Page 51 of Beyond the Cottage

Holding her breath, she carefully dragged his arm out from under her. It flopped to the side, and she shifted beneath him. His eyes remained closed, but a little furrow appeared between them, and when she moved her leg, a low groan rumbled in his chest. His hips rocked against her.

Gretta froze. He thrust two more times before going still. Warm electricity flooded her lower body, and her thighs instinctively clenched his leg. Horrified, she parted them.

No fuckingwayam I getting turned on right now.

She shoved him off, no longer giving a shit if he woke.

He startled awake and groggily sat, pushing hair off his forehead. She’d made it to the doorway when he said, “Gretta?”

Face on fire, she turned.

“What time is it?” he yawned.

She dragged her eyes off his half-buttoned shirt. “Morning.”

“Did you just get up?”

“Uh…yeah.”

He stood, rubbing his face. Aside from his half-mast dick, he didn’t seem outwardly affected. Had she gotten away before he noticed their illicit morning cuddle?

“The storm ended,” she said as though everything was perfectly normal. “I’m going to get cleaned up, then we can leave.”

He nodded. “I’ll do the same. After I check on the others, I’ll come for you.”

She hurled herself into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Chapter 19

Why is magic so damn itchy?Gretta scratched under the bracelet for the hundredth time.

She sat in Ansel’s canoe as it sliced through lily pads and glowing algae. They’d been traveling for an hour, heading deep into the swamp, and the space between the luminescent plants barely accommodated the boat.

The canopy only let in speckles of sunlight, but the swamp’s pale green glow lit their way. Humidity hung in the air like fog, smelling both rotten and green, and insects shrieked from every direction. The canoe occasionally passed alligators basking on patches of land, and shimmery snakes hung from trees.

Gretta breathed through her mouth and kept her arms wrapped around her body. The creepy environment wasn’t helping her nerves. Despite the pep talk she’d given herself before they left, she grew more unsettled the deeper they went.

She wasn’t used to confronting her quarry via the front door, especially while unable to protect herself. Once again, Ansel would be the only thing standing between Gretta and a witch.

She’d considered bringing up her concerns but didn’t want to talk to him after what happened that morning. He didn’t remember any of it, she was sure of that, but she feared jinxing it.

Bored with staring at plants, Gretta relented. “Tell me how you met her.”

“Isobel?”

“Yes. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

He switched his oar to the other side of the canoe as they made a turn. “Like I said, she helped me. Saved my life, actually.”

“How?”

“Before I started the dust farm, I was less careful about who I did business with. When a deal with some people went bad, they left me for dead in the swamp. Isobel found me and brought me to her cabin.”

Gretta shelved questions about his shady past for the time being. “What did she do to you?”

“Patched me up, kept an eye on my injuries. Gave me someplace safe to rest for a couple weeks.”

“You can’t possibly be that naive.” If he spent weeks semi-conscious in a witch’s house, she either fucked him or fed off him.

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