Books 1-3

by B. C. Burgess

  “I’m so sorry, Travis.”

  “I know, sugar.” Depression again.

  “It’s late now. Have they stopped calling?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What were you doing when I called?”

  “Starin’ at the wall.”

  “That’s what I figured. You’re running on regret and need to rest. Take a sleeping pill and go to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be hard, too.”

  “I know.”

  “Then get your butt to bed.”

  “Mkay.”

  “You promise?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. I’ll call in the morning to make sure you’re rested.”

  “Mkay. Thanks for callin’ and bossin’ me around.”

  “Any time. Now go to bed.”

  “I’ll try. Bye, sugar.”

  “Bye, Trav.”

  Layla hung up and stared at the phone, unable to picture Travis depressed or angry. He’d been a constant source of optimism since the day she met him. “He’ll be okay,” she told herself. “He’s strong.” But her heart continued to ache for his loss.

  Chapter Ten

  Quin hadn’t returned, and Layla didn’t like the way it felt to sit there and wait, so she headed for the bedroom. As she peered down the dark hallway, she thought about exploring the rest of the house, but she didn’t want to do it on the heels of a sad conversation with Travis. Her new home was beautiful and deserved to be toured without worry. She’d save it for morning.

  She moved to the nightstand to set her phone aside, but halted when she remembered her hotel room in Portland. Finding the number in her contacts, she called the front desk and explained she wouldn’t be back. With the billing information on file and the room empty, it didn’t take long for the clerk to approve an early checkout.

  After washing her face and brushing her teeth, Layla dug through her duffel bag by the soft light of a stained glass lamp on the dresser. It was the only bag of clothes she had with her, but apparently the rest of her stuff wasn’t too far away now that her car was in her new garage.

  “Weird,” she mumbled, emptying her bag, yet she still lacked something to sleep in.

  Quin had said Morrigan stocked the house, but Layla wasn’t sure if the clothes were meant for her or if they’d been her mother’s. She walked to the closet and flipped on the light, scanning the wooden racks to the left and right. Both were full, and none of the clothes were men’s, so she assumed the wardrobe had been replaced since her parents lived there.

  She began sifting through gorgeous outfits made of wonderful material, searching for tags that would confirm they were new, but there weren’t any, only hanger after hanger of elegant yet relaxed ensembles. Surely Morrigan hadn’t bought all these. Never in Layla’s life had she dreamed of owning such an amazing wardrobe.

  She found the nightclothes and went through every piece, but none of them were appropriate for Quin’s company. No pajama pants or long t-shirts, just skimpy nighties and flowing negligees. She searched the drawers on the back wall and found several pairs of fancy shoes, a pile of skirts and camisoles, and an assortment of belts and scarves, but no shorts, pants or t-shirts. Maybe the more appropriate sleepwear was in the dresser.

  She stopped at the armoire outside the closet door, locating a variety of candles, gemstones, stationary, and unlabeled apothecary bottles, but no clothes. So she walked to the dresser and shuffled through every drawer, yet she remained empty-handed of modest sleepwear, and she hadn’t found a stitch of underclothes. No panties, bras or socks. She searched the room, looking for another dresser. There wasn’t one.

  The front door slammed, and she jolted, closing the drawer on her finger. “Ow,” she whined, shaking her hand, which only made it worse, so she stuck the throbbing finger in her mouth. “What a klutz.”

  Quin’s voice floated from the hall. “Layla?”

  “In the bedroom.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Yeah.”

  He rounded the corner and crossed the room. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you do?” he asked, pulling her finger from her mouth.

  He lifted her hand for a closer inspection, and Layla stood on her toes, trying to see the damage. “I slammed it in the drawer,” she pouted. “Is it bruised?”

  “Yes.”

  “It feels bruised.”

  “May I fix it?”

  Her pucker slipped away as her eyes widened. “Can you?”

  “Yes.”

