by Lisa Plumley
BONDED IN DESIRE
He was standing just a few feet away from his seductive bonded witch. She was naked. So was he. They could be joined within moments, hot and sweaty and needful and complete.
Complete. Just like they were destined to be.
Groaning with raw need, T.J. fisted his hands. His birthright mark glowed. Another wave of yearning swept over him, this time coupled with a vague sweetness that felt completely foreign. And unwanted. He’d be damned if he’d be sweet. He’d be damned if he would need this way. He refused now, just like he’d refused three days ago.
But the thought of Dayna standing there, rubbing beads of water from her bare skin, inch by succulent inch, made him feel nothing but need. He closed his eyes to shut it out. That only made the image more vivid. He could almost feel the yielding softness of her skin against his mouth, could hear the breathy gasp she would make when his hands slid over her hips.
He thought of her calling his name—his true name, the one no one knew except his parents, Deuce, and his magus. He wanted that. He thought of her smiling at him. He wanted that, too. He thought of her seeing him—light and dark, warlock and Patayan—and staying with him anyway. He wanted that most of all.
At the intensity of his craving, his knees buckled.
Books by Lisa Plumley
MAKING OVER MIKE
FALLING FOR APRIL
RECONSIDERING RILEY
PERFECT TOGETHER
PERFECT SWITCH
JOSIE DAY IS COMING HOME
ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS
MAD ABOUT MAX
LET’S MISBEHAVE
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
MY FAVORITE WITCH
SANTA BABY
(anthology with Lisa Jackson, Elaine Coffman, and Kylie Adams)
Published by Zebra Books
My Favorite Witch
Lisa Plumley
ZEBRA BOOKS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
http://www.kensingtonbooks.com
To my husband,
John,
who makes me believe in magic every day.
I love you!
Contents
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 One
By the time T.J. McAllister hit downtown Phoenix, Monday morning rush hour had already begun. Caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic, he stared down Central Avenue, looking for his target. Unfortunately, the buildings nearby were solid. He couldn’t see past or through them. Whether stucco or glass and steel—both of which stood side by side in the October sunshine—the structures had been built by human hands and were thus impenetrable.
His InterAllied Bureau partner, Deuce Bailey, wasn’t bothered by the impediment. Protected by sunglasses and wielding his usual exuberance, he kept his hands on the wheel of his Mustang.
“Six down and one to go.” Deuce nosed the vehicle forward, progressing another block. “I hope this one’s expecting us.”
“She won’t be.”
“I mean, after the last one, we could use an easy snare.”
“She’s a runaway. She won’t be easy.”
“You don’t know that. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” T.J. pulled a pair of dusty handcuffs from the glove compartment. He blew them clean. “Runaways take off for a reason. They don’t want to be found.”
Deuce looked askance at his handcuffs. “You really think you need those? These cusping witches are unpredictable, but—”
“Better safe than sorry.”
“Like hell. When have you ever done anything safe?”
“There’s a first time for everything.” T.J. bundled the cuffs in a tight metallic clump. He closed his hands over them, prayer-style, then focused on their shape. When he spread his palms again, the bonds had transformed into a golden amulet. He lifted it by its thin leather strap, then hung it around his neck. “There it is—Dynamic Research Libraries. Turn here.”
Deuce swerved onto a side street. Other vehicles lined its narrow passage. A full parking structure stood to their right; their destination waited to their left, housed in a four-story building with concrete pillars, wide steps, and lots of glass.
Deuce parked. “That glass could be a problem.”
“So could your worrywart routine.”
Cheerfully, his partner offered an obscene gesture. “Maybe you like being assigned to glorified carpool duty, but I don’t. The sooner we finish this job, the better. Let’s make it clean this time, too. IAB really chewed my ass after Cobalt.”
T.J. frowned, studying their surroundings. On this street, all the buildings were of human construction, but a few of their embellishments were not. The fuchsia bougainvillea trailing up the parking structure, bits of grass and flowers, an SUV with dark windows, custom paint, and elaborate rims…all those were of magical origin. To T.J.’s gaze, they appeared pixilated.
The effect owed itself to missing molecules, gaps in the material that had been rearranged. Even witchfolk couldn’t create something out of nothing, but they could stretch reality.
“Looks like the landscapers are able.”
At his use of the term, Deuce peered at the grass. Then the oleander next to it. Then the bougainvillea. “I don’t see it.”
“That’s why you’re staying here.”
“I should go. She’ll sense you, but if I’m the one—”
“By the time she knows I’m there, I’ll have her.”
“Damn it, T.J. You should try trusting me sometime.”
“Yeah? What would that get me?”
Flatly, he stared at Deuce. His partner, big as an NFL lineman and equally tough, blinked and glanced away first.
Satisfied, T.J. transferred his gaze to the folder lying open on the dashboard. All business now, he stole a final glance at the assembled materials, then flipped the folder closed.
