“No, it’s not like that. You’re unique, Jake. I’ll bet you’ve never even had a cold.”
“How did you know that?”
Her slender shoulders lifted in a little shrug. “That doesn’t really matter. But the potion could not work on a man like you.”
“Well, that explains it. A revenge fuck and a love potion that didn’t work. Christ, I thought I’d heard it all.” He whipped around, marched to the door and yanked it open. “You need to leave. Now.”
She shook her head. The knob slipped through his fingers as the heavy oak panel swung shut. What the hell?
“I know I hurt you. I had no idea Elise lied about the two of you. I thought you’d broken her heart.”
“So you set out to break mine.”
Moisture glistened in her eyes. Chelsea was a better actress than he thought. She nearly had him fooled, even now. She tipped her chin, and he saw the girl he was crazy about in the soft tilt of her lips, the warmth in her eyes.
Christ, he was doing it again. Falling for her act.
Falling for her.
“I didn’t think you had a heart to break. As I recall, you did a pretty good job of acting like a callous jerk…at first.”
He couldn’t deny the truth. After their first meeting, he’d treated her as if he were a hungry wolf on the prowl. But still…a love potion? Jesus, did she really believe what she was saying?
“So, a bunch of chemicals are to blame for all of this? What exactly did I ingest?”
“Nothing harmful. The potion is simply a medium for the physical manifestation of the spell.”
Physical manifestation of the spell.
Yeah. Right.
“Look, Chelsea, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but I’m too damn busy to get involved. It’s time for you to go.”
She took another sip of wine, then another. Slowly. Like she had all night. “There’s more.”
“I don’t have time for more.”
“Yes, you do.” She downed more wine, this time in a gulp. “I’m a witch. A real, honest-to-goodness witch. My powers aren’t very advanced, but they come in handy when I need to produce a fancy home-cooked dinner or my car needs a quick wash.”
“And you brewed a love potion?”
“Actually, I didn’t. My friend did. And there something else you need to know.”
He glanced around for some sign of a camera. Had she gotten her own reality show? Could she have a microphone hidden somewhere, maybe in her blouse? For all he knew, the button at her cleavage might have a lens tucked in it.
“Okay, I understand. Now how about getting on your broom and flying out of here.”
“Not yet. You need to understand what I’m saying. What happened between us wasn’t the result of a potion.”
“What happened between us was one night of really great sex. Nothing more.”
She stood, placed her glass on a nearby table, and crossed over to him. “I’m crazy about you. And I think you have feelings for me.”
Crazy was right. “I thought you were beautiful and sexy as hell. But I’m not sitting around writing sonnets about it.”
Chelsea wove her fingers together in a loose knot. “I don’t want sonnets. I just want you.”
“Sorry, but I have a firm policy against dating witches, and I have no idea what effect love potions have on my cholesterol. So—” He pressed a hand to the small of her back and led her to the door. “I’m going to have to show you out.”
“The love potion didn’t work because you’re immune to it. What happened between us was chemistry.”
If only Chelsea didn’t look at him like she really believed every word that poured from her luscious mouth. “And why, precisely, am I immune to it?”
She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, a soft sweep of her lips against his that sent so much blood pouring from his brain to his cock, it seemed a miracle he could think at all.
“You’re not going to like this, but it’s time you knew the truth.”
He threw up his hands in surrender. He’d might as well go all the way with this charade. “Okay, I’ll take the bait. Was I abducted by aliens? Did they see this coming and fortify me with love-potion antibodies?”
She reached for her glass and drained it. “Love potions don’t work on warlocks. But I didn’t know that when I gave you the antidote.”
“Warlocks?” The word sputtered from his lips despite his intention to present a cool front.
“It’s time you knew the truth. You’re not like every other guy. You have warlock blood running through your veins.”
Just his luck, he’d met a beautiful, smart, sexy girl who was utterly crazy. Damn!
