Prologue

Steam rose from the cauldron as its contents began to boil. The witch watched it carefully, her face damp from the steam.

“You don’t need to watch so closely. It’s not like you’re making candy where stuff has to be a certain temperature,” the man complained.

The witch pushed back her long hair and turned away from the cauldron, grimacing at her companion. “You’re a man. What do you know about cooking or making candy?”

“More than you, Miss Why Do I Have to Measure It? Can’t I Just Eyeball It?” The tall, dark-haired man leaned over her shoulder, gazing at the thick liquid that bubbled in the cauldron.

She shoved him away. “Don’t do that! If you drop one hair into that potion . . . .”

His expression grew haughty. “What do you take me for? A novice? I’ve been practicing magic longer than you, Zoe.”

“You’re a dick, Aug,” she muttered, turning away to flip through the pages of a spell book.

August came up behind her and pushed aside her mass of silver blonde hair, exposing her neck. He bent and kissed the soft skin of her nape. “I might be a dick, but I love you,” he murmured. “Why do you think I’m not happy about this scheme of yours? I hate having any other woman touch me.”

Zoe turned and August’s arms came around her. “You won’t even be in human form, Aug. This is important. One of us needs to keep an eye on them. What better way than to have you pretend to be her familiar?”

August sighed heavily and Zoe knew he was caving in. Besides, it wasn’t as if they had much choice. This was their godson and he needed help. He wanted to shake off the tenets of his birth at a time in his life when he needed them, and needed to believe in them. His destiny was at hand and he was about to screw up everything by denying his birthright.

Zoe pulled away from her mate and leaned over the cauldron with her wand. “Two lives on Destiny’s path, two hearts at critical mass. Hold fast yet for awhile. Hold fast for Sunday’s Child,” she intoned as she waved the wand over the boiling cauldron. “The truest mate is always won, so remember your birthright, my errant son. The child born on the Sabbath day is witty and wise, and good and gay. So you are, and so you shall ever be. This, my heart and soul decree!”

There was a loud bang, a bright flash, and smoke poured from the cauldron. Choking, Zoe and August backed away, waiting for the smoke to clear. Then they looked into the huge, black kettle. It was empty.

“Fuck! Did it work?” August grumbled, pushing back his long, black hair. “I hate the old magic. You never know if you’ve got it right.”

Zoe sighed as she looked up him. “Well, we’ll just have to hope that it worked. Now, get your ass over to the witch’s house.”

August kissed her quickly. Then his body began to shimmer. Moments later, he was gone and in his place was a big, black tom cat. Zoe picked him up and he began to purr.

“You’ll be fine, Aug. Just remember your duty to our godson,” she whispered and opened the door, placing the cat on the stoop.

He stood there for a moment, yowling loudly. Zoe made a shooing motion at him with her hands, and he stalked off, disappearing between the trees. With a worried sigh, Zoe went back inside and shut the door.

Chapter One

Proof that nice guys finished last was right there in front of Randall Wise, not that he needed proof. Cole, his best friend since diapers, stood less than ten feet away cutting a wedding cake with his bride. The couple was surrounded by friends, all of whom were either married or attached.

Rand was the only single one left.

All his life, Rand had been the good guy, the nice guy. He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He held doors and did favors, baby sat, picked up the check, played Santa, and gave out advice and handkerchiefs. He’d always figured that one day he would meet a woman who was just as nice as he was and sparks would fly. Then, he’d end up happily married, leaving all his arrogant female-hating friends behind.

Wrong. Instead, every one of Rand’s friends hooked up, leaving him the single guy.

With a frown, Rand eyed his five best friends. Edmund, the stuck up SOB, came from a rich family and cultivated the haughty act to keep people from getting too close. Yet, Celina had ignored that cold aristocratic demeanor and wormed her way into Edmund’s heart five years ago. Now, their twins begged Rand for piggy back rides.

Ian was a typical musician, screwing groupies every night until the day he’d met a sharp-tongued music critic. Three years later, he had settled into domestic bliss with his wife, a house with a studio, and a dog. Rand had never figured Ian for being the stay-at-home with a pet type of man, let alone the kind of guy who would settle down with one woman. Rand’s most memorable moments with Ian had been the time they’d been attacked by a dozen horny women on Ian’s tour bus. In Rand’s mind, that kind of stuff didn’t transition very well to watering the lawn and emptying the dryer.