He’d stared at the photo inside for the past hour. He knew Dayna Sterling’s wide-set eyes, her aura of open yearning, her attractive but unremarkable features. Unless she’d magiked the arrangement of the bones in her face, he’d recognize her.
“Wait here and be ready to move.”
“I thought I’d get an espresso to kill some time.” Deuce grinned, obviously recovered from their previous standoff. “Triple shot, fully caffeinated. Sounds good, right?”
“Keep it away from me, or I’ll morph you into a gnat.”
With no time for further talk, T.J. opened the door and stepped onto the street. Traffic sounds buzzed loudly in his head. The human-built structures, with their solidity and pressure, made his vision burn. His chest ached, an effect of being exposed to so many unfettered human emotions at once.
With steely will, T.J. tamped down his reactions. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.
From the Mustang, Deuce whistled a familiar signal.
T.J. turned. His partn
er had rolled down the window and was leaning out of it elbow-first, sunshine glinting off his shades.
“You forgot to take your bug.” He tossed a stoppered vial.
Hell. Reluctantly, T.J. caught it. He turned over the vial, examining the insect within. The brass at IAB were proud of this particular item. They’d lavished plenty of development time on getting the details right. To the untrained eye, it appeared to be an iridescent winged beetle. To T.J., it looked like exactly what it was—the consequence of his recent “noncompliance.”
If the agency wanted to monitor him, they’d have to do better than this. He lifted the stopper, then shook out the beetle. It unfurled its purple wings in midair and flew away.
With that done, it was time to get serious. Dayna Sterling was unlinked, unaware, and utterly alone in this world. Wherever she was inside that building, she had no idea what was about to hit her. T.J. would have staked his tracer’s license on it.
Dayna Sterling was hip-deep in files, researching the fastest growing varieties of spathiphyllum for a client, when her cell phone rang. Reluctant to lose her place amid the family Araceae, she stuck her thumb in the monocotyledonous flowering plants section of the desk reference she’d found, then answered.
“Dayna, it’s me. Listen, you’ve got to cover for me.”
Recognizing the voice of her best work pal, Jill Mansdale, Dayna stuffed a bookmark in her place. “Sure. What’s up?”
“I’m sick.” Jill coughed. “I think I have a virus.”
“Please. Eighty-six the fake symptoms. It’s me, remember? Jane is in a meeting until ten o’clock, so you’re in luck. What’s really going on?”
Freed from the threat of their boss overhearing their conversation, Jill said, “Thad broke up with me last night.”
“Oh, Jill. I’m so sorry.”
“He said he couldn’t handle the pressure of being with me.”
“What? That’s crazy! You’re wonderful, I swear.”
“Also that he’d met someone in his nighttime MBA classes. He thought he and Destiny were a better fit.”
“Someone named ‘Destiny’ is getting her MBA?”
“Yes.” A tremendous sniffle. “I hope she chokes on it.”
“Me, too. Do you want me to hex her for you?”
Her friend laughed. “I wish you could.”
“That makes two of us.” Woefully aware of her own shortcomings, Dayna put up her feet on her desk. Idly, she examined her black Converses. She focused. Red red red. She looked again. Still black. It was a good thing no one here knew exactly how pathetic that was. “I’ll cover for you, don’t worry. Take all the time you need, okay? Throw darts at Thad’s picture, set his stuff on fire…whatever you need to do to heal.”
“Um, I think the pyro routine might be illegal.”
Was it? Even after all these years, Dayna was still shaky on the finer points of her new life. Her knowledge gap—usually compensated for with alphabetized files, an attention to detail that bordered on obsessive, and (when all else failed) a smart-alecky attitude—left her feeling more of an outsider than ever.
With deliberate effort, she shook off the sensation. She was good at what she did. She’d carved out a new beginning for herself. That was what mattered most. “Okay then. Try to stay out of jail. Either way, I’m here for you if you need to talk.”
“Thanks, Dayna. I knew I could count on you.”
Relishing those words, Dayna smiled. So what if her shoes didn’t change color? “Of course you can. What are friends for?”
“Today? Making me feel better.”
Just as she heard those words, a peculiar tingle began at the base of Dayna’s spine. She stilled as it crept up each vertebra, tiny but insistent. It felt like an electric razor humming harmlessly against her skin…except this sensation was anything but harmless. Eleven years of surviving on her own had taught her that. This was a warning signal, plain and simple.
With her senses attuned to the slightest sound or movement, Dayna listened to Jill talk while she scrutinized her cramped office. Stacks of manila file folders waited on her desk. Her laptop computer glowed, displaying an entry from a private botanical research database. Scraps of paper and notes about other clients’ assignments adorned her bulletin board.
In the corner, her trusty backpack slumped against the nearest of her four vintage filing cabinets. Photos of friends—her surrogate family—adorned the scarred tops of the wooden cabinets. So did an iPod speaker/dock and a bowl of goldfish. Behind her office door, her ten-speed bike stood propped against the wall, ready for the short ride home to her neighborhood.
