Page 64 of De-Witched

“No. But then, like I’ve said, I have the worst taste in men.”

Before he could comment, she gestured to a two-story redbrick house with white trim around the windows and a white arch over the door. “This is me.”

“You live here?” He couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice.

“You thought I’d live in a small apartment with three dogs and two cats?”

He conceded the point. “You said this was one of your investments.”

“Yep. Thanks to this and the bar, I’m moderately comfortable, but I’m not in the land of, oh, say, wearing a designer suit to an animal shelter.” She paused on the sidewalk and glanced at him. “Bigger than yours, huh?”

His look was dry. “The apartment, yes. The family manor, no.”

“Now, now, don’t brag about size. Real men don’t do that.” She stretched up to pat his cheek.

It wasn’t a conscious move but he caught her hand on its descent, loosely clasping it. Soft, she was always so soft, where he felt hardened like weathered stone. His breathing was rough as he studied her hand in his before he let them part ways.

She recovered first. “It’s, ah, convenient.” As if nothing had happened, except a blush scored her cheeks. “Ogden Park is a short walk away, Halstead station about fifteen minutes, and the dogs have a yard. It’s peaceful. I love the city and the noise and the rush, but I like having something calm to come back to.” She laughed a little. “Well, until I go through the door and the babies realize I’m home. And there’s Peggy.”

“You live with her,” he remembered.

She nodded. “I couldn’t live alone. I’d go stir-crazy, and it’s helpful for the dogs when I stay out unexpectedly.” She walked up the three steps to the small porch. Turned. “So.”

He followed like a charmed object. “So.”

Her hands drifted together, rubbing fingertips. “We said we’d talk.”

He nodded.

The night pressed in as she clearly fumbled for words. “I don’t know what to say,” she finally admitted in a low voice. “I...it...what happened, I...” She took a breath. “Do you regret it?”

He could cut this off right now, at the knees, no mercy. He opened his mouth to do just that. It wasn’t like he couldn’t be brutally honest; it was part of his reputation.

But what emerged was a low, “No.”

Something moved in her expression. “Me neither.”

Everything in him kept still, breathless, not knowing what to do as electricity crackled between them. He knew what the practical thing, the logical thing to do was.

But that wasn’t what he wanted.

He stepped forward.

She startled at the movement, and her back bumped the door. Her hands braced at her sides, flat. Unsteady breaths made her breasts rise and fall. Still she didn’t speak. Didn’t tell him no.

He laid his hands deliberately on the door, either side of her head. He couldn’t touch her. His control dangled on a precarious thread. If he even grazed her, it would snap. And they would both fall into the dark.

“Gabriel?” The whisper had him closing his eyes, relishing the sound of his name on her lips. Her scent was stronger this close and he didn’t think, just lowered his head to the crook of her neck to inhale.

A short sound burst from her, but she didn’t reach for him, as if she knew not to.

“You drive me mad,” he murmured against her skin. The need for her was a drumbeat in his soul. “I see you, hear you, feel you all day, all night, in my dreams. You’ve bewitched me.”

“I-ironic.”

As she couldn’t see him, he let his mouth curve into a dark smile. “You should be the very last woman I want.” He lifted his head, inches from hers. Every nerve was on fire. “And yet, you’re the only woman I’ve ever craved.” He closed his eyes again, tried to reach for control. He shouldn’t be doing this. “You make it hard to resist.”

Her words were quiet but deafening. “Then don’t.”

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