Wickedly Good (Hex Appeal)

by Anya Breton

  She was twenty-two. Far too young. And she was the daughter of their trusted housekeeper. He wouldn’t entertain thoughts of what Gemma Erjon looked like out of her dress. Instead, Aston lifted his mobile phone to his ear upon its third ring.

  “Good evening,” he greeted the unknown caller.

  “Aston? Aston Haizea?” a male asked on the other end.

  Air rushed into the office—a grass-scented breeze that only invaded when the side door was opened. Aston magically filtered the house’s noises into his ear. Soft steps plodded on the corridor’s wooden floor. That tentative gait was familiar.

  Gemma hadn’t gone to her room in the servants’ quarters. She’d come here instead. Why? Was she planning to seduce Drew under his roof?

  “This is Aston Haizea,” he replied in distraction as he listened to her movement.

  “We haven’t officially met,” the man declared. “My name is Wendell Gross. I’m the priest over the northern counties.”

  The newly risen priest over the northern counties, Aston silently corrected. Otherwise they would have met. The population in the northern counties paled to that in his city. “Ah, yes, Mr. Gross. I’ve heard of you.” What he’d heard hadn’t been good. Thankfully, he had years of practice feigning amiability in front of his mother’s friends. It served him well now. “What can I do for you?”

  “I thought it would be a good idea to touch base. To get to know my neighbor to the south.”

  Aston infused his tone with warmth he didn’t feel. “Of course.”

  The light footsteps neared the office door. Thoughts of how to finish the statement stalled. Gemma had already passed the back stairs. Why was she coming to the front of the house? Unless…

  “I’d be happy to come down there for a visit,” Wendell Gross prompted. “Or we could meet halfway.”

  He caught a flash of coppery hair as she peeked around the corner. Aston’s tongue tangled when he ought to reply.

  What was she doing? Surely Gemma didn’t want to speak to him.

  The man on the phone cleared his throat, perhaps in impatience.

  “Halfway,” Aston repeated dully. He forced a little life into his tone. “Of course I can do that. Let me send you a copy of my availability over the next few weeks. You can find a day that works for us both and we’ll work something out. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Gross.”

  There was some sort of a response Aston failed to hear. He muttered token parting words and then flicked the button to end the call. Aston leaned back in the chair to see what his eavesdropper intended to do.

  “Hi,” she called out once she’d been caught.

  The rest of her head appeared, followed by a portion of her body. The delectable curve of her breast was visible and one creamy white leg curved around the jamb. Aston swallowed to wet his suddenly dry throat.

  “I’m sorry to barge in on you.” A hint of an accent gave her words an exotic feel.

  “You didn’t barge in,” Aston quickly refuted. “Drew barges in, complete with shoving the door until the knob crashes into the wall.” He paused before finishing with, “You eavesdropped.”

  Pink crept into the pale cheeks across the room. “I’m sorry,” she said simply.

  He waited for an excuse. And waited. Then waited a little longer. When none came, Aston gestured at the crimson-leather chair in front of the desk. “What’s on your mind?”

  She hesitated for nearly as long as he’d waited for an excuse. Had her face flushed darker once she stepped into the office? Aston couldn’t tell. Perhaps it was the distraction of her closing them in together. Why had she shut the heavy wooden door?

  He’d very carefully avoided being alone with her. Here she was, forcing it on him. Aston wasn’t sure how to take it.

  Her focus was on the floor as she crossed the Turkish carpet to the crimson chair. She twisted the gauzy polka-dotted fabric of her dress, pulling it taught over the small mound of her belly. A brief image of him nibbling the soft little pooch flashed in his mind. Aston quickly focused on the photograph of his unsmiling mother, which dominated the left corner of his desk.

  “It’s about your mother,” Gemma announced.

  Aston’s attention snapped to her face. Though her lips were relaxed, her chin high and muscles at ease, there was a worried set to her clear eyes.

  “Yes?” He was going for a soothing delivery but it came out more like a croak. As if she’d caught him imagining licking her bellybutton.

