Had he been using his wisdom, he might have cast the spell when he was a mite younger.
But young men didn’t always use their heads. Like Edmund.
Opening the dusty old book, he fingered the yellow pages. How long had it been since he’d cast a spell?
Not since Isake had asked him to bring freshwater to the South American town he was aiding. Nigh on five years.
He hoped his fingers weren’t rusty.
Not that the boy would get what he thought he would, anyway. All spells had their ups and downs. Had Edmund cared to listen, he’d be aware of the fact that with each night he chose, he would fall deeper in love. After five nights, his soul would be lost to the girl he made lust for him.
Except the spell would not make her love him. Of course, she could care for him, but her love would come only of free will.
Rane chuckled and shook his head. It was a lesson Edmund could learn well from.
Now, where was that spell?
Chapter Four
Grace couldn’t believe her eyes.
Her hero strutted into the club, a bouquet of red and white roses in his huge hands. She paid no attention to the flowers, but eyed his long, thick fingers. By far, they were the biggest hands she’d seen on a man. She licked her lips, her eyes traveling downward to his feet. He had big hands. Did he have big feet? There was that saying ...
Grace gulped, and swept her gaze from his massive black boots upward. Instead of a casual suit, he wore tight black jeans that revealed a lump between his solid legs. Damn, a definite confirmation to the feet theory.
For a moment her gaze froze on that bulge in his pants. She couldn’t turn away. The lump mesmerized her like a spell washing over her mind.
A customer hollered for her, jerking her from her trance. Geez! Grace shook her head. She was staring. Hard.
She jerked her eyes upward again, only to be caught once more, as if she were a fish and he a worm on a hook.
A black silk shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, half open. Long golden hair dangled around his broad shoulders, teasing her with the notion of having it dangle across her chest and stomach. Of knotting it around her fingers as he worked above her and ...
Grace stepped back, practically stumbling. What in the hell was wrong with her? She shook her head and turned away from his direction. She had work to do.
Stirring a whiskey sour, she planted a smile on her face and delivered it to an older, graying customer. Blowing a huge puff of smoke, he nodded thanks and puffed his cigarette again. The glowing red end blazed, so close to the filter she could smell it burning. God. It stunk like hell. Drunks never realized when their smokes were done, even when they lit the right end.
She moved down the bar, sliding her hand down the smooth, polished edge. For the most part, it was empty. The night was uncannily slow for a Saturday. Half the regulars weren’t even there yet.
Could it have something to do with last night? With him?
Part of her didn’t want to question why, but the other part of her dwelled on the fact that she was losing good tips. And he was back. With flowers and that intimidating “don’t fuck with me” look.
Making her turn to mush.
Damn. She wanted to jump the bar. She wanted him to hold her with those strong arms. To stroke her ass as he kissed her senseless and carried her home. But this time, she wanted him to stay. All. Night. Long.
She glanced in his direction again. He’d planted himself on a stool, his bedroom eyes focused on her. Their blue depths gleamed with sex. They darted up and down the length of her body in a manner that told her he was taking in every inch of her bare skin.
She shifted her skirt, not sure whether to pull the short thing lower or higher. The whole damn outfit was helpless. It covered too little and revealed too much. Damn.
Well, there was no way she could avoid him. She might as well face him.
She wrapped her hair around her shoulders, letting the long, thick strands fall across her chest. Gradually she worked her way down the long bar, checking on a few customers, washing a glass in the tiny sink, even emptying some ashtrays. Anything she could to slow her progress.
But eventually she ran out of excuses. She squared her shoulders and marched to the end of the bar where he sat.
“Good evening.” His deep, smooth accent shot through her like an arrow into her heart.
She straightened her backbone, but she just couldn’t look him in the eyes. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“Why?”
“Because ...” She sucked in a deep breath. If she wanted this guy to get it, she was going to have to lay it down like she did to any other customer. “Look, this is my workplace.”
