by Lily Rede
BOOM! BOOM!
Something wet and heavy splattered against the glass roof of the greenhouse, like rain or mud.
Cass’ eyes widened.
“Oh no.”
She sucked in a breath as she separated herself from Tom, the thick warmth of his shaft rubbing against tender flesh as he pulled out.
Cass slid off the table, grabbed her nightshirt, and pulled it on in one swift motion as she raced for the door, skidding to a halt in the doorway, her stomach dropping.
Tom came up behind her.
“Fuck me,” he breathed.
The pumpkin patch was a field of sticky orange goo, with shattered pieces of twelve giant pumpkins scattered as far as the eye could see. Cass groaned as the truth hit her like a freight train. Tom had given her pleasure like she’d never known, and when she’d exploded in ecstasy, the pumpkins had followed suit.
The last straw.
Ignoring the curious neighbors that were starting to make an appearance, Cass swallowed her tears and took off barefoot across the lot. She didn’t stop running until she reached the safety of her house. Alone.
Tom didn’t follow.
THE NEXT MORNING dawned crisp and cold, but normal cold, not magical, freeze-your-nuts-off-kill-everything-that-grows cold. After a sleepless night, Tom spent the morning fielding questions and condolences on the destruction of his beautiful crop, and started cleanup. The questions he handled with a carefully vague answer – a burst pipe in exactly the wrong place, a buildup of pressure, blah blah blah. He gathered debris for mulching and salvaged a few wheelbarrows full of seeds for next season. The greenhouse was still overgrown, but the tendrils of magic had dissipated. He’d need more than a weed whacker to get the place back to normal. Through it all, Tom tried not to think. He wasn’t ready to process everything, and focused instead on physical activity, pushing himself to exhaustion.
Unfortunately, his mind couldn’t block Cass, no matter how hard he tried to distract himself.
Cass, whose raven hair felt like cool silk against his skin…who made the sweetest little cries of pleasure when he sucked her tasty clit… and whose pussy was hot enough to melt his cock as she rode him to oblivion. Cass, who was a witch that accidentally destroyed a year’s work by coming too hard.
Tom sighed and wiped the sweat from his face with the edge of his shirt.
He tried to convince himself that if she never spoke to him again, he’d be dodging a bullet. No doubt last night’s episode was just the tip of the iceberg. Who knows what might happen if they were in a real relationship? Who knows what might happen if he sank his cock into her again, maybe from behind this time, or up against the wall. Maybe he’d just strip her and fuck that sweet mouth while she played with her tit.
Tom groaned. He wasn’t going to be able to forget her – the bright, curious eyes, her sweet laugh, or the way she gently teased him. So she destroyed a few pumpkins. So fucking what? He could grow more for next year. Missing the competition was a blow to his ego, but missing out on Cass would be fatal to his heart.
He picked up a small pumpkin from the corner of the lot by the gate, mostly undamaged, and headed down to Cass’ house.
Tom knocked.
And waited.
And knocked again.
“I’m not going anywhere until you answer the door, Cass.”
A long pause, and the door cracked open to reveal a very wary Cass still in her flannel shirt from the night before. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were red and swollen. She’d clearly been crying. She was beautiful.
Solemnly, Tom held out the little pumpkin.
Cass burst into tears again.
Shit.
Tom set the pumpkin on the porch and pulled Cass into his arms, letting her sob against his shirt. While she held tight and cried herself out, he noted the chaos inside – the house seemed to be having its own meltdown. He winced at the sound of breaking glass.
“Sweetheart, you have to calm down. Your homeowners insurance probably doesn’t cover damage by witchcraft.”
Cass muttered a watery chuckle and the noise level inside abated somewhat.
“You shouldn’t be here, Tom. I blew up your pumpkins.”
“Yes, you did. But you also blew my mind, so I figure it’s a fair trade.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Tom tilted her head up.
“Look, everyone’s got their little eccentricities. I once dated a girl who thought that eating salad was murder. I can handle a little magic, Cass.”
