Happy to oblige, that was me. I unbuttoned his denim shirt and struggled with removing it from him, but finally it slid off. My breath caught, and I had to remind myself to push air out. And then back in. The taut muscles of his chest and the tight ripples in his abs begged to be touched. So I did. I started at his chest, his warm skin growing hotter as I moved my hand down to his stomach.
I worked to unclasp his jeans. He helped me, but I stopped him from taking them completely off. Instead, I tugged the denim down, just a bit, so his hips eased out above the waist-line, his bright red briefs barely showing. And then I had to remind myself to breathe all over again.
This look? I loved it. There was something about the smooth line of a man’s firm stomach leading into the angular line of his hips that turned me on. Not that I wasn’t hot already, but this was the icing on the cake. I wanted to taste him—so very badly.
“Are you licking your lips?”
Another type of warmth flushed my skin when I realized I was, indeed, licking my lips. “Well. Yeah. Got a problem with it?”
“Sweetheart, you can lick your lips all you want. As long as it’s with me.”
Together, we removed the rest of our clothing, stopping here and there to kiss. To touch. To taste. To experience each other the way we wanted. His hands stroked me everywhere. First my stomach, then my breasts. But he didn’t stop there. Nate seemed to instinctively know what I liked, what I wanted, and he strove to please. And yeah, pretty freaking amazing, right? Right.
“My turn,” I whispered, wrapping my arms and legs around him and rolling so that he was beneath me. Straddling him, I leaned over, running my lips over his neck, his collarbone, his chest, his glorious stomach, before his hands gripped my waist and pulled me back to him.
“Now. I want you now,” he murmured.
I couldn’t talk, so I nodded. As soon as I did, his hand reached out to the nightstand, fumbled with a drawer, and returned with a condom. I took it from him and ripped open the package. His hand joined mine, and in a heartbeat we were ready to go.
“I want to be on top,” I said. “I never have before.”
He blinked as if surprised. “Never?”
“No.” Marc hadn’t liked the idea, but I didn’t want to explain. Not now, anyway. “Do you mind?”
A shudder whipped through his body. The green of his eyes turned almost black. “What do you think?”
“I think we’ve wasted enough time.” I situated myself on top of him. Raising my hips, I said, “Ready?” Every part of my body zinged, his body rippled below me, and I felt him jerk upward. How’s that for an affirmative response?
“You’re teasing me.” He rubbed his thumbs over my nipples, and as he did, I found where I wanted to be. Slowly, so slowly, I sank down. He pushed his hips up, and then, just like that, he entered me.
My breath came out in a rush. Everything I thought I knew before this moment evaporated into thin air. All I knew was the feel of him pumping into me and my body meeting his. Thrust for thrust. Nothing, no toy on Earth, could come close to this.
The waiting was worth every damn second.
“Oh. Wow.”
“My thoughts exactly. You feel so good, Liz.”
“So do you. Oh. Wow.”
Nate gripped my hips and thrust into me again. Over and over, and then some more, until, all at once, everything exploded. Lights danced in front of my eyes, my body trembled and shivered from the energy between us, and finally I collapsed on top of him in a pile of loose muscles and melted joints.
His hands stroked my back and then my hair. An overpowering sensation of contentedness washed over me, around me, through me. I lifted my head, so I could see this man who’d so completely taken my breath away.
He smiled at me, and his arms tightened around my body. I put my head back on his chest and tried to ignore the worry that was beginning to overtake my happiness.
Sex with Nate? It wasn’t what I’d expected. It wasn’t what I’d thought it would be. It was more—so very much more than I ever believed possible. And with circumstances such as they were, what the hell was I supposed to do about that?
Chapter Twenty
“Lizzie? Someone’s here to see you,” Jon said, entering the kitchen at A Taste of Magic.
I placed the nested set of mixing bowls in the cupboard and swung the door closed. Thinking it was the elderly couple I’d met at the furniture store, I said, “Tell them I’ll be out in a minute.”I rolled my shoulders back to stretch out the kinks, happy the long day was almost over. Before meeting with them, I wanted to duck into the restroom to be sure I didn’t have powder on my nose. Sometimes, after a full day of baking, I resembled a ghost with the layers of flour that coated me.
