by Romy Sommer
“I don't deserve you,” he mumbled against her hair.
“You're right,” Cassie agreed. “You don't.”
“What can I do to make it up to you?”
“You can spend the rest of your life showing me how very sorry you are.”
Her mischievous grin told him all he needed to know. He didn't know why or how but she'd forgiven him—she truly loved him.
“You won't get bored here? Want to run off back to the big city?” He had to ask the question.
She shook her head. “I can think of more exciting adventures I can have right here.”
“Like what?”
She whispered something in his ear that made him want to pick her up and haul her off inside caveman style.
“I love you.” For now, he settled for kissing the tip of her nose. “And I promise I'll spend every day for the rest of my life showing you.”
And he did.
About the author:
Catherine Coles has written stories since the day she could form sentences! Being a member of the wonderfully supportive Minxes of Romance has encouraged her to follow her dreams with an extra burst of passion. Catherine writes medical romance with a focus on modern, sassy heroines and the sexy, successful heroes who enrich their lives. Catherine lives in the north east of England where, as a foster carer, she currently shares her home with six children, two spoiled pooches and a cat who thinks she’s a dog!
Hot, Bothered and Bewitched
Jodie James
Kindle Edition. Copyright © 2012 Jodie James
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Chapter One
Old habits die hard.
Seraphine Mansfield knelt on the bare floorboards of her dining room and arranged two long, silk ribbons into triangles in front of her, one ribbon laid over the other to form a six-point star. With any luck, the rest of her furniture would arrive in the morning, but for now the empty dining room lent itself perfectly to a little magic.
She eyed her handiwork critically, then carefully placed a votive candle on each point of the star. Six in total, three pink and three red. Pink for romance, red for hot romance. As she lit them one by one, working from West to East, she offered up words of reverence to the evening star, old enchantments learned at her mother’s knee.
She picked up the small silver scissors from her spell box and snipped off one of her own black curls from beneath her hairline at the back, feeling around to make sure it wouldn’t show. The idea of being quizzed about her hacked-off haircut by her new neighbours had her ruffling her curls anxiously into place. This had better work. She placed the small lock of hair in the centre of the triangle carefully.
For the most part, Seraphine had managed to shake off her wiccan roots as she’d put herself through vet school, but if there was ever an occasion likely to send her back to her grandmother’s spell book, it was this. Her thirtieth birthday, all alone in a new village without so much as a pet budgie for company. She travelled without companions. A black cat would have been way too clichéd, and she saw enough animals during the day to be happy to close her door to them in the evenings.
Besides, Coombethwaite was supposed to be a fresh start, a place where no one knew her or any of her eccentric female relatives. Her grandmother was practically folklore royalty back home in Devon, and her mother and aunts were happily following in her footsteps. It wasn’t that Seraphine was embarrassed or scornful of her heritage, she’d just chosen a different path in life. Or she was trying to, at least. She wanted to be normal, whatever that was, and as a lifelong animal lover, a career as a vet had seemed the perfect choice. So what if she gave the occasional sick animal a little extra help that medicine couldn’t offer? Where was the harm in that?
What she really yearned for was a family of her own, an adoring husband, round limbed babies with bouncing black curls like their mother. That wasn’t so big an ask, was it?
Except putting her theory into practice was proving harder than she’d ever imagined. It seemed she had a knack for picking the wrong men, as evidenced by David, the potential latest love interest in Seraphine’s life to make a hasty stage-left exit after meeting her unconventional family.
It was fast becoming a familiar pattern, so she’d jumped at the chance to take over from the retiring vet in a lakeside village where she could start with a clean slate. It was far from home, and all the more tantalising for it.
Except for times like now, when she found herself alone with a bottle of Champagne on Halloween. It was her birthday, and the most magical night of the year, and she wasn’t above casting a little love spell in an effort to draw the perfect man towards her. Desperate times, desperate measures. She’d had enough of ready meals for one and a bed that felt too big.
She jumped as someone rapped on the front door of her little cottage, her concentration broken before she’d barely settled in. Typical. She couldn’t even cast a tiny spell in peace. The incantation was supposed to conjure up her true love within twenty-eight days, but only if she could cast it properly. Was this mother nature’s way of telling her to give in, that she was a lost cause destined to live alone forever?
“Anyone home?”
A raised male voice came through the door as her caller banged again.
Seraphine dragged her hair up with a band from the pocket of her robe and sighed. Not answering wasn’t an option, her lamp was on in the tiny front lounge and she’d laid a crackling fire in the grate. The last thing she wanted was to start life in the village with a reputation as stand-offish. She dragged back the old bolt on the front door and swung it wide.
“You’re not Harold Mahoney,” the stranger said.
