd teased her with that stupid list of hers and things had gone downhill from there.
And now we were married. Till divorce do us part.
I turned to go back into the house when I heard what sounded like voices coming from . . . above me? I frowned, turning and squinting up at the dark sky. No, they were coming from farther over—right at the edge of Kira's cottage. I walked slowly in that direction, confused. "Hello?" I called. The voices stopped, although I thought I heard a small, muffled laugh.
"Who's there?" I said louder. No answer.
"Ouch!" I said, as something small and hard hit my head and more muffled laughter came from above. I looked up. Someone or a few someones were up in the trees. Another acorn made contact with my skull and I grunted. What the hell? "Who's up there?" I repeated angrily. "Come down now before I call the police." There was a silent moment and then I heard what sounded like someone climbing down. A pair of beefy, jean-clad legs appeared first and then Virgil's head came into sight. He hopped down, his head bent as he looked at me nervously.
"What are you doing up in my trees?" I asked incredulously.
"I, um, well, sir, we wanted to see if we could catch a few wishing stars, see . . . Kira and me, we thought . . . "
"Kira?" I asked, just as another pair of legs appeared, these slim and shapely. Kira landed on her feet in front of me, leaves stuck to her and that damn silky hair falling down in disarray around her face. Just like earlier that evening, her cheeks were flushed and she was breathing hard. But this time, she smelled like alcohol. My new wife was climbing trees . . . drunk. I clenched my jaw.
"So . . . you're insane," I declared.
"Well hello, husband," she slurred slightly. "How was your date?"
"My date . . . Kira, do you realize you could have broken your neck and Virgil's neck, too, for that matter? I suppose this was your idea."
Kira glanced at Virgil who looked like he was a little boy who had just been sent to the principal's office.
"It was all my idea, actually," Kira admitted, standing up straight and crossing her arms under her breasts. "Did you know that if you sit in a tree all day, you can watch people to your heart's content? No one ever looks up. It's the most interesting thing."
"Hmm. You have a lot of tree-climbing experience, no doubt."
She tilted and I righted her. "Quite a bit."
"And of course, there's the wishing star thing."
"Well, yes, that. Might as well try, right? No one ever got anywhere by sitting in their cottage in the woods drinking alone on their wedding night." She frowned, as if trying to recall something, perhaps whether the person she was describing was herself.
"In the future, will you please leave my employees out of stunts like this one? I would hate to have to call Virgil's mother and tell her that her son tumbled out of a tree."
"Oh, there wasn't any danger. I mean, very little. Haven't you ever climbed these trees? They're the perfect climbing trees. The," she let out a little hiccup, "branches are so huge and strong and wide. You could sleep on one."
"You're drunk, Kira. If you had tried to sleep on a tree branch, I'd be scraping you off the ground tomorrow."
She laughed as if that was funny. "Seriously, though, surely you've climbed one of these trees?"
"No."
"No?" she whispered. "Why?" She looked at me so seriously, her look as confounded as if I'd just admitted I'd never tried breathing air before.
Without answering, I turned to Virgil who was shifting back and forth on his feet. "You should go on back to your bunk, Virgil."
"Yes, sir," he muttered. He turned to Kira, his face lighting up as if she were the sun and he had just been looking into the darkness. Me being the darkness in this particular circumstance. He gave her the most openly enamored smile I'd ever seen on a grown man and said shyly, "Goodnight, Miss Kira."
Kira grinned back at him and I startled slightly. There it was. That dimple I'd seen in the online photograph. Virgil got the dimple. I'd never gotten the dimple—not even once. And I probably never would, especially after tonight.
"Mrs. Kira," she corrected, winking.
Virgil shot me a look that I swore was suspicious and then nodded at Kira, smiling again as he turned and walked away. I gritted my teeth and turned back to the little witch.
We stared at each other for a few moments. "My father never would have allowed it," I said. "Climbing trees."
She furrowed her brow as if trying to remember what we'd been talking about. Her eyes met mine, and although she was clearly inebriated, I could see gentleness in her expression. "My father didn't allow it either. "
"I take it you didn't listen?" I raised an eyebrow.
She laughed softly and shook her head, looking suddenly sad in a way that made me want to reach out to her. But then she smiled and nodded her head up to the tree. "Clearly not. I've never been very good at obedience. Or meekness. Or curbing my sharp tongue for that matter. I'd make a terrible wife." She swayed again very slightly and took a step toward me on a small laugh.
I couldn't help smiling back at her joke as I caught her by her upper arms.
Something suddenly seemed to occur to her. "Speaking of my father, I told you to be discreet about your personal life. Discreet," she dragged out the word, leaning toward me. "It's very important."
