Vincent: Her Warlock Protector Book 5 (7 page)

Amanda looked at him through her eyelashes, glass of wine paused halfway to her lips.
 

“Yeah, you’ve said that.”

“I do a lot of undercover work, there is a lot of travel. But not so much I’m not around.”
 

"I know."

Vincent knew his face held surprise, but he didn’t try to hide it.

"I called your mom,” she said.

"
What?
"
 

Their food arrived, and the waitress handed Vincent a stack of cloth napkins to go with the lobster bib.

"Okay, my mom called your mom,” Amanda said when she’d left. “No one really understands what you do, but I get the basics, I think."
 

She picked up her fork and knife, looked at her plate, and sighed.

His plate was an ocean of butter in which swam a lobster.

“I think you should join a coven,” he said. “I happen to know of one with an opening.”

“You want to tell me about that fight in my parking lot this morning?”
 

She set the knife and fork down, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.

Vincent’s jaw clenched. That was only going to complicate things. And it had nothing to do with Amanda.

“I see,” she said, picking up the fork and knife again. This time she cut into the steak.

Vincent picked up a lobster claw.

“I forgot these,” the waitress said, and put a pair of lobster crackers on the table and walked away.

“I’m not even a full-on witch,” Amanda said lowly. “I’m just practicing.”
 

With the butter-slick lobster in hand, Vincent paused.

“What if I said you could do more than collect spells in a book?”
 

She could hardly meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” she said looking down.

This was not how he’d seen the evening playing out. Something had changed, and he was damned if he knew what. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stared down at the claw in his hands. He used both hands to pry it apart. But as the shell cracked, warm butter trapped inside splashed into his good eye.

“Gods,” he cursed, picking up one of the napkins. The butter burned.

“Are you all right?” Amanda asked.

Though he wasn’t glad to be blind in one eye, the guarded look had finally fallen from her face, and her voice sounded normal for the first time this evening.

“I think you are going to need to drive,” he said.

PRESSED FACE-TO-face in her small bathroom, Amanda carefully ran the warm washcloth around Vincent’s bloodshot eye.
 

“Better?” she asked.

“I’m usually much cooler than this.”

“I hope not,” she said, and it was true.
 

A small voice in her head had not stopped nagging her. He had lied about meeting her by coincidence. And yet, at moments like these, he seemed so transparent—and attractive.

“And I don’t usually look so pirate-y.”

“You look great to me,” she said, then caught herself. “How are you feeling?” she said quickly.

“Not that bad,” he said with a little smile.

In the confines of the small bathroom, he didn’t have to move much to slide up against her.
 
Effortlessly, he trapped her hips between the sink and his hips, his hands wrapped around the edges of the small counter as he leaned in.

When they kissed the tiny voice was extinguished. Amanda did not care what brought him into her life again. She dropped the washcloth. There was nothing that mattered beyond this. Her hands glided down the hard muscles of his arms as his lips coaxed hers apart. The fresh smell of aftershave rose from his heated skin as his mouth moved from hers to kiss across her chin, then along her jaw. Hot breath panted in her ear as his hands pulled the tight skirt of her dress up over her hips.
 

Vincent nudged his knee against hers and she spread her thighs, her knees resting over his where they pressed against the under-sink cabinet.
 

“The things I am going to do to you,” he whispered in her ear.
 

She nearly melted. A tug to the earlobe between his teeth then he sucked his way down her neck. Her thighs trembled with each stroke of his palms against her bare skin.
 

She leaned back against the mirror as her hands traced the smooth lines of his abs, scratching against the hard wall of muscle when his fingers skimmed over her still clothed sex. He pitched forward pinning her against the cold glass of the mirror, his wet mouth on hers as his fingers stroked her again, then again until she groaned around his tongue.
 

When he pulled back, she reached down and popped open the button on his trousers.
 

“Not yet,” he said his voice husky.

He knelt down in front of her dragging her soaked bottoms with him then lifted her right knee over his shoulder.
 

