Smitten by Magic (Magic & Mayhem Book 3)

by Erica Ridley

  He’d likely also singlehandedly revitalized the local economy.

  While the various shopkeepers set about gift-wrapping his thousand-and-one purchases, he took his troops for a stroll about town. Hand in hand, he and Sarah led the way across cracked or missing sidewalks, past a barbershop and a bakery, over a well-worn soccer field, through a mildly graffitied town square.

  To kids who didn’t even take nonleaking roofs for granted, it was nothing short of Wonderland.

  They loved the school, with its crayons and books and cafeteria. They loved the church, with its lights and nativity and stained glass. They loved the park, with its concrete benches and trimmed grass and mosaic foun—

  “Hey!” he shouted, sprinting toward them. “Don’t drink out of the fountain!”

  Too late.

  The older kids had dipped their hands in, telltale wetness still clinging to their palms and chins. The smaller kids had pushed up on their toes, leaning their bellies over the side of the fountain to dunk their faces directly into the water.

  The slightly murky, slightly oily, peppered-with-rusted-pennies-and-bird-droppings water.

  “Oh, God.”

  The kids had stopped when he’d shouted, but Javier pulled them away from the edge anyway, as if mere proximity was a health risk.

  Sarah jogged up beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  He gestured into the basin.

  “They drank the water?” She recoiled. “Gross.”

  “Very. This water cannot possibly be healthy.” He ran a hand through his hair. He sat down on the edge of the fountain, only to leap right back up. “I brought them here to give them some fun, not to poison them. Are they going to get sick? They won’t die, will they?”

  She blinked. Her lower lip moved speechlessly.

  “Oh, right. You can’t tell me, and you wouldn’t help even if you could. Your miracles can only assist me.” He didn’t bother to mask the bitterness in his voice. He wasn’t even sure he could. The “rules” might not be her fault, but that didn’t make it fair. Or right.

  He’d spoken to Sarah in English, but it didn’t matter. The children were all staring up at him, round-eyed and nervous. One of them started to cough. Probably unrelated, he guessed, but still. Not good.

  The oldest two—a girl and a boy who’d been coconspirators in the mistletoe game—seemed to be the only ones to put together the meaning behind his warning. The girl took a second glance at the water she’d been drinking and quickly turned away, as if nauseous. The boy laughed at her, but wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as if wiping away a taste gone sour.

  Javier tried to think. Maybe they would be fine, and maybe they wouldn’t. He was a billionaire, not a nutritionist, but he’d have to be blind not to see the potential for trouble. But what could he do? Sarah couldn’t help him because of the stupid rules, and he was fresh out of magic wands to whisk away all his troubles.

  Or was he?

  He slanted a considering glance toward Sarah’s concerned face. She wanted to help. He could see it in her worried expression, in the tightness of her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched as if itching to purify the water.

  Well, he’d just have to make it easier for her to do so.

  He sat back down on the edge of the fountain. “I’m going to drink some.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” She dug her fingers into his sleeve. “People die from contaminated water.”

  “Exactly.”

  Before he could change his mind, he plunged his cupped hands into the grimy water and raised them to his lips. She’d either have to purify the water supply or risk him catching whatever diseases it contained. He lifted his hands to his open mouth—

  And choked in disbelief as orange-flavored saccharine coated his tongue.

  Sticky wetness dripped from his fingers, splashing his khaki pants with pale orange drops. He jerked his head toward the fountain. It now brimmed with translucent orange liquid. Not a speck of dirt or grime in sight. He didn’t have to take another sip to recognize the flavor.

  He cast his angel an incredulous stare. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

  “What?” she asked innocently. “You like orange Tang.”

  “I did when I was eight!”

  She shrugged and lifted a palm. “They’re eight.”

  “I thought you were just going to purify it.”

  “It’s purified.”

  “I thought it would still be water.”

  The edge of her lips quirked. “What’s wrong with a little flavor?”

  “What’s wrong with a nice Chianti?” he countered.