  “Do you think she’ll fire my mother if I don’t back off of Drew?”

  She had pluck. To come into his office and ask a question like that took guts he hadn’t thought she possessed. Clearly, studying abroad and earning a degree had done wonders for her.

  How should he answer? An opportunity to resolve the situation had landed squarely in his lap. Dare he lie and tell her Ellen’s job was in jeopardy? In truth, the woman had a position for life provided she stole nothing and killed no one.

  Aston settled upon a compromise—evasion.

  He gestured toward the window Gemma had passed on her outdoor jaunt. The motion was meant to capture his uncertainty. “I can’t say what my mother will do if she feels backed into a corner.”

  Gemma slumped forward until her chin rested on her collarbone. Quickly she rallied, lifting her gaze to his. “It’s not right. What you’re doing to Drew. He should be allowed to have his own life.”

  Aston’s eyebrows winged up. The idea that Drew didn’t have his own life was ridiculous. Of the Haizea brood, Drew was the only member with a life outside family and coven concerns. The tight set of her jaw hinted she thought otherwise. And that irritated him.

  “I didn’t prompt Drew into offering marriage.” The defensive emphasis he put on his part in the affair surprised even Aston. “Neither my mother nor I had any part in introducing him to his fiancée. Drew found this one as he’s found every other one.”

  Gemma leaned forward in her insistence. “But you’re forcing him to continue when he doesn’t want to go through with it.”

  “We’re forcing him to stick with something for once in his privileged life.” Aston didn’t like how his pitch was lifting. He worked to bring it back to his usual calm baritone. “This isn’t a musical instrument Drew can leave in a closet when he tires of it. She’s a person with thoughts and emotions—a person Drew made promises to. He must grow up and take responsibility for his actions.”

  “So he’s going to pay for the rest of his life because of one bad choice?”

  Aston barked out a laugh. “One? You lived in this house the better part of twenty years. You know Drew hasn’t made merely one bad choice. His life is fraught with them.”

  Gemma pursed her lips in a charming pucker. She clenched the chair’s armrest with a white-knuckled grip. She was angry with him, that much was clear, but it didn’t stop him from contemplating how she’d react to a nibble on that petal-pink mouth.

  He forced the thought away so he could finish his point. “This time, Drew’s choices are the difference between making or breaking this family’s future. My little brother is going to marry the woman he proposed to last month if I have to drug him and drop him at the altar myself.”

  She snapped back with an abrupt jerk. A small choking sound stuck in her throat. And then she fled the office without a word.

  She’d run as if escaping a classic movie monster. Was he that frightening?

  More importantly, why did the idea of Gemma being scared of him cool his insides?

  * * * * *

  He was every bit as horrible as Gemma had known. She was a dunce for thinking it might be any other way. Aston Haizea was too old to change. The man was the male incarnation of their horrible matriarch.

  Drew needed her help. She didn’t know what she could do but she had to try something. Because two against one was simply unfair odds.

  Gemma wished she could get advice from her mother. But a standing order not to mention Drew had been in effect since Gemma’s eighteenth ye
ar. She burst through the servants’ quarters’ back door, filled with nervous energy. Her hope was to persuade her mother into broaching the subject. But she found the apartment empty.

  With a grumpy flounce, Gemma landed on her childhood bed. It was too late to do anything tonight. But fresh tomorrow, Gemma would begin a campaign to free poor Drew Haizea from his betrothal.

  Chapter Four

  Gemma found a sundress with an adjustable empire waist at the back of her closet. She’d bought the pretty blue knee-length garment for a summer party years ago. It had been worn once. Now she was brave enough to go sleeveless while she waited for her luggage to arrive.

  Gemma found her mother in the main house’s kitchen, bent over the stove with a scrub pad. She pouted. “I missed my first breakfast back?”

  “Dear Aer, Gemmy,” her mother exclaimed, clutching her heart. “You scared me half out of my wits. You can’t sneak up on a woman this early in the morning.”

  Gemma let out a peal of laughter. “Early? It’s like ten.”

