He looks tired, she thought. His chin was covered in stubble and his eyes drooped. He wasn’t sleeping well. Had she done that to him? Her mind shifted, and so did the image in the lucubratus. Her magic mirror went rogue. She’d asked it to show her the future but instead it flashed on the past. She saw herself kissing him in his kitchen, the taste of decadent chocolate filling her mouth. She ran her fingers along her lips. She could almost feel his hand coasting up her thigh.
“Again?” Hildegard said from her perch in the room of reflection. “This isn’t helping. We need a vision. How will we know where to place your enchantment if you keep getting distracted with this human?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Polina said, wiping the tour-down-memory-lane from the mirror. “I can’t get him out of my head. Every time I try to concentrate, he’s all I see.”
“You have feelings for him! You need to go see him and let nature take its course. Work the man out of your system.”
She shook her head. “It’s just residual magic. If I foster it, I’ll make it worse for both of us.”
Hildegard fluffed her feathers. “Then what shall we do? We have three days and only two nights for you to clear your head.”
In a huff, Polina strode from the silver, passing through the maze of mirrors that led to the main part of the house. She saw herself reflected in a thousand fragmented ways in the silver. How appropriate. Logan had shattered her. She’d wanted him, needed him so much it almost hurt. The ache inside hadn’t faded with her leaving him that night. It had blossomed into a blazing inferno that consumed her every thought. She had to douse the flames. She had to do something to free herself from this desire.
Passing through the cheval, she made a beeline to her closet. On tiptoe, she reached to the back of the shelf and hooked her hand on the Duck Dynasty thermos that held the positivity potion. She cradled it in front of her. Hildegard landed on the shelving near her head.
“What is that?” the owl asked.
“This is the key to finding my soulmate, the only man who can break the human’s hold over me.”
Hildegard pivoted her head entirely around her neck. “I believe all of those camouflaged men are already married.”
Polina clucked her tongue. “Not the Robertson men, Hildegard. For the love of the goddess!”
“Then who?”
Polina unscrewed the lid. A shower of glitter sprayed into the air as if pressure had been building under the cap. The spicy scent of leather and musk filled the small space. The entire closet smelled of man.
Hildegard’s already unusually large yellow eyes expanded. “That’s a dangerous tincture you have there. Positivity potion.”
“You know of it?” Polina scrutinized the bird.
“Rumor has it that Grace Kelly used it to capture the attentions of Prince Rainier.”
“That seemed to work out quite well for the both of them and their three children.”
“Rumor also has it that the potion is to blame for the romance of Anne Boleyn and King Henry VIII.”
Polina tipped her head and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Not such an auspicious union.”
“The magic puts you in the path of someone you might have the perfect connection with, but it won’t make them love you or you them. And if they are already married or otherwise inaccessible—”
“Inaccessible?”
“In prison, in a coma, homosexual, a child, a vampire… your match could be anyone, love, appropriate or not. The moment that potion touches your lips you open yourself up to heartbreak and disappointment.”
“But also to curing myself of the pull Logan has over me.”
“’Tis true.”
“I’m going to do it. I have to. I can’t work like this.”
“The sun is setting.”
“Let the gargoyles handle it.”
“Are you sure about this?”
She closed her eyes and remembered the heat of Logan’s body against hers, the rush of his tongue stroking her own, the way her nipples had hardened and her heart had pounded against her ribs like a caged beast. She couldn’t take it anymore. She had to quench the fire, one way or another.
“I’m sure,” she said.
She raised the thermos to her lips, inhaling deeply of masculine essence. This close, the smell not only reminded her of a man but of sex, although considering it had been almost a century since she’d engaged in that particular sport, she couldn’t be sure.
“Ooooh,” Hildegard worried.
The thick scarlet-and-purple liquid didn’t pour into her mouth; it undulated, a thick and churning thing that fizzed when it hit her tongue. Like a too-thick shake, she had to scoop it into her mouth with her finger before she could swallow. Sweetness hit her palate first, followed by the tartness of under-ripe apricots and salted caramel. She licked her lips.
