Grim and Bear It: Steamy Grumpy Sunshine Romance

Book 6: Stay a Spell

by Juliette Cross

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Shifters

Synopsis

Not even Death can take her from him.

Clara Savoie is so confused. She is absolutely positive that Henry Blackwater is practically in love with her. But for some strange reason, he won’t even ask her on a single date. Time to take matters into her own hands.

When Clara shows up on his doorstep with an unusual invitation, tempting cupcakes, and naughty innuendo, Henry has no choice but to say yes. Now he’s the newest member of the High Tea Romance Book Club. While Clara learns the haunting secrets of her broody grim, Henry shows her what commitment from a necromancer truly means.

But when his father is arrested for murder, Henry is dragged back into the nightmare he’s been avoiding all his life. When he steps back into his father’s world, he isn’t just endangering himself but also the bright, beautiful woman he can no longer live without. But he just might have to.

 

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Release date: May 9, 2023

Print pages: 368

Sample

Prologue

 

~HENRY~ 

---

When I was little, I often escaped to the garden behind my father’s sprawling fifty-acre estate. Like everything else in his life, he kept pristine gardens. Toward the center, there was a long bed of wildflowers that attracted a particular kind of butterfly. The wings were yellow with delicate black trim. Beautiful. For some reason, this happened to be a place where I was never disturbed by the dead. I’d watch the golden-winged insects flutter about happily, mindlessly, and bask in their effortless beauty.

Certain Native American tribes said that a yellow butterfly was a spirit of hope and guidance. I wasn’t so sure about guidance, but they’d always lifted the weight of my gift as a necromancer. For a short while. I’d found solace in the butterfly garden far too many times to confess to anyone. When I’d had to leave my father’s house, I went into a period of mourning, bereft of my yellow butterflies.

Then one day, while I was standing outside of Ruben’s bookstore on Magazine, a woman stepped out of a shop and walked down the street, her lengthy blond hair streaming down her back. I’d felt it like a punch to the gut. I remember sucking in a painful gulp of air the second I laid eyes on her, knowing at long last I’d found my butterfly garden again.

Only, she wasn’t a garden. She was a woman. A witch. A breathlessly stunning, beguiling one who began tormenting my dreams with aching frequency from that very day. As I watched her now, I wondered, not for the first time, if she was in fact my hope and my guide. Because wherever she went, I helplessly followed. 

 

Chapter 1

 

~CLARA~ 

---

This was it. I was totally doing this. No going back now.

I marched up the shaded walkway of Henry Blackwater’s two-story mansion on St. Charles Avenue, the imposing front door drawing closer.

Well, maybe a little going back.

I turned around and paced down the pavement away from the house, weighing the possible outcomes.

What’s the worst thing that could happen anyway?

He could say no. Or he could tell me he wanted nothing to do with me. I could discover that I’ve been completely wrong that he feels the same.

Then you know what would happen? I’d fall into a deep abyss of utter despair. I’d lock myself in my carriage house apartment and cry myself sick while eating praline ice cream and peanut M&Ms and watching Ever After on loop. Then I’d never venture out into public, much less daylight, ever again. I’d curl up in a fetal position and wither away in my chocolate-stained, pink satin pajamas.

But that wasn’t going to happen. No, ma’am.

An elderly woman peered over the roof of her car and the hedge separating Henry’s front yard from hers. Her concern for me, or possibly my mental state, rolled over the shrub and wafted right into me.

I waved and smiled. “All is well,” I assured her with a sharp nod, though that didn’t seem to allay her worry for me, the woman muttering and pacing up and down her neighbor’s walkway, holding a pastry box.

Exhaling a breath and widening my smile, I walked past the Greek columns onto the portico and up to the regal wooden door engraved with tree branches and birds along the edges. A raven was carved in the top corner, a sentinel observing visitors on this doorstep.

I smiled at the wooden raven and gave him a wink. I was not wrong.

Balancing my box of cupcakes in one hand, I readied myself to ring the doorbell, smoothing my magenta mini-skirt and hardening my resolve. Step one in Clara-gets-Henry was about to happen whether the universe was ready or not.