“I know it’s hard to believe.” Chelsea swept her fingertips over his cheek. Need rippled through him like electricity through a high-voltage wire. “I don’t know if I’d even believe it myself if I didn’t know for sure. The spell didn’t work because you are a warlock…well, part warlock. Your grandmother’s in my coven.”
Now she was bringing Granny Liz into her fantasy. Time to pull the plug. He opened the door again. This time, it didn’t swing shut on its own. “I’ve heard enough. I really need you to leave.”
Her mouth settled into a grim line. “I really am sorry, Jake. I tried to make this right when I gave you the antidote. I hope you can forgive me.”
She turned to leave, but he reached for her. She spun around, eyes wide as she faced him.
“There’s only one problem with your goddamn antidote, Chelsea. It didn’t work.”
Pulling her lip between her teeth, she studied him. She gulped a breath as if fortifying her courage. “The antidote couldn’t work. What we had was real. Entirely unexpected and absolutely crazy, but real. If there was a potion to get rid of this emptiness, I’d take it myself.” She pressed her palms to his chest, hope shining in her eyes as she peered up at him. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I wish you’d give me another chance.”
He caught her hands in his and gently extracted himself from her touch. Crazy or not, the temptation to kiss her again was almost too hard to resist. He had to end this. Now.
“I can’t do this, Chelsea. Consider yourself forgiven, but I refuse to play this game.”
Chapter Twelve
Jake leaned against the doorway, willing himself not to go after Chelsea as she descended the stairs and walked out of his life for good. Damn, this was hard. Harder than he’d ever imagined.
Maybe he was as crazy as she was. A witch? Just his luck to find a woman who was smart, sexy, and made his heart feel whole, and she claimed to be a witch. And not just any witch, but a witch who’d hexed him in some half-cocked scheme for revenge.
The girl could cook too. He could almost smell the mouthwatering aroma of meat and potatoes that filled her place right before she confessed her connection with that psycho from the bachelor auction. Maybe it was the so-called antidote that made the food taste so damn good.
She’d looked so beautiful that night, her hair falling in perfect layers around her face, her smile just for him. Amazing how she’d left the shop after her assistant’s shift began, managed to have a meal on the table that might have been cooked by a chef, and still looked like that.
My powers aren’t very advanced, but they come in handy when I need to produce a fancy home-cooked dinner. She’d been talking about their meal together, hadn’t she? Did she believe she’d used magic to put prime rib on his plate?
Ridiculous. Absolutely goddamn ridiculous. Magic certainly wasn’t required to put supper on the table. His mother had been able to whip up a meal in a matter of minutes every afternoon after he got home from school. She’d send him out to play, and fifteen minutes later, the house smelled better than a five-star restaurant. She certainly hadn’t used spells.
Nagging doubt muttered in his ear, but he silenced it. This wasn’t about his mother or the fact that in all the years he lived at home, he never saw her wash a dish or load the dishwasher, yet the dishes were
always clean, dried, and properly put away after dinner. It wasn’t about the fact that he’d never actually seen his mother load laundry in a washer and dryer, yet clean, folded clothes appeared in his room twice a week. It wasn’t even about the way she always had her students’ papers graded and ready to go home on Monday morning, but he never witnessed her making a single mark on a kid’s work. Not even a smiley face.
Jesus, his mother wasn’t a witch. Neither was Chelsea. But for some reason, she believed she was.
Not that it mattered. He didn’t care if she was a goblin, fairy or Joan of Arc reincarnated, she’d admitted to dosing him up with some love potion and trying to make him fall in love with her. Why did he always attract the crazies?
Bruja! That waiter, staring up at her in what could only be described as terror, shouted the Spanish word for witch. Poor bastard probably had a head injury. But still, he’d insisted Chelsea was a witch. He’d babbled about broken goblets and spilled wine. Jake rubbed his jaw. The sound of glass shattering against ceramic tile had reached his ears, but he’d brushed it aside in the midst of the commotion. But he had heard it. And yet, a silver tray bearing long-stemmed crystal sat unscathed on a nearby table.