  “No vitamin C,” she pointed out. “Think of the children.”

  “I always do,” he said quietly. “Are they safe?”

  She sighed. “Never been healthier. I’ve neutralized every virus and germ in a ten-yard radius.”

  His shoulders sagged in relief. He looked over at the kids. They were crowded around the fountain, jostling and laughing, the moment of terror forgotten.

  She’d saved them, despite the rules.

  Not just that, he realized slowly, as the cascading towers of orange Tang glistened in the sunlight. The bigger miracle here wasn’t that she’d saved the day, but how she’d saved the day. She’d hadn’t just twitchy-eyed some clean water. His serious, rule-following guardian angel had actually had some fun with it. She’d done something playful.

  He stared at her in astonishment... and love.

  He should probably take her temperature, or check her for a concussion. He kissed her instead. Twice. And then another time for good measure.

  The father who’d driven the children’s bus stepped out of the row of shops and waved to let Javier know the presents were done being giftwrapped.

  Javier glanced over his shoulder, trying to come up with a rational explanation for why the crumbling water fountain was now flowing with orange Tang, and blinked to discover that it wasn’t.

  Water flowed from all three levels, splashing into the basin below. Safe, clean, pure water.

  “Tang you very much,” he whispered.

  She elbowed him. “Don’t you have a chimney to slide down?”

  Right.

  He sent the kids into the church so they wouldn’t see the presents being loaded into the SUV. And loaded. And loaded. There would barely be enough room to shoehorn him and Sarah inside.

  He couldn’t have been more pleased.

  As soon as they were back in the car, he kissed the tip of Sarah’s nose and turned the wheel toward the river. They had a solid four or five hours until the children would get back to the village, but Javier wanted to set things up sooner rather than later. Over the past week, the rain had gone from intermittent drizzle to an almost constant downpour, and the sky was once again turning dark and swollen. He wanted to get the presents safely situated before the heavens opened up and drowned them.

  He glanced at Sarah and grinned to himself at her trick with the fountain. As soon as they’d decked the tree, he had some tricks of his own he’d like to show her. Preferably horizontally. And nakedly. Definitely nakedly.

  Wait... what was he thinking? His fingers tightened on the wheel as a sudden doubt snaked down his spine. He had the one-in-a-million luck to get sent a guardian angel, and the first thought that occurs to him was boning her?

  Not his first thought, he reminded himself piously. His first thought had been saving the children. His second thought had been taking the angel to heaven.

  He downshifted over some rough terrain. Probably there was a special place in hell for people like him. A special room called “Egocentric Assholes Who Performed Unholy Acts with Guardian Angels.” Probably guys like him were exactly why the powers that be were so stingy with assigning angels in the first place. Probably just the fantasy alone was more than enough to ensure a nice toasty afterlife.

  Didn’t stop him from wanting her, though.

  He slid another glance her way and faced the truth. He would never s
top wanting her. He was throwing every fiber of his being into creating the Best Christmas Ever because he couldn’t bear to contemplate what would happen afterward.

  She’d lose her job, she’d said. Even if she didn’t, it didn’t take a genius to realize they’d never trust her alone with him again. He figured he’d pretty much lost all guardian angel rights the first time he’d kissed her. His skin went clammy.

  Being on his own in one sense didn’t bother him in the least. He hadn’t even known he had a guardian angel until just recently, so it wasn’t like he would miss having an invisible, wordless entity shadowing his every move.

  What he would miss... was Sarah. His stomach twisted upside-down just thinking about it. Which was why he wouldn’t think about it.

  He would think about tonight, and the next night, and the next night. He would think about the time they still had left, not the eternity they would be apart. He only wished he’d been able to appreciate the thirty-five years they’d had together before he’d been clued in. And honestly, could there be any greater proof that she was the perfect woman for him than that? She knew him. She knew him better than anyone ever had or could.