His fingers drummed the bar, his tone unrelenting. “You need someone to look out for you.”
Annoyance jolted into her. Knotting her shirt around her fingers, she twisted it. “And that’s why you’re here?”
“Partially.” His velvety smooth accent took over his voice, as if he deliberately turned up the inflection to torture her. “I also wanted to give you these. I suggest you put them in water.”
She bit her tongue. He was even cockier tonight than last night. She should tell him to take his flowers and get lost.
Oh. She should. Geez. She should.
But the roses were so beautiful. Drawn to them as if they held strings to her fingers, she couldn’t resist picking them up. No sooner did her fingers touch the stems than a strange, wanton feeling jolted through her body. Raw, unjustified lust hit her so hard she nearly stumbled backward. Heat pooled in her lower stomach and forced her to clench her sex.
Trembling, she fingered the fragile petals. Drops of morning dew coated them as if they’d been freshly picked this morning and had remained exactly this way. She rubbed the wetness between her forefinger and thumb, raising them slowly to her mouth. For some unknown reason, she licked the dampness. To her surprise, it tasted sweet as honey.
Her whole body began to tremble violently. Something in her told her to drop the flowers, but she had no will against them. She brought them to her nose, inhaling their delicate perfumed scent. Heat wafted through her body, torturing her.
If she had wanted Edmund before, the need had been petty. Her hunger for him went wild. Her body screamed at her to forget work. College. Her whole life. All she wanted was to jump into his arms and be swept away with passion. Like an addict in need of a fix, she had to have him, right now.
Her brain screamed no, no, no! It begged her will to be strong, to go put the roses in water and go back to work.
But heaven help her, her body ...
She had to do it. She took a step back, looking at him as she did. Those turquoise eyes smiled at her with satisfaction.
He could see it.
In a slow, deliberate action, he ran his tongue along his lips and then flashed her a lopsided, dimpled smile. “I’ll take a Coke.”
Damn him. He knew he had a smile to kill. He was using it on purpose. Damn him. Damn him. Damn him.
* * * * *
Edmund could see it in her eyes. She wanted him like a wild animal wanted to take a chunk of meat out of its prey. Oh, she tried to work. But every two seconds, her eyes darted to the roses, then to him.
Hours had passed, and he had to give her credit. She had willpower. Despite her shaking hands, despite the passion pulling at her, she was determined to work.
She was either very stubborn or needed the money really badly.
But he needed her.
That little outfit she wore was torment. Every time she bent, the swell of her tits popped out. When her back was toward him, his view of her thighs went so high he could almost see her ass. His cock had stayed hard for so long it was beginning to thump in pain. He needed satisfaction. Not in six hundred years had he experienced such longing.
He had never met a woman who could hold his attention this long. The more he watched her, the more she enthralled him. The way the disco lights highlighted her shimmeri
ng blond hair. The gentle way she dealt with customers. She was a woman born to serve. But not these men ... no!
She was meant to be his.
He leaned forward on the bar, picking up his glass. Eyes still on her, he sipped his Coke. The syrupy liquid bubbled on his tongue. He remembered the day it had been introduced on the market. He tried one sip, went back to the pharmacy, and stayed at the soda fountain until he’d been sick. He’d drunk nothing else since then.
He wanted to pour it all over her, then lick her clean.
He glanced at the glowing clock above the bar. The neon red numbers read 1:30. Not much longer now.
She had stuck it out this long. Surely she could wait another half-hour. Couldn’t she?
To be honest, she didn’t think so. Her body had gone crazy. Her underwear was ruined. Her nipples had remained hard so long they ached.
Thirty minutes was too long.
With every passing second, it got worse. If she weren’t satisfied soon, she would explode.
What in the hell was wrong with her? With the roses?
The dewdrops still glistened on the petals. Dewdrops she had already rubbed away and licked with her fingers. Why did it keep coming back to torture her?
