The Zombie Billionaire's Virgin Witch (Zombie Category Romance)

by Joely Sue Burkhart

  “Definitely…something.” A delicate rose bloomed on her cheeks. “I need to touch you more to be sure.”

  To lighten the desire burning in him, he gave a wicked smile. “Sure, that’s what all the ladies say. Help yourself, sweetheart.”

  He made no move to help her decide where or how to touch him. Not that she needed any assistance. She unbuttoned his shirt just one notch below his tie. Peeking up through her lashes, she gauged his reaction, which he kept tightly under wraps. They’d already established the impossibility of intimacy until the curse was broken, so whatever she did, however far she took it, they couldn’t cross the line.

  Her fingertips brushed his skin and they both sucked in a deep breath. Electric shocks zinged through his skin from that subtle stroke. Shaking, she hurried to undo another button so she could spread her palm out on his chest. His heart thudded, heavy and ponderous, each beat reverberating through his skull.

  “Is it always like this?” She whispered, stepping closer to lay her cheek against his. “So… volatile?”

  “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s never been like this for me.”

  “It must be the magic.”

  His heart thudded heavier, as though it were going to try and crawl up his throat. No, sweetheart, he thought, sliding his hands around her waist. The magic is you. And I can’t have it.

  “Do you feel any better? Like it’s healing you?”

  He had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from scaring her with the intensity surely blazing in his eyes. Better, yes, like he’d never held anything better, sweeter, more real in his entire life than her. Healing, absolutely, if he considered only his jaded, cynical heart.

  But he was terribly afraid the curse still blackened his soul.

  Her hair smelled like that damned cake, rich layers he wanted to dissect at his leisure. She trailed frantic little kisses down his jaw toward his throat, only to growl out loud when his tie and collar interfered.

  “I want to feel your skin against mine,” she whispered in his ear. Not racy as far as some of the sexual innuendoes he’d received, but her words had him rock-hard and aching. “With nothing in the way, not even the Remy ring.”

  He crushed her against him, closing his thighs about her hips so he could keep her from fleeing. No prudish gasping or shock, no. His little witch might be a virgin but she arched into his arms and lifted her mouth to his. She shoved her hand deeper into his shirt, impatient and hungry as her mouth. Heat rose between them in a shimmering wave. She warmed him, inside and out, reaching into him, somehow, as her hand reached into his shirt.

  So strange that it took one untouched, innocent witch to make him feel so alive and passionate. It was all he could do not to whirl around and deposit her on the desk so he could slake this hunger raging inside him.

  He pushed his tongue into her mouth, promising what he’d do to her body if given the chance. She welcomed him in, her tongue tangling with his. Her hand pressed hot against his back, holding him close. Her other hand…

  His eyes flew open and he jerked backward, but it was too late. She slipped the ring off his finger.

  She stared at him, growing horror darkening her eyes. Her full, lush lips trembled as though she were going to start crying. She didn’t turn away in revulsion, he’d give her that. But the horror and pity in her eyes burned like acid.

  Stomach churning, he gripped her arm and hauled her up closer, leaning down so the full nightmare loomed in her face. “Happy, witch? Why don’t you kiss me now?”

  Clare couldn’t get her breath. Her entire midriff ached as though a mule had kicked her.

  “See what your precious father did to me?”

  The voice was Yiorgos’s, but twisted, different, like his face. He looked like he’d just walked off a horror movie set.

  Darkened, grayish skin peeled back to reveal dried tendons and muscles, even glimpses of bone. The entire right side of his body was dead, rotting to the bone.

  Fighting back tears, she stretched up her hand and cupped the dead side of his face. He flinched as though she’d slapped him, pulling back from her caress, but she wouldn’t release him. He might have thought he was being seductive to open up his body to her like this, but she had him pinned against the desk. He could get up, certainly, but only if he knocked her down first.

  She was hoping he’d be too much of a gentleman to knock her sprawling on her backside.

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t see me. I can’t bear it, Clare.”

