Bewitching the Bachelor

by Suzanne Marie Calvin

  He looked down at his boots, swallowed hard, and wondered if his life would ever be the same again.

  When Lulu's sharp, vigorous bark cut into the silence and he watched the dog jump from Bianca's lap, bound over to its owner, then leap into Abigail's arms, Luke realized his life really couldn't ever be the same again.

  * * * *

  Healing Lulu had taken too much out of Bianca. She collapsed in Luke's arms the moment he came in from seeing Abigail to her car.

  Pale, damp with perspiration and clearly exhausted, she had him worried. Her smile was haggard. Her usually wide, animated eyes were reduced to tiny slits that had a hard time staying open, much less focused.

  "Don't look so upset.” Her voice was groggy and she reached a hand to his forehead, trying to smooth over the worried creases with her fingertips. “This is normal. Healing zaps my energy ... just a little."

  "I don't like it.” He scooped her up in his arms. Her hair brushed his nose. The fragrance brought on a fresh ache for her that pinched his heart and made his blood pressure spike to a dangerous high. With her head on his shoulder, he felt her breath caress his neck, feather soft and sweet, persuading his gallantry to take a hike in lieu of unleashing his wild, hungry appetite.

  "You should be happy about Lulu,” she murmured. “If you were Lulu, you'd be glad I sapped my energy.” She giggled.

  The sound of her laugh was gritty and seductive and it centered itself between his legs. He cleared his throat, answering, “I am happy. However, if I were Lulu, I wouldn't have run out in the middle of the street."

  "If you were Lulu, you'd have a pink bow in your hair.” She giggled again, sounding drunk. The hand that rested behind his neck came up to twirl fingers through his hair.

  When he plopped her down on the bed, she bounced like a rag doll. She tried to prop herself up on an elbow, flashing him what he suspected was supposed to be a seductive smile but wound up looking more like an adorable, crooked grin.

  He watched her with a lifted brow. This wasn't exactly what he'd pictured when they finally made it to her room. “Don't joke,” he cautioned, trying to be serious. The goofy, befuddled grin on her face made it impossible. He chuckled, shook his head. “This gift of yours as you call it takes too much out of you."

  "Wasted if not used.” She wagged a finger at him, then let her hand languidly drop. “Abby's had Lulu since her husband Randolph died seven years ago. I had to help.” She yawned, eyes rolled back.

  With a slow reflective smile, he admired her desire to help Abby. Sighing, he propped a few pillows around her. Lazily she grabbed his wrist and managed somehow to focus on his face. The persistence of her touch made his breath catch between his lungs and throat.

  "Luke ... let's pick up where we left off. You know, before Abigail came.” Her words were slurred, her expression dazed, and still he had to mentally stomp his libido into submission.

  "You're tired, Bianca,” he insisted, placing his hand over hers where it remained clamped at his wrist.

  "I'm fine,” she argued. The sway of her head made him think otherwise. With an impish grin she teased, “You know, it's taken me a long time to want to get back on this horse again, Mr. Luke Hale. You could be missing the opportunity of a lifetime.” She reached up, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and tried to tug him nearer, but was too weak to succeed. Flopping back onto the bed, she fought the sleepy fluttering of her eyelids.

  "The opportunity of a lifetime, huh?” he repeated with an affectionate smile. “I don't doubt that, Bianca. Not for a second.” He brushed her cheek with gentle fingers. A strong pull in his chest warned him that he'd be better served to take a step back. “But not tonight. Not ... like this."

  When Luke made love to her—and he would make love to her—he wanted Bianca completely lucid.

  "Not like this,” she repeated, rolling onto her side and pulling the corner of her pillow to her nose. “Not ... like ... this."

  He smiled. “I think you need to eat something."

  "In the morning,” she muttered softly. “Sleep now."

  * * * *

  He made her peanut butter and jelly on wheat bread, because she didn't have a single boxed frozen dinner in her freezer. How could anyone survive without a supply of frozen dinners?

  Luke wasn't an ace in the kitchen, not by a long shot. It took him fifteen minutes to decide what to make. Another five to locate the fixings he needed. His first attempt to spread the peanut butter ripped an irreparable hole in the bread. The second try did the same. He cussed through the third endeavor, taking his time so the bread held together.

