by Amy Star
She was breathing hard, trying to catch her breath as she fought to control her anger.
“Fine,” she said angrily. “Let’s get this over with.”
Using her finger to follow along, she read the incantation, concentrating with all her might on the way her hair had looked fresh from the salon. When she finished reading the three short lines, there was an audible pop and a blast of wind that came out of nowhere and blew her hair away from her face.
“Whoa,” she said as the book flew out of her lap and back onto the shelf.
She got up from the floor, rushing to the bathroom mirror to look at her hair, a wide smile on her face despite being annoyed at the pushy book. The spell had only taken a few minutes of her time, leaving her plenty of time to get over to Mason’s house.
She skidded to a stop when she caught her reflection a few steps into the bathroom.
“No, no, no,” she shouted, aghast at her reflection. “No!”
Staring back at her was her face, and her honey colored hazel eyes. But instead of light blonde with streaks of pastel artfully blended in, her hair was strawberry blonde. Well, more strawberry than blonde. Her hair was red—perfectly matched to her skin tone, natural looking light red.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. This isn’t what I was trying to do.”
She groaned, grabbing her brush and putting it up into a pony tail, as if that would distract from the fact that her hair was red.
How am I going to explain it to Mason? Clara wondered frantically, kicking herself for letting the book push her into a rushed spell. She didn’t have time to fix it, and as much as she wished she could just undo the spell, she knew that trying it again could lead to another disaster worse than the one that was already staring her in the face.
She was shaking, part of her angry at this insane turn of events that she would have to explain away. When laughter bubbled out of her throat, she was surprised.
“Maybe he won’t notice,” she said to her reflection, still laughing.
But she knew he would.
Defiant, she tilted her chin, squared her shoulders and decided that she didn’t care. Her hair looked good, the soft color flattering. It was noticeable, but not as bold as a dark or bright red would have been.
“It’ll be alright,” she said, still refusing to let something so small ruin her evening.
She stormed out of the cabin with purpose, giving the book the side eye as she walked past the shelf. The book didn’t react, still sitting in its rightful place on the shelf as if nothing had happened.
“You’re going back in the box when I get back,” she said, but she knew she didn’t mean it.
Pain in the ass or not, the book was her only connection to her magical powers. There was no one else to guide her, and aside from a few talents she’d had for years that she didn’t realize were magic, she had a lot to learn about being a witch. Even if the book would’ve allowed her to put it back in the lock box, Clara didn’t have the heart to do it. It just meant too much to her.
She walked out of the house, locking the door as she always did to keep any mischievous critters out of her cabin when she was gone.
She got onto the four-wheeler and rode it down the smooth road between her home and Mason’s. Her hard work had paid off, and the warm sun and near constant breeze had already dried the dirt beneath her tires. The road was nearly perfect, with only a few ruts that she would work on over the course of the next few days.
By the end of her first week on the mountain, the road would be passable, making it more pleasant for the people who would eventually come to live on their quiet mountain. She would miss having Mason and the mountain all to herself, but a little community was exactly what she needed to chase away the loneliness that extended solitude would bring.
The fact that the members of the community would have their own little bit of magic was a plus. She didn’t fear revealing her status as a witch to a bunch of werebears. Maybe not right away, but eventually, she would be able to trust them enough to reveal her secret, and they would share theirs, not realizing that Clara already knew.
A soft smile tilted her lips at the thought of them revealing what she had known since the other night when Mason had accidentally revealed himself. If only he knew that she knew. Would he be so gruff? Would he embrace her presence?
His massive, two-story cabin loomed, so huge yet somehow blending into the landscape so perfectly it was almost like it belonged there. She couldn’t wait to see the inside and enjoy a nice hot meal with a nice, hot man.
Mason met her at the door, arching an eyebrow at her hair, but saying nothing. She parked in front of the door, and he held out his hand to help her off the four-wheeler.
“Thank you,” she said, taking his hand.
“You’re welcome,” he said, bringing her hand to his lips. “I thought you were never going to get here, but it was worth the wait.”
Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt almost weightless as he led her up the stairs and opened the front door.
If his greeting was any indication, dinner was going to be everything she anticipated and more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I like your hair,” Mason said; his tone was nonchalant, but his emotions were telling a different story.
He liked it, maybe a little too much. Clara had been trying to come up with an explanation, but it wasn’t until that moment when she finally decided how she was going to explain away such a drastic changed when he’d seen her so recently.
“I bought this shampoo and conditioner, and I thought that it refreshed the color that you already had. I bought the strawberry because I love the scent of strawberries, but I didn’t know that what I bought was a rinse in color. In red. It’s meant to keep hair already dyed red fresh, but since my hair was blonde and not red, it turned it a softer shade of strawberry blonde. I don’t know how long it will last.”
“It suits you. You’re feisty, like a redhead.”
“Is that a compliment?”