Oh. The liquid had tasted sweet like honey. Could he have put something on them to make her feel like this?
Surely no poison would taste so good. So sweet she wanted to go lick the petals even now.
But why?
Did she even care? Where her body was taking over, her mind was slipping. If he had drugged her, she wasn’t even angry. She didn’t even give a damn about her job right now. She wanted to fuck him, and that was it.
Some new, loud, upbeat song blared through the club. Cheering erupted. She looked up, her eyes focused on several redheaded strippers dancing together on stage. Their bodies moved together, hips swaying seductively. Thrusting, they made love to the air.
She could not take her eyes away. In the years she had worked here, never had she felt the slightest interest in the dancers. But now a certain jealousy overpowered her. They looked so free. So sexy.
Piece by piece, what little clothing they had on began to come off. One girl got down on her knees and buried her head in another’s pussy. She pretended to lap at it, her motions exaggerated.
The men cheered, throwing money on the stage.
Grace lost all control. She wasn’t interested in the girls. No. She wanted to be them. She wanted to dance like that. To have the freedom to display her sexuality instead of keeping it cooped up. To make Edmund cheer for her as the men cheered for the girls.
She licked her lips and took a step forward.
An old, graying man sitting at the bar chuckled. His gaze bounced between her face and her breasts. “Come on, baby, you know you want to join them. I’ve been waiting all night to see you dance.”
“You have?” she asked in a daze, entranced by the strippers.
“You, darlin’, are dripping with sex. Get up on the bar.”
She turned and glanced at the roses. Their power struck her right in her sex, jolting her with such hard passion, she almost fell back.
“You’re right,” she mumbled. “You’re right.”
She needed to dance. She could not push the notion aside or be rid of it. It took over her as she climbed on the stool in a sex-drenched daze.
Swinging her hips, she bent and flung her hair about wildly. She let herself go crazy with fervor, dancing as if she were fucking the whole crowd. Men began to cheer and whoop. All eyes went to her.
The attention fueled her. She moved down the bar, turning around. Bending, she shook her ass as she picked up a customer’s drink. The owner clapped and jumped from his barstool as he cheered her on. Gyrating back around, she took the glass and poured its brown contents over her shirt. The soaked material clung to her skin.
Oops! She’d have to get out of that, now wouldn’t she?
Slowly, she began to peel away her top to the beat of the music.
Chapter Five
Hell’s mercy!
Anger burned in Edmund as if gasoline had been dumped over his soul. Never had he been so fit to kill. What in the hell had he done? Never should he have trusted Rane. He wanted her to lust for him.
Not everyone.
He clenched his jaw, unable to even watch as he searched for a way to get to her. There wasn’t any way in hell he was going to sit here and watch her take her clothes off.
The crowd around the bar had grown thick. Hell’s mercy. The men were packed in like sardines in a can. Had he been able to, he’d have thrown them from his way. As it was, there was nowhere to throw them but into other men.
That left one venue. Over the bar. In one swoop, he threw himself over and landed on his feet. As soon as he was over, he heard the bouncers yelling over the cheering crowd.
“No customers behind the bar!” a fat, overbuilt oaf boomed from behind an unmoving crowd.
“Move!” his buddy commanded in agreement, shoving his body into the crowds. “Stop that man!”
Oh, yeah. Now they cared. But screw them. He’d knock both their dumb heads together.
He raced to where Grace danced, and reached up. Hooking his arm around her waist, he tossed her over his shoulder with a wallop. He expected her to yell or throw a fit. Instead she cracked up laughing. Hell’s mercy! It was like she was drunk on sex.
He shook his head and held tight to her long, active legs. She wasn’t kicking, but wriggling about under his touch. Pinning her, he did his best to keep her from falling.
Now. How to get the hell out of here?
There was no way but through the crowd and out the door. He had no idea how the hell he’d manage it, but he’d do it. Somehow.
