The Problem With Witches: An Arcane Shot Series Novel

by Joey W. Hill

  She also remembered that, within a second of her stepping across the threshold, Ben’s attention had snapped to her, as if the mere hint of her presence had a stronger pull on him than the witch’s superpower level of sexual appeal at close proximity.

  Ben was at her side now, just behind her. Marcie tensed, but her worries about other things eased slightly when he put his hand at her waist. She leaned into him, and let out a little sigh at the heat of him. The way he dipped his head to brush his lips across her temple. He was always so solid. The wall at her back. She couldn’t gauge his mood, but his initiating the contact was an encouraging sign.

  When he tightened his grip against her flesh, she tilted her head to look at him. “I was thinking about when I first came into the board room,” she said. “I didn’t know how to feel.”

  “I know.” Ben met her gaze. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, brat. She’s…”

  “Yeah. Ten seconds in the same room and I wanted to do her.”

  The skin around his green eyes crinkled. His smile eclipsed the tingles Raina had given her in a heartbeat. When he slid both his arms all the way around her, she inhaled his scent, the clean starch of his shirt mixed with the heat of the man wearing it. “Can I watch? Sell tickets?” he asked. “Lucas would approve. We’d eclipse our quarterly profits in a heartbeat.”

  She chuckled, and laid her forehead on his chest, registered his heartbeat. Then she tipped her head back up again. They gazed at one another. “I’d say I’m sorry, too,” she said. “But mainly for acting out in front of everyone. Not for standing for you.” She curled her fingers into his shirt, pressed her lips together. “I wasn’t trying to disrespect you, Master. Just love you.”

  “Hmm.” His mouth tightened, but fortunately, he let it go. For now. “I need to talk some of this out with Matt and the others, now that our guests are gone. Let Matt ask all the questions he wouldn’t in front of them. I also need to convince them they don’t need to be more involved in this. Why don’t you help me with that? I think between the delegation from Hogwarts and your badass self, I’ve got the backup I need to see Elagra.”

  Her initial wave of pleased surprise passed, and she studied him narrowly. “If you think it will be easier to ditch me by myself, versus ditching a group of us—”

  “I could ditch you, if I wanted to do so,” he said evenly. “The truth is, I don’t want any of this near you. I would do a great deal to make that happen, including tying you up and locking you in a closet. Which I could do, and there’s not a thing you could do to stop me, if I was determined to put you on the ground. You know it.”

  Her heart tightened in the cold fist created by those words, the flash of ice in the green eyes that said he meant it. Then he confused her, cupping her face in a hand that was as gentle as his eyes were hard. “But I love you, too. And that comes with a burden of trust in your judgment I’m trying my best to respect. But you better damn well understand the distraction of worrying about you when dealing with this isn’t helpful to me.”

  She tightened her jaw. “That’s not fair.”

  “It’s not fair, but it’s truth.”

  She crossed her arms, drawing back from him. “Well, you leaving me at home, not knowing if you’re hurt, in trouble, when I could be there to help? That’s something I can’t live with.”

  “Welcome to the world of being a cop’s spouse. Maybe you need to practice walking in the shoes you’re so eager to have me wear.”

  Direct hit. He knew how to fight dirty, in so many ways. He was a lawyer and could twist words, but he wasn’t fucking with her head. He meant what he was saying, the simple truth.

  The ache in her throat kept her from saying anything, but then he sighed, shook his head. He laid his hands on top of her tense upper arms. He lifted then lowered the touch a couple times, almost rhythmically, something between a pat and a repetition, like he was counting, then his hands closed on her biceps again, and he gripped hard, putting his forehead back against hers.

  “Loving you the way you want and need to be loved is the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” he said, low. “And it’s the one thing I can’t not do.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, threaded her hands back between his arms to grip his shirt again, shake him, her knuckles pressed against his muscled chest beneath the soft fabric.

  “Same goes.”

  “Then that’s where we are and where we’ll stay.” He kissed her forehead and drew back, staring into her eyes. There was always so much going on in his gaze at a moment like this, a conflagration of past, present and future.