“But it could be months before I figure out how to control it. Or years. It’s part of who I am. It’s never going to go away, and anyone who wants to be with me is going to have to deal with a certain amount of magical disaster,” she said, adding, “And my family.”
“Then you’ll have to find lots of interesting ways to make it up to me when you accidentally leave me stranded in the Gobi desert or turn my customers into fruit bats.”
He explored her curves through the flannel, sliding his hands back to cup her ass in a firm grip. She plucked a pumpkin seed from the collar of his shirt.
“You’re covered in pumpkin guts.”
“Yes, I am. Let’s go take a bath and you can scrub my back, my sweet little witch.”
Cass seemed to waver for a moment, and then wrapped her hands around his neck.
“Are you sure?”
“Where am I going to find another girl who can literally sweep me off my feet?”
He kissed her, pleased with her gasp as he lifted her far enough to press his cock into the vee of her thighs. Oh yeah.
“You know, I might be able to put your pumpkins back together,” she murmured.
“Leave my pumpkin patch alone.”
“It was just a suggestion.”
“Are you making fun of me?”
He grinned as Cass chuckled, and then swept her up into his arms, his mouth already moving on hers as he stepped inside the house and shut the door behind them.
THE END
COMING SOON, STEAMY ROMANTIC SUSPENSE FROM LILY REDE…
SAFE FROM THE DARK
EXCERPT
“SON OF A BITCH!”
Evie Asher swerved to avoid the fallen tree, only to feel the sedan jerk as the front tires sank six inches into the mud off the side of what only the most charitable of lunatics would call a road. It was only mid-afternoon, but the thunderclouds and sheets of rain had darkened the October day to twilight and turned the dirt road into sludge. Ten minutes and spinning wheels confirmed her rotten bad luck – stuck fast.
Fucking perfect, Evie thought, and slammed her hand against the steering wheel, instantly regretting it as splinters of pain shot up her aching arm to the newly healed scar tissue in her shoulder and side. She had ignored the sling for the trip from New York, finding it awkward to drive one-handed, but after ten hours, even Evie’s legendary stamina was giving out and her whole left side was one big, burning ache.
She squinted through the rain-slicked windshield at the split road ahead and considered her options. If memory served, her grandmother’s cabin was about a mile up the right fork. The nearest neighbors were the Daniels, a half mile down the opposite fork. Evie had a vague recollection of her grandmother taking her to visit Martha Daniels, who smelled of lemon and clean linen, cooing over her and wishing she’d had a little girl of her own. It was a nice memory, one of Evie’s last good ones before her life went to hell. She wondered if Mrs. Daniels would remember her fondly or if disapproval would fill her eyes when she opened the door. If Evie were lucky, she wouldn’t remember her at all. Evie had changed, grown up miraculously in one piece, and remade her life as a tough and capable member of the NYPD, until a month ago, when two bullets knocked her out of commission and her monumentally bad relationship decision had blown up in her face. Apparently the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
The discovery that her grandmother had left her the property in Bright’s Ferry, despite everything, had been a welcome surp
rise. There was a chance the gossip hadn’t spread this far. Bright’s Ferry was about as rural as one could get, tucked against a secluded New England bay, quiet, a good spot to start over. Unless, of course, your parents were at the center of the biggest town scandal in decades. Still, it had been twenty years, and Evie had nowhere else to go.
Maybe this time it will stick, she thought with a sigh.
At the very least, Martha and Hank Daniels would let her use the phone to call the town’s lone garage. It was the good human thing to do, regardless of whatever news about her might have made it back to them.
Evie checked her cell phone, unsurprised at the lack of bars, and shoved it into her backpack. There was no way around it, she was going to get soaked. Evie Asher had never waited around to be rescued, and she wasn’t about to start now. She took a quick glance around the car, reached for the door handle, and then stopped.
You don’t need the gun, she reminded her inner cop, who grumbled.
