Minions and Magic: Accidental Witches Book 5

by Dunbar, Debra

  When he was done that, I had him slice the cherries, and pulled the pinwheels out of the oven. Then I directed Xavier to put the cherries in one of the bowls chilling in the small refrigerator. Xavier removed the bowl from the fridge, hesitating a second. I bit back a smile, knowing what he saw.

  “How in the world could there possibly be leftover ginger cake?” he wondered. “I’m sure I polished the rest of it off at the party—unless you were holding back a spare.”

  “I always make an extra one or two.” I saw his questioning glance. “And yes, you can have some.”

  He cut a huge slice, making appreciative noises as he ate. “What’s in the icing?” he asked. “I can’t quite figure it out from the taste.”

  I smiled. “That, my dear demon, is a secret.”

  “Family recipe?”

  “No, my personal recipe.”

  He finished the huge slab of the ginger cake, then pulled one of the still-hot pinwheels off the baking sheet.

  “It’s nothing big,” I told him, suddenly shy. “Just leftover pastry dough, butter, and some cinnamon and sugar. My grandmother showed me how to make them when I was five and wanted to help her make pies. Ever since then I can’t throw the dough away. I always make pinwheels and think of her.”

  My voice went soft as I remembered those days—my childhood before Grandma died, before Mom took off and left Cassie to raise us all. I didn’t even have to close my eyes to see Grandma’s hands with the fine bones and the network of brown spots. Her skin was smooth and cool, her hair in a long silver braid. When she laughed, it came up from deep inside her belly, shaking her entire body with joy. In many ways I missed her more than I’d missed my own mother.

  Xavier took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, and nodded as he swallowed. “These are wonderful.”

  He stepped into me, holding out the remaining bit of pinwheel for me to eat. I leaned forward to take it and he brushed his thumb across my upper lip.

  “It’s more than food,” he whispered. “There’s history and love in these. These creations of yours…they’re magic.”

  If he tasted my real magic he wouldn’t think that at all.

  “There’s no magic in my cooking.” I couldn’t step back, couldn’t look away from his amazing blue eyes. “I make healing potions, but they taste terrible. My magic makes them taste bad. I think it’s a trade-off. There’s always a price to magic, you know.”

  “There is magic in your cooking,” he insisted. “Not healing magic, but something else.”

  “What?” I whispered, my gaze going to his lips.

  “Joy. Community. Love.”

  His lips met mine, and I swear for a moment, the world stopped spinning. It wasn’t one of those desperate, hungry kisses, but soft and full of promise. His tongue teased mine, and as he pulled away he nipped my bottom lip. It was over far too fast and I wanted more—I wanted so much more.

  “I’m going to win tomorrow. And then I’m going to do a whole lot more than kiss you.”

  He left, and for minutes afterward, I just stood there in my kitchen unable to move. When I finally turned away from the door, I saw that he hadn’t done the dishes.

  “Darned demons.” I headed for the sink, but there was a smile on my face and a skip in my step. I really didn’t care about the dishes. What I cared about was tomorrow. Would he really be back? Could he actually cook, or was I going to have to choke down a bologna sandwich?

  I hoped he could cook. And pride aside, I hoped he won.

  Chapter 10

  Xavier

  It took every bit of my willpower to walk out of that witch’s home. I’d had many humans in my life, I’d enjoyed bodies, collected souls, given pleasure with one hand and torment with the other. But never in my incredibly long existence had I ever felt this magnetic pull toward someone. Never had I felt such peace and calm as in her kitchen, helping her cook. There wasn’t just magic in her food, it was in her. It was in every motion she made, every word she spoke, every breath she took. With the act of creating food, she spun a spell of contentment and happiness over the entire house, painting it with vibrant colors and channeling all that into the delicious concoctions she made.

  Glenda. Named, no doubt, after the good witch from that Oz movie I’d watched years ago. She was a good witch, and I was experiencing very conflicting emotions about that. The old crossroads demon in me wanted to corrupt her, to sleep with her and leverage her pride to secure her soul. The demon that I barely recognized as me wanted to curl up with her on a soft bed and spend the rest of my life watching her as she fashioned delicious foods with a wave of her hands.

