The Seven Year Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 2 (11 page)

Though his body stilled, his teeth didn’t immediately release her. She gathered her magic close, ready to stop him that way, if necessary. Every inch of him was rigid, a tight coil of tension that was seconds away from snapping. His frustration a palpable thing, he reluctantly retracted his incisors and let go of her hands. Pushing up onto his elbows, he stared down at her, his eyes illuminated with a fierce, inner fire. She sensed his wolf close beneath the surface, edgy over having been denied its instinctual urges.

“Wrap your legs around my waist.” The strain in Logan’s voice hinted at just how desperately he struggled to control his animalistic side. She wanted to refuse, to make it clear that she would not abide him crossing any further boundaries tonight. Good goddess. A mating. What the hell was he thinking?

His facial muscles tightened until they appeared the consistency of stone. Deep inside her, his cock was no less hard. “Do it, Rissa.”

Her resolve weakened at his smoky words. There it was again. That twisted desire to submit. No matter how much she tried to resist it, this was one battle of the wills she didn’t stand a prayer of winning at the moment. Drawing her legs up, she hooked her ankles on top of his tensed buttocks. A spark of victory glinted in Logan’s eyes. He withdrew, the head of his shaft almost slipping free, before he plunged back inside her in an agonizingly slow glide.

“Why do you fight what you damn well know you want?”

Unable to meet his penetrating gaze, she turned her face away. “I’m not fighting. This is me giving in, isn’t it?”

“Not completely.”

She knew he was referring to the mating attempt, but she refused to rise to the challenge in his voice. “Please, could we just…”

“Just what?”

Though it would sound crude, she had to say it anyway. “Fuck.”

To Logan’s credit, he didn’t even bat an eyelash. Not that she was surprised. After all, she was speaking his language. He rocked his hips, thrusting deeper. “Is that all you think this is? Fucking?”

“Yes.”

He nuzzled her neck. She flinched, expecting him to bite her, but instead he pressed a gentle kiss to her rapid pulse. “We both know this is more than sex.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why?”

Because it’ll ruin everything
. Wanting something that was impossible always did.

Leaning on one elbow, Logan cupped the side of her face. “Why, Rissa?”

Damn him for pushing her on this. “Don’t make this complicated.”

“What?”

“
Us
. It’s just sex. Yes, insanely fantastic sex. But that’s all.”

She expected him to be hurt or offended by her words. Possibly even give his domineering wolf free rein again. Any of those outcomes would have been easier to take than the tenderness in his eyes. His thumb traced the curve of her cheek. “I would never leave you. I’m not like her.”

His softly spoken declaration made her stiffen. She didn’t require any elaboration to know he was referring to her mother. Her ragged mental state couldn’t take any more mention of that damn woman today. “This has nothing to do with—” She swallowed, her throat unbearably thick and tight. With great force of will, she somehow managed to bury the tide of chaotic emotions that threatened to crush her. She met Logan’s gaze and read the sadness there.

“You can’t keep it locked away inside you forever.”

Yes, she could. It was easier than facing the painful memories that seemed bound and determined to haunt her. Although she knew she was taking the coward’s way out, she squeezed her legs around Logan and bowed her back, using her body to distract him.

“Rissa—”

“Please, just fuck me.” Her bindings made it impossible to touch him with her hands, so she resorted to grazing her nipples across his chest instead, earning his groan. He lowered his head and kissed her sweetly.

She didn’t want sweet. She wanted hot and consuming. The kind of headboard-banging sex that guaranteed momentary, blissful forgetfulness of all else. She sucked on his tongue, encouraging him without words to take her over the edge, to that place where the only thing that existed was mind-blanking pleasure.

A shudder wracked his big frame, announcing his defeat, and Logan slid one hand to her thigh. Bracing her, he powered into her, his cock stroking deep. He gave her everything he had and then some. The wet slapping of flesh on flesh and his lusty groans filled the room, filled her head, as he took her with a tender savagery. Each thrust of his hips sent her closer and closer to that decadent peak, until finally she broke, the climax fragmenting her into a million pieces.

Logan held her close, whispering words into her ear that bordered too close to loving endearments. She wanted to tune them out, deny their existence, but her traitorous body melted with each of his murmured breaths. He gave one last pump and came, his muscles quivering and his rugged features an open canvas of ecstasy and…love. The moment was raw in its intimacy. The most beautiful and uninhibited display of emotions she’d ever witnessed.

