Page 9 of A Warlock for Halloween

Duck, wine, French onion soup, tempting cheesy potatoes, way too many pastries, and even Crème brûlée.

And as we eat, Ambrose proves to be an engaging and sweet date as he plies me with amazing food and questions.

“You work with animals?” he asks, smoothly cutting up a sliver of crispy duck. “Do you have pets of your own?”

Patting at my mouth with the white linen napkin, I smile. “Not yet. I’ve always lived in little apartments with crazy high pet fees before. Now that I have a house, I’ll be looking into adopting a cat.”

His silver eyes gleam. “You like cats?”

“Love them. Do you have one?”

He laughs. “But of course. His name is Tom.”

My mouth about falls open and I grab at my wine glass. Finally I can’t stand it any longer. “Really?” I exclaim. “You named your cat, Tom.”

“I didn’t name him that. That’s his name.” He scoops up a droplet of butter and smears it on a piece of crusty bread before holding it out to me.

Accepting it, I smile and take in the man sitting across from me. It’s wild to think we just met this afternoon. There’s something about him that puts me at ease while also exciting me.

He wears a silver ring on his right hand with a dark stone. Thankfully, no wedding band on his left hand. As to his age, I’d put him anywhere from late twenties to possibly even forty. His face doesn’t have lines, and I can’t see a single silver hair in his long mane of black waves. There’s simply a maturity to him. It’s the way he holds himself that makes me believe his twenties are long behind him. An age gap never bothered me, as I’ve dated both older and younger guys before. Still, I can’t resist asking, “How old are you?”

“Four hundred and nine.”

I blink at his answer and then roll my eyes. “Oh yeah, warlock years, right? Seriously though, how old are you?”

Folding his hands, he places them on the creamy tablecloth and leans forward with an earnest expression on his face. “My years are the same as yours. I stopped aging at twenty-five, but I’ve seen four hundred and nine years of life.”

I’m all for some Halloween fun, but Ambrose is really taking this warlock thing a bit far. I suppose he did tell me he’s twenty-five in a roundabout way, making him only a year older than me.

Time to change the subject. Yet before I can, Ambrose takes the lead and begins asking me a series of questions about my likes and dislikes, my family, and a bunch of other things.

Like someone starved for attention, because honestly, I kinda am, I happily get swept up in chatting about myself and before I know it, the meal is complete, and Ambrose is gliding me back into the carriage.

His hand reaches out and cups my cheek, turning my face to his and as his silver gaze trails over me, something catches and holds in my chest. My heart thumps and each beat of it tells me this man is the one. This strange and unique man is the one I’m meant to be with.

Leaning closer, I run my fingers through his long hair, feeling each silky strand cling to my skin, and press my mouth to his.

He tastes of the red wine we drank and of something far sweeter. He tastes of forever.

It's silly. It’s crazy.

It’s all pure madness. But sometimes a bit of madness is just what you need.

CHAPTER SEVEN

AMBROSE

Having Natalie in my arms has triumph surging through me. It’s far more potent than even the strongest magic.

I urge the carriage to travel faster, breaking the laws of space and time, and we go from France to her house in mere seconds.

Breaking our kiss, I cup my love’s face and declare myself to her. “I want to make love to you, Natalie.”

Her smile is genuine and so beautiful it makes my chest tight. “Yes, I want that too.”

The driver, merely a phantom I employed for tonight, opens the carriage door as I alight from it with my precious armful held securely against my chest. Giving him a meaningful glance, I nod at Natalie’s front door before claiming her lips in another kiss that builds upon the desire thrumming wildly within my body.

Her front door opens, and I stride through with her, turning left and opening up the door leading to her bedroom. Too caught up in our kiss, she doesn’t question how we got inside her home or how I knew which room was hers.

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