by G. A. Rael
"I'm not sure I would have been," she admitted. "A lot has changed."
Chase swept the hair away from her neck and pressed his lips against her exposed skin. When his tongue flicked out to taste her, she shivered. The way he alternated between sensuous worship and hungry nips at her neck was stirring a familiar need deep inside of her. “Chase,” she moaned.
He took her utterance of his name as approval and his hand slipped underneath her shirt. She gasped as his fingertips brushed across her soft stomach and fanned the embers of desire into a flame.
A moment later, his lips claimed hers again and he settled on top of her. Jordan wrapped her legs around his waist and drew her arms around his neck to pull him closer. His hips ground into her and the clothing between them became a glaring nuisance. As if reading her mind, he tugged her shirt off with an expert move and began exploring her exposed breasts with his tongue.
Jordan combed her fingers through his hair in approval and arched into him, desperate for more. When his hands closed around her wrists, she squirmed with anticipation that was quickly dashed by the conflicted look in his soft blue eyes.
"What's wrong?" she asked, desperate to solve whatever problem it was so they could get back to doing what he did so well.
“I’m not sure this is right…”
His words took her off-guard and no matter how she tried, she couldn’t figure them out. “I told you, I’m not drunk. I’m just a klutz.”
“It’s not that. I mean, it would be if you were, but…you just broke up with Darren.”
Jordan groaned as he rose off her and she muttered, “Can’t believe I’m getting cockblocked by my ex.”
Evidently, she didn’t say that as quietly as she’d hoped. Chase stared at her. “Did you just say ‘cockblocked’?”
Jordan’s face turned beet red. “I’ve been hanging around Hermes too much.”
Chase laughed apologetically and offered Jordan her partially folded shirt. “I’m sorry… I just respect you too much to let this go any further, at least until you’re in a better place.“
Jordan sat up, clutching the shirt to her chest. She was newly conscious of her flawed body and began to wonder if that was why he had changed his mind so suddenly.
As if reading her mind, Chase settled beside her on the couch and cupped her cheek in his hand. "Believe me, Jordan, this is taking more willpower than you could possibly know."
"Please don't try to spare my feelings," she murmured, combing her fingers through her tousled locks. “I’m a big girl, I can take a little rejection.”
Or a lot.
Chase swept her hair back with his other hand and forced her to hold his gaze when she tried to look away. When she finally met his eyes, the lust within them was unmistakable. "I mean it when I say that I've never wanted anything more than I want you," he said, his voice taking on a rough quality she hadn't thought him capable of. "Not just now, but ever since the very first time we met. I've grown experienced with denying myself where you're concerned, and if there's even a chance that you want me, too, I'm not going to waste it. I have to know it's real. I want more than just your body, Jordan--and I intend to savor every inch of it in due time--but I'm an all or nothing sort of man, and a patient one at that."
Jordan stared at him in shock. His words were so matter-of-fact, but there was an intensity behind them that made her think she had just begun to scrape the surface of the mystery that was Chase Wilde. It took a moment for her to find her voice. "You know, if you're trying not to turn me on, you're doing a bad job."
He laughed softly, breaking the tension between them. He kissed her again, this time with more restraint, but it still left her wanting more. "I'll take the couch," he said when he finally pulled away.
"There's no reason for you to sleep on the couch," she said, watching him with new appreciation for the plight of the house cat that had always yowled at the neighbor's window when she was younger.
"Until I hear from normal unheartbroken Jordan, the couch it is," he said, pulling a folded blanket over his lap as he stretched out.
Jordan sighed, collapsing on the bed. If that’s what he was holding out for, he was in for a long wait.
Hermes was never going to let her hear the end of this.
Twenty-Seven
The ride home was even more awkward than the night before had been frustrating. Jordan did learn that Chase was a big fan of Gaelic folk music. So was she, if for no other reason than gratitude for the escape his CDs provided from what would otherwise be an incredibly awkward silence.