It scared the shit out of her.

Only sex. It’s only sex
. She silently and frantically repeated that mantra over and over while Logan reached for her hands and gently unknotted the stockings. Once she was free, he kissed her wrists and rose from the bed. She watched him disappear into the bathroom, her dazed mind whirling with a million disturbing thoughts. By the time he returned, sans the condom, she still hadn’t sorted out the chaos cycling through her mind. She eyed him warily as he approached, fully expecting him to jump back into his clothes and leave her to figure out things in solitude. He didn’t. Instead, he ambled to the other side of the mattress and climbed beneath the quilt before wrapping his arms around her waist and spooning her.

“I’ll leave before the sun comes up.”

Her logical side wanted to balk at the idea of him staying, even while her body and her heart settled with a warm glow. Tomorrow she would remind herself what a terrible idea this was. But for now, the illusion of love and forever was too potent to resist. She stared into the darkness until the steady beat of Logan’s heartbeat lulled her to sleep.

Chapter Ten

As promised, Clarissa woke alone in her bed. Even while she felt relief at not having to sneak Logan out beneath her coven sisters’ unsuspecting noses, a strange emptiness sat in the middle of her chest. She touched the pillow that still bore the indentation of Logan’s head. Without stopping to think about what she was doing, she rolled onto the pillow and rested her cheek in the shallow depression. Logan’s scent surrounded her in a sensual, comforting cocoon. She closed her eyes, wishing she could stay there for the rest of the morning.

A cold, wet nose wiggled beneath her elbow, breaking her from the momentary spell. She frowned down at Izzy. “Let me guess. That’s your way of saying you need to go out for a potty run.” Sighing, she scrambled from the sheets and slipped on her black silk kimono robe before scooping up Izzy and hurrying downstairs. Once outside, she gingerly settled the puppy on the first available patch of lawn and patted its rump encouragingly. “Okay, do your thing.”

Izzy did the mandatory sniffing of a few grass blades before squatting. A ridiculous sense of pride washed over Clarissa, and she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her robe to keep from snuggling Izzy when the puppy looked up at her with those droopy eyes and lolling pink tongue. “All right, I admit it. You did good. Keep it up, and you and I just might become best friends for the few days I’ll still be around.” She shot a quick look over her shoulder to ensure no one had overheard.

After she was reasonably assured Izzy’s potty break was finished, she carried the pup back inside the house and headed to the kitchen. Gloria and Peach seemed to be the only ones up and about. While Gloria blended what looked like an incredibly unhealthy amount of butter into the mixing bowl resting on the counter, Peach provided a running commentary courtesy of the morning paper in between slurping down what was probably her fifth cup of coffee. As if they’d perfectly choreographed the move, both women stopped what they were doing and eyed Clarissa while she made tracks toward the coffeepot.

Clarissa set Izzy on the floor so she could remedy her caffeine deficiency, and the puppy immediately occupied itself chewing the toe of Clarissa’s slipper. Obviously this shoe fetish Izzy had didn’t bode well for the future state of everyone’s footwear. Taking a cautious sip from her steaming mug, she turned and noticed that Gloria and Peach were still staring at her. To say they were giving her a complex would be a major understatement. “What?”

Peach’s eyebrows scrunched behind the frame of her bifocals as if she were trying to figure out some baffling mystery. “You were smiling just now.”

Gloria nodded her exuberant agreement. “It’s true. And weird, considering you don’t do smiles this early in the morning.”

Clarissa opened her mouth, fully intending to point out how ridiculous that statement was, but Peach snapped the newspaper shut, her expression sliding closer to one of deep suspicion. “You’re also glowing.”

Glowing
? Somehow Clarissa resisted the urge to shove up the sleeves of her kimono to check if her skin was indeed radiating after her night with Logan. Wouldn’t it be just her luck that her magic would rat her out like that? She quickly racked her brain for a good lie to throw Peach off track. “Hm, must be my new body lotion.” Tucking her hair behind her ear, she shuffled closer to the work island, being careful not to step on Izzy. She nodded toward the untended mixing bowl. “Whatever you’re working on smells delicious.”