“It’s good. Like a milkshake,” Polina said. Her spine straightened. “Oh!” Her hips surged with a rush of warmth that coasted along her body. “I feel… I feel…” The thermos hit the floor.
“What’s happening?” Hildegard cried.
Polina’s head rolled on her neck and her limbs began to move of their own accord, swimming like snakes over her head and along her sides. The rest of her body joined in, belly dancing to some internal tune that only she could hear. A scarlet butterfly emerged from the thermos and fluttered just out of her reach.
“Who are you?” she asked, an unexpected intoxication taking hold. “Fluttery butterfly.” She reached for it. It darted away. She stepped forward and reached for it again. “I think it wants me to follow it.”
“What wants you to follow it?”
“The butterfly.”
“Butterfly? I don’t see any butterfly. Oh dear. Be careful, my lady.”
The butterfly led Polina out of the closet, through the house, and to the front entrance. Throwing open the door, she hesitated at the sight waiting for her. It seemed the effects of the spell were far more than a glittering butterfly. Magic had come for her.
Chapter Sixteen
Consequences
“Where did you come from?” Polina said to the white mare kneeling in her lawn. She floated down the stairs to the horse’s side. The mare’s white coat and mane carried hints of pink and purple, almost like it was reflecting a light that wasn’t there.
“I don’t like this,” Hildegard said. “A strange horse shows up on the lawn. Who does it belong to? Are you supposed to ride it?”
“Why else would it be here?” The electric butterfly turned circles over the horse’s back.
“Are you going to trust it? How do you know it’s even a result of the potion? This could be anyone’s old horse.”
Polina climbed onto the mare’s back, keeping her eye on the butterfly. “It’s the potion,” she said absently. It was all she could say. Her entire being was overcome with a sense of well-being and… focus, intense focus on reaching whoever lay ahead.
“Should I follow you?” Hildegard asked.
“Only if you can keep up,” Polina called. The mare stood and she wrapped her hands in its mane. The horse took off, bounding into the forest at breakneck speed. This was no ordinary animal. Polina sensed magic in its blood, like it might be part unicorn or griffin. Its speed alone marked it as supernatural. Hildegard could not keep up.
The trees flew by until they blurred and the entire forest seemed to compress. Time and space folded in itself. How far had she traveled? It was impossible to tell. But when the horse stopped again, it disappeared from underneath her. She landed on her toes on a stretch of sidewalk in front of a vaguely familiar building built primarily of steel and glass.
“Can I help you, miss?” the doorman asked. White-haired and sour-faced, he stared at her over his bifocals. The scarlet butterfly flitted past his nose and into the building.
Polina smiled sweetly at the man. “I’m supposed to go inside.”
“Who are you here to see?” He followed her, pausing in front of the s
ecurity desk.
A glass-paneled interior door separated the foyer from the elevator. The scarlet butterfly passed through and hovered, waiting. “I don’t know who,” Polina said. She strode past him to the doors and found them locked.
“This is a private building, lady. I can’t let you up there without permission from a homeowner.” The doorman grabbed her by the elbow.
She paused, turning toward the man, eyes darting to his nametag. “Er, um, Fred, I know this is highly unusual, but I can’t deal with you right now.” Pulling her wand from the neck of her peasant blouse, she uttered a spell that left him staring at the wall, lips parted. She tugged her elbow free from his fingers. “Confusion spell. A weak one. You’ll be yourself in a few minutes, minus the memory of me.”
With new determination, she approached the doors. A sprinkle of gold dust and her molecules blended with the metal frame, traveled along the electrical wires under the floor, and formed again inside the elevator. The butterfly indicated which button she should push. The compartment rose, each floor chiming in the display above her head. When she reached the top floor, the elevator opened. There was only one door on this floor, and the scarlet butterfly hovered in front of it.
