Page 10 of Bait N' Witch

…

Greyson glanced away from his email at the clock in the bottom right corner of his computer screen. Time to go to dinner and see how Rowan had dealt. So far, she’d been a damn sight more enjoyable to watch than the previous nannies. Beyond a small wail of frustration, she’d handled the dinner disaster with compunction, though he’d been mildly surprised she couldn’t prepare dinner with magic as the other nannies had. It must not be one of her gifts, which gave him a small sting of guilt for ruining her first attempt and causing her more work.

She moved with a lithe grace, her jeans hugging her backside in a way he couldn’t fail to acknowledge. With a grunt he pushed aside any notice of her as a woman and tried to focus on her actions. She’d frantically searched for the girls, then paused at the edge of the woods. No words had been spoken, but with deliberate direction, she’d walked straight to the attic door.

Once there, she’d cocked her head and crossed her arms, frustration pinching her lips. Had she figured out where the girls were hiding? They did this to every nanny, and he allowed it as part of their family test.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” she finally said, then spun on her heels and returned to the kitchen.

Interesting reaction. Was she going to do anything about her charges being up in the attic?

The dinnertime hour had arrived, which meant he’d discover the answer to his question shortly. He flipped the lid closed on his computer and went in search of a witch. One who’d occupied more of his day than she should’ve. He entered the dining room promptly at seven to find the table laid for five. A basket of crusty bread and a leafy spinach salad sat in the middle.

“I’ll be right there.” Rowan’s voice drifted to him from the kitchen, but he couldn’t see her over the countertops.

Then she stood from where she’d been bent over to remove her casserole from the oven. Unbidden, an image of those jeans stretched tautly over her nicely rounded ass entered his mind. With effort, he pushed it away.

Hands in oven mitts to protect her skin from the piping hot casserole dish, Rowan skirted the large island and entered the room where he waited. She placed the dish on a trivet and removed her mitts, setting them on the corner of the table. Never once looking in his direction, she took a seat. “Shall we?”

His best poker face firmly in place, Greyson also took a seat directly across from her at the long end of the table. Curiosity about her next actions had him firmly in thrall. He glanced behind her in the direction of the attic.

“Would you pass me your plate, please?”

He shifted his gaze to find her holding her hand out patiently. Without a word he meekly passed his plate over. She dished up a healthy portion of whatever she had decided to serve in place of her badly burned lasagna and passed it back.

“Where are the girls?” he asked.

“Hiding.” She spoke bluntly and to the point, but no censure or irritation laced her tone.

He cocked his head. “Oh?”

She gave a perfunctory smile, one that didn’t appear to reach her eyes, although it was hard to tell, as she had yet to look at him directly, a fact which, perversely, he didn’t like. “They’ll appear when they get hungry.”

“I see.” He placed his napkin in his lap and served himself salad before passing her the bowl. “I must say, I’m impressed.”

“Why?” Finally, she met his gaze. “Tuna surprise is hardly a gourmet meal.”

A chuckle threatened. He hadn’t even tasted the casserole yet. “I mean about the girls. Several of my nannies haven’t lasted the first night.” He shook his head, making his disdain for those other nannies clear. “How hard is it to cook a meal and keep track of three young witches?”

In response Rowan set down her fork and leaned back, observing him through now narrowed eyes. “I think I see.”

Damn. She’d figured him out.

But she didn’t say any more. He gave her top marks. None of the others had caught on. As if by mutual agreement, they both tucked into their meals. Strangely, the silence descended not with the heavy weight to produce small talk, but with an inexplicable ease. When was the last time he’d sat with a woman, without talking, and neither felt the need to fill the void with inane chatter?

Almost thirty minutes later, the girls finally put in an appearance. “We’re hungry.”

Rowan greeted them with a welcoming smile. “Have a seat. There’s not much left, and it’s probably cold, but you’re welcome to eat.”

Not much left? They’d had only one helping each. Greyson glanced at the serving dishes. Sure enough, only about a quarter of the food remained.

Had Rowan just spelled the food to reduce the amount remaining and teach the girls a lesson? If she had, she’d done so in front of him without his seeing or hearing. Not even a fizzle of energy in the room or a flicker of a lightbulb. Apparently, his nanny had untapped depths.

He eyed her speculatively. Tricky.

The girls exchanged a glance, then looked toward him. While he’d allowed their hiding act in the past, he’d never actively condoned it. He gave them no help, keeping his expression neutral.

“This smells good,” Atleigh, the peacemaker, tried.

---