by T. M. Cromer
Her soft whimper encouraged him to run the tips of his fingers down her long, graceful neck. He halted at the lacy edge of her top. “Say the word, Ryanne.”
“No,” she whispered seductively.
“Yes, I—wait, what? No?” Poleaxed, he pulled back. The husky quality to her tone had him wondering if he should go old-school alpha male and try to persuade her. He attempted to keep his petulant attitude in check when he asked, “Why not?”
“Because it could get messy at work. You know, I could drool all over your papers and books. We can’t have that, Nash.”
This time when he heard a woman’s laughter, there was a wicked quality to the sound.
Chapter 2
Two days later, the taste of Ryanne was still taking up residence in Nash’s memories. In addition, he’d spent the better part of his waking hours obsessing over the silky softness of her hair and how olive her skin had looked against the coral top she’d worn, as well as how smooth her legs had felt when he’d scooped her into his arms. Added to the mix was her smell. That night she’d smelled of clean, fresh pears. He’d developed a new affinity for pears.
When Nash wasn’t consumed with thoughts of Ryanne, he recalled the odd laughter and the strange earthquake. An internet check had shown no seismic activity in the state.
If he didn’t know better, he would’ve suspected a brain tumor. Regardless, he didn’t broach the subject with Ryanne. If she hadn’t felt or heard any of it, he would be forced to consult with his sperm donor, Alastair, to see if there was another reason for what might’ve taken place.
Of course, Nash could always kiss Ryanne again to see if he could recreate the earthquake and otherworldly laughter. He grinned. The idea had merit.
As if his thought had summoned her, Ryanne sailed through his office door. She’d said something the other morning that had been tickling his brain ever since. He’d also had a nightmare the same night and wished to compare notes with her. Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence? Not when the Witches’ Council had declared the time was at hand to retrieve the Red Scorpion necklace from Victor Salinger. And while he was at it, Nash hoped to rid the world of that evil shithead forever.
“I brought the—”
Nash cut her off. “Fine, fine. Set them on the table and come here. We need to talk.”
“That sounds ominous. What have I done this time?” She approached the small table he was looming over.
He straightened and met her halfway. “Do you know what happens to a sassy-mouthed woman who can’t curb her tongue?”
“I’m sure you’re going to enlighten me,” she retorted as he pulled the files from her hand and tossed them on the nearby surface.
“This.” He pulled her close, paused long enough for any objection to his kiss, then claimed her mouth for his own pleasure. When Ryanne tangled her fingers in his hair to hold him in place, Nash was flooded with an amalgam of happy emotions. Once again, thunder boomed, but this time no resulting laughter tormented him.
Forgetting why he’d started the experiment, he became lost in the kiss. His tongue explored the recesses of her mouth and continued its erotic dance with hers. Moving one hand from the small of her back, he cupped her ass and pressed his budding arousal against her. A caveman-like urge overtook him, and he had the desire to throw her right down on the floor to have sex.
“Well, so much for no fraternizing with the hired help. This is an HR nightmare.”
His cousin’s comment had the effect of a wet blanket. He jerked away and scowled at her. “Don’t you know how to knock, Liz?”
“I’ve never had to in the past. But then you’ve never made out with employees on company time before.”
“None of that matters. Come in. I need you both to sit down. I think I’m onto something.”
Of course, Liz—his cohort in the Red Scorpion Retrieval Plan—immediately comprehended the seriousness of his tone and to what he referred.
Ryanne, on the other hand, wore a bemused expression and continued to touch her lips as if she’d been burned.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. The bee-stung look made her already pouty lips larger and more tempting than ever. Had Liz not interrupted, he wasn’t sure he would’ve stopped with only that single mind-drugging kiss.
“What’s going on? What do you know?” Liz demanded.
“An inside source reported Salinger definitely has the necklace. And based on some recent events, I believe we need to act swiftly to get it back.”
“Wait, what? Victor Salinger? The man my sister works for?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.” Ryanne perched on the edge of the nearest chair. “Thorne Industries is branching out into jewelry heists?”
Her confusion was delightful. Nash laughed. He couldn’t have held it back even if he wanted to. “Only for one job. Then we’re out.”
“You’re joking.” When Nash shook his head, Ryanne straightened and shot Liz a sharp glance. “You’re okay with this?”
He shared a speaking glance with his cousin. Without breaking eye contact, he answered for Liz. “She is.”
“I’d like to hear it from her if you don’t mind.”
Liz nodded. “I am.”
“Okay, who’s been drinking the crazy Kool-Aid? Because I’m telling you here and now, there’s no way in hell I’m letting either of you commit a crime.”
“Isn’t she adorable? It’s like she thinks she has a choice.”
A gasp of outrage greeted his statement.
Ryanne was quick to rally and jumped up from her seat. “I damned well do have a choice. I can call the authorities.”
“Liz, will you excuse us for a minute?” he asked, tone silky and full of menace.
“Don’t you dare leave me here alone with him.” Ryanne held up a hand. “And don’t you dare come any closer, Nash. I recognize that look. You think you’re going to seduce me into a life of crime. No how, no way! I’ve been down that path, and I don’t look good in orange.”
