Page 95 of The Witch is Back

He attempted to look chagrined. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I am. And to prove it, I am willing to give you a nice massage to ease out all the...” His hands shifted and she twitched in reaction. “Kinks.”

“Hmm.” She closed her eyes as his fingers pressed. Her teeth bit her bottom lip. “What kind of kinks?”

“Damn it.” He swore and moved his hands back to a semirespectable position. She opened her eyes in protest. Turned out after one night, she was an addict. “I didn’t mean to start it. But you walked in and...” He shrugged. “That was about it.”

“You’re not fussy.”

“On the contrary. Your legs in a skirt could make any man forget his mind.”

“Funny, they’ve all managed to do just fine.” She stroked one hand down his chest, loving how hard he felt beneath her. Against her.

“They might not have done something, but trust me.” He kissed her once. “They all thought it. Now. Quit distracting me.” He set her back on the floor, held out a hand. “Hands off. Restrain yourself.”

“Oh, I’ll try.”

A flash of a grin. “I had a missed call from my mom this morning.”

Emma took a step forward. “Is she okay?”

“She’s as fine as she can be. Thanks.” He held out a hand, twisted his fingers into hers and drew her toward him. She didn’t bother reminding him of the hands-off rule he’d just implemented. “I called her back while you were out. Seems someone doesn’t trust us to pick a wedding planner.”

The penny dropped. “She called someone?”

“Yep. A Ms. Tamsin White. Apparently she’s all-singing, all-dancing and needs only one afternoon with us to pick flowers and crap like that.”

“You make it sound so romantic.”

“Call me Cupid.” He brought their joined hands to his lips, kissed the knuckles. “The appointment is in half an hour.”

She knew him well enough to know that even though this was his idea of hell—maybe hers too—because his mom had asked it, he’d face the hazards of place settings and seating charts to please her. So, she surrendered without grumbling. “Let me change.”

“Why? I think you look perfect.” He ran his free hand down her side, gaze following. His fingers bunched the skirt’s hem, started to slide it upward. “You got any of those lacy panties on under here?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t go out without my underwear.” That was a little too wild. And cold. Not to mention stupid in Chicago, aka the Windy City.

The brush of his fingers on the sensitive skin of her hip made her eyes half-close, her body lean toward him.

“So practical.” He teased around the edge of her panties. “About that massage.”

“Bastian.” She swallowed as his knuckle pressed against her. “We’ll be...oh, Goddess...we’ll be late.”

“We can portal there. It’ll take five minutes tops.” He cupped her, tutted even as she shuddered. “You’re soaked, Emma. Don’t you know it’s not practical to walk around like that. Here.” A telekinetic hand nudged her until she pressed right up against him. His eyes gleamed. “Let me help you out of those wet clothes.”

CHAPTER 19

It didn’t take Emma two minutes to realize that Tamsin White could have taken over the world if she had a free hour between clients.

With ruthless efficiency, she’d taken in the couple that had portalled into the hotel conference room in downtown Chicago, ignored their rumpled clothing and parked them in two seats directly in the center of the room. She’d conjured two clipboards with two questionnaires and handed them off to each of them. With instructions to fill them out, she’d walked to the back of the room and begun conjuring grand tables, each with a different theme. Her magic clearly lay in conjuring; Emma wasn’t even sure she could do small “fetches,” let alone pull off such grand designs. Tamsin wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

Her body felt like melted wax after Bastian’s “massage”—and that was all it had been, despite her pleas, because he thought she’d still be too sore for “the main event,” a phrase that had obligated her to bean him with a pillow—Emma had relaxed into the chair despite her shyness around strangers and snuck glances at Bastian as she ticked a, b, or c for questions relating to flowers and themes and music. She didn’t really care. It wasn’t a real wedding and everybody, including her mother, would be judging her for everything anyway.

Finished, she watched as the long-legged redhead with eyes of smoke tapped her painted red lips with her French manicure, surveying her last creation. As if feeling Emma’s gaze, Tamsin glanced up with the air of a dog scenting prey.

“You’re done?” Her voice was cool, calm and clipped as she and her four-inch stilettos briskly walked back to them.

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