Don't Hex and Drive

by Juliette Cross

  This was no fly-by fascination. This was hardcore witchery. Oddly, she wasn’t flirting or being overtly friendly or doing anything other women have done to lure me in. She was simply being her lovely self.

  “Tell me, what is it you have against cars?”

  Her smile morphed into that serious expression, the same one she’d worn when she conjured up lettuce nutrition facts. “Cars are dangerous.”

  I laughed, which caused her to frown. “And bicycles are safer?”

  “Yes, they are. Did you know that over one million people die every year in car accidents?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Stop laughing at me. It’s over three thousand per day.”

  “Is that why you didn’t want to ride with Ruben the other night to the hospital?”

  “Yes.” She sipped her drink again, avoiding my gaze. “But I know if anyone’s a safe driver, it’s probably Ruben. I was right. He was a very careful driver.”

  “I’m a safe driver.”

  She huffed a laugh. “Do I need to remind you that you hit me with your car?”

  I leaned forward on the table, not bothered by that little fact at all. “But I had been driving for a day and a half straight. And it was quite dark. And you have to admit, you were wearing dark clothing.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed after a moment.

  “Though it pains me to have hurt you in any way, I have to admit I’m quite happy that I did hit you that night,” I said, letting my voice drop low. “Not that I hit you, just that I met you.”

  Her blush darkened her cheeks again while she stared down, stirring her Bloody Mary. She bit her lip, and I couldn’t help but notice how her lower lip was quite full. Much more than her upper.

  “So you don’t drive at all?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I have a passport for travel and identification.”

  “You never even got your license?” This was unreal. I’d never heard of an adult not getting a driver’s license.

  “No need.” She shrugged.

  Our waiter delivered our appetizer, postponing my interrogation. I watched her face when she noticed the lettuce sprinkled around the fried oysters was arugula. She looked at me with an appreciative smile, and there it went again. My pulse tripled just from making her smile. There’d been a lot of things that made my pulse quicken over the ages, but a woman’s smile hadn’t been one of them. Till now.

  “Dive in.” I gestured for her to go first.

  I enjoyed watching her smearing her oyster in the tomato jam and sugarcane vinegar. I tried not to stare at her mouth, but it was kind of impossible. I decided to move on to a subject that had been nagging at me since the night we went to the hospital.

  “So why aren’t you dating? Finding a man to fill certain needs instead of Big John?”

  “That’s kind of personal.” She forked another oyster onto her serving plate with a small pile of arugula.

  “I don’t mean to pry.”

  “Yes, you do,” she said with a tilt of the head and a casual smile.

  “I can’t help it. I’m naturally curious about you.”

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin and took a sip of water, avoiding my gaze for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I don’t date much.”

  Very closed off about that. Okay. “Who was the last guy you dated?”

  I expected her to shut me down and veer to another conversation, but she surprised me.

  “A witch from Metairie. We dated a little while.” She shrugged that same shoulder, bringing my gaze to the curve of exposed skin. It looked so soft. I bet it was.

  “He wasn’t a nice guy?”

  “No. He was nice. Very nice.”

  “Your enthusiasm is so convincing,” I goaded sarcastically.

  She smiled. “Honestly? I just got bored.”

  “So no sparks in the sack?”

  “Devraj,” she hissed under her breath, glancing over her shoulder at the only other couple out here who were far too engrossed in their mimosas and conversation to hear us. “That’s none of your business.”

  “I’m just curious. But if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.” I tried for nonchalance, hoping she’d open up.

  Even though a wave of pink splotched her chest and neck, she decided to anyway, much to my delight.

  “It’s just that I’m a private person, and I’m very particular about who I date and who I allow in my bed.” She couldn’t look me in the eye, but she went on. “Sometimes it’s just easier to rely on myself.” She sipped her Bloody Mary again before adding matter-of-factly, “I can take care of myself just fine.”

  She meant take care of her own pleasure just fine. My pants grew tighter while I imagined taking care of her in my own way.

  “I’m sure you can.” The waiter cleared the table and set down her house salad. While she busied herself mixing the greens and dressing, I leaned forward, forearms braced on the table. “But I’d like to apply for the job.”

  She laughed before taking a bite, then looked across the table, her smile slipping when she realized I wasn’t kidding around. Damn. I really needed to adjust my crotch, but I didn’t want her to know quite how arousing I found this conversation.

  She examined me while she chewed, then arched a brow. “I imagine you think you could do better than Big John,” she teased, trying to lighten the heaviness hovering between us. But I wasn’t ready to let this go. Not even close.

  “Maybe not. He could join the party if you like.” I licked my lips before whispering intimately, “Actually, I think that would be a fantastic idea.”

  For a split second, a flash of both surprise and excitement crossed her features. The tell-tale blush coloring her cheeks, neck, and chest proved she was definitely thinking about my offer.

  She sipped her water and wiped her mouth with her napkin. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?”

  “Deadly.” I held her gaze, green eyes swamping with heat. “Give me one night, and I’ll prove it to you.

