Sex and the Psychic Witch

by Annette Blair

  She needed to protect the room from Gussie first, so she swept it from east to west, a ritual sweeping away of evil. She sprinkled salt, sage, angelica, and lavender around the room’s perimeters and lit corner candles for protection, peace, harmony, and blessings. Opening the window, she waved her wand and began her chant:

  “On this beautiful night in June,

  By the power and light of the moon,

  This room I protect and bless

  From those with harm to address.

  No evil through this door to seep

  Into bodies, hearts, minds, in sleep.

  Guard night and day

  Negativity, keep at bay

  And none shall it harm

  Hear my will, bide this charm.

  So mote it be.

  So mote it be.”

  Harmony sighed, feeling good about being here.

  The remodeled bathroom did have all the conveniences, she discovered a short while later. She changed into a pair of boxers with Storm’s ratty old Plays Well with Others tee, but she left some long johns by her cot in case of a ghostly, ice-age wake-up call.

  By the time she settled in, Tigerstar and her hyperactive kittens had installed themselves on the royal blue satin bedspread of Paxton’s manly antique four-poster. Harmony fell asleep smiling.

  She heard him come into the room, and she pretended to be asleep as he went to and from the bathroom, preparing for bed.

  He swore, and something shattered. Harmony peeked and saw Tigerstar riding his shoulders. That cat could leap, and she’d scared the dickens out of him. Harmony bit her lip against a laugh.

  Paxton picked up the broken pieces of . . . an alarm clock, maybe, while Tigerstar used him as a climbing wall when he sat on the bed. Up down. Back and around. A paw in the face. A drawstring chase.

  Across his lap. A claw to the groin. A pain in the loins.

  “Son of a bitch!” King shot to his feet.

  Harmony buried her face in her pillow so she wouldn’t giggle. That man was not going to get any sleep tonight.

  He went to the bed, whispered to the kittens, and petted them, the sneak. He liked cats. “You’re frisky little things, if you’re anything like your mama—your cat mama,” he said, “not the pretty lady who brought you here to screw with me, so let’s fool her and be friends.”

  The double-crosser.

  Harmony rolled over to face away from him as Paxton came her way. She did not want him to know she was awake.

  “Let’s go, Trouble with a capital T ,” he said as he scooped her up and carried her to his bed.

  Huh?

  Did he think she was gonna sleep with him?

  Chapter Sixteen

  HARMONY rode the roller coaster of Paxton’s bare arms while he turned down the blankets on his bed and set her down beside Tigerstar and her kittens. Was he toying with her? She could go for some mutual toying with . . .

  Testing the sexual waters, she rolled over, as if in her sleep, trapped him, caught him around the neck, and brought his face to hers.

  She might have initiated the kiss, but he took over with gusto. Heat purled through her in rolling waves, bringing her to life and making her hungry for a whole lot more. Withering witch balls, but the man could kiss.

  She moaned, and so did he, then he sat beside her to cradle her in his arms and bring the kiss to another level, raising her up, readying her for anything. When he stopped, out of the blue, she whimpered.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  He walked away, and she got a quick profile of a mighty fine boner. He sat on the cot she’d vacated, scrubbed his face with both hands, turned out the light, removed his sweats, and lay down, his hands behind his head.

  The scent of him filled his bed. Bailey’s Irish Cream, spicy aftershave, and a hint of cinnamon coffee. She inhaled and got hot. She turned her face into his pillow and nearly came. He’d slept there last night . . .

  and dreamed of her.

  She turned to watch him in moonlight. His sexual energy was high, his fantasies clear. He wanted to read her by Braille again, without her shirt. Ooh! He wanted her breast in his mouth. He turned her way. He’d like to see her move, see her cute little ass in the air.

  Harmony turned on her stomach and raised her knees a bit.

  Paxton raised himself on an elbow, as if he couldn’t believe she’d acted out his fantasy. Great, now he was gonna test his power of suggestion.

  She tried to block his thoughts, but she was too blooming curious and terribly turned on. Great. Sure, she’d brought her dolphin vibrators, but what good would they do her with him in the same room?

  He imagined her getting out of bed and “strutting” to his cot, removing her clothes, piece by slow piece.

  She stripped him naked and took his man brain into her mouth, then she climbed on and rode him like a blooming bucking bronco while he lay there and let her do all the work!

  “Geez!” she said, sitting up. “I’m a witch, not a call girl.”

  He jumped and shouted at the same time, which pretty much woke her to her big-mouthed stupidity.

  “What?” He threw off his covers and charged her bed, his boner a sight in moonlight. “What did you say?”

  “Put some clothes on,” she snapped.

  He growled. “Forget the clothes.”

  “The theme for the night,” she mumbled as she pulled the covers to her chin. “Did I tell you that I talk in my sleep? It’s insane, the things I say.”

  “Did you say you’re a call girl or a witch?”

  “If we weren’t sleeping in a blooming dormitory, you wouldn’t have heard—”

  “Harmony.” His low-toned warning meant she was treading water in that swamp of eternal stink again.

  Besides, he rarely, if ever, used her name.

  And what could she use for a defense? Tell him not to fantasize ? That would get her out of trouble. Not.