The photographer’s scowl flashed into his mind. The son of a bitch nearly had a tantrum when his camera malfunctioned. Chelsea had actually smiled and waved at him. She’d whispered something, her voice so hushed he couldn’t quite make out the words. “Wipe out” didn’t make a lick of sense, but that’s what he’d heard.
He felt an invisible fist deliver a sucker punch. Jesus, it did make sense. She wiped out the camera’s memory. And they never hit a red light. Not ever. Nothing but green lights. That was a first on those busy, crowded streets. He shifted, bumping his elbow against the door. He’d tried to open it twice. Each time, it shut in his face.
He shook his head again. Harder. He was getting tangled up in this absurdness. Witches and warlocks.
Right.
If she were to be believed, he was a warlock. Well, at least part warlock. If that was the case, how the hell had he managed to be sacked a dozen times his last season? Why hadn’t he simply willed himself out of the tackle’s reach?
But still, he had to admit, he’d always felt…different. Not enough that it was a big deal. He’d never been sick a day in his life. No colds. No flu. No stomachaches. Ever. His mother still had a collection of Perfect Attendance certificates from school. And even in the league, he’d never been sidelined by an injury. He’d shaken off every hit he took, no matter how vicious. A columnist even had the balls to wonder if it would take kryptonite to bring him down.
Another sucker punch. Harder this time. Hard enough to knock some sense in him. None of it mattered. Right now, he didn’t give a damn if he was a warlock and she was a witch and they’d raise a family of miniature wizards and dragon tamers. If he was under a spell, so be it. He’d been happier in those few days with her than he’d been in his whole damn life.
Only one thing mattered.
Getting Chelsea back.
* * * * *
Chelsea trudged through the door, kicked off her shoes and flopped on the couch. Stretching out, she reached for the remote. No chick flicks tonight. She needed a comedy. And fast. Anything to take her mind off the disaster with Jake.
It was over. Any chance she had with him lay shredded on the floor of Café Seven. She certainly couldn’t blame him. Telling him the truth had been hard and necessary and absolutely futile. He didn’t believe her. And even if he did, he’d never forgive her.
Not that she deserved it. She’d pay the price for her foolishness for a very long time.
This was an ice-cream night. No doubt about it.
A few blinks and swishes of her hand, and a small bowl filled with chocolate chunk ice cream floated to the coffee table. Drat, she’d forgotten the whipped cream. Another flick of her hand and the canister drifted from the kitchen to the living room. Nothing like a decadent treat to soothe an aching heart.
The doorbell chimed. Probably her mother. No doubt Granny Liz had paid her grandmother a visit and her mother had been dispatched to perform damage control.
“I’ll be right there,” she called, reluctantly putting her plans to devour her ice cream on hold. She thumped to the door, her bare feet heavy against the hardwood floor.
The door swung open. Not her mother. Worse. Way worse.
Jake stood on the porch, his expression unreadable. Her stomach plummeted clear to her toes.
“Sorry to come by unannounced, but I left something here.” His gravel-edged voice kindled a sweet flame deep in her core.
“I don’t think so. If I’d found something, I would have brought it to you.”
“You wouldn’t know what to look for.” He looked over her shoulder. “May I come in?”
“Sure.” She ushered him in. “What is it you’re looking for?”
He closed the door behind him. His mouth slid into a slow grin. “You.”
“Me?” Was this a cruel joke?
He advanced on her, his steps as slow and steady as his smile. “Yes, you.” His arms enfolded her and he pulled her to him, so close every beat of his heart thudded against her chest. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me. Call it a spell. Call it a hex. I don’t even give a damn. All I know is I can’t stop thinking about you.”
Her arms looped around his neck. She tipped her chin to meet his gaze. “Tell me this isn’t your revenge.”
“I don’t want revenge. I want you. I want to see where this thing leads. I’m crazy about you. Absolutely batshit crazy.”
“Batshit crazy?”