The compliment managed to do the trick of changing the subject and distracting Gloria. The cook reached for the nearby bottle of vanilla extract and effortlessly whisked several drops into her creation. “I’m experimenting on different frostings for Jemma’s wedding cake. Right now it’s a tie between the raspberry vanilla and the white chocolate hazelnut.”

Clarissa’s stomach growled, apparently putting a vote in for both. Grimacing, she plunked her coffee mug down and went in search of the loaf of bread so she could make some toast. While she dug the mason jar of Gloria’s homemade apricot ginger preserves from the fridge, Peach resumed reading the paper out loud to anyone who cared to listen.

“They’re predicting rain this weekend. Won’t happen though. Those moron meteorologists and their fancy-pancy computers wouldn’t know the weather if it bit them in the ass. Plus my arthritic knee isn’t acting up. That’s all the predictor I need.” Giving an assertive cluck of her tongue, Peach flipped to the next page. “Well, hell. Looks like there’ve been two more spontaneous coma cases. At this rate, it’s turning into a damn epidemic.”

Clarissa twisted the top off the preserves and frowned. “Spontaneous comas?”

Peach angled the paper in Clarissa’s direction. “The latest two casualties are no one I’m familiar with. Whole damn thing is plenty weird.”

Her curiosity winning out over her rumbling tummy, Clarissa ignored the toast still waiting for its topping and instead picked up the newspaper, quickly scanning through the lead story. According to sources at St. Joseph’s hospital, they were indeed dealing with an odd and completely unexplainable series of comatose cases that’d hit a scattering of Savannah residents within the past few days. Other than their present medical condition, none of the patients appeared to have any common linkage, which only had the doctors further baffled.

“I bet the government’s behind it,” Gloria offered as she scraped a spatula around the edges of the bowl.

Peach snorted. “You’ve been sniffing too much oven cleaner. Obviously it’s aliens. Those damn ETs have finally figured out mutilating cows is getting them nowhere, and they’ve decided to move up the food chain.”

Gloria stopped blending the frosting ingredients, her eyes growing huge. Clarissa sent Peach a look of warning. “I really doubt it’s aliens. Or anything else you need to worry about. So how about we put aside the conspiracy theories for the time being?”

Peach grumped beneath her breath before returning to her perusal of the newspaper. She spouted off a human-interest piece about a group of high-school band students trying to raise funds for a trip to Germany, but it was obvious that she was hugely let down that there was no possible alien-abduction angle to the story. Rolling her eyes, Clarissa finished slathering her toast with the preserves and carried her skimpy breakfast to her office. Izzy tagged along and used her little whimpering trick to earn a comfy spot in Clarissa’s lap. Once settled in place, the puppy set about weaseling Clarissa out of half a slice of toast before curling into a ball and dozing. Apparently all that begging and shoe chewing was exhausting.

Scooting her chair closer to the desk, she opened her day planner and eyed the massive amounts of entries with an impending sense of weariness. Just because her days were numbered didn’t mean everything else was coming to a standstill. No, the exact opposite. With the upcoming Autumn Equinox festival less than a month away, there were a gazillion things that needed to be done, like yesterday.

The packed schedule staring back at her was a glaring reminder that the coven would have a near-impossible chance of surviving without a mistress. Her top priority was finding a replacement, and soon. She rubbed her temples, the entries in the planner blurring on the page. The most logical choice would be Fiona. Besides being the most responsible of the local coven sisters, Fiona held the distinguished honor of being the great niece of Gertie Howard—Clarissa’s predecessor and former mentor.

Gert’s legendary dogged persistence was the prime reason Clarissa had decided to take over as head mistress when Gert announced she was retiring to a life of leisure.

She resisted the urge to snort. Who was she kidding? It’d pretty much been
Gert’s
decision that she take over. And once Gertie Howard made her mind up about things, life had a funny way of aligning itself to do her bidding.

Maybe that’s what she should do. Channel her inner Gert so she could convince Fiona that taking over as coven mistress would be the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Yeah, that plan sounded much better than the alternative—begging on bended knee, followed by bribery involving excessive amounts of chocolate-covered macadamia nuts, Fiona’s personal Kryptonite. She tapped her pen against the planner in contemplation. The phone resting on the corner of her desk suddenly released a shrill ring, jerking her from her musings and causing Izzy to twitch and give a sleepy
woof
.