Page 22 of Sugar, Spice, and Magical Midlife

“This pairs well with chicken,” he said with a wink.

Ordinarily, I would’ve been skeptical of any man who assumed to know my tastes, but honestly, I wasn’t a wine connoisseur and never had been. Colin and his family had always pretended to be cultured, though I knew they wouldn’t know the difference between wine from a box or a bottle.

I took a hesitant sip, then resisted the urge to gulp it down. The wine was the best I’d ever tasted, mild and fruity, something from last century that was imported from Italy. It sure made the dry chicken in my salad go down easier. Propriety be damned. I took several more sips.

“Is the salad good?” he asked as he sat across from me.

I suddenly felt like an injured gazelle caught in a lion’s gaze at the hungry look in his eyes. And then his musky pheromones wafted in my direction, punching me right in the ovaries. I nearly choked on an olive. “It’s a salad.”

He flashed a fanged grin, not bothering to hide the monster that lurked beneath his skin as his eyes narrowed to glowing, feline slits. “Nothing beats your homemade pastries.”

I picked around the wilted lettuce, nibbling on a few cucumbers. “Glad you like them.”

“I love them.” His grin widened. “They’re the best part of waking up in the morning, other than seeing your smile.”

Heat flamed my face, and I was suddenly overcome with a wave of shyness, which wasn’t like me. I didn’t know how to respond to his compliment, mainly because I wasn’t used to getting them, not since Colin and I had first dated. How sad.

His brow furrowed as he nodded toward my food. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I picked out the good parts.” Truthfully, my stomach was too tied up in knots to eat. I was in the home of an unregistered shifter who was pretending to be dead. His pheromones had my head in a tailspin, and I didn’t know if I wanted to run from or straddle him.

“How about a movie?” he asked as I pushed away my salad. “I have my own theater room with surround sound.”

I perked at that as I downed the rest of my wine. “Sure.”

He stood and pulled out my chair, then grabbed the wine bottle and my empty glass. I took his elbow when he held it out to me, even though I suspected he would try to get me drunk so he could take advantage of me. Fool that I was, I’d probably let him. I only prayed he didn’t eat me—at least, not in a bad way.

OF COURSE, HIS THEATERroom was nicer than an actual movie theater, with reclining seats, a fully stocked bar, and an old-fashioned popcorn machine. I thought about asking him to fire up the popcorn, but I didn’t want to test fate again, so I sipped my wine while he pulled up a list of his favorite movies, most of them being my mom’s favorite classics, includingBreakfast at Tiffany’s, Casablanca, and the entire catalog ofI Love Lucy, Dark Shadows,andBewitched.My mom would’ve taken one look at his catalog and insisted I marry him. My heart might have sighed a little when he handed me the remote. I pickedIt Happened One Nightand curled into a chair while working on my second glass of wine.

Ric was a perfect gentleman during the movie—too perfect. He didn’t make a single move, not so much as a brush of his arm against mine, though I didn’t make it easy. Ric had been thoughtful enough to offer me chocolate almonds that helped ease the grumbling in my tummy, but I felt awkward eating in front of him. Worried he’d start craving chocolate and inhale them from my face, I had no choice but to lean away from him, my jeans digging into my side as I practically fell over into the other seat. I knew I was sending the wrong signals, but maybe it wasn’t a good idea to sleep with him. Besides, I’d beendisappointed by sex too many times to count, but I’d never been let down by chocolate.

I tried to focus on the movie, though it was hard with so much maleness sitting beside me. The pheromones coming off him were like nothing I’d ever smelled before, and I had to fight the urge to throw myself on top of him and inhale every pore of his golden-tan skin. The stronger the urge to climb into his lap, the more I leaned away from him. I kept checking my phone, wishing Des would text me or Ethyl would call with a crisis. Heck, at this point I wouldn’t care if Puffy burned down the bakery, just so I could get the heck away from this tempting hunk of beastflesh.

After trying to drown away my cravings with two glasses of wine (had I mentioned I was a lightweight?) I switched to water. But it was too late. My head was swimming, and my bladder felt ready to explode. I stumbled to my feet, loudly announcing I needed to use the restroom. Ric pointed to the direction of the bathroom in a darkened hallway attached to the other side of the theater room.

My world tilted a little too much as I made my way to the bathroom. I used the walls covered in rich mahogany wood to balance myself, and I regretted not finishing my dry chicken salad. I stopped when I saw the black-and-white ruggel photographs hanging in the hall. I recognized Ric standing among the team wearing old-fashioned trousers, a leather helmet that looked like an old aviator’s cap, and a misshapen ball tucked under his arm. Though the picture was grainy, I noticed his youthful smile and sharp eyes. He looked about the age of a twenty-year-old husk. Then I did a double take when I read the words, “1934 World Ruggel Champions.”

Holy hex! I had no idea. Des would love to meet a real-life ruggel champion in the flesh. I worried about my boy with his farty-breath father and Homewrecker Barbie. Des hadn’t textedme, which was a good sign, right? It was almost his bedtime. I always wished him goodnight and told him I loved him, even when he was at his dad’s. I would have to call him soon.

When I reached the end of the hall, I noticed there were two doors; one led to what appeared to be the outside with a fogged, stained-glass window. The bathroom was obvious, for the door was cracked open, and I saw the sink inside. But I was curious about the door that led outside. Maybe I could pretend I didn’t notice the sink. I looked over my shoulder to see Ric’s back was to me while he poured a drink at the bar. I took that as a sign that I should examine what was behind the mystery door.

I cracked it open, shocked to see a swimming pool and attached hot tub nestled inside a large atrium. Damn. How rich was this shifter? The pool had a beautiful color-changing waterfall, and the hot tub bubbled and boiled. How badly I wanted to dip my toe in it. Or maybe just my feet. Who was I kidding? I’d kill to take a deep soak and let the jets pound away the tension in my shoulders.

“The bathroom is the other way,” a low, deep rumble sounded behind me.

I gave a start, my heart nearly jumping out of my chest as I spun around and looked into Ric’s slitted feline eyes. “Oh!” When he flashed a fanged grin, I gave him an accusatory look. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot tub?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“Do you use it?” I blurted, then mentally chided myself. Why would I ask him that?

“Every night.” He motioned toward the tub. “Do you want to get in?”

I averted my gaze, biting my lip when I was hit with a wave of his pheromones that were so strong, my ovaries started flashing and my uterus laid out a landing strip. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

He twirled a lock of my hair around his finger. “I won’t peek.”

His deep purr rattled my bones and did something to my insides, and his musky smell made me wish I’d worn a panty liner, or maybe an adult diaper, to contain the moisture leaking out of me.

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