Love Potion #7

by Tara Kingston

  This is what you wanted.

  She wanted him to hunger for her, to lust after her, to think about her day and night. She wanted him to look at her as if she were the only woman in the world he needed.

  But she wasn’t supposed to like it.

  The carnal hunger in the depths of his dark eyes wasn’t supposed to ignite a fire in her. It wasn’t supposed to trigger a longing for his touch or a need to peel his shirt and trousers from his body and discover exactly how sleek and hard his well-muscled chest felt pressed against her breasts. She wasn’t supposed to dream of digging her fingers into his biceps and settling herself over his lean hips.

  She gave her head a brisk shake, as if that could possibly clear it. This wasn’t going according to plan. Not at all. She’d intended to regard him with cool disdain and teach him about rejection. Instead, here she was, leaning against a gilded mirror in a bathroom, struggling to breathe normally instead of in the desperate little gasps that escaped her throat.

  She forced air through her nose and into her lungs. All those hours of yoga had done more for her than just allowing her to fit in the same jeans year after year.

  Calming breaths.

  Slow.

  Deep.

  Just as she wanted him inside her.

  Oh God!

  He’d glibly mentioned second base. At this rate, she’d drag him into this fancy ladies’ room and give the tabloid photographers some shots that would pay their rent for months.

  She wanted to pound the gaudy mirror with her fist. What had come over her?

  Rubbing her temples, she pulled in another breath. She wouldn’t let a mortal get the better of her. He was a man. Nothing more. A handsome, virile, perfectly formed man. But a man nevertheless.

  She held the power to bring him to his knees.

  It was all up to her how she used it.

  Retrieving her lipstick from her purse, she swept the deep berry hue over her mouth. Her favorite shade, sensuous but not too dramatic. Just another weapon in her arsenal. Her fingers brushed a rebellious tendril back in place, then another. She was ready to face Jake again.

  She could do this. Seduce him. Make him crazy for her. Then simply walk away, out of Jake’s life forever, as if his touch and his kiss hadn’t left her utterly breathless. After all, he was the one under a spell.

  Chelsea pushed open the heavy door. Fresh confidence lifted her chin, quickened her steps. She’d bewitched Jake Wilder. Not the other way around.

  A figure flashed by, a blur in black and white, just on the edge of her peripheral vision. She felt the impact, the jolt of smooth metal against her elbow, a blink in time before her shoulder collided with a bony torso.

  “Oh, good heavens.”

  Where are some flying monkeys when you need them?

  Chelsea stared down at the man who lay sprawled at her feet. A waiter. Of course. That would explain the tray of beverages that now lay splattered and shattered over the polished marble floor. She’d brought a man to his knees. Oh, yes she had. Not the right one. And not the right way. Crashing headlong into a server as she hurried back to her table didn’t count.

  “Sorry…sorry.” She repeated the words like a refrain. Crouching at his side, she looked around, desperate for a napkin. Something. Anything to remedy this mess. The last thing she needed was for Jake Wilder to discover she was a clumsy, lust-addled ditz.

  The waiter gazed up at her. Daggers cut through the fog in his expression. His attention settled on her chest as his mouth curved into a thin, altogether unpleasant smile. “Your blouse.” Simple words, but from his lips, they seemed a curse.

  She glanced down at the rapidly spreading purplish-red stain over her right breast. Lovely. Just lovely. The whole staff would come rushing to investigate any second. She had to make a move. And fast.

  Time for desperate measures. Directing what she hoped was a winning smile at the waiter, she pressed a finger to her lips. “Shh.”

  She stood and waved a hand over the chaos of broken crystal and puddled wine.

  “Erase.”

  The tray and everything that had once rested upon it vanished. The waiter scrambled to his knees and choked out a few gasping syllables, but she shushed him again. Her fingers swept over her blouse. Luckily, she’d selected unadorned ivory silk for this evening. “Whitewash.”

  The stain vanished.

