by T. M. Cromer
Copyright © 2019 by TM Cromer
* * *
All rights reserved.
* * *
ISBN: 978-1-7338198-4-8 (Digital)
* * *
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
* * *
Cover art: Deranged Doctor Designs
Editor: Trusted Accomplice
Books by T.M. Cromer
Books in The Thorne Witches Series:
SUMMER MAGIC
AUTUMN MAGIC
WINTER MAGIC
SPRING MAGIC
REKINDLED MAGIC
LONG LOST MAGIC
FOREVER MAGIC
ESSENTIAL MAGIC
MOONLIT MAGIC (coming soon)
Books in The Stonebrooke Series:
BURNING RESOLUTION
THE TROUBLE WITH LUST
A LOVE TO CALL MINE (coming soon)
THE BAKERY
EASTER DELIGHTS
HOLIDAY HEART
Books in The Fiore Vineyard Series:
PICTURE THIS
RETURN HOME
ONE WISH
Look for The Holt Family Series starting March 2020!
FINDING YOU
THIS TIME YOU
INCLUDING YOU
AFTER YOU
THE GHOST OF YOU
Contents
Dedication
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
From the Author…
Also by T.M. Cromer
Dedication
Sometimes we find our tribe in the least likely of places. This book is dedicated to those women: Gen, Kate, and Sara!
* * *
Find out more about my talented friends:
* * *
Genevieve Jack
Kate Bateman
Sara Whitney
Chapter 1
Ryanne Caldwell woke, heart pounding and mouth dry. What the hell had she just dreamed about? Two sisters—goddesses at that—and a cursed object? Snippets really. Someone declaring her “the Chosen,” and then a vision of a necklace. The rest of the nightmare faded to obscurity.
A trip to the bathroom provided a much-needed drink of water for her sore, parched throat. She’d woken herself screaming, which was rare enough to make her question what she’d eaten the night before that might’ve triggered a nightmare of such magnitude. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at her. No caffeine after four p.m. No sugary goodness past noon. Yep, not food related.
Next, she ran through the list of shows she’d watched on TV. No murder mysteries, time travel, or unconventional movies to warp her thought process.
Dismissing the bizarre dream as simply that, she checked the clock.
Four-twenty a.m.
She swore under her breath, threw on her ratty old robe, and padded to the living room. No getting back to sleep after a dream of that nature.
“A full workload today on only three hours sleep is going to suck,” Ryanne complained aloud to no one.
The sound of her own disgusted tone echoed off the barren walls of her tiny two-bedroom apartment. Plain white—ugh! She cast the room a distasteful look. Really, after three years in the same place, she could add some damned artwork or colored paint. Anything to make the space more habitable. More home-like.
Even after thirteen years, a home without her sister, Rylee, didn’t bear thinking about. Maybe she should consider getting a cat?
With a dismissive shrug, Ryanne headed for the coffee maker.
Milk and sugar in the mug, she waited for the single brewer to work its magic and make her the drink of the gods. A shudder shook her. Yeah, better not to think about gods or goddesses. That dream had been wack. Who in their right mind would consider her a Chosen? What did that even mean?
She toyed with the idea of calling in sick to work. A mental-health day. As a star employee of Thorne Industries for the last two years, she’d been the perfect little worker bee. She always showed up on time, stayed late, and hadn’t used one single day of vacation.
“Maybe I’m due,” she muttered.
Perhaps her brain was on overload and, as a result, was fried. It would explain the freaky visions her mind had conjured.
The more the idea of playing hooky bounced about, the more she warmed to it. She could lounge around, eating ice cream and catching up on rom coms. Let Nash pull a research assistant from the main floor. All his female workers were eager to be singled out. Her coworkers would backstab each other with letter openers in their desire to catch his eye.
And who could blame them? Nash was, well, Nash.
A sigh escaped, followed by a self-deprecating snort.
Working for the great Nash Thorne had made her immune to his charms. Or nearly immune. If, on occasion, she became short of breath in his vicinity, only she was the wiser. And if there were times when she would look up to find him standing over her, staring with those intense, all-knowing jade eyes, she was quick to suppress her lustful feelings.
Ryanne was certainly not as naive or as starry-eyed as she’d been when she first started working for him. A relationship was off limits. The arrogant little speech he’d honored her with on her first day made that quite clear.
“If you intend to be my top research aide, there will be no hanky-panky.” He’d gone further to state that he didn’t want her drooling over the ancient tomes in his possession.
Jerk.