  “Hush,” she scolded. Her voice wavered as badly as her stomach, so she forced a little more oomph into her voice and stiffened her trembling spine. “I can’t bear to see you suffering like this. I have to see what he did if I have any hope of breaking the curse.”

  Beneath her fingers, he truly felt like a corpse, at least what she’d expect a dead person to feel like. His flesh was cold and stiff, not pliable and warm like living tissue. Dry, brittle, like a body left out in the desert sun until it turned to leather. The scent of cinnamon and cloves was still there—and nothing worse, thank God—but he smelled old and musty, like spices forgotten in the back cupboard for years.

  Worse, the more she touched him, the colder her fingers felt. Where stroking his bare flesh before made her fingers sing with magic, now they felt numb, as though her magic had died along with his flesh.

  “When did this happen?”

  “It started as soon as I put on the damned ring.”

  She stroked her hand down his neck, feeling the break in his flesh from dead to living. The left side of his body felt fine, but the spark of her magic was gone. She didn’t feel anything touching him, now, other than shame at what had been done to this man with magic.

  But was it Remy magic?

  “It’s gotten worse every day.” His voice sounded dryer, harsher, as though the vocal chords in his throat were dead too. “At first it was just my hand, but it’s crawling up and down my body, spreading like a disease.”

  “Who else knows?”

  “Dmitri and Ms. Kettlewich.”

  Surprise flickered into a bit of suspicion. Helga knew about the severity of this curse and yet hadn’t mentioned the personal nature of it at all. This man was stiffening into a walking zombie day by day and her mentor hadn’t seen fit to tell her?

  But what could she have done? If the most famous healer in the New World couldn’t help him, who could?

  “She said you were my only hope, Clare. You have to break the curse, or I’m going to continue to rot.”

  She gazed steadily into his eyes. “Do you trust me? I mean really trust me not to take what I want and abandon you?”

  His jaw tightened, the dried tendons stretching and clicking horribly as he nodded.

  Holding her breath, she slipped her father’s signet ring on her hand. Braced for a magical release, angels singing, perhaps even her father’s voice from beyond…

  Nothing. Not even a tickle of magic. The ring was as dead as the zombie Yiorgos was becoming. Tears pooled in her eyes. She tried not to blink, not to let them fall at all, but her shoulders slumped and she couldn’t help it. All she had left of her father’s legacy was the restaurant and the ring.

  Both were lost, because of this man who tucked her closer, though mindful of not touching her with the cursed side of his body.

  She kept her hand spread out on the living tissue side of his body as she slipped the ring back onto his hand. The decay melted away, leaving him whole and gorgeous once more. The tingling flare of magic breathed across her fingers, spreading from the connection with his skin.

  He wrapped his other arm around her and just held her, his heart thumping steadily against her.

  How could she possibly hope to heal him if the magic died as soon as he took off the ring?

  The ring is as dead to me as Daddy.

  TEN

  The hardest part of waiting for Remy’s annual evaluation was never knowing who the inspector might be or when they would actually dine. Days went by, servi
ces blending together, without word of how the restaurant had fared. The award ceremony was in St. Louis this year and only days away. Of course they liked to keep the results as secret as possible, and most serious competitors for the coveted fifth star would plan to be present at the ceremony either way.

  Yiorgos hadn’t mentioned it to her yet. He’d probably hoped to break the curse before the awards, so he could be done with Remy’s and her contract. He’d never really considered the possibility that she might win the star for him yet fail to break the curse.

  But oh fail she did. Every time she looked at him she wanted to cry. He didn’t have to tell her the curse was worsening. Day by day, he looked more haggard. His eyes bloodshot, his jaws dark with stubble, his clothing less impeccable and more like he’d paced himself endlessly back and forth until he’d finally collapsed, exhausted, in the clothes he’d worn all day. For the most part, he’d stayed out of the kitchen, whether to avoid the grief in her eyes or temptation, she wasn’t sure.