Jordan was now convinced that she had another neighbor to avoid at all costs, but as Chase pulled up to Mrs. Herrin's house, he finally turned to face her. "What do you say we agree to take a Mulligan on last night and you let me take you out this Friday?" he asked. "I'd hate for that to count as our first date."
Jordan stared at him for a moment in shock. Maybe it was the pounding in her temples, but she found it hard to comprehend that he wanted to see her again at all.
"Not that there would be others," he added quickly. "I didn't mean to presume."
"No, that's not it," said Jordan. "I'm just surprised you want to go out again after I humiliated myself last night."
"You're not the one who humiliated yourself," he said with a sigh. “That was all me.”
"Well, I don't really know what a Mulligan is," she admitted, "but I'd love to see you again."
It was the truth. It certainly hadn't been a matter of love at first sight with Chase, but he made her feel things she hadn't thought she was capable of after her breakup with Darren.
"Great," he said eagerly. "I'll swing by around seven to pick you up. How does dinner and dancing sound?"
"Sounds great," she lied. At least the dinner part sounded great. Hopefully her dread of dancing would help keep her distracted from Darren and Allison's very public relationship for the rest of the week. She slipped out of the car and noticed the white cat watching them from the upstairs window. "I'll see you then."
Chase’s Mercedes pulled out of the gravel lot and, if its pristine condition was any indication, Jordan knew he was making a sacrifice by exposing his car to all the dust just to drop her off at the front door. She had half a mind to sneak in through the fire escape as a detour on the walk of shame when Mrs. Herrin came around the side of the house, wearing her gardening gloves and holding a dirt-covered spade. "Was that Chase Wilde?” the older woman asked in obvious disapproval.
"It was," Jordan said, knowing the more upfront she was the less Mrs. Herrin would pry. "We ran into each other in New York and he gave me a ride."
"Oh, I'm sure he did," the woman said, looking her up and down.
"Mrs. Herrin," Jordan groaned, wandering toward the house. She might not have been willing to call herself a witch, but the sunlight was starting to make her feel like a vampire.
"Don't Mrs. Herrin me," she huffed, following Jordan closely. "If that sleazeball took advantage of you --"
"He didn't," Jordan said firmly. "Quite the opposite. I flung myself at him, he politely rebuffed me because he didn’t think I was ‘emotionally ready’ after my breakup, then tucked me into bed while he slept on the couch. Not much of a sleazeball if you ask me."
Mrs. Herrin gave her a dubious look but shooed Jordan away from the stairs that led up to her apartment. "Come on, you can afford to sit for a minute. It's not witchcraft, but there's a hangover cure that's been passed down for so many generations in my family that it might as well be."
Jordan felt her face redden as Mrs. Herrin ushered her into a chair at the table. "I had like one drink, I’m not hung over. And I don’t do witchcraft.”
Mrs. Herrin rolled her eyes. "When you've got folks coming from all over the place to pester you for herbs and tinctures, that's what it's called. I've been around long enough to know. If you're gonna open up a dang Botanica upstairs, the least you could do is tell your landlord."
"I'm sorry," Jordan said, watching as the woman heated a po
t on the stove. "It started out as a few favors and it kind of escalated."
"It always does." Mrs. Herrin snorted. "My mama moved here to be with my daddy when she was barely sixteen, but her mama lived way up in the Appalachians. She was always brewing up some home remedy or fixing some fella who ran off on his wife and kids. Nothing like some good old mountain magic."
"Really?" Jordan asked, wide-eyed. "Why didn't you carry on the tradition? You don't seem very religious."
The woman scoffed, tossing an herb even Jordan didn't recognize into the pot. "I'm not. My mama got away and wanted damn near nothing to do with her country upbringing, but she passed on a thing or two. Wouldn't call it magic exactly, but she taught me enough about herbs and the like that I could get by. That's how I knew what you were up to when you moved in with all those plants."
"You knew that long ago?" Jordan asked in disbelief. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Didn't think it was any of my business and I still don't," Mrs. Herrin said, straining the mixture through a colander. "That is, as long as you don't start bringing zebras and cuttlefish up there next."
