“He also thinks I’m hot.” There had been no question he felt the same attraction she did.
“On that note, I’m out of here, too. I don’t want to hear this.” Ian followed Will out of the kitchen. “Just don’t make Darius mad. He likes to win.”
So did she.
Bree studied her after the guys left, so intensely that Abby felt uncomfortable. “If Darius is the one, you have to accept that, you know.”
“No, I don’t. I’m going to get the house. And while I might make up for three years of no whoopee—see, I’m talking in code because of the kids—I’m not going to end up with a jerk like Darius.”
“How do you know he’s a jerk?” Charlotte asked. “You shouldn’t judge him until you know him.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind. And yes, I’m rolling my eyes.”
“Hey, what ever happened to that mistletoe we left in the parlor in the house? Is it still there?” Bree asked.
“What mistletoe?” Abby asked. “And I can’t imagine anything is there but dust and mouse poop.” She really wanted to say shit, but didn’t want to annoy her sister any further.
Very quietly, Georgia chanted, “Poop, poop, poop,” without looking up from the piece of paper she was drawing on.
Fortunately, Charlotte was too distracted to notice.
“You mean the one I cast a lust spell on for Will?” Charlotte asked. “I’m sure Darius would have tossed it at some point. Why?”
“I don’t know. I just get a feeling there’s still a little Christmas spirit left in it. I think it’s still there. You should look for it.”
“And do what with it?” Abby wasn’t as expert of a spell caster as Bree but she could do it. She just wasn’t sure what kind of spell she would cast. Contrary to the night before, she now wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for Darius to leave yet. She had to admit, she wanted to play out at least one of her dreams with him. The one involving multiple orgasms.
Bree came over to her and tucked a loose strand behind her ear. Normally Abby would have the urge to brush her sister’s hand away but for some reason it felt good, comforting. It was nice to be home, in a warm, cozy kitchen, with the people she loved.
“Don’t fight destiny, Abigail.”
The doorbell rang. “Who is the girl at the door?” Abby cocked her head. She didn’t usually get glimpses of the future unless they were relevant to her or her family, but she was seeing a young teen on Charlotte’s doorstep.
“Oh, that must be Piper Tucker. She’s here to watch the girls so we can go to lunch. I thought we’d have our cookies baked by now.” Charlotte went to answer the door.
Bree made a sound of distress when Alistair spit up. She turned to the sink to wipe him up. Abby remembered Piper. She was Amanda Delmar Tucker’s stepdaughter, and she’d been a super quiet kid. She’d had a patchy head of hair and big, scared eyes. A real gawky and unattractive little girl. But she looked nothing like that now. Abby had seen a girl with long brown hair and high cheekbones at the door, a willowy teen who carried herself with no confidence, no understanding of how attractive she was.
When Piper walked into the kitchen, the girls started squealing. She smiled at them and gave them a hug. The sparkle disappeared when she made eye contact with Abby. “Hi.”
“Hi, I’m Abby.”
“Nice to meet you,” the girl muttered.
Abby was getting a vibe but she wasn’t sure what it was. Eyeing her sister, she raised an eyebrow. Bree shrugged.
“We’re running a bit behind today, Piper, sorry. I hope you don’t have plans for later.”
“No, I’m free.”
Abby got the feeling she was always free. She was a beautiful girl, but she was surrounded by a sense of loneliness.
“Wonderful! Abby doesn’t have any plans today either, do you?” Charlotte shot her a warning look.
She stuck her tongue out at Charlotte. “No.” Not during the day anyway.
Georgia also stuck her tongue out at her mother.
Abby laughed.
Chapter Four
DARIUS SPENT THE
day trying not to think about Abby Murphy. It didn’t work. By the time dark rolled around and the Christmas lights were twinkling all over town, he was desperately wishing that he hadn’t told Abby to go away. So she was crazy. Did that really matter?
Was it really so wrong to get naked with her first before he changed the locks on his house?
He’d actually been disappointed when he had slept all afternoon and hadn’t had one single dream featuring her.
