Yeah, apocalyptic seemed most likely. Because goddess knows, allowing Logan into her bed would turn her life tilting on its axis. Even more than it already was.
“Got the new Harley warmed up and ready to go whenever you are.”
She blinked at him, her fuzzy brain taking a fraction too long to process beyond the “warmed up and ready to go” part of his declaration. Mentally shaking her head once she realized he wasn’t referring to her constant state of arousal where he was concerned, she stepped around Logan and plunked her purse on the Queen Anne secretary resting in the corner of the entry.
“I don’t have time to take a joyride with you.” She picked up the small stack of mail and rifled through it, giving her mind something to concentrate on other than the steady clomp of Logan’s motorcycle boots on the marbled tile as he approached.
“Come on, shug. It’s been way too long since I’ve gotten you on a bike.” Warm, strong hands settled with lazy assurance on her hips, and the catalog she’d been aimlessly leafing through plummeted from her fingertips. Logan’s spicy, masculine scent wafted around her, making her dizzy. Her lightheadedness intensified when his palms coasted dangerously close to her pelvic bone. He nuzzled the side of her neck. “Plus we both know how you love the vibration of 3000 rpm between your thighs.”
She sucked in her breath at the sexy edginess of his tone. Her cheeks burning hot, she flashed back to the near orgasm she’d almost fallen victim to during their last ride, all thanks to the wicked rumbling of his Harley’s engine. It hadn’t helped at all having her breasts squashed against Logan’s back at the time, either.
“Damn you, did you peek inside my mind while we were riding that day?” Given their witch-familiar link, it was certainly something he could do. Obviously she’d have to be more prudent from now on about safeguarding her X-rated musings.
“Don’t be angry, shug.” The pads of his thumbs swept distracting circles over her hipbones, heading toward the zipper of her jeans. “My nose was filled with the scent of your wet pussy. Do you have any idea the hell that put me through? I damn near went loco with the need to bury my tongue between your legs and lap up all your sweetness.”
A tremor ran through her, and her clit throbbed in reaction. “D-don’t say things like that.”
“Why? It’s true. I told you once before I’m done pussyfootin’ around our relationship.”
“We don’t have a relationship. Not beyond a witch and her familiar, anyway.”
“Not yet. But we will. Now the ban’s been lifted, there’s nothing keeping us from doing dirty, naked things with each other.”
Her pulse kicked into high gear at the wicked promise in his gravelly tone. Times like this, she didn’t know whether to rejoice or wallop each member of the guild with a two-by-four for their decision to lift the decades-old ban that’d forbidden any emotional and physical love between witches and their familiars. Although she’d never truly supported the ban, it’d certainly made it easier to keep her distance. And it’d given her a perfect excuse to tell Logan to keep his hands to himself—something he seemed to require constant reminders of every other second. Particularly lately. “I know it’s hard for your ego to hear this, but we’re not having sex.”
“Yet.”
“Ever.”
“And it’s not ego,” he continued as if he’d conveniently not heard her firm denial. His lips brushed her earlobe. “It’s destiny.”
“Now you’re just being delusional.” Ignoring his husky chuckle, she shoved free from the tempting cage of his arms and pivoted toward the hallway the same instant a gunshot boomed outside. Her shoulders jerked. “Who the hell is shooting out there?”
“Ms. Peach. She’s brushin’ up on her marksman skills.” He said it as if he weren’t the least bit perturbed by the idea of a seventy-five-year-old woman with cataracts handling a loaded weapon.
Good goddess, protect us all. She pushed past him and streaked out the front door and down the steps, heading toward the rear of the coven house, where the gunshot seemed to have originated. The steady crunch of gravel behind her announced that Logan was following her. They rounded the corner of the house, and she spotted Peach taking aim at an improvised target fashioned from an old fertilizer sack that’d been tossed over a sawhorse. She had no idea how the woman managed to haul the bulky contraption on her own. Unless…
She spun and pinned Logan with an accusing glare. “Did you carry that out here for Peach?” Guilt flushed Logan’s cheekbones, and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from growling. Pivoting, she shot a spark of energy at the rifle, causing it to jam in mid-fire.
Ms. Peach frowned and checked the safety before glancing over her stooped shoulder. Soon as she spotted Clarissa, the older witch groaned. “Son of a bitch. Shoulda known the grim reaper of fun would show up.” Lifting her free hand to shade her eyes, Ms. Peach squinted in Logan’s direction. “Would ya do the rest of us a favor and give ole broomstick-up-her-butt over there a tumble now and then? Maybe if she got laid once in a blue moon her main goal in life wouldn’t be making ours miserable.”
A low, sexy chuckle rumbled from Logan. Not trusting any response he might have forthcoming, Clarissa cleared her throat. “Would you put that rifle down before you shoot your toe off? Or worse.”
Uttering an irritated grumble, Ms. Peach tossed the gun aside. “Fine. I need to take Floyd for his first training class in an hour anyway. He’s got a lot of work ahead of him if he’s gonna be the ring bearer at Jemma and Griffin’s wedding come Friday.”
Oh, sweet goddess. Ring bearer? “Do Griffin and Jemma know about this little plan of yours?” Clarissa sucked in a deep breath when Peach gave a dismissive shrug. “Well forget it. We both know allowing Floyd within ten yards of a wedding cake is a recipe for disaster. Furthermore, you seem to keep forgetting the dog doesn’t even belong to us. It’s way past time we start putting out flyers to track down his owners.”
Ms. Peach’s wrinkle-lined face scrunched into a stubborn expression. “Don’t you think they woulda tried to claim him long before now?”
Clarissa dug deep for her last reserve of patience. “Not if they have no clue where he might be. Hence us passing around a few flyers.”
“You just don’t like Floyd.” Peach’s lower lip stuck out in a petulant pout. “Admit it. You’re a big meanie who has no heart. I bet you liked to kick puppies when you were a kid. Probably still do.”
Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Yes, Peach, you’ve found me out.” Despite her sarcasm, the crack about her not having a heart stung. She knew damn well what everyone whispered about her behind her back. On more occasions than she could count, she’d overheard her coven sisters jokingly refer to her as the ice mistress. Hell, that nickname was tame compared to some of the others she’d been gifted with.
No one understood that she had no choice but to be tough and hardened. Being mistress of a coven required long hours and massive amounts of discipline. The responsibility resting on her shoulders could be staggering and wearisome at the best of times.
She turned and caught Logan watching her, his usual cockiness absent. The tenderness in his amber eyes threatened to do her in. Not about to give in to the tears prickling at the backs of her eyelids, she began walking toward the house. The faint scritch of Logan’s jeans riding against the metal hardware of his boots let her know she wasn’t alone. Not in the physical sense, anyway. But in just about every other way, she was all on her own. She’d learned a long time ago that it hurt a hell of a lot less if she gave in and accepted the realities of her life.