Jordan laughed a little as Mrs. Herrin placed a mug of the mixture in front of her. "I won't, I promise. Thank you for being so understanding," she murmured. "But I really don't consider myself a witch at all.”
Mrs. Herrin sat across from her and gave her a look. "If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck --"
"It's a witch," Jordan said with a sigh.
"Bingo. Why are you so hung up about it anyway?"
Jordan considered her question for a moment. "I had a very religious upbringing," she said carefully. "My father was a minister."
"So your parents forbade it?"
Jordan shook her head. "No, they encouraged it. Certain parts, anyway. Daddy always said I had the gifts of healing and prophecy. He was happy as long as I used them for his ministry. As for the things he couldn't use, that was a different story altogether."
"Your father sounds like a prick," said Mrs. Herrin.
Jordan nearly choked on her tea.
"Well, he does," the woman snorted. "I never trust a preacher man further than I can throw him."
"I like to think my father is more the exception than the rule," Jordan said, looking down at her nearly empty mug. "This is really good. My headache is better already."
"Of course it is," Mrs. Herrin said matter-of-factly. "A Herrin woman never sets about something she can't do well."
A timer rang from the stove and Mrs. Herrin hopped up to turn it off.
"Did you leave something in the oven?" asked Jordan.
"No, that's just my reminder to go into town before the market closes. I need to pick up a few things."
"I could go for you."
"Shouldn't you be crawling into bed?"
"I doubt more sleep is going to help anything your cure couldn't fix," Jordan admitted. "Besides, the fresh air would be nice."
Mrs. Herrin hesitated. "I know you avoid going into town now that Darren is running around with that harpy."
"I can't hide forever," said Jordan. "Besides, Allison doesn't seem that bad."
Mrs. Herrin gave her a look. "You haven't known her all her life like I have. The girl had a plan to marry rich before she was out of a booster seat. As much as I was sad to see Darren get his heart broken, I was relieved he dodged that bullet. Least, I thought he had."
"I'm bound to run into them sooner or later," said Jordan, reminding herself that she had forfeited the right to any concerns about Darren's love life when she allowed Hermes to erase his memories. "I might as well get your groceries while I'm at it."
Mrs. Herrin sighed and rummaged through her purse for a small list and a wad of cash. "If you're set on going, I won't stop you."
Jordan took the list and smiled. That was about as close to a thank-you as Julia Herrin ever got. "Do you need anything else?"
"No, that's it, but pick yourself up a scratching post while you're there, will you?"
"Why?" Jordan asked, frowning.
"That damn cat's been making all sorts of noise up there," said Mrs. Herrin. "Poor thing's probably goin' stir crazy being cooped up after being a stray for so long."
"Yeah, poor thing," Jordan muttered, casting a disparaging glance up at the ceiling. "I'm sorry about the noise, I'll be sure to take care of it."
"You might wanna change before you head into town." Mrs. Herrin gave Jordan's outfit another disapproving scowl, but a wicked grin soon replaced it. "Maybe not the skirt, though. Wouldn't hurt for Darren to see you in that."
Jordan turned red. "Mrs. Herrin," she scolded, trudging up the stairs. When she opened the door, Hermes was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by piles of freshly cut wood and tools.
"What the hell is all this?" she demanded, quickly shutting the door behind her. "I'm gone for one night and you take up carpentry?"
Hermes glanced up at her with a mischievous grin and an appeasing slow blink. Sometimes he acted like a cat even when he wasn't. "I learned from the best. I'm building you an altar."
"You're building a case for a noise violation citation is what you're doing," she said, crossing her arms. "Since when do I need an altar?"
"Since you're going to have to do more than garden witchcraft if you plan on raising the dead," he said flatly. "Hangups aside, it's about time you learned the basics."
"Why do you have to build it, anyway? I thought the whole point of you making a contract with me was so you could do your magic tricks. Can't you just blink and get something from the IKEA in Hell?"
