Page 35 of De-Witched

“And our topic is?”

“You.”

Something hot flared down low. He fought the temptation to lean in, sneered instead. “Is this the part where you read me like a cheap psychic?”

“You will meet someone short, blonde and witty,” she intoned dramatically, flourishing a hand. She rested her elbows on the bar and his eyes dipped, hunting for a glimpse of tattoo. “I could blow your mind.”

His throat tightened. He couldn’t help leaning in, inhaling the hint of coconut.

Leah tilted her head, hair tipping over her shoulder. The background noise was faint to him, a barely-there buzz, his entire focus on her.

“Want me to demonstrate?”

“No,” he managed.

She didn’t pay any attention, but when did she ever? “You once told me you don’t like crowds.”

Had he? He didn’t remember. “I don’t like anyone,” he corrected. “I like being alone.”

“Nobody likes being alone, Gabe.”

“Gabriel.”

Her lips twitched.

“It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

He didn’t answer.

Looking smug, she pointed out, “You don’t like to be in anyone’s debt and you don’t like being vulnerable. Which is why you sent me money.” She was close now, ten inches separating them. “You needed to balance it out.”

She was too perceptive for his liking. He rolled his shoulders. “I sent that money for the broken glasses.” Lies. And he’d paid for it with pain—the spell to transport the package to the address on her records had taken him out of commission for the rest of the afternoon.

“What I can’t figure out is why you’re here with Frankie and his boys,” she mused.

“Why do you care?”

“Not sure. But then, I do have the worst taste in men.”

Gabriel’s mouth parted.

Delight lit up her face as she winked and tapped the shot glass with a finger. “And for my final trick, I predict you’ve never gotten drunk. Because Gabriel Goodnight would never do something so irresponsible. So, I’ll take this for my ‘bar buddy’, for old times’ sake.”

She took the salt, licked her hand to make it stick. But when she went for the glass, he closed his hand around hers.

Skin to skin. The whisper touch sank into his bones. He dragged his fingers down hers, heart pounding as he slipped the glass free.

Her eyes were pools of deep blue as she watched him tip the tequila back.

The punch of fire shot from his throat down to his stomach, where it curled tight, aching. His breath was short as he upended the glass onto the bar.

Cheeks flushed, Leah silently offered him a lime wedge and he accepted, allowing the tang to mingle with the remnants of tequila. He was dizzy as he stared into her eyes, sucked the lime. The alcohol. It was strong.

“You don’t know me.” Where he meant to be firm, his voice was deep, soft. A taunt. “But Goodnights always come out on top. We rise to every challenge.”

She shouldn’t have challenged him.

---