The dimple at the left side of his mouth deepened. “The worst kind. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”
“Oh, so that’s what I’ve got.” She raised on her toes to kiss him, an unhurried caress. “I’m crazy about you. I’m way beyond a cure.”
She gasped as her toes no longer touched the floor. Swept up in Jake’s strong arms, she put her fingers to work on the buttons of his shirt.
“You really should wear more t-shirts,” she laughed, giving up on the tiny holes and forcing the sides apart. Threads popped and buttons rained down around their feet.
“I’ll take it under advisement. Guess I should find out where your bedroom is.”
“Up the stairs. To the right.”
Moments later, Jake stared down at her, his breaths a little more rapid than they’d been earlier. “I just thought of something.”
“Do tell.” She couldn’t hold back her smile.
“If you’re a witch, why didn’t you just transport us up here?”
“I have a lot more luck with nonliving matter. Cells are tricky, if you know what I mean. One little mistake, and we might end up like that movie with the man and the fly.”
His brows knit as he stared down at her. “So you’re telling me you know your limitations?”
“It’s one of the first rules we learn. Besides, I enjoy being in your arms.”
“Get used to it.” He picked up the pace, closing the distance between the stairs and her room with long, sure strides. She opened the door for him with a flick of her wrist.
“Impressed?”
He carried her to the bed and deposited her on the comforter. “You really did that, didn’t you?”
She offered a little smile. “Yep.”
“Incredible. Maybe I really am nuts. You sure I’m not seeing things?”
“Positive.” She focused her gaze on the strip of bare skin revealed by his open shirt. “This particular skill actually comes in handy.” A brisk wave of her hand, and the shirt peeled from his body, landing in a heap behind him. Her eyes drank in the sculpted planes of his lightly furred chest. Her mouth went dry, and she reached for him, pulling him down to join her.
“But I get to undress you.”
She swallowed hard. God, the look in his eyes set everything ablaze. She was wet for him already, so wet and hot it was all she could do not to strip him bare
and pounce on him.
Jake dipped his head to kiss her. His tongue explored her mouth, ravishing, pillaging, destroying any trace of shyness. Her fingers wove through the dark hair on his chest, savoring the texture against her palms, the hard, chiseled pecs, the flat, ridged belly. She trailed a finger over his belt. The leather strip slithered from his body. He lifted his head, glancing toward the discarded belt, and rolled away long enough to strip his trousers and briefs from his body.
He prowled over the bed. Primal hunger filled his eyes. Chelsea dragged in a breath. Jake was magnificent. And now he was hers.
“You’re beautiful, Chelsea.” His eyes heavy-lidded with desire, he peeled her clothes from her body until she lay bare before him. His need rippled through her like a pulse, and she longed for him like nothing she’d ever known.
She rolled onto her side, supporting herself on one arm, and leaned over him. “You’re mine tonight.”
With sure movements, she straddled his hips and leaned forward, caressing his delicious mouth with a slow, leisurely kiss. He moaned against her lips, arching his back, his cock straining for the precious contact. “Not so soon,” she whispered, positioning herself over his legs.
She snagged one perfect earlobe between her teeth, teasing him until he moaned again. Soft aromas of musk and aftershave stirred her senses to a frenzy. She dipped her head to the pulse point at the base of his throat to anoint his skin with her lips, and then she marked his flesh with kisses, all the while denying his cock what it wanted most.
Dusting his abs with soft presses of her mouth, she savored the taste of his taut skin, the hint of salt and that texture so uniquely his own. His cock twitched in a silent plea for her kiss. Her breath caught in her throat. His shaft was beautiful, long and full and perfectly formed. She curved her fingers around the rod of steel and silk, cupping his balls with her other hand as she caressed him with tender strokes. His pelvis arched, seeking more of her touch, more of her kiss. Bending closer, she inhaled his essence, the clean, healthy musk of a man in his prime. Her tongue traced a delicate line from his sac to the head of his cock. A bead glistened at its tip, a perfect pearl. She lapped it up gently, then swirled her tongue around the head until he writhed with need.
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