  Thirty minutes later he was headed to her bedroom with a decent-looking sandwich, a few grapes and apple slices arranged on a plate, and a glass of lemonade on the side.

  Bianca slept peacefully, in the same clothes she'd worn that afternoon at Tree Day. She clutched a knitted throw to her chin, her pink lips pursed, her pale cheeks like porcelain.

  He set the food on her nightstand. She looked so ... normal ... when she slept. But she wasn't normal. She was extraordinary.

  Luke had watched her light candles with a flick of her hand and heal a near-dead poodle as if it was something she did everyday. She'd glowed. Not the normal way that happy, satiated or expectant women glow. When Bianca glowed, it was purple. That definitely was not normal.

  Surprisingly, however, none of it bothered him they way he might have expected. Especially since he'd spent most of his life disbelieving things just like what he'd witnessed that evening. Things he'd always been too logical to fathom even existed.

  Bianca had thrown a monkey wrench into his logic. She'd shown him magic. In fact, she was the mistress of it, of a power so unimaginable it both terrified and excited him.

  But Bianca Honeywell was more than magic. More than a witch. More than a fantasy come to life. She was incredibly real. With yearnings, desires, and passion that could swallow a man whole.

  Maybe what Bianca needed, Luke couldn't give her.

  There was the curse. He didn't want to believe it existed. That, however, had been a hell of a lot easier before he'd learned Bianca's magic was real.

  He'd nearly taken her to bed that night. And Luke knew he could have satisfied them both, without ever falling in love with her. It was love that took the lives of the Halestrom men. Love with a witch. Genuine confirmed bachelors never risked falling in love. And Luke Hale was the king of genuine confirmed bachelors.

  She stirred, moaning quietly. Drifting in and out of dreams, he supposed. The idea brought an unconscious smile to his lips. Maybe he couldn't take her to bed without feeling something. Love? Probably not. It hadn't happened yet and he dated plenty. Like and lust—those were easy. Love wasn't. At least not the kind that came naturally, without even trying, like the love shared by his mother and father.

  There was a potential gamble involved here. If he felt something for Bianca—then what? Make love to her one night, get hit by a train the next?

  With a heavy sigh, he realized what he had to do...

  Convince his clueless libido it wasn't worth it.

  Lord help him, she was beautiful. Sexy. Smart. And funny. Sometimes exasperating. Amusingly quick-witted. There was never a dull moment with a woman like Bianca Honeywell.

  He sighed and jerked a hand through his hair, feeling aggravated and frustrated.

  Guys weren't programmed to do this much thinking. Life was supposed to be simple. Guy has needs, guy gets needs met, guy is happy until the next time guy has needs again. Then the cycle repeats. What happened to his guilt-free days of one-night stands? No strings—or curses—attached?

  The problem was that he'd gotten to know her first. Now he was ... intrigued. It was a far cry from buying her a dry martini, bringing her home, then forgetting her name the next morning.

  Luke shuffled out of her room, considering, for a split-second, that he might snoop around a little, to help him out with his article. Even snooping didn't feel right anymore.

  With a h
and on the doorknob, he glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't leave her alone, not after all she'd been through. He groaned, knocking his head against the doorjamb over and over. He'd crossed the line. It wasn't just intrigue. He cared about Bianca. And that could only mean one thing...

  That damned curse had better not really exist.

  * * * *

  Bianca woke at five the next morning, discovering a stale sandwich and a warm glass of lemonade on her nightstand. And Luke Hale sleeping soundly on her sofa.

  Flora, her beautiful black feline, was curled up next to him. The cat raised its head, purring like the well-tuned motor of an expensive car. “Lucky girl,” Bianca whispered to the cat, scratching behind Flora's ears.

  Luke was too long and large for her loveseat. One foot, clad in a sock that had a small hole at its heel, hung over the back of the sofa, while the other dangled off the side and onto the floor. One arm was slung across the cat, the other tucked behind his head. His hair was disheveled and his face shadowed by the dark stubble of beard.

  He was virile and handsome and Bianca felt a powerful tug at her chest. Luke had given up a good night's sleep to stay on her sofa. Why? Did he actually care? About her?

