Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Praise for the work of Annette Blair
Gone with the Witch
“Yet another fun romp for Annette Blair!”
—Fallen Angel Reviews
“A spellbinding story that totally knocked my socks off!”
—Huntress Reviews (5 stars)
“Wonderful characters, a riveting story line, and a sensuous undercurrent are just a few of the things that made this such a phenomenal story.” —Romance Junkies
“This story tugged at the heart . . . A definite addition to my keeper shelf.” —Fresh Fiction
“I’ve read all of the ‘witchy’ tales from Ms. Blair and found this to stand on its own, but made even better having known many of the characters previously. I would recommend them all for your reading pleasure.”
—Romance Reviews Today
“This second story about psychic triplets is just as good as the first.” —Romantic Times (4 stars)
Sex and the Psychic Witch
“Ms. Blair’s humor and wit is evident in many ways . . . Sex and the Psychic Witch is . . . a delight [that] will bring chuckles.” —Romance Reviews Today
“A sexy, hilarious, romantic tale with fun characters, snappy writing, and some super-spooky moments. I’ve looked forward to this story since the introduction of the triplets in The Scot, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and it was well worth the wait!” —Fresh Fiction
“More hot scenes . . . spine chills . . . outrageous stunts . . . A witchy climax that will warm your very soul. I can hardly wait until the next Cartwright triplet spins her spell. Out-Freaking-Standing!” —Huntress Reviews
The Scot, the Witch and the Wardrobe
“Sassy dialogue, rich sexual tension, and plenty of laughs make this an immensely satisfying return to Blair’s world of witchcraft. Fans will welcome back familiar characters in supporting roles, but newcomers will take to it just as well.” —Publishers Weekly
“Snappy dialogue can’t disguise the characters’ true insecurities, giving depth to Blair’s otherwise breezy, lighthearted tale.” —Booklist
My Favorite Witch
“Sexy.”—Booklist
“Annette Blair will make your blood sizzle with this magical tale . . . A terrific way to start the new year!”
—Huntress Reviews
“This warmhearted story is a delight, filled with highly appealing characters sure to touch your heart. The magic in the air spotlights the humor that’s intrinsic to the story. A definite charmer!” —Romantic Times
“Annette Blair writes with wit and humor . . . Mixed with the fun, Ms. Blair shares the beauty of unconditional love . . . A great story.” —Romance Reviews Today
“Lighthearted comedy, a touch of magic . . . unexpected twists . . . a romance that sizzles . . . A great story sure to be placed on the prized keeper shelf!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“Sparkles with wit, romance, and a love so grand, no magic could ever hope to create it. It’s from the heart, the truest magic of all.”—Fallen Angel Reviews
“A fabulous read! Kira and Jason are made for one another, and their witty, teasing, sexy banter is laugh-out-loud fun. Ms. Blair has a gift for layering her characters and revealing them gently, cleverly, allowing readers to get to know them on a deeper level.” —Fresh Fiction
“Annette Blair charms her readers with the amusing My Favorite Witch . . . An enchanting pairing . . . Bewitching.”
—The Best Reviews
“A terrific contemporary romance, told with passion and verve. This book proves magic makes sex even sexier!”
—Romance Junkies
The Kitchen Witch
“A fun and sexy romp.” —Booklist
“Magic. The Kitchen Witch sizzles. Ms. Blair’s writing is as smooth as a fine Kentucky bourbon. Sexy, fun, top-notch entertainment.” —The Romance Reader
Berkley Sensation Titles by Annette Blair
THE KITCHEN WITCH
MY FAVORITE WITCH
THE SCOT, THE WITCH AND THE WARDROBE
SEX and the psychic witch
Gone with the witch
never Been witched
Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Annette Blair
Vintage Magic Mysteries
A VEILED DECEPTION
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
NEVER BEEN WITCHED
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING history
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / February 2009
Copyright © 2009 by Annette Blair.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced,
scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form
without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in
violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
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375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-440-69839-2
BERKLEY® SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
BERKLEY® SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
With love and thanks to:
Lynn Haberak,
for opening her childhood home
to friendship and creativity,
and to
Catherine J. Jenssen, CJ,
for creating a home in which writers may flourish.
Live, Love, Laugh!
Dedicated to:
Summer Retreat 2007
Where this story was born
Chapter One
DESTINY Cartwright sought peace in her ritual circle but found self-censure instead. Drat the Goddess of mischievous matchmaking pranks. How could a psychic witch lust after a paranormal debunker?
What were the odds?
Talk about a lousy chooser. Not that she wanted to marry the hunky debunker: six feet of baditude in tight, torn jeans, chest-baring unbuttoned shirts, shaggy, burnished bronze hair, wide shoulders, and a five o’clock shadow.
She wanted Morgan Jarvis, architect, for sex, for a while, as a boy toy, no commitment—no after burn, aftertaste, or regrets.
She’d faced facts. The odds of identical triplets all finding their soul mates were nil to “No way, Jose!” Since Harmony and Storm had found theirs, that made her the single girl out.
Lightning did not strike thrice.
Yes, Morgan would probably try to debunk her every goal: psychic, magickal, emotional, and spiritual, if either of them ever discovered what they were.
Self-discovery. That’s why she’d come here, to find those goals and the path she should take to reach them.
Now, in the dark parlor of the Paxton Island Lighthouse, she sat surrounded by votive candles representing earth, air, fire, and water, situated north, south, east, and west, one in the center for spirit. The crystals between each cinnamon candle refracted their flames like stars, the ageless echo of breaking waves at high tide adding an earth rhythm to her magick.