I cleared my throat. "I thought you said you weren't overly worried about your father."
She chewed on her lip. "I'm always worried about my father," she whispered, looking somewhere off in the distance. Her eyes focused on me again and she stood up straighter. "I just don't want to invite trouble."
"Noted," was all I gave her as she swayed again. "Okay, little witch, let's get you back to your cottage in the woods." I almost offered one of the guest rooms in the house again, but she had turned me down before, and frankly, I thought it better that there was distance between us—for a whole slew of reasons I didn't much want to contemplate anymore than I already had.
When we made it to the door of her cottage, she turned to me, her eyes bleary, her cheeks flushed. She tilted her head and as the leaves of the trees overhead blew in the wind, a shaft of moonbeam hit her face, lighting it just enough that her green eyes shone like emeralds. Her hair, perhaps put up in a twist earlier tonight, had slipped almost completely loose and as usual, silky tendrils framed her face. She smiled a small smile at me, her lips curving up just the slightest bit, and I felt momentarily stunned silent. Had I thought this girl was merely pretty? I was the stupidest man alive.
A blind fool.
A complete moron.
She was beautiful.
Irrationally, I felt duped, as if the little witch had put some kind of spell on me. Maybe it wasn't so irrational—she probably had. Bewitching little troublemaker.
I clenched my jaw, turning on my heel. "Goodnight," I called over my shoulder, not even bothering to wait until she'd slipped through the door of her cotta
ge. I went back to my house and took a very cold shower.
**********
I avoided Kira for the next couple days. I was busy, but more than that, she unsettled me, and I didn't need the distraction. The only female companionship I had the time or desire for right now was very temporary, and admittedly very shallow. Getting involved with my wife would be a bad idea on almost every level.
The only contact we'd had was her text advising me she’d requested a certified copy of our marriage license, but that it would be several weeks before it would be processed and posted. More waiting—but we were one step closer. A couple weeks and we'd have the check we both desperately needed. The end.
I had no idea what she was doing, nor did I much care. Or at least that's what I kept telling myself. In any case, she seemed to be happy enough to avoid me as well. She didn't show up at any of the normal meal times, and I refused to ask Charlotte whether she ate at the vineyard or not. Although I did catch sight of her scampering around here and there, and I thought she might have brought the men I worked with lunch a couple times. I always ate up at the house, so I couldn't be sure, and I didn't ask them.
A week after we'd gotten married, I was walking back down the hill to the vineyards where José, Virgil, and the two new, part-time guys I'd hired the day before were working, when I stopped short, squinting my eyes to make sure I was really seeing what I thought I was seeing. Kira was standing on one leg, her other stretched out behind her on the back of one of the tractors as it moved around the perimeter of the grapevines. She had a long ribbon of some sort in one hand and was waving it through the air. As I watched, she changed legs, bringing her arms out in front of her in some sort of pose. The men cheered and clapped, holding up their fingers as if scoring her for her performance. She turned toward them, the tractor still moving, José at the wheel, and did a deep curtsy, her long, loose hair falling forward, and then stood and spun around, bringing her leg up again in a ballerina-type pose. My heart leapt with panic and my breath stuttered at the dangerous stunt, which got my legs moving again. I half walked/half jogged toward her. When I was close, José looked to where I was, the smile on his face disappearing as he slowed the tractor, finally stopping completely. Immobile, I glared at them, at a complete loss for words. Finally, I managed to grit out, "What in the hell are you doing?"
José scratched his neck and wisely looked away, while Kira stood straighter, staring down at me defiantly. "I brought lunch down," she said, gesturing to the In-N-Out Burger wrappers strewn on a blanket at the base of a tree to the right of the tractor’s path. She jumped down. "I was simply showing them the routine I planned to use to join the circus. I was going to be the girl who dances on the back of an elephant. I perfected it years ago while my best friend Kimberly drove my father's golf cart. We all got talking about childhood dreams and . . ." She trailed off, smiling around at the men.
I stared at her. "Oh, well, clearly," I said, my voice laced with sarcasm.
She had the grace and wisdom to look momentarily embarrassed. But then that little chin came up again and fire danced in her eyes. "We were just having a little fun—not on your time, either. It was their lunch break." She put her hands on her hips.
"It's my equipment, Kira. If you had gotten hurt, I'd be responsible." Before she could answer, I looked at José. "And you? What do you have to say for yourself?"
José shrugged his shoulders, but I could see amusement in his expression, despite trying to hide it. "When the missus wants to dance on the back of a tractor, who am I to tell her no? She owns half of this vineyard."
I stared at him, gritting my teeth. I wasn't going to go over the exact terms of the prenuptial agreement Kira and I had signed, but in any case, I could see José was thoroughly enjoying himself, so it wouldn't matter anyway. Traitor. I looked around at the men who were staring at Kira as if she'd hung the moon.
