Love Potion #7

by Tara Kingston

  Her hushed, throaty moans unleashed a rush of primal satisfaction. Her top teeth grazed her bottom lip. The small, innocent gesture drove him wild. Tracing a finger over her plump, rosy mouth, his hunger grew. His cock pulsed against the softness of her thigh. She wanted him. He didn’t doubt that. She wanted him deep inside her, and yet, he held back. This moment needed to last, this connection between them, as delicate and yet as strong as a spider’s web. She didn’t deserve a quick fuck. She deserved everything he had to give.

  He trailed kisses from her mouth to the pulse point at the base of her ear, lavishing her with caresses until she wriggled against him, silently pleading for more. Jake cupped one breast in his hand, sweeping his thumb in precise, teasing little circles over her areola, coaxing the dusky-pink bud at its center to pebble beneath his attentive touch.

  He lowered his head to claim the other perfect mound, taking the rosy nub in his mouth, laving her sweet flesh with his tongue until she arched and moaned for more.

  A sly smile replaced her soft, whispered pleas. He raised his head, meeting her knowing gaze. Her fingers cradled his balls, kneading gently, the tenderness of her touch hot, so damn hot. Pleasure shot through his body, an arrow careening along his spine. Pulling a breath between his teeth, he gripped a handful of the sheet, fighting for control. Christ, did the little minx have any idea what she did to him with the simplest touch?

  Still caressing his sac, she captured his shaft in her other hand. Each tender stroke maddened him with need.

  “I need you, Jake.”

  The honesty of her words electrified him. He feathered kisses over her flat belly, over the curve of her hip, to the silky, dark curls nestled at the vee of her thighs. He closed his eyes. She was beautiful.

  And she was his, if only for this night.

  Her legs spread, welcoming him, the tilt of her hips and her husky murmurs urging him on. Framing her face in his hands, he settled between her firm, tanned thighs.

  Beads of sweat dotted his brow. He had to have her. But he wouldn’t rush this. Damn it, he wouldn’t just plow into her like some horny frat boy with a coed. He rolled away, just long enough to tear the foil packet he’d placed by the bed and slide the condom over his erection. Jesus, even that brief separation seemed too long. The head of his cock breached the dark nest, parting her slowly, spreading her inner folds to accommodate his thickness. Her breath came in little gasps. She was wet. Wet for him.

  Chelsea’s lids shuttered her eyes. Her teeth worried that bottom lip again. He bent his head to kiss her, claiming her mouth with his caress even as his shaft filled her tight passage, inch by gloriously agonizing inch. Tight…so damn tight. Her inner walls surrounded him, each contraction of her muscles around him a taste of heaven on earth.

  Releasing her, he held himself on his arms, watching her. She licked her lips, her sweet little tongue enticing him for just one more taste, and then her lids lifted. She met his gaze, her eyes luminous even in the sparse light. Her mouth curved in the most tempting smile he’d ever seen.

  “Jake, please.”

  The words undid him. Restraint forgotten, he surged forward, filling her with one thrust. Sheathed in her heat, he stilled for a moment, and then he pumped his hips, angling his cock against her channel until she arched in pleasure, seeking more of the contact, more of the sensations, more of him. God, she was so damn responsive. Every thrust seemed to propel her closer to the brink. He’d pleasure her sweet body all night just to hear the throaty little moans she tried to hold back and feel her hands imprinting his skin.

  She pulled him close. Deeper. Deeper. Her nails dug into his shoulders, the hint of pain thrilling against the pleasure that surged through every nerve of his body. She was close now, so close.

  Her inner muscles pulsed against his length. Gritting his teeth, he surged harder. Deeper. Christ, don’t let him lose control. Not now. Not until…

  A soft cry burst from her lips. His name. She’d cried his name. A deep, primal satisfaction swelled within his chest. Her inner muscles contracted in rhythmic waves around his shaft, maddening him with pleasure restrained. His own cry tore from his lungs, a raw, elemental sound he scarcely recognized as his own voice. He surged harder and harder, all restraint cast to the side, greedy for sensation, greedy for her.