  So when he stepped inside and signaled everyone else to leave, she knew he had important news. Feigning calmness, she dried her hands and waited for him to speak.

  “Your father would be proud. This star is all yours, Clare.”

  To hide her trembling hands, she wrapped them in her apron. “I’m happy I was able to help, Mr. Michelopoulos.”

  He smiled sadly at the formality but didn’t object. “I hope you’re free to go to the award ceremony. I thought we could drive up tomorrow and enjoy the finest St. Louis has to offer. Entirely platonic, of course,” he said briskly, avoiding her gaze. “Once you accept the star, I’ll give you the deed to Remy’s along with the ring as we agreed.”

  Her heart stuttered, pain banding her chest. “But—”

  “A deal is a deal, Clare. I’ve never broken a contract before and I certainly don’t intend to begin with you.”

  “I don’t want it,” she whispered hoarsely. “Yiorgos, no, I won’t take it. What will you do?”

  Ignoring her refusal, he turned to the door. “Don’t worry about packing anything special. I want to take you shopping. It’s not New York, but it’ll do. I won’t take no for an answer, Ms. Remy. I want you looking your absolute best, not only when you take the fifth star but also when you sail through your trials.”

  She stared numbly at the swinging door. How could she have entirely forgotten about her trials? She’d always hoped to work her way into the Academy, but after Daddy’s death, it was even more crucial that she pass her trials and gain access to the Wizard Council. She had no other way to make her living in the world short of working for someone else. No kitchen witch truly wanted to work in someone else’s kitchen for long.

  Now she couldn’t imagine working her magic anyplace else than Remy’s. Let alone ever making Death by Chocolate Cake for anyone but Yiorgos.

  Selma took one look at her face and sat down wearily at the kitchen table laid out for a midnight snack and herbal tea. “I was going to try and lecture some sense into you one last time, but I can see now that I’m too late.”

  Clare didn’t protest because she’d thought of nothing else all the way home. There was nothing she could do to break the curse or heal Yiorgos… unless she were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice.

  The cost, the sacrifice, enables the magic to be bigger and to work on a talent that you don’t claim as your own.

  Sex with him would be far from a sacrifice. She wanted him, more than she’d ever dreamed possible. He stirred an ache in her that would never be satisfied by anything or anyone else. In giving her virginity to him, she could very well generate enough power through the sacrifice of her gift to heal him.

  One last time to wield her magic. It would be her greatest spell. If it worked.

  “Tonight, he promised to give me Daddy’s ring.”

  Her mother looked up with a glimmer of hope, but knew Clare too well to be appeased. “But?”

  “He allowed me to put it on,” she whispered, blinking back tears. “And I felt nothing. It’s like the magic in it has died.”

  Shoulders slumped, her mother didn’t even try to hold back her tears. “Did he break the stone?”

  “No, it looked perfectly fine. I hope it’s just the curse itself inhibiting the magic. I won’t know until I break the curse and see for myself.”

  “You love him that much.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Clare felt the need to answer, even if just for herself. “I do. I feel incredible with him. He makes me feel good about myself, Mom. Not just my body but my gift in the kitchen too. You should see the way he eats my food. The way he tries to antagonize me with his patronizing tone of voice and his fierce glares. I know, now, that it’s all an act. It’s like a secret joke that only we two share.”

  Her mother smiled, a distant, soft look in her eyes. “I felt the same way about your father. Oh, we had so much fun at the Academy. That’s where we met. I was teaching first-year students and he’d just come back from France, burning with excitement about his plans for a new restaurant. He was determined to open up a restaurant right here in Joplin, even though I didn’t think it could support fine dining. The last thing I wanted to do was stay here. I had plans to transfer to the Academy in San Francisco as soon as they had an opening.”

  “You gave up a lot to be with Daddy.”

  Selma shrugged. “Maybe. Who really knows? I might have gone out to California and hated it. I wasn’t that great at teaching—I’d only accepted the position because I had an eye on joining the Council some day. My mentor had already recommended I move into secular medical school and become a full-fledged doctor.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I loved Emile more.”

