The Cottage on Pumpkin and Vine

by Kate Angell

  He would never hurt Grace. He had, however, disappointed her, he knew. He was there to smooth things over. To make amends.

  “I’m leaving.” Cheryl had one foot out the door. “Lock up behind me.”

  Cade set the dead bolt. Spooky and pretend had long since left the store. He stood alone, amid a graveyard of empty racks and cleared shelves. A splash of light snuck beneath a dressing room door. He heard a groan. A shuffle. A bump. A heavy sigh.

  “Uh, too tight.”

  He walked toward the back, stopping outside the dressing room. The door was cracked a fraction. He rested a shoulder against the wall, and glanced inside. Grace as Catwoman blew his mind. A feline fantasy.

  The three-way mirror tripled his pleasure. He viewed her from every angle. Hot, sleek, fierce. The lady could fight Batman in her skintight black leather catsuit and come out the winner.

  After a moment she scrunched her nose, slapped her palms against her thighs. Stuck out her tongue at her reflection in the mirrors. He saw what had her so frustrated. Sympathized with her disappointment. Her costume didn’t fit. The front zipper hadn’t fully cleared her cleavage, which was deep and visible. She wore no bra. She gave a little hop, and her breasts bounced. Full and plump. He felt a tug at his groin. Superhero lust.

  He cleared his throat and made his presence known. She caught his image in the corner of the glass, and reached for the fitting room chair, positioning it between them.

  Like that would keep him from her. He should’ve looked away, but couldn’t. He sensed her embarrassment. Her panic. Flight? She had nowhere to go. He blocked the door. He wasn’t leaving until they’d talked.

  “Archibald’s going to love your costume,” he initiated.

  She didn’t find him funny. Her gaze narrowed behind the molded cat-eye mask with attached ears. Her fingers clenched in her elbow-length gloves. Inspired by the movie The Dark Knight, she’d added a whip and a gun holster. Her thigh-high stiletto boots were killer, adding five inches to her height. Her image would stick with him forever.

  She backed against the center mirror, and nervously fingered the open flaps over her breasts. A yank on the zipper broke the tab. The metal teeth parted, and the gap widened, revealing the round inner curves of her breasts. A hint of her nipples. Dusky pink. All the way down to the dent of her navel.

  Her mouth pinched. He thought she might hiss. Possibly sharpen her claws on him. “What are you doing here?” came out softer than he’d expected.

  “I came to see you.”

  “You’re seeing a lot of me.”

  That he was. “Need help?” he offered. He wouldn’t mind touching her.

  She flattened one palm over the opening in the costume, and shook her head in defeat. Her color heightened. “I rented out the medium size an hour ago, and thought I could squeeze into the small. I can’t, and it’s all your fault,” she blamed him. “I ate that burger and fries last night, and I’m still bloated. I’m one big gap.”

  He liked her gap. He had a solution. “If you can’t get the zipper up, I can help you take it down.”

  Silence collected in the dressing room. The mirrors reflected her uncertainty. She breathed in. He breathed out. The air had that quiet-before-the-storm quality. Expectancy, awareness. The swell of the inevitable.

  “I’m naked underneath.”

  “Commando here, too.”

  One corner of her mouth tipped up. “Something else we have in common.”

  He moved toward her, stepped around the chair. Closing in, he finger-traced her cleavage. She didn’t flinch or cringe, which encouraged him to say, “I’ll take off my shirt, so you don’t feel alone when I peel down your top.”

  “Once our tops are off?”

  “We work our way down.”

  “Down . . .”

  “No surprises. You had my big reveal under the table at Amelia’s during lunch. Thanks to Archie.”

  Grace had gotten an eyeful. She was ready for a second look. She needed to clear the air first. “I’ve been thinking, and have come to a decision. I won’t push Halloween on you ever again. You have every right to avoid the night.”

  “Too late. I’ve changed my mind. I’ll go to Amelia’s party. I’ll even wear a costume. Preferably a T-shirt.”

  “That’s a one-eighty.”

  “Relationships require compromise.”

