Page 40 of If The Shoe Fits

Fucking. Winks.

Those sultry, bedroom eyes of his practically knock me flat. And just when I think I might survive the moment, he leans in and drops a quick, feather-light kiss on my lips.

And doesn’t that just beat all?

It’s nothing scandalous, nothing that should turn my world upside down. Just the briefest brush of his lips against mine.

But it’s more than enough.

There goes my Witchy heart.

I stand there, frozen, my mind scrambling to catch up with what just happened. Around us, the crowd continues to mill about, oblivious to my internal meltdown.

“Relax, Sweet Witch,” he murmurs, his voice warm and teasing as he pulls me closer. “Goddamn, Beautiful, you’re glowing.”

I blink up at him, my lips tingling from his kiss and my pulse pounding in my ears.

“Glowing? What are you talking about?”

“Literally glowing,” he says, chuckling softly as he nods toward my hands.

I glance down and realize, to my horror, that my fingers are sparking faint trails of blue and silver magic—completely unbidden and completely out of control.

“Oh, for the love of—” I mutter, clenching my fists and willing the magic to stop.

Wulfy just laughs, the deep rumble of it sending another shiver through me.

“Come on,” he says, steering me toward a quieter corner of the room.

“Let’s get this over with then we’ll find a spot where you can glow all you want without scaring the guests.”

And just like that, I’m completely, utterly undone.

chapter fifteen

The last thing I expect when Wulfy leads me over to the slipper display is for him to step into full Principal mode and announce that all Academy students should come to the front of the line.

“At the end of the day, this is a fundraiser for the Academy,” he says, his voice carrying effortlessly over the buzz of the ballroom.

My jaw nearly drops when he follows it up with a cheerful, “And Academy students get free turns!”

I whip my head around to glare at him.

Free?

After all the hoops I jumped through to get this display set up and approved?

Before I can protest, he leans down and whispers in my ear, “Relax, Sweet Witch. I already paid the Congo bill for the new decorations.”

The confession catches me completely off guard. I blink up at him, stunned, as he pulls back just enough to wink at me, his lips tugging into that infuriatingly sexy grin.

“You, you paid for it?” I manage to squeak.

He shrugs, all casual, as if it’s no big deal.

“I don’t know if you know this,” he says, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “but I made a fortune in real estate before I was even out of college.”

I don’t know whether to be impressed, annoyed, or completely charmed. Maybe all three. I mean, sure, his generosity is unexpected.

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