“Here goes nothing.” She approached, raised one hand, knocked twice.
Footsteps. Polina stopped breathing.
Arms spread wide to hold the door open, Logan stared at her from within. “Polina? What are you doing here?” he asked, jaw going slack.
Before she could answer, the scarlet butterfly flew straight into his open mouth.
Chapter Seventeen
Crash into Me
What. The. Fuck.
The woman who’d haunted his thoughts for the last year stood right in front of him and all he could do was make unattractive hacking sounds in her direction. The look on her face! What was that? Disgust? Disappointment? He couldn’t study her expression over his head bobbing with the spasms of his coughing lungs, but he could tell she wasn’t happy.
When he finally cleared whatever had flown down his throat (was that a bug?), he straightened and looked her in the eye. She was crying and pale. Deathly pale. “Are you okay?”
As if in answer, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. He lunged over the threshold to catch her, scooping her up and holding her against his chest. Fuck, she smelled good. Cinnamon and clove with a hint of fresh-cut wildflowers. He lowered his face to her hair and inhaled. She weighed almost nothing in his arms, which was surprising because her curvy shape would suggest otherwise. The mounds of her breasts peeked from under a thin white shirt held to her waist with a red leather corset. Damn. Double damn.
And now he had a hard-on. Great. She probably came here to talk about the murdered werewolf and he was ready to hump her in her sleep. As he moved to carry her inside, he paused. If he crossed the threshold with her in his arms, he’d be effectively inviting her in. That would render all of Grateful’s enchantments ineffective against Polina. Did he trust her? She seemed so vulnerable in his arms, the exact opposite of the powerful sorceress he knew she was. With some effort, he conjured up thoughts of Tabetha. Could he ever trust a witch again?
With a low, throaty groan of protest against his own stupidity, he crossed the threshold and delivered her to his sofa.
“Are you hurt?” He ran his fingers through her hair, over her arms. A cursory inspection didn’t suggest any blood or abrasions, only soft flowing tresses and graceful limbs. Her pulse was strong. She was breathing normally. “My god, you are beautiful.”
He knelt by her head. “Polina?” He stroked her hair back from her temple. Her creamy skin seemed to glow against the deep red shine of her hair. Her full rose-colored lips taunted him. Totally kissable. He was impressed that she wore little makeup. Natural. Sexy as hell. One of his hands came to rest on the space between her bottom rib and where he guessed her belly button might be. The other continued to stroke her hair.
He tried to resist her. Really he did. But she was a drug, a temptation he couldn’t deny. He licked his lips, swallowed, tried to push himself up off his knees. Anything to resist the temptation. He failed. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers.
Soft. Warm. He nibbled her bottom lip and inhaled deeply. Her closeness was intoxicating. Right here, hovering over her while she slept, he would have given her his soul had she asked. But she’d already held his soul, hadn’t she? The day of his accident. The day she’d saved him. He pulled back and blinked.
A delicate hand dug into the back of his head. She opened her eyes. Bright blue and fixated on him. Didn’t that make him feel like a king? What was it about her attention that made his chest swell? He had a sudden urge to hunt wild game with a spear. High-level thought had abandoned him. He was left with a headful of Neanderthal grunts and basal instincts. Girl pretty. Kiss girl.
Polina didn’t say a word, but she pulled his face back down to hers. Lips brushed lips, and it was her turn to inhale. That small, needy sound sent his blood singing through his veins. He kissed her harder, repositioning his head for a better angle. Both her arms snaked around his neck.
Damn. The go light was flashing green. He slid his hand up, over her ribs to her breast, coaxing it from under the corset and flicking his thumb across the cotton-covered nipple. His erection kicked and he discreetly reached down to straighten himself. He took the opportunity to work his lips down her jaw to her neck, over her throat. She sighed encouragingly. He dipped lower, his breath gathering against her skin, warming his face. Lower. The tips of his fingers tugged her blouse down, revealing full breasts, perfect, creamy skin converging in beige taut nipples. His hand kneaded the flesh, and then his mouth took over.