  Jesus, he’d never come this hard. Never been as dazed, as if this had been his first time. Jake rested his weight on his elbows as their pulses slowed and they slowly floated back to reality. He brushed a kiss over her brow. Her lips curved, her eyes regarding him with a sudden shyness. He rolled to his side, gathered her in his arms, and held her until the rhythms of their breaths melded into one.

  * * * * *

  Chelsea sighed, stretched and nestled against the large, warm body at her side. Contentment settled over her. Sunlight peeked around the drawn blinds, dancing against her lids. She wriggled closer to Jake, drinking in his heat, the subtle musk of their lovemaking.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she rose on one elbow to study him. Relaxed in sleep, he seemed younger. Not boyish. No, never boyish, not with that thick growth of dark stubble coating his cheeks and jaw. But without the knowing, cynical glint in his eyes, he might have been the handsome-guy-next-door, just waiting to sweep her off the threshold like the hero of some fifties sitcom.

  She touched him simply because she couldn’t resist. Her fingertips whisked over his upper chest through the dark mat of hair embellishing his torso. One finger trailed the tapered line of hair from his pectorals down his abdomen, tracing a perfect path over his flat belly. Beneath the sheet, his cock stirred to arousal.

  He smiled and reached for her, drawing her to his body. “Good morning, beautiful.” Men usually sounded cheesy when they called her that. But in his husky rasp, the words melted her bones.

  “Good morning.” She tipped up on an elbow, peering down at him. “Sleep well?”

  A smile of pure satisfaction spread over his features. “Like the dead. And now I get to wake up with you in my arms. What could be better?”

  Somehow, she believed him. This wasn’t a line. It was the truth.

  And that terrified her.

  Her body still tingled from his touch, from his kiss. A sweet, delicious ache stirred between her legs. Despite the tension running clear to the bone, she wanted him again. More than that, she wanted to hear her name on his lips, she wanted to hear him tell her she was beautiful and know that he meant it. But how long could this go on? How long before the potion wore off and Jake came to his senses? Even if the spell endured for months, sooner or later, it would all come to a screeching, agonizing halt.

  How would she bear it when he awoke one morning and realized he didn’t give a damn about her? When he wondered how he’d ever found her alluring when he had a feast of glamorous, all-too-willing women from which to choose.

  The smile in his eyes darkened to an emotion far more powerful than lust. Chelsea’s heart thudded against her ribs. He dragged her down to him. With a quick shift of his body, he leaned over her, his gaze possessive and hungry. How could she ever deny him when he looked at her like that?

  She’d damn sure have to try. “I overslept,” she murmured. If she left now, she could think again. She could come up with a plan to rein in her emotions and get a grip on herself. “I need to get home and changed and open the shop.”

  He shook his head. Slowly. Deliberately. The desire in his eyes mesmerizing in its intensity. “I need you more than that shop does.” His fingers wove through her hair, sweeping a few renegade strands from her face. “I want you, Chelsea.”

  If only he didn’t make her name sound like a raw, husky ballad written just for her.

  His arms enfolded her and he pressed her to him, the indisputable evidence of his hunger hard and demanding. She sighed and coiled her arms around his neck. His dark gaze bore into her, stripping away her worries, her fears.

  She was his.

  At least for this moment in time.

  * * * * *
r />   “Chelsea, is something wrong?”

  Jake kept his eyes on the road, his jaw set. Her stomach tightened like an overwound spring. Why did he have to look like…that? It was all she could do not to lean over and kiss away the concern on his features.

  “Everything’s fine.” She clipped the lie between her teeth.

  “You seem…tense.”

  “I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

  He angled his truck into a space outside her shop. A handful of regulars glared from the sidewalk. Morning people simply didn’t understand the concept of being late. Wouldn’t they be shocked to know the true reason why their coffee and scones weren’t ready and waiting for them as soon as the birds started to chirp? The thought nearly tugged a smile to her lips. Nearly. But not quite.

  “Did I go too far?”

  She glanced down at her clenched hands. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. Thank heavens I baked some cookies and muffins last night. These folks look ready to riot.”

  “Want me to go in with you? Provide a distraction?” His crooked grin tore a ragged hole in her heart.