  Clare reached across the table and squeezed her mother’s hand. “And he loved you, Mom.”

  “I miss him, Clare. That’s the only reason I’ve pushed you so hard. I’ve got nothing else to occupy myself with but making sure you’re secure, and I got so wrapped up in those plans, that I forgot what he’d want most of all. You have to be happy, honey. If taking a position at the Academy doesn’t make you happy, then don’t do it simply because that’s what I did. It wouldn’t have been a good fit for me long term even if I’d retained my magic.”

  Would Yiorgos make me happy?

  If she retained her magic and could stand toe-to-toe with him in the kitchen, she would definitely be happy. She loved sparring with him. She adored watching the pleasure spread across his face as he ate her creations.

  But if she lost her magic…

  Would she be on equal footing with him? Or would he see her as just one of the countless annoying females who wanted nothing more than what his wealth and privilege would provide? Throw another trinket or two at her just to pacify her?

  If I have nothing more to offer him than a powerless mundane woman, will he even want me?

  “I let myself forget that I had a life beyond simply existing as your father’s wife and your mother.” Selma leaned down to kiss her forehead. “I don’t regret living either role, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I blamed you for the loss of my magic. It was my choice and I’ve had a good life. It’s time we both start living our lives to the fullest. I love and support you whatever you decide to do. Just remember that there’s life beyond magic, if you’re willing to reach out and take it.”

  Sipping her tea, Clare swore silently, I won’t make the same mistakes, Mom. I’m not going to let anyone put me in a box labeled ‘wife’ and simply exist, least of all, myself.

  ELEVEN

  Short of hiring a jet and whisking Clare off to Paris, Yiorgos tried to make the entire trip a Cinderella fairytale for her. He’d hired a top-notch limo to make the drive to St. Louis, secured the nicest suites at the Frontenac, and spent an obscene amount of money on at least a dozen designer gowns. Sometimes being a high-handed arrogant playboy had its advantages. He’d ignored her refusals and horror at how much he spent, because in the end, it was just money, a pittance com
pared to the millions he’d made and invested in his lifetime.

  It was the least he could do for the woman who made him feel alive while his body was rotting around him.

  Watching her face light up as she twirled in front of the full-length mirrors confirmed that she was the best thing he’d ever known in his entire life. While the final hours of his life poured through his fingers like sand, faster and faster no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

  Dressed in a sparkling gown and jewels that her glowing eyes put to shame, she stretched her hand across the fine white linen and threaded her fingers through his. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, deliberately trying to push away the heavy sense of gloom weighing on him. “It was entirely my pleasure.”

  Soon, he wouldn’t have a choice. He’d have to leave her. He’d never see the heat in her eyes again, or feel the surge of her magic when she touched him. He’d never taste the intoxicating sweetness of her lips or hold the lush curves of her body that drove him mad with lust.

  Her happiness wavered, and he could barely look at her for fear that he’d burst into unmanly sobs. There’s nothing that can be done. This is the last night I’ll have to show you how much you’ve come to mean to me.

  When Remy’s was awarded the fifth star, everyone stood and applauded. Although Yiorgos had done his best to stifle rumblings about trouble at the restaurant since he’d taken over, rumors had abounded along with ill-will at his supposed treatment of Remy’s daughter. Evidently most of them recognized her after the years she’d attended with Emile.

  A BBQ competitor from Kansas City congratulated Yiorgos by squeezing his hand so hard his fingers went numb. Leaning in, he shouted into Yiorgos’s ear. “I’ll take you out back if you hurt one hair on Ms. Remy’s head.”

  Yiorgos smiled back, squeezed harder, and said nothing at all.

  With utmost grace, Clare accepted the award and dedicated it to her father amidst thundering applause. She spoke easily and comfortably as though she’d been delivering public addresses her entire life. Her charming smile had them all eating out of the palm of her hand.