Or maybe tomorrow will be better.

As I was about to return to my car, I jumped as a bolt sounded on the other side and the heavy wooden door swung open. The jarring sight of him slugged me hard in the chest, but I somehow remained upright.

Every time I saw Henry, my body’s immediate response was to wilt and melt into a puddle at his feet, which were bare at the moment. Dear Goddess above, even his bare feet were beautiful.

“Hi, Henry.” I beamed brightly, admiring his deep purple aura that seemed to match his brooding intensity.

“Clara,” was all he managed to say, his dark eyes wide with surprise, that deep, smoky voice of his threatening to tangle my tongue into knots.

But before I could become an inarticulate dummy on his doorstep, I spilled my intentions.

“I hope you don’t mind me showing up at your home. I asked Gareth, and he gave me your address. There’s something important I wanted to talk to y

ou about. May I come in?”

For a moment, he simply stared and blinked at me. I reached out with my Aura senses, but still…nothing. My magic had been a wonderful companion throughout my life, always showing me who needed help and guiding me by revealing the emotions of others in my vicinity. But Henry? Not a thing. Not a tiny inkling of emotion other than what I can read on his expression. Like normal people had to do. It was horrendous.

At the moment, the emotion I was discerning was sheer shock, which wasn’t a surprise as I had just bombarded my way into his home. After all, he hadn’t invited me. But that was the problem. He was moving too slowly, and I had no patience, so like Jules had advised me several months ago, I was taking matters into my own hands.

Rather than wait for him to answer my request to enter (the way it was looking now, that might be a rejection), I stepped up and into the doorway. Henry took a sudden step backward, widening the door.

“Come in,” was all he managed to say, his brow pursed in confusion.

I loved analyzing his emotions, trying to absorb them the way I did others. Though my magic never once tingled to reveal what I could see in everyone else, my skin still zinged in response to his nearness. There was an energy around Henry that drew me like a dragon to her golden treasure. I wanted to swoop in and hoard this sensation for eternity.

When he closed the door, I took a moment to look around. His house was bigger and grander than ours in the lower Garden District. Even though Henry’s personal exterior—typically well-worn jeans and a black t-shirt like now—never screamed money in any way, he apparently had some. And this house suited him.

It wasn’t sleek and posh, but more ornate and interesting, still reeking of beauty in a unique sort of way. A Henry kind of way.

The chandelier in the foyer was a black, antique wrought iron fixture with candle-like lights. The walls were covered in a deep red brocade pattern, extending up the wall of the curving, white marble staircase, which was also tread in a red-and-gold Persian rug.

He led me down a hallway to his left, and when I thought—hoped—he’d veer off into the spacious living room with a gigantic, baroque fireplace an

d loads of colorful artwork, he kept walking until we reached his kitchen. Yet again, it took me a moment to soak in my surroundings.

The countertops were black marble, the cabinets white with detailed filigree, and a giant copper hood sat over the stove. Again, there were more black wrought iron light fixtures, giving the large room an even grander effect.

“Your kitchen is so beautiful.”

Prickles of awareness finally drew my attention back to Henry who had settled himself back against the farthest countertop from me. He simply stared, devouring me with that same unreadable expression on his lovely angular face.

For a second, I did the same, absorbing his beauty—the perfect line of his sharp jaw and strong chin, the slant of his dark eyes and straight nose, the tattoos covering his arms and peeking out of his t-shirt at the neck. There were some dark spiky tips belonging to a much larger tattoo on his chest that I longed to see. And touch.

I was tactile. And that was a problem at the moment because I couldn’t simply wander freely through his home, looking at and caressing everything. Nor could I close the distance between us, lift up his shirt, and trail my fingers over the ink attached to those spiky ends sprouting out of the collar of his t-shirt. I had to rein in my normal behavior as much as possible or I might spook him.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m at your house?”

He merely nodded.

“I hope you don’t mind I showed up here unannounced. I thought it best we talk in person.”

I walked closer, noting his body stiffening against the counter as I came. He braced his hands on the black marble behind him.