  He lightly pressed her finger to his lips, and the throb ceded.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “You wizards sure are handy to have around. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Keeping her finger to his lips, he touched the satin over her heart. “How’s everything else?”

  “Well,” she shakily replied, “I’m okay.” All she could concentrate on were his lips and fingers, so she pulled her hand away and took a step back. “Travis is going through a hard time, but he’s a happy guy who bounces up when he gets knocked down, so he’ll be okay. He’ll deal with the loss better than most. Much better than I dealt with mine.” She picked up a chunk of rose quartz from the dresser, running her fingers over its sharp angles as she rambled. “It felt good to talk to him. Sad, but reassuring.”

  Quin stepped forward and picked up the heart shaped ruby that accompanied the rose quartz. “I’m glad Travis is resilient and going to be okay.”

  “Me, too,” she agreed.

  Her heartbeat had slowed, her lungs had steadied, and she was at ease with him once more. Wow, she thought, now that she could think at all. He had the most amazing affect on her.

  She smiled at him, and dimples dipped into his chiseled cheeks, quickening her heart. But at least she remembered to breathe.

  He returned their gemstones to the dresser then took her hands, leading her to a chair by the coffee table. After taking a seat, he pulled her onto his lap, brushed her hair aside then kissed the skin below her ear.

  All the effort Layla made by the dresser was useless now, and she melted into him, heart thundering as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt.

  Quin softly kissed her neck a few times then pulled away, finding her eyes closed. “Do you want me to go home so you can sleep?”

  “Nuh-uh,” she murmured. “Are you tired?”

  “Not really,” he answered, once again finding her neck.

  She shivered and leaned closer. “I’d understand if you need to go home.”

  Quin laughed as he turned her face toward his, watching her peek at him with one eye. “This is where I want to be,” he assured.

  Her held breath floated into his mouth, and he pulled it into his lungs as he grazed her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. Her fingers stretched over his jaw, drawing him nearer, so he slid his hand to her side and deepened his kiss.

  She was already lost in instinct, but Quin was very aware of the risky game they were playing, so every move was thoroughly calculated and carefully executed. No way would he let his desire ruin his relationship with the most amazing witch he’d ever met. Until she was ready—comfortable with her own body—he’d abstain.

  Her fingers curled around his neck as her tongue slipped over his, and he stretched his boundaries by sliding his hand under her shirt.

  Her lungs hiccuped, and she severed their kiss, practically panting into his mouth as she tried to catch her breath. One glimpse at her racing aura told him why. He gave her quivering lips another kiss. Then he tilted her head back and lowered his mouth to her throat.

  She jolted and curled in, closing her hand over his, and he froze, sad she was ending it so soon. But instead of pulling his hand away, she forced it further up her shirt.

  Her hips rose and angled toward him, but he’d anticipated the move and positioned her accordingly, making sure she couldn’t press against him. Nevertheless, his heart skipped a dozen beats, and he had to take a calming breath before kissing his way to her lips.
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  She grasped his jaw, kissing urgently and without regard for modesty, and he took the opportunity to free his fingers. Leaving her chest, he slid his hand to the waistband of her skirt. Then he held his breath as he slipped his fingers beneath it.

  Her lips stilled, but there was no mistaking their idle state for one of unwillingness. Her fingers clutched his jaw, keeping him close.

  Inhaling every breath she took, he slid his fingers to her side, then ventured lower, tracing the curve of her hip. When he found the hem of her panties, a wave of increased desire punched him in the gut. He’d never seen them before; witches didn’t bother with modest undergarments—a shame apparently, because they increased his excitement tenfold.

  He traced their outline then slipped his forefinger beneath the hem, following the seam from one hip to the other, but he didn’t travel further.

  Her lungs quickened, drawing his attention to her chest, and he nearly choked as his heart leapt into his larynx. Her shirt was pulled up, exposing her, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away as he moved his hand to her outer thigh.

  He burned the image of her naked chest into his mind before covering the temptation. Then he looked at her face. Her expression held yearning, and he longed to remove the burn, but he merely curled her up and hugged her to his chest.