  “No, that’s okay.” She kissed him on the cheek and darted from the vehicle to the door with only a quick, cursory wave. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes. Not now. Now that she’d betrayed him with her deception and Elise with…well, with what she’d done with the man of her best friend’s dreams. She’d carried on as if she’d been entranced, thinking only of what she wanted, casting the consequences of her actions to the wind.

  How would she ever face Elise again? And now…now that she knew the man behind the publicity photos, how could she walk away? She’d never really wanted to hurt him. Teach him a lesson, that’s all. Dammit. She could try to justify what she’d done, but she couldn’t even convince herself.

  She had to end this. But she’d ease into it. Put some distance between them. Give him a chance to get past the effects of the potion.

  But how would she get past her feelings for Jake?

  Ah, the consequences! She’d worried about the Witches’ Council. She’d even worried about Elise’s reaction if her friend ever found out about her harebrained scheme. But she’d never worried about her own heart.

  Bustling about the shop, Chelsea filled her mind with her customers’ wants. Cups filled with steaming coffee. Plates filled with breakfast pastries. Guidance on the newest reading choices for every taste.

  An alarm chimed, signaling a fresh batch of croissants was ready to escape the oven. She hurried into the kitchen, soaking up the smells of cinnamon and sugar and melted butter. How she loved those smells. But now, all she craved was the crisp scent of the man in whose arms she’d awakened.

  She retrieved the baking sheet from the oven and set the pastries out to cool. Footsteps…high-heeled footsteps, judging from their strike against the hard tile floor, approached through the kitchen. She sighed. Didn’t her customers know the kitchen area was off-limits by now?

  She turned slowly, careful not to appear disturbed by the intrusion. It wouldn’t do to chase off the customers, now would it?

  If she’d been holding a tray, she would have dropped it. Her hands flew to her cheeks, if only to keep her chin from dropping to her chest. Her heart raced.

  This cannot be happening.

  Not now.

  A puzzled half smile met her silence. “Goodness, I’ve never known you to be so jumpy. I didn’t mean to startle you.” With that, Elise sauntered over and embraced her. “Well, silly, aren’t you going to at least say hi?”

  Chelsea shook her head, as if that could restore the blood flow. “This is such a surprise.”

  Elise took a step back. Her perfect red lips spread into a pageant-girl smile. “A pleasant surprise, I hope.”

  “Of course.” Chelsea swatted a stray tendril from her perspiration-dampened forehead. Her gaze swept from Elise to the tall, Lincoln-thin man at her side. Aside from the couture stubble on his face and his designer frames, he might actually have found work reciting speeches at battlefield reenactments. She forced her attention back to her friend. “It’s always good to see you. I had no idea you were back from New York.”

  “Well, I’m not back…I’m in town for a couple of days to take care of some family business.” Elise’s smile broadened, displaying perfectly whitened teeth. “We have so much catching up to do.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I know you don’t like surprises.” Elise marched to the window and opened the blinds. “But I must say I’d expected a warmer welcome. You look like…well, I don’t know what you look like, but you don’t look too happy to see me.”

  Chelsea eased her jaw back into place and forced a smile. “Of course I’m happy to see you. It’s a wonderful surprise.”

  Elise slinked back to her companion’s side. “Oh good heavens, where are my manners? Chelsea, this is Kent. Kent Sutcliffe.”

  Pale eyes narrowed behind designer frames. He extended his hand, a thin smile warming otherwise austere features.

  Chelsea offered a perfunctory handshake and supplied her own introduction.

  “Chelsea York,” Kent spoke the words as though recited poetry. “A noble name. Surely you must be connected to a family of exquisite English pedigree.”

  Actually, her ancestors had been run out of England nearly four centuries earlier, but no point bringing that up. At least they’d had the good sense to avoid Salem, though the tales of the woe that fell upon great-grandmother Claire’s great-great-grandmother Grace in Virginia were the stuff of family legend.

  “Nothing quite so grand,” she said, managing a smile as she stepped back to survey Elise’s guest. “Have we met? You seem very…familiar.”