I stopped a few feet away, still holding the confectionary box in both hands. “I know your secret.”

That’s when emotion finally flitted across his face, shock and a touch of fear. Rather than let him stew, I bolted ahead.

“I know you’re Raven1, my biggest fan on my blog for The High Tea Book Club.”

He remained fixed and unmoving except for a slight lift of his cleft chin. “How do you know?”

Smiling wider, I admitted, “I wish I could say it was my psychic ability but, unfortunately, I don’t have as much of that gift as Violet.” I shrugged. “She told me it was you.”

Frowning at the me

mory of her sarcastic demeanor in that conversation, I remembered when she’d added, “It’s so obviously him, Clara. Anyone could figure it out.”

But it hadn’t been obvious to me.

I recalled the raven carved into his front door, playing guardian over his domain. Tentatively, I asked because I needed confirmation, “It is you, isn’t it?”

Another solid, single nod from the paragon of rough beauty.

“I knew it,” I said more to myself. “That’s why I’m here,” I told him. “You always have such good insight into the books that we’re reading that I want you to join our book club.”

One dark brow arched high, disappearing beneath a swoop of sable hair. “You want me to join a romance book club with you and your widows,” he said as a statement, not a question.

“Don’t be all superior now. There’s nothing wrong with a man admitting that he enjoys reading romance,” I teased, noting his pale complexion suddenly flushed pink.

“I’m not being superior,” he argued. “It’s just that…” Then he lost his words, his gaze trailing down my body.

I preened under the attention. I’d taken great care to pick out the most pleasing outfit for my figure—my favorite magenta miniskirt with a white flowy top that dipped at my cleavage. I’d worn my hair down since he seemed to enjoy looking at it. I wondered what it would feel like to have his hands in it.

“On my blog, you show a keen insight into matters of the heart,” I observed. His complexion turned darker still. “And the ladies have all agreed they’d enjoy a masculine point of view. It seems unfair you only offer insights into our books after we’ve already discussed them. We’d all like you to be a more interactive part of the club rather than simply making comments afterwards on the blog.”

“Your widows all want me in your book club?” Again with the questioning arched brow that had me squirming a little, a hot sensation pooling between my legs.

I hadn’t realized until this moment that, apparently, I was aroused by arching eyebrows. Henry’s at least.

“They’re not all wid

ows, actually. And yes, they do want you to join us. But”—I stepped closer—“especially me.”

The tension between us stretched taut like a bowstring, the air thick as we gazed at each other.

“You won’t disappoint me, will you, Henry?”

And so here it was. If he had any feelings for me whatsoever, he couldn’t deny me now. He had to join the book club, which would lead to stage two of getting my man. But if he told me no at this moment, then I’d have my answer. And my sisters and I had been wrong in that he liked me, too.

I trusted my sisters, but putting my own feelings out there without being able to detect how the other felt was like flying a plane blind. My magic was my navigation system by which I walked through life. With Henry, I couldn’t ever tell. Waiting for his reply was sheer torture.

Finally, when I thought I might faint onto his kitchen floor from suspense, he said, “I’ll join.”

A huge breath of air left my lungs. “Wonderful!” I beamed, trying to calm the giddiness swirling through me.

While I was doing cartwheels on the inside, I held myself together by a thread, trying not to reveal my profound relief and joy that this was going to happen. Once I had him in the book club, I’d seduce him the only way I knew how. Through books.

“I also brought you a little thank you gift, as well as a welcome to our book club.”

I thrust out the open box of cupcakes in my hands. Henry flinched like I’d tossed a nest of snakes at him, his back fully pressed to the countertop.

“It’s just cupcakes.” I laughed. “This is my very own recipe, including the frosting. Whipped cherry.”

He blinked, his near-black eyes rounded with an emotion I couldn’t place. And that was what drove me absolutely mad about this man. Of all the people to draw a total blank on my emo-detector, it had to be him? It was like Goddess was playing a nasty joke, probably cackling at me from her heavenly lair.

“Really, Henry. They taste so good.”