Breath caught in her throat. She gasped as she looked down her body to see her leg dangling down his back while his hot breath blew across her core. For a long moment they stayed like that as he gazed into her eyes before he said, “Spread your legs for me.”
 

She clutched at the edges of the countertop, locked in his gaze as he edged forward, tip of his wet tongue just visible between his parted lips. His hands cupped and squeezed her cheeks. She felt captured, yet was unwilling to look away. The first exquisite silken slip of his tongue forced the last of the air from her lungs and left her unable to draw breath until the spell was broken. Head thrown straight back, her moan echoed around the tiled room. He teased and taunted, took her to the edge and brought her back until she was covered in sweat, wrecked, hands twisted in his silver hair. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand any more, her climax shocked her. He sucked on her then, as she spiraled out of control, lights flashing behind her closed eyes. The ecstasy and release of it spread between her legs, up into her belly, and then raced up her core. She groaned with the agony and pleasure of it, until finally he released her.

Vincent kissed his way back up her body, taking the dress off over her head. She shivered, thighs trembling with such force that she could no longer stand.
 

VINCENT SWEPT HER up in his arms before she could fall and carried her to the bed. Her head lolled back on the pillow as he gently laid her down on the open sheets. Before he climbed in after her, he paused for a moment to take her in. Her lithe body glistened with sweat. Though her eyes were still closed, her hands smoothed down the flat of her belly.

“Oh gods,” she said breathlessly. “That was…that was…”

He couldn’t stop from grinning. He’d done this. And though his arousal strained in his pants, she was exhausted. He dropped them to the floor and climbed into bed from the other side. Slowly he hauled her body to his to spoon tight against her back in the middle of the bed. A spread of kisses was delivered to her shoulder, neck and ear as he settled against her. He reached around her and cupped her breast.

“Please,” she murmured dreamily, nearly asleep. “Please don’t let me be just part of your job.”

Vincent’s heart constricted in his chest.
 

Amanda could never be just that.

THURSDAYS AT THE Blown Beauty Salon was their busiest day with both Aimee and Amanda booked from open to close. Amanda ran out the door with just enough time to make it to the last tarot card class of the week. Ostensibly she called Vincent to confirm he was still coming by later, but really she just wanted to hear his voice.

Though it was where they reconnected, she did not ask him to join her at the class. It was the desire to have a break, not from Vincent per se, but the entire emotional roller coaster. One hour where she had nothing to do but look at some pictures and sit in a beautiful garden under a heat lamp shuffling cards.

But there was only one light on inside The Tree of Knowledge when Amanda arrived; hers the only car in the parking lot. Paulina met her at the garden gate and welcomed her in with the last phrase Amanda had expected to hear: "We need to talk."

Oh no.

Paulina led her to one of the tables and sat opposite her, a leather courier bag at her feet. There was no incense, no tea, none of the things Amanda had come to associate with Paulina since she had started taking classes at The Tree of Knowledge over a year ago. Clearly though, she was leaving.

“How long will you be gone?” Amanda asked.

Paulina looked momentarily startled before settling back into her calm, dreamy persona.
 

“I don’t know, but I don’t believe I will be coming back to Galveston anytime soon. The others have already left town. A few of the uncommitted are weighing their options, but most will probably be gone by the end of the week. That leaves you.”

Who were the others?

“What about me?” Amanda managed to ask.

“There is so much I need to explain.”
 

Amanda sat rapt as Paulina rapid fired information at her. It was a bare bones dropping of facts which left Amanda’s mouth hanging open. Her understanding of the world shifted under the weight of Paulina’s words. How Knights Templar, Magus Corps officers, and covens were not only real, but the life she had lived before was forever changed.

“I feel like it’s my fault,” Paulina said. “If I hadn’t pushed you to sign up for the Wiccan classes, they may never have found you. But now you’re known.”

