Captivating The Witch. Michele Hauf
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away from the witch! Yet the louder voice moaned in anticipation for one more kiss. Could he control her with seduction? Because he had to keep her under thumb to keep his risk low.
But, oh, the things on her he’d like to feel gliding beneath his thumbs.
“Fine,” he said. “So you agree to be the witch I need, if I agree to be the demon you need?”
She nodded. Her high-voltage smile beamed to match those world-filled eyes.
“You don’t even know why I need a witch,” he countered.
“I assume it’s to cast a spell. Do you need me to clean this office?”
“Uh...” He strolled the floor, walking slower as he passed beside her. She smelled like lemons hanging fresh in the tree, sweet yet spiked with a bite of sour that a man desired to lick purely for the tangy thrill of it.
How to ask for the magic he needed without sending her running? What witch would agree to work against her kind? He hadn’t enough information on Les Douze to know if she would be open to his needs. What were his needs, beyond to destroy some dead witches? If they really were witches.
He had to work up to that slowly. Convince her that she wanted to stop those witches, and not because a demon had asked her to. How to do that?
She tilted her head. A lift of her brow not only took him in, but also teased. And a crook of her finger and a lick of her lips delivered the coup de grâce. Yeah, seduction. The woman was a master at it. And she hadn’t to do anything more than quirk one of those luscious brows. He could kiss her again. Right now. Pull her to him by curling his hand around the back of her neck and bruising her mouth with his until she gasped for freedom.
The most powerful witch in Paris? He’d expected someone more...dark. And haggish, actually. Older, too. Although, he shouldn’t judge by appearance. Paranormals who lived centuries had a tendency to age so slowly one could never know if the sexy young vixen eyeing him was in her third or fourth decade, or perhaps her third or fourth century.
But he’d never get anywhere if all he did was make out with the woman. The way he could get her to help him was to keep it businesslike. Professional. And he had to check out her skills, make sure she was up to par.
“Right, the murders,” he muttered, grabbing the opportunity. “Can you cleanse this office?”
“That’s the reason you kidnapped me? To ask me to clean your office?”
He nodded. No sense arguing the kidnapping. It had gone down that way, and he wasn’t proud of it. “Like I said, my men can be indelicate.”
“Seems a rather dramatic effort for something so anticlimactic.”
He could give her a climax if that was what she wanted— Ah! No. He had to stay on point. Business, Ed, business.
“I do like to clean rooms,” she said. “But I’m not sure. It seems a little suspicious.”
Because it was. Kidnapping a witch just to wave around a smudging stick and chant a spell?
“Why such a powerful witch to do a cleansing?” she asked. “I mean, the room is tainted, but any witch could do this.”
“You yourself noted the previous efforts have been worthless. You must understand my need for someone with a bit more skill?”
She bristled proudly, tugging at the ends of her lush hair. On the side of her littlest finger was another tattoo. Words. Probably a spell. Ed didn’t try to read them. One never knew what horrors reciting an unknown spell could unleash upon his head.
“Ask me something,” he volleyed.
“What do you mean?”
“Something you want to know about demons. It’s a trade for your trust.”
“Oh.” She wiggled her shoulders. The excitement that she exuded was like a natural pheromone, so effortless and addictive. He breathed her in as if he were the lucky observer of an exotic flower who only put off her scent a few minutes a day before closing up. “Okay. Let’s see... I know you’re a corax demon. Can you shift to a raven form?”
“I shift to a conspiracy of ravens.”
“Oooo.” When she made that sound, she pursed her lips deliciously. Ed squeezed his hands together behind his back. “Can I see your horns?”
“No!”
“But those nubs at your temples. That’s where they come out?”
He nodded. They grew to full length when he was angry. Or sometimes when he was aroused. He couldn’t control the anger horns, but the other time, when he was having sex, was an option he employed if he wanted to heighten the experience. Because to have his horns touched? Oh, baby. Yet, sadly, he’d attempted it only once before. She’d run screaming. He’d learned his lesson about what to reveal about himself when having sex with a human woman.
She pointed to his gloved hands. “Why do you wear those? More horns?”
Actually, thorns. The thorns on his knuckles grew when he got angry, and they were deadly sharp, leaving a poison in his victim’s cuts that could kill. The half gloves were a safety precaution because he didn’t like to kill people. Not unless they deserved it.
“Forget it,” she said suddenly. “I have to leave this room. I’m not properly warded and this malefic aura is creeping me out.”
“Fine. Can you return later to cleanse it?”
“I can,” she said, walking backward toward the door. “If you promise we’ll talk afterward.”
“Research and a cleansing? It’s a date.”
“It is?”
“Uh, er...a business date. I mean, you know. Why else would I have you brought here?”
“Did you request me specifically or did those idiots grab any witch off the street?”
They had grabbed a witch John Malcolm had deemed most powerful. Lucky for him it had been the one witch he wouldn’t mind spending some time with.
“Does it matter? I’ve stated my need. You’ve agreed to meet that need, as I in turn will meet yours by answering your questions. We are in accord.”
“Sure.” She nodded and gestured toward the door behind her. “Can I leave now?”
“Of course. You’re not my prisoner.”
“Will I run into your henchmen on the way out?”
“No. I promise. And again, I apologize.”
“I’m not one to hold a grudge. I forgive you for your odd means to hiring a witch to clean this office. Thank you, Ed. I’ll return later. Ten?”
“Sounds fine. I’ll be here. Alone.”
She raised a curious brow.
“No henchman,” he reassured her.
With a nod and wink, she left him standing there, watching her retreat. That sexy swing of hips and the brush of her long hair across her elbows was like poetry. A raunchy poem with a lascivious plot.
When she had turned the corner toward the elevator, Ed let out a low whistle. “Now to win her trust,” he muttered. “And destroy some dead witches.”
Tamatha fixed her hair in the mirror and touched up with a little pencil to her right brow. Her hair was naturally white with silver tones, but she liked to soften her darker brows with gray pencil. A smooth of powder across her forehead and a touch of pale pink rouge to her cheeks. She never wore lipstick. Just a little lip balm. Because what man wanted to kiss a woman with greasy red lips?
And