  He wondered if she was still a virgin. Surely not. She was far too beautiful. Quin downed a healthy dose of jealousy at the thought of her with someone else, but rather than upset him, the envy flexed his determination to ensure her first experience with him qualified as the most pleasurable of her life. Not that he felt competition with the guys in her home state. Clearly she’d never been treated the way she deserved.

  When she didn’t say anything else, his wondering turned to worry. “Are you okay?” he asked, suddenly terrified he’d taken things too far.

  A tense moment passed before she responded. “I’m better than okay.”

  Quin watched her aura, seeing everything she felt in it. “May I ask why you’re embarrassed?”

  She pressed her hot face further into his neck as her aura rushed inward, expressing increased mortification. Several seconds passed as she worked up the courage to answer, and he patiently waited, reading her colors and flow.

  “Well,” she finally replied, “I’m embarrassed about a couple of things.”

  “I can’t imagine what you have to be embarrassed about, so maybe you’ll feel better if you tell me what they are.”

  Layla had to steel herself to say it, and there was no way she’d be able to say it to his face, so she kept hers tucked away. “I’m embarrassed I moved your hand, and I’m embarrassed about the way my . . . the way I reacted. There,” she huffed, clutching his shirt. “I said it, and I’m still humiliated. I’m not that girl, Quin. I don’t pull guys’ hands to my boobs. I’ve never acted that way. Ever. It’s embarrassing.” No, saying it out loud hadn’t helped at all.

  He laughed as he nuzzled her hair. “The way you reacted wasn’t just a turn on, it was heavenly. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about those things, because I hope you’ll do them again sometime.”

  With a few simple words, he’d somehow made her feel better. If he didn’t think she was some out of control floozy, she could accept what she’d done much easier. And in reality, they’d only gone to second base. It just felt like so much more. She released her death grip on his shirt and smiled up at him. “Next time, huh?”

  “Next time,” he confirmed, sliding a thumb to her lips. “Unless you want me to do things differently. If it really makes you uncomfortable to show me what you want, I could take the liberty, but then I run the risk of doing something you’re not ready for.”

  Unable to maintain eye contact, she looked down and nervously chewed her lip. “Like what? Sex?”

  “We’ve already determined you’re not ready for sex, but there are things we can do without crossing the finish line.”

  She looked up and furrowed her eyebrows. “Doesn’t it bother you to take things so far without finishing them?”

  She thought there would be a hesitant moment of introspection, but he answered without pause, his tempting lips curving toward deep dimples. “I’ve discovered it bothers me in the most amazing way. I would do what we just did and more over and over again without a second of regret.”

  Layla didn’t understand how that could be true. She’d been around enough guys in high school to know they didn’t like getting shut out. Granted, Quin was a far cry from the boys she went to school with, but still. “Really?” she pressed.

  He laughed and raised his eyebrows. “Are you asking me to prove it?”

  Warmth flooded her cheeks, belly and thighs as she thought about him proving his willpower. “How would you do that?”

  “Hmm . . .” he murmured, moving his mouth to her neck, and it seemed like he stayed there forever. By the time he pulled away, her curiosity had reached its limit.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “No,” she answered, trying to hide her impatience. “Why?”

  He searched her eyes then looked at what must have been her aura. When his gaze returned to hers, he slid one arm under her knees and tightened his grip. “Because I’m going to prove myself to you.” He stood and carried her to the bed. Then he settled in beside her and propped his head on one hand. “If you’ll let me.”

  Oxygen entered Layla’s lungs in quiet gasps, and she knew her rapid heartbeat must be visible to him. “I still don’t know how you intend to do that.”

  “I intend to show you,” he countered, resting his hand on her chest, “not tell you. Do you feel comfortable enough to let me?”

  Layla closed her eyes as she considered the situation. She didn’t want to go all the way yet, but he seemed okay with that. So she opened her eyes and answered. “Yes.”

