by J. M. Adele
“Sounds like home to me.” Hannah winked.
“Then you need to move.”
“I’ll stay with her,” Chelsea offered, her heart doing all sorts of flips at his concern for Hannah’s welfare.
“You don’t have to do that.” Hannah walked backwards, edging closer to the action.
“I don’t mind.”
“I’ll stay too. The beer can wait.” Greyson levered Dee’s fingers off his arm. “Go catch up with Ryan. We’ll see you later.” He smiled politely and moved closer to the circle’s fringe where Hannah stood enthralled.
“Hmph. Suit yourself.” Dee stalked off, broomstick in tow.
Chelsea watched until Dakota caught up to Ryan, making sure she was safe, before joining Hannah.
“She’s not happy with you.”
Cutting a look at Grey, Chelsea kept a safe distance, ignoring the way her body wanted to burrow under the protective net he was throwing out. He looked after people. Cared for them. Even those he hardly knew.
“She’ll live.”
Dee, on the other hand … not so much.
Sliding her hands under her cloak, Chelsea cocooned herself inside as the evening chill set in. She could barely hear the warlock’s words, as a man preaching into a microphone looped behind the group, pleading for them to be saved. Her brow bunched, watching his righteous march. They weren’t worshipping the devil. They were speaking of love and remembrance. She caught Grey with the same dip in his brow as he watched the guy retreat.
“It’s nice of you. To stay with Hannah.”
Grey crossed his arms, tucking his hands under his arm pits. “It’s nothing. Like I said, the beer can wait.”
She managed to divert her eyes back to the warlock on the microphone. The beat of the drums and the enchanting ritual fed energy around the circle, joining the crowd as one. It pulsed through her fingertips and down to her feet, with overtones of joy and celebration lifting the somber ceremony. She swayed as it swept her along, slowly building to a crescendo.
The hard part was coming, and she braced her feet apart to steel herself.
When he asked everyone to call out the name of a person they’d like to remember, Chelsea croaked out, “Beth.” Hugging herself, she squeezed her eyes shut to ward off tears, and breathed through her nose until the threat passed.
Warmth infused her side and she relaxed her arms, opening her eyes to find that Grey had moved close, watching her with his metallic gaze. Forcing an exhale through pursed lips, her tear ducts burned for release. Damn him for being so sweet. She hadn’t heard him call anyone’s name, but there was something in those eyes that said he understood. He hid it well, but not deep enough to be out of her reach.
She pried her gaze away to check on Hannah. Chelsea barely knew her two companions, but she’d grown dangerously close to caring deeply for them. Too fast.
Hannah winked, a ghost of a smile playing on her face, before she turned it up to the sky. Just the tiniest movement. The flutter of an eyelid. But it held enough power and reassurance to release the well of emotion stinging Chelsea’s eyes. Her lips quirked up as she tucked her chin to her chest, tears dripping at her feet. She hadn’t wanted to be a part of the circle, denying the bad memories from rising to the surface, but she was glad she was there. Blocking thoughts of Beth had been a dishonor. She deserved better than that. She deserved to be remembered even though dragging up the past exposed Chelsea’s raw wounds. Flanked by these two, under their protective wings, she’d found a safe haven to purge the grief and guilt she’d carried for years. Physically, at least. If she had to verbalize the agony, she didn’t think she’d survive the festivities.
Grey’s hands slid into his pockets, and he backed away under a tree as the music started. The witches encouraged the crowd to join in the singing and dancing. She and Hannah linked arms and skipped around, singing loudly. Her eyes caught his every time she passed his way, the pull growing stronger with each turn. His inscrutable mask gave away nothing of how he felt, but the way his eyes followed told her so much. He wanted her, but he wouldn’t come and take her. She had to go to him.