  “Let’s get this done,” he said.

  He’d been right. Between the two of them, it didn’t take too long to get things squared away with the team, though Marcie thought the others, particularly Matt, still had his doubts when Ben emphasized that this was just an information hunt, nothing overly dangerous, particularly with the current backup he had.

  But Matt trusted his man. And not just him. When the CEO of K&A turned his gaze to her, let it rest there an extra moment before they took their leave, Marcie gave him a subtle nod. She’d have Ben’s back, emotionally as well as physically, to the best of her ability.

  Ben escorted her to the parking deck with little conversation, and took the wheel of the McLaren. She didn’t argue with him over it, knowing that driving would help him think through whatever was occupying his mind.

  As she expected, he said little, merely wrapping his hand around hers, bringing it to his thigh and letting her leave it there as he navigated the sportscar through traffic. She curled up on the seat to rest her head on his biceps. She was here, and he was accepting it. That was enough, and the rest would just figure itself out. As it always did in their complicated relationship.

  When he didn’t turn toward the Garden District, she knew he’d decided in favor of Raina’s suggestion that they come to the hotel sooner rather than later.

  “Makes more sense to maximize the amount of sleep you can get there, rather than having to wake up at home and get to the hotel in mid-morning traffic,” he commented.

  She was secretly relieved, because she’d been trying to figure out how to sleep as light as a cat so he didn’t slip out without her. It might be a moot point, though, since right now she was wide-awake.

  “The dinner staff should still be there,” he added. “I can talk the chef into whipping up something for us and the World of Warcraft escapees.”

  “You’ve been spending time around Nate,” she observed, referring to her little brother. “You speak gaming geek.”

  “Not fluently, thank God.”

  After they made the turn onto Royal Street, it wasn’t long before she saw their destination. With its ornate façade work, the snowy white exterior of the Hotel Monteleone reminded her of an elegant queen presiding over the other historic buildings on Royal Street. The flower boxes crowning the covered entrance were populated by riotous bundles of pretty pink petunias.

  Ben turned the car over to the valet with a substantial tip, backed by an underlying warning that likely made the poor kid fear for his future if the car got so much as a scuff mark on it. Then he guided her inside. The lobby had ceiling murals outlined by decorative molding, all of it illuminated by the diamond glitter of chandeliers. Scattered tables and cushioned benches were interspersed with tremendous flower arrangements that changed with the seasons. Today they were lavender flowers with lots of greenery.

  It was the hour at which some people were returning from late dinners, while others were decked out in club wear and headed out to enjoy the New Orleans nightlife on Bourbon Street or the jazz joints in the French Quarter. Ben squeezed her hand and left her on one of the sofas before he moved to the desk staff.

  She watched him fondly. Ben was an incredible cook, restaurant-chef level, in her opinion, and very particular about his food preparation. While she served him in a variety of ways as a submissive, including helping with the prep of his recipes at home, cooking was e
ntirely his domain.

  Though he graciously said she was doing “better” at the things he’d taught her how to cook, she knew that was the power of love. He wouldn’t tell her outright she was hopeless when it came to it.

  That was all right, though. She had other talents. Like the ability to field strip almost any firearm and put it back together in a matter of seconds. And kick the ass of sparring partners three times her size. With the exception of Ben. But he was a dirty fighter. Which, in reflection, meant he’d also helped her improve her fight skills, preparing her for the streets she’d be facing when she finally made it onto the New Orleans police force.

  He’d also expanded the range of her taste buds. Since she’d been with him, they’d acquired an education comparable to what she’d get from an elite cooking school.

  Everything he did intrigued her, but she took particular interest in how others reacted to him. Money always produced results, but the innate authority that made backs straighten and people snap to attention when he spoke to them was genuine, not just financially driven. He never talked down to anyone, even as he made it clear he expected their best efforts. He rewarded that effort with his genuine appreciation and respect, as well as his wallet.

