Jerrin Stryder’s lineage reaches all the way back to Merlin, jet-setting wizards who have more money and magic than they know what to do with. And an attitude to match. In an effort to find real happiness, Jerrin takes on a “normal” magic-free life in a ramshackle fixer-upper…next door to Hannah, who isn’t quite the “normal” woman he thinks she is.
Can a witch with a desire for power and a wizard attempting to flee it find happiness in one another’s arms? The sparks are there, if they only let them burst into flame.
The house had been vacant so long, she hadn’t even thought of anyone being able to see her from there—but she hadn’t moved or pulled the curtains.
Then he closed the blinds, and she breathed a sigh of relief and disappointment. Headed for the kitchen to make some jasmine tea.
I guess he went to bed. Flannel isn’t his thing.
She returned with her mug and froze. Half a dozen flimsy nighties and a thong lay scattered around the room. She broke into laughter, unable to stay pouty with such good friends.
Hannah lifted the tablet and tried to glower. “Who did this?”
As the girls chorused denial—at least one lying through her teeth—the thud of boots on the porch froze her mid-giggle. She tiptoed to peek through the peephole.
“He’s here, what should I do?”
One by one, her friends blinked out. They’d come back on and talk about her behind her back once she went offline. Bitches.
But they loved her, and they were right. A woman didn’t just ignore a handsome hunk who came to call—especially a woman five years out from her last sexual experience. Who ever said witches were sluts?
She opened the door.
“Jerrin?” Halfway down the steps, he spun to face her. “Hi, did you need something?” A quickie maybe? With her mind made up, her only concern was keeping things quiet enough to not wake Pansy.
“I saw your light on and thought maybe you couldn’t sleep either.”
Not quite ten o’clock. Sure, insomnia is rampant when only farmers are in bed.
“I was just chatting online with some friends.” She stepped back, clearing the doorway. “Would you like to come in? Have a cup of jasmine tea?”
“Sure, if it’s not too much trouble.” Whiskey scented his breath. But he didn’t stumble or slur his words. Maybe he’d just had a drink since he couldn’t sleep. Old man’s hours indeed.
“No trouble at all. I made a whole pot. Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll get you a cup.” She scooted into the kitchen, her heart beating fast. Easy to be brave, when the man in question was outside, but now that he stood in her living room, could she go through with it?
Not that he’d asked.
What if he did?
What if he didn’t?
Returning with the cup and a plate of non-spelled oatmeal bars—she’d need to get that chocolate milk when she drove Pansy to school—she found him in the middle of the room, facing away from her. “Don’t you want to sit down?” Hannah set the cookies on the coffee table and straightened.
Jerrin turned toward her and waved a hand toward the couch. “Where?”
In horror, she took in the furniture littered with skimpy lingerie. “Give me a minute.” She gathered the offending garments and took them into her bedroom, tossing them in a corner and pausing a moment to let the heat in her cheeks die down from a raging furnace. She considered changing clothes, not to one of the nighties—because her humiliation had killed any plans of seduction she’d held—but maybe to sweats. Deciding to brave it out, she smoothed her many-times-washed, comforting flannel and glided back into the living room.
Jerrin sat on the couch, arms stretched over the back. “Lingerie party?”
Her cheeks flooded with heat again. “Gag gifts from friends, I, uh…needed to put them away.”
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