Fuck, it was so tempting. To let all her walls down and set herself free from her self-imposed prison. It wasn’t just her body that screamed at her to do it, her soul wept at the possibility. She’d been holding her shit together for so goddamn long. But if she gave in, she feared she’d never come back. This force, this energy arcing between them, pulling them together … it was fucking terrifying. She couldn’t deal with it right now.
She stopped skipping, while everyone clapped and cheered as the circle was closed. “Hey, let’s go get that beer.”
Her friend nodded. “Ready when you are, babe.”
_____
Belly full of beer and nachos, Chelsea found herself sitting in a dim candlelit room with about fifteen others, listening to a psychic pull random information from thin air. She didn’t think there was any threat of actual communication with the dead, but some vibe in the room made her twitchy. Perhaps it was because she was sandwiched between Ryan and Grey, who both sat with arms crossed and one ankle on the opposing knee. It seemed Hannah was in charge of the itinerary for the night, and nobody liked her choice of activities.
Strangely, Dakota chose a seat beside Grey, quietly absorbing the show. Or maybe it wasn’t strange, and Chelsea was letting her green side take over. Not the Oz kind of green, either. It was more the mammoth proportions of the big guy who split his pants every time he got mad.
Hannah appeared oblivious, hanging on every word coming out of the psychic’s mouth. Lord bless that free-spirited woman. She embraced everything she did, wholeheartedly. Chelsea could learn a thing or two from her. She unfolded her arms, placing her hands between her knees, and sat up.
“May I approach you?” The psychic had Chelsea in her sights.
“Me?”
“Don’t be scared. I have a message from your loved one.”
“Pfft. Oh, I’m not scared, honey.” She rubbed her palms together, shuffling her butt back in her chair.
You’re such a liar.
“Your loved one with a B sound. A female. You were close, but not related.”
Chelsea’s muscles tensed, the twitchy feeling intensifying under her skin.
“She said to let go of the blame. It was her choice. You were not responsible.”
Her vocabulary vanished as her body locked tight. What could she say? That information couldn’t be randomly plucked from the air. Unless this psychic somehow knew her from Texas, there was no way she could’ve known Chelsea had been carrying the burden of blame for her wild ways ... and the irreversible consequences. She squeezed her palms between her knees as her mind reeled. Was that really Beth?
“She said to tell you she’s okay.”
Well, I’m not.
“I have a message for you too.”
Chelsea’s focus turned to Greyson as the psychic addressed him.
“This spirit is very clearly your grandfather. A forceful personality. He refused to wait his turn. He said he’s sorry for being so stubborn, and that you must follow your heart, wherever it may lead you.”
Grey tipped his chin up in affirmation, choosing not to speak. Angling himself towards her, he pulled one of her hands onto his thigh and clasped their palms together, unspoken questions suspended in his eyes.
Are you okay?
Who is Beth?
“I got you.” The words rumbled out in a deep, calming whisper.
Oh, honey. You have me more than you know.
She fixed on their joined hands, her eyelids tapping out a frantic rhythm. He’d brushed aside his own revelation to take care of her, the security net still blanketing her. She half expected to see a cascade of rubble as another of her walls came crashing down. He’d offered her a safe place to forgive herself for all her failings. A chance at normal. She’d vehemently denied the small voice in her mind that said, ‘what if?’ What if she allowed herself to trust enough to find love
? What if she found someone who would cherish her? Didn’t she deserve that? That’s all Beth had wanted.
As the psychic moved through the room, Chelsea struggled with herself to stay seated. She focused on the connection with Grey. The way he held her hand steady, as if he knew she needed an anchor because she was suddenly lighter than before. He gave their joined hands a shake to get her attention, and tilted his chin towards the door. She didn’t need to be told twice. She stood and followed him. Breaking free, she took a gulp of night air, letting his hand slip from hers.
He flexed his fingers. “You’ve got a good grip.”
“So I’ve been told.” She winced. She’d let her tongue loose again. Damn, it was hard holding back around him. “Sorry about that. Knee jerk reaction. I’m trying to be a better person and that means less inappropriate flirting.”