  She busied herself with her salad, and I let her eat in peace. I wanted her to mull over our conversation, hoping she might come to the conclusion I truly was being serious. She had that skeptical look in her eye, glancing at me between bites, both of us watching the passersby below in between watching each other.

  When the waiter cleared away the plates for the appetizers and set our main course down, she hummed in appreciation. She truly was a sensual creature. The delight in her eyes and widening of her smile expressed her pleasure before she’d even taken a bite. Yet again, I wondered what it might be like to be the cause of her pleasure.

  “Would you like a bite?” she asked, as I watched her eat like a starving man. Little did she know, I wasn’t starving for her food.

  “Sure.”

  She pushed her plate across the table for me to reach. Lifting my untouched fork, I took a bite of her shrimp and grits.

  “Very good. Would you like to try mine?”

  “Even Jules’s fancy French toast doesn’t look that good.”

  I cut a bite with my fork. “It’s the blueberry Bourbon syrup. Prepare to be wowed.” I held the bite across the table for her to take.

  She frowned at my attempt to share a bite from my fork. I wiggled my fork and raised my eyebrows. Honestly, I was one hundred percent positive she was going to refuse to eat from my own hand, but I liked pushing her buttons. I prepared for a snappy protest, but then she leaned forward and opened her mouth.

  Bloody hell.

  I slid the bite inside and watched as she chewed and licked the syrup off her lips.

  That was a really bad idea. I could barely breathe, wanting to lean across and taste the syrup from her mouth.

  “You’re right. I’m wowed.” Then she continued eating her meal like she hadn’t just punched me in the gut with an explosion of lust.

  We were quiet a little while. Her enjoying her meal. Me wanting to pull her across the table into my lap and eat her for my next me
al.

  Oh, fuck.

  My tongue licked over my extended canines. I sure as hell didn’t need her to notice that lapse of control. And I didn’t need to be imagining what she tasted like because I was positive she wasn’t up for being my next blood host.

  To be fair to myself, I hadn’t taken a new blood host since I’d arrived. As an older vampire, I could go a month or more without drinking blood to rejuvenate my magic and supernatural strength. It had been only two weeks, but that didn’t seem to matter. I craved the woman sitting across the table like mad.

  “That’s a very unique bracelet,” she said, gazing at the gold cuff embedded with gold and black beads that I rarely ever took off.

  “Thank you.” Wiping my mouth, I took a sip of water and pushed away my plate. It took a moment for me to force my canines to recede, but my control was something every Stygorn prided themselves on. Still, I was no longer hungry for food, my stomach tight with an unfamiliar knot of tension. “I made it from my mother’s mangalsutra.”

  She finished eating and sat back in her chair, eyeing me curiously before studying the bracelet. “What is that?”

  My heart clenched at the sudden flash of memory. My sweet mother and her sad eyes.

  “A mangalsutra is a sacred wedding necklace in our tradition. A groom gives it to his bride.” Interesting that I’d had others admire this particular piece of jewelry and ask me about it, but I’d never bothered explaining to them what it meant. Perhaps I didn’t think they’d understand its importance or I didn’t care to open up this particular pain. But for some reason, I found myself explaining everything to Isadora. “It was my father’s promise to my mother that they would always be together. That they’d be protected from evil. In our tradition, a wife wears it until her husband’s death.”

  She must’ve seen something in my expression because her own softened with sympathy. “And how long did your mother wear the necklace?”

  “Until I was thirteen. The same year I was turned into a vampire.”

  I was well aware my voice had gone a little cold, but it was hard to discuss, even now, centuries later, without some resentment. I’d never asked to become what I was. And though I didn’t resent the life I led now, it still grated my conscience that I carried guilt, being forced to drink human blood when I was once a devout Hindu. I often wondered how ashamed my mother would’ve been if she’d known. If she’d lived to see me now.

  “Anyway, it was very difficult for my mother when he died. For any woman during that time period, being a widow was a painful struggle.”

  Isadora’s intense expression roamed over my face, her voice a soft caress when she said, “But at least she had you, Devraj.”

  Yet again, my stomach clenched with some foreign emotion I wasn’t familiar with. I’d wanted and sated my hungers with many women over the ages. This craving felt different. I didn’t just want her body, or her blood, if I was to be completely honest with myself. Just being in her presence, soaking up her smiles and sweet company, was feeding a hunger I didn’t realize I had.

  “Yes,” I finally agreed with a smile. “She did have me.”

  “I imagine she was proud of you. You were a very dutiful son, I’ll bet.”

  “Actually, I was.” Except for the blood-drinking I did behind her back.

  The waiter came and dropped the check. I moved the conversation to their metaphysical shop and her role there to steer away from heavier topics while we waited for the waiter to bring my receipt. She rambled about her bookkeeping and inventory organization—yes, rambled, which was completely new for her in my presence. I realized that my shy girl only opened up like this for people she trusted. A fact that had warmth blooming in the center of my chest.

  “Sounds as if you enjoy your work,” I said as we grabbed our grocery bags that we’d stored at the hostess counter then walked out of the restaurant toward her bicycle outside.

  “I do. But I enjoy gardening most of all. Working in the greenhouse.”

  “No customers or pesky sisters to bother you.”