Her pronouncement brought Nash up short. She’d been down that path? With whom? He shoved aside those nagging questions and asked, “When have I ever seduced you into doing my bidding, babe?”
“When have you ever kissed the living daylights out of me or called me ‘babe’ before? I’m not having it, Nash!”
Ryanne had a point. Nash had never touched her or indicated affection in any way, but once he had, there was no going back. At least, not for him.
He shrugged and asked, “What if I told you the fate of the world was at stake? That if we didn’t do something soon, your sister’s life would be in danger?”
She sank back into the closest chair. “You’re insane, aren’t you?” she whispered. “I’d suspected it on occasion, but this proves it.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” He stormed across the office, locked the door, and strode to his private liquor cabinet. With a scan of his thumb, the door slid down and revealed a row of perfectly aged spirits. A single shot of Glenfiddich for each of them should help calm everyone’s nerves.
Some would wonder why he had high-tech security on his liquor cabinet, but a man had to have priorities. A few of those bottles ran to a hundred years old.
He handed her a tumbler with an inch and a half of the amber liquid. “I’m not insane, Ryanne. I think deep down you sense that.”
When Ryanne remained quiet and continued to stare into the whisky, Nash cast a pleading glance at Liz. His eyes went wide, and he nodded his head in Ryanne’s direction as a clear “talk to her” signal.
Liz scrunched up her face in some semblance of a grimace. “Fine,” she mouthed. She downed her drink in one move and slapped the conference table.
Although he’d been watching, Nash still jumped.
“Ryanne, Nash is not insane. Or not completely anyway.”
“Thanks a lot,” he muttered and took a sip of his drink.
“He’s a warlock.”
Nash spit the liquid in a Jackson Pollack sty
led pattern across the table. Had there been a canvas in front of him, it would’ve created the perfect spatter effect.
It was tough to determine if Ryanne’s horror-filled expression was due to the news of what he was or because of his unsanitary spewing of alcohol halfway across the room. It was possible her appalled expression was the result of his repeated hoarse coughing from the whisky burning his pipes.
Liz’s wicked delight wasn’t lost on him. The twinkle in her bright amber eyes gave her away. She was going to pay. Next training session, he would work her over and burn her magical behind.
He almost swore, which would’ve shown everyone exactly what he was when the local population of raccoons came to call. With a sigh of disgust, he pushed off the edge of the table, hiked up his slacks, and squatted in front of Ryanne.
“She’s telling the truth. It’s not the way I would’ve wanted you to find out, but—”
“Am I being punked?”
He opened and closed his mouth. A demonstration was in order. “Ryanne, I need you to keep an open mind here, okay?” He rose to his feet. “Stay calm no matter what.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Just know that magic does exist and don’t freak out on me. I’m counting on you to be as level-headed as you normally are.”
Ryanne’s alarmed gaze locked onto him. “I don’t think I want to know.”
Liz moved beside her chair and gripped her hand. “It’s actually pretty cool if you look at it with an open mind.” With her other hand, she offered Ryanne the glass of whisky. “Here. Do this shot first.”
He rose and moved to the large potted palm in the corner of his office. He waited until Ryanne consumed her drink and carefully set her glass on his desk. When she nodded in his direction, Nash channeled his power, pulling the magic from his cells and pushing it out toward his fingertips as he touched the trunk of the palm tree. The stalk of the palm grew a good six inches as leaves sprouted and elongated to fill out the foliage.
Part of him feared looking in her direction. Feared what he might see in her eyes. When his cousin Autumn had told her boyfriend about her gifts, the guy had freaked right the hell out. Nash didn’t want Ryanne to be afraid of him.
But he need not have worried. When Nash faced Ryanne, her eyes were huge in her face, but her expression was one of fascination.
She dropped Liz’s hand and jumped up from her seat to join him. “Can you do that again?”
Keeping his gaze locked on her expressive face, he repeated his parlor trick.
When she laughed and clapped her hands, she threw him for a loop. He’d expected disbelief or terror, not excited acceptance.
“What else can you do?”
“What else do you want me to do?” he asked with a relieved smile.
“I don’t know. I’ve never met a warlock before. Or have I?” Realization dawned, and Ryanne whipped her head around to stare at Liz. “Can you do things like this, too?”
Liz turned her hands palm up and lifted them toward the ceiling. All the items on Nash’s desk rose three inches before carefully settling back in place.
“Ohmygod!” Ryanne’s hands flew to cover her mouth, and she turned wondrous eyes to Nash. “I can’t believe this. I feel like I’m dreaming.”
“You’re not dreaming, babe.”
“I want to know everything. Is your entire family gifted? Can anyone learn how to do this, or do you have to be born this way? Does it drain you to perform magic? Ohmygod,” she repeated. “I can’t process this.”
Nash laughed and brushed a wayward strand of her dark hair from her cheek. “Yes, my entire family is ‘gifted.’ No, anyone cannot do this because, yes, you have to be born with your gifts. No, magic isn’t draining. If done properly, it’s invigorating.”
Her dark gaze traveled his features as she judged his sincerity. She studied him as if she’d never seen anything like him before. And in all likelihood, she hadn’t—or at least hadn’t realized she had.