  The waiter’s lids closed. His head slumped forward and he toppled like a scarecrow that lost its stuffing. Chelsea knelt beside him, cradling his head in her hands. She glanced to the bar. Sorry, but I have to use one of my hands for something other than a pillow. Just for a moment. One flick of her wrist. One whispered word. “Restore.” The tray, glasses and wine reappeared, good as new and ready to be ferried to a table.

  She slid her hand under the unconscious man’s forehead just as a contingent of waitstaff came to the rescue.

  “I’m so sorry,” Chelsea said. “I was rushing back to my table when I collided with this gentleman. I’m afraid he took a spill.”

  Antoinette rushed to their side. “Good heavens, what’s happened to Tomas?”

  “Looks like she tackled him.” Jake’s voice. He peered over Antoinette’s shoulder. “I hear there are a couple of teams looking for new blood on their offensive lines.”

  A scowling waitress crossed her arms, surveying the scene like an investigator on a crime show. “I know I heard glass breaking. Where is it?”

  Antoinette’s brows arched as her mouth thinned to a stern line. “Clearly, you were mistaken.” She crouched at Chelsea’s side. “Oh, thank heavens, he’s waking up.”

  The unfortunate Tomas pushed himself up on his elbows. One look at Chelsea, and he sat bolt upright. “Bruja,” he muttered. He lifted a finger to point at her. “Bruja.”

  One of the motherly types in the group huddled close and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Do you want us to call someone? Bruja—is that your wife?”

  “Christ, I hope not,” one of the waiters mumbled, not quite under his breath. “It’s Spanish for witch.”

  Chelsea nibbled her lip. A guilty twinge roiled her stomach. Bad enough she’d knocked him flat. At least he seemed no worse physically. If only she could wipe the memory from his mind as easily as she’d wiped away the spill. Manipulating inanimate objects was easy. Manipulating humans was well beyond her capabilities. Pity Bridget wasn’t around to whip up a potion to do the trick.

  Inching away from Chelsea, Tomas struggled to stand.

  “You didn’t see—” He continued his retreat. “You didn’t see what she did.”

  “I’m sorry I bumped into you. I should have been more careful.” She didn’t have to feign the regret in her voice.

  “Paul, summon an ambulance. We need to have him checked over,” Antoinette ordered in a tone that might have made a general jump.

  The waiter shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary.”

  Antoinette wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Accidents happen.”

  Eyes like polished obsidian glared at Chelsea. “I did not hit my head.” Tomas wagged a finger at her face. “Get her away from me. I know what I saw.”

  “Paul, call for an ambulance. Now.” Antoinette bit the words between her teeth. Chelsea backed away. A warm, comforting male arm weighted her shoulders. Jake’s scent washed over her, soothing her frayed nerves.

  “I know what I saw.” Tomas was louder now, fear and confusion marking each word. “Where did it all go?”

  “Where did what go?” The motherly type drawled.

  Tomas met her question with an incredulous stare. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. The broken glass. The wine. The goddamn tray. It’s all…gone!”

  Shaking her head, the older woman strolled to the bar. “Silly goose, it’s right here. You were in such a hurry, you walked right past it.”

  “No…I saw it…you don’t understand.” He broke away from Antoinette and wobbled to the drink-laden platter. “This i
sn’t possible. I saw the glasses shatter. I saw the wine spill.” He pointed a quaking finger at Chelsea. “It’s her. She did this.”

  “Tomas, you may have suffered a head injury.” Antoinette clamped her hand over his forearm. “You’re just a little confused.”

  The waiter fixed Chelsea with a wide-eyed stare. “I know what I saw.” He took a step in retreat. “She’s a sorceress. A beautiful sorceress.”

  Well, that was kind of him. But the terror in his tone twisted her insides into knots.

  “Come on, let’s get you out of here.” Jake drew Chelsea to him, tucking her against his shoulder. His sturdy body felt good.

  Too good.

  “Not yet,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t feel right. That poor man.”