“No, Lizzie. Not them. He.” The abrupt, staccato beat of Jon’s voice should have clued me in. Sadly, it didn’t.
“He? Exactly who is here?” Maybe Nate had stopped by? My pulse sped up at the thought.
“Marc. ‘Dickhead’ is in the house. Want me to shoo him away?”
Okay, not such a nice surprise. What could he want? You see, it didn’t matter that I’d made my peace with my failed marriage. I still didn’t want to see him.
But then, I realized it was probably about the bakery. Most likely, Marc had decided it was time to make some changes at A Taste of Magic. I’d planned on mailing his check on my way home that night, but now I could give it to him in person. “No. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Have him wait in the office.”
Jon put his hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure? You don’t have to talk to him. I can easily give him his check and send him on his way.”
“I’d rather give it to him. So yeah, send him back.”
After a quick onceover of my appearance, and with a fresh cup of coffee in hand (you know, for strength), I let myself into my office.
“Betty, thanks for seeing me,” Marc said. He was standing in the corner, hunched against the wall, his eyes following me. Dressed in a dark grey suit, he was as polished as ever. The spitting image of success.
“Didn’t leave me much choice, did you?” Sitting down at my desk, my mind ran through all the different possibilities. He had to be there about business, because even when we were married, Marc rarely visited A Taste of Magic. While he never said it out loud, I was fairly sure “his wife, the baker,” had been another sore spot.
Yeah. Anyway, water under the bridge. “What did you want to see me for?”
“You’re not taking my calls, and you sure as hell aren’t returning them. You didn’t leave me much choice.”
The nerve in my neck began to throb. “Last I checked, we were still divorced.”
“Last I checked, we were still partners in this place,” he said, his gaze taking in the office with one full sweep.
I opened a file on my desk and retrieved the envelope I’d addressed earlier. “Here you go.”
“What’s this?” He walked toward me.
“A check. Business is doing well enough, so we’ve decided to pay the loan amount back in full. As of now, you no longer have any interest in A Taste of Magic.” Yeah—I have to admit—saying that felt pretty damn good.
He ripped the envelope open and pulled out the check. After glancing at the dollar amount, he folded it and slipped it into his pocket. “Thank you. But it’s not why I’m here.”
That startled me. “Why are you here, then?”
He put his hands on my shoulders and knelt down so we were nose to nose. “I just want to talk to you. I miss you, Betty.”
“I’m expecting clients soon. This isn’t the best time for me.” I stood and walked to the other side of the room. One of Marc’s tricks was to enter your physical space to show you he was the predator and you were his prey. I used to put up with it. That was the old me.
“This isn’t the best place to say what I want to say, anyway. Can we get together for lunch? Dinner?” My expression must have displayed my distaste at the idea, because then he said, “
A drink?”
The pleading quality of his tone surprised me. It shouldn’t have gotten to me, I knew this, but it still did. “What’s going on? You have me at a disadvantage here.”
He stood, his perfectly pressed pants straightening over his long legs. “I think I made a mistake.” I saw him struggling for words—odd for my ex. “I want to discuss reconciliation,” he blurted.
Did I hear that right? “Leave it to you to make getting back together with me sound as formal as a business arrangement. ‘I want to discuss reconciliation,’ ” I muttered.
Breathe, I instructed myself. Luckily, I listened to myself and sucked in air.
“It’s not like that,” he said. “It’s—” He ran his hands down the sides of his pants. Could he be nervous? Scared? Of what?
And then, in a flash, I knew. He was scared of his new life. Which meant he wanted his old life back. Which meant— yep, you got it—me. Not only did I not want to discuss reconciliation, I truly didn’t believe he did, either. Not after the way he’d left me. And not after all the conversations we’d had since then. Even so, I couldn’t ignore it. I wanted to, sure, but part of Marc’s reaction could be because of the magic cake. Part of this could very well be my fault.