He started out, at the last moment remembering to grab the roses. The glass tipped over, spilling water everywhere as he kept right on going. Hell’s mercy. He feared the damn things could be dangerous after what they’d done to her.
He pushed his way out the short swinging door of the bar. Men’s angry glares met him, their bodies not moving to make way. A mob of hands reached out, trying to grab at her. The crowd closed on him, nearly smashing him back against the bar.
Edmund roared up, his howl bellowing over the men. With all his might, he pushed forward. He was getting her the hell out of here ‑‑ whether they liked it, or not.
If he had to do some damage, he had to do some damage. Never give up. Never surrender.
Roaring again, he rammed right into the horde of men.
The urge to knock out a few guys beat in him, but to use his fists, he’d have to put her down. Instead he threw his body and hers into all that stood in his way. “Get the hell out of my way!”
One short but brave drunk had the nerve to step in front of him. “You can’t take her.” Tousled hair and slurred words assured Edmund he could tip the jerk over with one finger.
He kicked the guy right in the gut, almost tipping over. He regained his balance, plowing through the men like a bulldozer.
He slung his body into whoever didn’t move. “Oh, no? She’s my wife, and I’ll do what I please! Move!”
The crowd broke for him as he ran for the door.
Grace couldn’t help herself. She knew he was driving, but she just wanted him so very bad. Her entire body, from the hairs on her head to the nails on her toes, was afire. Pulsating and wet, her sex begged to be fulfilled. Her hard nipples cried to sucked.
Geez! She needed him!
Rubbing against his shoulder with her breasts, she tried to gain his attention. “Edmund, kiss me. My lips are burning.”
When he shrugged away from her, she mashed her breasts even harder against him. She massaged her hardened buds against the bone in his shoulder.
So, he was playing hard to get.
She reached down and grabbed at his cock. Hard and pounding, it cried for her to release it from its cage. She yanked at his zipper and freed it. With a tight hand, she pumped it up and down.
Edmund moaned under her attentions, almost missing his turn. He jerked the steering wheel to the right. Hard. The force threw Grace into him.
Like a blessing, her face landed in his lap.
“Shit,” he swore. “Are you okay?”
Oh, she was just fine.
Grasping his cock, she slid it into her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around it, teasing. Frenched his rod as if it were his mouth, all the while working his balls. His hips lifted, driving his cock further into her throat. She moaned, and he jerked upward again.
“Hell’s mercy, woman!” he groaned. “I can’t drive.”
“I’m not stopping,” she mumbled around his cock.
His hips shifted as he grunted. “Damn you, woman. Just wait until I get you home.”
Grace only laughed, blowing on the tip of his cock. She wasn’t worried one bit about what he’d do to her.
It was he who should be worried.
Right now he didn’t know whether to curse the wizard or thank him. His come had already filled her mouth, yet she kept right on sucking as if her life depended upon the hardness of his cock.
At this rate, she would wear him out. Maybe he shouldn’t have picked six roses. One might have sufficed.
Hell’s mercy.
Squealing wheels, he veered his BMW into the parking garage. Speeding past rows of cars, he swerved into his designated parking spot right next to the elevators.
As soon as he put it in park, Grace was all over him. He fought against her attack of kisses and grabbing hands to free his seatbelt. As soon as he unsnapped it, he swung open the door.
Not that he didn’t enjoy her attentions; he did. Hell’s mercy, he wanted to bend her over right here and now.
But it would be better in bed.
He zipped and buttoned his pants back up. He slid out, and she crawled after him on all fours. Somewhere on the drive she had lost what little shirt she wore. Her handful of tits now jiggled and threatened to fall out of her bra with her every movement. Grabbing her, he threw her over his shoulder and slammed the door shut. Going to the other side of his silver sports car, he swung open the passenger door and grabbed the tattered roses.
Spell of Love: Lust Upon Roses Page 4