Mark and Bret were wild brothers that Rand had never figured would settle down. Corporate raider Bret enjoyed seducing secrets from female staff. Mark was gay and loved to cruise biker bars. Then in one fell swoop, the two brothers settled down with a brother and sister who owned a distribution company. Both couples were the epitome of domestic partnership.

And then there was Cole. Rand’s closest friend had been burned twice. The first led to a bitter divorce and a custody battle over Cole’s daughter. The second was a live-in situation that turned sour and ended up as a criminal case of stalking. Cole had been adamant that he was done with love. However, fate stepped in and deposited a very sexy child advocate attorney on his doorstep and Cole had been a goner.

Now, only Rand was single, which was proof positive that good guys finished last in love. By their own admission, none of his friends were as nice as him!

Rand started to grab a glass of champagne from a passing waiter then decided to take the full bottle instead. He found a seat in the corner and undid the tie and vest of his morning suit. Swigging from the open bottle of champagne, he surveyed the guests with an eye toward mate prospects. Nothing appealed. At least, nothing appealed in a marriageable sense. There was one redhead who was giving him sultry looks from her dark green eyes. She was imminently fuckable, but she was also, obviously, high may. The last thing he needed was a high maintenance wife.

He watched as the women gathered for the bouquet tossing. The redhead hung back as if she didn’t care about the tradition, but Rand knew it was a ploy. She wanted him to think she didn’t care about catching it. Rand wasn’t dumb. He sensed the aggression in her from clear across the room. She would stop at nothing to get that bouquet and what it symbolized.

He polished off the bottle of champagne and snagged another. If he held true to his nature, he would steer clear of the redhead. Nice guys didn’t fuck women they had no intention of seeing again. Anger rose in him. Being true to his nature, being a good guy who always took everyone’s feelings into consideration, had gotten him nothing. He was sitting alone at Cole’s wedding, ass out, without a single marriageable prospect on the horizon. He didn’t even have a fucking date.

His pale grey eyes flickered over the redhead again. If he had to start somewhere on the path to being an asshole like every other guy, he could do a lot worse than starting with her. When he walked away without giving her his phone number, it would sting her pride, but it wouldn’t hurt her. She was the practical type. She’d cut her losses and forget him. That thought seemed to seal the deal for him. He heaved himself out of the chair and headed toward her.

She pretended to be interested in the bouquet toss, but he knew she was watching him out of the corner of her eye. He stopped behind her, his groin brushing against her firm ass.

“You want that bouquet.” His dark head bent to her ear and his whisper was seductive.

“Do not.” Her reply was softly delivered, but held a taunting note.

“Liar.” The single word was filled with sardonic laughter, and Rand waited for her to take the bad boy bait he’d just tossed her. Their exchange was as predictable as a Hollywood script and Rand fought back the feeling of being dirty. Gods, all he’d done was come on to her. He hadn’t even touched her and already he felt guilty.

“I’ll prove it.”

Her words were predictable, but the hand that suddenly cupped his crotch wasn’t. It was all he could do not to let his eyes open wide with shock as she pulled his zipper down and slipped her fingers into his pants. His cock stiffened at her touch. He’d never realized how little control he had over the traitorous organ. Of course, he’d never played at being a bad boy before either. His dealings with women were always honest and above board. This game with the redhead was exciting, but totally out of character for him.

He pressed his hips against her, his free hand coming up to curve over her hipbone. She was breathing quickly, her small breasts rising and falling rapidly beneath the pale green satin dress she wore. He noticed that in her heels, she was only a couple of inches shorter than him. She was reed slender, with a body type that normally didn’t do squat for him. Model types usually had hard angled bodies and equally hard personalities.

Her long fingers were damned talented though, he admitted to himself as she stroked him. He lifted the bottle of champagne to his mouth and drank deeply, knowing that the action appeared careless and arrogant to her. His head spun a little. He’d had way too much alcohol on an empty stomach which was probably why he was acting so out of character.