  The prospect wasn't exactly easy to believe. Aside from Miles, there wasn't a man in her life, ever, who would have spent the night on her sofa just to be sure she was safe.

  This wasn't normal. Not the kind of normal Bianca was accustomed to, anyway.

  With a broad grin, she hummed all the way to the bathroom and sang in the shower for the first time in ... years.

  * * * *

  He zipped along the highway, the fresh air blowing troubled thoughts from his head, rushing cool and fragrant, almost straight through him. The rain had brought down the temperature a bit, made things bearable at least until the next heat wave hit. Heat and humidity were two very predictable things during East Coast summers.

  Luke had slipped away the minute he'd heard the shower.

  Actually that wasn't altogether one hundred percent accurate. First he'd sat there, refereeing his inner struggle between good and evil. Rather ... libido and common sense.

  Then he'd quit the sofa, when he was sure his feet would take him out the door instead of defying him by sauntering to the bathroom, where he knew he would have enjoyed sharing a shower with her.

  He had run, that's what he'd done. He wasn't proud of it but he was alive. At least for a while longer. Luke needed time to think. To devise a new strategy.

  The fact was, it was too late to give up on this story idea. The article had to be sent to his editor in a week. He'd wasted so much time on the Honeywell curse already there was no chance of finding something else to write about before his deadline.

  For his own piece of mind, he had to find a way out of this curse. There had to be a loophole. Contracts came with them, why not hexes? An escape clause. Because he wasn't going to live his life looking over his shoulder for the next witch to beguile him.

  Find a way out of the curse—or join the nearest monastery. The latter wasn't an option. He'd rather die than live the rest of his life with a group of mute bald men in robes. He'd invent a way out of the curse. Even better, he'd figure out how to end it altogether. Three hundred years was long enough for any curse, wasn't it? All of those Halestrom deaths ... Celia had to be satisfied by now, hadn't she?

  When all was said and done and the Honeywell curse was over, he'd have one hell of a story for The World Today. Maybe even find his inspiration for the novel he wanted to write.

  Perhaps he'd discovered that magic and curses did exist, but that didn't change the fact that Luke believed he controlled his own destiny. He'd be the first Halestrom to survive the curse. He would survive. Because he was too smart. Too strong. And just too damned stubborn to do otherwise.

  Chapter Eleven

  "I'm telling you, B, I just don't trust that Luke Hale."

  Miles made the statement matter-of-factly then went back to arranging blooms fresh-picked from her garden, grouping them in an antique crystal vase that had belonged to her great-grandmother. Miles was his own worst critic. After twenty minutes of fussing, he was still unsatisfied with the arrangement.

  "Don't listen to him,” Fallon chimed in from where she sat at the dinette. “He's always been critical of the guys you date."

  "Rightfully so,” Miles asserted in his defense. “Shall I list them and their shortcomings one by one?"

  "Spare me,” Fallon moaned, throwing up her hands. She rose from the chair and then sat cross-legged, smoothing her long black skirt where it pooled over her folded legs, on the floor. With a disapproving glance at her brother she muttered, “Like you don't have shortcomings, Miles. No one's perfect."

  "And some are really, really detestable,” he retorted, plucking a lavender rose from the front of the arrangement and stuffing it in the back.

  "You two make me feel like I've got both sides of my conscience sitting on my shoulders.” Bianca sighed, fetching a pitcher of lemonade from her refrigerator.

  "Which side am I?” Fallon asked with a devilish wink. “I want to be the one with the horns and the forked tail."

  Miles chided, “As if you'd be the angel. Ha!"

  Fallon scrunched her face at him then nudged a grape over her magenta-painted lips. “You're just jealous because I have more fun than you do."

  "There are other, less appetizing words for what you have, darling.” Still fluffing and plucking at the arrangement, he decided, “Luke has a shifty gaze."

  "He does not!” Fallon and Bianca chorused.

  Miles rolled his eyes. “You're both easier than I am. Do you know how pathetic that is?"