A brief hesitation and Evie opened the glove compartment, grabbed her 9mm, and awkwardly shrugged into her shoulder holster, gasping in pain. She immediately felt better when the weight of the weapon settled into its customary place, and cautiously eased her hoodie on.
One more hour, she promised herself, One more hour and you’ll be soaking in a hot bath, drinking a nice pinot, and reading about the dark-eyed Sabatino doing deliciously illicit things to his Contessa on the library floor.
She hefted the backpack onto her good side and stepped out into the rain.
SHIVERING AND COMPLETELY DRENCHED, Evie dropped her backpack on the Daniels’ porch. It was a beautiful hundred-year-old farmhouse that was obviously in the process of being restored - scaffolding protected what looked like a new wing off the side of the two-story structure. Evie spared a quick glance around, but her teeth were starting to chatter.
Fingers tight with cold, Evie raised a hand to knock.
Nothing.
Come on, come on.
Someone had to be home, judging from the sporty little SUV in the driveway sitting behind a more utilitarian truck. The lights blazed with beckoning warmth and the smoky scent of a fireplace teased her with promises of heat and comfort.
She knocked harder, kicking the door for good measure, stumbling back as it jerked open.
“What the hell, Tom? Can’t a guy take one Sunday afternoon – ”
He broke off abruptly, hazel eyes widening.
Evie tried to form words, but her brain inconveniently chose that moment to shut down, obviously overloaded by impending hypothermia and the sight of six plus feet of bare, tanned muscle standing in the doorway, clutching a blanket around his waist with lean, elegant hands. His skin had a light sheen of sweat and his dark hair was ruffled over those bright hazel eyes.
Hot.
Even the inner cop whimpered and she gave it a mental shove.
Pull it together, Asher.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Mr. or Mrs. Daniels – ”
His brows snapped together with a frown.
“They’re dead. For the last five years. Car accident.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I was headed to the old Asher cabin down the road and my car got stuck.”
“You were trying to get out there in this?”
Incredulous, he gestured and the blanket slipped just a bit, exposing another inch of taut waist and a narrow pelt of dark hair under his navel that arrowed downward in a most interesting manner.
Evie swallowed and kept her eyes on his.
“I just need a phone to call the garage, if that’s okay.”
“Colin?” The breathy voice drifting down the hall had Evie’s face heating in a blush, despite her shivers, as her brain stuttered back into working order.
Two cars in the driveway, panting sex god in the doorway. Way to go, Asher. You just cock-blocked your new neighbor.
Said sex god muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Fucking hell,” and stepped back to open the door.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll take you myself.”
“You don’t have to do that, really.”
She wavered slightly as she stepped into the warmth of the house, closing her eyes for a moment as heat curled around her frozen limbs and she shuddered in reaction.
“Colin.”
The voice was less breathy and more annoyed, and Evie caught a glimpse of a buxom blonde in a blue lace confection at the top of the stairs. It looked uncomfortable, but Evie supposed it wasn’t designed to be worn for long. The woman’s silicone breasts were clearly trying to make a strategic escape to avoid chafing.
“Wait here while I get some clothes on.” He pointed toward a living room, where a fire crackled merrily in the fireplace and the remains of a romantic interlude were strewn on the coffee table – half a bottle of wine, a couple of glasses.
“It’s really not necessary – ”
The sex god paused at the foot of the stairs, impatient.
“Pete Jackson runs the garage by himself, and I’m pretty sure he’s got his hands full helping other stranded drivers crazy enough to be out in this mess. I’m not going to make him drop everything to come all the way out here when I can have you over at the Asher cabin in fifteen minutes. Okay?”
Evie started to retort, then shut her mouth and nodded. She was cranky, wet, and still freezing. If there was ever a time to make her Type-A tendencies take five, this was it. Her half-naked knight in shining blanket turned his back on her and headed up the stairs, treating her to the sight of the strong curve of his spine and more slabs of muscle leading down to what was no doubt a perfectly sculpted ass.
