Never Been Witched

by BLAIR, ANNETTE

  “Statement shirt? It’s a freaking engraved invitation. Cassock wearers can remove said shirt as well.”

  “You’re wearing it inside out.”

  “Just for you.” She spooned some of her yogurt into his mouth.

  He made a sound of surprised appreciation. “You know anybody who wears cassocks?” he asked, returning to his painting.

  “Scads of men.”

  “Any of them ever take you up on that invite?”

  She sighed. “Only in my dreams.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “YOU’D better go find one then,” he said a minute later. “Can’t let that shirt go to waste.”

  She froze and nearly dropped her yogurt. Huge disappointment. He’d played as much of the game as was in him in the light of day.

  Backpedal, Cartwright. Don’t let him see you drool.

  “I thought you looked lonely out here,” she said, determined to draw him out.

  He indicated Caramello adoring him from the porch rail. “Chatty Kitty here’s been keeping me company since I got up, though she went ballistic when she followed me into the shower and I turned it on. She can jump a six foot wall, did you know that?”

  “She’s a regular catapult.” Destiny petted her arching cat while trying not to let Morgan’s embarrassment affect her. “Why do you never talk to me, Caramello?”

  “Must be my animal attraction,” Morgan said.

  Destiny elbowed him. “First time I see your cocky side. Your emotional cocky side,” she added quickly. “I like it better than your cranky side.”

  Morgan eyed her shirt. “By the looks of that shirt, and the bra you’re not wearing, you’re bucking to see more of my . . . cocky side.”

  She stepped closer. “Well, this invite is special.”

  “So it is, which leaves me out.”

  Caramello jumped into the space between them.

  Destiny scratched her cat behind the ears, knuckle deep in soft, lush fur. “I think my Cara’s in love with you.”

  “And she’s jealous of you.” Morgan raised Caramello for an eye to eye, and her cat got all feline flirty and überchatty. Humph. She did have a rival for Morgan’s affections. Good thing the cat had gotten shut out of their room last night. Cara wouldn’t have liked what they were doing.

  Like a catapult, she would have tried to stop them.

  “Thanks for soothing my nightmares last night, by the way. I hope you were able to sleep . . . after.”

  This time only his ears got red. “Like a baby,” he said, his gaze locked on hers. Their first true eye to eye since the best sex of her life. “You?” he asked.

  “Like a babe. Yeah, that.” She looked around, wondering what color her face had turned. The patch of Chinese lanterns growing between the porch and the plank walkway in front of the lighthouse looked brighter this morning, the trees in the distance like a watercolor wash of red, orange, and yellow. “Prettier than a painting,” she said. “I love this place.”

  “I love it, too.” But he had given his attention back to his project.

  “Coral is a great color for the door trim,” Destiny said as she took a turreted, multilevel Victorian birdhouse off the porch rail. Painted in shades of sage, cream, and eggplant, it looked like a regular painted lady of the San Francisco variety. “This is gorgeous, a truly talented work of art. Where did you get it?”

  “It’s my design and my handiwork. I build birdhouses for fun.”

  “You? Building birdhouses? Now there’s a hobby that doesn’t fit my image of the stern Morgan Jarvis.”

  “You? Cooking? There’s a hobby that doesn’t fit my image of the mysterious Destiny Cartwright.” He wiped his paint-stained hands on a rag. “Hidden depths, the both of us,” he said. “I think the coral accentuates the brick perfectly.”

  Deeply hidden depths. “Coral would be my choice.” It had been her choice, once upon a painting.

  Morgan wiggled a brand-new paintbrush before her eyes. “Finish your breakfast, and I might let you help with the molding on the back door.”

  “How grateful am I?”

  They finished the trim on both doors by eleven.

  “No more manual labor for today,” Morgan said as they made sandwiches for lunch.

  “What’s this?” he asked when he saw her painting hanging on the kitchen wall.

  “It’s a swarm of ladybugs on a coffeepot. See the spout?”

  “I can tell what it is, but it’s new to the room. How’d it get here?”