  Antoinette managed to soothe Tomas to silence until the paramedics arrived. The emergency responders offered sympathetic nods as the waiter ranted about a lovely witch who’d deceived them all with her beauty. Exchanging a knowing glance, the duo settled Tomas on a gurney and wheeled him out to a waiting ambulance.

  This was why she seldom used her powers. People noticed. And they didn’t like it. Not one little bit. No matter how helpful she tried to be. She’d learned that lesson young. After a friend’s favorite doll fell victim to a scissors-happy little brother, Chelsea restored the toy’s long blonde hair to its former glory. She’d expected squeals of delight and a hug. Instead, Chelsea found herself battling tears as her friend ran screaming for her mother. The only one who’d emerged unscathed that day was Terri’s mischievous little brother, more than content to let his mother convince Terri that the fashion doll’s Mohawk had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Her friend never spoke to her again, unless whispers behind her back counted.

  If only she hadn’t tried to clean up the mess she’d made the easy way. Tomas would most likely be no worse for his experience. But still, he’d been none too happy about the magic show he’d witnessed.

  Jake leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “We’ll slip out the back. Avoid any photographers.”

  “Okay.” She didn’t protest when he took her hand in his. She told herself she didn’t have the strength, but the truth was, it felt good. It felt right. That simple contact warmed her all over.

  He held the door for her. He was good at playing the gentleman. She’d give him that. And then she heard the epithet he muttered under his breath.

  A flash went off in her face. Drat! The last thing she needed Elise to see was a picture of her sneaking into an alley with Jake plastered on some scandal sheet.

  Desperate situations called for desperate measures.

  Instead of ducking behind Jake, she faced the camera with a smile. And then she waved. “Wipe out,” she whispered. If only it were as easy to erase an event from a human’s memory.

  Jake shot her a glance but kept going until they reached his truck. His brow furrowed as he opened the passenger side. “You’re certainly not camera shy.”

  “No reason to be,” she said lightly.

  “Worthless piece of—” Behind Jake, the photographer groused about his camera, his volume amplifying as curses spewed from his thick lips. She stole a peek around Jake’s shoulder just in time to see the man pitch a memory card to the ground and crush it beneath a hefty foot. He stomped off, still muttering curses until he’d turned the corner and his gutter-mouth no longer assaulted her ears.

  Listening to the jackass had been a small price to pay. Problem solved.

  “Huh, you’d think the sleazy son of a bitch would check his equipment before he went stalking.” Jake looked past her, appearing to survey the alley for any sign of unwanted guests. Turning his attention back to her, a rakish smile slid over his features.

  Chelsea’s throat tightened. Had she become the dessert menu? “Do you think he’ll come back?”

  “Not likely. But if he does, he’s really going to regret his technical difficulties.”

  With that, Jake dragged her to him, all traces of the gentleman gone as he ran his palms along the length of her body. He was hard in all the right places. Thick and demanding, the ridge of his arousal pressed into her belly as he cupped her ass in his hands. Releasing a sigh, she canted her hips to cradle him. He kissed her then. Ravenous and possessive, holding nothing back, taking everything she had and giving of himself in equal measure.

  He released her lips, only for a breath, just long enough to tip her chin and meet her gaze.

  “Bet he’s sorry now,” she said. “You really do know how to put on a show.”

  He shook his head. Slowly. Very slowly. His breath came in ragged pants against the cusp of her ear. “That was no show. I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

  Her pulse thudded in her ears. He hadn’t even gone past first base, and she was weak in the knees and ready to tear the clothes off his body.

  Swallowing hard, she managed a weak smile she hoped looked coy rather than dazed. “Really? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “Liar.” His smile would have melted an ice witch’s heart. “I could barely keep my hands off you all night, and you know it.”

  She gave him a little shrug. “I had my suspicions.”

  He smoothed her hair with his fingers, the primal hunger in his voice tempered with a far rarer emotion. “You’re beautiful. Damn near irresistible.”

  Her heart did a little flip in her chest. His words intoxicated her. And for one moment of glorious insanity, she forgot a potion had prompted them.

