by Deanna Chase
The Warlock’s Enchanted Kiss
Witch Island Brides, Book 2
Deanna Chase
Bayou Moon Press, LLC
Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Deanna’s Book List
About the Author
Copyright © 2018 by Deanna Chase
First Edition 2018
Cover Art by Renee George
Editing by Angie Ramey
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.
Bayou Moon Press, LLC
About This Book
Welcome to Love Spells, the line of paranormal books where every happily-ever-after comes with a big dose of laughter. Check out all the books in the Love Spells line here.
The Warlock’s Enchanted Kiss (Witch Island Brides, Book 2)
Carrie Carmichael excels at creating the perfect wedding. But when it comes to romance, the wedding coordinator is always on the sidelines. After years of pining for the town warlock, she’s finally ready to take her shot. But an old love spell might just derail her plans.
Austin McKee has the magical touch—literally. His kisses are enchanted. And when an old flame shows up on the island to marry another man, suddenly the old enchantment rears its head and she’s ready to pick up where the two left off. Desperate to escape the spelled bridezilla, Austin plays along when Carrie pretends to be his fake girlfriend. But now lines are being blurred and Austin’s not at all sure he’s pretending.
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Chapter 1
Carrie Carmichael swept into Spell Bound and scowled as “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” started playing over the sound system. “Frankie!” she called. “When are you going to disable that asinine spell? My ego can’t take anymore.”
Frankie Franklyn owned Witch Island’s used bookstore. And because the island was a wedding destination spot for paranormals of the world, she’d spelled the door to play the most appropriate song for each individual visitor. Most brides were treated to their favorite love songs. Carrie got a sucker punch in the gut.
“Frankie isn’t here,” Heather Jean said as she floated toward Carrie. Heather Jean Mansfield was Frankie’s fourth cousin, twice removed, and had met her untimely death five years ago. Since then she’d haunted the bookstore, working as Frankie’s assistant. The waif-like ghost was gorgeous in a hauntingly ethereal way with large Kewpie doll eyes and pale skin. Carrie, who hated her own limp blond hair and considered herself just average in the looks department, had always been envious of Heather Jean… until a vampire had accidentally ended her life and turned her into a ghost. “She’s off with Aron trying to make pups again.”
Carrie raised a curious eyebrow and snickered as she said, “So you’re saying they’re doing it doggie style?”
“Probably. They’ve done it every other way under the sun. I swear to the goddess that if I walk in on them one more time, I’m going to get Crazy Karen to add itching cream to their lube.”
Carrie laughed, knowing full well Heather Jean wouldn’t do any such thing. “Too much baby-making in the office?”
“Way, wayyyy too much. Those two need a nice cool dip in a cryotherapy chamber.”
“At least they seem to have their sex life figured out… unlike my newest bride.” Carrie grimaced as she made her way up the stairs to the self-help section. “I’ve been tasked with finding how-to books for the wedding night.”
Heather Jean darted after her. “You’re kidding? Doesn’t that go well beyond your duties as a wedding coordinator?”
Carrie was the one-and-only bridal consultant on the island and often had her hands full. Non-magical bridezillas were one thing, but magical ones could be downright terrifying. When stress got the better of a witch, there was no telling what could happen. The last witch bride who’d had a meltdown had ended up shrinking her groom’s package, and they’d spent the day before their wedding at the healer, rubbing on every cream, lotion, and potion available until the curse had been eradicated and a full erection had been confirmed. Rumor had it that Mystia, the healer, had even managed to add a few inches. Now half the men on Witch Island were in line for a men’s health “check-up.”
“Yes, yes it does,” Carrie said, reaching for The Modern Witch’s Guide to Sexual Satisfaction. “But if I want to get paid, then what the bride wants is what the bride gets.”
“You’re a better woman than I ever was,” Heather Jean mumbled as “I Put a Spell on You” by Creedence Clearwater Revival started playing on the sound system. “Oh, looks like the town warlock has entered the building.”
Carrie’s pulse quickened at the mention of Austin McKee, the local warlock she’d been hopelessly in love with for the last five years. Unfortunately, Austin appeared to be the very definition of the perpetual bachelor. For a while, she and the other women on the island had started to wonder if he was gay, but as far as they knew, he never dated anyone… male or female. She bit her bottom lip as she thought of his dark hair, gorgeous whiskey-colored eyes, and long, long eyelashes. When he looked at her, she often felt that if he’d just touch her, she’d melt right there at his feet. Just one kiss… that was all she asked for. Just one… maybe two, she amended with a tiny smile claiming her lips. Definitely two.
She let out a sigh, stood on her tiptoes, and reached for another book on the top shelf. Her fingers grazed the spine of Sexing Your Warlock just as she felt someone move in behind her.
“Let me get that for you,” Austin said, his deep voice sending a shiver over Carrie’s skin.