Seraphine eyed the tousle haired man on her doorstep, momentarily taken aback by his chocolate penny eyes and the full cupid’s bow of his mouth. Hmm. She glanced up at the night sky in surprise. Even for a Mansfield witch, that was mighty quick work. Twenty eight days? More like twenty eight seconds…
“There’s nothing wrong with your powers of observation, is there?” She gave herself a mental shake, concentrating her attentions back to the vision in front of her. Harold Mahoney, the outgoing village vet, had been six foot two and thick set with a penchant for Arran sweaters, a far cry from Seraphine’s five foot four frame, which was currently wrapped in a floor-length black fluffy bathrobe and nothing else.
Mystery man’s eyes registered surprised amusement, and then he yowled and his mouth twisted in annoyance.
“Enough, cat!”
Seraphine glanced down as he unzipped his battered leather jacket, and then watched with startled eyes as he unhooked a large black cat’s claws from where they’d embedded themselves into the neck of his T-shirt.
“Tell me you’re the new vet?” He fished the cat out of his coat. “Because this cat needs somewhere to crash, and it’s sure as hell’s not gonna be my house.”
“You don’t like cats?”
“I don’t like this cat.” Seraphine followed his gaze and studied the creature. In truth, it wasn’t the best looking feline specimen. He appeared to have lost an eye somewhere on his travels, and one of his ears had seen better days. He was an old soldier all right, and he didn’t look all that happy with his predicament.
“Whose is he?” Seraphine wrapped her arms around her slender frame against the chilled evening air.
“No idea. Who are you?”
“I’m Harold Mahon
ey’s replacement.” She saw his brows twitch with interest. “Who are you?”
“Isaac Quinn. Cat rescuer, farrier, and local fireman.”
“That’s quite a list.”
He shrugged. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“You’re also a man who’s bleeding.”
Seraphine gestured towards the angry scratch that ran from his neck to his collarbone, currently seeping blood into the edge of his T-shirt.
“Bloody cat!” He touched a hand to the wound and looked at his blood-damp fingers, and the sour-faced puss took his cue and escaped from Isaac’s clutches. He lunged to catch it, but needn’t have bothered. The cat turned and shot him a hiss, then sauntered past Seraphine’s legs with an investigatory rub and disappeared into the cottage.
Looking considerably happier without his encumbrance, Isaac craned his neck for Seraphine’s attention. “Am I likely to die, do you think?”
She rolled her eyes. “You better come in and clean that up. I have some cream.”
“Your new cat won’t be pleased to see me,” Isaac muttered, throwing a sour glance at the cat, who’d stretched out on the rug in front of the fire. “The vet can hardly turn away an animal in need, and all…”
“I’m not officially the village’s new vet until Monday morning,” Seraphine pointed out as she closed the front door and gestured for him to sit down on the small couch by the fire. “I’ll get my first aid box.”
The candles around the ribboned star still burned on the dining room floor, and she blew them out hastily, glancing back towards the living room door. God! The idea that Isaac Quinn might have seen her little love altar made her palms sweat.
No one here knows. I’m okay. She snatched up the ribbons and candles and stuffed them into the sideboard with a sigh of relief.
She retrieved the first aid box from the back of the kitchen cupboard, and returned to the lounge to find Isaac had removed his jacket and flung it over the arm of the sofa.
She paused, her fingers curled around the shawl collar of her robe. There was a drop dead gorgeous man in her living room, and a cold bottle of champagne on the table. She’d planned to drink it alone with a good movie, but the prospect had somehow lost its appeal.
He glanced down at the first aid box as she perched next to him, taking care to make sure her robe folded over her knees.
“Are you going to hurt me?”
“Well, I’m used to patients who can’t answer back, so quite possibly.”
“Maybe I need anesthetic first, then…” his mischievous eyes slipped to the unopened champagne bottle, then back to hers.
“Are you always such a wimp?”
“I’m a fireman. That makes me officially macho.”
Seraphine flipped open the tin lid and rooted through it for antiseptic and cotton wool. “Good. Keep still then.”
She tipped a little of the cold liquid out onto the cotton wool, then looked across and studied him. How best to do this? It was a deep scratch, it needed a thorough clean. She moved around and knelt next to him, then angled her head to demonstrate what he should do. “Tip your head, like this?”
He did as instructed and exposed the strong column of his neck for her ministrations.
Seraphine chewed her top lip, suddenly nervous at the thought of touching him. The firelight cast a golden glow over his skin, rendering him sultry despite the dried blood. Tentatively, she reached out and stroked the dampened cotton wool down his wound, clearing away the blood to properly reveal the deep scratch below.
“Well, nurse?” he muttered out the side of his mouth and tried to look at her from the corner of his eye.
“Keep still.” She worked to make sure she removed all of the blood from the wound. His skin was warm beneath her fingers, and she could feel the flicker of his pulse at the base of his throat. Was it racing, slightly? Job done, she let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and returned her attention to the tin box. Somewhere in there was a tub of her grandmother’s handmade cream, a special cure-all tincture. When she looked up again she found Isaac studying her.
