Page 20 of Bait N' Witch

Why he insisted on wearing more formal clothing when he was working from home, she had no idea. But, overlaid in her mind, was the image of him rumpled and more casual, and sexy as hell, in his pajamas.

He almost felt out of place to her now in the suit. Like he was hiding the real him. A fanciful thought she mentally smacked down.

He’d completely ignored her beyond a coldly cordial nod of acknowledgment.

“Ready?” he’d asked the girls.

In the usual flurry of last-minute things to grab, he’d managed to get them out of the house. And Rowan had stood in the center of the kitchen frowning after their departing backs and the sudden, strange urge to go with him to drop the girls off. She had no right to want things like that.

No matter what, he was still just her boss.

And the witch hunter after you, she’d mentally berated herself. Several times throughout the day, if she was honest.

Between avoiding him and her own mental peppering of good common sense where he and the girls were concerned, she’d managed to keep her distance all the way through dinner. It helped that Grey had kept his conversation limited to the girls’ days. Back to normal for him, it appeared. After which, Rowan had headed down to her basement rooms, ignoring the small frown he’d sent her when she’d stood up. In her room, she had turned on the TV only to sit and stare at it without really absorbing the shows that flickered across the screen.

Just stay out of his way, and make sure he stays out of yours.

Rowan blew a breath through pursed lips. She’d been doing that a lot lately. As though the tension in her kept blowing her up like a balloon and the only way to release it was to squeeze it from her lungs, one long puff of air at a time.

A glance at the clock told her she’d better check on the girls.

They should be in bed already, but she looked in on them every night. Quietly moving through the house, she tried not to notice the light coming from under Grey’s office door. With a quiet click, she checked Lachlyn’s room first, but found the bed empty. A soft murmur of voices came from the last room, a bigger room created to be more of a playroom for the girls. Though they were almost too old to play in there.

Rowan made a mental note to ask Grey if she could convert it into a teen room with things they’d like. Atleigh was a gamer, so a setup in there might be cool. Chloe loved crafts, so maybe a table and drawers filled with things like that. And Lachlyn was the reader of the three. So a nook with shelves and cushions could be just what she’d love.

Rowan paused outside the entrance to the room, frowning at herself. Now how did I know all that about them? It’s hardly been any time at all.

“We should go to bed,” Lachlyn’s voice caught her attention. “Rowan will be up any minute.”

That made her smile. At least she was doing that consistent thing Grey insisted was important.

“If she catches us awake, she’ll probably want to do something like read us a story,” Chloe said.

“Like we’re still little girls.” Rowan couldn’t see them around the corner but could just picture Atleigh’s roll of her eyes.

With a grin and a shake of her head, she popped into the room. “Too late.”

Shocked open mouths gave way to an exchange of dismayed grimaces that only had Rowan chuckling. “Only I think you’ll like my kind of stories.”

“We don’t need a story,” Atleigh tossed off.

Rowan grabbed a cushion and plopped down on it, ignoring the way they moved to get up. “Everyone loves a good story. Don’t worry. This one isn’t for little girls.”

Doubt stared back at her from three sets of aquamarine eyes. Lachlyn dropped back to where she’d been leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Okay.”

The other two seemed to take their cues from her and settled as well.

Rowan cleared her throat. “This is a little trick my mother taught me before she died. She used to do this for me every night before bed.”

Unimpressed had a look, and it was preteen girls.

“Before I get started, you have to give me a beginning sentence.”

Atleigh rolled her eyes again. “I bet you don’t have good stories.”

“Try me.”

The girl narrowed her eyes. Then gave a pouting shrug that would give a diva a run for her money. “Fine.” She took an exaggerated breath. “There was a girl misnamed Hope, who…” She left the sentence dangling.

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