Really, who used the term “hanky-panky” in today’s day and age? He’d acted as if she’d be unable to control her baser urges in his presence. The conceit of the man had cured her of her brief fantasy almost immediately.
If she were forced to be brutally honest with herself—which she would go to the grave avoiding—she’d have to admit that on the days when he crowded in next to her to help translate a text, his unique scent turned her body into a live wire.
The musky, citrus smell of his skin had her wanting to bury her nose against his wide, muscular chest and inhale for all she was worth. And if, on her loneliest of nights, she fantasized about running her tongue along his corded neck or nuzzling his firm jaw with its perpetual two-day beard growth, who could fault her?
The blame could be firmly placed at the door of her dating dry spell. God, how long had it been since she got laid? She’d lost track around the two-and-a-half-year mark. Her vajayjay was ready to stage a strike.
Overly warm, Ryanne put the back of her hand to her sweaty brow. Maybe she really was coming down with something.
Screw it. She was calling off work today. Decision made. She grabbed her smartphone, whipped off a concise email to Nash, and copied Liz in Human Resources.
Both Nash and Liz tended to arrive early to work and would take the extra half-hour to check for new messages. They’d be shocked Ryanne had asked for a day to herself, but her absence shouldn’t cause a hardship.
She’d
settled into her plush leather couch with her second cup of coffee and palmed the remote when a banging on her door caused her to jump. The splash of scalding liquid on her hand brought a curse to her lips and tears to her eyes.
Ryanne raced to the sink and ran her hand under cold water.
“Sonofabitch!” she muttered.
The banging sounded again. Who the hell was at her door before five a.m.? She ignored the intrusion.
The cold water took a small portion of the pain away.
“Ryanne?” Bang, bang, bang. “Ryanne! Open the door!”
Shock and Nash’s frantic voice made her hustle to comply with his demand. Wrapping a dishtowel firmly around her right hand, she hurried to open the door.
Damned if she didn’t have to catch her breath when she took in his tousled head of blond hair on top of those well-formed shoulders that made her mouth water. Clearing her throat was a necessity.
“Nash? What are you doing here?”
“Your email said you were sick.”
“Oh-kaaay. And you’re here why?”
His slashing dark blond brows dipped, and a deep frown line appeared in the center of his forehead. The scowl indicated he didn’t appreciate the fine art of snark. If she hadn’t been used to his thundercloud expression, she might’ve been a bit intimidated.
“You’re never sick,” he stated as if he was speaking to a dim child.
“Still not getting why you’re here, Nash. It’s not life or death if I was able to take the time to email you.”
“You’re ungrateful, you know that?”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten.
Really, she shouldn’t be surprised. The man hardly slept and only lived twenty minutes away. She should’ve known he’d show up on her doorstep. Hell, if she’d taken the time to consider it, she would’ve been shocked if he hadn’t.
That was the essence of Nash. He needed to control every aspect of his life. Nothing was allowed to derail the day. But the man seriously tried her patience. If he weren’t her boss… well, if he weren’t her boss, she’d probably be all over him like—nope! Not going there! That road was forbidden.
With a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes.
The intensity with which he was studying her caused her to swallow—hard.
When his frown deepened and he slowly raked her form with his gaze, her body went on high alert. Her breasts tightened with want, and her vagina became uncomfortably wet.
Crap!
She hated his ability to turn her on. No encouragement needed. For God’s sake, he was only checking out her sleeping attire. Mr. Always-Impeccably-Dressed probably mentally faulted her mismatched tank, sleep shorts, and tattered robe.
Once again, she felt her brow to see if her forehead was overly warm.
“Do you feel faint?” Nash surged forward, scooped her into his arms, and kicked the door shut with his foot. “I’ve got you.”
JesusMaryandJoseph! She was going to do it! She was going to lose control and lick him. As she leaned in, ready to take the plunge, he dumped her on the couch. Literally dumped her.
“Dude!” she yelped.
“Sorry. I lost my grip.”
* * *
Nash nearly laughed at Ryanne’s incredulous glare.
Whew, that was close! He’d nearly lost his ever-loving mind and succumbed to the overwhelming urge to kiss her.
He perused her scantily clad body at length for a second time.
While some people would consider her clothing cover enough, her ugly robe opened just enough to show off the outline of the hardened tips of her breasts and created havoc in his mind—as well as other parts of his anatomy. She possessed the type of body to make a grown man weep. She had a petite, hourglass figure that short-circuited his brain.
Okay, focusing on her curves was not the smartest course of action.