  She expected he’d probably learned that from Matt’s example. So she wasn’t at all surprised when she saw nodding heads. Within a few moments, someone had been summoned from the kitchen. Ben explained what he wanted, and then he was striding back to her, a man who could wear a suit or jeans with equal flair, and emanated an arresting, dangerous energy in either. “What?” he asked, seeing her smile.

  She shook her head, rising from the sofa to lift onto her toes, brush a kiss to the corner of his firm mouth. “You’re just…you.”

  He gave her an amused look, his arm cinching around her waist to lift her off her feet, deepening the kiss before easing her down, though he made sure they were right up against one another when he did it.

  “Same goes, brat. They said there’s a menu in the room and I can call down what I’m wanting directly to the chef. Preparation might take a while, but it’ll be worth the wait. They’ll bring it up when it’s ready. Unless you’d prefer to come back down and eat in the dining room.”

  She enjoyed the ambience of the hotel restaurant, the jagged stripes of the French limestone floor and the intimate placement of the tables that gave the diners the sense of privacy to enjoy their meal. However, given everything else that had happened tonight, she wouldn’t mind actual privacy. Plus…

  “Will we order enough for the others?”

  “Of course. It’s being billed to their room, so we’ll be particularly generous.”

  She chuckled and shook her head at him. Ben moved them toward the elevator, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back. Marcie liked the feel of that touch, his attentiveness, especially in public venues where female eyes, like those of the two desk clerks, would rest upon him with undisguised appreciation. She could handle that, because since they’d become a couple, well before they were married, the man’s eyes had never wandered. Not once. And that kind of consistency? It could only be genuine.

  Even when he studied a scene at their preferred BDSM club, he was gauging the responses and actions of the players as an experienced Dom did, with appreciation for what the other Dom was doing. He might be inspired enough by it to give whatever he planned for her an additional jolt, but his appraisal was never for the face or form of the females involved. Only for what was driving the scene itself.

  When the elevator opened on the hallway of the top floor, the corridor had a hushed quiet. As Ben took the key from her and opened the door, Marcie immediately saw what Raina had described. The living areas of the two suites were joined by a connecting door. She didn’t see Raina or Mikhael. Since the suite they’d entered felt empty, she expected they were in the other.

  They hadn’t said so directly, but since Ruby had “portaled home”—and didn’t that just conjure so many thrilling ideas she’d always thought were only Hollywood fantasy—Marcie suspected Derek had done the same, which was why the additional suite had been offered to her and Ben.

  The sitting and dining area, populated by antique-looking furniture, would be bathed in sunlight at certain times of the day, because one side was mostly windows. The heavy silver-grey window dressings were pulled back with tasseled cords. Through the sheers, she saw the panoramic view of the city and Mississippi River. The walls had pale yellow, broad-striped wallpaper, and delicate-fingered palm trees created separate spaces in the room. Gold-edged mirrors placed at key places gave the room an even larger sense of space.

  The bedroom was accessible through a pair of open French doors. She saw the bed had a pillowy white comforter, piled with matching yellow and grey pillows. Flower arrangements that picked up the same colors were set around the room.

  The room maintained the look of old New Orleans, the clean scent marked by the teasing hints of old wood and history, grandeur and style. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see a woman sweep through in full nineteenth century clothing, a man adjusting his tie and picking up his hat before offering her his arm to escort her down to dinner. Or out for a stroll.

  Ben’s phone buzzed. He bit back a curse as he gave it a glance. “Since it looks like we might not be at work tomorrow, I better handle this.” He nodded to the sidebar. “Menu’s there if you want to give the desserts a look.”

  Her Master ordered her meal, but he always left the choice of desserts to her.

  “You don’t want me to order dinner for us?” she asked innocently. “Looks like they have chicken fingers on the kid’s menu. Everyone loves chicken fingers. With ketchup.”

  He snorted. “I’ll figure it out when I get off the phone.”

  He moved into the bedroom. When he dialed whoever had texted him, she picked up it was about legal paperwork related to bringing some of their foreign manufacturing operations back to the States, due to recent tariff changes. The attorney on the other end was overseas, explaining the late hour call.