Though her particular brand of clairvoyance allowed her to see the future of others, never her own, she had envisioned this lighthouse—as lost in a fog, and as much in need of comfort as she—as the place to find her future, her psychic path, her reason for being. And if she was smart, she’d maybe spell her perverse attraction for Morgan Jarvis into the sea.
Alone, like this, she might be able to accomplish it, but if she allowed herself to be caught in his magnetic field, she’d get sucked right in.
She suspected that Morgan hid a soft, chewy center that he covered with a snarky rock-candy shell. She thought he might be hiding Morgan the Mystic, but after Harmony’s wedding, Morgan the Mistake made more sense.
Destiny shivered as mortification threatened to singe her brows, until the moon slipped from the clouds, its beams piercing the windows, caressing her shoulders like a shawl, warm, protective, and forgiving. It offered solace and welcome with the affirming embrace.
Here, she could put her worries behind her.
Shadows danced in her circle, leaving the room’s edges in darkness, including the stairs whose spindles she faced but could no longer see. Her flashlight had picked them out on arrival a short while ago, and her possessions now sat at the bottom, in large, wheeled carts awaiting transport to a bedroom upstairs.
Relief improved Destiny’s spirits. She was here, not in Scotland with her well-meaning family auto-pairing her with Morgan Jarvis, so much a friend, he felt like family . . . to everyone except her.
Peace, Destiny sensed, was just out of reach.
Serenity. If only she could grasp it.
Her hyperactive cat’s purring contentment attested to the tranquility surrounding them. She petted the caramel-and-marshmallow-swirl tabby. “You like the lighthouse, don’t you, Caramello? I like it, too. I think it wants us here.”
Destiny centered herself, a first step on this journey of self-discovery fired by a profusion of confusion over her elusive psychic goal and a riot of romantic fantasies over one maddening man.
Breathe in. Release. Breathe. Release.
Perhaps she should have saved her ritual for morning, except that—
“Now feels right.
In the dead of night
I dare to invite . . .
Profound insight.”
A tentative calm settled over her, obscurity filling the dark edges of her consciousness the way it claimed the periphery of the room. She closed her eyes and searched the recesses of her mind before letting her words pour forth:
“Earth, water, fire, air
Angel guardians hear my prayer.
Help define my psychic brand.
For those who seek a helping hand.
“Moon, stars, high bright sun,
Light my way to souls undone.
My psychic goal with speed, reveal.
Harm it naught, I seek to heal.”
Destiny opened her eyes . . . and lost her breath.
In her circle stood a man dressed as if for a centennial sail. Beside him, an apple-cheeked young girl sat in a grotto of bright white angel wings. Standing tall behind her: an angel.
Destiny’s heartbeat trebled. Fear stole her breath, prickling her from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. She shivered and clutched her cat so tightly that Cara me-owed and jumped from her grasp to circle, examine, and “talk” to the little girl.
Destiny had never seen her cat try so hard to communicate.
The child held her hand flat, well above Caramello, and the cat purred loudly, and arched as if into an actual caress.
The girl smiled, and the angel said, “Be not afraid.”
Destiny about choked. Wait a minute. She tried to regain her composure. “The last time an angel spoke those words, didn’t a virgin get pregnant?”
The angel remained passive, its lucent amber eyes deeply probing, while Centennial Man’s eyes widened. “I don’t think that could be an issue here,” he quipped.
“I resent that!” Destiny fought a warm shot of embarrassment at her knee-jerk reaction and the truth of his words.
Despite the entities’ lack of apparent threat, Destiny stood and pointed a large green fluorite crystal their way like a negative-energy scrub gun, because she knew—she knew—they were ghosts.
“Negative entities away.
Protection come to stay.
White light, elliptical in flight,
Surround me in a sphere so bright
As to sever threat and sight,
Of visions in the night.”
Adrenaline pumped through her as she stepped back, but her visitors remained.
Normally, she’d feel safe in her ritual circle, except that they shared the circle with her.
Destiny gasped, knelt, and with a sweep of her arms, pulled candles and crystals close around her, to form a smaller, safer circle.
The ghost child’s lips quirked upward on one side, bringing Morgan’s rare smile to mind.
Centennial Man shook his head, as if in warning. “We’re not negative,” he whispered and pointed behind his hand. “That really is an angel.”
Destiny rose and straightened, preferring to tower over them, though no human could stand taller than the angel, and she chanted her spell again, this time, loud enough to wake the dead.
A light appeared at
the top of the stairs.
Another icy rush of fear. An involuntary catch in her breath. “Don’t tell me there are more of you!”
Footsteps, she heard, running on the floor above. A crash. A curse.
Another male ghost? Destiny stamped her foot. “Enough already!”
A hair-raising stair creak. Two. Three.
Heavy footsteps, slowly descending a blacked-out staircase.
Words of inquiry caught in Destiny’s paralyzed throat as she stood frozen in her protective circle. Beast or ghost, he could not harm her here.
She aimed the fluorite crystal high, and at the next creak—thank the Goddess for teen softball—she served it in a deadly pitch.
A man-grunt. A tumble down the stairs.
A horrendous crash against wheeled carts, her caterwauling cat leaping into the fray, and her personal belongings flying into view turned her mind from ghosts to a flesh-and-blood man, about the size of Bigfoot, wrecking everything she’d—
“My things!”
Her heart beat a wild tattoo, yet shame for the selfish thought claimed her. A ghost would not have disturbed her carts or landed with a thud and a shivering head-crack. Unable to reach a light switch without stepping near the yeti at the bottom of the stairs, Destiny set her ritual knife on the floor to open the sacred circle to allow for her escape.
Never Been Witched Page 1