“Are you saying…?” Amanda trailed off. Her head whipped to the left, her gaze unfocused. When she looked back at Paulina, her voice was quiet. “Vincent’s job, what he is paid to do? Is it to kill me before Lionel or some other Templar does? To protect a coven that no longer exists?” Confusion and fear were winding themselves into anger. “Kill me because I haven’t decided if I want to join a club I didn’t even know I was invited to?”

“Yes,” Paulina said simply. Amanda blinked at her. “But something has changed.” Beads of sweat appeared along her hairline and upper lip as the color drained away from her slack face.
 
She swallowed hard. “I can’t—I won’t—tell you how I know, but please believe me when I say Lionel does not want to kill you. There is something bigger going on between him and Vincent. We’re just pieces to be moved out of the way. Do you have a grimoire?”

For a second Amanda almost defaulted to the lie she told every day.

“It’s a basket full of mess, but yeah, I have one.”

“Digitize it. Make yourself mobile. Then run.”

“I’m not running anywhere,” Amanda declared. “I am going to get my Daddy’s gun and the next time Lionel sets foot on the salon’s parking lot, he’s going to get blown out of his socks. This is Texas. I don’t have to put up with this shit.” Amanda stood up. “Running is your choice, but that,” words failed her for a moment, “
dumbass
is not bringing melodrama to my front door.”

“Could you sit down again for a moment? There’s more I need to tell you.”
 

Amanda could not see what more there was to say, but sat down anyway.
 

“Seven or eight months ago, Vincent was assigned a case in St. Louis. There are a lot of rumors about what happened, but what I know is this: an extremely powerful witch named Sarah Kennedy disappeared after having a bit of a breakdown. Vincent was sent to deal with it. Lionel was there. Vincnet was hurt, but, he’s immortal, so…”

Amanda scowled at her.

“Bullshit. Sorry, Paulina, I really like you, but that’s just bullshit. I went to High School with Vincent. He’s far from immortal. I don’t care who he diddled or in what city. It didn’t suddenly make him immortal. Immoral, maybe, but not immortal.”

“The Sacred Union heals us and is our link to immortality.”

“I know we discussed the sacred union in classes, but immortality is through bearing children, not because you personally cannot be killed.”

“For normals, that is absolutely true. But for those of us born Wiccan, immortality is quite real.”

“If you could just see how Vincent looks right now–”

“Oh, we can be hurt.” Paulina’s breathing became rapid, fresh beads of sweat popped up along her brow to run down her neck from under her hair. “Were not vampires. Neither Templar nor Wiccan sacrifices their humanity for immortality. We can be hurt so badly.” And with that she stood.
 

Amanda jumped to her feet, the change in Paulina’s demeanor more alarming than what she had said. Paulina wrapped Amanda in an awkward, sideways hug, then turned on her heel and broke for the door. Caught off guard, Amanda was slow to react

“Paulina?”

Paulina flew to her car. A screech of tires against the concrete of the drive, and she was gone.
 

BACK IN THE Mini, Amanda turned off her cell phone and drove. Not her normal breakneck tear through town, but a slow meander of back streets to the ferry port, through Port Bolivar, then back again. She made her way down the seawall, past her little rental house, where Vincent’s Charger sat in the drive, across the San Luis Bridge to Lake Jackson.
 

In Lake Jackson, she sat in a bookstore coffee shop, an un-drunk cup of cold coffee at her elbow, while she stared at the color saturated photographs which filled the glossy home décor magazines she had pulled from the stands. When the coffee shop closed, she drove across town to a twenty-four hour diner where she sat at the grimy counter and picked at food she did not want. It was while she sat soaking in the hot, greasy air of the tiny restaurant that she pulled her notebook and pen out of her bag, and got to work. She’d written for hours, until at last the sun was on the rise. Wearily, she got back in the Mini and drove from Lake Jackson back to Galveston. At San Luis Pass she turned her cell phone back on. There were texts and messages from Vincent which she ignored. She called Aimee instead.
 

“Can you take my customers for the day?”

“Oh my, God, not cool. I think I can handle it, but where are you?”