  “We’re in a relationship?” she echoed his words.

  “Let’s see how the sex goes, then we’ll decide.”

  “I haven’t had a lot of partners.” She felt he should know.

  “You’re not perfect in bed?”

  “I’m sure you’re good enough for both of us.”

  “Bet on it, babe.” He laughed.

  He hooked his fingers in the hem of his T-shirt, tugged it over his head. His hair fell over his brow. His lean cheekbones slashed to his jaw. His mouth was sexy. The three-way mirrors picked up his muscular physique, added depth and definition. Power. He was his own superhero.

  Off came her mask, the better to see him. Her skin was warm, and the catsuit stuck to her. He inched the leather over her shoulders and down her arms, exposing her breasts and belly. She flipped back her hair, baring her neck. Astonishment etched his features.

  “You have a cat tat.” He sounded incredulous.

  “A henna tattoo for Halloween.”

  “Catwoman,” he said. “I saw the tattoo in the crystal ball.”

  “I saw your hands.”

  “Was I touching you?”

  “Not then, but feel free now.”

  He did. Hunger glittered in his eyes. Desire flared his nostrils. He went down on one knee, helped her out of her boots. Her socks. He stood again, heel-toed his tennis shoes. Kicked them aside.

  Her catsuit came next. One minute the leather hung off her hips, the next, it wrapped her ankles. Cade’s jeans disappeared as quickly. But not before he snagged a condom from his wallet, stripped the foil packet, and sheathed himself. They faced each other naked. Anticipation played between them, a sexual tease.

  “Sit or stand?” he asked.

  “I’ll straddle you.”

  He positioned the chair, and sat. She slipped onto his lap, as if she was meant to sit there.

  Breast to chest.

  Thigh to thigh.

  Sex to sex.

  Every part of their bodies sought its counterpart.

  Arousal brought his mouth down on hers, and he kissed her with a thoroughness and intensity that stole all breath and thought. His tongue thrust between her lips, tasted and seduced. She kissed him back, giving, taking, craving him.

  He touched her, all over. Her shoulders and breasts. He circled her nipple, then her navel with his forefinger. Sensations overtook her. She squirmed, dug her nails into his shoulder. Her breath bathed his neck, his chest.

  More kissing. More touching. More moans.

  He embraced her and drank in her soft sighs.

  She fanned out her fingers, ran them up and down his back, feeling the flex and flow of his muscles. The man was built. Her legs tightened around him. He felt good wedged between her thighs. Primal intimacy.

  Hot, heavy, their breathing came together.

  As did their bodies.

  He cupped her bottom, angled her to accept him. She was wet, slick, when he entered her. They caught their reflection in the mirrors. His penetration, the roll of his hips, the rocking of their bodies, their building climax. Their raw need. Triple sexual.

  Time went away and she began to unravel. Her orgasm stretched to the breaking point. She moaned. Stiffened. Shattered.

  He came a second after her. His release of breath was rough, rushed. His expression going from pain to pleasure.

  Spent and satisfied, he held her with the possessiveness of a forever lover. There was no doubt this was the beginning of a relationship like none they’d ever known. His chin rested on the top of her head. Her cheek pressed his chest. She listened as his heartbeat slowed. Steady and comforting.


  “We’re going to be late for the party,” Cade finally commented, his voice low, not wanting to disturb their closeness.

  “Very late.”

  “Our costumes?”

  She tipped back her head, affectionately nipped his bottom lip before saying, “I rented out everything but a few T-shirts. You can choose between orange shirts designed with either I Don’t Do Costumes, Now Step Aside, You’re Standing on My Invisible Dog, or If One Door Closes and Another One Opens, Start Worrying, ’Cause Your House Is Probably Haunted.”

  “That’s it?”

  She pursed her lips. “There is one more. . . .”

  “I’ll wear it.”

  “Only if you’re absolutely sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Halloweener was the most remembered costume at the party.

  Mesmerized by You

  JENNIFER DAWSON

  Chapter 1

  “Oh dear. I’m afraid we have a problem.” Aunt Iris’s worried voice sounded over the cell, raising the hairs on the nape of Chloe Armstrong’s neck.