  She knew every tiny secret he’d tried to hide from others, every humiliation he’d tried to block from his own mind, every success and every failure, every joy and every sorrow. And she liked him anyway.

  He grinned at her. She crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. He grinned wider.

  An eternity together wouldn’t even be enough.

  Chapter 12

  By the time the last of the presents was tucked safely behind the clear plastic curtain encircling the tree, Sarah’s sopping-wet hair was matted to her skull and her sodden clothes felt like she was enshrouded in papier-mâché.

  None of which had stopped Javier from searing her with swift, molten glances that thrilled her all the way to her toes. She was half-surprised the rain wasn’t evaporating off of her as steam.

  Javier was equally as drenched, and far sexier than any human had a right to be. His dark hair stuck to his forehead, his T-shirt clung to his chest and biceps, his pants were soaked to the skin—and Sarah had never seen him look hotter.

  She wanted him. Not in a back-of-her-mind, secret fantasy sort of way. Not anymore. Now it was an all-consuming, breath-stealing, heart-racing, soul-baring need. To feel him next to her. Inside her. To hold him, to have him. To let him know she was his, body and soul, till Heaven did them part.

  He stepped closer, away from the tree. She held out her hand, expecting him to lead her back to the tent. He didn’t. He ignored her hand, choosing instead to grab her to him and swing her in an exuberant circle, as if he’d finally been granted his heart’s desire.

  “The kids?” she guessed, laughing as he twirled them beneath the rain. “You’re happy you managed to bring them a Christmas?”

  “You,” he corrected gruffly, and claimed her mouth with a kiss. “You are my Christmas.”

  She couldn’t respond—didn’t have the words to respond, would never have the words to describe the thundering in her chest—but before she could do more than try to show him with her eyes all the love she held in her heart, his hands cradled her face and his lips covered hers once more.

  She opened her mouth, opened her arms, opened her heart. This she could respond to. This didn’t require words, didn’t require thought. It was pure feeling. Primal. Two people, two bodies, two souls. Poetry at its most powerful. Hearts at their most vulnerable. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on for dear life.

  The rain covered them, bathed them, pelted them. She barely noticed. His lips were firm and warm and tender, his tongue as intoxicating as honey wine. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Her thighs encircled the curve of his leather belt, her core flush against the hard ridge beneath his zipper. His hands cupped her behind, pulling her to him even more tightly.

  He needn’t have worried. She was never letting go.

  He kissed her as if he were drowning, as if her lips were the only source of oxygen, as if her tongue emptied his head of everything except the desire to be even closer. She had nothing in her own head except his scent, his taste, the delicious sensation of his hot tongue and hard body beneath the onslaught of cold rain.

  She poured every atom of her being into the passion driving her kiss. Her heart pounded against his, twin drums in the night. A thousand years of loneliness had led her right here, to him, to this perfect moment. She never wanted it to end. Would die if it did.

  She tore her mouth from his only long enough to pant, “The tent?”

  “Absolutely.” The wicked promise in his eyes enflamed the embers of naked want cleaving her to him.

  She wasn’t sure she could release him long enough to make it back, much less force her trembling legs to walk.

  When her reluctant feet were back on solid ground, he laced his fingers with hers and pointed toward the tent. “First one there gets to strip the other one naked.”

  She grinned and took off running, her hand in his, both of them racing through the mud and the night with rain sleeting down their faces and a fire burning out of control between them.

  Javier caught her around the waist as soon as they reached the tent. His arms warmed her, his mouth seared her, as if the few seconds of having only their clasped hands connected had driven him mad with the need to have her in his arms once again.

  Without breaking the kiss, without lifting his warm mouth from hers for even a second, he reached for the closure keeping the tent safe from the storm. He tugged at the zipper, once, twice, again, and then they were tumbling into the opening, bringing with them the night and the rain and a storm of their own making.

  He zipped up the closure, blocking out the weather. Kneeling, he reached for her in the dark. She stopped him, her lips to the sensitive skin beneath the base of his ear.