  I had work to do. There were humans ready to make deals. There were souls who needed to be collected, contracts that were reaching their conclusion. But I desperately wanted to go back there. I’d get as much done as I could tonight, then I’d return to her house tomorrow.

  And then I might never leave.

  Chapter 11

  Glenda

  I’ll admit that I was a little surprised to see Xavier at my door the next morning.

  Yesterday had been a dream—a very happy dream that I hadn’t wanted to end. But I didn’t have the best luck when it came to romance, so I fully expected to never see the demon again. I’d never been so happy to be wrong.

  “So, what are we doing today? Besides me winning our lunch bet and us spending the afternoon in bed.” He clapped his hands together and strode into my house as if he belonged there. “Are we going to cook more gnome food? Human food? Martian food?”

  I chuckled, shutting the front door and following him. “I’ve got no idea what Martians eat, but I’m pretty sure if I knew, I’d make the best feast they’d ever had.”

  Something sparked in his blue eyes—something I wasn’t sure I liked.

  “We’re finishing the slugs today, and cooking the bread,” I told him.

  “So the menu for the gnome birthday party is slugs, pickled turnips, bread, and sour cherry pie?” He counted them off on his fingers.

  “It’s more basic than most of my other parties,” I agreed. “I also need to get going on the smoked meats for the big werewolf event this Saturday. I’ve got brisket, trout, and pork loin that all need to be dry rubbed and put in the smoker.”

  “Brisket?” he asked, that odd gleam back in his eyes.

  I nodded.

  He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then shook his head, a sheepish grin curling up the corners of his gorgeous lips. “Never mind. Let’s get cooking. What can I do to help?”

  We finished the sauce for the slugs and put them in to bake. We laughed over taste testing the turnips, debated the proper amount of vanilla to add to a custard, and prepared four different varieties of barbeque sauce for the werewolf party on Saturday.

  Finally it was noon, and I felt my heart skip a beat as I realized there was no delaying our little contest. Not that I wanted to delay our contest, but the butterflies in my stomach meant I was absolutely not hungry at all. For food, that is.

  “So…how does this contest work?” I asked a bit breathlessly. “It’s lunch time. Should we both use the same ingredients, or are we free to use anything in the kitchen? What do you want to eat?”

  He shrugged. “Anything except slugs?”

  I laughed. “You sure? We could sample them once they come out of the oven.”

  “No way.” He shuddered. “How about sandwiches? We can use anything we find in the kitchen, and we’ve got thirty minutes to put it together.”

  I grinned. Sandwiches. I could totally win this. I’d beat the pants off the guy. Well, I hoped I’d beat the pants off the guy, because that would make victory all the sweeter.

  “You’re on.” I bent to pull the panini press out from a lower cabinet while Xavier began pulling ingredients out of the fridge. I deliberately didn’t look, not wanting to be influenced by what he was about to make. Hmmm. What to do, what to do? Turkey? Ham? Roast beef? Or veggie?

  In the end I went with a c
hicken pesto with roasted red peppers and a layer of spinach on ciabatta. Xavier had been whipping something up in the food processor, and I had a little time, so I made a side of pineapple drizzled with honey as my imagination went wild with guesses about what he might be making that required a food processor.

  “So what should I ask for when I win this challenge?” I asked him, not quite teasing. Of course I’d win. I always won when it came to food. Always.

  “Anything you want.”

  I shivered at the suggestion in his voice. “And you said you wanted sex?”

  His head lowered as he sliced his sandwich. “Maybe I want your soul as well as your body.”

  My hand froze over the pineapple. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”

  He laughed. “I thought you were confident that you’d win? That there was no doubt at all in your mind that you’d beat a demon at making sandwiches.”

  I shivered again, but this time for a different reason. Of course I’d win. I always won. There was no way some crossroads demon was going to beat me at something I’d devoted my entire life to. No way.

  And yet…

  “I’m not wagering my soul over a sandwich. Pick something else.”