I took a single step closer. He stiffened, his knuckles whitening, bracketed on the black marble countertop behind him. The veins in his hands rippled as he gripped tighter, the muscles in his arms flexing. I tried not to get distracted by his lovely full-sleeve tattoos, but it was more than a little difficult to stay focused while standing this close to Henry Blackwater.

He seemed almost scared, even though his expression and dark gaze—ever fixed on me—hardly had changed since I’d walked through his front door. I decided to speak softer, maybe come across less threatening. Vi said I could sometimes appear aggressive when I was excited. And I was so very excited standing in his kitchen

, basking in his delicious essence.

I glanced down at the perfectly iced pink cupcakes. “This one is my favorite. Strawberries and cream.”

He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes never straying to the box of cupcakes. Though I couldn’t detect his emotion, I certainly understood the meaning behind the piercing, primal look in his dark eyes. That’s when the devil took me. It happened from time to time. Vi said I had a demon inside me that liked to come out and play on occasion.

I lifted a cupcake out of the box and took another step closer, holding it out to him. “It’s sweet and creamy, Henry. I promise. Don’t you want to lick my cupcake?”

He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat, his eyes blinked heavily, and his chest caved with a gusty breath. For a fleeting few seconds, he seemed pained, almost tortured, then suddenly it was all gone. Like a switch had flipped. The look of agony vanished, replaced by something altogether more terrifying—resignation and a hard wickedness that made me quiver with desire.

He shoved off the counter and straightened above me, forcing me to tilt my chin up. Holding my gaze, his own dark as pitch, he finally spoke. “Yeah, Clara. I wanna lick your cupcake.”

I was going to faint. I was. It was going to be so embarrassing, but I couldn’t even breathe as he took the cupcake from my hand, his rough fingers grazing mine. Without ever breaking my gaze, he lifted the cupcake to his mouth, darted out his tongue, and licked a big glob of pink with the tip of his tongue.

Stars above! Even his tongue was beautiful.

“Mmm.” He closed his eyes a second and swallowed. “You’re right.” That rarely seen, enigmatic smile of his quirked one side of his mouth. “Sweet and creamy.”

Then the front door opened and slammed, both of us jumping at the sound. I twirled a step away from him and watched as his younger brother Sean waltzed into the kitchen. He slowed his steps when he saw me, his cranky expression morphing from annoyed to devious in a millisecond.

His aura was a deep shade of red. Sean had a fiery temperament, and his aura reflected that. But it was the level of anger I’d detected right before he

walked in that had me concerned.

“Hello there, Blondie,” he said, sauntering up to the island and propping his elbows on them. “You brought us cupcakes?”

Henry abruptly closed the lid after he set the licked one back inside. “They’re mine, so keep your grubby hands off.”

Sean grinned wider. “And why are we getting house calls from the lovely Clara Savoie?”

“I had something to talk to Henry about,” I answered, my magic pushing me to fix him. “Who are you so angry at, Sean?”

He lifted off the counter and headed for the fridge. “Nobody.”

“What happened?” snapped Henry.

“Nothing.” Sean opened the fridge.

“That same asshole?” Henry pushed.

Sean shrugged and pulled out a box of cold pizza from DeAngelo’s.

“Did you hurt him?” Henry’s voice had risen exponentially.

“No. But I should’ve broken his fucking hands this time.” He pulled out a slice of pizza and tossed the box on the counter. “The arm healed too quickly from his last little fall.”

“Sean.” Henry was beside him now. “You stay away from that fucker, you hear me?”

“Kind of hard when he’s in almost all my classes,” he said around a muffled mouthful. “Mm. This is good.”

“I’m serious.” There was an edge to Henry’s tone that sounded more like fear than anger, but I wasn’t sure who or what he was afraid of.

Still not as tall as his brother, Sean rolled his eyes and looked up at Henry. “Relax. It’s fine.”

Even while he said it, his red aura vibrated with threads of black. That was troubling. Without even thinking, I stepped closer and put my hand on Sean’s shoulder, washing him with a joy spell. Instantly, his aura brightened again, the black receding.