She froze, and the book slipped through her fingers, landing with a thump on the wood floor.
“I’ve got it,” Austin said, already reaching out for the book.
“Oh no, let me!” Carrie cried and lunged for it, but she was too late.
He swiped the book and held it up, reading the title. She righted herself, and heat crawled up her neck and burned her cheeks as he looked up at her, a smirk on his handsome face.
“If you need some tips…” he started, the sexy glint in his eye sending that heat straight to her secret places.
Carrie held her head up, trying to ignore the fact that she was blushing so hard she must’ve resembled a tomato. “It’s for one of my brides. She’s a little nervous about the, uh… wedding night.”
“I see. Well, in that case just tell her to relax. Warlocks are no different than any other man in that department.” He held the book out to her. “All of this is likely nonsense anyway.”
If only that were true, Carrie thought. Austin certainly wasn’t like any other man she’d known. He didn’t have a girlfriend. He didn’t date. And as far as
Carrie knew, he didn’t even have anonymous hookups with the various bridesmaids who filtered through the island on a regular basis.
“Probably, but I suppose a little education couldn’t hurt, right?” Carrie wrapped her hand around the book. The tips of her fingers grazed his, creating a magical spark that sent a zing straight to her center, just like it did every time they accidentally came into contact. She sucked in a sharp breath and glanced up at his now-smoldering eyes.
Neither of them moved, that magical current still sparking between them. Then Austin’s gaze shifted to her lips, and his tongue darted out to moisten his own. Everything inside of her melted, and she swayed into him, dying for him to kiss her.
He pressed his other hand to her hip, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her even closer, his long, hard body brushing up against hers. Their lips were just inches apart, and Carrie was sure that this time, finally, he was going to kiss her.
A small moan escaped from the back of her throat as she tilted her head, inviting him to finally taste her.
“Carrie,” he said, her name like some sort of tortured prayer on his lips. “We… this isn’t right.” Suddenly he released his hold on her and jerked back, shaking his head.
“What? Why? Do you have a wife or someone I don’t know about?” She was pissed now. He wanted her. That was clear. This wasn’t the first time he’d almost kissed her. There was the last New Year’s Eve and her birthday party at Witchin’ Impossible. On both occasions, he’d agreed to be her “pretend” date so that her friends would stop hounding her about her nonexistent love life. She’d thought the almost-kisses were just him playing his part. But that didn’t explain that Sunday afternoon when they’d run into each other on the deserted beach. It had started to rain, and they’d ended up alone in a small cave. They’d been seconds away from a lip-lock when a seagull had flown in and startled them. He’d jerked back then, too, and mumbled something about needing to get home.
“No, of course not,” he said, shoving his hands in his front pockets. “It’s just that we’re friends, and I don’t want to mess that up.”
“Right. Because always acting like you want to rip my clothes off won’t cause any sort of issue at all,” she said sarcastically.
He hung his gorgeous dark head for just a moment. When he met her eyes again, his were tortured as he said, “I’m sorry, Carrie. You’re right. I should just stay away. Sorry to bother you.”
As Austin McKee turned and started down the stairs, all of the heat that had built between them vanished, leaving Carrie cold with bitter disappointment. “Wait!”
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “What is it, Carrie?”
She took a step forward, her high-heeled shoe catching in a crack in the old wood floor. Her ankle rolled, and she flailed a hand out, barely catching herself before she went down. The books she’d been holding flew to the floor with a loud clunk.
Austin rushed back up the stairs and dropped to one knee, carefully cradling her ankle with both hands. “Are you all right?”
Her gaze landed on one of the open books, and she let out a small gasp as she took in the pencil-drawn diagram of a naked witch standing over her lover. He was handcuffed to the bedframe while she pointed her wand at his very large erection. “Holy hell, that thing could really hurt a girl.”
Austin took one look at the open book then quickly glanced down at his own package. Her gaze followed his, and she sucked in a sharp breath when she noticed his sizable bulge straining against his jeans.
“Oh,” she said softly, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. There was only one explanation for his excitement. Being near her, almost kissing her, and now touching her ankle had seriously turned him on. Well, that was interesting now, wasn’t it? She was certain the sex graphic wasn’t doing him any favors. “Um… sorry?”
He calmly reached over and flipped the book closed. Then he nodded to her foot and again asked, “Are you okay?”
She gingerly tested her weight. A faint twinge of pain registered on the left side of her foot, but she’d live. “It’s nothing some anti-inflammatories and an ace bandage won’t cure.”
“Good.” He stood, doing nothing to hide his still erect penis, and handed her both books. He nodded at Sexing Your Warlock and said, “Trust me, Carrie. When and if we ever find ourselves in that position, you’re not going to need the wand.”
She gaped as he calmly strode back down the stairs.
