Bedspell

He pulled her back on top of him. Swallowing hard, since his throat was raw, he whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I cast a spell on you, gorgeous,” she admitted.

“You really think I’m gorgeous?”

“Of course you are,” she murmured.

“You cast a spell on me?”

“That’s why you’re in my bed.”

She was in his, but he didn’t correct her. Not when he was so flattered. None of these wiccans had ever cast a spell on him before, at least not so far as he knew. “You cast a spell because you wanted to have sex with me?”

“Yes,” she murmured, nibbling his lips and groaning as she slid her hands into his chest hairs again. Releasing a moan, he curved his hands slowly over her hips, then down shapely, sexy legs. Fire surged through him once more. Waves of heat seemed to roll through him, only to be drenched by the water still dripping from her body.

“You’ve got leaves in your hair,” he said huskily.

“Take them out.”

He did. One by one, he lifted out the dry twigs and brittle leaves that had lodged in her short, wet locks as she’d come from the lake. “You were lucky not to get caught in the brambles,” he said, even though his mind was really on the deft movements of her now rolling hips. “Whatever you threw in that cauldron,” he added, his lips capturing hers once more, as the damp curve of her belly cradled his, “it’s definitely working its charms.” Reaching, he stretched an arm toward the bedside table and pulled out the drawer.

She startled, her hands tightening on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He imagined them, how they’d feel moments from now, raking down the rest of his back. This was one wildcat whom he’d gladly let claw him to ribbons.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Condoms.”

“Good thinking.”

“Mere habit,” he assured. With her in the bed, any logical thought was truly eluding him. Feeling bereft with her body warmth gone from his, he readied himself, then hauled her back on top of him, simply saying, “Ride me.”

Again, that maddening giggle sounded. “Like a broomstick?”

He laughed. “You witch, you.”

Her tongue traced his lips, silencing him, sending another shock of awareness through his system. “O, ye spirits bring to me,” she whispered huskily, “a night of sexy revelry.”

So, that’s what she’d asked for. “I think we can manage that.”

Her laugh was tempered by need now. “All night?”

“There won’t be a thought in your pretty little head until dawn,” he assured her, then he added, “I’ve only got one question.”

“What?”

“Well, men and women can do an awful lot of things together,” he began. “So, which of those things do you want to do first?”

Her tone was strangely dark, lusty. “You mean, seeing as we’re going to eventually do them all?”

“Yeah.”

He heard her intake of breath. “Man’s choice.”

He urged her closer. “You on top, then. And later…” As his words trailed off, everything except the spellbinding woman vanished from James’s mind—he forgot his wildcat capture team certification and the hours he’d spend tomorrow, cleaning up after the wiccans—and he touched a thumb to his bedmate’s chin, tilting back her head and spiraling kisses down a slender neck that, beneath his tongue, had the smooth consistency of fresh cream.

As her knees bracketed his hips, she exhaled an excited rush of breath. “Later?” she urged as she positioned herself above him and slowly impaled herself, sliding downward on his shaft until he could no longer bite back another moan.

“Everything,” he promised hoarsely, seeing himself tongue-kissing every inch of her legs, then burying himself between them, tasting her while she drowned in pleasure. He saw her kneeling before him, too, tasting him with the same abandon. Maybe they’d head outside, right before sunrise, and he’d take her, hard and fast, against a tree, until both of them got so crazy with lust that they’d start howling at the moon.

After all, it was Halloween.

“Sliding down the broomstick,” she whispered. He would have laughed, but he simply couldn’t. His blood was pumping too fast, his mind racing with fantasies about the woman who kept calling him gorgeous. The tight, slick folds of her body were enveloping him, stealing away his breath. His arms swiftly circled her back. Squeezing her tightly, he hauled her even closer against him and rolled, so that he was on top of her. Unwilling to simply lie back and take the pleasure, the way he’d initially asked, he realized he wanted to be the one to give it.

“Hold me tight, you wicked little witch,” he coached as he thrust deep inside her, feeling her open all the way. “Because the man you’ve beguiled is about to show you some midnight magic.”

WHAT HAD HAPPENED?

Signe slid a hand down her belly, as if she half expected to find that her own body parts had vanished in the night. Whew! That herbal-root punch had really packed a punch. C.C. hadn’t been lying! Nor Diane, who’d said it contained grain alcohol. Signe felt as if she’d been run over by a Mack truck. Which was just as well. She’d actually forgotten about the stolen statue and Detective Perez for a few blissful hours. Now she tried to slit her eyes open, but decided it was just too painful. Yes, she was going to have to spend all day pressing thin slices of frozen cucumber to her eyelids.

This was why she never drank. While the herbal-root beverage had been great going down, she now felt as if a heavy cement block had lodged in the space where her head used to be. Except that couldn’t really be the case, since her head was pounding. It felt as if an army of little men were inside it, trying to bash their way out with hammers.

Everything hurt. A big white hole seemed to exist where her memories once were. It was as if she’d become a cyborg from the movies, whose brain existed only on a CD-ROM. Now she was simply waiting for her memory element to reconnect….

Just opening her eyes hurt. Breathing hurt. Her skin hurt.

Everything.

Except the dream. If her lips didn’t hurt, too, Signe would have smiled. She’d actually dreamed that Gorgeous Garrity had been waiting for her in bed. She’d whispered the words to the spell she’d cast, and they’d made love. Not just the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of love, either. But no-holds-barred sex that had lasted all night long.

It seemed so real.

Astonishingly real, she decided with a frown. In fact, the more her memories came back in snatches, the more it seemed as if the event had happened. Was she going crazy? Or had Gorgeous taken her up on her offer and come to the Catskills?

She was still in too much pain to open her eyes.

She could remember his touch, though. Every kiss, every sexy smell. Big strong hands had stroked every inch of her. His hairy chest had teased her breasts in a way that actually made her…have an orgasm?

Yes, he’d barely touched her, and she’d gone off like a rocket. He’d lit her up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. She’d burned and sizzled.

“Whew!” she mouthed.

As he’d pushed inside her, she’d felt as if a thousand massaging fingers were probing her, driving her toward new, dizzying heights of ecstasy. But that was crazy! Sex was never that good! She was healthy, of course. But a long time ago, Signe Sargent had realized that men were human and had their pretty obvious limitations.

Last night, however…

Had the spell affected their bed play? They’d gotten so down and dirty that just thinking about it made her whole body flood with heat once more. She could almost hear his voice, saying, “I’m about to show you some midnight magic.” And boy, had he!

Maybe there was something to this wiccan stuff, she thought, her heart skipping a beat. If it improved sex to this degree, she would certainly become an adept. As soon as she got back to the city, she’d get her own spell book. The dream really did seem so sharp, vivid and full of detail…