by Mary Martel
Love Potion
An Ariel Kimber Novel
Book Two
By: Mary Martel
Copyright © Mary Martel 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of Mary Martel, except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976.
1st Edition Published: November 2017
Cover Design by: Mary Martel
Stock Photo From: Shutterstock.com
All Rights Reserved: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction in whole or in part, without express written permission by Mary Martel.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To my Aunt Chariety.
When I put Brothers of the Flame out there, I forgot to say thank you.
Thank you for coming up with a title for my first book in the series.
And thank you for helping me name my boys.
This one’s for you.
Love you.
xo
Chapter One
It had been three weeks since my mother’s death and I felt like I hadn’t been able to fully catch my breath since. First the shock, then reality had set in. I really was alone in this world, a motherless girl, a fatherless girl. A girl with no family to call my own. Once that reality set in, I had become depressed. It hadn’t helped when Mr. Cole came home in his own depressed state. We mourned our losses together. He thought my mother had taken off on us, abandoning her only child when really, she was as dead as dead could get. Marcus Cole would never find out the truth, not from me he wouldn’t. My lips were sealed.
His brother had been in a terrible car accident and, unfortunately, he hadn’t made it. I had never met the man, but I had been forced to meet his entire family when Mr. Cole had dragged me along with him to the funeral. They were nice and all, but I hadn’t wanted to go in the first place so the entire ordeal had been awkward on my part.
That’s not even getting into the way people had looked at me. They’d met my mother and they hadn’t liked her. And it was made worse by them thinking she’d up and left Mr. Cole while his brother was dying in the hospital, leaving me behind for him to deal with. The looks I’d been given were a lot of things and nice hadn’t been one of them. If I hadn’t been so depressed and deep in my own sorrow, I might have been bothered by this. As it was, I didn’t have it in me to give a crap.
With my mother dead, I needed to figure out what I was going to do with myself. I was seventeen, eighteen in less than nine months, I should be able to take care of myself. Mr. Cole had other ideas. Which is why we were facing off in the kitchen, discussing the future.
I stared at him, trying to not look as freaked out as I was on the inside. I’m almost positive I failed at this endeavor. I had no poker face to speak of. Thankfully, he didn’t call me out on it.
Mr. Cole was an undeniably handsome man.
My mother had never had a shortage of good looking men around for her to sleep with whenever she felt like getting off. Which had been often.
None of the others had been anything like Marcus Cole. Although, good looking, they’d all been from the bottom of the barrel. The kind of men who had had no problem with their lady love being a woman who danced mostly naked on a stage to pay her way in life. There wasn’t anything wrong with being a stripper. If done right, the way a dancer’s body moved while on stage could be, not only highly erotic, but extremely beautiful. Mesmerizing even.
Believe me, I know what I’m talking about.
When I was younger, before my mother simply started leaving me home alone, she would drag me to work with her. I was supposed to stay backstage in one of the dressing rooms, always out of sight. Sometimes I’d sit there quietly like a good girl, doing my homework while pretending to be somewhere else in my head. Sometimes I would mess around with the dancer’s makeup, making myself into a bright red lipstick-wearing, glittery-eyed beauty.
Often times, I would sneak out of the dressing room and make my way to the side of the stage. And I would watch them dance. This is how I know some dancers made it look beautiful, like its own form of art. Vivian Kimber had not been one of those women who’d made stripping and pole dancing into a beautiful, sexy, seductive form of art.
No, much like everything else in her life, my mother had made it look cheap and tawdry.
And the men she attracted and brought home with her had reflected upon this, her being trashy. No matter how good looking they were, it never diminished the fact that they’d been just as trashy as my mother. And a lot of the time, they’d been worse than my mother because they had actually taken notice of me and it had never been good. They had all been the very bottom of the barrel.
Marcus Cole wasn’t at the bottom of anything. The only time he’d even ever gotten close to the bottom of the barrel had been when he was sleeping with my mother.
Harsh, but true.
What’s worse is that he’d paid for it. I tried really hard not to think about this fact because I didn’t want it to taint the way I looked at him. He was the only one out of the whole bunch who was different than the rest.
Starting with his looks.
Marcus Cole wasn’t simply good looking. He was downright handsome. There was a difference. Handsome seemed a more refined word and totally suited to Mr. Cole.
He was in his late fifty’s but looked maybe forty. Tops. He had short, what looked to be incredibly soft, light brown hair with a sprinkling of salt at his temples. That salt at his temples being the only visible mark on him to hint at his age.
His eyes were a soft, warm brown that always seemed to be filled to the brim with kindness when they were aimed in my direction. I had never seen such kindness in a man’s eyes before when they looked my way.
He ran several miles every day on the treadmill and I was pretty sure he lifted weights. Only pretty sure because I had never actually seen him do it with my own eyes. But the evidence was plain to see in the well-defined muscles on his arms. He had a fit body and was in shape due to the fact he’d worked hard to earn one.