  The older woman slowly shook her head as she gestured at the wall clock over her left shoulder. “Gemma, sweetheart, it’s five after six in the morning.”

  Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment. “Oh no. I never changed the time zone on my phone. I could have slept longer.”

  “I imagine you slept as long as you needed,” a male voice spoke from the edge of the kitchen—a place Aston Haizea most certainly shouldn’t have been. Especially at six in the morning.

  Both women drew upright. Gemma tiptoed off to the side where she could hide behind the cabinets. It was a cowardly move. But she’d spent an hour last night trying to get the image of the man’s dark scowl out of her head. She didn’t want a reminder of it now in the fresh day.

  “I’m sure Gemmy’s jetlag will pass soon enough,” her mother said in the light voice she used to cover her true feelings. “Will you be needing breakfast earlier today, Priest Haizea?”

  “I stopped in to let you know I won’t be needing breakfast,” he replied. “I have an early meeting in the city. But this would be a good morning to bake my mother’s favorite scones.”

  “Yes, sir. White-chocolate raspberry,” the housekeeper replied in the no-nonsense tone she reserved for the family. “I’ll make sure there are plenty for Mr. Haizea too.”

  “Don’t bother.” Footsteps retreating heralded the man’s departure. When he spoke next, it was from the door. “My brother won’t wake before the noon hour. Just pack him a bologna sandwich to go with whatever childish endeavor he intends to throw himself into today.”

  His footfalls faded in the distance to the front door. The horrible man was gone. She softened her puckered features and then stepped around the cabinets.

  The man didn’t respect Drew. He didn’t understand how Drew made people feel. How could he? Aston had never made a person feel cherished. The only thing the elder Haizea brother had ever done was make a person feel terrified and small.

  She focused ahead. Her mother watched her out of a pair of slowly blinking eyes.

  Gemma’s face heated though she didn’t understand why. She covered it by gesturing at the nearby refrigerator. “Do you need the butter?”

  Her mother’s lips twisted in a strange frown. “I will. How about you go out for a walk to clear your head? The scones will be ready by the time you get back.”

  That sounded like a good idea. She gave a small nod and then started toward the back door, into the sun.

  * * * * *

  Gemma was determined not to let the hour and her loneliness irritate her. Yes, it was half-past one and she’d been reading the same chapter in her novel for the past forty minutes. But she was home. The weather was beautiful. And she had a prime spot on the lawn. A prime spot where she’d be able to see Drew if he left. More importantly, it was a prime spot where Drew would be able to see her.

  Unfortunately, Aston had been correct. His younger brother hadn’t woken before the noon hour. He hadn’t woken before one.

  Gemma flopped over onto her back to look at the sky. She flattened her spine atop the lush grass and even allowed her thighs to go slack beneath her dress. Fluffy clouds floated lazily through the sky. An arrow formed, pointing at the Haizeas’ main house like a reminder of where Gemma had always wanted to be. It broke, reforming as some sort of lanky bird.

  The side door creaked open. Someone was coming. Hope zinged through her chest.

  Had Drew finally woken up?

  Gemma maintained her aloof pose staring at the sky rather than verifying the visitor’s identity.

  “That looks like fun.” His voice alone did pleasant things to her insides. Gemma struggled not to smile like the lovesick girl she was. “I think I’ll join.” Drew flopped down beside her like a big kid, heedless of the grass stains he’d get on his tan slacks. He extended a golden arm. “Look, it’s a dragon.”

  She looked but saw nothing dragon-like. “Where?”

  “Over there.” Drew gestured lazily. “See? There’s his snout. And a wing is there.” He painted in the air, thumb poised as a brush. “There is the fire he’s breathing.”

  Gemma laughed even though she saw no such thing. “I see a swan over there.” She outlined it with her index finger. “See?”

  “Oh, I see it.” His rolled until he could see her face. “Very graceful.” The half-smile he shot her sent a flutter through her insides. Drew’s attention returned to the sky. “Oh! The Man in the Mountain.”

  A cloud shaped like the crumbled landmark? This she had to see. She looked where he pointed. “I don’t see it.”