  His mouth spread so wide it looked stretched taut, not quite a smile. “You may have read one of my interviews. The press hasn’t been able to get enough of me since my little show cornered the awards last month.”

  “Little show? Seriously, Kent, you’re too modest for words.” Elise looped an arm around his elbow. “The little show Kent is referring to is Night Storm. It’s only the biggest thing to hit Broadway in years.”

  If Kent had transformed into a six-foot-two-inch flying monkey, Chelsea might have been less stunned. “Night Storm,” she repeated, sounding rather dull-witted to her own ears as she met Kent’s not-so-humble gaze. “Your show?”

  Elise snuggled against his lanky frame. “Kent’s the playwright. Such a genius.”

  The genius’s hand slid down to settle possessively on Elise’s ass. “My agent’s negotiating for the movie rights. I’m insisting on casting input.”

  “Is that…typical?”

  He shrugged. “Does it matter? If the shirts in Hollywood want to bring my story to the screen, they’ll give me a few perks. Elise would make the definitive Josette.”

  “Josette?” The starring role? Before she’d left Richmond for New York, Elise’s previous stint in Los Angeles had led to a handful of decidedly non-stellar credits. A zombie’s shrieking victim in some direct-to-DVD flick. Dead-chorus-girl-number-four in a crime serial. Sultry blonde in a has-been rocker’s comeback video. Hardly the stuff that led to a part starlets far and wide would fight to the death to land.

  “The female lead,” Elise bubbled. Her electric smile would have lit Times Square. “Of course, you haven’t seen the show yet, stuck here. Come to New York with me. Kent can get you the best seat in the house. You can stay at my place.” She stole a glance at the man at her side and made a show of suppressing a giggle. “Lord knows I’m seldom there.”

  “I’ll see if I can fit it in. Daryl’s not at the point where I trust him to run the shop for more than a few hours at a time.”

  Elise swished away her concern with a sweep of her hand and a smile so honeyed, bears would have come running. “You could close down this place for days and no one would notice, sweetie. You’ve got to expand your horizons. Think bigger than this.”

  The words stung, but Chelsea lifted her chin just a bit higher. “I’m quite c
ontent with this, as you put it. I’ll try to make it up to New York. I trust the show will still be playing in a few weeks.”

  “They’ve just extended the run for another six months.” Elise cast a loving glance at the ring on her right hand, a ruby flanked by diamonds that probably cost more than Chelsea’s car. “Kent bought me a little trinket to celebrate.”

  “That’s quite a trinket.” Chelsea didn’t even attempt to force a smile. She shot Kent a look beneath her lashes, then settled her attention on her friend’s chic California-gold crop. “You’ve cut your hair. It becomes you.”

  “Kent likes it. Don’t you, sweetie?” Elise traced a finger over the man’s immaculate salt-and-pepper stubble. “He’s encouraged me to be more daring.” A sly smile curved Elise’s mouth as her mentor in all-things-daring patted her ass. “In more ways than you could imagine.”

  Chelsea struggled to clamp a lid on her all-too-vivid imagination. Judging from the carnal hunger in Kent’s eyes, he was ready to be daring all over again.

  Notes from a jazz flute floated from Kent’s jacket. ”Damn,” he muttered, extracting himself from Elise’s grasp. He fished a phone from his pocket and glanced at the screen. “I have to take this. Do you have a private space I could use?”

  Chelsea led him to her office while he answered the call. Closing the door behind her, she rushed back to Elise.

  “What is this?” she blurted, tact forgotten. “Three months ago you were brokenhearted. Now you’re accepting ridiculously expensive gifts and promises of movie roles from a man you barely know.”

  The smile on Elise’s face deflated like a balloon after a birthday party. “I don’t believe this— I thought you’d be happy for me. But this…I certainly didn’t expect an interrogation.”

  Chelsea pulled in a breath. Her words had been rash. Poorly chosen. And from the heart. “I’m sorry, that didn’t come out well. But I meant it. You’ve jumped from Jake Wilder to this…playwright. You didn’t even give yourself a chance to get over Jake.”

  Elise’s mouth scrunched up like a toddler tasting a lemon. “Him? You think I’m doing this because of him?”