  “Scared?”

  There was an odd note to his voice that I didn’t like.

  “Of course not, but you’re not getting my soul if you win. Or my ginger cake recipe.” It was a sad state of affairs when I was giving equal value to both my soul and my ginger cake recipe.

  I looked over to see him pouting. It was so adorable, so sexy, that all my misgivings over the “I want your soul” thing vanished. My shoulders relaxed, and I shot him a quick smile.

  “Can’t have my soul. But you absolutely can have my body.”

  Crap. I’d said that? How embarrassing.

  “Hmm, I think I want that more than your soul.”

  My breath caught at his response, and a mixture of giddy delight and relief flooded me. He wanted me. And that was one thing I’d be more than willing to give if the unbelievable happened and I actually lost.

  We both sat across from each other on the tall stools, sliding plates across the table. I looked down and blinked in surprise to see what he’d made. I’d expected meat and a load of hot sauce between two pieces of bread, but instead I was looking at an open-faced vegan sandwich with endive, alfalfa sprouts, tomato, avocado, and hummus.

  Hummus. That’s what he’d been doing with the food processor. He’d made hummus from scratch. I swiped my finger across the edge of the sandwich and tasted, making an involuntary “mmm” noise as the flavors hit my tongue.

  “Ras El Hanout,” I murmured, instantly recognizing the spice blend.

  He nodded. “I spent a century in what is now Morocco.”

  “I love Moroccan food.” Had he known that? How could he have known that? For all my baking and traditional American cuisine, I adored the flavors of northern Africa and the near east. Suddenly my panini seemed pale and bland in comparison.

  “Take a bite,” he urged, his voice pure temptation.

  I did as he said, and made appreciative noises as I chewed. This sandwich clearly should have been one of the seven deadly sins. For once in my entire life, I was about to lose a cooking contest. And I wasn’t all that sad about it, even though my pride was a bit bruised.

  He took a bite of mine. Then another. Then another. “This is amazing,” he said with his mouth full. “Is this chicken grilled? Roasted?”

  I wiped a smear of hummus off my lip. “Roasted. There’s a farm on the other side of the wards that raises organic, free-range chicken. They’re not traditional meat birds, so they take a while to mature and they have a lot of dark meat, but they’re full of flavor. I think the farmer might add some saffron into their feed because the meat color and flavor is really unique.”

  We eyed each other for a moment, chewing.

  “I hate to admit this, but I think you may have won.” He slid the plate over to me. “Here. Try a bite. But don’t eat it all because I want the rest of it.”

  We swapped sandwiches, and as soon as I tasted the one I’d made, I knew what he meant. The perfectly cooked, flavorful chicken, the pesto I’d whipped together, the fresh vegetables I’d gotten from a roadside stand, the red pepper I’d roasted myself and stored in olive oil…it was an amazing combination and the crunch of the ciabatta bread wrapped it all up in a delicious package.

  “Mine’s good, but yours is better,” he admitted, taking a second bite of his sandwich and passing it over to me as he snatched the panini back.

  I wasn’t sure. Maybe it was because I really adored Moroccan food, but I truly thought they were equal, or that his was slightly better. But I couldn’t imagine a demon would ever lie when there was no reason for him to do so. I couldn’t imagine a demon lying to lose a contest. He must be telling the truth. And I’d come to realize over the last two days that Xavier knew what he was talking about when it came to food.

  Maybe I wanted him to win so I’d need to give him what he wanted. It would give me an excuse to do what I’d wanted to do from the moment I saw him without all the angst and hand-wringing over how it wasn’t like me to jump into the sack with a man, let alone a demon, that I’d just met.

  “Yours is really good,” I told him. “The hummus is amazing. It’s a great combination of veggies, too. The crunch, the smooth spicy flavor of the hummus, the thick hearty bread, the creamy avocado—it’s incredibly delicious.”

  He finished off the panini and slid off his stool. “Yours is better. Besides, you made the bread I used, so my sandwich wasn’t entirely my creation. I’m not nearly as skilled at baking as you are. If it had been up to me, that sandwich would have been on Wonder Bread.”