The bell on the door chimed, and in the next instant, Heather Jean was by Carrie’s side. “Whoa! Is that man hot or what?”
Carrie glanced at her and started to fan herself. “I think I’m gonna need a moment.”
“And a fresh pair of panties, judging by that look on your face.”
“Heather Jean, don’t be crude,” Carrie said, her face burning. It was true. After his comment about them in bed together, she was just about ready to combust.
The ghost scoffed. “What else have I got to do? If I were you, I’d already be planning my next move.”
“Like what? He’s made it clear he just wants to be friends,” Carrie said, her frustration mounting.
“That…” Heather Jean waved a hand toward the stairs, “whatever that was between you, definitely was not ‘just friends.’ If I were you, I’d study that book you have there then figure out a way to get him alone for an evening.” She pumped her eyebrows suggestively. “I bet your warlock would suddenly find himself getting very friendly with the island’s wedding coordinator.”
Carrie clutched the books to her chest, imagining Austin with her down at the beach, back in that cave. Yes, Heather Jean had a point. A very good point indeed.
Chapter 2
Austin McKee knew better than to frequent Witchin’ Impossible on a Friday night. Every single weekend night, there was at least one bachelorette party in full swing at the entertainment club. And where there were intoxicated bridesmaids, there was trouble. More trouble than he was willing to risk… usually. But after his encounter with Carrie Carmichael at the bookstore, he needed a beer. Or a keg.
Christ, he wanted her. He had ever since he’d lain eyes on her five years ago. He wasn’t stupid. He could tell she had a thing for him too. But the problem was she was his best friend, and if he kissed her, everything would go to shit.
Austin had only been twenty-one years old when he’d taken an ill-fated trip to New Orleans with his college buddies. Everything had been great right up until they’d walked into an old witch’s dusty shop. His buddies had dared him to let her perform a love spell on him. After five hurricanes, a hand grenade, and who knew how many beers, he’d jovially said yes… and ruined his love life. He’d thought the spell would wear off after a few days, but it turned out to be permanent. And now anytime he kissed a woman, she thought she was madly in love with him. And time after time after time, the women he’d so carelessly kissed had turned into crazed stalkers, barely resembling their former selves.
The entire thing turned into a nightmare, and Austin hadn’t kissed anyone in over seven years. Dates were off the table. So was sex of any kind. He was a thirty-one-year old celibate bachelor who was in love with his best friend. Could his life be any more tragic?
“Whoa, there big boy,” a woman with a seductive voice said from a few seats down the bar. Her heated gaze traveled the length of his body and paused just below his waist. “Looks like you’re up for a good time tonight.”
Son of a… Just thinking about Carrie had gotten him hard again. He should’ve stayed home and drowned himself in scotch. Half a bottle of the good stuff and, with any luck, he’d be passed out for the rest of the evening.
The seductive redhead slipped onto the stool next to him and boldly put her hand on his ass, giving him a gentle squeeze. “What do you say we go back to my place so I can help you take care of your… um, situation?”
Heat crawled up Austin’s neck, and if he hadn’t been standing in a crowded bar, he’d have zapped the redhead hard enough tha
t her hand would still be tingling a week later. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Please remove your hand.”
Her grin widened, and she squeezed a little harder. “I hear you might need a little attention in the love department.”
“You heard wrong.” He took two steps to the left and promptly bumped into another woman, making her drop her drink. Champagne splashed all over his leather boots as glass shattered. “Whoa. I’m so sorry. I didn’t see—”
“Austin?” the woman said, breathlessly staring up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. Her dark hair was pulled up into a fancy bun with curls framing her familiar face.
“Brinn?” Austin stiffened, and then panic made his gut clench. “What are you doing here?” Please, for the love of god, do not let her be here for me.
“She’s getting married!” a rounder, bubblier version of Brinn said. “Tonight is the bachelorette party.” She grabbed Austin by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, her head tilted up and her lips puckered. “Kiss me, Austin. I want to see what all the fuss is about.”
“No!” Brinn cried. She yanked the woman, who looked to be her sister, by the hair, pulling her backward. “He’s mine!”
The other woman slipped down to one knee, both hands on Brinn’s wrist as she tried to wrestle out of her sister’s grip. “Let go, you greedy wench. He hasn’t called you in seven years. Take the hint.”
“Why are you always taking what is mine?” Brinn snarled. “Find your own man, Casey.”
Casey twisted, her face scrunched up in pain, and did some sort of fake karate chop across her sister’s arm. Brinn grunted and let go of her hair. Casey tried to stand, but one foot slipped on the puddle of spilled champagne, and she went down, her legs scissoring into the splits. It was a move her leather pants couldn’t handle, and they had a blowout right down the seam of her rear end, leaving her pale moon exposed to the entire bar.