  “I found the frame on the top shelf of the Hoosier cabinet and knew it’d fit this old painting I had in my portfolio, so I went and got it. Do you mind?”

  “I suppose you found this picture in your head, too?”

  “Sure. Years and years ago. The date’s covered by the frame, but I was a kid.”

  Morgan looked around and realized that the kitchen had come alive with fall flowers and old antique kitchen-ware no longer hidden from view but perfectly displayed. “Your ladybug painting looks as if you painted it with this room in mind. Like the fall flowers in that six-pack of milk bottles on the sideboard. You have an artist’s eye.”

  “Thank you. I run a vintage clothing and curio shop. I have an eye for the rare and beautiful as well. The bottles were empty and crying for color. They’re gorgeous antiques.”

  “Des, they’re milk bottles.”

  “In their original metal stand, I might add. Do you know what I could get for that set at my shop?”

  “Does it matter to you? The money, I mean?”

  “No, because they’re beautiful where they are. They have a history, here, and I’m already in love with them.”

  “You fall in love easily. They’re glass.”

  “They’re history, I tell you.”

  Morgan took a carton of milk from the old refrigerator with its motor chugging and vibrating the round case on top. “History matters to you, doesn’t it?”

  She slathered mayo on the bread. “Our history is the foundation of our destiny.”

  Morgan knocked over a glass. “God, I hope not.”

  Destiny held the glass still while he poured. “Not fond of your history, are you?”

  “Let’s just say that I never look back.”

  “Let’s say that you hate to look back. Let’s admit that you blocked your past, which is sad, and yes, I can tell because I’m psychic, but I’ll save that argument for another day. Why are you painting the trim on the lighthouse, if you plan to remodel it? Seems like a waste of effort.”

  “Keeping a historical building attractive and fresh is never a waste.”

  “Aha! You do care about history.”

  Morgan looked surprised. He shrugged. “Let’s say, I care more about the history of buildings than my own history.”

  “Sure. Let’s lie.”

  He gave a frustrated grunt, and she stuck out her tongue.

  He reacted with shock then sadness.

  “Morgan, I meant to be playful not rude.”

  “Oh, I know. It’s just that somebody I used to know liked to do that, and it surprised me.”

  “Meggie?”

  “I hate when you know things you shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t know how to block my gifts, and I like it that way.” She unwrapped a package of cupcakes, the healthy kind, with chocolate frosting, a white swirl, and a five-year shelf life.

  “Paint preserves wood, and my renovations will comply so seamlessly with the integrity of the original structure that everything will look original. It’ll take another expert to tell where one begins and the other ends.”

  “You consider yourself an expert?”

  “King, Aiden, and I flip houses for fun and profit. We buy old monsters, turn them into vintage beauties, and sell them, clean and quick.”

  Destiny had frosting all over her fingers, until Morgan took her hand and raised it to his lips. He kissed each chocolaty fingertip. Then he licked the frosting off, finger by slow finger.

  Her heart pu
mped harder than when the ghosts had appeared in her circle, while the texture of Morgan’s tongue did funny things to her insides, sending ripples through her, stroking and touching her everywhere.

  She shivered. She flowered. Yikes. A proliferation of stimulation, if only he’d follow through and ravish her. Outdated word, but it fit her mood. Besides, ravishment at an ancient lighthouse sounded so romantic. Idiot witch.

  When he finished, he licked his lips, and traced the I on her shirt between her breasts with a slow finger. “You dare me to do what?” he asked.

  “You? Are you a cassock wearer? If so, I dare you to do . . . anything you’d like.”

  “Those hearts surround your unencumbered nipples perfectly,” he speculated, watching her nipples pucker with arousal. “Like you might have been wearing it when the artist painted them. Odd that. They remind me of bull’s-eyes.”

  “Do they?” She cleared her throat. “They do?”

  He raised a hand toward her breasts, and she nearly lost her breath. Just last night, he’d cupped her naked breast. Cupped her bottom. Made her come. They’d made each other come, but the action had been all but hidden, like a fantasy acted out in one’s mind, though better.