“It is from me,” he said, taking another bite of his dinner and smiling.
A shiver ran up her spine, his eyes on her as his words sank in.
“Subtle,” she teased.
“I learned a long time ago that you don’t get what you want by dropping hints. I like you, Clara. A lot.”
“Really?” she said, her tone teasing him. “I sorta felt like you were trying to get rid of me or something. You didn’t seem too excited about the idea of me being here.”
He set down his fork, wiping his already clean mouth with a cloth napkin as a force of habit before he spoke.
“You’re right about that. I apologize. You have a very strong personality, and that takes some getting used to.”
“You’re used to me already?”
He laughed.
“Not even close. But I can appreciate a woman who holds her own as well as you do. You know what you want and you go after it, which is what I’ve done my whole life. You’re ambitious and driven, and I think that was why I struggled to get you at first. You don’t care what other people think about your plans. That was hard for me at first, especially since those plans don’t really jive with my plans.”
“And here I thought you’d asked me to have dinner with you so we could chat about something other than your conquest of the mountain.”
“This is what I’m talking about,” he said, brown eyes twinkling. “You force me to own my shit, and that’s not something I’m used to from an outside source. I hold myself accountable all the time. But you take it a step further, and you make no apologies. It’s refreshing.”
“You’ve just had far too many people kissing your ass for your own good.”
“You’re right about that, too.”
“I promise I won’t do that.”
“You’d be doing me a favor.”
“Anything less would be a disservice to you. You would start to expect the kind of nonsense you were used to before.”
“Ca
n’t have that,” he said wryly.
“Absolutely not.”
Clara tried to keep a straight face, but she ended up laughing indelicately, too amused by their banter to hold back.
“You wouldn’t last in the boardroom,” he said when she finally contained her laughter. “Your face gives your feelings away.”
“There are worse things in this world than an honest face,” she said, standing up to help him clear the table.
“Don’t even think about it. You’re my guest.”
“You cooked, I clean.”
“I’ll meet you in the middle. You pick a bottle of wine and find a comfortable spot by the fireplace, and I’ll clean the kitchen.”
“How is that a compromise?”
He flashed a winning smile at her.
“It’s not, but I was hoping that you wouldn’t notice.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll grab the wine and meet you by the fireplace. Just point me toward the wine cellar.”
“It’s down that hall, to your right,” he said.
She wandered down the hall, the sound of Mason hand washing their dinner dishes behind her. Her shoes hardly made any sound on the soft, polished wood floors, the creaks and moans she was accustomed to hearing in her cabin and in her grandmother’s home completely missing in the luxurious space.
The wine cellar wasn’t the dark, dank place she’d expected. Caramel-colored tile floors were the perfect accent to the stained wood walls and rows upon rows of neat wooden shelves. She’d been expecting one or two different kinds of wine, but the cellar was filled with bottles of every imaginable wine.
“There’s gotta be at least two hundred bottles in here,” she grumbled to herself.
“Need a little help?” Mason said, coming up behind her.
She jumped.
“I didn’t hear you coming,” she said.
He put his hands on her shoulders, so close she could feel the heat coming off his body.
“Red or white?” he asked without moving.
“I like red.”
He leaned over so he could point to a shelf to the right and down the aisle.
“I keep my Italian reds on that shelf. Third row up, there’s one called Amarone that I think you’ll love. Grab it and I’ll meet you by the hearth.”
“Does it need to be chilled?”
“No, but go ahead and open it over there,” he said, pointing to a little machine in the corner. “Put it in the holder and push the red button and it will uncork it for you. It needs to breathe for a little bit for the best flavor.”
“And here I thought I was fancy because I didn’t get my wine out of a box.”
Mason chuckled.
“You’re plenty fancy, but once you taste this wine, other reds will be ruined for you.”
She nodded, putting the wine bottle carefully into the machine, then pushing the button. It was silent, uncorking the wine with absolute precision. When she grabbed the open bottle and turned around, she was surprised to see that Mason was already gone.
“Hmm,” she said, wondering why he had even come into the cellar in the first place.
When she found her way to the fireplace, there was already a fire crackling merrily inside. Two wine glasses were on the end table near the couch, and Mason was nowhere to be seen.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she finally saw him in the darkness.
“I didn’t see you there,” she said.
“I see that,” he said, smiling.
He was sitting on a thick, bearskin rug in front of the fireplace, his back against the sofa, one knee bent so he could rest his elbow on it, watching her looking for him in the darkened room. She sat down beside him, handing him the bottle of wine and watching the fire dance in the hearth while he poured some in each glass.
“You build a fire faster than seems possible,” she said, admiring the perfect placement of the large log that was already starting to glow.
“I’ve had a lot of practice. Ever since I moved out here, I make it a point to make a fire whenever I can. Sometimes, I just enjoy sitting near it, listening to the sounds it makes.”