  Fortunately, the cats came to her rescue as if they sensed her need. Gingertigger stretched out on her head like a hat. Caramello sprawled across her chest, and Warlock curled up at the apex of her legs, which she was forced to spread. Figures, the only male cat in the bunch, and he liked her crotch.

  But Paxton liked cats, so she felt reasonably safe answering. “Well,” she said. “I’m not a call girl.”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” he asked.

  “Because I’m not.”

  “Not that. You practically—”

  “What?” she asked. “I practically what? I said I talk in my sleep.” And she sure hoped she’d remember to do it again, so he’d believe her.

  “Are you a witch?”

  “Withering witch balls, do you have to ask straight-out?”

  “Do you have to use withering and balls in the same sentence? The combo makes me nervous as a . . .

  cat. And of course I have to ask straight-out. What other way is there to ask?”

  “You could beat around the bush a little?”

  “Give you some wiggle room, you mean?”

  Damn. He knew her pretty well. “Something like that. Because, sometimes it’s . . . You know, Paxton, you’re practically naked. Great pecs, by the way.”

  “Only the pecs are great?”

  “Well, no actually, I’m seriously impressed by your dic—”

  “Wait a minute,” he said. “No changing the subject. You’re not overdressed either, by the way. Plays Well with Others, my ass. Now, if the shirt said Great Rac—never mind. There’s no such thing as a witch.”

  “Like there’s no such thing as a ghost? Your left butt cheek says different. How can you come from Salem and not believe? Did you never step into that city? It’s full of witches who think they’re . . .

  witches.”

  “Are you?”

  “Absolutely certain that witches exist. Yes.”

  “Do you think you’re one of them?”


  She sighed heavily. “There are some things I can’t deny, and that’s one of them. I’m a witch.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? That’s a helluva thing to keep from an employer.”

  “You’re not my employer. I’m an outside contractor, remember? So, in what religion were you raised?”

  “A Methodist. What difference does that make?”

  “Did you introduce yourself to me by saying, ‘Hi, I’m King Paxton, and I’m a Methodist’?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, I don’t say, ‘Hi, I’m Harmony Cartwright, and I’m a witch.’ ”

  “It’s not the same thing.”

  “It most certainly is. Are you always this negative, or is it only when you’re here at the castle?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I figured since Gussie spreads negative like frosting, you’d been iced.”

  “Yet you’re a regular Pollyanna. Are you immune because you’re the same?”

  Harmony laughed. “Hello! Gussie and I are polar opposites. My gift is peace and her curse is strife.

  There are different kinds of witches, like there are different kinds of Methodists. Some break the law, some don’t. Some do good, some do evil. I’m a white witch. I believe that anything I do, good or bad, comes back to me times three, so I try to do good. I live and let live, give and take fairly, and harm none.”

  “I take it Gussie’s not a white witch?”

  “I don’t blooming think so.”

  “Are you a hocus-pocus witch, with spells and stuff?”

  “I can make your penis grow.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  HARMONY figured Paxton needed to know about her witchcraft, but he wasn’t ready, yet, to hear that she was psychic. Her efforts to loosen him up had worked to a point, but this would set him back a bit.

  She sighed. “I’m a hereditary Pictish witch. My family’s roots are in the Druidic and Celtic traditions. My ancestors come from Scotland. Pictish means picture or tattoo . The Picts are a tattooed people.”

  “Are you?”

  “I just said I was.”

  “Are you tattooed?” he clarified.

  “Uh, yeah. Are you?”

  “Sure. Where’s yours?”

  “Oh no you don’t,” she said. “Twenty-four hours after meeting is a bit soon for the ‘you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine’ routine. We’ve already toppled the lust-at-first-sight boundary. I’m not ready for any more boundary-testing at the moment.”

  “Tomorrow, then?” He frowned. “It’s hard to focus seriously on someone wearing live fur accessories.

  Your cats are distracting.”

  “Your penis is distracting.”

  He sat on the cot near the bed. “Are you?”

  “Distracted? Yes.”

  “Hold that thought. Are you going to show me your tattoo tomorrow?”

  “Tattoos, plural, but that’s only a few hours away, and I’m tired.” She snuggled lower into his cushy bed and turned on her side to face him, while her purring accessories readjusted themselves. She closed her eyes. “Night.”

  “You saw my ass after half a day,” he grumbled.

  “Dumb luck.”

  Paxton strolled like a lazy panther back to his cot. “You never answered my question.”

  “I did, too.”

  “You missed one. Are you a hocus-pocus witch?”

  “Look, I’m a little tired. Tomorrow I’ll turn you into a toad, okay?”

  “Now why would you want to go and do that?”

  She sat up. “Oh, I don’t know. In appreciation for this gorgeous suite , maybe? Funny when I asked you for details, I never doubted it had walls ! You have protective walls all around you, but you have none around your bed. What does that say about you?”

  “Walls. Right.” Paxton yawned. “Night.”

  “Warthog,” she accused, settling in and closing her eyes, though she found it difficult to sleep in a strange bed with a vital, virile man across the room. And his scent so infused the bedding that some of his sensual fantasies were creeping into her mind without any need to read his thoughts. Maybe she should try counting . . . warthogs.