Sweat beaded on my forehead. Who was I kidding? It was my fault, no two ways about it. I made a snap decision. “Why don’t you come for dinner Friday night? We can talk then. Privately.”
Marc’s eyes lit up, and I felt a tiny, teeny, smidgen of guilt for not saying straight out I wasn’t interested in reconciliation. But I needed to get him to my place so I could fix this mess. Or at least try.
“How about Saturday? Friday is an early pregnancy class Tiff and I are taking. She will not believe I have a dinner meeting that night.”
Prick. Prick. Prick. Since when did I feel sorry for the bimbo? I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Sure. Saturday at seven.”
He advanced, and I was pretty sure he was going try to kiss me. Um, yuck. I opened the office door and stepped outside. “I’ll see you then, Marc. My clients should be here shortly.”
He nodded, disappointment settling in his eyes, but he was smart enough not to push. “I’m looking forward to it, Betty.”
And then, miraculously, he was gone. Sweating like a construction worker on a hot summer day, I returned to my office and collapsed in my chair.
I mentally rehashed the entire conversation with Marc. Nausea curdled in my stomach. Most of the magic I’d cast had given me undesirable results. What was it Grandma had said? “Magic is unpredictable.” Other than Troy—whose spell I was still happy I’d cast—I’d had to play fix-it for almost everyone else I’d baked for.
Meddling with other people—with their thoughts and emotions—wasn’t what I’d wanted when I accepted Miranda’s gift. But somehow, that’s what I’d done. From the very first spell, even. I thought of Nate, and my heart quickened and then dropped inside of me like a lead weight. I’d been trying to ignore what nagged at me. I’d tried to set it aside, to not think about it. But now, after seeing Marc, I couldn’t do that.
I wanted to be with Nate. I wanted to see where it would lead. And yeah, a huge part of me hoped it would lead to something wonderful. But what if the only reason he remained interested in me was because of magical coercion? Could I live with that? Could I go on, wondering if what we had together was real? The answer hit me straight on, and I gasped from the strength of it.
No. I couldn’t. Which meant, besides taking care of Marc, I’d have to face my fears and do the same with Nate. And then I’d have to live with the results, no matter what they were. Because, let’s face it, if my magic was powerful enough to bring Marc back to me, asking for a second chance, it was certainly powerful enough to make Nate experience emotions that weren’t real.
I thought of our night together, the words we’d said to each other, the kisses we’d shared, and the electricity between us. Was all that false? Just a wish-induced experience? Possibly. And I wouldn’t know unless I did something about it. Once I did, we might never have another night together again.
The bell jangled on the shop door, announcing the arrival of my new clients. As I left my office, I focused on getting through the next few hours. Later, I’d deal with the rest of it. I couldn’t hide behind the magic any longer. I refused to.
I was ready for this to be over. One last bit of magical baking—maybe two—and I was done. Forever. Grandma could have the gift back.
I didn’t want it.
It seemed to be my day for surprises. When I got home after work, Grandma Verda, in black leggings and a long gauzy hot-pink shirt (where did she buy her clothes?), was packing her belongings. In my boxes. After dumping the contents all over the floor. Oh well, they needed to be dealt with anyway.
“What are you doing?”“I’m moving in with Vinny,” she announced. The look she gave me bore no room for argument. I didn’t argue.
“Cool. When?”
“Early next week. He needs help, and I’m already there all the time. And you’re all set now. You don’t need me anymore.”
Is that why she’d moved in? “Maybe I do. Things aren’t exactly settled. And I love you, Grandma.” Other than a few minor incidents, I enjoyed living with Grandma Verda. I wasn’t so sure I was happy to see her go.
“I love you too, Lizzie. But Shirley isn’t comfortable here, and you should have your freedom.”
“What are you going to do with your condo? I can find you a real estate agent if you want to sell it.”
“I’m giving it to Alice. She could use more room and a rent-free place to live.”
“Um. Grandma. Do you know something?”