  She graced me with another of those brighter smiles she kept hidden and passed out like little gold coins. “Exactly. I like working alone.”

  “I gathered that.”

  We stopped beside her bicycle, and though I didn’t want to part ways, I also didn’t want her to know how desperate I was to spend the entire day in her company. One thing I’d come to understand about Isadora was that she was cautious. I needed another reason to spend time with her. Then it hit me.

  “Ruben told me that Emma would likely need another treatment or two by you. I could give you a ride to the hospital whenever you need.”

  She pulled her bike away from the wall, after unlocking her chain on the wheel, and stowed her bag of fruit in the basket. “I’m sure I can get Jules to take me,” she said, avoiding eye contact again.

  I leaned my head down, trying to force her gaze up. “You mean, you don’t trust my driving? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No,” she said quickly. “It’s not that. I just.” She shrugged.

  “You don’t enjoy my company?” I teased.

  That pretty pink color flushed her cheeks again as she leveled me with those green eyes. “It’s not that either.”

  “So you admit you do enjoy my company. Love it, in fact, right?”

  She laughed. “You really are incorrigible.”

  “So I’m told. Repeatedly. By a very pretty witch.”

  Her eyes fell again as she straddled the bike. As if that didn’t put another painfully lovely image in my one-track mind. Enough. Time for me to go. I held out my hand to her.

  “Thank you for having brunch with me, Isadora.”

  She shook my hand, and I couldn’t help but hold it a moment longer than normal, brushing my thumb over her soft skin, her quick, thrumming pulse.

  “I should be thanking you. I really enjoyed it.”

  “My pleasure.” I released her hand and tucked both of mine in my pockets, forcing myself to take a step away. Still, I couldn’t help to add, “If you need anything at all. A ride to the hospital? A replacement for Big John? You can call me anytime.”

  Her mouth fell open in surprise. I memorized that image before giving her a wink and sauntering back up the street to my car.

  Chapter 14

  ~ISADORA~

  * * *

  I’d been laying on my bed, staring at the ceiling for I don’t know how long. I couldn’t get this morning’s brunch at Gris Gris out of my head. No. Not the food. The company. The man. The vampire. He’d invaded my headspace and wouldn’t leave, no matter how hard I tried to get rid of him.

  I glanced over at my desk where Violet had set my DVD of Dilwala Deewana.

  Sorry. Take that back. Where she’d propped it up with a hot pink sticky note she’d grabbed off my desk and written in her swirly script: This is NOT trash. Watch often. You’re welcome. -V

  Unable to help myself, I closed my door and popped the DVD into the machine and turned on the TV on top of my dresser. Sitting back on my bed, I watched a little of the intro that was mostly about the beautiful heroine, then I fast-forwarded to Devraj. Before long, I was back at that point where I’d left off, where he took a moonlit dip. That’s when I realized my hand not holding the remote was ghosting across my belly in little circles.

  Glancing at the door, I hopped up and locked it, then opened my nightstand. Yep, there was Big John, sitting proudly in my nest of BOBs. I went to grab him, but then stopped. Behind me, Devraj spoke with his hypnotic voice onscreen. When I looked back at the TV, the heroine had joined him in his moonlight swim, the song having ended. He was sensually holding her close, whispering sensual words in his silky smooth voice.

  Give me one night, and I’ll prove it to you.

  What would it be like to be the focus of all of that vampire’s attention? Biting my lip, I watched him embrace the woman onscreen and couldn’t deny the flair of jealousy burning up my skin.

  Whether it was
pretend or not, I was burning up with jealousy of a movie star or the relationship he might or might not have had with her offscreen. The thing was, it wasn’t just his beautiful body that had my stomach twisted into knots and my libido revving to go. He was compelling on so many levels, and I just couldn’t deny I honestly wanted to see what he could offer. For only one night, of course. What could be the harm?

  I debated for all of two more minutes, then I shut my nightstand drawer, turned off the TV, threw a few extra things I thought we’d need into my purse, then headed downstairs before I lost my nerve. Someone was watching television in the living room.

  When I popped my head in, it was Evie and her boyfriend Mateo curled up on the couch together, practically glued to each other. They were watching Avengers: End Game and Mateo was playing with her ponytail, his gaze on her, not the TV. They were disgustingly adorable, and so in love.

  “Hey, Evie. I’m going to pop out for a while. Don’t wait up.”

  “Headed to Tia’s?” she asked.

  “Mmhmm,” I lied, turning for the front door before she asked for details.

  I wasn’t a liar and just that teensy tiny one made my insides clench. But I sure as hell wasn’t telling her where I was really going.

  “Make her drive you home,” she called. “It’ll be too late to ride back on your bike.”

  “Okay!” I said as I opened the front door.

  Crap. Now I had to take my bicycle to fake that I was headed to Tia’s. This little escapade had already turned into something bigger than I’d planned.

  It was late afternoon, the sun casting a warm glow on the houses and landscape as I rode my bicycle down the driveway, onto the sidewalk, and up the driveway next door. He’d gotten his Lamborghini back. I decided to park my bicycle well under the open garage behind the car, just in case one of my sisters passed by for some reason.