A frown formed on her face. “Can you make people do things against their will?”
Nash should’ve anticipated her thoughts would eventually circle around to the dark side. Ryanne had a deep sense of right and wrong. But she also had an innate sense of fairness. She had the ability to view a problem from all sides, which made her the perfect assistant.
He cast a sharp glance in Liz’s direction. She gnawed her lip. Liz, too, understood that if he answered honestly, if he said he could indeed make people do things against their will, then Ryanne might start wondering if they implemented shady dealings in their business practices.
And while sometimes the line between black and white was shaded with gray and Nash and Liz were forced to cross that line from time to time, they would never do anything to hurt another living soul if they could help it. That was the Goddess’s rule; do as you will, and it harm none.
* * *
Ryanne read the answer in Nash’s worried jade eyes. For a moment, his irises darkened to a mossy green as he turned her question over in his mind. The color change had to be a trick of the light.
“Never mind. I can see that you can.” She screwed up her courage to ask, “Have you ever done that to me?”
Again, the answer was written in his eyes. They turned a dark gray-green as his outrage flared to life. It startled her to realize that Nash’s irises changed with his emotions. How had she never noticed before?
“What the hell kind of question is that, Ryanne?” His hand fisted, but he didn’t raise it in any type of threatening manner. “Do you think so little of me that I would force you to do something against your will?”
Color leached from the palm beside him, and the leaves curled and browned.
“I…” What could she say? Trust had always been an issue for her. Due to her own crappy past with men, she found it difficult to believe that anyone else wouldn’t set out to take advantage of her.
He slashed his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Forget it. Your thoughts are obvious. Take time to process what we’ve shown you. Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet again.” He ran a hand over the palm tree to restore its vitality. The cold-eyed stare he turned her way made Ryanne cringe. “I ask that you don’t tell anyone what we revealed to you today. But it’s your choice to do so or not.”
Before she could comment, he disappeared. Like totally vanished. One second, he was standing before her, and the next, he was gone.
The muscles in Ryanne’s legs chose that moment to weaken, and she leaned against his desk. She turned incredulous eyes on Liz. “Where did he go?”
Liz watched her warily. “If you reveal what we are, you can cause serious harm. If Nash showed you what he is, then he trusts you implicitly. You understand that, right?”
The weight of the revelation floored Ryanne. Liz was correct. Nash was an exceedingly private person—and now she knew why. For him to tell the truth about his abilities meant he’d put his faith in her silence.
“I do,” she finally said. “I won’t tell a soul. Who would believe me anyway? I’m not sure I believe this myself.”
“I’m sure you have questions. What do you want to know?”
“Is it like the movies? Are you all-powerful? Do you require spells for most things? Is this type of disappearing act normal?”
Liz poured them each another dram of whisky before she locked up the cabinet. She settled in a chair and lifted her glass in a silent toast before downing the contents. As Ryanne looked on, more liquid filled the glass.
“Holy shit!”
“That’s called conjuring. We can all conjure our basic needs without a spell.”
“Basic needs as in food and clothing?”
“Yes. And shelter.”
“And whisky is a basic need?”
Liz flashed a sphinxlike smile. “Sometimes.”
“The way Nash left, can you do the same thing?”
“Teleporting. Yes.”
“Is there a limit to what you can do?”
“Mostly
. But some witches and warlocks are stronger than others. With the Thorne line being the strongest.”
“Your last name is Thorne. Are you as… powerful as Nash?”
“We’ve never pitted our skills against one another, but maybe. Nash’s father, Alastair, is one of the most powerful warlocks in existence. It stands to reason that Nash would inherit some of that power through his bloodline. His direct line has never married or mated other than with another witch or warlock. Nash’s mother was a witch, too.”
Ryanne paused in her list of questions to process what she’d learned so far.
The one thing her mind circled around was her attraction to Nash. Was she attracted to the man? Or was she drawn to the power she hadn’t known existed?
“Liz, can I ask you one more thing?”
“Of course.”
“You’re beautiful, and Nash is, for lack of a better word, breathtaking. Are all witches and warlocks so gorgeous? The attraction I feel for him, is that the magic?”
Liz laughed long and loud, not bothering to disguise her amusement.
“What?” Ryanne snapped.
“You and Nash,” Liz choked out as she wiped tears from her eyes. “Each of you dancing around the other, sending covert, longing glances at one another, and hoping the other doesn’t notice.”
“I don’t send ‘covert, longing glances’ at anyone,” Ryanne argued hotly.
Liz stood and patted her shoulder. “Ah, but you do, my dear friend. You absolutely do. And to answer your question, your attraction to one another has nothing to do with magic. I wish you two would do the dirty and get it over with. It might ease the constant tension in the room.”
Heat flared in Ryanne’s cheeks, and her heart pounded faster at the idea of doing “the dirty” with Nash. In her mind, she could picture his large, muscular frame atop hers as he drove into her with slow, steady strokes. The passionate look on his face would rival the one he’d worn two nights before in her apartment when he’d kissed her. He’d be as consumed with desire as she would be.