  I burst out laughing. “I doubt that. I’m sure you would have found a decent bakery, or have made a nice country-style whole grain white. Anyone can make that. No one goes to the trouble of making their own hummus only to put it on Wonder Bread.”

  Xavier walked around the end of the long table and came to stand beside me. “You won our wager, witch. What should your prize be? What do you desire?”

  My heart locked in my chest. It was him I desired. All I had to do was say the word. That kiss last night had been so far from chaste. I’d wanted him then, and here was my chance. If he’d won our little contest, I would have been in his arms without one word of protest.

  But now it was me who had to make the move. I was the one who had to tell him that I wanted him. He watched me, desire in his eyes as he waited for me to just say it.

  “I…I want…a Mugnaini wood-fired pizza oven.”

  I kinda did. They were ridiculously expensive, and I’d never been able to justify it. Okay, actually I chickened out. I just couldn’t admit that I wanted to have sex with Xavier. Maybe if I had a couple of glasses of wine I could, but not sober with him so close, watching me so intently.

  “A pizza oven.” His lips twitched and he reached down to pinch my chin. “Is that what you call it? A pizza oven?”

  I sucked in a breath. “Not just any pizza oven. Wood-fired. Mugnaini.”

  “Mmm.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine. “I’ll certainly do my best. Mugnaini wood-fired pizza oven, coming right up.”

  We kissed, my hands snaking up under his shirt as he unbuttoned mine. His hands were warm against my skin, his mouth teasing down my neck and shoulders. I felt my bra unsnap, and he gripped the lacy cup with his teeth, easing it down to release my breasts.

  Everything became a blur of sensation as he kissed, licked, nibbled, and felt his way over my body. My pants slid down my legs, and I quickly unsnapped his, pushing them down to join mine on the floor. He was ready. I was ready. I was soooo ready. Grabbing his arm, I tried to maneuver him toward the bedroom, but he resisted.

  In a blink I was up on top of the stainless steel table, dishes, bowls, and utensils sliding off to crash and clatter on the floor. Before I could protest, his head dove between my legs and all coherent th
ought fled my mind. He licked and sucked, bringing me to the very edge but not letting me climax.

  “Damn it, Xavier,” I choked out. My hands scrabbled for something to grab on the smooth table as my body tensed once more. Finally I reached forward to grip his shoulders, digging my short nails into his skin.

  This time he let me fly, and the orgasm shuddered through me. My back arched off the table, but he held me in place with his hands on my rear. As I floated back to earth I started to giggle. My dishes were smashed on the floor. I was naked and sprawled across one of my tables. I didn’t care. I didn’t care that I’d need to clean up the floor and sanitize the table. I felt like every nerve in my body had risen to the surface of my skin. Everything tingled.

  And I wanted to do it again.

  Xavier eased back, brushing his hands down my sides and planting a kiss on my stomach. Pulling my hands from his back, he slid off the table and helped me to sit up. I should have been embarrassed. I was buck naked on a stainless steel table, looking at an equally naked demon. And the table was…messy. Looking down at the broken plates, the splattered food, the smudged and somewhat sticky table, I started to laugh. This wasn’t something I ever imagined myself doing. It felt amazing. And I was about to do something else I never thought I’d do—ask this demon, someone I barely knew, to spend the night.

  “Did that pizza oven meet your exacting standards?” Xavier grinned.

  “Mugnaini wood-fired pizza oven level of awesomeness.” I took a deep breath and went on, before my courage deserted me. “I know you’re busy and you’ve got things you probably need to do, and I’m busy too with the gnome party tomorrow and…would you stay here? With me? It’s okay if you can’t. I mean, I understand. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”

  He silenced my babbling with a quick kiss. “Yes.”

  “Yes?” I squeaked. “Yes, you’ll see me around sometime?”

  His smile was far too sweet and tender for a demon. “Yes, I’ll spend the night. I hope you actually have a bedroom, because as fun as this table was, I don’t think it would be all that comfortable to sleep on.”