“It’s only inappropriate if it’s unwelcome.”
“Well, I just crushed your hand. I’m sure you weren’t thinking about my grip around anything else.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about parts of you wrapped around parts of me ever since we met.”
Her lids dropped low as she took in the firm set of his jaw. His molten gaze warmed her up, making her body pliant and ready for his touch. Maybe she could let him in? For the time she had left, anyways. And finally give herself a taste of something she could hold deep inside for the rest of her days.
“That can be arranged.”
“Oh really? Forfeiting your bet so early in the game? Shame on you, Chelsea. I thought you were made of tougher stuff.”
“How do you—” Her eyes popped before narrowing. “Dane … Oh, he is going to get a whupping next time I see him.”
“He’s a good friend. You have a good group of people who love you.” He pushed some hair out of his face and glanced at the door they’d just exited. “And some questionable tag-alongs.”
“You don’t like Ryan, huh?”
“I wasn’t referring to Ryan. But, no. I don’t like him. He wants what I want.” Those eyes mapped her features.
“He can’t have me. And, for the record, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the bet.”
“Good. I’m glad to hear it, because you and I are gonna happen.”
“Now?” She bounced on the balls of her feet.
He barked out a laugh, flashing his teeth. “No. I don’t sleep with witches.”
“Oh. That’s a shame, because I’m pretty sure witches sleep naked.”
His brow shot up. “Is that right?”
“It’s just a rumor I heard from someone in the know.”
“I’ll dream about that until the time comes.”
“When will it be time to come? Because I’m lookin’ forward to the coming part.”
The smile spread across his face in a slow seductive tide, as his lids grew heavy. “It’s going to be explosive.”
“When? When is it going to explode? I hope we have some towels on hand.”
Laughter burst from deep in his belly, the sound rivaling the revelry in the street. “Oh, you are a peach.” He reached out and pulled her into his frame.
Enveloped in his arms as he shook in amusement, she couldn’t contain her smile. He was all kinds of warm and hard, and big … and hard. Yeah, she might’ve burrowed in close enough to feel something against her stomach. A girl had to check these things. He had all the right gear to get the job done.
He also had so much more that she wasn’t prepared for. He had heart, and compassion. He’d known that she needed to get out of that room, and he’d made it happen without pressing her for a reason why. And then he’d made her laugh while getting her panties wet. He was a goddamn rock. A big, gorgeous, steady rock. Her arms crept around him as she turned her face into his chest and breathed him in. She listened to the beat in his chest, absorbed the rise and fall of air from his lungs, and felt her own match it.
She’d been so torn between belonging in two different places that she hadn’t imagined she could feel so content in a place like his arms.
Maybe home had nothing to do with geography.
But if you want to call someone home, you must both be in the same city.
And there was the problem.
Giving Thanks
Chelsea gathered her bag and smoothed her hair as the train pulled to a stop in Beacon Hill. She had a fair way to walk to get to Matteo’s place, so she had her runners on with her heels tucked in her bag. Looking around at all the beautiful multi-million dollar homes, her nerves started to congregate. She’d never seen his house, but she figured it would look something like its neighbors. Maybe her dress wasn’t good enough. She’d nearly fallen backwards off her chair when Matteo invited her for Thanksgiving dinner, but she reckoned he probably wanted to discuss the details of the function center. He didn’t have any family that she knew of. What else was he going to do for Thanksgiving?
She dug her heels in and contemplated calling him to cancel, before shaking herself for being stupid. He’d invited her because they had work to discuss. She’d grown up spending time in Angel’s big old plantation home. She wasn’t out of place there. It had its own library, for Lord’s sake. She ordered her feet to start marching, doing up the buttons of her coat to ward off the chilly air.
On her tail, the rumble of horsepower tracked her path before a pickup truck pulled up beside her. She did a double take when she recognized its worn black paint. Slowing her steps, she watched Greyson reveal himself as he wound down the passenger window.