  His lips grazed hers then. A fleeting touch. Tentative. Almost shy. How very odd, after the scorching heat of his last kiss. His tongue flicked out, tracing the tender flesh of lips slightly swollen from his brief, fervent possession. The emerging stubble of his beard rasped against her chin. The sensation propelled a fresh shiver along her spine. He cupped her face in his hands. She couldn’t read his gaze in the darkness. Couldn’t see the passion in their depths. But she could see his smile, the look of wondrous discovery on his features, as though he’d never really looked at a woman like he looked at her.

  A whirlwind. Just like Dorothy, she was slipping away. Drawn deeper and deeper into the vortex. Each touch tearing her from reality, from reason, from the ability to resist this temptation. There’d be no chance of rescue. No chance of escape.

  Not that she wanted to free herself. His gentleness stirred her as much as his raw hunger. She drank in this sense of mutual discovery, as if each had stumbled upon something very rare and quite precious.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth.

  “Ah, you shouldn’t do that.” His husky voice transformed to a playful growl. “That drives me wild.”

  “That photographer…he might come back.” The words came out breathless, as if she were very young and very innocent…as if all of this was new to her.

  Crazy thing of it was, it did seem so very new. She’d always prided herself on her level head. Passion was the stuff of romantic dreams with bare-chested studs and voluptuous heroines. She’d never been swept away.

  Until now.

  “In that case, I better get you out of here. I know it’s late.” Dutiful reluctance flavored his tone. “You want me to take you home?”

  “That might a good idea.”

  “What if I told you I wanted you to stay with me tonight? Would you think I’d crossed a line?” Raw vulnerability flavored every word.

  “It’s too soon, Jake.”

  “I know.” His fingers threaded through her hair. He traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb. Slightly rough, an athlete’s hands, the texture brought her senses to life. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do. I’ll respect any limit you set. But I’m not going to lie to you. I want you in my bed.”

  Her arms snaked around his neck. She stood on her tiptoes, breathing in his essence, drinking in his heat. She yearned for the mental fortitude to devise a witty retort, light banter, anything to keep him at a distance. But the words would not come.

  She d
idn’t want him at a distance. She wanted his touch and his kiss and the taste of his skin beneath her lips.

  She wanted him.

  Chapter Six

  Gazing down at her, Jake’s eyes blazed with an intense hunger. “I want you so damn much.” His husky growl unleashed a fresh shiver along her spine. “You’ve bewitched me, darlin’.”

  Elise’s tearstained face flashed through her thoughts. The image thrust shards of ice between her ribs. Chelsea dropped her arms to her sides. She had to be strong. She had to remember what brought her to this place.

  No matter how much she wanted to forget.

  “I’m sorry.” Uttering the words was an act of will. “I can’t do this.”

  He nodded his understanding. “It’s too soon. I know.” He cupped her face against his big, sturdy palm. “Too damn soon.”

  “Will you drive me home?” She forced out the words.

  “Sure, if that’s what you want.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “The invitation to Café Seven still stands. Mancuso’s got his brother’s band in tonight. Best seats in the house. I promise.”

  “His brother’s band?” Finally, something that didn’t tempt her in the least.

  “Yeah, his brother Rob.”

  “Rob Mancuso?”

  “The one and only. You know him?”

  By the eye of newt! Rob Mancuso fronted one of the most popular touring bands in the country. Packed stadiums and sold-out shows. And now, a small Richmond club would showcase the low-key performer’s relaxed acoustic rhythms and bluesy rock.

  “I’ve never met him, but I know his work.”

  “I figured you would. So what do you say? Will you join me?”

  A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “On one condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “You may not like this.”

  “Out with it, woman.” His sly grin could have coaxed a Puritan to stir a caldron.

  “It’s a little embarrassing.”

  He stroked his jaw as if deep in thought. “Need I remind you that you just tackled some poor son of a bitch in a bow tie and an apron?”