“You didn’t tell me your name,” he said softly.
“It’s Seraphine.”
His eyebrows lifted, acknowledgement of her name’s unusualness. “And is there a Mr. Seraphine?”
She turned to look at the cat. “Looks like there is now.”
She didn’t miss the interested flare in Isaac’s eyes before she glanced down and unscrewed the lid on the cream. She scooped a little onto her fingers.
“Can you…?” She instinctively reached out her other hand and gently turned his chin away from her again. He closed his eyes, and his five o’clock shadow bristled beneath her fingers. She swallowed hard as a shiver of attraction slipped down her spine.
“Just so you know, I’m attached, too.” She couldn’t see his face, but she felt his jaw widen into a smile. “Dulcie slobbers her food and has evil drool, but I’m devoted.”
The cool cream dissolved into his skin on contact, yet still Seraphine took her time to slowly massage it in.
His neck was firm, and her fingers followed the length of his collarbone until they met the barrier of his T-shirt. His eyes were still closed when she glanced up at his profile, and for a second, she let her hands rest on him. Or to be more accurate, she couldn’t take her hands, or her eyes, off him. He was a complete stranger, yet in that moment, she felt she’d known him for her whole lifetime.
“All done,” she said eventually, and busied herself packing away the supplies whilst she regained her composure. Her fingers lingered on something lying at the bottom of the tin.
“I’ll give you nine out of ten for your bedside manner, Veterinary.”
“What did I lose a point on?” Seraphine drew herself up to standing.
Isaac shrugged and shot her a lop-sided grin. “I’m not in bed.”
She looked at him. He looked at her. She slipped the packet from the tin into her pocket.
“Would you like a glass of champagne? It’s my birthday.”
Chapter Two
Isaac watched Seraphine retreat into the back of the cottage in search of another glass. He appreciated the gentle sway of her hips, and the graceful curve of her neck revealed by the way she’d haphazardly tied up her dark curls.
It had been a while. He wasn’t even sure he was fit for sex, the accident had left him weakened on one side, but Jesus, this woman was something else. From the second she’d opened her door and fixed him with her big, violet eyes, he’d felt it. That fizz of mutual attraction, that magical sizzle of anticipation.
He glanced at the cat, and found it watching him with its one good eye. Isaac shrugged. “Okay, okay. I forgive you. Just no more funny stuff, right?”
The cat huffed and made a show of closing his eye, then rolled away from Isaac to bake its belly before the warmth of the fire.
Isaac scrubbed his hand over his chin, glad for once that eagle-eyed Mrs. Cromaty had called him out. She was a thorn in the side of Coombethwaite’s retained fire brigade, always calling on them for tenuous reasons. Tonight’s stray cat hadn’t really been his jurisdiction; they usually palmed stray cats off on Drew, their resident cat-whisperer, but Enid was a neighbor and he’d felt obliged when she’d knocked on his door. He thanked his lucky stars now though. It might even warrant a bunch of flowers.
His stint with the fire brigade was all a long way from his years as a farrier for the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment, but his days as a Lance Corporal were ancient history now. Stupid really. He’d managed two tours of duty without major incident or injury, only to be put out of the army by a rogue kick from an angry stallion. He’d lost more than his career after the accident twelve months ago. He’d lost his place in the world, and the woman he’d planned to marry. Turned out she was more in love with the idea of being a military wife than she was with him.
He was single, and lonely, and a little bit broken, but this suddenly felt like a night to take chances.
Chapter Three
Seraphine placed the second glass down next to hers on the coffee table and handed the bottle to Isaac to uncork.
“Remind me again. Fireman, cat-rescuer, and what?”
Isaac expertly uncorked the champagne and filled up their glasses. “Farrier.”
“Fireman and farrier? You like to play with fire, I take it?”
She noticed the shadow that flickered across his face, and his slight wince as he stretched to place the bottle on the table. “You don’t enjoy your work?”
“It’s not that. I’ve been…” he sighed heavily and lounged back against the sofa. “I’ve been out of action for a while.”
Seraphine heard the unspoken melancholy behind his ambiguous words and chose not to pry. She had her secrets; he was more than entitled to his.
“So. You were a Halloween baby, then.” He reached out and touched the rim of his glass against hers formally. “And very bewitching you are, too. Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you.” She smiled softly and sipped her wine, enjoying the cool fizz, the warm fire and the unexpected good company. On the rug, her other new acquaintance flinched his paws in his sleep.
“I could take you to the King’s Head to celebrate, if you like?”
Isaac toyed idly with the end of Seraphine’s belt as she curled her legs up beneath her. She watched his fingers for a second. He had the sort of hands you’d expect of a farrier. Strong, capable, a little bashed.
“Or we could just stay here by the fire and drink champagne,” she said.
“I like your plan better.”
She couldn’t be certain, but he seemed a smidge closer than he’d been a second or two ago.