He also dressed nice, like no other man my mother had been with before. He was a wealthy business man and he always dressed the part. Like now, standing across from me in his kitchen. He was dressed up in his wealthy, business man attire.
Pristine, winter white long-sleeved button up shirt. He’d left off the suit jacket, but it wasn’t abnormal to see him with his hips resting against the countertop in the kitchen, a coffee cup in his hand with his suit jacket on, for all the world looking like he was getting ready to head into the office for the day.
Given he worked from home, I never understood why he dressed the way he did. Silk tie, expensive looking slacks and black dress shoes that always shined. His clothes looked expensive because they simply were expensive.
He wore them well and they looked good on him.
“I want you to come with me,” he told me for the second time and I shook my head in frustration. “I understand you’re almost an adult, and seeing as I’m not a parent or a legal guardian, I have no real say over what you do. But I want you to seriously consider coming with me, Ariel. Your mother may never come back and, after I sell the house, there will be no place left to come back to. And where will you stay?” He shook
his head and frowned at me. “No. The best place for you is with me. At least with me, you’ll have a roof over your head and the chance at a real future, a bright future.”
I bit my bottom lip hard and the pain chased the tears away, like it always did.
I could not believe this shit.
With his brother dead and my mother gone, Mr. Cole had decided to up stakes, sell his house and move closer to his family. And he wanted me to go with him.
Before school had started and I’d met Tyson and the guys, I might have even considered going with Mr. Cole simply to get away from my mother. Now my mother was dead and I was left devastated at the thought of leaving this place for good. I couldn’t move away from the guys, not when they were my only link to magic. Not to mention, I’d been away from them for three weeks now and I missed Tyson and the twins terribly. I didn’t want to never see them again, but if I didn’t go with Mr. Cole I’d find myself homeless real quick. I didn’t want to be homeless. Being homeless sounded horrible.
I swallowed my heart back down my throat and stared down at the fuzzy black socks covering my feet. I could really use a break from my life right about now.
“Just think about it, sweetheart. You don’t have to make a decision right this second. But you should figure it out sooner rather than later because I don’t think the house will be on the market for long and I plan on being all moved out by the end of the month.”
I felt faint. The end of the month. I counted in my head. Sixteen. He planned on being all moved out of here in sixteen days. And he wanted to take me with him. I had sixteen days to figure out what in the heck I was supposed to do with myself.
Anger, something I hadn’t felt in over three weeks, flared to life inside of me. The lights in the kitchen flickered on and off for a second, shocking me. I blinked slowly, letting the anger go as fast as it had come on.
Holy shit. I needed to get control of myself before I turned into Carrie.
An extremely warm hand landed softly on my shoulder, bringing me out of my thoughts and making me flinch. I really did not want him touching me, even out of kindness, and he’d been doing it a lot lately. Maybe he found it comforting to touch me, to reassure himself that he really wasn’t alone, I didn’t know. What I did know was that I was lying through my teeth to him about my mother and had added to his, already tremendous, grief. I didn’t like lying to him, and I didn’t like feeling guilty when I’d, essentially, done nothing wrong (well, save for the whole lying bit, that part was wrong). Every time he’d gently pat my shoulder in a fatherly manner, my guilt would threaten to devour me, eating me alive.
Mr. Cole squeezed my shoulder gently. “What she did, her leaving, doesn’t say anything about you, Ariel. It doesn’t reflect on you, either. It does, however, say everything about your mother and what kind of a woman she is. You’re not alone. You have me and we have each other. We’ll get through these hard times, together.”
Oh boy.
I liked the sound of that, but at the same time, it sounded terrible.
He gave my shoulder one last squeeze before letting go and stepping away from me.
“I have a business meeting and I won’t be home until late,” he said. “You’ll be okay here by yourself?”
I nodded in answer, my throat too tight to speak the words out loud.
I thought about the last time I’d been left alone and almost cringed but managed to stop myself. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t be left on my own, that would be terrible. Over the past three weeks, the only space he’d given me was allowing me to be in my room by myself. And when we’d gone to the funeral, I’d felt his eyes on me everywhere I went. I think he was afraid I would disappear on him like my mother did.
The guilt I felt threatened to swallow me whole.
He left the kitchen without another word and, as soon as I knew for sure he was in his bedroom, I bolted out of the kitchen and headed towards the stairs. I practically ran up the stairs and locked myself in the safety of my bedroom.
Once I had the door locked, I turned and pressed my back against it. I blew out a deep breath and let my feet slide out from underneath me. My ass hit the carpet and I pulled my knees up to my chest. I wrapped my arms around my legs tightly and held on for all I was worth.