  “Problem?” Chloe asked, keeping her voice light and airy. Problems were the last thing she needed. She’d coerced her workaholic best friend into taking this trip. Chloe had promised a stress-free, chill Halloween weekend. If she didn’t deliver she’d never get him out of the emergency room again. She crossed her fingers for extra luck and cautiously said, “I hope nothing is wrong.”

  Jack Swanson, best friend in question, gave her a sharp glance from his position in the driver’s seat.

  Chloe shrugged and hoped her expression was reassuring.

  “Well, see, I had an unpleasant visit from the exterminator, and I’m afraid I have bees,” Iris said, as though that explained everything.

  “Bees?” Chloe prompted.

  Jack rolled his melted-chocolate eyes and grinned, shaking his head. He was used to her family’s antics and no longer took them all that seriously.

  Which was smart. After all, how could bees possibly impact their weekend trip to the small town of Moonbright, Maine?

  Chloe relaxed into the seat and took in the brilliant fall foliage that lined I-95. The vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows of the leaves were gorgeous this time of year in this part of the country. They’d just passed a billboard advertising the world’s largest pumpkin patch when Aunt Iris spoke again.

  “Bees. In the walls.” Her voice lowered several octaves, like she was a CIA agent relaying a precious secret code that would save the world. “I’m afraid the house has to be evacuated immediately.”

  Chloe straightened in her seat and rubbed her temple. Oh no.

  They were supposed to stay at Aunt Iris’s large, colonial house for the weekend. Chloe leaned her forehead against the window.

  No good deed went unpunished.

  Her mom, concerned about Aunt Iris, who’d been a widow for the past six months, had begged Chloe to go visit the older woman. Seeing as she’d always loved a good road trip, and not wanting to be alone with her aunt all weekend, she’d decided to turn it into an adventure.

  And all adventures required Jack, no matter how reluctant he was.

  He might not understand, but it was her duty to make sure he had fun and he’d been working way too hard lately. They were only thirty and Chloe worried he’d have a heart attack if he didn’t relax.

  She’d sold the trip as the perfect, stress-free break. Fall colors, pumpkins, and long walks down Main Street where nobody knew them. They could walk around and not have to stop and talk to anyone. People in the big city took for granted the luxury of anonymity. In a small town she couldn’t even run to the grocery store without someone stopping her for a chat.

  She’d created the perfect fall getaway, and Moonbright had been deemed the only place in coastal Maine to celebrate Halloween. Now they’d been on the road for the past three hours, and it was the town’s busiest weekend all year; where on earth were they going to stay?

  Chloe took a deep breath. Okay, maybe she’d misunderstood. “Bees? In the walls?”

  “Yes, dear,” Aunt Iris said. “I understand this isn’t ideal.”

  Chloe gritted her teeth. Oh yes, how perfect. A house filled with bees. Not a disaster. Just not ideal.

  Jack’s easy expression pinched back up and he glanced at her, the questions clear.

  Chloe offered him a reassuring smile, that he didn’t come close to buying, then turned to the issue at hand. “I’m sure it will be fine, could you maybe have the exterminator come Sunday when we’re gone?”

  There was a soft sigh over the line. “I’m afraid he’s said the house isn’t safe to stay in.”

  Great. “So should we turn around and go back home?”

  Jack flashed her a horrified look and mouthed, “Home?”

  She waved him off and he narrowed his eyes at her.

  She pointed frantically at the road.

  He pinched her and shifted his attention back to the highway.

  “Oh no!” Aunt Iris’s voice rose to normal levels. “I have it all arranged. We’re going to be staying at my friend Amelia Rose’s bed-and-breakfast. I have it all set up. You and Jack have a room, and I’ll stay with Amelia Rose in her quarters. There’s a big party that starts at five and goes until the witching hour. It will be great fun. The whole town shows up over the evening, and everyone is dressed in costumes. There are trick-or-treaters, candy, food, and punch. I’m positive you’ll love it. Much more fun than my stuffy old house.”