Driving over, he had debated calling Ian Carrington again. He could arrange a business meeting with Abby for him. Because as the day had worn on, he had started to think maybe he had a solution that was mutually beneficial to both of them. He wasn’t talking about sex, though he certainly wouldn’t object to that. But he had an idea for the house he wanted to discuss with her.
He had called both Will Thornton and Ian Carrington that morning after spending all night chewing over her last parting shot to him. Or lack there of. How could he face dreaming about her constantly, knowing she was real, without going absolutely batshit crazy? So he had reacted by calling her brothers-in-law to ensure that she wouldn’t be around tonight.
Now it struck him as the stupidest thing he could have done. He wanted to see her. His body and mind demanded it.
Which was so melodramatic he debated just turning his car around and driving straight back to Chicago and scheduling a lobotomy.
The light was on in the kitchen of his house. They had either forgotten to turn it off that morning or Abby had defied his order to stay off the premises. He was hoping it was the latter.
Trent wasn’t due to show up for an hour along with the rest of the crew, so he had some time to run his plan past Abby.
Resisting the urge to knock on the front door of his own damn house, he went in and kicked off his snowy boots. Then blinked. What the hell was Abby doing now? She was sitting on the floor in the parlor with her legs crossed, surrounded by a circle of flickering candles.
Great. She was doing witch shit. In his house. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Shh.” She held her finger up to him. “I’m casting a spell. I’m almost done. Give me two minutes.”
Darius was stunned into silence. He hadn’t been shushed since he was five. He hadn’t liked it then and he didn’t like it now. Walking towards her, he took a seat on the floor himself. She’d said he couldn’t talk, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stare at her. She was murmuring so low and efficiently that he couldn’t catch the words.
There were candles and bowls of… stuff placed carefully around. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they were. Plus a glass of wine. At least he hoped it was wine, and not the blood of some stray cat.
After a minute, Abby looked up and smiled at him. “I’m done. Did you need something?”
There were so many things he needed, where would he possibly begin? Maybe starting with wanting to go back in time so he would have never encountered her awake or asleep and would never bought this house. And ending with her totally naked murmuring his name in ecstasy.
“I could ask you what you’re doing in the house again, but I’ve decided not to bother. Instead, I’m going to offer you a proposition.” One that would make her happy, and solve one of his problems. Then they could get down to the real business at hand—a little Christmas cheer minus both their clothes.
He’d made a decision he wasn’t going back to Chicago until he’d tasted her skin. There would be no peace without at least one night of fantasies come to life. Emphasis on come.
“Is this going to piss me off?”
“No, of course not.” Darius leaned forward, wanting to feel more in the power position with her, wanting to feel more in control. She had a way of reducing him to confusion and insecurity, which was so foreign he had to then add bewildered to his feelings. “Unless you’re completely irrational, which I don’t know, maybe you are.”
“No. I’m not as charming as you are, either.”
“You’re a comedienne, obviously.” Darius ignored the fact that his legs were starting to burn from the squatting position. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to rent the house from me. I’m not going to be able to sell it to you at the price you want, nor will I probably get what I want if I just list it. If you rent it, you get to be in the house you love, and I have an income being generated by it, plus a good steward of the property. It’s win-win for both of us.” He was pretty damn proud of the solution.
Abby didn’t say anything for a minute. She just stood up and left the circle of candles she was burning and went to the empty fireplace. Fingering the carving details on the face of the mantle, she said, “My grandmother always hung these beautiful Victorian stockings from the fireplace. Everything in this parlor smelled like cinnamon and cloves at Christmas, and she decorated with natural elements, just like the Victorians did. Evergreen branches, pine cones, cranberries.”
Darius stood up, no clue what to say in response. That sort of seemed off topic.
She turned back to him. “I appreciate your offer, but I’m going to respectfully decline.”
“What? Why?” He didn’t understand what she could possibly object to.
“Because I don’t want to live in this house. Not alone.”
If Darius were certain that glass held wine and not blood he would have downed it. The woman frustrated the hell out of him. “Then when do you want to buy it if you’re not going to live in it?”