My body started to shake as I felt wetness begin to slide down my cheeks. I was crying. Why was I crying? I hadn’t cried once in the last two weeks and now I was crying. Why? Because I might be moving again? Because Mr. Cole wanted to take me with him? Because I was finally wanted by a parental figure for once in my life, or because my own parent was no longer living and could never ever want or love me? Not that she’d ever done either to begin with. Or, could I be crying because I thought I might have to walk away from the only people I’d ever really had a connection with?
I didn’t know the answers. Maybe it was a little bit of everything.
In the quiet of the house, I was able to hear when the garage door opened and closed behind Mr. Cole’s car as he left.
Alone at last. For the first time in three weeks.
I laid my head on my knees and let my tears soak into the soft fabric of my leggings.
When my tears had stopped, my knees were soaked, and I had to get up to change out of the wet pants. I dropped them into a white laundry basket in my closet. I found a pair of dark, blue jean shorts and slipped into them.
I was pulling up the zipper when the doorbell went off. I froze for a heartbeat before quickly doing up the zipper and pushing the button through the little hole created just for it.
My heart skipped a beat as I thought about who could possibly be outside ringing the doorbell. Could it be Tyson? The Salt and Pepper twins? Maybe even Quinton? I cringed at the thought of it being Quinton. Not because of Quinton himself, but because of the feelings and emotions seeing him might bring out in me. And, if I were being honest with myself, which seemed rare these days, I had to admit that the man scared me just a little bit.
The doorbell rang again, then a third time. Whoever stood out there was clearly starting to grow impatient. My money was on Quinton. He seemed like the type to get annoyed when the door didn’t open up the second after he rang the bell. Who else would it be? All of Mr. Cole’s friends and family called before stopping by.
Knowing it was one of seven, I left my bedroom and slowly made my way down the stairs. I wanted to see them but they’d backed off, giving me the space I had needed. The space I still thought I needed, if only I weren’t now running out of time.
Before my last conversation with Mr. Cole, I would have hidden out in my bedroom, not going anywhere near the front door. Probably not for the next six months or so, I thought it would take me that long to be able to face them all again after I’d run off, taking the cowards way out.
The doorbell rang a fourth time while I unlocked the front door. I was rolling my eyes as I pulled open the door.
“Listen,” I said as I looked up and past the hand raised and ready to start knocking on the door, ready to give whoever it was an earful for being obnoxious with the bell. I said no more because my mouth was too busy hanging open as I gaped at the person standing in front of me.
This…
This was unbelievable.
“Wha… What…” I sputtered.
Chucky’s dimples popped out as he grinned at me.
What in the actual fuck?
Chapter Two
Chucky.
Freaking Chucky had been ringing my doorbell like an A-hole.
The last time I’d seen him, he’d gotten weird on me. He’d knelt at my feet, wrapped his arms around my legs and told me he’d do anything for me, anything. And he’d gotten uncomfortably close to sticking his face in my crotch. I hadn’t liked it much.
Tyson and the salt and pepper twins had been convinced Chucky’s weirdness had been Quinton’s doing. Quinton had admitted to messing with Chucky before with his magic, to them it made sense that he’d do it again. I was in agreement with them. Quint was
a dick that way, and there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for me. Not to mention the small fact that he was all kinds of crazy.
I hadn’t seen Chucky since because I hadn’t been back to school since then. And now he was here, at my house of all places. My house he’d never been to before, and he certainly hadn’t been invited to now. At least not by me he hadn’t. I didn’t see Mr. Cole inviting him over to shoot the breeze with him either.
Chucky lowered his hand and continued to grin at me. I was not smiling. In fact, I imagined my face looked downright scary, all covered in red splotches from crying. My nose was probably bright red, and I’d bet anything my eyes were bloodshot and puffy. I’m sure the scowl on my face didn’t help much either.
Chucky, on the other hand, looked his usual chipper, smug self.
His light, brown eyes twinkled at me, full of a secret I did not want to know. His short brown hair had grown a little bit longer since I’d seen him last, not enough to warrant a haircut because it had been so short to begin with.
His large, broad shoulders were incased in a tight, white short-sleeved t-shirt. The front said something about football and Devils in red, cracked and faded lettering. His dark blue jeans were faded in places and frayed at the right knee.
I never realized before how Chucky’s clothing did not match the quality of clothing his friends wore. Chucky’s clothes were worn and clearly had been laundered a great deal. The Pretty Princess, Ken and the minion had all been dressed in expensive clothing. Chucky’s weren’t expensive. What they were was absolutely normal.
I wondered how he fit in with the rest of those snobs.
Must have been his winning personality.
When he continued to grin at me while saying nothing, I mumbled, “Uh, Chuck, what are you doing here?”
Way to go, Ariel Kimber. Rather brilliant. I was surprised I’d managed to get even that out past my shock.
His dimples went away as he frowned at me. His eyes turned calculating, watchful, and I was suddenly reminded of just who it was I was dealing with here. Chucky was not my friend and likely never would be. Not because he hadn’t tried, but because I did not want him as a friend. Frankly, I did not want him as anything in my life.