  “Excellent,” he whispered, moving his hand to her cheek. “If I do something you’re uncomfortable with, you have to tell me. Okay?”

  She swallowed and gave a nod.

  “I need to hear you say it,” he stipulated. “Will you let me know if I make you uncomfortable?”

  “Yeah,” she managed, breathless and blushing.

  “Good,” he approved, “because that’s the last thing I want to do.” His fingers slid from her cheek to her trembling lips. “Now, I have a favor to ask.”

  “Favor?” she breathed, trying to hold still, but vibrations shook her from the inside out.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I want you to remember there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I know it won’t go away completely, but try not to let it stop you from taking what you want.”

  “I’ll try,” she squeaked.

  “That’s all I ask,” he replied, scanning the air around her. Then he smiled as he found her eyes. “My questions are done now. I’m going to what I think you’ll like, but if you want me to stop, just say the word.”

  She nodded as a shudder rocked her body. Just the thought of him doing more with her made her stomach flutter with anticipation.

  His satisfied smile stayed in place as he leaned close, perching his lips on hers. Then he softly kissed before pulling away. When his hand left her face, his t-shirt disappeared.

  Layla flinched and blinked. Then she laughed as she rolled her eyes at herself. “That’s convenient.”

  She looked at his exposed torso, and the next thing she knew, her fingers were on his ridged abdomen, like they had a mind of their own and were determined to explore every groove. She’d known he was muscular, but seeing him shirtless was like the unveiling of Michelangelo’s David, only way better, because Quin’s bronze skin felt nothing like cold, uninviting stone. Warm and smooth, it stretched over immaculate angles, tempting her to cuddle him like she would a fuzzy pillow or a furry kitten. He was beyond perfect, and she felt quite blessed her sense of touch was alive and well.

  As she ran a fingernail along the defined indentation below his abs, a chill swept over her, and she looked down, gasping at her naked
chest. Her tank top was gone! She was shirtless!

  She frantically tried to hide herself, but folding so soon wasn’t on Quin’s agenda. Keeping an eye on her face and aura, he laid a hand over hers, halting her panic. Then he waited for her to relax before compelling her to reach over her head. She remained embarrassed and insecure, with flaming cheeks and lips, and round eyes bigger than he’d ever seen them, but she didn’t fear his actions, only his gaze.

  Leaving her wrists on the pillow, he slid a hand to her flushed cheek. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Layla. You have a beautiful body. And remember, witches aren’t modest. It’s not in your nature.” What he saw of her body was beyond beautiful; it was flawless, but telling her so would only brighten her blush.

  She swallowed and fidgeted, but she didn’t cover herself or demand he return her shirt. Instead, she closed her eyes and forced herself to hold still.

  Quin smiled as he glanced at her aura. Then he let his gaze roam to her chest. He’d never seen more perfect boobs, and his past experiences suddenly seemed inadequate. None of them could have prepared him for Layla. She was on an entirely different level, and for a tiny second, he doubted his ability to step that high. His determination, however, was unwavering.

  He didn’t want to startle her, so he maintained skin contact as he moved his hand from her cheek to her chest. Then his heart stuttered as he bowed his head toward it.

  She didn’t push him away, but pulled him nearer, diving her fingers into his hair. More thankful than he’d ever been, Quin groaned and scooted closer, his muscles achingly tight, but the burn was a small price to pay to indulge in something so sweet.

  When her grip eased, he looked up, taking a moment to scan her aura. Then he found her face. Her eyes remained closed, but he could tell she was ready for more, and he was ready to give it to her. He took a calming breath, making sure he was ready for a dose of raging temptation. Then he turned his anxious gaze to her skirt.

  The waistband stretched from one hip to the other, smiling below her cute bellybutton, which was framed by lean abs and a tiny waist. The view was amazing, but not what he was looking for, so he vanished the skirt, revealing white cotton panties that were innocently modest yet sexier than hell.