His smile reappeared when he looked down at me. “Thanks, Blondie.”

Then he picked up the pizza box, one slice still half-eaten in his other hand, and sauntered back toward the living room I hadn’t gotten a close enough look at.

He called over his shoulder. “Got some icing on your lip there.”

Henry wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

“There’s nothing there,” I told him. “He was teasing you.”

Henry combed both hands into his hair with exasperation, a new look I’d never seen on him. I couldn’t help but stare because I wanted to know all of his moods, catalogue all of his emotions, know the way he looked and sounded as he experienced them.

It was fascinating to

me that my magic didn’t tabulate and tell me everything about him like it did for other people. It also made him more intriguing. But that was just the tip of my attraction to him. Henry was darkly beautiful, inside and out.

Though he pretended to be indifferent, he cared deeply for his brother and his cousin, Gareth, my sister Livvy’s boyfriend. There was something about Henry’s rough edges that made me want to smooth them.

“Thank you,” Henry grumbled, his broody frown in place. “He can be”—he waved a hand toward where Sean had marched off—“difficult.”

“It’s okay. He’s fine. I didn’t detect anything too bad.”

Though there had been that strange striation of black weaving through his aura for a moment, it had vanished when I spelled him with my magic.

Henry stared at me, that quiet pensiveness sinking in again. Knowing I was ahead and should count my blessings that this all came off the way I’d wanted, I figured it was time to leave before he tried to change his mind.

“Well.” Beaming up at him, I clasped my hands in front of me. “I’ll see you on Thursday at my house. Three o’clock. Don’t be late. The ladies are looking forward to meeting you.”

His mouth hung open as if he were going to protest, but I sashayed out the kitchen toward the hallway.

“I’ll let myself out. See you Thursday!”

I gave him one more smile over my shoulder, but he didn’t notice. His gaze was decidedly lower than my face, and that had me singing merrily all the way home.

Chapter 2

~HENRY~ 

---

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Motherfucking hell.

I chewed my nicotine gum so hard I thought I might break my own jaw as I headed down the sidewalk, closer to Clara’s. I hadn’t wanted a smoke this badly in months. Actually, I hadn’t needed the gum for a few weeks, the cravings all but vanished.

But the mere thought of walking into the Savoie house for the first time, for the purpose of spending a few hours with Clara, had me about to crawl right out of my skin. I was so fucking nervous it was ridiculous. The absurd part of my current manic state was that Clara was the only one who eased the constant edginess I felt from my magic.

Gareth would point out it was from me blocking my magic, not the necromancy itself. My Aunt Lucille had taught me how to build wards to cage my own magic at a young age.

The constant ward-building didn’t drain my energy, but there were side effects. Anxiety was the main one, but also the feeling that I wasn’t quite whole. The problem was that I’d rather live this life of a half-grim than face the demons that waited in the dark.

The irony of being nervous now as I drew closer to Clara’s house was that I never craved a cigarette around Clara to calm my nerves. I didn’t crave anything…but her.

Glancing down at my clothes as her house came into view, I wondered if there was a dress code for this thing. I worried for a split second that my Iron Maiden t-shirt with the band’s skeleton mascot, Eddie, wielding a bloody ax might put off the widows. I hadn’t thought about it until this minute.

“Too late now,” I muttered as I opened the gate to the Savoie house and walked up to the front door like I belonged here.

Belonged. Here. I couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow I did. No matter how hard I tried to extract my obsession with Clara from my brain and body, it had only increased exponentially the more I knew her.

I’d tried a thousand times to convince myself to stay away from her, to not give in to this fanatical fixation I had on the pretty, sweet witch who haunted me day and night. I knew how fucked up I was. A necromancer who hated ghosts. Who hated his magic. And she didn’t deserve someone as screwed up in the head as me. Or damaged. She deserved, I don’t know, a knight in shining fucking armor.

Of course, the thought of her with anyone else sparked the blackest of thoughts, stirring my deep grim magic to brutal wakefulness. That fucking werewolf Rhett always flirted with her, and I’d imagined beating him bloody too many times to count, which was utterly insane since Clara wasn’t mine.