  “Leave the skyward panel cracked open.”

  His lips sought hers. “We’ll get wet.”

  “We’re already wet.”

  “You’ll get cold.”

  “You’ll keep me warm.” She cupped his cheek, touched her lips to the corner of his mouth. “I want to see you. To know you can see me. I don’t want to be invisible. Not tonight.”

  His tongue met hers as he opened the zipper overhead a few inches, letting in the rain and the night air and the flashes of lightning. The night smelled like clean grass, like tropical flowers, like paradise on earth. But all she could smell was him.

  All she could see was him. All she could feel was him. His hands, his breath, his body, closer than she’d ever dreamed. More solid and real than anything she’d ever known. More precious than anything she’d ever desired.

  She reached for his T-shirt, rolled the wet cotton up over his stomach, up over his chest.

  “Hey, I thought I won the race,” he teased, but he lifted his arms.

  She nipped his lower lip. “And now it’s time for your prize.”

  He grinned. She winked and continued removing his shirt. The storm eased slightly, and hints of moonlight began to filter through the falling rain.

  He let her push the wet cotton up over his triceps, over his head, over his wrists, in silent understanding that this inch-by-inch unveiling wasn’t meant to torture him, but instead was a gift to herself. The gift of touching, of connecting. Of mutual desire.

  He was perfect, of course. As she’d always known he would be. But knowing and seeing were totally different from touching and tasting for herself.

  She tossed the sodden shirt aside and pressed her lips to his chest. He should be cold, but his skin was hot, just as hot as her own. She dragged her open mouth to his nipple, flicked her tongue against the taut nub. He flinched. She smiled. He tasted like rain. Fresh and pure. He smelled of sandalwood and stardust. A little bit like her. A thrill of possession heated her blood. Quickened her pulse.

  He lowered his arms to his sides. She slid her hands along his forearms, up his biceps. Her fingers
were shaking. Not from the cold. From the heat.

  She straddled his lap, sinking her fingers into the wet silk of his hair as she pressed her mouth to his. The rain was slowing. Soon, stars would light the sky. But nothing could dazzle her as much as being here, with him. The night was already perfect. She kissed him again, reveling in the sensation of his warm muscles beneath her fingers.

  He reached for the hem of her shirt. She zapped it—and the rest of her clothing—back into the ether from which it came. She kept her wings invisible, too. Tonight was about her and him.

  His hand slapped her now-bare ass. “Cheater.”

  “It wasn’t real.” She was fiercely grateful for the faint moonlight, thrilled beyond measure to be saying these words aloud, face to face. “I don’t want you to make love to an illusion, or even an angel. I want you to make love to me. Who I really am.”

  “You’re all I want.” His words were a soft breath against her ear seconds before his warm mouth pressed a lazy trail of soft kisses down the curve of her neck.

  She didn’t feel naked anymore. She felt invincible.

  His head lowered. The trail of slow, spicy kisses started their descent from the flat planes of her collarbone to the gentle slope of her breast. She luxuriated in the sensation, torn between pressing her naked chest to his and arching her spine, allowing him even greater access.

  She opted for arching. He rewarded her instantly.

  His tongue swept across her upthrust nipple, eliciting a moan of pleasure from deep inside her throat. He cupped her breasts in the palms of his hands, bringing first one and then the other to his open mouth to suckle.

  The rough surface of his tongue and the wet heat of his mouth sharpened the ache of desire pooling between her legs. Her pulse thundered erratically. Her core throbbed. She needed him out-out-out of his pants, of any obstacle between them. She needed to see him, to feel him. All of him. Sliding within her.

  She fumbled with the buckle of his belt. Partly because in this position, with her back to the sky and her legs tight around his hips, she couldn’t see what she was doing. And partly because the barrage of sensations threatened to overwhelm her. The edges of her knuckles rubbed against the hard outline of his arousal. The fingertips of her pinkies brushed against her own wetness. She was wound so tight, she couldn’t even think.