In an effort to protect his sanity, he grabbed a quilt from the back of the sofa and tucked it around her. When she was wrapped from neck to ankles, he stepped back and silently praised his quick thinking. A second glance showed that even her purple-painted toes were sexy as hell. He was in deep trouble.
Clearly irritated—her burning eyes said as much—Ryanne struggled to free herself from the heavy material.
He perched on the edge of the couch, hip to hip, hands on either side of her body, and held the quilt in place. “If you’re sick, you should stay bundled up.”
“I’m not that kind of sick, Nash.”
Once again, he studied her—his favorite pastime when she wasn’t looking.
Purple highlights blended perfectly with the nearly black hair. Her dark brows were shaped in a sharp arch, and her eyes were almost as dark as her hair and eyebrows. One had to look closely to make out her irises. They were a dark coffee-brown, practically black in appearance. Currently, they blazed with an unholy light.
Nash’s lips twitched.
Ryanne’s pique was a common enough occurrence—almost daily in fact.
Call him twisted, but he absolutely loved to see her fired up.
Those magnificent eyes would flash, and color would flood her cheeks. Her plump cherry lips would part in outrage and inspire fantasies no boss should entertain. Her passion brought to mind long, steamy nights spent in front of a fire, making love in every position known to man, then discovering a few extra for good measure.
His gaze fell to her mouth.
Whenever she smiled, her mouth split wide and showed a generous amount of white, lighting the room with its brilliance. But right now, when she was irritated and her lips were compressed as a result, he wanted to kiss the ever-loving hell out of her to bring back the joy to her face.
He recalled the first day he’d seen her in the conference room where she was being interviewed.
A goddess among mere mortals.
She’d looked up and beamed at him from her seat, clearly excited at the prospect of becoming his assistant.
Because he’d been in serious danger of falling at her feet and begging her for sexual favors right on the spot, he’d drummed up some stupid little speech about no romance and not drooling on his important papers or books. If he’d have dumped cold water over her head, he probably couldn’t have shocked her more. His cousin Liz, who was conducting the interview, had shot him a horrified look as if he’d lost his damned mind.
Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn’t been able to find it since meeting Ryanne two years previously. Really one year, eleven months, and twenty-two days if one wanted to be exact. When he wasn’t thinking about business, he was consumed by thoughts of her.
And wasn’t that the crux of the matter? He’d been smitten the moment he saw her in all her technicolor glory, and nothing she’d said or done in the interim had changed his mind. No, time had only worked to reinforce his feelings. He was a Thorne, and family legend held that Thornes only loved once.
Oh, screw it! He was going in for the kiss. He’d waited long enough.
Angling his head, he shifted closer and released the blanket to allow her partial freedom. “I’m going to kiss you, Ryanne. If you object, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
Her indrawn breath and wide eyes curled his lips. He couldn’t help his self-satisfied smile. The sheer wonder on her face was a sight to behold.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He lowered his head to hers, and when her lips opened to accommodate him, he explored the depths of her mouth. The very earth seemed to shake when their bodies connected. Somewhere in the close distance, dishes rattled. Oxygen left his brain, and his lungs went into overdrive when she gently sucked on the tongue invading her mouth. Christ, he could lose himself forever in the incredible taste of her.
Lightning lit up the sky beyond the balcony door. Thunder boomed within a second of the flash, and a woman’s laughter echoed about the room.
Icy fingers caressed his spine, and he nearly came out of his skin.
His head whipped up and about.
No one was the
re.
“Did you…hear that?”
Confusion apparent, she asked, “What?”
“I thought I heard…a woman…laughing,” he panted out, short of breath from their kiss.
Ryanne jackknifed to a sitting position. Her forehead connected with his chin.
“For fu—” Nash bit off his curse and rubbed his throbbing chin. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sorry,” she muttered. “This morning is getting weirder and weirder.”
Her words caught his complete attention. Weird was never a coincidence in the Thorne world. “How so?”
“I had a strange dream. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing if you had to call in sick during the early morning hours.” Unable to help himself, he traced her kiss-swollen lips with the pad of his thumb. “That’s unlike you.”
Her bewilderment was adorable. Did she not believe he was aware of his surroundings? Aware of her? Hell, most nights he couldn’t get a full night’s rest because he lay awake, replaying the day’s events. He’d spend the entire time recalling every word they exchanged, every gesture she’d made. Of course, those thoughts brought to mind his ever-present desire for her. He nearly snorted in self-disgust.
All strangeness forgotten, he leaned forward. With his free hand, he cradled the back of her head in his palm. “Are you interested in picking up where we left off?”