  But now, he stopped short of cupping her and simply thumbed the tip of a nipple. One freaking nipple.

  She squeaked in shock and disappointment, and he picked up their paper plates and carried them to the dock.

  Destiny growled in frustration.

  By the time she joined him on the dock, she grabbed her sandwich and tried to ignore him. “I’m not speaking to you.”

  “Why? What did I do?”

  “What didn’t you do? My other nipple feels left out, never mind the rest of me.” Heck, one touch, and she opened like a flower.

  “You’re scaring me, Kismet. I want to accept what you’re offering.”

  “Then do try to get your head screwed on straight and figure the swell out what it is I’m offering.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  DESTINY took off her platform cork slides and slipped her feet in the water beside his, and he played footsie with her as he explained his plans for the lighthouse, which sounded totally familiar.

  She couldn’t figure him out. He hadn’t said no to her invitation, but he hadn’t said, “Swell yes!” either. Sure, Morgan was a man who needed to think things through. She’d seen it in his work at the castle and here at the drawing board. She just had to give him time to make a decision.

  She finished her sandwich and got up. “I’m going for a walk.” He watched her take the wheelbarrow and leave, but he didn’t say a word. She went to Paxton Castle, here on the island, her sister and brother-in-law’s place, and mounded her barrow with pumpkins and gourds from Harmony’s garden. She also grabbed some fresh herbs from the kitchen herb garden for cooking. On the way back, she gathered an abundance of fall treasures left by the Goddess: rose hips, poppy pods, bittersweet, and holly.

  She parked the pumpkin-and-gourd-mounded wheelbarrow on the porch as a decoration in itself. Then she braided wreaths of bittersweet with seed husks and rose hips, and hung one on a nail beside the front door. Perfect.

  She took pumpkins and wreaths into the house. A pumpkin went on each mantel, upstairs and downstairs in the center chimney structure, and she hung wreaths wherever she found a naked nail.

  The last wreath went in the studio, then she went to Morgan, seated silently at his drawing table. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  As he reached behind him, she placed her chin on his head, massaged his shoulders, and ran her hands down either side of his chest.

  He leaned against her and caught her hands, kissing the palm of each. “Nice,” he said. “Did you have a good walk?”

  “Did you have a good think?”

  “I thought about Meggie.”

  “Probably because she’s sitting here watching you.” Destiny winked at Meggie, who grew wide-eyed at being exposed, more or less, and she watched her brother for his reaction. Her angel, as always, remained expressionless.

  “Whatever,” Morgan said, letting her go and getting back to his work.

  Meggie wilted, and she and Buffy disappeared.

  Destiny worked at her easel there in the studio so she could watch the play of muscles on Morgan’s wide-shouldered, slim-waisted torso. On him, subtlety was a waste. Vexing vetiver, blatant suggestions were totally lost on him. It made her wonder what he’d do if she painted Take Me, I’m Yours in scarlet on the bedsheets or across the walls of Jericho.

  If his bedroom wall didn’t retain its beautifully hand-painted wallpaper of pale pink and sage dogwood branches, she’d paint an invitation in foot-high letters where he could see it from his side of the bed.

  A buzzer rang, a rusty sound, and a rude interruption.

  Morgan looked up. “Who the heck could that be?”

  “Be?” She looked out the window toward the front porch. “Looks like a deliveryman, but I can’t read what it says on his jacket.” She followed Morgan down the stairs.

  “Who delivers what to an island?” he asked, opening the door.

  “We deliver kayaks to an island,” the stranger said, “or in this case one kayak. A two-seater.”

  Frustration rushed Destiny. No! Not a way off the island. Not now. It was too soon. She was just beginning to make some headway. She bit her lip and folded her arms. “A means of escape for you, maybe, but I’m not going anywhere.”

  Morgan rolled his eyes. “Then I take it you didn’t order the kayak?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I cast a transportation spell so you could get off the island.”

  The man from Show-Boats looked from one of them to the other. “What?”