"I could," he said in a casual tone, "but magic is all about the intent behind it. A handmade altar has a lot more power than something I simply willed into existence."
"Oh. That's touching in a weird way," Jordan admitted, going over to the sink to wash last night's makeup off her face. She hesitated before deciding to go ahead and put on a bit of tinted lip balm, telling herself it had nothing to do with the possibility of running into Darren. She mostly succeeded as she slipped into a less revealing top and a more sensible pair of shoes.
"Heading into town to do grandma's errands?" asked Hermes.
"Yes, and this time I'd like to go alone."
"Why?" Jordan couldn't see the demon, but she could hear the sneer in his voice. "Afraid the vet will get jealous and run back into your arms if he sees you out and about with such a dashing fellow?"
"Hardly," she said, rolling her eyes. "I just need to lie low for a bit and you kind of attract attention."
"Can't argue there," he said with a wistful sigh. "Fine, go alone, but I want to hear all about the lack of hot lawyer sex when you get back. You have no idea how many legal puns I've come up with while you were gone."
Jordan gave him a suspicious look. "What makes you think nothing happened?"
"Oh, please," he huffed. "As if I couldn't already spot a virgin from a mile away, you still give off that heady aroma of sexual frustration and self-consciousness."
Jordan groaned. The worst part was that he was right, and she was beginning to think that her virginal status wasn't going to change any time soon. "See you soon," she muttered, pausing in the doorway. "Do me a favor and don't put any holes in the floor while I'm gone. And try to keep it down or Mrs. Herrin is going to turn me in for animal cruelty."
"No promises," Hermes said, turning back to his project with renewed focus. "One person's hole in the floor is another person's skylight."
Twenty-Eight
Jordan made it into town without incident. Save for Alec the butcher, she didn't even run into anyone else she knew by name. Of course, she wasn't at all surprised when her luck changed at the checkout line.
There they were, two spots ahead in line. Allison was leaning on Darren, whispering something in his ear that cracked the cold veneer of his expression. She looked as impossibly trim and leggy as ever in a form-fitting yet tasteful blue dress. Jordan instantly regretted the decision to wear such a tight skirt and f
ound herself eying the garbage bags in the next aisle over. She had left her apartment feeling curvy and sexy, but now she was acutely aware of the way her skirt exposed her soft thighs and clung to her stomach where Allison's dress glided over taut abs.
She probably had a six pack under there. She and Darren were probably going to go home and rip each other's clothes off to have hard, pointy, fit people sex like they did in the movies.
Jordan slowly backed out of the line and decided to spend the next ten minutes in the shampoo aisle just to be sure they were gone. Unfortunately for her, fate--or Tina, who seemed to be its favorite stand-in--had other plans.
"Jordan!" the woman squealed as she breezed into the market through the newly installed automatic doors that had momentarily usurped Chase’s checkered past and Jordan's occult pastimes as the current talk of the town. "And here I was beginning to wonder if you'd run away."
The fight or flight instinct took over and it was all Jordan could do to keep herself from running. Much like a tigress in the wild, there was no escaping Tina once she had you in her sights and it was too late for Jordan. All eyes at the front of the store were drawn to the source of the noise out of mere curiosity--all eyes including Darren's and Allison's.
"Hi, Tina," Jordan answered in a much lower voice, hoping Tina would follow her lead and quiet down.
She could hear Darren speaking with the young cashier and hoped that maybe Tina pulling her aside could work to her advantage. He was less enamored with her than ever since she had ignored his warnings about seeing patients, but hopefully he wouldn't confront her publicly in front of Tina and Allison.
Tina looked her up and down in shock and Jordan decided then and there that she was going back to knee-length skirts and sweater sets. She had never been gawked at so much in her life as she had been from the moment Chase had stuffed her into a miniskirt.
"Are you going out?" Tina asked rather loudly, casting overtly confused glances between Jordan's outfit and her basket of mundane items. "I've never seen you so dolled up."