  “Auntie, I didn’t bring a costume.” Chloe assumed they’d be spending the night on the couch watching old Cary Grant movies, walking around the small town, and sitting by the water. She’d brought jeans, sweatpants, T-shirts, and sweaters.

  Jack gave her another what-the-fuck look.

  Aunt Iris made reassuring noises. “All taken care of. I got the last costumes in town for you and Jack. They’ll be adorable.”

  Oh God, this was going to be a disaster. Jack wasn’t much of a costume guy. He’d hate this.

  Okay, so Chloe would delay that little surprise. And really, once he got into the spirit of things, he’d have a good time, she’d make sure of it. She always did. She phrased her question carefully, so as to not tingle his spidey senses. “I see, and what might that be?”

  She crossed her fingers and prayed for Batman and Catwoman.

  “Well, since it’s Halloween, there wasn’t much left to choose from. The only costumes they had in your size were Dorothy and the Scarecrow, or Tarzan and Jane.” Aunt Iris giggled, sounding like she was enjoying herself far too much. “I thought Jack’s good looks would be wasted as a scarecrow.”

  Chloe had to choke down the laugh.

  He was going to kill her.

  Murder her in her sleep.

  He’d find out he’d be walking around half-naked all night soon enough, but until then, she’d keep that bit of information to herself.

  At least they had a place to sleep. And it would be fun.

  They just needed to adjust their expectations.

  Chloe put her hand on the GPS button. “What’s the address?”

  “Eight-sixteen Vine. It’s the cottage on the corner of Pumpkin and Vine.”

  “Cute,” Chloe said, already inputting the new coordinates. “We’ll see you soon.”

  “Can’t wait, dear,” Iris said and the call disconnected.

  Brow raised, Jack glanced at her. “And what was that about?”

  Chloe beamed at him, giving him her most winning smile. “So, you know how I promised you a quiet weekend in the country?”

  “Yes.” His voice low, and slow. Filled with wary suspicion. Ah, alas, he knew her too well.

  “There’s been a change in plans.”

  “Why do I not want to hear this?” His voice that of the truly resigned.

  She widened her smile even further and bounced around in her seat. They’d have fun. She was sure of it. “Come on, where’s your sense of adventure?”

  His too-handsome face winced. �
��I expended my sense of adventure when we were twelve and you dragged me into the woods and we got lost for twenty-four hours.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Um, excuse me, but that was your fault.”

  “How was it my fault?” His voice rose, but he couldn’t hide his amusement.

  It was one of their oldest, most hotly contested arguments, all delivered in good fun, of course. “You didn’t bring the compass.”

  “Chloe, how was I supposed to know I needed a compass?”

  “I told you we were going into the woods.”

  “Not off the path.”

  She gave him a pout and fluttered her lashes “Where’s my thanks for giving you a story you can tell eighteen years later?”

  He shook his head, then turned his attention back to the road. “Don’t distract me. What’s going on?”

  She took a deep breath. “Aunt Iris has bees in the walls and so—”

  “Wait? How is that even a thing?”

  She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t know. You can Google it later. Anyway, her house is being bug-bombed, so we have to stay at her friend’s bed-and-breakfast. See, no big deal.”

  “That doesn’t sound too bad.” He tilted his head and squinted against the sunlight. The cloud cover suddenly cleared to bright, glaring light. Reflexively, she took his sunglasses out of the glove compartment and handed them to him.

  He put them on and smiled.

  “You look hot in those aviators.” She grinned at him. “Like a real badass.”

  “Chloe,” he said, using the same tone Ricky Ricardo used on Lucy.

  She shrugged. “Well, you do.”

  He did. Jack Swanson was a six-four, broad-shouldered, emergency room doctor. In their town he practically dropped panties whenever he walked down the street. There were rumors women showed up in the ER with fake illnesses just to feel his hands on their skin.

  Of course, she was immune—they’d been best friends since the beginning of time—but that didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate his hotness as an abject observer. She hadn’t entertained a sex thought about him in forever. Sex was for guys who didn’t mean as much to her as Jack did.