  Drew chuckled softly. “There, silly. See?” Once again he gestured in the air as if he were wielding a paintbrush. “Here is the profile’s nose. And there’s the chin.”

  “I—” Gemma’s breath caught as Drew adjusted her head up three inches.

  “There,” he announced, closer. “Now you’re looking in the right place.”

  But she wasn’t. If she were looking in the right place, she’d be looking at Drew. Perhaps it was enough that his shoulder was against hers. Or that his proximity chased away any chill from the breeze.

  “See it?”

  Gemma would agree to anything he asked simply to keep him here. Then again, perhaps she could work the situation to her advantage. “I’m not sure,” she replied a little too breathlessly. “Your vantage point is different. Maybe if your eyes were closer to mine…”

  There was no answer at first. And then he chuckled. “You’re right. Let’s just…fix that…”

  Drew moved closer until he’d settled his left cheek against the right half of her face. They were forehead to forehead and eye to eye, a pose so intimate there was no question where this was going. He smelled amazing, the way a man ought to smell—like clean fabric and designer shoes.

  “Ah.” Drew spoke at a soft volume. “You’re right. You can’t see it from here. Let’s just…” He popped onto his elbow and then adjusted her so she looked straight up at the sky.

  Only now her attention was focused quite a bit closer to the ground. Drew stared down at her, blotting out the fluffy clouds with his magnetic presence.

  At this distance, she could make out the blend of colors in his irises. Like the man himself, they were more than what they appeared—a delightful mix of blues and a stray lime speck. And at this distance there wasn’t a blemish to be seen on his fine skin.

  Could Drew see the marks on her skin from her difficult teenage years? Was he even now cataloguing her defects?

  Drew lowered his head. Contemplation of pockmarks soon turned to concerns of fresh breath. Gemma had wanted him to kiss her for as long as she could remember. She ought to enjoy it instead of worrying about petty concerns.

  Quickly, she emptied her mind of all thoughts. Gemma concentrated on the breeze ruffling her skirt, the firmness of the chest against her side and the scent of Drew’s breath.

  Bacon. He smelled like bacon. Before she could consider the reason, Drew’s lips landed ato
p hers.

  Gemma let herself fully enjoy the moment. But the dry patches on his upper lip scraped over her tender flesh. And when his tongue got involved, there was little finesse. It was a rough jab through her teeth like those she’d experienced from drunken coeds during rush week.

  Drew lowered his palm to her breast. The gentle squeezing that beaded her nipple into a hard bud went a long way toward soothing the disappointment of his bad kiss. Maybe one in the afternoon was too early for Drew to be at his best.

  When his knee slipped between her thighs, sliding naughtily up her skirt, Gemma no longer cared about the early hour. She arched against his leg, seeking more. Gemma didn’t try to hide her small moan. Drew needed to know how much she wanted him.

  The side door smacked against the house. Gemma stiffened beneath him. Someone was coming.

  “Drew!” His mother’s shrill voice called from the patio.

  Could Amanda see them from there?

  Drew slumped against Gemma with a low groan. “Sorry,” he mumbled into her neck. “I’ve got to go.” He lifted himself onto his elbows above her, giving a twisted frown that was far too cute. “If you’re brave enough to finish this, my bedroom is—”

  “The first door on the right,” Gemma finished for him.

  The twist in Drew’s frown spread into a lovely smile. “Exactly. I’m usually in bed by two.” He flicked a thumb beneath her chin and then hopped to his feet.

  Gemma rolled, watching him go. He’d invited her to his bedroom. The engagement was definitely a sham. The poor man. It wasn’t right what this family did to further their agenda.

  Should she accept the invitation? They could be caught. And then her mother’s job…

  But they were Air witches. No one would hear them if they didn’t want to be heard.

  If she was brave enough!

  She’d show him.

  Or at least, she’d show him hours from now.

  * * * * *

  “He was making out with the housekeeper’s daughter on the lawn, Aston.”

  Aston stared across the lawn on which his brother had been diddling the female. His mother’s tirade continued behind him with no prompting.