“I know nothing for sure. Just call it a hunch. Why?” She looked at me curiously, but I saw the glint in her eyes.
Crafty old lady, my grandmother.
“What kind of a hunch?”
“Miranda came to me in a dream. I don’t know. It’s kind of hazy, but I’m operating on instinct. Why are you asking?”
“No reason.” Wow. Miranda was invading dreams now? Anyway, it wasn’t up to me to tell Grandma. It was up to Alice.
I helped with the packing, which didn’t take long, seeing as she didn’t have that many belongings with her. When we were done, I said, “I’m running to the store. Do you want to come?”
“Not tonight. I’m going to take it easy.”
She sighed, and for maybe the first time ever, I saw fatigue in her movements, in her gaze, and it worried me. “Are you sure you should be doing this?”
Her watery blue eyes focused on me. “I am. He’s a good man, and I’m at the end.” I opened my mouth to object but snapped it shut when she continued. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not planning my funeral. I’ve lived a long life, and I’m tired. I want to be somewhere I’m needed, and I want to be with someone who makes me laugh. Moving to Vinny’s accomplishes both.”
“Okay, Grandma. As long as you’re sure.”
And that was the end of that.
Later that night, me, Nate, and Grandma were ensconced in my living room. Nate’s head rested on my shoulder as we watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Earlier, when we’d been discussing our favorite TV shows, he’d expressed disbelief that any show with the phrase “vampire slayer” in it could possibly be a worthwhile way to spend time. This was a circumstance that needed to be changed. Immediately. So, I’d pulled out my DVD collection to expose him to the truth of all things Buffy. We held hands like teenagers on their first date, and it was incredibly, amazingly, blow-me-away intimate. Who knew something as simple as hand-holding could elicit such strong responses?
Not me, that’s for sure.Maybe it was because I worried it would be one of our last nights to cuddle, to be together. I hoped not, but until I reversed the effects of the other spells, I wouldn’t know. So yeah, I was taking full advantage while I could. As soon as he left that night, I was going to bake. My decision, and not being sure what would happen, had left me with a strange, melancholy fe
eling the entire evening. I squeezed Nate’s hand. He squeezed back.
Grandma Verda perched in the chair across from us, meticulously knitting something in baby pink yarn. Booties, she claimed. Alice still hadn’t shared her news with anyone else yet, supposedly, so I wondered what Grandma knew. If anything.
When episode three rolled to a close, she set her knitting aside. “I’m taking Vinny to a few appointments in the morning, so I’m going to bed.” After saying our good nights, and right before entering the bedroom, she said, “Have you heard from Miranda lately, Lizzie?”
“No. She’s been strangely quiet.” It wasn’t a lie; not really. I hadn’t exactly heard from my ghostly grandma. Think about it. Not one word was spoken that night with the wedding cake. Besides, the entire encounter was intensely personal and for me alone.
“We should try to contact her again. Maddie should be here because she was last time,” Grandma added before closing the door to the bedroom.
Nate sat up, stretched his arms behind him, and yawned. “Who’s Miranda?”
Avoiding the question, because, come on, how in the hell did I explain that one, I said, “Have I made you a Buffy fan yet?”
“Nice try, sweetie. But I can see avoidance from a mile away. Who’s Miranda?”
Damn. I hadn’t planned on explaining this. I still didn’t think it was a good idea. The show Bewitched came to mind, and I remembered the premiere episode. You know the one, when Darrin first discovered Samantha was a witch? Yeah, he didn’t react very well, did he?
Nah, better to not share this with Nate.
“Miranda is a touchy subject. It’s probably better if I wait to talk about it until things have calmed down some.” Ha! Complete truth. Many points for me. And really, I had no way of knowing if Nate would even be around in a few days, anyway.
“Fair enough.” His fingers brushed my cheek, the warmth of it sweet but sensual and causing havoc with my ability to think coherently. “What’s going on for you Saturday night? I thought we could go out for dinner. Maybe catch a movie.”
A Taste of Magic Page 27