Page 16 of Bait N' Witch

She presented too big a threat. Her existence posed too many questions for comfort.

Hopefully, her spell on Grey’s phone would do the trick for now. Her lips hitched in a wicked smile. How long would it be before he figured out he wasn’t receiving calls or messages?

Chapter Six

Rowan stared at the ceiling in her bedroom. Painted white and with a fan that wasn’t running. In the summer, that probably was handy to have, but not needed in the late fall. Tempting to bewitch the ceiling to show her something—anything—else. Because white paint wasn’t exactly stimulating. Unfortunately, it wasn’t sleep inducing, either.

Blowing out a long, frustrated breath, she finally gave in, like she did every night, and flipped the covers back. After wrapping a sweater around her, she tiptoed upstairs in her socked feet to the kitchen where she filled a kettle. Leaning her butt against the island counter, she crossed her arms and waited.

The soft, sort of fuzzy, sound of water boiling joined the sound of the ticking grandfather clock in the family room. She couldn’t decide if that clock, which faithfully chimed the hour, was her friendly companion or her nemesis. In fact… She glanced over her shoulder. Yup. Another minute or two and it would sound the one o’clock bell.

She turned back to the kettle, cocking her head to listen to the bubbling, and grinned. This was going to be a close race. Which would go off first? Kettle or clock? Clock or kettle? The telltale click of the hour hand sounded a beat before the clock chimed. Almost a full two seconds later, the kettle started its whistle.

As she quickly removed it from the heat, so the sound wouldn’t disturb the other sleeping occupants of the house, she shook her head. “You let a clock beat you?” she asked the kettle. “That was a sad showing. Just like the tortoise and the hare.”

“Are you talking to a kettle?” An unmistakable voice sounded from the shadows to her right.

Rowan managed to contain the jump of fright to only her heart. “I—”

Why didn’t she get that prickly, being-watched sensation around him?

Greyson’s question sank in, and she wrinkled her nose. “Maybe?”

He moved closer to lean a hip against the counter, arms crossed. In pajama pants and a plain black T-shirt, hair all rumpled, suddenly the witch hunter appeared more…accessible.

“Is that a question?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I think any answer might incriminate me, so…”

Turning away, she got down one of the teacups she’d discovered the first night. True teacups—delicate white china with pastel flowers and butterflies painted on them. After a second, she grabbed a second one and lifted it, eyebrows raised in question. “Want some?”

He seemed to hesitate over the answer. “Sure.”

With a nod, she set both cups down and then got out a container she’d stashed in the same cupboard and scooped loose leaves into individual silver infusing balls.

“What is it?” Grey asked, suddenly sounding suspicious.

“Chamomile and lavender. In theory it should help make you sleepy. No caffeine.”

A glance at his face showed his eyebrows raised. “I don’t remember buying that.”

“You didn’t. I did.”

“Oh.”

She left the tea steeping in the hot water and turned to face him more fully. “Can’t sleep?”

Again, she got the impression that he was hesitating over the answer. “Most nights.”

“I haven’t bumped into you before.” Or heard any sign of his wakefulness. Granted, his room was at the other end of the first floor.

“I didn’t want to disturb you.”

In other words he didn’t want to have to spend time with her. Disappointment dug under her skin and lodged there uncomfortably.

“Not because of what you’re thinking,” he said.

She blinked. Had she been that obvious?

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