Setting the half-empty bottle down, Rand let out a soft belch in the redhead’s ear. “C’mon, there’s gotta be a closet around here somewhere,” he muttered. Pulling her fingers out of his pants, he led her out of the reception room.

She chuckled and it didn’t escape his notice that the sound had a ring of triumph to it. He pulled her along the hotel corridor. Finally, he pushed open the door of a small meeting room. He looked around to make sure they were alone then locked the door.

He turned and found the redhead leaning against the edge of a round conference table. With a growl, he stepped between her thighs and jerked up her dress, exposing her garter belt and stockings. She wore no underwear. Her long, manicured nails speared into his hair, and for a moment, Rand had to fight a wave of revulsion. She was so not his type, but if he wanted to be a bad boy he had to start somewhere. This was just an opportunity to practice what he would be preaching from now on.

Rand jerked open his pants, pulling out his cock. With a snap of his fingers, he magicked a condom onto the thick length. Before the redhead could touch him again, he pushed her thighs wider and sank balls deep into her. After that, it wasn’t hard to be a selfish bastard. He fucked her hard, her head banging on the conference table, her legs wrapped around his hips. When she tried to kiss him, he turned his head, as if he was struggling to breathe.

Apparently, his roughness turned her on because he didn’t have to touch her beyond a few tugs at her nipples and a couple of flicks at her clit. She had three orgasms before he came. She could have been faking, but his senses told him she wasn’t. His own orgasm was weak and he cursed himself silently. Being a bastard wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

The moment his breathing eased, he jerked his cock free of her pussy and used his handkerchief to dispose of the condom. Leaving his DNA in the trash was a bad idea, so he slipped the soiled cloth into his pocket and straightened his clothes. Using his magic, he made his phone’s alarm go off.

“What’s that?” the redhead asked breathlessly as she sat up.

He took out his phone and frowned at it. “I have to go. Thanks for the tumble, Red,” he muttered and strode to the door.

“Wait! You didn’t give me your . . . .”

Randall slipped out and snapped his fingers, relocking the door to give himself time to make it back to the reception. His head spun. He’d had way too much to drink.

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder and his eyes met Cole’s hooded gaze. “You’re not yourself, Rand. Go home.”

He jerked away from his best friend’s touch. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You reek of sex and booze. Go home and sleep it off,” Cole said gently.

Rand glared. “Don’t tell me what to do! You’ve got a new bride. Go tell her what to do. I’ll do as I please,” he slurred.

Cole shook his head. “Let me put you in one of the limos, Rand. You’re done for tonight.”

His senses pinged. The redhead had returned. Shit. He slumped a little. “Okay, sure, Cole.”

His best friend steered him out a side door onto a crowded patio and then into the hotel garden. When they emerged at the front of the hotel, Cole strode over to a waiting limo. He opened the back door and shoved Rand inside, patting him on the shoulder. “Things aren’t as bad as you think, buddy.”

Then he was gone, and the big car slid smoothly away from the curb. Rand stared glumly out the window. It was fine for Cole to tell him things weren’t so bad. He would spend tonight in the arms of a woman he loved. Rand was going home to shower off the stench of a woman whose name he didn’t know.

Things went from bad to worse the moment the limo dropped him at his house. The lights were on which meant only one thing… his godparents were there. He loved Zoe and August to death. They had taken care of him after his parents died. However, in the state he was currently in, facing them would be difficult.

August’s aristocratic nose would flare fastidiously at the scent of cigars, booze, and sex. Even worse than Aug’s sharp looks, Zoe’s fussing would totally unman him. Not only was Zoe his godmother, she was related to him in some obscure way through his mother. August had been his father’s best friend. It would sting to have them see him in this state.

Rand opened his front door to find Zoe dusting his living room. She turned and the spell that held the feather duster broke and it dropped onto the coffee table.

“Oh! You’re home much earlier than I anticipated.” She smiled at him, crossing the room to kiss his cheek.

Rand hugged her briefly, guilt assailing him at having touched her while he still reeked of that damned redhead. “What are you doing here? Not that I don’t appreciate you coming by to clean. It saves me having to remember to do it.”

She moved away, her hands fluttering nervously. Rand narrowed his eyes. She was up to something. Then he realized August was nowhere in sight. “Where’s Aug?” he asked cautiously.