Evie squelched the long-dormant lust-circuits that sparked to life and made a bee-line for the fireplace.
“I’M BEING PUNISHED,” COLIN muttered as he pulled on jeans in front of a seriously pissed off Deirdre Small. She was busily covering up those bombshell curves she had been so busily baring for him just a little while ago.
Sorry, old buddy, he thought to his poor, neglected cock.
“I knew this wasn’t going to happen.”
“Come on, Deirdre, this will only take a few minutes. Then I’ll be back and we can – ”
“I’m not in the mood anymore.”
Fully dressed, she glared at him with icy baby blues.
“Last week it was that meeting for the Harvest Festival, and the week before it was the high school pep rally, and the week before that it was that stupid Town Hall meeting that went over by like, six hours. It’s always something, Colin!”
“I’m the mayor, Deirdre, remember? You were at the swearing-in?”
“Well, I didn’t realize that meant you were never going to fuck me again! You work twenty-four hours a day and now you’re leaving me to go help some stranded tourist?”
“I couldn’t just leave her out there. What do you want me to do?”
“Get your priorities straight, Mr. Mayor.”
Fluffing her blond curls, she disappeared into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Colin sighed and reached for his boots. Deirdre had always been something of a drama queen, but she was eager and available and more interested in his body than in any long-term relationship. Unfortunately, in recent weeks, the sex – when his schedule actually opened up enough to permit such a thing – had become a little boring. Colin couldn’t quite pinpoint the problem. She was hot, uninhibited, and always let him take charge. Lately, it just left him a little…uninspired.
He pulled on a sweater and grabbed a clean sweatshirt from a drawer before reaching for his keys and heading back downstairs. Maybe once he took care of his clueless half-drowned guest, Deirdre would be back in the mood to help him burn off some of the stress he’d built up in the six weeks since he’d become mayor of Bright’s Ferry. Colin sighed, knowing she’d be out the door by the time his truck cleared the driveway. Irritation sizzled through him and he decided to place the blame squarely on the crazy woman downstairs.
Colin stepped into the living room and stopped short, awareness prickling along every nerve ending. Talk about inspiration.
His guest was standing in front of the fireplace, eyes closed, mouth dropped open in pleasure as she absorbed the heat. Her hair was drying to long ribbons of rich brown, and she’d removed the soaked hoodie to reveal a white tank top that lovingly hugged a curvy, compact little body and sweet breasts that would fit his hands to perfection. Colin drank in every line, feeling a little like a voyeur, and then frowned as his eyes landed on the bandages that covered one shoulder and spread down her side.
The frown deepened at the sight of the gun in the shoulder holster, lying on the coffee table.
“I hope you have a permit for that.”
She looked up as he spoke, her clear gray eyes wide, framed by thick lashes. Her face was devoid of makeup, and she nervously licked a lush lower lip.
“I’m a cop. That is, I was a cop.”
God, she’s pretty. He hadn’t noticed before, but now she was warm and dry, with firelight licking along those sweet curves. The hard punch of lust surprised him, settling low in his abdomen. He struggled to focus on more important things.
“What happened?” He gestured at her bandages.
“It’s nothing.” She reached for her soaked hoodie, grimacing in distaste.
“Here.” Colin stepped forward with the sweatshirt, and for a moment it looked like she was going to turn it down. “Come on, I’m just trying to be helpful.”
“I don’t need help.”
His skepticism must have shown on his face because she had the grace to blush and snatch the sweatshirt from his hands. For a moment, Colin watched her try to pull it over her head, jostling her bad side as little as possible, and trying to smother the little gasps of pain when she moved the wrong way. Rolling his eyes, he stepped forward and carefully untangled her from the fabric. She stiffened immediately. Colin worked on keeping his hands to himself, though his fingers tingled at the accidental brush of soft skin at her waist where her tank rode up. He stepped back.