“What are you doing here?”
“Get in.” He smirked.
“No.”
“Get in. I’m taking you to supper.”
She tugged the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. “I have a previous engagement.”
He snorted. “Honey, I know all about your plans. I’m your ride for the evening.”
She bit her tongue, holding back the filthy thought that immediately came to mind.
“I know what you’re thinking, dirty girl. Get in the truck. Did you think Matteo would make you walk by yourself at night? I know it’s a good neighborhood and all, but you can’t trust anyone these days. Not when you look like you do.”
A gush of heat burst its way from her heart to her core and she shuffled her feet, clearing her throat.
“Why should I trust you?” She joked.
“I think you know me better than that by now. If I wanted to hurt you, I could’ve done so already.”
Maybe physically she was safe, but her heart and sanity were definitely in danger from this man. The door popped open and she jumped in the warm cab. His scent arrested her senses, joining the smell of …
“Why does it smell like pizza in here?”
“I had lunch on the run today.”
“You had takeaway?”
“No, I whipped one up before driving around to find an open convenience store.”
“Oh.”
He pulled down a street lined with brownstones, and trees in cages growing through the pavement. Tiny gardens fenced by intricate wrought iron bracketed the front steps to each house. It was a beautiful step back in time, in modern color. She watched a garage door to one of the houses slide up before they drove in. Paving stones formed a driveway, lit by iron chandeliers running its length. Marble tiles covered the adjacent area where chairs that belonged in a palace sat near the staircase leading into the living space.
“Is this Matteo’s?”
“Yep.”
“His house has its own drive through?”
“Minus the fast food.” He pushed a button on a remote and the garage door rolled down behind them.
Her eyes darted everywhere, taking it all in. “The garage has a sitting room.”
“I know.”
“Why are you here, taking me to Matteo’s?”
“Because I live here too. For now.”
“Okaaay.” Her brow bunched. “Why is Matteo housing the new apprentice? Sorry, no offense.”
“Because he�
�s my uncle.”
She paused. “Oh, I see.”
Now she understood why a chef who never took on an apprentice had made an exception to the rule. Lucky Greyson. How wonderful to have been born into a family where the future allowed you choices. And thanks to her mama, she was alive and working on opening up her own choices.
He turned off the engine and angled to face her. “What do you see?”
“You said he’d known you for a long time. Since birth, I’m guessing. You wanted off the ranch, so you thought you’d try the city. It was nice of him to give you a job and a place to stay.”
The gray in his eyes grew stormy as his eyebrows slammed down. “I applied in the usual way. I had to do a trial in one of his friend’s restaurants to see if I could make the cut. I did, so here I am. The housing situation is just temporary, until I can get out on my own. He’s my uncle. If I can’t ask him to help me out, who can I ask?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I know you work hard and you deserve this opportunity.”
“Damn straight, I do.”
She wanted to sink into the seat as he stared her down with molten eyes. “Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just don’t know if you realize what a huge thing it is to be accepted into Abbiocco for an apprenticeship. Matteo doesn’t take apprentices. Ever.”
“He knows I can cook. We were taught by the same woman. We have the same passion.”
“I’m sure you do. And the same eyes. I see it now. Are you related through your mother or father?”
“On my father’s side.”
“So, you’re Greyson Agrioli.” She held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
He took a hold, but didn’t shake, anger still brewing in his gaze.
“Now I know your name and where you live. This is next level kind of personal, Greyson.” She offered a conciliatory smile.
“It’s about time you caught up, Chelsea.”
Releasing her hand, he leaned across to open her door, crowding her against the seat. With his face dangerously close to hers, he rested a hand on her thigh and dropped his gaze to her mouth. She held still, resisting the urge to lean forward and take what he teased her with, though her pulse thundered through her veins and her panties were ruined. His anger hummed through his touch on her thigh and the way he watched her like he wanted to pounce. In a display of delicious restraint, he denied them both.