“I suppose I’ll rent it. But I don’t want to live here until I’m married or at least engaged. This is a family house.”
Part of him responded to that. Hell, that’s why he had bought the house in the first place. But he clung to the logical, determined not to fall under her spell as he’d fallen under the impractical spell of this house. “Your sister lived here alone,” he pointed out.
“Actually, Charlotte lived with her. But this is also the house where Bree and Ian fell in love. Where their family started.” She shrugged, a smile teasing at the corner of her mouth. “I’m sure you think it’s stupid, but I have this image of me here with the man of my dreams.”
Man of my dreams…
She was the woman of his dreams, quite literally. Darius remembered how he’d felt when he’d bought this house, fresh off a failed relationship, wanting to hope that someday, he would have the wife and kids. A loyal partner who loved him.
“I’ve never thought of witches as particularly romantic,” he told her. “Yet that’s a very romantic view.”
“It’s a positive energy, that’s all. I think we all seek that. None of us are truly meant to go through life alone.”
The way she was looking at him, like she thought he was the sexiest and most interesting man she’d ever encountered, had him forgetting why he was even there. Forgetting why anything mattered other than kissing those plump delectable lips. “What spell were you casting?” he asked, hoping somehow it involved him.
“For love. That’s why the candles are pink, and why there is cinnamon and honey in the bowls. I’m inviting love into my life.”
For love. That should have scared him, sent him running. Instead, he found himself with a growing erection and the desperate wish that he had furnished this house. With a big, soft bed. “And the wine?”
She gave a soft, husky laugh. “That’s just for drinking. The bottle’s on the kitchen counter if you’d like some.”
“As a matter of fact, I’d love some.”
Abby nodded and went towards the kitchen. He followed her, enjoying the sway of her hips. She was wearing a floral skirt that came to her knees, with tights and ankle boots. It gave him an incredible view of her slim legs and an idea of how easy it would be to shift his hand under that material and stroke her. His mind was going in all sorts of inappropriate directions.
Or maybe they weren’t so inappropriate.
Pulling the cork off the bottle, Abby held it up. “I only have one glass. I wasn’t prepared for a party of two.” She took a long swallow directly from the bottle, the red droplets clinging to her lips afterwards. Her tongue trailed slowly along the soft skin, retrieving the remnants of wine in a flirtatious tease. “Do you mind sharing?”
“No.” Not considering he was going to be sharing a whole lot more with her soon if he had anything to say about it. He took the bottle from her and tipped it back. It was sweeter than he was expecting, the richness awakening his taste buds. Darius watched her watching him.
When he lowered the bottle, he asked her, “What else can you tell me about my dreams?”
She took the bottle back from him, but she didn’t drink from it. If she was there, somehow, aware of what he was dreaming about, he wanted to hear her say it. That she knew what they did to each other.
She didn’t back down from the challenge. Her gaze was steady. “They always end in us having sex. Every single one. Sometimes its in bed, sometimes it’s against a wall, and once it was even on the stairs.”
His erection throbbed at her words. She knew what they’d done in whatever altered reality sleep was. She knew and she was willing to do it now, here. He could read it in her hooded, lust-filled eyes. “And do you like being in my dreams?”
There was no hesitation. She just nodded.
“Does it feel as real to you as it does to me?” He would swear he already knew her body. The feel of her skin, the taste of her sweet secret spots.
“Oh, yes.”
Darius moved closer to her, the only thing between them the bottle of wine in her hands. “So you wake up like I do, soaked in sweat, touching yourself, craving that satisfaction we give to each other?”
Her breath hitched when he cupped her cheek and dragged his thumb across the plumpness of her bottom lip. “Do you?” he asked again, leaning in so that his mouth hovered above hers, their sweet breath mingling, her light delicate perfume filling his nostrils. He waited, giving her an opportunity to move away, to say no, yet he didn’t think she would.
“Yes. I do.”
Darius studied her eyes. They were green with amber rings and they drew him in, held him, mesmerized him. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t want to break eye contact so he held there, anticipation pulsing in the air around them.
Until she mouthed silently the words
fuck me
.