by G. A. Aiken
Gideon wiped the sweat and blood from his forehead. His lungs burned from breathing in all the ash and from the taxing battle. He couldn’t seem to get enough air. He briefly considered moving and started to push up to a standing position, but his body screamed in pain, so he decided instead to sit and wait for the doc. He was pissed at her for risking her pretty little neck, and he was damned impressed that she’d wade into battle with demons without a second thought. She was a red-headed Valkyrie, and a genius. Spraying the Keeper in the face with the extinguisher gave Gideon the edge he’d desperately needed to turn the battle. Even without the sword, the Keeper was an ass kicker. Only one thing bothered him. The Keeper shouldn’t have died. Not from a flank wound.
Gideon had skewered the thing to help immobilize it, choosing the sweet spot: the nexus points of nerves that clustered on either flank of a demon. The thing’s hands blocked the neck, preventing beheading, but a shot to the sweet spot would result in momentary paralysis, giving him a chance to fell a killing blow. Except the strike finished the thing as effectively as beheading. It made no sense. And things that made no sense bothered him.
He heard Meg’s approach as she muttered curses to herself. She carried a little black bag, like something a country doctor might have. She scowled at him and knelt by his side.
“Take your jacket off, and your shirt.”
He smiled and shrugged out of his leathers. “What ever you say, Doc.”
“Don’t get too excited. This is a professional visit, not a social call.”
The T-shirt was shredded and useless to him, so he pulled the tatters from his body. Meg might think this was a professional visit, but, judging by the way her pupils dilated and she licked her lips with that delicate pink tongue, he’d bet she was enjoying the view anyway. He felt a sharp stab of masculine pride. The doc liked him. He started grinning like an idiot, even though he felt like hell. “I have a small kit in the jacket pocket. I heal fast. That will help me heal faster if it’s applied to the wounds.”
Wordlessly, she grabbed the jacket, removed the small, hard-shelled kit and opened it up. “Which one?”
“The cobalt-blue bottle.”
She opened it and sniffed, then wrinkled her nose. “It smells like raw sewage. What’s it made of?”
“This and that.”
“Let’s start with some cleaning. We can use this later.” She sealed it up, opened her own bag, and set up shop.
Gideon watched as she ripped the seal off a small plastic tray, dropped in several gauze pads, and filled the tray with saline. Her movements were smooth, practiced, economical. He found himself both dreading and longing for her touch.
“This may hurt.” Much to his disappointment, she donned a pair of latex gloves. “I want to clean the wound on your head first.”
She repositioned, leaning over him so she could better assess the wound. It gave him a spectacular view of her breasts and brought her body so close she ignited him with a slow, dangerous flame. She touched his forehead lightly, and her lips formed a slight, delectable pout. “The blood flow appears to have stopped. Amazing.”
If he straightened just a bit, moved an inch or so to the right, he could capture those juicy lips and kiss away any frowns. “You have no idea.”
She changed gears and moved back on her heels so she could give his chest and abdomen a better look. Her hand feathered across his bare skin and he shivered at her touch.
The corners of her lips tilted up. “You’re ticklish?”
“What can I say, Doc. You have the touch.”
She colored slightly and turned away, keeping her eyes solidly focused on his naked torso. He had to suppress the urge to grab her and roll her beneath him. He had a vivid image of how she would look, how she would feel. He felt himself start to harden and pushed away the tantalizing thoughts of her soft body, pliable and hot beneath his own. She’d taste sweet as cotton candy, melt in the mouth sweet. He knew it. He craved it.
How do you ditch your Fairy Godmother?
Wishful Thinking
© 2008 Evangeline Anderson
The Swann Sisters Chronicles, Book 1
As her 25th birthday approaches, mild-mannered Philomena Swann lives in terror of her annual birthday wish. Sure, she has a disinterested fiancé and a misogynistic boss, but from experience she knows wishing both away could result in disaster. Why? Because she and her sisters are one-eighth fairy. Not enough to give them magical powers, but enough to qualify for a fairy godmother—from hell.
All Phil wants is, just once, to have the courage to speak her mind. She blurts out her wish…and suddenly finds she can’t stop. To her friends. Her boss. Her Nana. And her best friend, hot and hunky co-worker, Josh. Before she can do any more damage, she begs for the spell to be reversed. And it is—with a vengeance. Now everyone else is compelled to tell her the truth. Including Josh.
But the fairy godmother’s not done. One more wish could change Phil’s world forever—if it doesn’t ruin her life first.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Wishful Thinking:
“Phil, don’t you know nothing you could say would make me want to stop being your friend?” Josh stopped in front of her and crossed his arms over his broad chest. There was amusement but also concern in his deep brown eyes. Phil could see herself reflected in their depths, looking like a frightened rabbit. “Okay,” he said, “Come on, hit me with your best shot.”
“What?” Phil was still trying to keep the nursery rhyme lodged in her brain but it was breaking up. Mary had a little…a little…a tall, sexy coworker. No, that isn’t right!
“You heard me.” He had a serious look on his good-natured face now. “Give it to me with both barrels. I want you to say whatever comes to mind about me and I promise not to be offended. Nothing off limits, just go ahead and get it over with.”
“Josh, please don’t make me.” Phil felt like she was going to cry. Mary had a little lamb was dissolving into a senseless blur of syllables. Soon her traitorous thoughts would begin leaking out.