Everything appeared normal. But that tingle remained.
“Jill, I’m sorry. I’ve got to run.” With her heart rate kicking into high gear, Dayna gripped her phone more tightly. Her palms felt damp. “I’ll see you tonight. Okay if I drop by?”
Her friend answered, but Dayna scarcely registered Jill’s reply. She slid her office chair sideways, then unzipped her backpack with her free hand. She fished within, shoving aside papers and books, her wallet, her house keys…aha. Score.
She pulled out the item she sought—a child’s polka-dotted plastic pencil case. Ending her call with Jill, Dayna put down her phone, then unzipped the case with trembling fingers. Inside, colored pencils, crayon stubs, and fat Magic Markers rolled around. Some of the items were decoys, but others—
“Aha! I knew something was up when I saw that rogue log-in.”
The voice came from her office doorway.
Startled, Dayna grabbed a Magic Marker. Wildly, she aimed.
Nothing happened. Shana Termagante, her boss’s admin, smirked. Her scornful gaze headed straight to the marker.
Feeling ridiculous, Dayna lowered it. The “threat” she’d sensed had been an ordinary, if obnoxious, woman—a colleague armed only with a notepad, a smug expression, and an overdose of nosiness. Even now, Shana sent a suspicious glance toward Dayna’s laptop, which displayed an incriminating page from PlantNet, the subscription-only botanical research database.
“I’m sorry, Shana.” Dayna stretched her arms, allowing her elbow to “accidentally” close her laptop. “You startled me.”
“There’s no point trying to hide that screen.” Shana’s prying gaze didn’t swerve from her laptop. “I saw what you were doing. Nobody’s authorized to use that access code except Jane.” She narrowed her eyes, clearly savoring this opportunity to cause trouble…as usual. “I could have you fired for this.”
Dayna shook her head. “Jane wouldn’t like that.”
“Why not? This place is brimming with research assistants. Nobody would mind losing one…especially you.”
Wounded, Dayna fisted her Magic Marker. A single hurtful comment shouldn’t have bothered her. Not after all she’d been through in Covenhaven. She was older now. Tougher. And yet…
The marker seemed to grow warmer in her hand.
Surely that was a trick of her imagination.
“Go ahead. Have me fired.” Dayna jerked up her chin. “But I hope you have a backup plan for the next time Jane has a report due for a client. Otherwise, there’s going to be trouble.”
“Really?” Dubiously, Shana crossed her arms over her chest. Her ever-present notebook poked out. “Why is that?”
“Well…” Dayna pretended to ponder the question. Her Magic Marker seemed to grow larger and hotter in her grasp, as though fueled by her increasing annoyance. “This might be hard for a nonresearcher to understand, but I’ll try to explain it to you.”
Another smirk. “Yes, please do.”
“Okay. I’ll use small words.” Throb went her marker. “See, one of Jane’s favorite tricks is to edit my reports, add in a few details from her exclusive sources”—she nodded toward her laptop and the PlantNet database—“then steal all the credit.”
“That’s not true! It can’t be true. Jane is brilliant.”
“Jane,” Dayna said simply, “is a thief.”
She couldn’t figu
re out why she’d worked for Jane for so long. Except that she’d miss Jill and her other office buddies if she left. But aside from that…
“You’re the one who hacked into her database.”
Well, that was true. Shana had her there.
“Only to prove my point. Jane can’t keep getting away with taking credit for everyone else’s work. It’s not fair.”
“Not fair’?” Shana arched her brow. “Spoken like a true research wonk. If you people put as much energy into working as you do into complaining, lazing around, and skipping out for coffee together, you might not have to cheat to get ahead.”
“I wasn’t cheating,” Dayna said hotly.
And she didn’t drink coffee either. She hated the stuff—for good reason. But when she’d typed in that access code, she’d felt almost heroic. She’d been acting on behalf of all the overlooked researchers who labored behind the scenes to make the brass at the research library look good. No matter how hard Shana tried, she couldn’t take away that feeling.
“Let’s face it, Dayna. People are either winners or losers. Losers are the ones who get stuck on what’s ‘fair.’ Winners don’t care about that, because they’re busy succeeding.”
Or maybe she could. Uncertainly, Dayna wavered.
Suddenly, she didn’t feel very heroic. She felt doubtful. A little angry. And most of all, unjustly judged.
At the realization, Dayna felt her Magic Marker flare with new heat. Curiously, she glanced at it. Children knew the power of a Magic Marker. With a jolt of imagination, they could turn a marker into a rocket ship, a lipstick, a machine gun.
She wished she’d been born with the innate ability of a child—not to mention a child’s unshakable belief in herself.
“Even if Jane were stealing the researchers’ work,” Shana continued, “would it really be that bad? After all, it’s the good of the company that matters. That’s the bottom line.”