“Like now?”
“Yes, like now,” he said. “But this is much better.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re here.”
“Which surprises me, honestly, because I was sure you didn’t want me here,” she teased.
“I can’t stop you from doing what you want to do, so why fight it? That’s one thing we have in common; neither of us give up once we decide that we want something.”
“I’m glad you finally realize that,” she said, laughing a little and taking a quick sip of the wine.
“I think the only person on this mountain who is more stubborn than you are is me.”
“We make a good pair,” she said. “Together, we’re unstoppable.”
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
She took another sip, closing her eyes and moaning appreciatively.
“You’re right. This is going to ruin me.”
“Being with me, or the wine?”
She looked at him, deciding to throw caution to the wind, even if it turned out she was reading his intentions wrong. What did she have to lose?
“Both,” she said boldly. “I don’t know if another man will measure up after you.”
“I’m not even sure I can measure up to your estimation of me.”
“You can. All you have to do is be yourself and leave the rest of that nonsense behind.”
She set her glass on the end table beside the sofa, then took his glass from him and did the same. He didn’t fight it, but his smile said it all. She wasn’t the only one that wanted this.
Clara watched him, surprised by how different this man was from the pompous, self-absorbed asshole who had assumed that she couldn’t wait to offload her family’s precious land on him. He was still the same Mason, but there was so much more to him than the ambitious, cutthroat side of him. He was multifaceted, and beneath that hard exterior, he was a kind, gentle man. She wanted to show him that side of himself—to prove that he was more than a closer.
She didn’t say a word, didn’t wait for him to seduce her. She knew what she needed from him, what she’d hungered for since she’d admitted to herself that she was more than just a little attracted to him. She knew it was no coincidence that Fate had put them both on the mountain alone, and she wasn’t going to let this chance pass her by.
She leaned in, kissing him tentatively. Emboldened when he leaned into her kiss, she kissed him harder, letting the passion consume her for a moment and forgetting everything else.
They were both smiling when they pulled away, eyes locked, his dark brown eyes boring into her soul.
“You were teasing me earlier,” Mason said. “But something tells me you’re not teasing now.”
“You’re wrong,” she said. “I was hinting. I was disappointed when you let me walk away.”
“I never imagined that you would want anything to do with me after the way I treated you.”
“You’ve more than made up for it.”
“No, I haven’t,” he insisted, shaking his head. “At least, I haven’t yet.”
This time when they kissed, their worlds collided almost violently. Gone was any caution, along with any lingering doubt that this was what they both had been longing for.
Already too aroused to tread lightly, Clara tugged at the shirt in his waistband, pulling the soft blue shirt up and over his head. Tracing her fingers over his muscled chest, she admired his smooth skin, hot beneath her touch.
Mason held his breath when her roving fingers touched the top of his waistband, quickly working his belt buckle open then unbuttoning his jeans.
He stood, pulling her up with him and kicking his jeans off in one smooth motion as he unbuttoned her shirt and pushed it off her smooth shoulders.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she said, kissing him roughly as he undid her jeans.
; “Say it again,” he said, his breath short as his arousal grew.
“I want you.”
He kissed her again, then his hands were in her hair, and she realized that she was standing there in just her bra. She’d been so enthralled by his kiss that she hadn’t even noticed that he’d pushed her panties and her jeans down all at once.
The fire warmed her backside while his fingers worked the clasp of her bra.
They stood there in front of the fire for a long time, naked, wrapped in each other’s arms, swaying ever so slightly to music only they could hear.
His body fit so well against hers that it was hard to tell where she ended and he began. But she was losing her patience with the dance, and when she tugged at him, he melted to the floor with her, kissing her on the way down. He laid her on the thick, fire-warmed rug in the middle of the floor, propped up on his elbows to hold his weight off her.
She moved her hips against his, but he was in no hurry despite his hard length pressed against her thigh.
“You’ve waited this long,” he teased, kissing her throat then working his way to her shoulder. “You can wait a bit longer.”
“I don’t think I can.”
“Anything worth having deserves time.”
Before she could argue, his mouth covered hers again, kissing her roughly until he let her go, her lips slightly swollen with need.
He laid her back down on the rug, sitting above her so he could look at her. The cool air and the heat of the fireplace felt good against her skin, but it was Mason she wanted. He worked his way down, kissing between her breasts, then her soft stomach, then just below her navel.
When his head dipped between her legs and she felt his mouth on her, a tiny cry escaped her lips. His tongue swirled around the tiny nub of flesh, sending fire shooting through her entire body in one massive explosion of heat and light.
Clara closed her eyes, fingers curled in his hair, dancing with the skilled movements of his tongue. She was struggling to catch her breath, calling out his name and chasing an orgasm that was just out of her reach. It was building so fiercely that her body was trembling and writhing beneath him as the tension grew much too quickly.