  "Don't listen to him, B.” Fallon waved a dismissive hand. “I think Luke's sexy and smart. I say go for it.” She tugged a banana out of the basket and peeled it slowly, her grin overtly sensual. “Have a quick roll in the hay, get him out of your system. You'll feel lots better.” She bit into the banana, lifted a dark brow, and grinned.

  "You make it sound so easy.” Bianca poured lemonade into three tall glasses, trying to hide the fact that her heart was a bit droopy. Luke had left that morning without saying good-bye. Not even a note. He'd simply gone, as if he'd never been there. As if they hadn't been a breath away from making love the night before.

  Bianca would have taken the leap in spite of her rotten luck with men. She'd been ready to give him a good, hard shove onto her bed. They could have satisfied each other ... over and over ... and over again.

  Those thoughts and the images they created made her hot. She swiped perspiration from her brow and bit her lip, her heartbeat pulsing at her temples.

  "I think you'd better watch yourself, B,” Miles suggested, taking a step back to admire his handiwork. He stroked his chin, studying the floral arrangement with a lifted brow. “I've seen you through three major heartbreaks in the last six years, darling. I don't have it in me to do it again so soon."

  "Oh, please!” came an exasperated outcry from the peanut gallery, just polishing off her banana. “Why not stick her in a convent, Miles? That way you'll never have to watch her get her heart broken again."

  Miles shook his head, clucking his tongue. “Tidbits of advice from the girl who wouldn't know love if it slapped her on the a—"

  "Please, you two,” Bianca interrupted, before Miles could finish what promised to be a solid, if not crude, jab. “Stop talking about me like I'm not here."

  "Sorry.” Their simultaneous apologies came with matching repentant grins.

  "Besides, you're only confusing me more,” Bianca admitted, handing Miles a glass of lemonade. “I'm torn already. I must be an idiot to get involved with a man like him, considering my track record.” She set Fallon's glass on the tabletop. “Jasper taught me that some creeps will stop at nothing to get what they want.” With a meaningful glance at Fallon, she reminded her friend, “Sometimes a roll in the hay can be emotionally damaging."

  "Not all men are sleaze balls like Jasper,” Fallon
quietly interjected, her eyes sympathetic.

  Bianca nodded thoughtfully. “Why I didn't see it from the beginning I'll never know.” She sipped her lemonade.

  "He was smooth.” Miles stroked her shoulders. “And you're generous."

  "Don't you mean desperate?” she sneered. It was meant as a joke, but the reality of those words snagged her heart.

  "Desperate? Aren't we all?” Fallon's dark eyes were sincere. Her face, aside from the harshness of her make-up and dyed locks, was soft and feminine. “Don't we all want to find Mr. Right and live happily ever after?"

  "I know I do,” Miles chimed in, and both girls enjoyed a hearty chuckle.

  "A happily ever after may be too much to hope for with Luke,” Bianca realized, sliding into a chair at the dinette. “He's not a forever kind of guy. Besides, with Celia's curse still hanging around...” She sighed, propping elbows on the table then resting her chin on folded hands.

  "Well, then that leaves plan B,” Fallon chirped with a mischievous grin. “Lots of great meaningless sex."

  Bianca laughed, her cheeks burning, and shook her head in disbelief. “Fallon, you never cease to floor me with your blunt comments."

  "Don't feel so bad,” Miles told her with a wink. “She's been my sister for twenty-five years and she still floors me."

  "Keeps you on your toes.” Fallon shrugged then gulped her lemonade. “So, tell me, B. Are you going to cave in to your wild animal desires?” Her eyes gleamed over the glass of lemonade.

  "B, with all of the magic you have, there isn't any way you can hit Fallon's mute button?” Miles grumbled.

  Fallon gave her brother the stink eye.

  Reflectively Bianca plucked a grape from the fruit basket, rolling it between the tips of her fingers. “Why do you suppose he's come here?"

  Miles gave her a deadpan stare. “For a story, Bianca. Having a hard time keeping up, are we?"

  She ignored his good-natured gibe. “But he's a Halestrom. Even men who aren't Halestroms are too afraid to come around."

  Fallon shrugged. “You said he doesn't believe in the curse."

  "I think he doesn't want to believe in it. There's a difference.” She looked at Miles, then Fallon. “And I think that's why he wants to disprove its existence."