Page 43 of De-Witched

Uh, yeah, she had. Except when she glanced back, the mug was half-full.

Her pulse skipped again before rocketing up. She swung her gaze back to him, assessing, wondering what he was playing at. Was this another of his mistakes? Or... Her skin pebbled. Did he...?

“Sit,” he ordered, not commenting on her sudden stiffness. He patted the couch in a move as awkward as it was unnatural. “Finish it. Talk to me about...the Cubs.”

She blinked, suspicion temporarily diverted. “You want me to talk to you about baseball?”

“Yes.”

The warlock was just odd and with the ghost of her dad lingering, she stepped toward the exit. “I should really—”

“You shouldn’t go until you’ve taught me about baseball.”

What was this? Gabriel never wanted to talk. He hated company, or that was his party line. So why would he—?

Realization struck. A sleek dart of sensation fired in her chest as she swallowed. “I’m okay, Gabriel. I mean, I’m not upset.”

“I know.”

“It was a long time ago. I don’t need a distraction.”

“Who said you did?”

Either she’d read him wrong or Gabriel Goodnight was far sweeter than he let on. And that...that was more dangerous to her than knowing about witches.

She should go.

Instead, she sank back into her seat. “Okay.” Her dogs would be fine with Peggy, and Ubers would always be running. Her throat was dry as she cleared it and that damn ache only grew. “Baseball 101. You sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

He waved an imperious hand. “Of course.”

Good. Because she didn’t.

11

He woke tangled in her.

At first Gabriel thought it a dream, a forbidden one he’d not even admitted to himself. His hands on her skin, soft under his fingertips. He skimmed those fingers up her spine, under the clothing that hid her body.

She stirred. Her legs were entwined with his, hips tucked against him. She was short but Goddess, she fitted. She shouldn’t, in so many ways, but she fitted.

A truth was easier to acknowledge in a dream and he shifted, trying to ease the ache in his body. He hunted for her scent, dipping his head until his nose found her throat. He breathed her in. Hungered.

“Gabriel.”

Like he’d been hexed, Gabriel’s body turned to ice. His arms tensed around Leah as he lifted his head, opening his eyes to reality.

Sleepy blue eyes met his as she yawned. Her hair was a blond nest of curls and her cheeks were flushed. “Guess we fell asleep,” she said, voice thick. “What time is it?”

Time to move, he told himself. Except his body was slow to react, every nerve humming in awareness.

“I need to check on my dogs,” she continued when he didn’t answer. She hesitated and twin flags of color highlighted her cheeks. “I, um, need to get up.”

He was still holding her. Mortification rolled over him, made worse by the fact his hands were under her sweater, on bare flesh.

He’d never moved so fast, flinging himself backward off the couch. The corner of the coffee table caught his shin and he hissed as he limped to the breakfast bar.

Looking at her was impossible. Heat and embarrassment and something painfully close to desire throbbed inside him. He heard her move, a bag rustle, the dull sound of fingers hitting a cell phone screen.

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