  After she perused the dessert menu, she wandered through the lavish living area of their suite. She didn’t intend to be nosy, but she paused as she reached the connecting door between the two suites, listening to determine if they were alone. She received a quick answer, registering the rumble of Mikhael’s voice, the distracting chuckle of Raina’s throaty reply.

  Raina exuded the sex vibes, but Mikhael was no slouch in that department. He was fascinating, dangerous. Since Marcie had fallen head-over-heels for a fascinating, dangerous and dark man herself, she appreciated that in another male. In a purely objective way, of course.

  She intended to move away. Even entertained thoughts of moving out onto the balcony of her and Ben’s suite. Instead, she found herself standing in place. She closed her eyes, absorbing the vibration of Raina and Mikhael’s voices. Even if she couldn’t hear the words, there was something about the cadence that held her attention, like a rising storm wind rippling across a woman’s light summer dress.

  She swayed with it, vaguely realized she’d moved a step toward that threshold. Then another. And another.

  Their suite was done in bolder colors, a rich red and orange, with matching bouquets made up of blood-red roses and marmalade-colored lilies. There was a similar scattering of mirrors. She saw herself in them as she passed, a bemused looking woman moistening her lips, her hand rising to release her hair from its barrette, stroking through it as she shrugged her shoulders, freeing them from a sense of something… Maybe the world outside, which had boundaries that made little sense here.

  The air was so close, she felt like it was carrying her. She was through the living area, past the dining room table. As she pivoted, she was facing the open French doors to the bedroom to the suite.

  The knee jerk reaction to draw back, mutter an apology and flee, didn’t come. Instead, that energy in the air circled and tugged her forward, closer to the threshold and what she glimpsed going on in there.

&nbs
p; She had the presence of mind to curl her fingers over the doorway to keep her on the living room side of the threshold, but otherwise she couldn’t compel herself to retreat.

  Raina was up on her knees on the bed. Mikhael had one knee on it, but still stood on the floor. His hand was on her throat in a somewhat scary-looking way, holding Raina within inches of his gaze, but she had her hands on his face. Her jeans and panties were at her knees, her bra generously displaying her pale breasts. His shirt was open, his hair tousled. Though his slacks were not open, Marcie could scent the familiar musk of recent sex. Maybe no more than a handful of moments ago, he’d been inside Raina. Marcie’s gaze tracked the moisture marking Raina’s upper thighs and knew she was seeing Mikhael’s seed and Raina’s response there.

  Sex done right joined things together in a way never meant to be put asunder. Maybe in some minds, what she was looking at would be considered a layout for a sleazy porno Internet site, but those judgments wouldn’t be looking close enough.

  They’d miss the lock of their gazes, the way Raina was touching his face, how their bodies still vibrated with the energy of being joined. They emanated that passion in such a way that it made everything around them disappear. They’d miss the beauty of those two bodies, Raina’s curves and his hardness, the silk of her hair tumbling down her shoulders, the glow of his eyes as he beheld everything he wanted.

  Mikhael didn’t break that lock, though the flick of Raina’s gaze toward her and then back to Mikhael told Marcie she was acknowledged…and welcome. Mikhael scooped Raina up in one arm, Raina’s hands going to his shoulders, sliding over them. She buried her face briefly into his neck as he bent over, laid her out on the mattress.

  Taking Raina’s hand, he guided her, turning her onto her stomach. He unhooked her bra with deft fingers that caressed the valley of her spine, then removed her panties and jeans. He spoke, a murmur that only Raina could hear, an order from her Master, and she slipped the bra out from beneath her and spread out her limbs, her slim feet just over the end of the mattress. Now naked, she gripped the covers just above her, arms at shoulder height. Mikhael tunneled his fingers in her hair, let the ebony waterfall slide through them as he lifted it away from Raina. Marcie swallowed on a dry throat as the strands fell in a fan shape over the mattress and one silken shoulder.