"Get down," I demanded, recalling that this was the second time in a week I’d had to order my bride off something high and dangerous. "You will no longer climb trees nor dance on tractors at my vineyard. Do you hear me?"
She squinted her eyes at me, defiance clear in her expression. She crossed her arms. "And if I do?" she challenged.
"If you do, I'll show you just how much of a dragon I can really be," I said with cold calm.
She jumped down in one smooth, elegant maneuver, landing perfectly on her feet. "Maybe," she said, standing straight and lashing her ribbon through the air, "I should have practiced being a dragon tamer!" Her long auburn hair swirled around her as she moved, tendrils of heavy silk brushing her cheeks that were flushed a deep pink. I moved in, but she whipped her ribbon back and forth in front of me.
"Drop your weapon, witch," I growled, hot blood swirling through my veins.
"Or what?" she demanded.
"Or I'll disarm you myself." And then I was going to take her over my knee and use that makeshift whip to teach her a lesson. She lifted her chin and jumped toward me and then away quickly again, taunting me, all agility and elegance.
"Oh, I dare you," she said, something fiery and thrilling flaring in her eyes. "Show me that dragonish side. Do your worst."
I stepped in immediately to the challenge. "Dragonish? Oh, my little wife, you haven't even glimpsed dragonish yet." I moved in just as she whipped her ribbon toward me, and I felt the hot sting of slicing pain across my jaw. I froze.
She'd whipped me!
The little witch had literally whipped me and . . . drawn blood! I was momentarily stunned, my hand moving slowly to my jaw where it came away with a bright red smear. Hot fire ignited in my body as my eyes met Kira's. The little witch was as stunned as I. Her wide eyes looked down to the thick ribbon in her hand and then back up to my cheek as if she couldn't compute what had just happened. Her mouth opened, but then she closed it again.
"Run, Mrs. Kira!" I heard Virgil's voice suddenly call out. I looked back at him and he was wringing his hands, a look of dread on his face as he stared at us.
Kira let out a small squeal, dropping her ribbon/whip, and doing just as Virgil had suggested. I took a moment to glare at each of my men. Kira's men, I should probably say.
"It wasn't really her fault, sir," José said. "We dared her. Seems neither one of you can resist a good dare." He was holding back laughter, and doing a very poor job of it.
I gave him my very best scathing look. "In the future," I said, turning in the direction Kira had run, "please abstain from daring my wife to pull dangerous stunts on moving equipment."
"Yes, sir," I heard muttered behind me. I picked up my pace, jogging after the insufferable brat.
I saw her pause ahead of me, as if deciding whether to head toward her cottage, or the main house. She chose the main house, most likely thinking she'd have some support in Walter and Charlotte. We both knew there was no lock on her cottage.
I had thought she might try to escape out one of the many back doors, but when I entered the house, she was standing in the foyer, looking around as if trying to decide where to go.
The door clicked softly behind me and I used the hem of my T-shirt to wipe at the blood I could feel dripping down my jaw. When I lowered it, I saw that her eyes had been on my bare stomach. I felt myself harden and swell, my blood moving hot and thick through my veins. Damn witch.
"It was an accident," she said, glancing up the stairs as if contemplating trying to escape up them.
"I've come to realize you're more accident-prone than most, wife. And Kira," I gestured my head behind her, "if I have a mind to catch you, you won't even make it halfway up that staircase."
Her eyes widened and determination filled her expression. She faked a right toward the kitchen, and then made a sudden lunge left toward the living room instead. I went after her, the primitive male instinct to hunt a fleeing female exciting all my senses and causing arousal to surge through my body.
Kira ran toward the couch, and I was right behind her as she tried to climb over it. I pulled her down as she shrieked
and fought me. "Charlotte!" Kira screamed. "Walter!"
I managed to get her under me and pin her arms, and when I did, looking in her face triumphantly, she flinched and turned her head as if expecting a blow. I froze, immediately letting go of her.
"Did you think I was going to hit you?" I asked, incredulously.
She blinked up at me with those gorgeous eyes, suddenly looking uncertain and very young. Tenderness filled my chest, replacing any anger I'd felt. "I'd never hit you."
She nodded at me. "I . . . I know," she said, but the tone of her voice told me she wasn't completely sure.
"Gray? Kira?" I heard Charlotte from behind me, but I didn't look up, and Kira didn't turn her head. I didn't move off her.
"We're fine, Charlotte," I said emphatically.
"I heard—"
"We're fine, Charlotte," I repeated. "Give us a minute, please."
She hesitated for a moment, and then I heard her footsteps moving away.