  “Argh! Ouch! Attack cat!”

  Harmony opened one eye. Tigerstar stood on Paxton’s chest staring down at him, her claws likely pricking his flesh a bit.

  “Harmony?” Paxton called softly. “Harmony?” he whispered.

  Every time he spoke, she knew Tigerstar dug in her claws. “You should be proud,” Harmony finally said.

  “She likes you. She hasn’t been that friendly since she fell in love with my Scottish brother-in-law. That cat’s got a real thing for good-looking men. I wish I had a camera. You’d make a great scene for a cartoon strip.”

  “Help,” he whispered.

  “All right. Walls or not, if you let yourself relax, Star will pull in her claws.”

  “Does that go for you, too? Ouch!”

  Paxton lowered his head to his pillow and took a visible breath. In out, in out, he breathed. Harmony saw him relaxing. Inevitably, he sighed in relief. “It worked. I guess you know your pet.”

  “She’s not mine. She’s my sister Vickie’s, and she won’t hurt you. You’re safe, though I can’t say the same for the castle’s mouse population.”

  “She’s not moving,” Paxton said, “and her eyes glitter in the dark, and they’re two different colors. She’s weirding me out over here. Is she going to watch me from up there all night?”

  “Nah, she’ll have to nurse my hat and muff soon.”

  As if Tigerstar heard, she jumped off Paxton.

  He sighed with audible relief. “Witches use cats for spells right? Can Tigerstar turn me into a toad, or worse, a mouse, when she gives me that glitter stare of hers? Or am I mixing up my fairy tales?”

  “Witchcraft is not a fairy tale.”

  “Right. Sorry.”

  One by one, Tigerstar picked up her kittens and jumped off her bed to go and deposit them on Paxton’s chest.

  “Uh, does she think she’s gonna nurse them on my . . . yep, she does.”

  Harmony tried really, really hard not to laugh. “You must be very comfortable, and Star must love you deeply.”

  “I . . . think I’m gonna build the five of you a separate room.”

  “Yesterday, I would have considered that a good idea.” Harmony raised her head to rest it on her hand.

  “But now I think this is cozy. Besides, we’re two against ‘you know who,’ like you said.”

  “We can’t say her name?”

  “The existing walls have ears,” Harmony replied. “Nuff said.”

  Paxton groaned, which was the last thing Harmony remembered, until fifteen minutes later, or so it seemed, when the sound of multiple motorboats woke her. Then she heard the joking construction crew approaching the castle. “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Grr, growl, grumble,” Paxton said, already sitting on the edge of his cot scrubbing his hands over his whiskers, looking morning-snuggle soft and sleep-mussed kissable.

  “Ah, a morning person,” she said. “You look like hell.”

  “Gee thanks.” He did a double take. “You look good enough to—”

  “Thanks!” She got up and ran for the bathroom, turning to him in the doorway and raising both arms. “Ta da! I’m first!”

  Gingertigger took a flying leap from the floor to his chest and knocked him back on his cot. “You know what I hate more than anything?” he said, staring up at the ceiling. “Wise-ass brats and flying cats in the morning.” Gingertigger licked his nose.

  Harmony closed the bathroom door on a chuckle.

  “Living with you and your kamikaze cats is like being married without the perks,” he grumbled as he passed the bathroom door. “I have a meeting today,” he yelled, then she heard him walking down the hall. Good, the place must have another bathroom some
where. Served him right for telling her the dorm was a suite.

  After she showered, put on her makeup, and dressed, she saw that he’d made up his cot with military precision. She’d almost forgotten about the obsessive picture-straightening flaw in his personality.

  Just to drive him nuts, she unmade his cot, corner by corner, and placed the kittens in the curl of his blankets. She petted Tigerstar as the cat jumped up to join her family. “Show your kids how to be mousers today,” she said, scratching behind Star’s ear. “If you can’t find any mice, there’ll be kitty munchies in the kitchen. Litter’s that way.” She pointed. “Aunt Harmony has to go to work now.” She kissed each kitten on the head, turned to leave, and came face-to-face with Paxton.

  “They’re cats, not people,” he said. “You think they understood your instructions? Aunt Harmony?”

  “Three of them belong to my sisters. Caramello, the caramel and marshmallow swirl, is Destiny’s.

  Warlock, the pure black, belongs to Storm. And Gingertigger, the orange and black striped, is mine.”

  Harmony wondered if Paxton had looked this good last night, and if so, why hadn’t she shown him her tattoos? That kiss had been sexy as all hell.

  They remembered at the same time, every taste and texture. Harmony stepped away from his heat, but Paxton had no such intention. What had they done, switched places?

  He examined her shirt and her nips got hard. “How May I Ignore You?” he read, his laugh lines deepening. The man didn’t even need to smile to turn her on. His breath warmed her as he nuzzled her ear and whispered, “Let’s see if you can ignore me.”

  “What is this, freaky Tuesday?” she asked as his embrace made her feel safe and cherished. His hand at her back pulled her into a sphere of protection, his bare chest upping the intimacy factor.