She arched her back and moaned. Desire rolled up his body, a gathering electric cloud that sent hot current shooting to his extremities. The way she writhed under his torso, he guessed she felt the same way. If he had any doubt, it dissolved when her hand grabbed his from under her breast and slid it down her body, up and under her skirt. She tucked his fingers between her upper thighs.
Cotton. He stroked and rubbed through the material while her hips worked against his hand and her lips melded with his. Her nails scraped down the back of his head and sank into the muscles of his shoulders. She dug in, deep enough he was sure she’d draw blood. He didn’t mind. He stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue and moved aside her underwear. His fingers dipped inside.
God, she was wet. He entered her, thumb circling as he found a rhythm within her. She arched and bit his lip, her body bucking off the sofa, clinging to his neck as she rode out the aftershocks of the orgasm he’d given her. Fuck, she was an easy whistle to blow. It was almost like. Almost as if…
“Are you a virgin?” he asked into her mouth.
She pulled back, those haunting blue eyes searching his face. “Of course not,” she said, voice husky. “I’m almost five hundred years old.”
He smiled wickedly and returned his lips to hers. He planted a knee on the sofa between her legs, rubbing the length of his cock on one of her thighs. She was receptive and supple, but something was off. She didn’t reach for his fly. She was eager but quiet. Unsure.
He paused, bracing his weight on his elbows so he could see her face.
“Why have you stopped?” she asked softly.
“When was the last time you had sex, Polina?” He made sure his voice was kind, matter of fact. He said it through a smile.
She swallowed and stared at his chin when she answered. “About ninety-five years ago.”
Chapter Eighteen
Like a Virgin
“Ninety-five?” Logan squeaked. His throat had tightened, resulting in the high pitch. He pushed himself up to stand beside the sofa.
“Wha-what are you doing?”
He helped her up to a seated position and cupped her face in his hands. “You passed out at my door. Are you feeling okay?”
“I am fine. More than fine.” She leaned in, her lips brushing his.
“Wo
uld you like something to drink? A hot beverage?”
The muscles in her jaw tightened. “Yes. I suppose that would be nice.”
Logan planted a kiss on her forehead and wandered into the kitchen. As he pulled out milk, cocoa, sugar, and vanilla, all he could think was how sexually out of practice he was after two years. Polina had gone a lifetime without sex. He couldn’t just lay her out on the couch and take advantage of her.
He lit the burner under his favorite cast-iron saucepan and began warming the milk. The wooden spoon swirled at the same pace as the thoughts in his confused skull.
Polina’s hands wrapped under his arms and pressed into his stomach and chest. “Why did you stop, Logan?” she whispered in his ear. “I am willing, and I can tell you are ready.” Her lips pressed into his back.
Logan hesitated, flashing her a smile over his shoulder. He was more than ready. At the moment, his dick could cut glass. As much as he’d said he’d never date a witch again, he wanted her. The desire to bend her over the kitchen island was almost unbearable. But he needed more from her than ready and willing.
“When you left the other night, I didn’t think I’d see you again.” He added the cocoa powder and sugar.
She pressed her cheek against his back. “Honestly, I thought so too. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I almost hurt myself eating every bite of the chocolate cake we made. I can’t sleep. I can’t work. I see your face, constantly. I had to see you or—”
“I’d lose my mind,” he finished. “I’ve been dreaming about you too. Some nights, it’s almost painful.”
“It is painful. I ache for you, even now.” She placed a kiss against the side of his neck.
He scraped some fresh vanilla bean into the pot. The perfect cup of cocoa was a lot like love; you had to be patient to brew the perfect cup. Too hot and the milk would scald. Too cool and the sugar and cocoa wouldn’t thoroughly blend with the milk.
Dark Secrets: A Paranormal Romance Anthology Page 211