  Morgan looked down, shook his head, and maybe his shoulders shook a little, too. “I didn’t order it either,” he said.

  The guy checked his paperwork. “Are you King Paxton?”

  Morgan gave her an I-told-you-so look. “No. That’d be at the castle.”

  “Nobody home at the castle, and I need a signature. Frankly, it’ll cost Mr. Paxton a hefty sum to get us out here a second time. We saw the windows open upstairs and thought you might be willing to take delivery.”

  “I’ll take the kayak,” Morgan said.

  “And I’ll take the hat,” Destiny added.

  The man tipped his Red Sox World Series Champs hat her way before he went to help his crew unload the kayak. Morgan followed him outside, and Destiny watched out the kitchen window. The delivery crew left a huge bright red kayak right there on the beach beside the foundation wall.

  She went outside. “Won’t that float away at high tide?”

  Morgan regarded her with speculation. “I’ll pull it higher up on land later. I thought you might want to go for a ride around the island. Ever since King and Harmony fell down the rabbit hole into the hot-springs in the amethyst cave, I’ve wanted to look for a way to reach it from the beach.”

  Damn, that sounded like fun, if that’s what he honestly planned. She crossed her arms. “I am not letting you take me back to the mainland.”

  “Give it up already. I’m sorry for my moment of madness.”

  “The one that ruined and lost my clothes?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Go put on a hoodie, slacks, a jacket, and some sensible shoes, and bring spares. You can have your own paddle.” He raised one in the air for her to see. “Big sucker. If you don’t like the direction I’m heading, you can hit me with it. I’m making you the backseat driver.”

  “I’ll use it if I have to.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”

  “Just so you know. They teach you kayaking in the seminary?”

  “Kayaking 101. They teach it right after exorcism and before ordination.”

  “So, you are a priest. Have you ever handled a kayak before?”

  “No to the priest. Yes to the kayak. I’ve been out with King and Aiden, but we rented kayaks back then. King’s been planning to buy one for a while.”r />
  “Do you think he’ll mind if we use it? I mean, it’s brand-new.”

  “The money we saved him by accepting delivery can be our rental fee.”

  “Works for me. I’ll be right back.” She did want to go. It looked like fun.

  “I’ll pack the supplies,” he said as she was leaving.

  Suspicion stopped her. “What kind of supplies? Wait. Don’t those things flip over?”

  “I’m packing precautionary supplies. I was an Eagle Scout. Strong survival skills.” He tapped his temple. “Smart.”

  “Dumb,” she said as she turned back to the house. “Too dumb to accept the sexual invitation I handed you on a nipple platter.”

  “I heard that!”

  “Okay, now try translating it into a language you understand .”

  No easy solution to finding warm clothes for her. He came to get his own in a blink, but her thick, warm clothes were still damp. The base of the lighthouse stairs wasn’t exactly a warm, sunny spot. But after he left, she solved her problem by stealing some of his sweats.

  “Took you long enough,” he said when she went to meet him.

  “I wanted a padded bra so I’d float when we tip over.”

  Morgan nodded, gave her an almost smile, handed her a personal flotation device, put her extra clothes in a waterproof bag, and stowed it. “Here,” he said, taking something from his pocket. He removed her soft-brimmed velvet hat from her head and replaced it with the Sox Champs cap.

  “How did you get it?”

  “The guy was bribable, and I know how much you like hats.”

  “You noticed.”

  “Hard to miss when you wear one to bed.”

  “I do not.”

  “Let’s put you in the life vest and get you in.” He helped her put the flotation device over her head and managed to cop a feel along the way. Wandering widdershins, he might figure out how to think straight yet. Hope reigned supreme. He fastened her into her vest, and she felt like a Barbie doll, like his toy, with him playing dress-up.

  He winked and helped her into the boat. The thing that hugged her waist like elastic, he called a spray skirt, designed so the spray couldn’t get her too wet.

  He backed the kayak into the water and climbed in at the last minute. “Oooh,” she squeaked. “This is tippy.”