“I can take it,” he said. “You want to tell me I’m a pig or that I need to shut up or—”
“You smell really good,” Phil heard herself say as the wish took over. “And I love your laugh—it’s all deep and rumbly and it makes me feel warm just to hear it. And when we talk, I always feel like you care about what I have to say.”
“I do.” He gave her that charming, lopsided grin that had drawn her to him from the start. “That’s all you got? Gotta tell you, Swann, so far I’m not impressed.”
“I like the way you touch me,” she went on, helpless. “You’re always so gentle and your hands are so big and warm…” Oh God, this was so inappropriate. She was probably making him horribly uncomfortable.
Josh had an odd look on his face, but all he said was, “Go on.”
“I…I think that’s all,” Phil said with relief. But then a little voice in the back of her brain spoke up. The dream? What about the dream? But that was definitely out of bounds—far past the invisible barriers Phil had always kept between herself and her friend.
“I had this dream about you once,” she heard herself say. “About us, actually.”
He cleared his throat. “Do, uh, do you want to tell me about it?”
“No,” Phil moaned. “But…but I can’t help it. I…I…” She bit her lip, but it was no good. “I was sitting in a chair, in my dream, I mean. And you came up behind me and reached around and started stroking me…my…” She gestured helplessly to her chest. She could feel herself sweating beneath her white silk blouse.
“Okay, so I was uh, touching your breasts?” Josh raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat.
Phil nodded. I’m embarrassing him, and humiliating myself. He doesn’t want to cross the line either! And yet she couldn’t stop. “And then we were suddenly in…in bed. You know how that goes with dreams where suddenly you’re someplace different than you were a minute before?”
“Uh-huh.”
�
��So we were in bed, uh, naked and…and…And you were kissing me. We…were kissing each other.” Phil felt like her face might set fire to her blouse. What would Josh think of her when she was done? “We…you…were touching me again. All… all over.” Phil swallowed. “And your hands felt just like they do in real life—big and warm and gentle. And I was…I was…” She felt like she might strangle on the words. She was gripping her purse so tightly her knuckles were white. “There was…was more but mostly I remember that then you were…on top of me. And I was…I was saying, was begging you to…to…to…And you did and it felt so…so…”
“So we made love?” Josh asked gently, interrupting her halting words.
She nodded, grateful to him for summing it up so neatly. “Yes! God, I’m so sorry, Josh. I can only imagine what…what you must think of me now.” She put a hand over her eyes, her purse still gripped tightly in the other. Tears of humiliation were wetting her hot cheeks and she was actually shaking with shame. Could this stupid wish get any worse?
“Hey, come on, now, Phil. It was just a dream.” Josh pried her hand away from her eyes and lifted her chin. “Seriously, don’t cry,” he said softly.
“I can’t… I can’t believe I told you that.”
“Hey.” He tried to smile. “Did it upset you that much to have one X-rated dream about me?”
“No.” Phil bit her bottom lip, anxious to make him understand. “It didn’t upset me to have it. But…but…you’re my best friend, Josh, but there are some things we just…we don’t talk about. You know what I mean.”
He nodded and rubbed his chin, making a faint sandpapery sound as his fingers brushed over his five o’clock shadow. “Yeah, I know, Swann.” He took a step forward and looked at her intently. “There’s a lot that’s unsaid between us,” he said, his deep voice dangerously soft.
“There is,” Phil agreed. She could feel a current of barely grounded electricity flowing between them. “I mean…I never…I would never want to make you feel uncomfortable. I don’t want you to feel around me the way I feel around Dickson when he starts talking nasty and trying to cop a feel.”
The tension abruptly lessened as Josh let out a surprised snort of laughter. “Is that what you think? Listen, Phil, believe me, you don’t have to worry that you make me feel the way you feel about Dickhead. I promise you that.”
Phil swiped at her eyes with a shaking hand. She was relieved that they had kept the invisible barriers between them intact—barely. “So you don’t think I’m some kind of pervert?”
Josh laughed again. “Hardly. You can’t help what you dream. I’ve had some pretty, uh, interesting dreams myself from time to time.”
“About me? I mean, us?” Phil asked before she could stop herself. “No, wait, forget I asked that. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Josh said with a grin. “Now, come on, get yourself together and let me take you out to lunch.”
Phil took stock of herself. She was sweating and trembling and she still had tears on her cheeks and a lump in her throat. “I’m sorry, Josh. But I’m not in any shape to be seen in public. I don’t want to go out to a restaurant right now.”
“Who said anything about a restaurant?” He took her hand, twining her fingers through his, and led her through the parking lot to where his car, a blue Toyota Hybrid, was parked. “I’m talking about a picnic al fresco.” He held up the other bag he had been carrying and Phil saw it was his lunch bag. “I was just going to lunch when I heard the office scuttlebutt and came out to give you your purse.”
Phil tried to smile. “Are you sure you want to have lunch with a mouthy bitch like me?”
He grinned. “Absolutely. So what do you say, Swann? I’m inviting you to lunch at Chez Bowman. It doesn’t have much atmosphere but I promise you the ham and cheese sandwich is divine. Five star cuisine all the way.”
“I say…yes.” Phil grinned at him, feeling a deep relief flood through her. She had said the worst, most embarrassing things her mind could come up with and Josh hadn’t been offended. He still wanted to be around her. After the way everyone else had reacted to her birthday wish, it was wonderful to know that at least one person in her life didn’t want to ditch her for speaking her mind.
“Great.” Josh opened the passenger side door and helped her into the car with a smile. “Let’s go to lunch.”
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