Her small hands fluttered again and Rand knew she was about to lie to him. “Oh, he’s tending a spell.”

He’d always had a facility for knowing whether others spoke the truth. He figured it had something to do with his birth gifts. Being Sunday’s Child wasn’t as easy as people thought. Sabbath gifts came with a price. The guilt dogging him now for going against his nature was a hefty cost. It wasn’t very wise or good of him to have done a hit and run on that redhead. If it wasn’t for the frustrated little voice inside him, insisting that he do whatever it took to find his mate, he wouldn’t have bothered trying to be something he so clearly wasn’t.

Rand turned to his godmother, letting the little voice battle it out with his guilt. Zoe was looking at him with disappointed eyes and he wanted to squirm like a naughty ten-year-old. She walked into his dining room and patted the back of a chair.

“Come. I know you didn’t eat at the wedding. I’m sure you were too upset at being left behind,” she told him. “Let me make you something to eat.”

Rand gritted his teeth. He wished she hadn’t referred to his single status in such loser terms. “Being left behind” made him sound like a crippled marathon runner. Although, now that he thought about it, he was crippled when it came to the singles scene. Being the good guy was a death sentence in the dating world. In fact, it had been at least six months since he’d gone on a real date; although his friends’ mates had fixed him up a few times.

The blind dates sometimes got him laid, but he just wasn’t that interested in any of the women. The truth of the matter was that he saw what his friends had, what his godparents had, and remembered what his parents had, and that was what he wanted, too. He didn’t want to settle. He wanted the one woman who was his true mate. He just didn’t know how to go about finding her when women all seemed to bypass him for the bad boys.

Zoe’s finely plucked brows rose when he didn’t make a move toward the dining room. She patted the chair again. “I’ll make your favorites,” she said coaxingly.

Rand shook his head. The stale scent of sex clung to his skin and his clothes and he wasn’t about to sit down and eat while he smelled like a two-bit whore. “I need a shower.” He sighed. “Can you leave it for me?”

He knew the hint that he wanted to be alone wasn’t lost on her.

“Alright. I’ll make your favorites and leave them for you.” Her midnight-blue gaze flicked over him. “Randall . . .”

He held up a hand before she could start on the mini-lecture he knew was hovering on her tongue. “I know, Zoe. And I understand about my gifts, but damn it, I just need to break free of this rut I’m in. At the rate I’m going, you’ll be old and grey before you have grand-god-babies to read the Great Spellbook to.”

Zoe’s eyes darkened and grew stern. “That book has been handed down for centuries in your mother’s family. One day it will be your daughter’s. You also have a great heritage to uphold on your father’s side. The Wise Mages have ever been the most powerful in the realm. For you to fulfill your potential, you must embrace your gifts and find the one who will bring your life full circle to the purpose for which you were born.”

It was all Rand could do not to roll his eyes as his godmother’s voice boomed. Zoe had always been prone to theatrics. Without August at her side to temper them, she was getting a little over the top with him.

He turned toward the stairs, shooting her a teasing smile and a wink. “I understand, Zoe. I promise to embrace the dinner you make for me as soon as I get a quick shower, okay?”

She shook her head, her blonde hair glittering as it spilled over her long, purple robe. “This is not a subject for joking, Randall.”

He paused for a moment, suddenly struck by the fact that his godmother was wearing her spell-robes. She rarely cast spells any more. Why was she dressed in the purple velvet gown with the silver embroidery? “Where did you say Aug was?” he asked cautiously.

Zoe’s eyes went flat, and again he knew she was going to lie. “We’re brewing a little spell. Something to keep the bunnies from eating our lettuce,” she said vaguely. “In fact, I need to get back in case he messes up the ingredients. You run along to your shower. I’ll leave you some
food and I expect you to eat it all!”

At the top of the stairs, Rand turned toward his bedroom, thinking about what she’d said. August was tending a spell for their garden, yet she was the one wearing the spell-robes. Most garden spells were Class One. Any novice could perform them. August was a mage class wizard. Transportation, transfiguration, transference, and telepathy all came standard with that class level of theurgy.

As he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, he wondered again just where August Penhall was and what his wife, Zoe, was hiding.