Still, that meant nothing to the dark monster who lived and breathed inside me, who purred his approval every time Clara came near. The one I kept chained behind magical walls, thanks to my Aunt Lucille. My monster wasn’t the same as Gareth’s.

My cousin’s creature was entirely different than mine. Perhaps not entirely, but a grimlock’s beast wanted destruction and blood, visceral satiation from carnal and vengeful thoughts. He was most closely related to our evil forefather who created us by mistake. That’s what dabbling in blood magic and human sacrifice can do—create an entirely new species of beings. The grimlock’s monster constantly craved dark desires.

Not mine. He simply wanted me to travel to the netherworld, spend all my time in th

e death realm, and incinerate evil souls. No biggie, right?

I flinched at a sudden flashback of shrieking screams, black eyes, and smothering, suffocating pain. My hand went to my chest on instinct, the memory so far away but also too near.

After shaking that nightmare off, I knocked on the door, but then a new horror dawned on me. Was I supposed to bring something? A cake or wine? The book?

I’d read the historical romance she’d messaged me about through her blog, now that she knew I was her number one stalker—I mean, fan—to let me know what book to read for today. I’d actually felt far too much connection to the hero of this one, a little disturbingly so.

Before I could worry about one more fucking thing, the front door swung open and my entire soul sighed.

There she stood in all of her stunning, brain-hazing beauty. It hurt to look at her. And yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away if I tried.

She wore a dress today, a pale blue one that was pretty but no comparison to the shade of her eyes. The brightest blue on the clearest day. Like the days I used to spend in the butterfly garden.

“Henry!” she gushed, smiling easily with nothing but joy lighting up her face.

How did she do it? How did she live so honestly with every single emotion radiating off of her like that?

“I’m so happy you came,” she said with enthusiasm as she wrapped her hands around my forearm and pulled me inside.

I tried not to focus on the intoxicating sensation of having her hands on me. Instantly, the edgy tension vanished, just as it always did when she was anywhere within my radius.

Without saying a word, I let her tug me into the Savoie’s family den off the foyer where four sweet-looking old ladies stared at me.

“Ladies, I’d like to introduce Henry Blackwater. Please welcome him to our club.”

“Hello, Henry,” said the one with glasses and kind eyes. She wore a bright yellow sweater and held her glass of tea with dainty hands.

“Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” said another on a chaise next to Yellow Sweater.

“Martha,” chastised another woman with a round face and a plate of petit fours on her lap, a pink-iced one in her hand, “that’s no way to greet our ne

 member.”

There was a silver tea server and little porcelain cups and saucers. Next to the tea setting were two silver, three-tiered trays stacked with little sandwiches, macarons, scones, and petit fours. I recognized the scones and petit fours as those from Queen of Tarts, the bakery across from the Savoie’s pub, the Cauldron, on Magazine Street.

“Thank you, Evelyn,” said Clara, guiding me to an empty chair next to another one near the fireplace, which wasn’t burning. The weather had finally taken a turn toward spring sunshine and seemed to be sticking to it.

“You can sit by me,” she added in a whisper like it was a secret.

Clara was a heady combination of sweet and seductive. I wasn’t sure if she was aware just how beguiling she was with her wide blue eyes, easy smiles, and fine-as-fuck body. Not to mention that divinely attractive cloak of honesty and kindness she wore at all times.

“Thanks,” I muttered, noticing the copy of The Taming of a Highlander by Elisa Braden sitting on her chair. “Was I supposed to bring the book?”

“No, that’s okay.” She took her seat next to me and held the book on her lap. “Let me introduce everyone before we get started. This is Deborah.”

“Hi, there.” A petite brunette with short hair waved before biting into a cucumber sandwich.

“This is Evelyn and Martha.” She introduced the nice one and the not-so-nice one. “And this is Fran.”

“How do you like your tea, dear?” asked Fran, now pouring me a cup.

I didn’t want to be rude and admit I never drank the stuff. ...